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[Part 13: Growth] Chapter 154:  Little Miracles It was Solstice. The longest, coldest, darkest night of the year. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I muttered far too loudly for the dozenth time.  I actually could believe it.  Janet had begged and begged and begged for me to come to Beouf’s Solstice party and to ‘Just play along this one time’ and it finally wore me down.    It wasn’t that hard. I actually love Solstice. There are many cultural and religious traditions celebrating the event from all over the world.  From all the way in Yamatoa, to across the pond in jolly old Albienne, to Mayztepistan south of the border, to even the hum drum shuffle that is Oakshire, everybody celebrates Solstice. The justifications and some of the traditions vary, but the celebrational energy is the same. Here’s my reason: A long long time ago, before we even had the luxury of something even close to resembling history, we were constantly at the mercy of the world around us. Disease. Famine. Predators. Bad luck. Stupid frail bodies without claws or armor.  And yet, we persevered.  We kept kicking and fighting and dying and losing anyway.  But we, as a species, as a people, never gave up. Never fully surrendered. We persevere. Always.  Even as the nights get longer and colder and food starts running out and the monsters outside the door are getting bolder.   We could wallow in our caves and hovels and lament and turtle up and shut ourselves off from the world. Or. Or… Or we could stare back into the void when it’s at its peak, give it the middle finger, smile, laugh and ask it, “IS THAT ALL YOU GOT, BITCH?!” Who is “we”, you might ask? Littles? Tweeners? Amazons?  To that I would counter with: “Does it really matter?”  From a raw survival perspective, us hairless apes should have holed up or gone into hibernation.  Instead, we looked at our world through our own particular lenses, invented windows and collectively threw common sense survival doomerism out said windows. We stopped being animals and started being people because we started making our own rules instead of letting the rules make us. The world isn’t fair, but fuck it because we’re playing the game anyways, right? Might as well have fun with it.   I relate to that.  I relate hard to that.  For Littles, Unification is a day of somber mourning, reflection, and fear.  But a Solstice celebration is the only thing that is objectively more wild than a Gwiffin Party. The only time I can remember seeing my otherwise stuffy parents drunk and legitimately having fun- where emotional expression wasn’t a matter of carefully considered calculation- was during Solstice. Amazons, evidently have a slightly different way of celebrating than Littles… The sun had just gone down and the street lights had come on.  Melony, her husband, her son-in-law, Janet, Jessica and I were walking slowly through Beouf’s neighborhood. The air was quickly chilling and I could see my breath whenever we passed a light source. The Amazons all wore ugly sweaters, and the knit blanket in my lap actually served a purpose beyond keeping my feet covered.  It wasn’t snowing and I suspected that Melony’s earmuffs and scarf were overkill, but the way she constantly played and fidgeted with worn out things signaled that they were something special to her.   Before the party proper, we were going Solstice Singing door to door.  And I was the Solstice Baby, the promise of renewal and rebirth in the face of an endless winter.  That meant that I was in an oversized white bonnet and baby gown, with lace booties on my feet and ruffles everywhere. Janet, Jessica and Melony assured me time and time again that this was a unisex outfit, but it’s hard to feel particularly masculine when all of one’s clothes end in frills. On the bright side, I was officially out of mittens. At least the cloth diaper pinned over my real one lacked any additional accents. Not that anyone would see my diaper. The billowing gown went down past my feet and managed to do what so few clothes in my size actually could. I guess that’s because no one would assume I was potty trained with everything else. Speaking of my diaper, I had no idea how wet I was.  Janet had bought a travel pack of Monkeez in the next size up and loaded it up with stuffers. My legs were splayed out to the point where to take a step meant having to swivel and pivot at my hips. My downstairs had been creamed and powdered thoroughly and to excess.  The goal was to avoid being changed until the sun came up. That part had been my idea, actually. I didn’t want to be changed in the cold open air or in front of Beouf’s extended family, so I gamified it and invented a pretense to get what I wanted.  There was no dignity here, but I did feel a sliver of control in making the bargain. The gown went well past my feet. Crawling would be easier than walking, but I was doing neither.  As a final touch, Beouf had provided an old fashioned baby carriage, a tiny bed on wheels with an awning.  I suddenly missed my onesies and sailor suits “Why isn’t your grandbaby doing this?” I asked Melony.  I had to turn my head all the way in order to make eye contact with her.  The ridiculous baby bonnet I was wearing was so big and wide that it gave me tunnel vision. “She’s too tiny and fussy right now,” my oldest friend replied. “Next year, she’ll be the baby and you can sit this part out.” A beat and the light grinding of carriage wheels on the street.  “You’re being a big help. Thank you.” I resisted the urge to scowl and huff.  “Welcome.” “Emma’s too little for the part,” Janet reminded me.  “We need you to play it.”  I couldn’t see my Mommy pushing me behind the carriage, but I swear she winked. The extra twinkle in Beouf’s eye and a slight giggle from Jessica was proof enough for me. I might have been able to get out of this getup next Solstice, and the year after that and maybe the year after that. But eventually Beouf’s granddaughter would get too big or she’d complain that she didn’t want to dress up as an infant and they’d listen to her. Then it’d go back to me. Fuck my life that I was now thinking about the future in terms of something besides escape. “Don’t worry, Little dude,” Melony’s idiot son-in-law interrupted my self-loathing spiral.  He reached out to pat me on the head. I instantly decided that I was going to bite his finger just for trying to touch me. “Jonathan,” Melony smacked his hand away. “Don’t be an idiot.”   I was instantly forgotten as Jonathan got into an argument with Melony.  “I was just trying to make him feel comfortable!” “Whining is how Clark shows he’s comfortable,” Jessica corrected him. “It’s when he’s quiet that something’s gone wrong. It’s his way of self-regulating.”   “That and he was about to bite ya,” Mr. Beouf said.  Melony’s husband was a big man, of course, but he was no Emiliano. He wore a mustache and for reasons I can’t understand, he kept the ring of hair around his skull even though the rest of his head was as bald and smooth as my bottom. I’m positive that I’d met him before, at least in passing, but he never made that big of an impression on me.  Just one of those things, I suppose.  He might have been a main character in Melony’s story, but he was just an extra in mine.   I eyeballed him from my carriage. “How did you know?” Mr. Beouf kept looking straight ahead, his eyes on the road, watching for oncoming cars and searching for houses that would answer the door to strangers warbling out of key.  “I used to work in Little correction services.  We got a lot of biters over that way.”    “He’s retired,” Melony quickly put in. “How retired?” Mr. Beouf answered.  “About five years,” he said. He then pointed ahead at a nearby house.  It was decorated with fake snowmen on the front lawn and enough bright multi-colored lights to send the power bill skyrocketing. “How’s this, Mel? Ever the leader, Melony nodded and went ahead to the door.  “This looks like a good place to start.”  The others followed. I had no choice. The doorbell rang.  It opened and an older Amazon couple stepped out. The others wasted no time for explanation and started singing: “'Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free 'Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be, And when we find ourselves in the place just right, 'Twill be in the valley of love and delight. When true simplicity is gained, To bow and to bend we shan’t be ashamed, To turn, turn will be our delight, Till by turning, turning we come 'round right.” I hate this song. So much. So damn much. If you’ve been listening to me this whole time, I shouldn’t have to explain why I take issue with lyrics like ‘come down where we ought to be’ and finding ourselves in a ‘place just right’.  The couple listened politely, and clapped at the end. I sat in the carriage and tried not to blush when they inevitably pointed at me and waved ‘hello’.  “Can we sing a different song?” I asked after the door had been closed and I was being wheeled back onto the street.   Jessica wasted no time.   “I’M MISTER WHITE SOLSTICE!  I’M MISTER SNOW!  I’M MISTER ICICLE!  I’M MISTER TEN BELOW!” I clapped my hands over both of my ears and shouted over her, afraid that Janet would join in.  “NOT THAT ONE!” I yelled over her. “ANYTHING ELSE BUT THAT ONE!”  Leave it to Jessica to pick the dumb kids’ song from a near forgotten holiday special. Our next stop was only two houses down.  “How about ‘Make You Merry Gentlemen?” Melony suggested, and that was enough. “Now make you merry gentlemen, let cold not numb your mind, For thus your sun shall soon return with fire and flesh and wine To keep us all from dark and cold he has a way to find Oh tidings of comfort and joy…” The songs went on and on and on.  We sang ‘Deck the Halls’, and ‘We Wish You a Merry Solstice,” and so on and so forth. It eventually looped back around to “Simple Gifts”, but at least it wasn’t the only song. And by ‘we’ I meant the Amazons. I was not asked or expected or needed to sing with them.  I just had to lay there and look ‘cute’ for the giants that opened their doors to us. I was fine with that. When it comes to singing I hate my own voice.  My voice is good for yelling and booming and growling and screaming, things to get attention and strike at the rawest emotions of someone’s fight or flight reflex. If I can’t intimidate an Amazon, I can at least tear at them with pure acidic vitriol boosted by my voice.   But singing?  I always sound like a stuffed up turtle, and the voice I hear in my head is always slightly higher than the one that everybody else hears, leading me to almost always fall flat and out of key.  Especially when I’m singing with someone else or have a backing track.  I was happy not to sing if such a thing can be said. The suburban chorus went around the whole block and then some.  We had Amazons and Tweeners greet us. If they had a child with them, I feigned sleep and laid back so that I could gain maximum distance. In contrast, the Adopted Littles and I just kept staring at one another throughout the exchanges, sizing one another up like unfamiliar cats stumbling onto the others’ territories.  Were they mindfucked? Were they rebellious and resentful?  Were they resentful and resigned? Were they accepting but still fundamentally themselves?  It was hard- nay, impossible- to tell from just a look while Amazons belted out sappy songs of perseverance and celebration in under two minutes, but the game kept me occupied and out of my own head. One Little opened his door to us, smiled politely at Melony and then promptly made an excuse about needing to keep an eye on his turkey when he saw me.  “Okie dokie!” Melony chirped. “Bye, Paul!  Happy Solstice!”  On our way to the next house, Melony informed everyone, “Paul’s nice but he keeps to himself.  Met him after a storm a few years ago and I helped him clean up his front yard.” My sigh went unnoticed.  The fog of my breath seemed a cobra spreading its hood when I whispered to myself, “Typical…” Finally, after about an hour, we were on our way back to Melony’s house.  I’d never been inside Melony’s home before then.  She was my best friend, yes, but our lives had been strictly compartmentalized from one another until recently.  I’d been dressed in the car, and the stroller was out and waiting by the time Janet, Jessica, and I had pulled up. What happened next took my breath away but also made me a little sad. Melony Beouf’s house was a mess. The lawn was unkempt and there were stalks of ivy tangled up in the chain link fence. The air was stale and smelled of used cat litter and unwashed laundry.  All the lights were all on inside, but there were still pockets of shadows in every corner. Every piece of furniture looked lumpy and had stains on it from years, possibly decades of abuse. There were no signs of bugs, but just being there made me feel dirty if I actively thought about it. Trash cans were plenty but overfull, and garbage bags were tied up left outside by the front door to stink. “We’re baaaack,” Melony sang out quietly as our group trotted in.   Sitting on a lumpy brown couch and looking sleep deprived was an Amazon woman in her mid twenties.  Melony’s daughter, no doubt.  She held a bundled up baby in her arms, sleeping and dead to the world; Emma.  The kid wasn’t technically a newborn, but was still at that blobby phase where the only reason I knew she was a girl was thanks to the pink blanket and advanced knowledge.  Also, she was the only Amazon that I was still bigger than.   “Hey, Mom,” the new mother said quietly.  “How was singing?” Sitting at a card table in the living room were an older couple. “Hello, Melony,” they said. “Welcome back.” “Hey Emily. Karl. Kitty.” Beouf replied in a stage whisper. “It was good.”   Her son-in-law, a spindly man-child with patchy facial hair that looked like he hadn’t quite finished puberty glided up to his wife. “How’s Emma?” Beouf’s daughter looked up and smiled. I suddenly had a very good idea of what Melony might have looked like as a college kid. “Just got her to sleep.” Jonathan bent over and took his child in his arms, cradling her as if she were the most precious thing in the world. Idiot asshole douchebag with no chin, four eyes, and a bowl cut that made Billy’s look sophisticated got to be a caregiver despite an obvious lack of common sense. Shit.   I was unfairly projecting my bitterness and anger towards a complete stranger just because I felt jealous and he was experiencing something that I’d wanted deep down.  I didn’t know this man but because he was in a position I’d rather have been in he became a hideous caricature of himself in my mind’s eye that affected how I treated him. Fuck! Just like I’d done with Mark because I’d been squalling and crushing on Janet and I was only now realizing my own motivations! Nope. Still don’t feel bad about that part. “I’ll put her down,” Jonathan said.  “Be back in a second.”  He slipped behind a nearby closed door and shut it softly. “I’ll feed the cats,” Beouf echoed her son-in-law’s tone and volume, heading over to a door that at that moment was being pawed and scratched out from the other side. Beouf’s house wasn’t very big. Janet’s was definitely bigger. So was my old house.  It had a carpeted living room area right past the front door, a kitchen area, and an enclosed side porch.  The bedrooms- of which I saw only two- were connected directly to the kitchen and living room. I assume the bathrooms were attached to the bedrooms. Perhaps at some point it had been a college style dorm room with a main common area and sleeping suites in the back.  But when had Oakshire had a non-community college or a big enough student population? I wanted to blame the state of her house on her kids moving back in and the new baby, but that didn’t excuse half of it.  Without asking anything, I learned something about Melony right then. She was brilliant. She was compassionate. She was active and a leader inside her own social and professional circles. She was also secretly a slob that put all her energy into her classroom and knew how to take care of everybody but herself. I finally felt a sort of pity for her that had nothing to do with her being an Amazon.   It wasn’t a hovel. There was food in the refrigerator, no mold or rot in evidence. Social services wouldn’t feel the need to intervene for anything. I wouldn’t have made it a year at my old house if my lawn wasn’t perfect or the neighbors saw an errant trash bag. I felt honored being shown this vulnerability of hers, but I still had plenty of resentment concerning the double standards she got to live under. Introductions were quickly and quietly made.  “Hi, I’m Karl. Jonathan’s father.”  He reached out and shook Janet and Jessica’s hand.   “I’m Kitty. I’m the ‘Grandma’ to Melony’s ‘Meemaw’.”   Both offered me up a bright smile and a friendly mini-wave.  “Hi there…!”  They whispered it like they were worried I’d fly away were they too loud. Much to everyone’s surprise and my delight, I leaned over on Janet’s hip and held my hand out.  “A pleasure. I’m Clark. Clark Grange.  Nice to meet you.” I felt Janet’s gasp and her body heat up like I’d just stoked a furnace.  “My Mommy’s name is Janet and Auntie Jessica is my Auntie.”   The older couple looked suitably amused and shook my hand. Janet and Jessica looked like they’d been slapped with a fish. “Excuse me,” Janet cleared her throat. “Is there a bathroom I can use?”  Janet put me down in a playpen next to the card table and blushingly crossed her arms over her chest. Kitty picked up on the signal and led her into Beouf’s cat infested bedroom. If nothing else, my act just confirmed that Jessica wasn’t on lactation medication.  Otherwise she’d have needed to join Janet.  Jessica bent over and grinned at me. “Sorry, kiddo. No milk tonight.” I let the rail loose and fell down to my bottom, my legs forced into a ‘V’ in front of me.  I’d had harder landings on a trampoline.  Feeling oddly comfortable despite my state of dress, I grinned right back at her. “That’s fine. I’m staying up late tonight.” She comfortably placed her hands on the railing and leaned closer. “Oh yeah?” “Yeah.” “Think you can stay up longer than me?” “Is that a challenge?” “It is now.” “Then yeah.” She held out her hand. “Shake on it?” I shook her hand firmly. “Bet.” She stuck out her pinky “Pinky promise?”   I stiffed my arm and held out my wrist.  “How about a blood oath instead?” “Clark…” I rolled my eyes in resignation. “Okay. How about a Pinky swear? Emphasis on swear.” Jessica didn’t hesitate to negotiate. “A-word.” “F-bomb.” “D-word,” she countered. “F-bomb.” “S-word. Final offer. Take it or leave it.” I huffed and extended my pinky. “Fine. Deal. On three. One-two-three.” We wrapped our pinkies around the others and cursed in unison. “Shit!” Jessica rose up to her full height and looked around at the remaining grown-ups, suddenly aware and blushing.  If she acted like this around her students, she might actually have been cooler than me.  “Don’t tell his Mommy I said that.” Emily waved it off. “I’ve said and heard worse when I was his size.” Mr. Beouf nodded and settled back into a beat up sofa. “Yup. That’s true.” The older gentleman smirked and said, “I raised a boy. I know how it is.”  He mimed zipping his lips shut. I thought about how this wasn’t so different from how I used to charm and manipulate Amazons as an adult.  Just had to play it safe, know when to keep quiet, and know when not to. Tell them what they wanted to hear and they’d meet your needs as much as their crazy would allow them.  In some ways being a ‘baby’ was easier, too.  I didn’t have to manage my tone as much; there was no such thing as a baby that was too happy.  The big downside was that the giants’ madness gave me far fewer freedoms. Greater access, less danger, greater success rate, much fewer options. Also upon reflection, I wasn’t so different from Amy.  She played the grown-ups like a fiddle using all the same tricks I’d mastered. She just aimed for charmingly silly while I tried for charmingly precocious.   Shit. I suddenly felt bad for how I’d treated her. I’d have to make it up to her somehow.  Jonathan came out of the room, sans blob child, flashing a thumbs up.  “Emma’s out like a light,” the doofus said. “I turned the white noise machine on,” he continued. “We should be able to talk normally.” Emily stood up from the couch and extended her hand down. “Hi there. I’m Emily. Melony’s daughter.”   I tried to stand back up, but my back wasn’t close enough to the mesh wall to grip onto and hoist myself back up.  I opted to reach out as far as I could and allowed Melony’s daughter to meet me the rest of the way.  “I’m Clark. Nice to meet you, Emily.” Melony’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “Seriously? You’re Clark? The Clark?”  She paused long enough for me to cock my eyebrow in curiosity. “My Mom talks a lot about you.” Another beat. “I thought you’d be…I dunno…Littler?” “Okay,” I nodded. “I like you, now. We’re friends.”  Back-handed nature of the compliment aside, she’d just said that I was kind of mature and I was taking the win where I could find it. Emily threw back her head and laughed; a higher pitched version of her mother’s carefree cackle. “You’re the famous Mr. Gibson alright!”  It suddenly occurred to me that this young lady had probably been a highschooler when Beouf and I started working together. She’d literally grown up with tales and office gossip about me. Something about that made my brain itch in a bad way. How would all of my students think about me if they knew what I had become?  “You know you’ve always been her favorite. With or without Maturosis.”   The two older Amazons crept back in from the bedroom. Beouf made a detour to the refrigerator and gave me a coffee bottle.  “Happy Solstice!” she said. I smirked, and rolled my eyes good naturedly. “For me? You shouldn’t have.”  I took a sip and tasted the mocha, cream and sugar instantly.   “It’s not decaf” “For me?!” You shouldn’t have!”  I started chugging.   Kitty took her seat at the card table and assured me, “You’re Mommy’s gonna be in there for a while, baby.” I pivoted around on my bum to see her and shrugged. “I get it. Special occasion. Pump and dump. Get wasted.” Melony did something between a gasp and a stifled laugh. “Clark!” “What?” I yelled back merrily, “You touch my penis more than I do and to a live audience! Now we’re getting sensitive about body parts and discretion all of a sudden?!” The entire room erupted with uproarious laughter.  “Ok,” Emily laughed along with me. “I like you now! We’re friends!”   I didn’t have time to gloat and join in because Melony countered by looking at her daughter and saying, “You told him he was a big boy, didn’t you?” “Yup,” Emily nodded. “Worked just like you said it would!” I now had cossetting cackling Beoufs in stereo. I took the ‘L’ and went back to my coffee. Jonathan hung his head and sighed. “I’ll get her down...again.” The night went on like that for some time. Eventually Janet came out lightly kicking cats away from her to keep them from exiting the room. So did Jonathan. I sort of just zoned out and people watched while black & white reruns of ‘I Love Little Lucy’ played on the television.  After about one and a half episodes, the Grown-Ups started pouring each other drinks. Beouf had a collection of liquor in the kitchen that would make Bert jealous. Jessica came up to me and offered to take my bottle. “Filler up?” I accepted the gesture and handed it over to her.  I stared back up at the T.V.  This was the one where Lucy tried to get un-Adopted by trashing Daddy Ricky’s big band number and accidentally made it better.  I’d almost forgotten about it when Jessica handed it back to me.  “What do you think?”  “It’s fine,” I said before I even put the bottle to my lips.  I suckled down the concoction and my eyes lit up as the first lovely bits of burning hit the back of my throat. I took a few quick gulps and then pulled the teat out of my mouth so that I could gasp, wince, and shake from the inside out.  “What?!”  My Auntie gave me a knowing look and quietly leaned over. “Cinnamon whiskey,” she said. “It’s a special occasion. Enjoy.” The first bits of buzz were already creeping up inside of me. “You just want me to pass out, don’t you?” “Does that mean you don’t want any?” Jessica smirked. “I didn’t say that.”  I smirked back. She fluttered her eyes.  “Who’s your favorite Auntie?” “You’re my only Auntie.” “I know,” she giggled. “I just wanted to hear you say that.”  I sincerely hoped that my interactions with her wouldn’t encourage her to find me a ‘cousin’. I took another swig to drown that bit of paranoid guilt out. From about eight o’clock to eleven, we played ‘Cards against Decency’.  I wasn’t allowed to play but Janet held me in her lap and allowed me to make suggestions.  We didn’t win, but I was responsible for the joke of the night. “The category is,” Mr. Beouf had read, “Things Zeus WOULDN’T stick his dick in:” I pointed to the thing Janet had just drawn and it took her until the last minute to stop laughing long enough to turn it in.“ “Things Zeus WOULDN’T stick his dick in: A blender. Up his or her own ass. Your mom. A car door. Mount Typhon during an eruption aaaaaaand…” he looked at mine and instantly exploded, “A LITTLE WITHOUT A DIAPER ON!” And then it was Emily’s turn to go put the baby down. At midnight we did the gift exchange.  It’s a tradition that started as a way to stay awake by staving off boredom. Keep the party going by playing with new toys and such.  I received about what I expected: A rattle that made me laugh uncontrollably that I would never play with ever again; a surprisingly complex puzzle toy that involved complex pattern recognition and prediction using pop up characters from the Muffet Littles; a data stick to store my writing on and with it tacit encouragement to share my thoughts in print; and promises of new clothes and many more toys hidden back home.   Jessica bragged that the thing she got me made the stroller small potatoes. Also I was getting a replacement stroller. On the plus side she refilled my bottle twice, each time with a bit of whiskey added in. It was Melony’s gift though… “Put him back in the playpen, Janet,” Melony said. “I think he’s gonna want to sit down for this.”  Beouf opened a drawer and took out a small stack of envelopes. There looked to be ten to a dozen in all.  Janet placed me back in my baby cage and Beouf handed me the first envelope. “What is this?” I eyed Beouf suspiciously. “Open it,” she said. “You’ll see.” I did as was suggested, possibly because I was drunk, and I opened the envelope.  Inside was a simple red card with “Happy Solstice,” embossed in gold on the front.  Gift certificates? Was Melony giving me a bunch of gift certificates?  Why all the envelopes though? Here’s what was on the inside. Dear Mr. Gibson, I don’t remember all of my teachers, but I definitely remember you. You were my first teacher, and I will always remember how you made learning fun.  Love, Maddison Kroger My face scrunched up in confusion.  “Maddison Kroger?”  Where did I know that na-? I gasped. “Maddie?!  Maddie was one of my first students!”   Beouf nodded, her eyes a twinkle with delight.  “Uh-huh!” she handed me another envelope.  I ripped it open. Dear Mr. G., My big brother made me think I was stupid.  My parents treated me like I was a baby. You talked to me like I was grown. You made me feel smart. I don’t think I’d be here if it wasn’t for you. Love, Austin Brody “Austin,” I sighed, tearing up all the same. “Your handwriting still sucks, buddy.” “Dear Mr. Grange,” Everytime I feel scared because I’m a Tweener I just ask myself “What would Mr. Grange do?” and I figure things out. I’m sorry you got Maturosis. I hope you remember that it’s not your fault and that sometimes things happen. I think you’re lucky that you’re in Mrs. Beouf’s room. She’s just as nice as I remember. I hope you have a Happy first Solstice with your new Mommy. Love, Hazel Carrigan P.S. I promise to write next year. I said nothing but understood everything Hazel meant.  Beouf handed me the next card, the envelope pre opened. Mr. GIBSON, I refuse to call you by your Adopted name. That’s bullshit, sir. Here’s my email. If you ever need help just message me. -Logan Garret. The bottom of the card was ‘mysteriously’ torn off.  “Might want to shred that one so that somebody doesn’t get in trouble,” Melony suggested. “But I wanted you to read it first.” I read another. And another. And another.   “Dear Mr. Gibson,” “Dear Mr. Gibson,” “Dear Mr. Gibson,” Melony got my attention and said, “I told them your first name was ‘Clark’ and that they could call you that if they wanted.  All of them said that it would be too weird!” She tittered and cackled. “Kids, right?” “Melony!” I croaked, crumbling and ready to burst into happy grateful tears, “What did you do?!”  She knelt down and leaned over the playpen railing.  “The high school is next door to ours,” she smiled. “Your first class of kiddos are all there now. I spent the whole month tracking them down and asking them to write a card for you.” She patted the remaining stack. “They all said ‘yes’.” “I passed a card around the school,” Jessica threw in. “It’s in there somewhere. Every kiddo of yours that was still at Oakshire Elementary signed it; my class included.” My mouth started gaping like a fish. Beouf offered me a pacifier and I accepted. “I wanted to show you, Clark,” she soothed me as she brushed away my happy tears. “Your parents might have ditched you, but your babies still remember you and love you for who you were and are.” She’d said something to that effect on my very first day back in diapers. I’d taken it as some empty attempt to pacify me into compliance.  It was on this particular Solstice that she showed me it was the truth. I lifted my arms up to the ceiling and willed her to pick me up.  I leaned into her and nuzzled her and kissed her on the cheek with my pacifier as a barrier just because.  “Fank you.” She rubbed my back and whispered, “I love you too, buddy.”  She put me back in the playpen so she could excuse herself and wipe her own happy tears away.  How about that? I made Beouf cry! And it felt great! I won the contest with Auntie Jessica that night. I lasted well into the morning hours before finally succumbing to sleep at would have been brunch.  It was easy. I had about a dozen letters to read over and over and over again.  A dozen Little miracles in print to memorize and hold onto.

I protested, as much as you can with a large pacifier tied to your mouth. It did its job well, stifling my sounds. I'd remove it but my wrists were tethered, tied to the straps of the bouncer I was in. Not that it mattered, thick padded mittens blocked use of my fingers, my thumbs; even if I could move my hands they wouldn't help, couldn't undo the buckle.  Bouncers are for babies, which explained the pacifier. This was a very large one, designed for very large babies. Adult ones, like me. Not my choice; never that. Hence the mittens, to stop me releasing myself, escaping this torment. The wrist restraints were less usual. He'd said those were to keep me secure, stop me leaning over and falling out of the bouncer. Maybe strangling myself on its straps. He hadn't thought that through, my head was free, I could lean and use it to twist one of those strong flexible straps around my neck, enjoy its constraining embrace as a final escape.  Not my thing. I'd survive this. Somehow. I hung there instead, feet barely touching the floor, arms up high, hands helpless. And protested in muted tones, shaking my head, glaring angrily at him. He laughed at that. Not cruel, just amused. By now his trousers were off, his underwear around his knees, his prick reaching towards me. I wasn't sure what he intended to do with it, the pacifier blocking one orifice, the others safely secured, hidden beneath several layers of soft damp cloth. It was damp because I'd lost control. I shouldn't be embarrassed by that. I was an adult baby, kept in diapers against my will, no way to remove them. No access to a toilet, so what else could I do.  Yet it was humiliating anyway, especially when she strapped me to a table, carefully removed the soft plastic pants keeping those layers sealed beneath and commented on the state of them. It was always wet, often soaked; never a change before they were well used. But she wasn't here now, just him. And his pride and joy, getting ever closer to me. I recoiled, trying to avoid its touch but the bouncer held me in place, its straps holding my wrists out of his way.  He'd touched me before, lifting me into this bouncer, fastening my wrists up above me. Had the chance to fondle my body, hadn't taken it. Unless you counted putting his hands on my hips, which I didn't. They'd had those layers of cloth between him and my skin, and all he'd been doing was pulling me gently down before releasing me, letting the elastic of the straps tug me up, the bouncer between my legs squeezing the dampness against me.  That had made me damp too, in a different way. I shouldn't be embarrassed by that, I was an adult, another adult was intentionally giving me sensations where it mattered. I couldn't resist and I couldn't pretend it wasn't working. Yet it was humiliating anyway, especially when he saw the expression on my face, smiled in quiet satisfaction. Knowing that he knew he'd succeeded, that he'd given me pleasure from wet diapers. That he knew I was enjoying it, no matter my protests. Maybe that's why he was ignoring my protests now. He didn't speak, just reached into the cradle of the bouncer, pulled my dress clear. That didn't take long, a short infantile dress barely mid-thigh on a good day. Wearing diapers wasn't a good day, the extra bulk flaring the soft tulle underskirt which pushed out the skirt itself, the result easy exposure of the diapers beneath with the merest of movements. Or no movement at all, if a man's hands were lifting it clear. His were revealing my knitted tights. I should be flattered, they were custom made for me, knitting them one of her pleasures. Putting them on me another. They were comfortable enough, sized for me but based on a pattern for babies, no seams, plenty of stretch, designed to fit easily over a diaper. I wasn't flattered. It was yet another humiliation, clothing I needed because of the diapers, another confirmation I was a baby, adult or otherwise. I was an adult, and I had to keep reminding myself of that. He pulled the tights away from my waist easily enough, stretching them to reveal my plastic pants. Those were next, fresh air reaching parts of my body used to the warm confines within them, a cold sensation on my skin. Matched by the cold sensation in my mind, this intrusion now intimate, personal. Normally only she touched me there. He wasn't meant to, she'd been clear that I wouldn't need a change, would be fine until she returned. I wasn't sure I agreed, would welcome a change long before she would think it was due. Would welcome getting out the diapers completely, simple cotton knickers, the ability to walk without a waddle.  I didn't welcome someone else interfering there. I didn't want him in my diapers.. in me.  Somehow though I'd stopped protesting by then. When you're used to the torment of others being in control, no choice over basics like your clothes, your food.. your use of a toilet.. you grow used to accepting what's forced onto you. Now he was tugging my diaper clear. It was pinned tightly, snug against me, comfortable and secure. A wet diaper shouldn't be comfortable but this one was only damp, I could pretend I didn't welcome the wetness it would soon absorb. I was being kept in them, why shouldn't I be at ease with that, find the soft moisture pressing against me comfortable. A comfort. I stared into his face. He was looking down, concentrating. One hand holding my clothing clear, the other on himself. Pulling his tip up to my waist, dipping it slightly inside my diaper. It wasn't rape. Several inches away, and he wasn't that big. He wasn't even erect, his torso against mine, his hair against my waist. I couldn't see what he was doing, could only feel flesh against me. Until I felt something else, unexpected warmth, running down my skin, inside my diaper. I shook, tried to jump, pushed at him with my chest, asserted my complaints anew. It didn't help, one hand releasing my clothing, the elastic of my plastic pants trapping him in place against me, his hands reaching behind to hold me close as he emptied himself into my diaper. It grew wet, did its job, wicked the moisture away. The warmth had already reached below me, now I felt it spreading around the top of my thighs, rising up behind me. The cloth absorbed everything he offered then held it against me, the plastic pants allowing no options, my tights permitting no slack. Finally he stepped away, my clothes rearranging themselves, falling into place. No sign of what he'd done, just a wet diaper. I shouldn't be embarrassed by that, I caused plenty of them, it was just part of my life these days. Yet it was humiliating anyway, being an unwilling victim not lessening the shame. This wasn't just a wet diaper, this was an abuse, a physical display of power. That made it different, impossible to accept. Different to him too I guessed. He was already dressed, tucking himself away before fastening his fly, the final step of hiding what he'd done. I could tell her but she wouldn't believe me, he could deny it. When she got back she'd be amused, tease me for how wet I was, claim I was deflecting, trying to pretend I didn't need diapers. I didn't. I just used them, all the time, every day. No choice, that was the thing.  He didn't either yet he'd just used one. Mine. He smirked at my distress, reached up and wiped the tears I hadn't held back, had silently had to let run down my face. He spoke for the first time since she left. I wish he hadn't. "Don't cry little one, we both know you like a nice wet diaper. That's not all, my body's telling me I'll have another toilet need soon. Wont that be cosy in your diaper." My look of horror was interrupted by one of shock, matched by his own. The door had crashed open and she stormed in. She was always in control but I'd never seen her angry, her firmness with me kind and gentle even as it was unrelenting. He didn't get that kindness. He got the taser, got several seconds twitching on the floor. Good job he'd just used a diaper, left him too empty to make a mess for her to clear up. By the time he'd recovered he was sucking on one of my pacifiers, strapped to him as tightly as he was strapped to my changing table. I knew he couldn't escape that; I'd tried many times. I wasn't trying to escape now, instead welcoming her embrace as she held me close, nustling my face into her neck, letting her stroke my hair, rub my back. I didn't resist as she released my wrists, unhooked the straps and lowered the bouncer to my ankles. I let her lead me free of it, and allowed her to refasten my wrists to the bedframe. Of course she'd restrain me. She seemed to know I needed a diaper change, and she always tied me down for those. Usually on the changing table but I was glad to stay away from that right now. She was efficient, my dress up around my waist, everything below that removed in seconds, cold air reminding me of what I'd had to endure. A trip to the sink and a wet flannel was wiping me, cleaning me, returning me to infantile purity.  I said nothing, even behind the pacifier, and she was quiet too. Normally diaper changes were intimate, a soft patient exploration of my body, the gentle teasing given with a smile, sometimes a kiss on my tummy. This one was clinical, my clean body rapidly pinned into fresh bamboo gauze, a new pair of plastic panties dooming me to more hours of soggy torment. But this time it would be my body causing the wetness. That should be humiliating, a source of embarrassment, but now I welcomed it, took comfort that I was safe, was grateful that she'd saved me and was protecting me. As she released my wrists from the bed I caught her by surprise, wrapped my arms around her and this time it was me pulling her close, drawing her into a cuddle.  She hugged me back, gave me a few moments then led me over to my rocker, an adult sized replica of a baby's chair. She strapped me in but left my wrists free, my arms able to move around for the first time in hours. I couldn't release myself anyway, my mittens preventing me removing the seat's buckles, so I just kicked my bare legs to make the chair rock and watched her. That left my diaper visible, the crotch strap too narrow to hide them, the dress not reaching far enough either. I shouldn't be embarrassed by that, she'd left me there, I couldn't really do anything about it. Yet it was humiliating anyway, we both knew she hadn't made me kick out my legs to rock the chair, knew I could use my mittened hands to push my dress down, could at least try to hide my diaper. I hadn't, had acted like a baby, seemingly uncaring about my lack of dignity. I blushed but still didn't try to cover myself, just squeezed my body against that crotch strap, the rocking chair giving it a rhythmic pressure against my diaper. Against me. He was watching. Awake now, unable to escape his bonds. Despite the show I was giving him his eyes followed her as she went to the bed. She picked up my tights, put them in the basket, picked up my used diaper. Instead of putting it in the pail to be washed she took it over to the changing table.  Now she spoke for the first time since she'd left. "Why aren't you in your diaper? Come on, lets get you properly dressed," she said to him. He gasped and wriggled, tried to free himself again. She ignored that and went to her sewing table where she made so many of my clothes, took out her applique scissors. They didn't look dangerous, the rounded tip giving them an obscure almost comical look but he reacted badly anyway. That didn't slow her, confidently using them to cut his clothing off him. For the second time today I saw that transgressing part of him, this time hiding in fear. She hid that further, wrapping it in cold wet cloth. The diaper she'd taken off me, now on him. Only fitting, he was the one who'd wet it. My plastic pants went on him next, sealing his fate but she hadn't finished there, went to the wardrobe. I smiled for the first time in ages; turned out I did like him being in my diapers. She returned with a wraparound dress, one of her own. A more adult style than she'd allow me but probably the only thing she could make fit him. He moaned through his gag, but we both saw his diaper start to bulge. That had to wait; her phone was ringing. She draped the dress teasingly over him and went to answer it. "Yes? Yes, but there's been an issue. No. No, worse than that. Yes, I'm sure. I saw it on video. We'll need someone else tomorrow please - and there'll be two to look after. No, I understand, no rush, call back when you've found someone. Speak to you in a bit!" She looked over at him. "Yes. I saw everything you did. I was watching on my phone as I came into the house. I also heard what you said. Well, you're in your diaper now, little baby boy, so just go ahead when you're ready." More noises from him. I wondered if I'd sounded like that. I hadn't deserved what he did though, let alone what he was planning to do to me. So I had no sympathy for him, for what he was about to do to himself. She saw my smile of satisfaction, the pacifier inadequate to hide it, and came over to caress my face. I looked at her and let my eyes tell her how much I loved her. She didn't need telling, just kissed me on my nose and stood up, spoke loudly enough for us both to hear, glared at him to make her point very clear. "When the agency calls back, I'll make it clear. Tomorrow I want a babysitter, not a babyshitter."

@vvp39   When you get ready to buy ask @DailyDi for his affiliate link so he gets a commission.  Even though books are pennies on the dollar.  But every cent helps 

Hi people, Am based in the UK and wondering if there’s any sort of events whereby we DLs can meet up, socialise make friends etc. Anyone know of anything like this?  Look forward to hearing from you :)  

They all are from kindergarten all the way up.   I was never the popular one in school and was bullied/picked on as we called it back then.    Your kid can be good as pie till they start school it seems .  Get em around other little aholes and they eventually become one more offen than not .    Unless you are a strong parent who carries a big spoon to put those tudes in check lol.