Texas

According to Spooney.... it's Wetnesday. 

The marketing department needs to work up a better name than “degeneration”. I would think this would scare off a lot of people that are not as dedicated as Mom is for overcoming bedwetting.

Chapter 8 - Investigating the Premises  Matthew woke with the weight of Ralph sprawled across his feet, the golden retriever's snores vibrating through the mattress. He blinked his vision - and his memories - coming into focus. Yesterday's bizarre mirror experience at the recreation center flooding back. Had he really seen himself as a teenager? ‘Or am I just losing it?’ he felt himself wonder. "Ralph," he groaned, wiggling his toes under the dog's warm bulk. "You're cutting off my circulation, buddy." The dog's ears perked up. His snores were exchanged for excited wags, but still, he made no effort to move until Matthew actually sat up. Then Ralph stretched, his front paws extending forward while his back arched in a doggy yoga pose, as a morning yawn escaped his lips. "Come on, breakfast and then beach," Matthew said, scratching behind Ralph's notched ear. The dog's tail went into double-time against the comforter. In the kitchen, Matthew poured kibble into Ralph's bowl and coffee into his own mug, his mind still replaying yesterday's disturbing trick in repeat. The teenage version of himself had seemed so real—gangly limbs, unfortunate acne, that terrible haircut he'd thought was cool. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the image. “Maybe it’s just stress” he wondered aloud. Ralph nudged his empty bowl across the tile floor, the scraping sound pulling Matthew back to the present. "Ready for that walk?" he asked, and Ralph's entire rear end wiggled in response. The cool morning air blew gently as they made their way down to the beach. Ralph strained at his leash, pulling Matthew toward the shoreline where waves lapped gently against the sand. Matthew unclipped the leash, and Ralph darted toward the water, barking joyfully at the waves as the flowed in and out, charging headstrong into only the most worthy ones. Matthew zipped his light jacket against the breeze and followed at slower pace. The beach stretched nearly empty before them, just a few early morning joggers passing by and one or two other dog walkers like himself. Down the ocean a group huddled in wetsuits, surfboards in hand. "It was nothing," he told himself aloud. "Just a trick of the light or something." Ralph, now thoroughly wet, raced back to him with a piece of driftwood clamped between his teeth, his morning prize. His brown eyes sparkled with expectation. "Really?" Matthew laughed, but took the stick and threw it along the flat stretch of wet sand. As Ralph chased after it, Matthew considered his day ahead. He had planned to spend some time with Ralph, maybe do a bit of grocery shopping. But his thoughts kept circling back to his reflection in that mirror What if it hadn't been his imagination? What if something genuinely strange had happened? The practical part of his brain argued against investigating—what was he expecting to find? But the same curiosity that had driven him to build his startup from nothing wouldn't let this go. By the time Ralph returned, panting happily, Matthew had made up his mind. Regrettably. "What do you think about spending some time with Mrs. Connelly next door?" he asked the dog, who cocked his head as if considering the question. "She's always offering to watch you, and she makes those peanut butter treats you love and aren't supposed to have too many of! I'll bet she gives you a dozen or so." Ralph's tail wagged faster at the mention of treats, which Matthew took as approval for Ralph’s day ahead. It wasn’t long before Matthew was on his way back to the recreation center. The building looked perfectly ordinary as he approached. Matthew nodded to a few staff members as he made his way through the lobby, trying to appear casual while his heart beat a little faster than normal. He reached the music room and paused outside the door, feeling slightly ridiculous. What was he doing, really? Chasing after what was probably just a momentary hallucination? "Only one way to find out," he muttered, and pressed his palm against the cool metal handle of the door. The door swung open to reveal an empty room with gleaming instruments. The keyboard sat where it had yesterday, right where he had sat. The room smelled faintly of wood polish and the scent of some cleaning solution that the janitorial crew must have used. Matthew stepped inside, letting the door click shut behind him. The silence of the room felt uncomfortable. Still, he approached the piano cautiously, running his fingers lightly over the keys without pressing down, retracing his actions from yesterday. After a moment, he pulled out his phone and opened the camera app, switching to selfie mode. His own familiar face looked back at him. No teenage version in sight. "Okay, let's try this again," he said to the empty room. He sat at the piano bench and played a few simple chords, the notes ringing clearly in the quiet space. Then he checked his reflection again. “Still my normal self.” Matthew frowned, stood up, and walked around the room, touching each instrument hoping perhaps for some change. Each time he did, he checked his phone. Each time he checked, still nothing changed. With growing certainty that he'd imagined the whole thing, he left the music room and made his way to the bathroom where he'd had the strongest experience of seeing his younger self. ‘Maybe they are pumping some hallucinogens through the vents?’ The thought was both hilarious and terrifying, with children in the building. Matthew stood before the mirror, convinced that he would see what he had observed the day before. But only his regular reflection appeared, looking somewhat tired and confused. "I'm losing it," he told his reflection with a shake of his head. "Too much stress or something. Time to go pick up Ralph" he decided, wanting to go back to how he had planned to spend his day and simply put this all behind him. Relief mingled with an odd sense of disappointment as he left the bathroom. Perhaps he'd just needed more sleep, or perhaps there had been something strange about the lighting yesterday. Whatever the case, it seemed the phenomenon wasn't repeating itself. As he walked back through the recreation center, Matthew found his thoughts turning to Sarah. She'd been working so hard lately, taking on this director role while still managing contractors and program development. Meanwhile, he was hallucinating himself turning into his younger self. By the time he reached his car, Matthew had decided to make Sarah a special dinner—that roasted salmon with fennel she loved, maybe some of that fancy chocolate for dessert. It was the least he could do, and focusing on something concrete and normal felt appealing after his wild goose chase "No more mirror mysteries," he told himself firmly as he started the car. “Time to get my head on straight. _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Sarah turned her head and coughed into her sleeve, before passing a thick binder across her desk to Jill. Harriet sat beside Jill, her silver-streaked bob nodding as she took simple notes.  "These are the registration protocols we need to standardize," Sarah explained, tapping a color-coded section. "If we can get this system running smoothly, and then the insurance coverage renewed for when it runs its course, I can focus more on program development ." "I've worked with stuff like this before," Jill said, flipping through the pages . "Well, not exactly like this. But this is what I am here for Sarah. You don’t need to do everything yourself!" Harriet cleared her throat softly, indicating she had something to add. "I could create a spreadsheet template that automatically calculates fees based on everything you have here, like number of family members, level of membership, program participation. It shouldn’t be too hard." Sarah leaned back in her chair, feeling a small bloom of satisfaction. Two weeks ago, she would have insisted on handling all of this herself, staying late to ensure everything was perfect. Now, watching Jill and Harriet bounce ideas off each other, she recognized the benefits in delegation. ‘Maybe this is why Matthew saw so much benefit to having me around.’ "That sounds perfect. I trust your judgment on this." The words felt foreign on her tongue, but also right. “Just make sure to show me when its done. So I can just see how it works.” Jill's eyebrows rose slightly, and Sarah wondered if her surprise at the delegation was that obvious. "We'll get it done," Jill said with a decisive nod. After they left, Sarah remained at her desk, gazing at the framed photo of the recreation center's groundbreaking ceremony. There she stood beside Matthew, both holding ceremonial shovels, her smile wide. Behind them, the beautiful marble cornerstone, reflecting the date of construction. "You can do this," she whispered to herself, straightening a stack of program proposals. The afternoon staff meeting went more smoothly than Sarah had expected. Seated at her desk, she found herself speaking with more authority than she had in previously. "The teen night basketball program is showing great attendance," she noted, reviewing the numbers. "Marcus suggested extending it by another hour. I guess we could do that….” The program coordinators exchanged glances, and Sarah braced herself for resistance. Budget constraints meant any time extension required shuffling resources. "We could adjust the adult class to start earlier," offered Emily, the fitness coordinator. Sarah felt a small thrill of accomplishment as they collectively worked through the logistics. A month ago, she would have agonized over such a decision for days, creating spreadsheets and contingency plans. Today, it took fifteen minutes of collaborative discussion. "Let's implement this next week and track the response," she concluded, making a note in her planner. "Good suggestion, everyone." By four o'clock, Sarah's neck ached from all the meetings that day. She checked the programming schedule - ‘More than enough time to join in on Emily’s offer to go to the Yoga class together.’ . In the staff locker room, she changed into leggings and a soft green top, catching her reflection in the mirror. The woman looking back seemed more confident than she felt. The yoga studio smelled of clean wood and incense. Sarah unrolled her mat near the back, watching other participants filter in. When Emily arrived, her blonde ponytail swinging, she immediately spotted Sarah and claimed the space beside her. "Fancy meeting the director herself at a common folks' yoga class," Emily teased, stretching her long limbs like a cat. Her athletic build made even simple movements look graceful. Sarah rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "The director needs to touch her toes without groaning, or she loses all credibility." The instructor, a cute woman with a gentle voice, guided them through a series of poses designed to release tension. As Sarah moved from downward dog to warrior pose, she felt the day's stress begin to melt away. Beside her, Emily executed each position with precision. "Remember to breathe," the instructor called softly. "Each breath creates space for something new." Sarah found herself holding onto that thought as they transitioned into another pose. Perhaps that's what she was doing with the center—breathing life into it, creating space for new possibilities. The metaphor felt right. After class, Emily and Sarah lingered in the hallway, water bottles in hand and yoga mats tucked under their arms. "You so zen today," Emily observed, leaning against the wall. "Usually you're mentally reviewing to-do lists during class." Sarah laughed. "I'm trying this radical new approach called 'delegation.' Apparently, other people can do things too, and sometimes even better than I can." "Revolutionary concept," Emily deadpanned. "Next you'll tell me you took lunch without answering emails." "Let's not get crazy," Sarah replied, but she felt a lightness that had been absent in recent weeks. "How's the sports marketing world treating you? Emily launched into a story about a difficult client, her hands gesturing animatedly as they walked toward the locker room. Sarah found herself laughing genuinely, appreciating this slice of normalcy amid the chaos of establishing the center. "We should do dinner soon," Emily said as they parted ways in the parking lot. "A real dinner, not just protein bars inhaled between meetings." "Deal," Sarah agreed. "I'll even turn my phone off. Maybe." Emily's mock gasp of shock carried across the parking lot. "She jokes! The world truly is changing!" Sarah’s phone buzzed with a text from Matthew: "Made dinner. Ralph says hi." Sarah smiled at the message, picturing Matthew and Ralph in their kitchen. Despite the long day, she felt a rush of appreciation for this life they were building in Sunnydale—her growing confidence at work, their cozy home, and tonight, a special meal at home. As she pulled into their driveway, the scent of herbs and roasting fish greeted her even before she opened the door. Home, she thought with simple contentment. The perfect end to a surprisingly good day. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The next day, Sarah found herself some free time, her recent attempts at delegation clearing some space in her calendar. So there she was, at the edge of the indoor pool. Around her, three toddlers clutched bright foam noodles, their small faces a mixture of excitement and apprehension. "Remember what we practiced last time?" one of the instructors asked, kneeling down to eye level with a curly-haired girl in a polka-dot swimsuit. The child nodded solemnly, her grip tightening on the foam noodle. "Great! Let's show everyone our super-special kicking, Hannah." The instructor demonstrated the motion on dry land, exaggerating the splash. "Kick-kick-kick like you're squishing grapes with your toes!" Hannah giggled, and the two boys beside her immediately began stomping their feet on the wet tile, sending small splashes in all directions. "Whoa there!" Sarah laughed, gently guiding them toward the pool steps. "Let's save that energy for the water." From the deeper end of the pool, Marcus supervised the older children, his red shorts bright against the blue water. Sarah watched him demonstrate a backstroke, his movements precise and encouraging. For someone who claimed to be directionless in his own life, he showed remarkable focus when teaching. "Ms. Baker!" Hannah called, now sitting on the second step, water up to her waist. "Look at my kicks!" "Good job, Hannah!" Sarah praised, turning her attention back to her little group. She helped each child practice floating with their noodles, offering constant encouragement. "That's it! You're doing so well!" Across the center, Matthew was just finishing his second cup of coffee. Children's voices echoed from the gymnasium as he stepped into the hall out from his office. Matthew nodded to a few familiar faces as he made his way to the art room, feeling perfectly normal. After concluding that it must have just been his mind playing tricks on him, Matthew decided to go back to doing what he had the week prior - attending programming, and supporting Sarah in any way he could. ‘Its Tuesday. Last week I went to art class. Let’s go check that out again,’ Matthew thought to himself. He had started working on some pottery the week prior. Why not see how that was going? Matthew made his way back toward the art room, The smell of clay and paint filled his senses as he approached. Through the big window outside the room, Matthew spotted the mosaic that had caught his attention the week prior. Whoever had made it had continued on their progress. ‘It looks good,’ Matthew thought, as he waved into the classroom. A few kids smiled back at him, but turned back to their projects, molding and sculpting their clay projects. Matthew stood, just watching for a while, before deciding to join. Pushing the doors to the art room open, Matthew’s eyes moved side to side, its large tables scattered with works in progress. Suddenly, everything in the room seemed bigger, but it was probably just being closer to the tables, Matthew decided. Matthew found an empty seat between two middle schoolers that he recognized from the week prior. The girl crafting a delicate vase while the boy struggling to center his clay on the wheel. "Welcome back!" the instructor called, handing Matthew an apron. “If you need help tying it in the back, don’t be shy to ask!” "Oh….uh…..thanks?" Matthew replied with a self-deprecating smile, tying the apron around his waist. Event though the knot was not as easy as he thought it would be, he certainly didn’t need help from another adult. "Everyone starts somewhere," she said kindly. "We're continuing to make our bowls today. I’ll go get your clay you worked on last time. Its Matthew, right?" Matthew looked back at the instructor with bewilderment, but all he managed to do was nod. Before he knew it, Matthew felt the cool, damp clay between his fingers. He was enjoying how it responded as he shaped it on the wheel. His first attempt collapsed spectacularly, drawing sympathetic laughter from his neighbors. But he laughed too. The middle-school boy beside him—Kevin, according to the nametag stuck to his shirt—wasn't doing much better. "This is harder than it looks on YouTube," Kevin muttered, wiping clay-covered hands on his already-stained apron. "Tell me about it," Matthew agreed, rewetting his clay for another attempt. By the third attempt, Matthew had produced something vaguely bowl-shaped, with walls that were mostly even. The instructor circled the room, offering guidance and taking occasional photos for the center's social media. "Let me get one of our struggling artists," she said cheerfully, holding up her phone to capture Matthew and Kevin at their wheels. Matthew smiled automatically, then returned to carefully smoothing the rim of his creation. A few minutes later, the instructor returned, phone in hand. "Want to see? You two look like you're having fun, despite the clay casualties." She held out her phone, displaying the photo she'd just taken. Matthew glanced at the screen and froze. There he was—except it wasn't him, not as he knew himself. Instead of his normal self, an eleven-year-old boy sat at the wheel, skinny arms covered in clay up to the elbows, a serious expression of concentration on his young face. Beside him, Kevin looked normal, unchanged. "That's—" Matthew's voice caught. He blinked hard, but the image remained unchanged. "That's a great shot," he finished lamely, heart hammering in his chest. A cold sweat began to spill down his head. He felt the panic coming on, and there was nothing that he could do. He felt frozen. ‘I tho…….thought…….’ Matthew couldn’t explain it. Why now? Why didn’t it happen when he went to the music room? What was it? Why now? Why at all?"‘ Matthew asked the last question - the only question that really mattered, over and over again too himself. The instructor smiled and moved on to the next table, leaving Matthew staring after her, clay forgotten on his wheel. It was happening again. But this time, he wasn't just seeing himself younger in a mirror—someone else was seeing it too, capturing it on camera. Which meant either they were both hallucinating, or something genuinely impossible was occurring. "I need to..." he muttered, standing abruptly. "Bathroom. Sorry." He hurried from the room, not even remembering to leave his apron behind. Instead of heading to the bathroom, though, he made straight for his office, closing the door behind him with shaking hands. "What is happening?" he whispered to the empty room, running his fingers through his hair and leaving traces of clay. His computer sat on the desk, its screen dark and reflective. Matthew leaned forward, studying his reflection with trepidation. But the face looking back was his own familiar thirty-something face - this time wearing an adult-sized fitting apron. He pulled out his phone and checked that reflection too. Normal. Adult Matthew. Albeit looking panicked. "I'm losing my mind," he muttered, pacing the small office. "Or..." But he couldn't form an alternative explanation. What could possibly cause him to appear younger in specific circumstances, only to revert to normal minutes later? Matthew sank into his chair, his mind racing through possibilities, each more outlandish than the last. Stress-induced hallucinations? Some bizarre technology embedded in the recreation center? A brain tumor affecting his perception? None of them explained why the instructor had seen it too, captured it in a photograph. He opened his laptop and created a new document, titled simply "Incidents." With methodical precision born from years of data analysis, he began logging what he knew: Monday: Appeared as young teen in bathroom mirror after music class Tuesday: No incidents. Returned to music room. No transformation. Touched instruments, sat at piano. Nothing. Wednesday: Went to Art room. Appeared as child. Approximately age 11. Possibly. Noticed in photograph taken during art class. Others do not perceive issue. As he stared at the sparse list, Matthew felt terrified. Whatever was happening seemed tied to the recreation center. And he was determined to figure out why. __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Sarah and Dr. Patel sat cady corner from each other in the recreation center's glass-walled conference room. Sarah poured coffee from a carafe into two ceramic mugs, the rich aroma of the beans filling her nostrils as the steam erupted form the mugs. She slid one mug across to Dr. Patel before unfolding a color-coded folder containing her proposal. "Thanks for making time this morning, Natasha," Sarah said, doing her best to suppress her own nerves. "I've been thinking about expanding our community health initiatives." Dr. Patel nodded, her neat bun remaining perfectly still as she reached for her coffee. "Your email mentioned a fertility support program? It’s something our practice has thought about doing with the community for a long time." Her voice carried the precise enunciation of someone who had worked hard to eliminate an accent, though a hint of it remained. "I’m so glad! I sort of see these sessions as blending medical insight with peer counseling," Sarah explained, turning the proposal so Dr. Patel could see it. "Many women in Sunnydale and in the area are trying to conceive, but the nearest support group is forty minutes away." Dr. Patel skimmed the document, her dark eyes moving methodically across the page. "The medical information component is crucial," Dr. Patel said, tapping a manicured finger on one section. "So many women receive misinformation from well-meaning friends or, worse, internet forums." Dr. Patel looked up, her expression softening slightly. "Accurate information can really help reduce stress levels. Which, medically speaking,” she continued, “is one of the biggest impediments.” Sarah smiled. "That's exactly why we need your expertise. I can handle the logistics and help provide a peer support structure, but we really need someone who has the medical knowledge. And of course, you should talk about your practice and provide business cards," Sarah went on, recalling that this could really be a ‘win-win’ for everyone. They spent the next twenty minutes refining the proposal, Dr. Patel suggesting schedule adjustments based on her understanding of when women undergoing or interested in fertility treatments might be most available. "We could use the smaller activity room on Tuesday evenings," Sarah suggested. "It's warm, private, and already has comfortable seating. If we get more people than expected, we could always move into this conference room.” Dr. Patel nodded approvingly. "Perfect. And regarding your question about age ranges—" she paused, consulting her tablet, "—the demographic most actively seeking fertility support in this county is women between 32 and 41, though we should certainly not exclude younger or older participants." Sarah made a note, appreciating Dr. Patel's thoroughness. Despite her sometimes clinical approach, Sarah could tell that Dr. Patel had a soft side to her as well. ‘She probably serves as a therapist half the time anyway.’ "I think we have the framework for something special here," Sarah said, gathering her notes. "Something that could really help women who feel isolated during their fertility journey. I know I’ve been there myself,” Sarah added. She had already discussed her personal situation with Dr. Patel. Dr. Patel's reserve softened momentarily. "It's a great project, Sarah. I've seen too many patients struggle alone." She hesitated, then added more quietly, "The medical aspects of fertility are challenging enough without adding emotional isolation." Sarah nodded. "We'll make this happen," she promised instead. "First session next week?" Matthew, meanwhile, had moved forward conducting his own investigation. After the prior day's incident in the art room, he'd developed a methodical approach to understanding whatever was happening to him. Matthew returned to the art room first, where an adult watercolor class was in progress. The instructor—different from yesterday's—welcomed him warmly. "Welcome! Would you like to give it a chance?" she asked, before he kindly declined a set of paints. "Just getting a feel for the class," Matthew replied, taking a seat at the back of the room. He spent thirty minutes watching the participants, mostly retirees, dabbing colors onto wet paper. Occasionally, he checked his reflection in his phone's camera or glanced at the classroom's small mirror used for self-portraits. Nothing changed. He remained firmly himself. “Actually, I’ll take you up on that offer,” Matthew said to the instructor, who kindly smiled to hide her frustration at his indifference. Matthew proceeded to sit down and begin painting nonsense, unconcerned that his project looked terrible. ‘Let’s check again,’ he said, slipping his phone out and using the camera to again look at his reflection". He was surprised to be unsurprised. “Dang. Nothing,” he said aloud, seeing only his normal reflection. When he left the room, Matthew checked again in the hallway mirror. Still normal. ‘This just doesn’t make sense,” he thought. "Theory one: not all classes trigger it," he muttered to himself, making mental notes for his growing document. ‘But which ones do?’ he was left asking. Matthew consulted the recreation center's schedule on his phone, scanning for activities that might replicate the conditions of his previous experiences. The music room was hosting a preschool rhythm class—’maybe let’s give that a shot.’ Matthew walked with haste toward the music room - another place he recalled the change occurring. As he made his way down the hall, the sounds of, well less than rhythmic sounds, coming from the room, forcing a smile on to his face. As Matthew pressed his hand against the door handle, he couldn’t help but pause: the kids were having so much fun. It was organized chaos, not a care in the world for following any sequence or care. He couldn’t remember the last time he had ever experienced such freedom. As he was about to push himself into the room, he thought twice about it. ‘I’d hate to interrupt their fun,’ he decided, pulling his phone out again and releasing the door. 'The gymnasium has an adult volleyball and teen basketball thing going on.’ With that, Matthew turned around and headed to the gym instead. Basketball. Active, group-based, with teenagers. It fit the pattern of environments where he'd experienced changes. He changed into workout clothes in the locker room, carefully avoiding looking in the mirrors. If his theory was correct, he should expect some change. Matthew walked into the gymnasium, entering on the volleyball side before crossing over to the side the teens were playing. Marcus was organizing teams - ‘just like last week’ - his lifeguard whistle hanging around his neck and a basketball tucked under one arm. He raised an eyebrow when he spotted Matthew. "Mr. Baker! Didn't expect to see you here." His tone was friendly but curious. Matthew shrugged casually. "Thought I'd get some exercise. That okay?" "Uhmmmm. We’re actually kind of set on teams. But you’re free to watch, if you want?” Matthew nodded, and made his way to where the substitute players were sitting. While the game started, Matthew slipped his phone out of his pocket again - ‘Still no change.’ Matthew noted it for his records. The game moved at a frantic pace, the teenagers darting across the court with boundless energy. Matthew found himself distracted, trying again to sort out why the changes weren’t happening. ‘Is it because I’m trying to initiate them?’ The thought sounded crazy, but then again, the entire concept that he was changing into past versions of himself was even crazier, and here he was testing it. As the teens filed out, Marcus approached, spinning a ball on his finger. "If you come a bit earlier tomorrow, maybe we can get you in. Sorry about that." "Thanks," Matthew replied, genuinely pleased by the invitation. "I might take you up on that." Matthew quickly changed, then headed straight to his office, locking the door behind him. He opened his laptop and updated his document, adding the new incident: Thursday: No change in appearance. Test again tomorrow. He stared at the growing list, a theory forming in his mind. But that’s all it was. "It's the activities," he murmured, tapping his fingers on the desk. "Something about immersing in them. But then…basketball didn’t do anything. Maybe it was because I didn’t play…” Matthew created a new section in his document titled "Theory" and began to type: Hypothesis: Participation in activities at the recreation center temporarily alters my perceived age to match the target demographic of the activity. Effect appears in reflections and photographs, duration unknown. Not all activities cause changes. Next steps: Test theory with different age groups. Determine if others can consistently see the change or if it's primarily self-perception. He sat back, both troubled and intrigued by his findings. Part of him wondered if he should tell Sarah, but what would he say? "Honey, I think I'm temporarily aging backward in specific circumstances at the center you've worked so hard to create"? No, he needed more data first. More controlled experiments. And perhaps, though he hardly admitted it to himself, more experiences of that curious lightness he felt in his younger forms were tempting. Matthew was left asking himself, was he seeking out answers to what was happening to him, or was he seeking to experience the changes and what they brought with them.  

After Kim had collected herself she started to get to work, she threw away the full dirty diaper and took out some baby wipes and hesitantly at first started wiping Kayla's rear end like a baby, she even lifted up the girls legs. After Kayla's bottom was cleaned Kim cleaned her privates, "geez dude your even hairless down there."  Kim mentioned, but as she was wiping her friend down she then heard a few light moans, quickly glancing at Taylor's face Kayla stopped wiping and said, "what the fuck are you actually getting pleasure out of this?"

Evelyn lost her little girl as Moonlight Sonata played in the background, when Valeria asked her question Evelyn said, "well that's a placement test sweetie it basically tells what school grade you are in." Evelyn then told her daughter to tip her head back a bit as she lathered her hands up with shampoo and massaged her daughter's scalp.