Personalias

Chapter 95: Wet Dream “Ready Mr. Gibson?” Cassie leaned into me and nuzzled my neck, giving me gentle kisses at first and then increasingly not so gentle nibbles on my neck. If we stayed still there much longer I was going to ruin her mother’s wedding dress right there in the Misty Brook parking lot in front of every single onlooker and well wisher. “Ready Mrs. Gibson.” Damn it felt good to say that. I picked her up, and held my breath so that no one could hear the slight strain I was under. I exhaled through my nostrils and kicked the door in. Hoots, hollers, and applause rained out to our ears while I turned sideways and shuffled through the doorway of the empty Braun Family Trailer. Carrying has a special significance in the Little community. We get picked up and manhandled all the time. So the post wedding reception ritual depicted in far too many movies and television show had an extra level of significance. Cassie was showing me how much she trusted me. Me? I’d never felt bigger in my life, in more ways than one. My bride reached out and closed the door behind us. My knees started to shake, my arms would have ached save for the adrenaline. I’d never been an athlete and an adult Little wasn’t an easy burden to carry. Cassie practically latching her face onto mine gave me strength. She grabbed the back of my head and pulled at my hair and shoved her tongue into my mouth, moaning and saying my name in between gasps for ears. I leaned against the door and let her, trying to awkwardly hold her and grope her at the same time. Like so many newlyweds, I imagine we looked awkward as anything. We weren’t completely inexperienced with each other, but in the throes and excitement of the moment, what little technique we’d developed was thrown out the window. The ‘house’ was ours for the night. My parents had booked a trustworthy hotel in Elizabeton, the next city over from Oakshire. My new in-laws had ceded us their space as a type of wedding present and were couch surfing with neighbors. We’d talk of honeymoon and housing plans with each other and our folks tomorrow afternoon. Cassie and I were already eyeing a house in Oakshire proper and had a plan to make it work. Imagine us: real homeowners among the big folk instead of living out of modified trailers or hiding in gated communities: A dream come true for both of us. That was for tomorrow, though. Right now, we had other more immediate plans. Cassie and I were going to do so many things in so many rooms that we would never, ever tell anyone about, and would snicker about privately to each other whenever Bert sat down on the old loveseat in front of the television. While I sunk to the floor with my bride leaning into me and over me so that she was pinning me down, no thoughts came to me save one: This was a dream. Just a dream. In the real world I was on my back, sleeping fitfully with a diaper spreading my legs apart, and my entire body save for my head and hands was encased in cotton that kept me warm to the point where I’d wake some nights in a sweat with the sheets kicked off. I had no hope of taking the jammies off. The snaps were too strong for Little fingers to affect. Same with the diaper and the tapes. To get naked without assistance would require a box cutter at the very least. This really happened, though. This was a memory dream of a happier time that I sorely needed. The flash of lucidity was sudden, instantaneous, and did nothing to dissuade me from indulging in my own past. Shirt buttons went flipping end over end as Cassie ripped open my dress shirt. She straddled my hips and started grinding on me. I thrust up and thrilled at her soft moan. My new wife slid off and started giving hurried, frenzied kisses to my chest. I yelped when she tried out sucking on my nipple. That might be something we’d work on or fade out in the future. I reached for the top of her head and started pushing her down towards waist. Physics and leverage made it impossible for me to actually enforce it. Cassie took the hint and climbed off me just enough so that she could get at my pants. There’s lots of different type of sex. There’s makeup sex, and breakup sex, and boredom sex, and apology sex, and of course good old fashioned love making among so many others. So much of the act is in the motivations, mental states, and emotions of the participants. The positions, pacing, participants, and implements all add to and modify the levels of physical stimulation, but it’s what’s going on between the ears of the people engaged that make the act something special. Sex is like cooking in a way. Skill, equipment, and materials all play a factor, but the source and intent behind the meal should never be discounted. It’s why runny eggs on Mother’s Day or an overdone steak on a wedding anniversary can still be eaten with gusto because of the person serving it. That night, neither of us was objectively any good at sex, but we were horny out of our minds and completely selfishly stupidly devoted to each other as a single being; our identities inelably intertwined as of that night. Then and now and forever. Cassie started loosening my belt and unbuttoning my pants. I propped myself up and watched her fiddle, her fingers made stupid with desire. I stared, transfixed, at her cleavage inside the wedding dress her mother had given to her and imagined. Oh the things I wanted to do to her in that dress before doing even things to her out of that dress. Neither of us would sleep till dawn. “Here,” I said, unbuckling my belt for her. “Let me help.” Instead of thanking me, she gripped my member through the pants as hard as she could. “I want you inside of me.” I watched her reach under the hem of her pristine white dress and heard the fabric scream out and tear as she ripped her delicate, thin panties off. “Now,” she panted. “Please.” I pushed her back and rolled forward on top of her, gripping and grabbing at her chest, dry humping her. If I came, I came. I was young and virile and only a drink of water and three minutes away from another round. Fuck it. Chances were I wasn’t going to get the security deposit back anyways. “Take me,” she begged. “Get inside me! Please!” Save perhaps ‘don’t stop,’ and ‘let’s do it in the master bed,’ I wouldn’t make my dear wife beg again that night. Her legs spread open for me. Down on my knees I pulled my pants all the way down. I hadn’t bothered to wear underwear that night for this very reason. Still on the floor, I grabbed her by the legs and pulled her up to me. I leaned forward, entered her and felt…nothing. “Huh?” Cassie opened her eyes, and stopped moaning. She seemed confused. “Something wrong?” “Am I…am I in?” I grinded and thrust my hips, but none of the soft warm wetness or pressure or stimulation of penetration occurred. Was I humping the inside of her dress on accident? “I…I don’t know…?” She said. “I thought so?” Cassie scooted back on her elbows, her eyebrows knitted in consternation. This wasn’t our first time. “Clark!” she gasped. “What are you wearing?!” I looked down at my dick and didn’t see it. This was a dream, I knew. A nightmare. It was the only way to explain why I was wearing a Monkeez on my wedding night. “No,” I whispered. “No, no, no, no.” A piercing, terrified shriek vibrated the past. The memory of my wife hiked her own dress up. Tears dripped down her face and snot bubbles inflated from out of her nostrils. The difference between her diaper and mine? Mine was still dry. “Clark! What’s happening?” It hadn’t happened this way. Not at all. This was a dream. I was lucid. I could do anything I wanted. Then why couldn’t I take the damn diaper off?! My fingers gripped uselessly on the very edge of the tapes, picking and pulling at them, but the crinkling underwear might as well have been welded shut. “Clark!” Cassie screamed. “I love you!” We were no longer in her parents’ trailer. We were nowhere, two Littles in a vast empty blackness. The darkness slithered up around my wife’s waist and lifted her up off the ground. “No!” she screamed so that her voice rattled all the way into the back of her throat. “No! I’m not a baby! I’m not!” I laid there in the nothingness, helplessly trying to get the diaper off. I had to do this first. I couldn’t save Cassie, I couldn’t save anyone if I didn’t get the diaper off first. Babies couldn’t help anyone, and I had to save my wife. Cassie started getting farther and farther away from me. I didn’t know what giant had snatched her up and taken her away from me. I didn’t know where she was. “Claaaaaaaaark!” I tilted my head to the colorless non-sky and begged whatever part of my brain was putting me through this as though it were some sort of angry god. “Please!” I shouted. “Stop it! Just stop it!” No answer but the crinkling in my ears came in reply. I started begging and bargaining with my own subconscious. “Bring her back! Please! Just let me have this!” I didn’t cry, but that might have been because my brain couldn’t fully simulate the effect and feeling on its own. “Just this one thing! Let me keep this one thing!” “Awwww,” Janet’s voice intruded as a booming serenade. “Poor baby is sad. He’s got some big feelings, doesn’t he?” Every single syllable was overloaded with syrupy sweetness. I could never remember Janet talking to me quite so condescendingly. It wasn’t Janet’s voice. Not really. It was a gross parody of her; her at her worst, most baby crazy self; the terrible urge inside her that all Amazons struggled with and ultimately lost to. The inky blackness parted like a show curtain, and the image of Janet, still naked, strode forth; no longer panicked or uncomfortable; the beads of water and the pinkness of her skin from exposure to boiling water had been edited out. “It’s okay, baby boy. Mommy’s here. Mommy won’t leave you. Mommy won’t burn down your house and get herself taken away before you can say goodbye. Mommy loves you.” I wanted to curse out this obscene construct. I opened my mouth to tell her to fuck right off and express how much I hated her. Yet when I opened my mouth, no sound came out. I couldn’t even tell her what I really thought of her in the refuge of my mind anymore. Even in my dreams I crinkled and waddled and toddled. Janet picked me up and cradled me. The clothes I’d worn on my wedding night melted away. The diaper stayed on. “Why?!” I screamed. “Why?!” Her hand squeezed the front of my padding. “Still dry!” she declared. “Maybe baby Clark is dehydrated?” Another symptom of the real world bled into my dreaming mind. I had to pee. My bladder ached and screamed at me like I had been holding it forever. Sleep was still one of the few times my bladder held up on its own, but I was waking up more times in a night. Like any muscle, being used less was reducing the threshold. Sleeping through the night was gradually becoming one to two to sometimes three humiliating pit stops. Quietly, I prayed to myself that it would happen now. She squeezed me again. “Uh oh…I think I know what’s wrong.” The bulge protruding out in front of me wasn’t entirely padding. “It’s okay,” dream Janet said. She tapped the very tip of my nose. “Mrs. B says it’s perfectly natural and Mommy can help you with both.” The Amazon’s face left my field of view, and her breast filled up my entire vision. “No…” I whispered. “Please…” My limbs wouldn’t move. I could barely turn my head away. I felt her nipple brush against my cheek. Knowing no other apt comparison, my dream made it feel like the rubber teat of a baby bottle. Against my will, my head turned towards the source. My mouth opened up to scream, and instead I latched onto Janet’s breast. Not knowing what breast milk tasted like, my tongue pretended to taste fatty creamy goat’s milk gushing forth. “Good baby.” I woke up in my crib. No scream. No tears. No dramatic gasping breaths. My eyes were closed; then open. My temples throbbed and I remembered to exhale. My eyes cleared and the faint nursery night light brought the terrible silhouettes into full view. I didn’t sit up. I just breathed and shivered beneath the covers. I would not cry out. I would give Janet no reason to suspect that I’d woken up, or see me in distress. Yet I could not sleep. I feared what would happen if I closed my eyes, and what I might dream of. Waking up from a nightmare was no guarantee that my brain wouldn’t just pick up where it left off the second sleep overtook me. Nightmares could be like that. So could subliminal messaging leaked in through supposed baby monitors… Also, I really did have to pee. My bladder was full and my dick was rock hard as a result. That explained something. Neither condition was particularly comfortable, so I decided to solve one problem with another. My hands moved away from my crotch. Feeling my diaper warm up from the outside would just weird me out further. I gave myself a test squeeze to confirm I was still dry and noted that I was. Thank goodness I still had that going for me. I counted to a hundred, trying to appreciate the feeling of a full bladder and dry pants. I also hoped in vain that counting might help me fall asleep, or distract myself enough that my erection would fade. My nostrils flared and my bladder relaxed, singing in pleasure as I bathed myself in my own fluids. I took deep slow breaths while what felt like a never ending stream splashed against my hairless skin and was absorbed by thirsty padding. Being able to piss while lying down was a strange skillset I’d acquired. Most worrisome, but it felt more comfortable than standing and gripping the crib’s railing. The warmth radiated around my nethers and I repositioned my hands to inspect the damage. The diaper was already starting to swell, but too much experience told me that it still had a way to go before it was anywhere close to leaking. Stupidly I bucked a little bit and felt my penis rub up against my hands. Now exhausted, I inhaled and closed my eyes. A nightmare was a nightmare, but there was relief in knowing you could wake up from it. So I breathed deep and counted to a hundred…and nothing about my erection changed. “Goddamn it,” I whispered to myself. “Goddamn mother fucker.” I gave myself flashbacks to when I’d first started going through puberty. There were days in my teens where it didn’t matter what I’d been through or what stressors I was under; if I didn’t get my rocks off I would start having withdrawal systems. My body and mind had scabbed over enough from the constant infantilization that such things were again possible. If I didn’t get some sleep, I’d be in an even worse mood all of Sunday. If I didn’t find a way to make myself cum I wasn’t going to go back to sleep. I spread my legs and wriggled under the sheets. The fleecy jammies weren’t particularly enticing to my fingertips, but the pressure and feeling from inside my diaper felt strangely familiar if I didn’t think about it. There were elements of pressure, and soft wet squishiness. My brain tried to keep reminding me of what it was, but my body didn’t mind so much. This could work, I lied to myself. This could be good enough for a quick jerk off. But I couldn’t get a firm grip on anything and my hands slid around too much. The fabric of the pajamas and the soft plastic of the Monkeez reduced friction in a bad way and the bulk of the padding muted most of the pleasurable sensations I was able to excite out of me. Every stroke sounded like I was opening up a bag of potato chips, however. Every time I tried to imagine Cassie on top of me, giving me the kind of love that I so desperately missed, I accidentally opened my eyes, afraid that a worried and concerned Janet would have rushed in at hearing mattress springs groan too loudly or more plastic rustling than was average for a Little rolling over in their sleep. I was frustrated and ready and desperate. I wasn’t even close to finishing. I wasn’t inside my wife. I wasn’t inside anyone. And I was still too inside my own head to let my body enjoy what tiny amount of stimulation I could evoke. My teeth gritted. This was worse than puberty. I wasn’t being actively observed when I was a teenager and if I was my parents were kind and embarrassed enough not to mention it. Janet wouldn’t give me the same courtesy. A stiffy in the shower nearly drove her into full overbearing Mommy mode. Hadn’t Beouf made an offhand comment in her talk the other night? Something about looking the other way occasionally for Billy and Annie’s sake? Could I trust Janet to take that bit as gospel? Ugh. Just thinking about it left a bad taste in my mouth. If I knew someone was listening in, even if we weren’t talking about it…ugh! This….this had to be secret! It just had to be! It had to! Lion was still by my head, holding vigil over my prone body. I hadn’t stirred enough to knock him over. Beouf had said something else during her sex talk: She lost more stuffies during naptime in her rookie year of teaching than she was comfortable admitting. It made sense in a perverse kind of way. A stuffed animal was something to grind and push against. It was something to muffle sounds, it had something resembling a body to grip and grab onto. Something that didn’t call out or moan. Something that a sex starved Little could close their eyes and pretend was someone else. Lion went sailing through the air, over the top of the crib railing, and tumbled quietly on the floor. “No,” I said to myself. “Never.” I wasn’t going to do that to him. “Never, never, never, never.” I was trapped in a world of giants who did whatever they wanted to me. That dumb toy was one of the few things that I was bigger than and had control over. “No.” Staring at the stupid useless piece of stuffing laying on the ground gave me the tiniest benefit. My erection was wilting away. Growling in disgust, I sat up, curling my lip and struggling inwardly about whether or not I should go back to sleep. A faint green dot caught my attention. Up over the edge of the crib railing, a tiny beam of emerald light no bigger than the twinkling of a distant star stood out. It was coming from the baby monitor. I knew my prison well by now. As many times as I had awoken in the middle of the night, as often as I’d stared up and whispered curses at that stupid box, I’d never seen that green light before. Ever. I froze and stared up at it. Angry. Vindicated. Justified. Outside my nursery…THE nursery…not mine….never mine…the hallway light clicked on. I laid back down on my stomach and turned my head away. I felt Janet’s presence moreso than I heard her footfalls or the opening of the door. The woman could be deceptively quiet when she chose to be. Thanks to the nightlight, I saw her shadow glide across the room over to the monitor. The tiny click of a button being pressed was crystal clear in the silence of the room. As stealthily as she had come in, my captor glided back out. When the door was open just a sliver, Janet tried her hand at one final subliminal message that night. “Good night, Clark. I love you.” “Good night Janet,” I whispered under my breath so only that only I could hear, “I hate you.”

Friends, Magic is real and all around us; we just fail to grasp it and take its powers for our own. Most hucksters and snake oil sorcerers would tell you this and add in the phrase “Believe it or Not!” But that particular colloquialism is one hell of a misnomer. You have to believe, friends, you have to. Belief is the thing that generates magic, that breathes life into it like air to a flame. Belief latches onto that power and Divine Spark of creation like a fishhook into a trout and reels it to the surface. You get enough people to believe something and all of reality will bend the knee and bow to that belief, instantly retconning itself because magic told it too. Do you really think that dragons never existed? Or that man was not meant to fly? Or that the United States of America was founded before 1958? If so, that’s just magic retconning your memory thanks to belief. For as long as mankind has been around, those who wield magic have been the editors of reality and by my count, we’re on at least the one thousandth and sixteenth draft, give or take a fairy tale. One thing I will add, however, is that the belief need not specifically come from you. Not initially anyways. Ever hear of magic artifacts? Monkey’s Paws? Four Leaf Clovers? Ginsu Knives? Chia Pets? If enough people believe something is magic- if they invest that little bit of their own tiny portion of belief into it-then it becomes magic regardless of the individual belief. A clover is lucky and a knife will never ever dull. You just gotta be careful of what the belief is and who uses it, is all… An excerpt from “Do You Believe in Magic? 2nd Edition” By Cornelius Crowley. **************************************************************************************************** Road trips are super boring. Always have been. Always will be. And you can’t convince me otherwise. Travel, in general, is super boring. You’re stuck in some kind of box, either by yourself or with other people, and you’re not where you want to be. It’s waiting and being mobile at the same time. Vacation? Moving? That’s exciting! New places, new diversions, new people, new everything! Traveling? Suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck! You can bet your ass that if the Pilgrims didn’t have to cram themselves in a big wooden boat to get to Plymouth Rock, they wouldn’t have. If traveling circuses and carnivals could get a reliable cash flow without going from town to town to milk their marks, you bet your ass they wouldn’t. Traveling sucks, road trips suck, and Nickelback sucks. That last example has nothing to do with the first two but it needed to be said. It just sucks. It’s always sucked and always will suck. It’s just as our trains, planes, and automobiles have gotten faster, we’ve gotten less tolerant of the suckitude of it all. It sucks even when you’re with the love of your life and she’s driving. “Almost there,” Crystal said. I stared at my Twitter feed, not reacting. We were nowhere near Disney World. We’d just crossed the state border not even an hour prior. With the detour we had to take and stops for dinner we probably wouldn’t be in Orlando until sunset. “Lola? Lola?” I looked up from my phone and over at my girlfriend. “Huh?” I asked. “I said we’re almost to the next rest stop,” she said. Her right leg was on the pedal, and her left one was bouncing up a storm. Most people would see that nervous energy on her slim, athletic build, and assume that she was a runner, antsy to stretch her legs or something. Nope. Crystal just had to pee. She wasn’t even all that athletic. My girlfriend had been blessed and cursed with many things; chief among them was a hummingbird’s metabolism. She could wolf down a whole cow’s worth of ground beef and not gain a pound. This was balanced out by also having a humming bird’s bladder. “Cool cool,” I said. I sat up and dug around for change in the passenger side armrest “Do we got any change?” Nothing but three measly pennies. I looked at the pastures and backwoods cowfields. “I bet vending machines don’t take credit cards here.” “I don’t think this stop will have a vending machine,” Crystal said. She pointed at the sign and turned onto the dirt road. “Gift shop, maybe.’ A thick wooden sign had the words “Ponce De Leon Wishing Well” carved in it. This is what happens when you realize that driving is still cheaper than taking a plane and an interstate pileup makes taking back roads more palatable. “”Oh hell,” I said. “Do you think I need to find some Confederate money?” Crystal tried to stop herself from laughing, and failed. “Lola! Stop! I’m gonna pee here in the car!” I stopped. That didn’t keep the smug shit eating grin off my face while we pulled into the parking lot next to what looked like nothing more than an old timey well and a stone hut of a visitor’s center. “I’m going to the bathroom,” Crystal said, turning the engine (and air conditioning) off. “You coming with?” “Naw,” I replied. “I’ll see if I can’t snag a bottle of Sprite or something. I’m kinda thirsty.” We got out and stretched our legs in the balmy southern heat. Both heading towards the lone standing structure. “This might be our last rest stop for the next couple of hours,” Crystal said. “You sure you don’t gotta go?” Inwardly I rolled my eyes. Just because I made Crystal ‘in charge’ of our travel plans, she was acting like she was my mom or something. I shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m good.” “What if you drink all that Sprite and have to go?” We made our way inside. “If I have to go,” I said, “then the bottle will be empty, won’t it?” “Ugh,” she groaned. “I’m dating a child! A literal child!” I giggled at my own cleverness, making sure she’d hear me all the way to the tiny unisex bathroom. Meanwhile, I bought my soda, (they did accept credit) and meandered to see what exactly at this place could possibly trap a tourist. The well, as it turned out, was it. Just the well. I took a sip of Sprite and stared down into the abyss. There wasn’t even a boundary keeping me from getting too close. No grate stopping someone from falling in, either. “Someone could really get hurt messing around with this thing,” I said to no one in particular. “...this thing….” Came my own voice back to me.. “How deep is this well?’ “It doesn’t say,” Crystal’s voice made me jump. “But it’s got a plaque.” Riveted to the side of the well was a bronze plate that read: “Dug by Spanish Explorers in 1600, this well was thought by Ponce De Leon to contain the water of the Fountain of Youth. Local legend has it that anyone who throws a penny down it will have their deepest wish granted should they but speak it.” “Whoah,” I whispered. “There’s a lot to unpack there.” Crystal took her phone out and googled something. “Yeah. Pretty sure Ponce De Leon died before 1600.” “And why would a magical Spanish wishing well accept American pennies?” I wondered. “Why would explorers dig a well?” Crystal added. “Nobody digs a well and just leaves. Shouldn’t it be colonists or settlers or something?” I nodded to her and shook my head at the well. “And is it the Fountain of Youth or a Wishing Well?” I let out a chuckle. “Pick a lane, guys.” “Maybe it’s both?” Crystal suggested. That got us both grinning at the absurdity. She elbowed me and pointed to the bare bar above the well where a rope would typically be wound up for a bucket to be lowered. “I bet it used to be a fountain, but then they lost the bucket.” I dug around in my pocket. “One way to find out,” I said. One at a time I tossed them in, waiting for the telltale plunk of them hitting water or the jingle of them hitting rock bottom. “Nothing?” Crystal asked. “Must be deep,” I said. “All the way to the fountain of youth.” I took my girlfriend’s hand and we started walking back to the car. “Should we go and tell them what’s wrong with their local legend?” “Nah,” Crystal replied. “Let the local yokels have their fun.” She nuzzled me and purred like a kitten. “You don’t wanna lose your three wishes do you?” I nibbled on her ear and parted so I could slide into the front passenger seat. “How good could a wish be if it only costs a penny?” We buckled up. Crystal’s Subaru backed out and then surged back down the dirt trail. “Only one way to find out,” she teased. “Fine,” I grinned. “I wish you got those curves May inherited from your Mom.” My girlfriend pretended to be offended. “Lola! Rude!” “What?” I teased. I had invoked both her mother and her little sister. Crystal had gotten her father’s body. “You told me you were jealous!” “I was drunk!” “Still counts, babe,” I winked. I reached out and petted her hair. “You know I love you and think you’re hot as hell, right?” Not that I’d ever admit it, but I’d been making eyes at May when we first met. Lucky timing and her boyfriend stopped me from striking out, so I hit on her big sister. I have a type, but Crystal isn’t unattractive, and natural chemistry goes a long way. The past year or so made me so glad that I hit on the big sister instead. “Well that’s one wish,” Crystal said after a slight pause. “You got two more. What are they?” “We’re still doing this?” I asked. We’d just turned back onto the paved road. “Unless you want me to turn on the radio or something.” Crystal reached for the dial like it was a threat. “No, no,” I said. “Just didn’t realize this was turning into some kinda thought experiment.” “We can always play I spy.” “No.” “Then wish, girl.” I inhaled. So we were playing this game. I liked games and thought experiments. There were no wrong answers, but it still felt like there were definitely ways to win or lose. “Freedom,” I said. “I want freedom.” “Pretty sure you already have that,” Crystal said. “Or close enough.” “Naw,” I said. “I want total freedom. Do what you want, when you want.” “So The Purge. You want the Purge.” I frowned. “Not like that. More like. I want as much freedom as humanly possible as can be handled. If I wanna walk around topless, I can. Or if we make out in the middle of a sidewalk, people will mind their own damn business. That kind of thing.” I was on a roll and knew it. “I want everybody to have that kind of freedom. I wish everybody got as much freedom and power as they can responsibly handle. No more or less.” “From each according to their ability to each according to their needs, eh comrade?” I folded my arms. Some people read a few articles on Marx and they think they know about communism. “When you put it that way…” I said. “Shut up.” “Is that a wish?” Crystal teased. “No,” I said, “I’m saving my last one for later.” “Laaaaame,” my girlfriend said. “You have to finish.” “They’re my fake ass wishes,” I said. I took a sip from my half empty bottle of Sprite. “I can do whatever I want with-” Time stopped. The Subaru wasn’t moving. The air conditioning had turned off. I wasn’t even breathing. I couldn’t feel my heartbeat or move my eyes. Only my consciousness kept going. There was no pain. If there had been, I wouldn’t have been able to scream anyways. My lungs weren’t contracting. The world was pulling away from me, the front seat getting further and further away. Dying? Was I dying? I didn’t know. I was helpless to do anything while I sank away from the world like it was quicksand. Falling. Falling. Falling. I was being yanked against my will, but the gravitational force was moving me backwards not downward. The world went black but only for a second. Suddenly, I was gazing at the back of the passenger seat, with my legs still partially inserted. Was I moving through things? Like a ghost? My peripheral vision expanded to see Crystal’s eyes from the rear view mirror. If my heart had been beating, it’d be close to exploding at that moment. Was I going to pass through into the trunk? Then out into the road? Then what? But no. My back touched something solid and soft. Something started hugging my chest. And just like that, I exhaled, and God pressed play on the world again. “Bah?!” I blinked and breathed and let out a surprised scream. ”AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” My heart and lungs started catching up to my brain and making up for lost time while my limbs spasmed in panic! What the fuck had happened?! I opened up my mouth to ask what was going on: ‘Why am I in the back seat?’ ‘Did you see that?’ ‘Are you okay?’ That sort of thing. What came out? “Blagabargag!” I looked down past my nose at my mouth the way I used to whenever I played a wrong note in marching band, as if it were the instrument’s fault. Huh? Okay. No big deal. Clearly I’d had so many questions overloading my brain that they all scrambled together at once and just came out. My brain registered my own bare legs and the feeling of something pressing against my chest so that I couldn’t learn forward more than an inch or so. What had happened to my pants? Why were my legs shaved? Was I in a roller coaster seat? How did a roller coaster seat get into our car? None of this, neither the questions popping into my brain at a mile a minute or the assumption that I’d just tripped over my own tongue was analysis. Analysis takes time. This was just pure justification; my mind racing and grasping at straws while other parts couldn’t help but keep taking in new data before the first set was fully processed. That’s why people see their lives flash before their eyes before they die. A panicked brain really can outpace the clock. In real time, it was maybe a second before I tried again, only to get another round of babbling, that time something like, “Gagagarobbububub!” I gasped. Oh fuck! Maybe my heart really had stopped! What if I was brain damaged or something?! Did I have a stroke? Had I lost time and years had gone by with me only now regaining a form of lucidity as my girlfriend was driving me out of whatever nursing home or therapy center years later? I wiggled my arms and legs around experimentally. It was easy enough. Vaguely, I registered the feeling of extra cushioning on my seat and the slightest crinkle when I moved. “Agah?” My eyes narrowed and I focused everything on my mouth. “Wwwwwwhaaaa?” It was like my speech centers were bogged down in pudding and I had to focus every spare thought on making my rubber lips cooperate. A pleasant wetness spread beneath me, warming and cupping my bottom and crotch. It was like I’d sat on a wet bench that hadn’t quite dried after a sun shower, except the wetness didn’t spread to my thighs. For the split second I was thinking about it, I lost focus and smiled slightly. I wriggled in my seat and a giggle spilled out of me after the babble. It tickled down there, but in a good way. “Finish your baba, Lolo,” Crystal said, sounding oddly calm considering that I’d pretty much teleported. “Baba?” That word came more naturally to me. I looked over and in my left hand where the Sprite Bottle had been was an honest to goodness baby bottle filled with an amber colored liquid. “That’s right,” Crystal repeated herself. “Make the juice-juice all gone.” New emotions flooded my brain. Crystal had told me to do something! She wanted me to make the juice-juice all gone! I had to! I had to in the same desperate way that a girl does whatever stupid thing to make another girl laugh just so she’ll like her and go out on a date. With almost no hesitation I put the rubber nipple to my lips and started to suck. My eyes widened after the first drops of juice hit my tongue. It was SO GOOD! Better than the finest wine! Better than the smoothest whiskey! I never got to sipping because my lips and tongue took over and I went to full-on gulping the stuff down, tilting my head back, pacing my breathing between swallows for maximum, practiced efficiency. “Good girl!” Mommy said. I kicked my feet and jiggled uncontrollably in my seat. Giggling even as I sucked. The praise from Crystal was like cocaine to my brain. Just the gleam in her eyes and the smile in her voice was enough to make me melt. Then I stopped. Mommy? Where had that thought come from? “That’s right, girly-girl,” Crystal praised. “Make the juice-juice alllll gone.” Girly-girl? That phrasing caught my attention. I wasn’t exactly a butch dyke with a buzz cut and Doc Martens, but I wouldn’t have described myself as particularly “girly”. I ripped the bottle from my lips and looked at myself. My legs were bare, but at the end of my feet were pink sneakers with velcro instead of shoelaces. My plain yellow t-shirt seemed to be intact, but it had decorative frills on the sleeves, which perfectly complemented the sudden frills on my matching colored socks. “Gah huh-maka?” It was the closest I could manage to ‘What the fuck?’. I hadn’t been wearing a denim jumper dress before but it was roughly the same material as my jeans had been. “All done yet?” Crystal asked. “Nope. Just a little bit more, Lolo.” Oh no! Not done yet! I popped the bottle back in and started sucking again. Had to finish! Had to finish for…Crystal! My…girlfriend. I felt a slight twinge in my bladder, but the moment I considered whether or not I had to pee, the feeling vanished. Coincidentally, a bit of warmth made itself known in my panties and a giggling moan escaped my lips for some reason, and I felt a bit of hair brush against my ears and tickle my cheeks. One hand still on the bottle I reached up and patted my head. My hand searched around and found two bushy pigtails, one on either side of my head. What was I, two? My eyes widened, and I gulped down the last of the juice-juice. In slow, gasping breaths, I looked down at the harness keeping me in the massive roller coaster seat. It connected just above my breasts and then ran all the way down to a buckle between my legs. I couldn’t get a good look at myself or see past the buckle very well, but I thought I saw the barest puffy hint poking out from underneath the denim dress. The extra cushion in my panties made a lot more sense, as did the slight crinkle. But… I still had my breasts and hips. My voice hadn’t changed or gotten any higher, and the world was the same size as it had been since my growth spurt ended. Yet for some reason I could barely talk, was drinking apple juice from an adult sized baby bottle (and loving it), was dressed like a toddler and sitting in a massive car seat. What the fuck was going on? Oh no! My brain caught up with the rest of me and as I dropped the bottle to the side, I reached down between my legs and grabbed the diaper-my diaper-and felt the wet squish beneath my fingers. I’d wet myself! I’d wet myself and giggled! I’d wet myself…and kind of liked it. “Ah-ah-ah Lola!” Crystal tutted. Her voice had an edge of seriousness to it. I yanked my hands up all the way to my breasts, trying to keep them away from my diaper and retract them back into myself at the same time. My cheeks flushed like I’d been caught playing with myself. Oh gosh! Why was THAT turning me on? Mommy kept driving and talking. “You know the rules, young lady. No humpies in the car. You’ll just end up breaking up all the padding and then leak when you pee-pee again. Wait till we get somewhere so Mommy can change you right after.” Just hearing Crystal talk about humpies was making me want to do it more. I whined like a puppy dog and jiggled in my seat, gasping as the wet padding grinded and rubbed up against my pussy, letting myself gasp and giggle. “Lola….” Mommy Crystal warned. I stopped and did my best to look embarrassed and ashamed. I wasn’t, though… WHAT WAS HAPPENING TO ME?! I should have been having a panic attack and trying to explain things, not acting like a toddlerized bimbo! I opened my mouth to talk, but not even babble came out; just the whining scream of a child who was angry they didn’t get their way. “WEHHHHH! WEH! WEH! WEH! Bluurgh!” I kicked and kicked and kicked the back of the empty seat in front of me. Hating it and loving it at the same time! Normally I’d have to be articulate or clever or have some kind of snappy one-liner if I was upset. Not in this fever dream I’d found myself living in. Something about screaming felt right. Felt normal. Same for trying to dry hump in a wet diaper. My body tried to lurch forward but was held in place by the baby seat’s harness. Crystal was pulling off to the side of the road. The idea of being spanked flashed across my brain, and my heart started to race in a bad way. Something in my brain signaled I’d pushed too far too fast. Crystal put the car in park, but didn’t cut the engine. Her arm dug around a bag in the front seat that hadn’t been there. I caught glimpses of pastel pink. Then she turned around and looked at me in the back seat. My jaw dropped. That wasn’t Crystal! Or it was, she still had the same eyes and voice, but her body had been completely transformed. Her breasts heaved out in her tank top, barely contained by her bra. Just leaning over I could see the curvature of her hips and tiny bit of tummy that stopped her from looking like a cartoon character. She looked like something of a cross between a slightly older version of her little sister and a much much younger version of her mother. “Mama?” A line of drool came out the corner of my mouth. “Suck on your binkie, baby girl,” she commanded, ignoring me and popping a pacifier in my mouth. I was helpless to obey and sucked on it. “Good girl.” We kept driving while my brain reeled from the simplest of pleasures: Sucking on a pacifier, endlessly. Hearing Mommy call me a “good girl”. Lightly rocking in my seat. Bouncing ever so much in my wet diaper. Marveling at Mommy’s body. It was all so completely overwhelming. If I hadn’t been restrained I might be rolling on the floor. I sat there, lost in my own little world while the car plowed ahead and eventually got back off the detour and onto the highway proper. Meanwhile, in the back of my mind I managed to keep questioning and wondering through the bouts of sensory overload. Why was I dressed and acting like a baby? Why was it overwhelming me? Why didn’t Mommy think this was strange and why did she look so…so…different? I was desperate to know. I wished… Wish… ‘I wish you got those curves May inherited from your Mom.’ That had happened! Crystal’s body had literally changed into what she would have looked like if her genes had been slightly tweaked around puberty. My own words came back to haunt me. ‘I wish everybody got as much freedom and power as they can responsibly handle. No more or less.’ No, that couldn’t be. How could this be freedom? I didn’t have the bladder control to make it to the potty on time, I could barely move and I was dining on fake nipples. Why, though? Why? ‘And is it the Fountain of Youth or a Wishing Well?’ Both. It was both. And I hated it and was loving it simultaneously. I turned my head to the side and was just barely able to see past the massive headrest that doubled as blinders. “Ga ma blurg?” Just barely pulling ahead of us on the highway, a big red minivan with untinted windows was crawling steadily by us. In the backseat, same as me, I could make out another car seat with another baby in it. And that baby was just as big as me. Another trickle entered my diaper. I’d unselfishly wished this on everyone… not just me. All around the world, there must have been some magical force going around and deciding who could handle adulthood and how much they could handle. Evidently I wasn’t the only one who needed babas and binkies past two. I sucked harder on the paci, drawing calm from it and wondering half-drunk. How fast was this happening? Was it a fifty fifty split? Would everyone now be magically divided up into Mommy or Daddy and big baby? How was this freedom? I kicked and fussed impotently in my seat, wanting so many things that I couldn’t have. Freedom. Normalcy. Food. Humpies… I slammed my eyes shut and let the pacifier fall from my mouth. Just doing that made me feel like I’d chopped off a limb or something. I bit down on my lower limp and did everything I could to force my mouth to obey my commands. “I…wwwwiiiish…” Mommy glanced at the clock. “I think we should get something to eat. It’s about that time.” “Blah?” My mouth went haywire at hearing her voice and the sharp exit back off the highway. Less than a minute later, we were in the parking lot of a nearby restaurant. I saw other people getting out of their cars and walking past ours. An older woman made eye contact with me and waved, smiling. Oh no! I was seen! My face flushed, and, instinctively, I buried my face in my hands. It was stupid, I realized, but not being able to see made me feel calmer. Almost as calm as when I was sucking my pacifier. I heard the car door open. “Awwww,” I heard Mommy coo at me. “Somebody wants to play peekaboo! Two powerful hands tore my palms off my face. “Peekaboo!” Instant comical hilarity invaded my brain looking at Mommy’s face. “HAWWWW!’ I covered my face, pretending that I was somehow invisible. “OH NOOOO,” Mommy called back in a theatrical falsetto of panic. “WHERE’D MY LOLO GO? HAS SOMEBODY SEEN MY LOLO? WHERE’S MY BABY GIRL?” Her hands busied themselves unbuckling me from the massive car seat, and then teased and tickled at my sides. I let out muffled giggles, trying to hold my breath. Gingerly, I peeked out from behind my hands. “THERE SHE IS! THERE’S MY BABY GIRL!” In an instant, I was laughing and up on her hip, my legs wrapped around her shapely waist to stop from falling; her arm beneath me supporting my weight as if I were little more than a feather. Damn, but it felt good to laugh in a non-cynical way. It felt good to be silly. I hugged Mommy tight and started planting wet sloppy kisses all over her face. “Someone’s feeling very affectionate!” she laughed. Not thinking, I grabbed and groped at her chest. “Hungry, too.” She peeled my hands off of her and squeezed my bottom. “And wet.” At feeling her touch me back, I let out a low moan and my eyes rolled back in their sockets. So good! For an instant, the sound of car engines ceased to matter. People were watching us grope each other and no one cared; certainly not me. We started moving but the journey wasn’t far. Mommy popped open the hatchback and laid me down inside with my legs dangling out past the knee caps. “Mama?” “Let’s take care of that wet bottom first,” she declared, hitching up the skirt and laying down the pink diaper bag she’d already fetched from the front passenger seat. Modesty overcame me, and I struggled to work my mouth in time. “Nnnnnn-!” SCRITCH-SCRITCH The velcro tabs on my diaper came loose, and I was paralyzed by shock. I didn’t dare move as the fresh air gusted over my privates and Mommy started wiping me down between my legs. “Such a wet, wet little girl!” she teased. “Yes you are! Yes you are! That apple juice went right through you! No wonder you wanted to make humpies so bad! If I was a little girl like you and got that wet, I’d want to make humpies too!’ My skin heated up into a full body blush while she cleaned me and lifted my legs to wipe my bottom and slip out the diaper from beneath me. She was talking to me like I was a simpleton, and it was loud enough for anyone passing by to hear. And people were passing by! I saw shadows and outlines passing over Mommy’s shoulders, heard footsteps and voices of nearby conversations and babbling and the sounds of stroller wheels rolling on the concrete. All of them could see me, too! All it would take was a turned head to see my legs up in the air and Mommy going to town with baby powder. All it would take is the slightest pause in conversation to hear my girlfriend turned caregiver talking about me peeing myself and wanting to hump things as if it were perfectly natural and mundane. In a way, part of me realized, it might be. Maybe not “natural’ but the wish might make it seem mundane. I let out a sigh of relief when the fresh diaper was taped up around my hips, feeling oddly comfortable. Cleansed, powdered, and refreshed, it was like a mini spa in my panties. I wiggled my butt and grinned to myself. It still didn’t make the idea of getting wet again any less appealing. I took a moment and tried shaking off the cobwebs. What was happening to me? Did I really enjoy this…this…exhibitionism? More of my words came back to bite me. ‘Or if we make out in the middle of a sidewalk, people will mind their own damn business.’ I’d groped and kissed her and had my underwear removed in public, and people were just going about on their way.. Upon entering the restaurant, basically a Denny’s analog, I saw more and more of the fruits of my labor. In line waiting for a table before us, a woman snoozed topless in her stroller, sucking on her pacifier. I popped my thumb in my mouth and sucked on it, feeling a kind of jealousy, wishing that Mommy had remembered my binky. At the nearest table, a man in a onesie munched on applesauce fed to him by what might have been his wife. On our way to our table, a couple with a baby just as old as them scooted out of their booth to take their babbling not-so-little one to the bathroom. The Daddy fished out a single massive diaper and wipe packets before embarking, making no secret or pretense on what was about to happen. This should be turning heads. This should be causing screams and nightmares. It just wasn’t. “Will this do?” the hostess asked us, showing us to a table that was smack dab in the middle of the floor. I was plopped and buckled into a highchair before Mommy replied, “This is fine.” Words literally failed me while she dug a bib out of the diaper bag- my diaper bag- and fastened it around my neck. “Gah!” “Gotta keep those pretty clothes of yours clean, lil’ Lolo,” Mommy said, pinching my cheek. “The ones that’ll stay clean.” “Mama!” I whined, loving the attention despite it. I was the center of her attention and nigh invisible to everyone else. Likewise with the other massive infants and toddlers and their newly acquired parents. “MAAAAAAAAAA! AH AH AH AH AH AH! A few of the diners turned their heads towards the source of the noise. Mommy just shushed me, giving me a rattle to keep me occupied while she ordered lunch. It dominated my attention, and I instantly started shaking it, enchanted. I’d wanted this…I just didn’t know it until I’d gotten it. I had freedom. Freedom to scream and thrash and kick, knowing no one would be hurt or overly bothered. Freedom to dress in completely ridiculous clothing. Freedom to express my affection and pee my panties and get my butt exposed in front of everyone. “Heeeeeeere’s num nums!” Mommy said, interrupting the rattling and my reverie. “Gah?” I looked down from my rattle and to the warm tray of tomato sauce drenched spaghetti in front of me. How much time had passed? Had I distracted myself with a simple rattle for that long? “Go on, Lolo,” Mommy said, taking out her phone. “Eat your sketti!” She was getting ready to film me. I knew enough about kids to know what was expected. This was going on Facebook or Tiktok or wherever embarrassing cute wholesome kid vids went. “Go on. Eat up!” Mommy wanted me to eat and make a mess all over myself. No one else in the world would care. Those who did care would think it was cute. I got a flash in my mind of the people closest to me (my family, Crystal’s family, maybe friends from college or work, who could tell?) and thrilled at the idea of them seeing my face smeared in spaghetti sauce. That, and Mommy was telling me to do something. Giving me permission to make an ass out of myself. Freedom to obey! Freedom to get messy! Freedom to eat with my hands! I tore into the plate of spaghetti, shoving noodles into my mouth at mach speed and pretending they were bloody worms. Some of it got down into my stomach and slid down my throat. Others smeared themselves on my face. Still more dropped out of my lips and onto the bib. The bib only caught so much… “Wow!” Mommy praised, clapping by slapping her thigh. Between the yummy pasta and Mommy the quiet ecstasy of making an ass out of myself in public, I was on cloud nine. Enough so that I was content and babbling while Mommy ate her salad and wiped my face with a baby wipe. But I hadn’t had my second course yet. After she finished her salad, Mommy picked me up and placed me sideways on her lap. “Let’s get this mess off you,” she said. The bib came off. So did the jumper. So did my shirt. “I swear, you got more on you than in you,” she laughed at her own lame joke. Her mom joke. Meanwhile, I sat on her lap feeling hotter than ever despite being naked save for the crinkly padding wrapped around my bum. I babbled happily and didn’t care that I sounded like an overjoyed toddler. “Bababababababa!” “Let’s get your tummy alllll filled up,” she said quietly. She lifted her top up and opened up the front of her nursing bra. I didn’t need her hand to guide me to her breasts and press on the back of my head. I still enjoyed it. My lips latched onto her and I started nursing, drawing her milk into me, moaning while kneading her titties like a kitten. If the apple juice was whiskey, the milk was purest ambrosia; nectar of the gods. Our breathing synced up, and she petted me while my eyes drooped, and I tickled and explored with my tongue. My mind knew I should savor this experience, but my body refused to listen, greedily suckling with a hunger that wouldn’t be sated. A full tummy would stop me, but it would never satisfy me. This was the sweetest of desserts. Liquid love. I was feeding from Mommy; taking her very essence into myself! In those moments that stretched out for eternity but didn’t last nearly long enough, I stopped being Lola and she stopped being Mommy or Crystal or whatever the fuck the two sides of my brain were battling to call her. We were one; bonded more intimately than lovers could be. I stopped thinking of us as lovers right then and there. Loving was an act. It was something you did and could stop doing. This was something deeper, more intense, and (hopefully) more permanent. We were Mommy and Baby. “That’s right,” she whispered to me. “Such a good little eater.” OH GOD! I shivered and shuddered and let the back half of my apple juice from earlier flood my pampers! If anyone was looking right now they’d see me filling my pants (except I technically wasn’t wearing any pants). This was why babies wore diapers, I decided. They needed to get the refuse out of their bodies as quickly as possible so that they could make more room for the liquid love their Mommies poured into them. It was just that simple. Far too soon, I was switched over, sucked her other tit dry and was being burped. I could have drifted off to sleep and hope to never wake up to my old life again… But the best part hadn’t happened yet. Mommy slid forward in her chair and repositioned me so I was straddling her knee, my wet diaper squishing anew on her thigh. “Ready for a horsey ride, Lolo?” she said brightly. Then she leaned in and said quietly, “Wanna make humpies?” That woke me up! Mommy started bouncing me on her knee and I started riding her like leg like a pony, shamelessly grinding up against her in the middle of the restaurant. “Ooooooh,” I moaned. “Oooooooh…gaaaaaaaa!” Turns out the verbal difference between ‘Oh God!’ and ‘Oh ga’ is pretty minimal. Some things don’t get lost in translation. “That’s right,” Mommy told me. “Let it all out.” My moans went low and my breathing went shallow. This was wrong! This was so wrong! But it felt sooooo good! “Here’s the check, ma’am,” the waitress, who couldn’t have been older than me, said. Mommy slid her credit card over without breaking eye contact with me. “Here you go.” “Looks like somebody’s having fun!” The waitress giggled as if me grinding against my partner’s knee in broad daylight were somehow cute. Oh god why was this hot?! “Blurgaaaaa!” I squealed. Freedom to cum in front of everyone. Freedom to have my tits bobbing up and down. God this was amazing! Wishing Well, this was amazing! My stomach lurched, and my body tried to reposition itself. I raised my bum off Mommy’s knee. I was about to poop! I had to stop! I had to clench down! The last bits of modesty that I had were fighting to take control back of the narrative I’d written for myself. “Gaaaaaa-” Mommy wouldn’t let me stand up. She placed her hands on my shoulders and continued to stimulate and tease me, prodding me closer and closer to orgasm with just gravity and her knee. The bouncing was speeding something else closer, too… “Nah-ah-ah,” she said. “Not until you’re all done. It’s gonna be a loooong car ride and I want my precious baby girl nice and tired.” I couldn’t…I couldn’t disobey her. I didn’t want to. I wanted that delicious praise. That delicious release. That…that… Even my inner monologue failed me as my cheeks spread and a mudslide emptied itself into the seat of my diaper. Right after my body took control of itself away from me and I started pushing, I screamed when an honest-to-god “the-earth-moved” orgasm shot through me like a bolt of white hot delight, better than any other orgasm I had ever hadt, and I gripped Mommy’s shoulders and leaned into her while the mess and muck spread around. “Oooooooo….”I moaned, unable to even babble in anything that wasn’t a vowel. “Eeeeeee….aaaaaaa.” “And poopies too?” Mommy beamed. “Good baby! Getting it alllll out for Mommy. You’re gonna sleep real good when we get back in the car.” I’d pooped myself and orgasmed nearly at the same time in front of everyone. Even then, I knew that my brain had accidentally made the connection. If I ever got out of this, I’d always associate doing one with the other… and the association would be entirely positive. For the time being, though, the only thing I was getting out of was my diaper in favor of a new one. “Let’s get you changied, Lolo.” Somewhere in the back of my mind I remembered a factoid that a baby on average goes through six diapers a day. My mind tickled itself at the idea of cumming in public half a dozen times. The waitress came back and placed the credit card back. “This will be here for you when you get back.” Mommy was getting my own supplies ready for the restroom. “Do you want me to change her?’ My eyes popped open. Oh yeah…more than just a baby’s Mommy changed her. I’d probably be having lots of sitters in the future, all playing with me and telling me how cute I was. A girl could get real used to that. A new fear came into me. What if someone somehow unwished this at the well? I’d accidentally wished the world this way. What if someone accidentally wished it another way? It wouldn’t be hard for someone to idly wish for their big babies to grow up. Then I remembered that I still had one wish left. As Mommy laid me down on the changing station in the bathroom and started to undo my tapes, I focused on my mouth to control it with all of the remaining will I had in me.“I wish…” I said, listening to the echo of my own voice, “for no more wishes…for anybody.” Time stopped for a second. Then it picked back up again. Mommy kept changing my diaper. Just like she always had. Just like she always would. And me and every other big baby in the world would be as free as we needed to be, and every Mommy and Daddy would have as much power as was needed to love us. (The End)

Author's Note. A Story Trade with Just4n0th3rUs3r and a sequel to their story, "A Humiliating Visit from Mommy" P.S. This isn't canon without the original author's approval. “Good morning,” Mom sang as she opened up the door to my nursery and walked in. “Mowning Mommy,” I yawned, wiping the sleep out of my eyes. Niamh was dead asleep beside me, not stirring. “I hope my two little girls had a good night’s sleep,” Mom said, lowering the railing to our crib. Oh, she had no idea! Niamh and I had been up late last night, kissing, groping, doing humpies, and making cummies in our diapers until we passed out. My girlfriend-even after all this time it still gave me warm fuzzies to think of her like that-was still passed out. I felt a certain kind of pride looking at her lightly snoring next to me. I’d done that. Speaking of things I’d done, Mom poked her fingers into the leg holes of my Bunnyhopps and felt around. “Someone had a very soggy night,” she praised me. “Let’s get my princess changed.” She picked me up like I was nothing, something I still hadn’t gotten completely used to, and carried me over to the changing table. I laid there staring up at the swirling mobile above my changing table, sucking on my supergirl paci while I batted up at the unicorns and fairies that dangled just out reach. Meanwhile, Mom unbuttoned the supergirl onesie she’d dressed me in after bathtime and examined the state of my diaper. “Oh wow, Kara!” she exclaimed. “You did such a good job wetting your diaper! I’m so proud of you!” I blushed and sucked happily on my pacifier. It felt so good being praised for something so simple as going pee pee in my sleep. In truth, it had taken a lot of work to become a bedwetter again. Even with Niamh’s magic, unless she specifically wrote it down or snapped her fingers, I would occasionally have bouts of control as my potty training tried to reassert itself. Getting to the point where I went pee pee and poo poo in my diaper without thinking took a lot of work. The only reason real babies were able to do it so easily had to be a case of beginner’s luck. Before she started changing me, Mom took my pacifier out of my mouth and gave me a bottle. “Drink up, princess,” she cooed. My stomach rumbled with hunger as I reached out for the baby bottle and started sucking on the rubber nipple. This was new! I suckled on the milk, alternating between tiny sips and big thirsty gulps while Mom undid the tapes on my Bunnyhopps and started wiping me down the same way she did every morning. Normally she’d change me and Niamh and then breastfeed us before putting us in the car. I would have been worried, but getting to drink yummy milk while getting changed was a fun new distraction and blushy distraction. “There we go!” Mom said, after powdering me and taping me up into a fresh diaper. “Now let’s get you ready for the day.” She took my bottle away and sat me up on the changing table so that she could take the rest of my Supergirl onesie off of me, leaving me naked in just my diaper. I didn’t mind it. It wasn’t the first time and wouldn’t be the last. I looked down at my diaper and frowned. I wasn’t wearing a BunnyHopps. But I almost always wore a BunnyHopps. The plain white diaper I wore was still very comfortable, puffy, and crinkly. But it wasn’t my favorite, or what I normally pictured myself wearing. “Wianh?” I called over to my girlfriend, still dozing in the crib. I focused and corrected my lisp “Rianh?” She let out a tired groan, but just rolled back over away from me so that she was facing the wall. Mom pulled a plain black t-shirt over my head and slid a short but frilly purple skirt that was closer to a tutu and didn’t really cover my new diaper at all unless I sat in just the right way. Next she slid up purple and black striped socks all the way up to my knees, followed by a pair of plain black strap-on shoes. After she put me down on the floor, I looked at myself and poked the fresh diaper. This was weird. I looked cute, and babyish, no doubt, but this wasn’t what I normally wore. I loved superheroes, so almost every outfit I wore had some kind of theme to it. If it wasn’t superhero themed, it was sure to be super cute, extra babyish, and show off my diaper so that there was no doubt to anyone that I was a blushy baby girl. This morning’s outfit? No crotch snaps, nothing extra frilly or babyish, nothing embarrassing written on it-I couldn’t read anymore but I could still recognize numbers and letters. Yeah it showed off my padded butt and it left no modesty, but if I switched the diaper out for panties, I’d just be indecent instead of cute. I decided to just go with it and finish my baba. I reached up to the changing table, snatched it off the top shelf, laid back on the floor and kept sipping, enjoying the pleasant sensation of my morning breakfast on the comfort of my nursery floor. I let out a loud belch and smacked my lips. The milk tasted odd. Not bad. Just odd. Not like how my Mom’s milk normally tasted. “Is this…” I asked and took another sip. “Is this cow milk?” “Uh oh,” Mom said back over at the crib. “Did my precious little girl spring a leak?” She started to immediately strip Rianh of her Frozen nightie and carried her naked form over to the changing table. The crinkle when I sat up was practically a record scratch. Rianh? Leak? Rianh never leaked! Ever! Her magic kept her as soggy as she wanted to so that her diaper could hold even more than a Trest! “Nooooo….” Rianh moaned on her back, still sounding groggy. “Yes, yes, yes,” Mom said, untaping the pink Princess diaper. “Don’t wanna change…” “Too bad.” My jaw hung open watching my witch girlfriend get her diaper changed. Rianh never got her diaper changed unless she wanted it. But now she was getting her privates wiped and powdered against her will. And just like me, she was put into a plain white diaper and given a bottle of milk. Was that an ABU Simple? A Trest? Some other plain white model? It was so hard to tell without the decorations! Just like me, Rianh was still sucking on her bottle while my Mom finished changing her. Mom pulled a plain red t-shirt over her and stopped. Nothing else. Nothing Witcher or Frozen theme at all. Just a T-shirt and fresh padding. “Mommy,” I whimpered, “What’s goin’ on?” “Mommy’s just finished Rianh’s diapee,” she said simply as if that explained everything. She ran a brush through Rianh’s tangly hair and then boosted her onto her hip. Next she reached down and picked me up and impossibly started to carry us out into the living room. “Oooof, y’all are getting heavy!” The words burned in my ears. Mom had never said that since the day Rianh started using her magic on me. “Wiahn,” I said. “What’s going on? Awe you sick?” Riahn looked at me and her face fell. “Worse…” What could be worse than her being sick? My dad came into the living room and gave each of us a kiss; my mom on the lips, me and my witchy girlfriend on the cheek. “Happy Halloween, honey! Happy Halloween, princess! Happy Halloween, sweetie!” Every time he said “Happy Halloween” Rianh flinched like she was hearing a literal curse word. Mom gave Dad an extra kiss. “Rianh leaked,” she said. “Do you mind throwing the crib sheets in the wash for me?” “Sure thing honey,” Dad replied. “Their diaper bags are already packed and in the car.” “Awesome.” Mom took us out to the car and put us into our adult sized car seats. “What’s wrong?” I asked Rianh again. I’d never seen her like this. My beautiful girlfriend who gave me everything I ever wanted looked like death warmed over. She looked like she was struggling not to vomit. “It’s Howl-O-Ween,” she lisped. “Not a good witch day.” Her eyes started to droop like she was ready to pass out. I grabbed Mr. Bunbun, my stuffed rabbit from the space between us and cuddled him close. It didn’t make me feel much better, but it was better than nothing. “Whaddya mean?” “I’ll tell ya later,” she said and drooped her head. I gave Mr. Bunbun another squeeze, just in case, while Mom drove me to my job at the grocery store. “Has she been changed?” my boss asked as he opened up the back passenger door and unbuckled me from my car seat. “Yup,” Mom said. “Full tummy of milk and a clean diapee,” she reported. “No poopies yesterday, so she’s due.” “Maybe we’ll get lucky,” my boss replied, and took my diaper bag from the front passenger seat. I looked down at my Mary Janes and stuck my thumb in my mouth. Hearing my mom and my boss talk about me pooping my pants like it was a good thing just…did something to me. I still wasn’t completely used to thinking of them as ‘Mom’ and ‘boss’ either. That is to say, there was a mental block that prevented me from learning or remembering most people’s names. Everyone in my immediate circle was identified by their relationship to me instead of any kind of proper noun, including my toddler nephew. That was an extra touch Niamh had tossed in. Babies, even big ones, didn’t really know much in the way of proper nouns. Mom was Mom, Dad was Dad, Teacher was Teacher, and so on. Other babies were just that, too. As far as the magic was concerned, I was too little to know most names but my own. So it made sense in a way. “Her father will be here at the usual time after her shift,” my mom told my boss. “As usual.” I followed my boss inside the grocery store, being led around gently by the hand. From the outside, it was still kind of weird, going to a grocery store where I did absolutely nothing constructive. I literally followed co-workers around by the hand all day or was put in a kindergarten style corner of the break room. For some reason, magic obviously, I still got paid. ********************************************************************************************** The first few weeks, I had guessed that this arrangement was some kind of life hack. A grocery clerk’s paycheck could buy a good amount of diapers if that was the only thing it was being spent on. That didn’t hold up to scrutiny, however. Magic took away the need for money. It would have made more sense, headspace wise, if I just went to my Mom’s preschool to spend more time with Rianh. But that didn’t happen. I asked Rianh once why that was and she cryptically replied “Then we wouldn’t be us, silly. We’d just be babies.” I didn’t get it at first, but I think I’d finally figured it out. Going to this job had been part of my identity; part of who I was. It wasn’t the only part of me; I was also a big huffy baby girl that liked cuddles, crinkles, and making all sorts of messes in her diapers; but it was a part of me. Rianh had used her magic to forcefully bring out the other parts to the forefront, but she hadn’t taken anything away. That’s why I most likely kept going to my old job, even if everyday was just ‘bring your big baby to work day’. That’s why Niamh and I spend at least a few hours apart every day: To remain ourselves. She didn’t want me to be just a big huffy baby and for her to just be my witch baby girlfriend. She wanted us to still be our own people; she wanted to avoid ego death and to still be us. That’s why before today almost everything I wore was from a comic book and everything she wore was either extremely gothic or extremely Disney. I thought about all this while I looked up from my coloring. I let out a yawn and stared down at the coloring book I’d been scribbling all over. I looked up at the clock, then back down to my book and kept coloring. Then I looked back up at the clock again to see if any of the hands had moved. Huh? Was I…was I getting bored? That never happened! I could do any repetitive babyish activity and be completely enthralled as if it were the very first time and I was the one discovering it. The magic that kept people seeing and treating me like a baby also affected my mind just enough so that I wouldn’t get bored and would find toddler activities incredibly stimulating. Bored was something I hadn’t been in months! “What’s happening to me?” I asked Mr. Bunbun, sitting across from me, plopped and propped up on the coloring table. My boss interrupted the conversation before it began. “Kara,” he said brightly. “Your Daddy’s here to pick you up.” I got up feeling the diaper sagging between my thighs and waddled out of the break room with him behind me. Thank goodness I was still having accidents! Before we went through the swooshing artificial doors and out into the Texas heat, I felt a finger hook into the back of my diaper and pull it open. “No poopies,” my boss said. Then he asked, “are you wet, princess?” Blushingly, I nodded. “Do you need a change?” “Daddy will change me,” I mumbled, and that seemed to be enough. My Dad was outside, waiting in his car. When my boss told him about my wet diaper he started changing me right away. My nephew’s car seat was with my brother so he laid me down in the back seat, the my head pressed up against my own baby seat and my legs dangling out. “She knew she was wet,” my boss told my dad. “Said she wanted a change and everything.” “Fantastic!” My dad said, wiping my bottom and between my legs like he did almost everyday. He cooed down to me. “Someone’s getting to be a big girl,” he said, every syllable loving and syrupy sweet. “Yes she is! Yes she is! “ He slipped a fresh white diaper underneath me, no powder. “She doesn’t want to sit in a wet diaper all day! No she doesn’t! Nuh-uh! Nuh-uh!” After he taped up the fresh diaper, he lifted up my t-shirt and blew raspberries into my tummy, but my laughter was cut short with my own thoughts. No one in my family ever talked about me getting heavy, or being a big girl. “I’m notta big guwl!” I insisted. “Just give it time, honey,” Dad said. “Just give it time.” Just behind his shoulder, I saw my boss nod appreciatively. “I think someone is almost ready for potty training.” “Baba!” I said. “I’m thiwsty!” Dad handed me a bottle as soon as I was buckled into my adult car seat. I sucked it down like I was dying of thirst? Potty training? Not likely! I was going to make sure I was good and soaked as soon as possible. ************************************************************************************************* “Wow!” One of the kids at my Mom’s preschool pointed at me. “She’s wearing a diaper, too!” The forced and mocking yells of children purposefully trying to be mean rang out before my mom could shew them off. I wanted to rip my own face off and hide it under a rock so no one would see it. Normally the dumb little twerps at my mom’s preschool just thought I was another baby. They might say something if me and Niamh kissed; or tell on me if I really needed a new diaper; or brag to my mom about how big they were because they didn’t need a bottle or to have their diapers changed; but they didn’t laugh at me. Why were they laughing now? “Mommeeeee,” I whined. “Why awe they bein’ mean ta me?” “I have no idea, Princess,.’ Mom said, brushing my cheek. “They’ve been like this all day, picking on Niamh. Something must’ve gotten into them.” As an afterthought she added, “Maybe it’s a full moon Halloween…” Halloween! I ran as fast as my bowed out legs would carry me over to Niamh. She was sulking and hiding in a corner with a blanket over her head. “Niamh! What’s happening? My Daddy talked about potty training me and the kids all laughed at me.” It was getting harder to talk with a cute lisp. Niamh sniffled. She looked like she’d been crying. Those preschoolers had probably been relentless. “It’s Halloween,” she said. “I’m sorry.” “For what? Why? What’s wrong with Halloween?” I asked, lowering down so that we were on the same eye level. “I thought Halloween was when witches got stronger or something!” She shook her head. “Nuh-uh. It’s kind of the opposite.” I leaned back in surprise. “Huh? Why?” “Magic is like water. It’s all over and reusable, but there’s only so much of it,” she explained, still sniffling. She’d definitely been crying. I wanted to go and beat some four year old upside the head. “People think magic is strongest at Halloween because real witches spread that rumor. That way most people won’t even try to use it and it frees it up for us. But on Halloween every amateur, hobbyist, poseur, and tourist tries to cast magic at the same time.” “So it’s like when everybody in the house tries to take a hot shower at the same time. Everybody gets cold water instead.” That’s why the outfits were getting plainer and everything had been slowly edging closer to ‘toddler’ instead of ‘baby’. My girlfriend nodded. “Uh-huh,” she sniffed. “It’s taking everything I have to keep the spell going. That’s why the little kids are bein’ so mean. Kids always see through the tricks first.” “Okay,” I said. “Then why not just let the spell go? Take a break. I can be a grown-up for a night.” I scooted in and cuddled up close to her, draping my arm over her shoulders. She shook her head. “It doesn’t work that way, princess. Everybody will know we’re big girls, but they won’t forget everything that’s happened the last couple months. That would need another spell.” She paused and turned almost as red as her t-shirt. “That and…the lack of potty training isn’t entirely magic. We’ve just gotten too used to usin’ our diapees.” My heart felt like it stopped. My Mom and Dad had changed my wet and messy diapers more times than I could count. Last summer, me, Niamh, and my nephew all got changed on the floor together. If the spell slipped too much…they would know. They would all know! This wonderful secret life I’d been living, first in my head and then in real life would all be found out and I’d be ruined. I’d never be able to even look at any of them ever again. Not even for a minute. “What do we do?” I whispered. “Just gotta…tough it out,” she said, blinking away fresh tears. “Honey,” I asked. “What’s wrong? Does it hurt?” Niamh shook her head, “No…” “Then what’s wrong?” “I’m leaking again…!” ************************************************************************************************** “Trick or Treat!” My brother and sister yelled for us. Niam, my nephew, and I were standing in the middle of a Texas suburb, with plastic jack-o-lantern buckets out, waiting for candy. The sun was still up. We were trick or treating before dinner because we were so ‘little’. There was no passing on trick or treating. Riam didn’t have enough magic tonight to make anybody listen to her. Mom guilted me into going along by saying that my sister wanted to go. My nephew was in a full body tiger onesie with a hoodie for the ears. My mom had added on a pointy witch hat on top of my head, making me a witch, ironically. Niamh got a waist belt with a pointy tail just above her diaper, and a headband with horns. “Oh, what wonderful costumes!” The old lady at the door greeted us. “A ferocious tiger, a baby witch, and a naughty baby devil! Here you go, sugars.” I flinched. I was a baby witch. Niamh was a baby devil. My nephew was just a tiger; no baby. Having the ‘baby’ aspect be considered part of the costume stung. Granted, my nephew didn’t have a big white diaper showing off, but I bet I wouldn’t have been a ‘baby witch’ if we’d done this yesterday. ‘Cute’ or ‘little’ yes. But not ‘baby’. ‘Baby’ would have been assumed and not part of the outfit. “Say thank you,” my sister told us. “Fankyoo,” I parroted back, trying to avoid eye contact. “Fankyoo,” Niamh copied, looking equally uncomfortable. We walked back to the side walk and went to the next house. All around us, other little kids were walking by, laughing and pointing. “Mommy! Mommy! Look! They’re wearing diapers!” Beads of sweat were forming on my brow and it had nothing to do with the Texas heat. “Mmhmm. Yes they are Susie. But you’re much bigger than they are.” Niamh sighed with relief. Bullet dodged. We were herded up to the next stoop. My nephew took his place between us and looked up at us, smiling a big pumpkin tooth grin. Did he see through the magic too? Was he even old enough to know that it would be considered weird for two girls our age to be dressed like him? Or was he just happy to be here? “Trick or Treat!” A middle aged man greeted us, our buckets out. He squinted at me. “Aren’t you girls a little too old to be trick or treating?” His eyes went down to our padding. “Oh. Guess not.” My girlfriend and me exchanged worried looks. “Happy Halloween.” “Fankyoo,” we said in unison. My stomach started grumbling on the way back to the sidewalk. I held my tummy with one hand. “Kara?” My sister called. “Are you okay? Do you need a diapee change?” She reached to pull back my waistband, but I smacked her hand away. I was not going to get changed on the sidewalk when at any minute the Niamh’s magic might run out. “Kara!” “Sowwy…” I really wish we’d brought my stroller. At least then I would have something I could sink into. I felt a cramp coming on. “According to online,” my brother said, “a lot of times when they start getting sensitive about their diapers and wanting privacy, it means they’re almost ready for potty training.” He patted my cousin’s head. “Can’t wait.” Except my big bro was gonna think I was a lot older a lot faster if we didn’t make it through. “Trick or Treat!” “Oh ho!” How clever, a woman in her early thirties mused. “What wonderful costumes to make your little brother feel big.” My mouth went dry. “Cousins actually, ma’am.” My brother corrected. “And he’s a little bit bigger.” my sis added. The woman laughed. “He certainly is tonight. Here you go…kids.” She gave a conspiratorial wink like she was in on some kind of joke. My guts were doing flip flops on each other. “Trick or Treat!” The door flung open. A familiar space stepped out onto the doorstep. It took a moment but I recognized them. We’d gone to high school together. Then the worst thing possible came out of their mouth. My name. My real name. No ‘Kara’. My real name. Something I hadn’t been called in close to half a year. Something I hadn’t expected to hear for as long as I was in diapers. Speaking of which. “Is that you?” I felt my mouth go dry. “Y…y…yeah…” Their jaw dropped and they dug around in their pockets for their cellphone. “And are you actually wearing an adult diaper?” I was being filmed! I nodded meekly, my knees shaking like jelly. “Uh…huh…” I squeaked. “Why?” “Um…you see…um…I just…I don’t…I…” “Ohmygod, is it wet?! Did you actually piss yourself?” If I had I hadn’t even realized it, and it had been out of stress and fear.’ Piss myself’. I wasn't used to hearing what had become so natural to me referred to so vulgarly. “I don’t know…” my voice came out like a tea kettle. My big sister came up and put her hand on my shoulder. “What do you mean why is she wearing a diaper? What kind of question is that? What are you? Some kind of sicko?” “I think it’s a pretty obvious one,” my former classmate said. “Like is this a fetish thing or something?” I heard something snap. It must have been my big bro doing everything he could to not make a fist. “Okay kids,” my brother said. He picked up my nephew and whirled us around back to the sidewalk. “Come on Kara.” “Kara? Why are you calling her tha-? OH MY GOSH! ARE YOU SHITTING YOURSELF?!” I was. My knees had bent, my guts had given up from lack of practice, and I was solidly filling my pants right there in somebody’s front yard. And they had already gotten a picture of my face and were presently recording my diaper ballooning out and drooping from what I was putting in the back of it. “THIS IS PRICELESS!” Through my tear streaked vision I saw short little blurs pointing and laughing, talking about how it looked like I was pooping my pants. As soon as I finished, a switch flipped and I ran for it. “Kara!” I heard a voice call. “Wait!” I was too busy crying and screaming to realize who it was. “It’s a tri-!” I didn’t hear the rest over my sobbing. I ugly cried and ran the short distance home, my fists balled up and clutching at my loaded diaper. “Mommeeeeeee!” I yelled when I burst through the door. Mom heard my crying and asked what was wrong, but I was too overwhelmed to do anything but blubber. She picked me up, easy as anything, and took me to my room. I braced myself, while she changed my diaper and wiped my privates and bottom, shushing me the entire time. At any second she’d realize that she should have been done taking care of me like this long long ago. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s okay. The monsters outside aren’t real. They’re just costumes. They’re just silly costumes.” I sniffled and wiped my eyes as the new diaper got fastened up around my hips. “I don’t like my costume,” I cried. “I don’t wanna be a grown-up again!” “Oh silly girl,” she said, wiping away my tears and snot with a baby wipe. “Just because you’re dressed up like a witch doesn’t mean you’re actually a grown-up. It’s just pretend!” I looked down at my legs. “That’s what you….Bunnyhopps?!” My diaper! My plain white, almost medical diaper had been switched out for my favorite baby diapee! I started cackling like I’d won the lottery. “Wow,” Mom said. “I guess someone really did need a diaper change.” She kissed me on the forehead and stuck me in my crib. “You just rest here, princess. Mommy’s gotta go finish cooking dinner for the big people.” A few minutes later I heard my brother and sister through the nursery door. They were trying to explain to Mom what had happened. The door creaked open and a sight for sore eyes crinkled in. “Hey…” Niamh said. Even though it was Halloween, I lit up like a Christmas tree. “Niamh! The magic is working again!” The only thing sagging more than my witch girlfriend’s diaper was her face. It had turned a shade of crimson but it didn’t look like it was from embarrassment- not the fun kind anyhow. “Um…I kind of have a confession, princess. I goofed.” “Goofed?” I asked. “Goofed how?” “You know that thing about Halloween I told you about?” Without waiting for me to respond she pressed on. “I kinda made that all up.” “YOU WHAT?!” I shrieked. I leapt to my feet and grabbed the crib railing. For the first time in my life, she looked less than all powerful, skulking beneath my shadow. “I wanted to play a trick on you for Halloween; make you scared and squirmy like you were when we first met. So I’ve been slowly letting up the enchantments I put in place, peace by peace.” My jaw unhinged itself. “Why would you do that?” She shrugged half heartedly. “I thought you’d get a kick out of toeing the line. Like playing chicken with getting caught.” She lowered the crib rail and climbed in next to me, both of us sitting on the newly remade Supergirl duvet. “Tease about taking our costumes off.” I was so mad, but I wrapped my arms around her anyways. “These aren’t the costumes, you dummy,” I reached between her legs and gave her sopping wet diaper a squeeze. “They aren’t for me anyways. Everything else is.” My girlfriend was crying. My girlfriend who could literally warp reality with a snap of her fingers was crying. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to play a joke. Or maybe make sure you weren’t getting bored with this…bored with me. Not everybody who gets everything they want lives happily ever after…” “Oh Riamh,” I whispered. “I could never get bored of you. Ever. You gave me my fantasy and you’re a part of that fantasy.” “Promise?” “Promise.” We held each other and fell back into our crib. After a couple minutes, when we were breathing normally, she said. “Don’t worry. Everything is back to the way it was. Nobody is going to remember anything we don’t want them to know.” We. She was saying ‘we’. Not ‘I’. ‘We’. That really was a treat of sorts. “Thanks,” I said back, our arms still wrapped around each other. “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?” She asked. “Anything?” A terrible thought crossed my mind. I might never get this chance again. “Anything?” I asked. “Anything,” she said. I pressed my forehead against hers and opened my eyes that I was staring directly into hers. “You don’t get to make cummies for a month.” Her eyes widened in horror. “What?!” “You said ‘anything’ .” “I didn’t think you’d say THAT! What if…what if I gave you an orgasm every night? For the rest of the year? And make it as intense as the first time!” “Okay,” I said. “That too. None for you and all for me! But just for a month.” “Oh come on!” She pouted. “I hear one month. Do I hear two?” “Fine,” she said, playfully slapping me on the shoulder. “Fine. I’ll endure my own personal no-nut November or whatever the boys do.” Then she tacked on, “It’ll just make it so sweet when I finally let loose anyways.” “And you have to stop using your magic to stop your diapees from leaking.” “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Riamh’s screams could be heard all around the block. It was so loud, Mom thought she’d hurt herself. Instead Mom determined that her other baby was about to leak and needed a nice new Rearz Princess put on her. So she had that going for her. I just laughed ,watched the whole thing, and started teasing myself just before dinner while my girlfriend got her diaper changed right in front of me. (The End)

Not necessarily a "he". Written in 2nd person for a reason. Not necessarily dead. (Yes I know how you got that inference based on the title) But things are open to interpretation. Deliberately so.

Going to use this thread to share some flash fictions over time. At about the same rate that I release them over on my patreon. What Dreams May Come A sound, like rushing water awakens you. You’re awake. You’re in a crib. You’re wearing a diaper. It’s soaked and your bladder is empty. This is not surprising. You went to sleep in this crib. It’s no wonder you should wake up in it. Same for the diaper. It wasn’t wet when you fell asleep, (not that wet anyways) but it’s present condition is just the natural consequence of the passage of time. You sit up and yawn away the last of the dream stuff. Absent-mindedly, you wonder if that squish beneath your bottom is poop or not. It’s so hard to tell first thing in the morning when everything between your legs is wet and squishy. It’s shocking just how routine this all has become. There was time when you would have balked at all of this. Now you just accept it. Mommy comes into the room. “Good morning, baby!” she coos at you through your crib bars. “Did you sleep well? Have pleasant dreams?” You smile softly, demurely, as you give a pleasant chirp of ‘Yes Mommy!” “Wonderful!” she says. “Let’s get you changed and ready for the day.” She lowers the crib bars and you climb out only so that you can climb back onto the changing table. “Such a good baby!” You are a good baby. A very good one. It’s something that you’ve worked hard at. So very hard. You haven’t had any other choice. It’s not up to you. Nothing is. You struggled at first, but Mommy made it very clear very quickly that you could fight as much as you wanted, but it wouldn’t stop you from becoming her good baby. “After we get you dressed for the day,” Mommy says pulling the safety strap over your chest. “We’ll get you some breakfast, and then we’ll go to the park to play. Maybe Margaret will be there!” Margaret is your best friend. Your Mommy and hers had decided it. You didn’t much care for her, to be honest, but you didn’t have much choice in the matter. You don’t feed yourself. You don’t dress yourself. You don’t decide where you go, who you spend time with or for how long. The only freedom you have left is in your dreams. In your dreams you can be anything. When you’re awake, the only thing you can be is a dumb baby. Mommy’s working extra hard on unteaching you your FZY’s. Mommy is a very good teacher… Mommy tears open the tapes on your diaper and starts to clean you up. “Oh wow!” she gushes. “Such a wet baby!” She drags the cold wet baby wipe across your front and between your legs. “I bet someone was dreaming about going for a swim!” You open your mouth to tell her what you were actually dreaming about. You can’t remember, though. It was so vivid, too, you’re sure! Cold wipes on your bottom and Mommy’s cooing makes it so hard to concentrate! Just then, Bobby walks in. Bobby is your big brother, but not so big that you don’t have to share a room together. Bobby has a big kid bed that looks like a racecar. Sometimes Mommy asks him what he wants to do instead of telling him. Billy can feed himself and dress himself. Presently, he’s doing just that. You watch enviously from the changing table while Bobby takes his pajamas off, all by himself. You stare while he strips down and takes out a pair of underwear out of the top drawer of his dresser and steps into it, easy as pie. Suddenly you realize the sound that woke you up was the sound of Bobby flushing the toilet, and your blood turns hot. Mommy is busy unfolding a diaper and slipping it underneath your hips. “Mommy,” you ask. “When will I be ready to use the potty?” “Oh,” she says, pausing for just a moment. “Probably never.” She grabs the bottle of baby powder and dusts your privates with it. “But why?” You ask. “Because you’re just a baby.” Mommy says. “Babies don’t use the potty, do they?” Bobby used to be a baby. You know. You got here first. But for some reason, Bobby’s been allowed to grow up when you haven’t. Again. Grow up again. You already grew up once. It’s weird how you have to remind yourself lately. So much of your old life before Mommy feels like a dream; an elaborate fanfiction that you wrote yourself. Everything from before feels less real as Mommy spreads your legs and pulls the fresh, thick, poofy, crinkly diaper that prevents your knees from touching and forces you to walk with a waddle 24/7. It is only the first of the day. It will not be the last. You can’t remember the last time you got to wear underwear; real underwear; the kind that couldn’t be seen from space. It was only an academic memory by this point. You lift your head up to examine the decorations of the diaper Mommy just put you in. It has balloons on the front. The one you woke up in had pictures of sleeping kitty cats. Depending on what Mommy feels like, you might find yourself in a diaper decorated with nursery rhyme characters or one with fishes swimming. You don’t even get to decide your diaper decorations! Meanwhile, Bobby would get to wear those jungle safari themed undies all day long. “Oh!” you gasp. “Mommy! I remember what I was dreaming about?” “Oh?” She chuckles, “What was your dream, baby?” She undoes the strap and helps you sit up. Your thoughts suddenly feel as crisp as the new padding wrapped around your hips. “I was on safari!” you exclaim. “I was hunting big game!” “That sounds nice,” Mommy says, pulling your sleep shirt up over your head. “What game? Checkers?” “No!” You correct her. “Like I was shooting animals and stuff! Lions and tigers and bears!” “Oh my!” Mommy replies. “Are you sure you were on safari? Maybe you were just dreaming about going to the zoo?” “I’m sure,” you say. Bobby has already gotten dressed and walked away. You’re still nude except for the padding. “It was awesome!” Talking about your dreams was one of the few things you could freely do. “Was I there?” Mommy asked. “No,” you proudly exclaim. “Just me.” “But if you were in the jungle hunting animals,” Mommy teases, “who would be there to change your diaper?” That was the best part about the dream! About all your dreams! “I wasn’t…!” Except you were. You immediately remember the dream. You picture yourself wearing a helmet. A pith helmet, you think it’s called. And one of those khaki button up shirts that people always wore in the cartoons and movies. Boots too. But between the shirt and the boots, was your diaper. Just your diaper. No pants. No belt. Nothing. And right beside you, holding your hand, was Mommy. Even in your dreams you couldn’t get out of diapers. Even asleep you were with your Mommy. There was no escape. No freedom, even in your subconscious. A terrible melancholy comes over you. Were you ever actually an adult? Or have you just been fooling yourself with your dreams and they’re now finally telling you the truth about yourself. “So,” Mommy says. “What do you want to wear today?” “I don’t know,” you mumble, trying not to sob. “I’m just a baby. You pick, please.” “Of course, baby,” Mommy smiles. “Of course.”

Just wanted to add my two cents. To me, the Diaper Dimension is kind of like comic books from BESIDES the big event crossovers. There are certain concepts and conventions that are common and unifying, with bits of bleedover as various authors steal and adapt things they like and try to put their own personal stamps on it. You open up your average super hero comic, you know someone is gonna be putting on a mask and tights to fight crime. You click on a diaper dimension link, you're gonna find a world where forced regression and size difference is a key thing. To that end, I skimmed what you wrote and saw a lot of good things; like a catalogue of concepts that have been used, that would-be writers might use to sample or inspire their own work. I like that. I like that a lot. Well done. It is my own personal opinion (and thus just an opinion, I'm not looking to yuk anybody's yum) that that's the best way to use it. My favorite comic books have been the ones that get left alone and a talented writer gets to tell a story of their choosing. I stopped reading a lot of mainstream comics because every six to eight months, a storyline I was really digging would get interrupted by the next BIG EVENT and the writer would be forced to interrupt their saga by doing an issue or two that was the characters REACTING to the big event. Editorial said there's a world crisis going on, so we need to see that world crisis reflected in every title across the line. In other words, something someone else wrote was directly affecting what another author WAS ALLOWED to write. Which is a shame. So I wouldn't look at anything another writer has done and take it as a mandate of what they HAVE to write. Goodness knows I haven't. But it's still a very good resource. Also, thank you for including me in the guide. I only skimmed but saw at least two of my stories referenced. It's very flattering. P.S. In case people are worried about permission. I hereby give permission for anyone reading this to use and adapt most any of the concepts I've used in my own diaper dimension stories. Just stay away from anything that might dictate my own characters and their choices. Aka. Feel free to use Maturosis and however you care to interpret it. Same for Yamatoa. Same the various diapers: Hippobottomuses, Monkeez, Koddles, etc. Same for Cosseting. Same for any number of off-brand jokes I've made. Pennycade and UsBox (instead of nickelodeon and Youtube) etc. etc. Just stay out of Oakshire and away from Clark and his crew. I've got plans for them. Also @LostBBoyBear May I DM You?

Chapter 94: Naked Truths Most of Friday was boring. Beouf didn’t show up to school again. Zoge said that Beouf’s actual factual grandbaby was still sick. Bullshit. Beouf was scared of us and how we were destroying her morale and I let everyone who was worth letting listen to me know about it. So our class was well behaved that day. Zoge even thanked us as a group before she led us out to the bus loop that afternoon. Monday would be a new battlefield, however. Mel didn’t have infinite sick days. She’d have to come back. I’ be waiting On the bright side, from what few glances I glimpsed of Tracy that day, she seemed more at ease. Not less cautious, or less focused; just that something in her could see some sort of finish line at the end of the race. There had to be more than I knew going on, but I felt that she was winning. She had the weekend to look forward to; a luxury I’d lacked. It made Friday a lot better for me. It wouldn’t make Beouf’s life any better, however. I was positive she’d had nothing to do with any mercy or respite my Tweener friend found. Friday night, I sat in warm bathwater in the middle of the tub. Janet had insisted on pouring bubbles into the mix while water was cascading into the basin. “Bubbles are soap too,” she insisted. “I won’t have to wash you as much if you just soak in them.” “Yeah. Sure. Whatever.” That was good enough for her. She stripped me down out of that day’s romper on the bathroom counter while the tub filled up. Ironically it reminded me of that scene in GhostHaunter’s Two where the bubble bath turns into a massive blob and tries to snatch up the Little right as his Mommy is getting him undressed. Life imitating art as it were. No bath monster this time. Janet stripped me and plopped my naked body down into the rising tide of suds. Being naked was becoming strange to me; not alien but foreign if that makes sense. There was a time when in my own home I didn’t have to particularly pay attention to my nakedness. Cassie and I could have walked around our house bare assed all day if we’d wanted to. That kind of freedom was an unexpected benefit of being a homeowner and an adult. Privacy meant that I could determine how much or how little I covered myself while in my own house. I wasn’t in my own house anymore, I had to remind myself. My old house didn’t exist anymore. I was in Janet’s house, and I had no privacy whatsoever. I was naked from the waist down four to six times a day and almost always covered in something vile when it happened. I was naked from the waist up only when someone bigger, stronger, and faster than me deemed it permissible or convenient, and I was completely naked only once a day (and sometimes not even once a day). That bit of ‘freedom’ was always measured against factors like how much hot water was left and how close it was to my assigned bedtime. Obviously, I was never alone when I was unclothed. My time unsupervised in Janet’s home felt directly inverse to how much clothing and freedom of movement I was allowed. Janet bunched up my school clothes and tossed the wet diaper into the wastebasket next to the toilet. I caught myself looking at the porcelain throne with its seat up and wondering if I could still muscle myself up to the rim and use it. I’d had a stool to climb for this very purpose back in the good old days. Could I handle having a full bladder, still? The only consistent time I had one was in the middle of the night or just before sunrise when the need to pee woke me up from a dreamless groggy slumber. ‘Wee hours of the morning’ had taken on a much more literal meaning to me. I shook that fantasy out of my head. I wasn’t unpotty trained, yet. I wasn’t like Billy and Annie and Chaz who could just go in their pants without a second thought and move on. I wasn’t like Mandy who sometimes whispered the words to herself while she was doing it, or Tommy who could tromp around a playground with his backend loaded and not care as long as he got to play for an extra ten minutes. I wasn’t sure if Sandra Lynn or Ivy noticed anymore. At least everybody outside of those two asked to be changed, occasionally. From the tub, I observed Janet dig a fluffy white towel out of the bathroom linen closet and put it on the counter where she’d just undressed me. I couldn’t make out the tune, but she was definitely humming something to herself. She was getting less and less quiet again; comfortable. Too comfortable. A cry session with Beof, me asking for a bottle, and choosing to pull a few punches by focusing righteous anger elsewhere was healing her up. Communing with her fellow piecemeal parents, with Beouf to reinforce things, probably improved her attitude, too. Not great. Not typical, but not great. None of my work was undone, per se. I wasn’t starting back from square one and my ex-friend was still twice shy now that she’d been bitten a couple of times. She just didn’t seem particularly unhappy and it bothered me and it didn’t bother me at the same time. And THAT bothered me that it didn’t JUST bother me. Emotions are complicated. “Do you want a rubber ducky?” Janet asked In reply I gathered bubble suds around me to act as a screen and glared at her. Bitch knew better. “I just noticed that you like to squeeze Lion a lot and was thinking you might want to squeeze something else since you can’t bring him in the tubby.” I bit into my tongue to keep myself from growling. Leave it to an Amazon to see a stress response and completely infantilize it. If I’d been a wall puncher she’d probably buy me one of those inflatable clowns that never fell down. Actually, that might be kind of cool… “Same with your pacifier so you don’t have to get a sudzy thumb or chew on your tongue…” I unclenched my jaw and gave the sides of my tongue a break. How did she always know? She plunged her arm into the warm bath water and swished around a washcloth. She’d already changed out of her work clothes before dinner and into a more casual gray T-shirt and blue jeans. The short sleeves of her shirt were rolled all the way up to her shoulders that she could dunk her arms in without getting anything else wet. The shirt was an Oakshire Elementary School Spirit t-shirt. The kind that was given out to staff as an optional casual Friday garb and peddled to children around yearbook time so that they had something to show off in the spring and outgrow over the summer. I’d have had a few myself, but I’d always opted out even though it would have been free for me. It would have been a bad idea as a Little teacher to wear anything that the children were also wearing, lest false equivalencies be made. I focused on the shirt and pictured myself having to wear one, despite me not planning on being around long enough for this year’s batch to be on sale. “Please don’t get me one of those shirts,” I blurted out without thinking. Janet sat down on her knees, finished soaping up the washcloth, and took my arm. She glided it over from my wrist all the way up to my shoulder, applying enough pressure that it felt nice. It was gentle massage pressure, not scrub raw pressure. It took a second for my rambling to register with her. She looked down at her chest. “Hm? Why not?” She was so comfortable she’d forgotten what she was wearing. Another luxury I’d lost. I almost always knew what I had or lacked around my body. Impossible snaps and adhesives made it so I had no other choice. “I thought you’d like something like a regular shirt to wear.” “I don’t,” I said flatly. She took my other arm and repeated the process, making sure to get into my armpit and doubling back for the one she’d missed. “Okay. We’ll see.” She dunked the washcloth back in the water and re-soaped it. ‘We’ll see’? Typical answer. Wrong answer! I twisted my torso to the left, leaned the other direction sideways, cupped my hands together, and splashed a comparatively massive amount of water out of the tub and onto the front of Janet’s school t-shirt. WHUUUUSH! Janet gasped and looked down at her dripping wet chest. White suds dribbled down her front, the shape and outline of her bra was immediately more visible. Enough of the warm liquid landed in her lap so that if she were a Little, she’d be at risk of someone thinking she’d had an accident. Her jaw dropped, and shocked little “Ah! Ah!” sounds stumbled out of her throat. Bathtime over: Time for bad Little boys to get toweled off and put to an even earlier bed while their Mommies went and cried about it. “You…” she stammered. “You Little brat!” It almost sounded like laughter. I smirked and crossed my arms over my body, daring her to retaliate, positive she wouldn’t. OOOOOOOOOSH! Lightning quick, two giant palms scooped up water and suds on either side of me and cascaded them towards the middle. Two tiny tidal waves rose up and engulfed me, going over my head and practically dunking me despite my body remaining still. I was sputtering soapy water and wiping at my eyes. My now curly ketchup colored hair sagged in my face and over my ears. I must have looked like that cartoon sheepdog who was always having to lift up his hair so that you could see his eyes. “You…” I shrieked. “You splashed me!” I started combing the wet mop back away from my eyes. “You splashed me first,” Janet said. I could barely see, but I could still hear her smile. Was this a fucking game to her?! “But you splashed me!” I blinked away suds and squinted my eyes. Calling baby soap and shampoo ‘tear free’ was a massive case of there being no truth in advertising whatsoever; just below the idea that adult Littles and Amazon babies were functionally the same thing. Janet leaned back in the narrow bathroom and snatched the towel from off the counter. She handed me a corner so I could wipe and dab at my eyes. “What? Mommies can’t roughhouse in the tub with their Little ones?” “No!” I said. “They ca-...That’s not the point, Janet!” “Oh?” she replied. “What is the point, then?” I wanted to wipe the smugness right off her typical Amazon face. I wanted to hurt her again, but this time I wanted her to hurt because she understood; not because she didn’t. And if she didn’t, I wanted to be angry about it. I wanted fuel to scream into the baby monitor that night. “I said that I didn’t want a shirt,” I answered, “and you said ‘we’ll see’, instead of just ‘okay’. I can’t have anything unless you approve!” I felt a meltdown threaten; what Amazons might call a tantrum, and what any sane person would call ‘losing it’. “Well…yeah.” “But you won’t let me have anything that wasn’t your idea first!” I accused her. “You won’t even just let me not wear a stupid t-shirt that you haven’t even bought yet unless I throw a tantrum about it!” I pulled my knees up to my chest, and wrapped my arms around them. I was turning back into a protective ball. “Now you’re probably thinking about getting me one so that I’ll see that it’s not so bad or something! I don’t get choices that you don’t think of first! I shouldn’t have even said anything and just let you wash me.” That last part I said quietly, as if to myself, but I wanted Janet to hear it. “Clark that’s not f…!” Janet stopped. A dawning realization entered her eyes. Her mouth wiggled but no sound came out. Her nostrils flared and she huffed. Her eyes were closed when she found the words. “No, you’re right. I’m sorry baby.” “I’m not a baby!” The acoustics of the bathroom made my impulse screaming sound even louder than usual. She brought her hand up to her cheek, and opened her eyes. “Not what I meant. Sorry. Really sorry. Just…sorry. You’re right. You’re right. Sorry. That’s… Sorry. How can I make it up to you?”` An open ended apology? That was a rare delicacy indeed. “I don’t know.” “Do you want to splash me again and I not splash you back?” Yes. But also no. “I don’t know.” “I’m not going to dress you up in that shirt or that onesie I got for your baby shower. Do you want me to let you try washing yourself tonight?” Yes. Desperately. “I don’t know.” “Do you want me to wear something embarrassing this weekend? We’ve got a doctor’s checkup and shopping to do. Everyone could see me and laugh. Would that be fair?” That would be fantastic! I hated it! She was supposed to be fighting back! Why wasn’t she fighting back?! “I don’t know.” I kept sulking. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know. Why do I still have to make a choice right now?” “You don’t,” she promised. “I’m just….” She bit her lip and looked away so she wasn’t staring at me. “Let’s finish your bath and come back to this. The bubbles in the water should be good enough. Do you want out of the tub now? Or do you want me to keep washing you? Or do you want me to leave you alone in the tub? I’m not going to leave you alone, but I can stand in the doorway and look at my phone. Give you time to soak. Or any other options you can think of…?” She was trying. Goddamnit she was really trying. That was what made her so frustrating to deal with. In some ways I would have had an easier time with someone like Forrest or Ambrose as my Mommy. You could always know where you stood with the intentionally cruel ones. I just couldn’t stand it I unclenched my limbs and unwound myself from the ball. “I just…” Admitting that anything about my current life was enjoyable was it’s own kind of torture. “Wash me. Rub my back and shoulders and arms and stuff.” I felt awkward. Really awkward. “Please.” I could have sworn I saw her eyes get misty. “Okay. Sure. That’s a start.” But the threat of tears didn’t last. What followed was as close to a spa day as I could remember. Tense muscles were gently massaged while the skin was cleansed. Quiet instructions and warnings were given about where she’d touch me next, including embarrassing sensitive areas that weren’t normally given any such courtesy when I was only half-naked and lying down. No humming of lullabies, or motherly mentioning about ‘filth behind my ears’ or a ‘dirt ring around my neck’ that I’d accumulated on the playground that afternoon. No talk of a light rash that might be coming back because the substitute had next to no sense of smell and Zoge was almost constantly on diaper duty with a long queue during the most inconvenient times. Janet gave gentle, yet concerned hums that coincided when she likely observed these things, or so I assumed. Commands like “stand up please, I want to wash your legs and penis,” happened. “Turn around so I can clean your back and bottom. Thank you.” I went with it and just did my best not to feel too much in the particularly sensitive areas. No smiling or moaning when a damp but warm washcloth gingerly pressed up against my nethers. No wincing when that same cloth was rinsed and dabbed between my cheeks, or me hissing through my teeth because yes, it did somehow feel like I was developing a mild sunburn in places where the sun never shined. “Okay. You can sit down. I’d like to wash your hair, too.” After her fingers massaged my scalp for an unnecessary (but pleasurable) amount of time, she turned the faucet back on and filled up a rinse cup. “Close your eyes in three…two…one!” The clean water fell over me in one big spout. None of these things were completely novel since my Adoption, but for once I took the time to catalog them and actually appreciate them somewhat. I’d hate myself for noticing later, I was sure. In the moment it was alright. “I think you need a haircut soon,” Janet said. “Curls are just getting tangled.” Surprisingly she included, “And tiny bits of white and gray are showing up again. Let me know when you want to go to the salon and we will. Maybe after school sometime this week…?” The warm, lavender scented water and the modicum of respect I was being given made me feel slightly drunk. “What if I want to keep the grays?” “Nobody wants to keep the grays.” “What if I want to?” I watched her bite her lip again and her eyes darted back and forth in conversation with herself. “That’s something I’d like to talk about, then.” That was the most honest answer that the crazy giantess could have given and have me still believe her. “Alright,” I said. “Later.” I touched my hair and moved the red clumps of hair on my forehead into my periphery. Stupidly, I knew none of them would look gray at the tips, but I looked anyway. A guy could hope though. “Ready to get out?” she asked. Her voice was still slightly on eggshells, right where it belonged. Not too baby crazy, not too walled off. “Yeah.” She hoisted me out and wrapped the towel around me. The terrible impulse of running away just to inconvenience her jolted into me. I knew how that would look to her, however. Plenty of kids couldn’t stand still long enough to get toweled off. Just because Amazons saw Little behavior how they wanted to see it, didn’t mean I had to take uncalculated risks. The urge was there,I’ll admit. It didn’t feel right unless we were fighting. There were no surprises for me when I was laid out on the nursery’s changing table, creamed, powdered, and stuffed into a particularly thick nighttime Monkeez. I was surprised when Janet asked, “Is there anything you want to wear for jammies tonight?” I eyed her suspiciously. “This doesn’t count for the shirt thing.” “Nothing.” I said. “I want to wear as little as possible. Diaper only.” I wanted to be buck naked, but I knew I’d only get so far. Like I said, calculated risks. Amazingly, Janet didn’t argue. She barely hesitated. “Okay.” She picked me up and carried me over to the crib by the armpits so that my newly dried body didn’t press up against her soaked t-shirt. “It’s getting cold at night. Let me get you some extra blankets just in case.” She walked to the closet and came out with a thick comforter folded up in her arms. She wasn’t dripping wet, so the comforter was in no real danger. “No swaddling!” I blurted out without thinking. “No swaddling,” she repeated. “Maybe if you’re sick. Or if you just feel you need a really good cuddle. But I don’t think your developmental plateau is at a level where full time swaddling is a thing.” Just like that she went and ruined it. “Not. Funny. Janet.” Her own voice cooled to match mine’s heat. “I wasn’t joking, Clark.” The extra blanket came over the railing. It was a plain beige color that didn’t go with any of the childish bed sheets that regularly decorated my crib. It kind of reminded me of the sheets that used to be on me and Cassie’s bed. It certainly didn’t compliment the teddy bears on a playground fitted sheet around my mattress that night. “Lay down. Let me tuck you in.” I obeyed, never breaking my gaze off of her as she leaned over to pull sheets and blankets over my almost naked form. Speaking of form, with the t-shirt still clinging to her, I could see more of Janet’s figure. She tended to prefer flattering, but not overly tight outfits; only skimpy by the standards of centuries past, but not the sexless smocks that Ambrose endorsed and forced Tracy into. I felt my eyes drawn to the near perfect outline of Janet’s chest, the points of her nipples concealed by her bra, and felt something. It hadn’t yet been a full report card since I’d been adopted, but that’s a long time to go without certain thoughts. None of the girls in my class were even allowed to wear bras, and there were far too many opportunities for me to see someone’s bare ass or junk on any given day. Be that as it may, certain uncomfortable thoughts were whispering in the back of my brain, even if the whispers weren’t fully formed. Certain questions combined with observations I’d taken for granted came burbling forth; a literal thought from my own stream of consciousness. “Mo…?” No. This was a sincere question, so I had to address her sincerely. “Janet?” I said. “Why are you always wearing clothes around me?” Janet stood back up, but kept her hands on the railing. “Why wouldn’t I?” I wriggled so that my arms could be over the heavy blankets. “Just…I dunno. You see me naked all the time. Every day. I think I’ve seen you without a top in just your bra…once, maybe?” I expected some bit of embarrassment or blush or revulsion or discomfort from my captor. None of that happened. Curiosity was simply met with curiosity. “Why do you want to see me naked?” “I don’t,” I said. “Not necessarily.” I was doing my best to manage myself and not let any number of unhelpful emotions color my train of thought. “I’m just curious. Like, you’ve handed me off so you can go to the bathroom, but held me till I peed.” “That was a mistake with Forrest,” Janet said. “I’ve been going before I pick you up from the buses or holding it till we get home. You know that.” “Yeah. But like…why? Why do you and everybody else get to see me like this all the time?” “I don’t want to say something that will upset you, Clark. I think you know the reason.” Fatigue and a small amount of goodwill she’d just earned kept the talk from devolving. The fact that I didn’t have school the next day gave her patience, too. I could delay bedtime and genuinely probe into typical crazy for bonus points. “I guess that’s not what I’m trying to ask. I know where you stand on that.” “Hm…” Janet seemed to take my response in stride. I’d given a diplomatic answer over a defiant or submissive one, and she’d picked up on it. “Is it me that needs to be naked or every other Grown-Up that loves you? Mrs. Zoge and Mrs. B?” My brain buzzed with equal parts admiration and indignation at that question. So much to unpack in that sentence and so many assumptions for me to unsuccessfully attempt to dismantle. I could either take the bait on the implications and derail where my brain wanted to go, or I could not acknowledge the implications- thus giving credit to them- and steer the conversation further. Also…Zoge and Beouf naked were things I could have died happy not visualizing. “I don’t expect to see a teacher or a doctor or whatever naked,” I said. “That’s not their job.” “But it’s mine?” “No!” This was harder than I thought. I was getting flustered and frustrated. “I hhhh….” I inhaled, kind of glad that the easiest way for me to verbally shoot myself in the foot wasn’t available to me. I picked up my head just so I could slam the back of it against the pillow the one time. “I’m a preschool teacher,” I explained. “Early childhood development. And an uncle.” That she didn’t interrupt me or remind me that those were legally past designations was a kindness that I didn’t miss. “I read parenting blogs and research all the time. I don’t know how many parents share way too much information in I.E.P. meetings and teacher conferences because I’ve lost count. Lots of parents go naked around their kids because they’re too young to remember or know the difference. Then they get more strict about clothes because they want to teach modesty and self care. What do I need modesty anymore for?” “You’re not too young to remember,” Janet said. “You know the difference.” She wasn’t getting it. Neither was I. It’s not that I wanted to see my ex-coworker in her underwear anymore than I wanted her to wipe my own ass for me or tote me around on her hip. It’s just that, like the whole Maturosis bullshit and the treatment of Littles, there was something inherently wrong about it beyond the obvious, and it was so ingrained that it was totally and irrevocably typical to the point that everyone, Littles included, took it for granted. I laid there in silence for what felt like a good five minutes. Janet didn’t say anything and just kept leaning on the crib’s side, waiting for me to speak up. “Is this because of the talk Mrs. Beouf had last night?” she asked. I held my palms out in a massive stop gesture. “NO! It’s just…it’s…just…” “Just what?” “You get to see me at my weakest and most vulnerable every single day. You talk like I’m your baby, like we’re family or something, like we’re going to be together for the rest of our lives. But I never see the same kind of vulnerability from you. You want me to be comfortable around you, but you don’t show the same level of comfort around me. It doesn’t make me feel protected. It just reminds me of how weak I really am. And that makes me feel angry.” I puffed my cheeks out. “Really really angry.” For the second time that night, Janet seemed genuinely taken aback instead of hurt. “Clark. That might be the most emotionally mature thing I’ve ever heard from you since…ever!” “Thanks.” I didn’t know how else to respond. “I need to think about some things, but I’m not going to forget about this,” she promised. She kissed her fingertips and then pressed them into my forehead. “This is something I want to talk about later.” She left, the light went out, and I felt oddly proud of myself. So proud of myself that I fell asleep instead of telling her how awful she was through the monitor. It’d happened before. Good game. No worries. ****************************************************************************************************** I thought about that oddly intimate conversation that Janet and I’d teased out of each other that Friday night as I laid on a paper covered exam table wearing just a diaper that Saturday morning. The Amazon nurse stripped me down, took my temperature, pulse, and blood pressure, while Janet looked on, fretting. Weight was on a massive scale that I was laid down upon, and it was considered more efficient for me to fall prone and have this random stranger break out measuring tape. Thank goodness they used forehead scanners for taking temperature. “Don’t squirm, Clark,” Janet said. “It’s alright,” the nurse answered, Janet. “I’m good at this.” I couldn’t help but squirm. My gut had chosen the absolute worst time to start acting up. Janet had doubled down on the moderate to high fiber foods she’d fed me Thursday night, and had kept it going for dinner and breakfast. She’d suckered me in with a bowl of steaming hot oatmeal with cinnamon sugar and prunes. I’d only cooperated because she’d provided a massive spoon and a bib. I was allowed to feed myself at my own pace as long as I kept the bib on and used it as a napkin. It was just light enough, but for my size the spoon could have been its own bowl with a handle. The bib was therefore necessary. Back in the doctor’s office, I wanted to fart, but feared that might lead to something worse, and the pressure and pangs were building up inside me and I jittered lightly on the table near the end. “Okay. I got it.” The nurse said. She tickled my tummy and I tensed up so as not to kick her in the face. “The doctor will see you shortly.” She helped me up onto a sitting position, and Janet was beside me before I was all the way up. Janet had taken the t-shirt and pants she’d dressed me in after breakfast and carefully folded them in a pile at the foot of the exam table next to my discarded shoes and socks. “Can I get him dressed again?” She asked. She eyed me, nervously. “I don’t want him to catch cold.” It appeared that our talk about vulnerability had stuck with her. “Leave them off for now. The doctor will want to take a look at him.” That was all there was to say about that, apparently. She walked to the door and left us to each other. Janet went to the trouble of propping herself up on the exam table and letting her feet dangle next to mine. “Do you want to sit in my lap?” she asked. “I could hug you and cover you up until the doctor gets here.” She wore a black scoop neck top and a billowing lilac patterned skirt that I could have been tangled up in without her showing any skin whatsoever. A cramp and I fidgeted in place. “No,” I grunted. “I’m fine.” Secretly, I was worried that there’d be enough space on her lap for my body to think I was on a toilet seat or something and start pushing against my will. I kept my feet dangling over the edge and my rear planted on the flat surface. I sat up straight so that all the weight was down on my tailbone. There was nothing to grip on or lean forward so I couldn’t accidentally raise my rump. I was mindful not to lean back, either and fill my Monkeez with my legs raised to the sky. That would have been worse in my opinion. I was going to poop soon. That was inevitable. I’d lost count of how many times it’d happened to me, but I noticed every time. Adoption hadn’t left me with much agency in whether or not it happened, but the stitched together tatters of my pride wanted to have as much say in the when and where it happened as possible. Messing isn’t the same as wetting. Diapers don’t absorb solid mass so quickly that you sometimes lose count of how often your body has failed you. They don’t contain the odor the same, or subtly sag and swell over time. There’s sounds beyond quiet hissing that only you hear so that you can’t ignore or pretend to yourself that didn’t happen. Diapers never need poop indicators; that’s why eyes, ears, and noses were invented. Janet positioned herself next to the fairly mature toddler clothing she'd dressed me in. I would have killed for that toddler clothing on my body. The ‘Run! Francisco Run!’ shirt wasn’t that infantile, all things considered, and the pants were baggy enough that me carrying an extra pound or two in my back non-pocket would be hard to notice without scrutiny. Pooping your pants sucks, but any level of obfuscation of the inevitable is preferable to nothing: Baggy clothes that concealed lumps and sagging were lovely. A quiet alcove to grunt in or a couch to hide behind while the deed was done could have helped. Highchairs and bouncers and such were still merciful because it was still a solid extra layer between your humiliation and somebody else’s eyes. Other Littles would do, sometimes; they could distract teachers and be suspected of dirty deeds themselves. Just not being the only person ‘known to need diapers’ was sometimes enough where dignity was concerned. Anything to mask my diaper ballooning out the back of me was an unexpected kind of luxury. Anything to stop someone from watching me bend my knees, pop a squat, and remark “Uh oh. I know what that means!”. Fuck my life that I now had serious opinions and feelings about these things. “Janet?” I called. I caught her frown before it reached the bottom of her face. We were technically alone, but also technically in public. “Mommy?” She gently rubbed my back and tried to pull me in for a side hug. I resisted because I felt a not-so-paranoid need to keep all my weight completely centered “Yes, Clark?” How did I ask this and explain it to her? ‘Put my pants back on so I can poop them like you want me too?’ No way were those words coming out of my mouth. “I don’t feel so good.” “Oh?” Janet felt my forehead even though my temperature had literally been taken less than two minutes prior. “We’re just here for a basic check up, but you can tell the doctor if you’re feeling icky.” I didn’t have time to glower or sneer at her word choice. “Can I…?” I tried not to groan. Maybe I could mess in the carseat on the ride back home or wherever our next stop was. Doubtful, but maybe. Did I really want to sit in my own filth for longer than I had to over misplaced dignity? “Can you…?” She was interrupted by a disgusting churning sound coming from my belly. My guts growled loud enough that even she heard it. “Tummy trouble?” Her hand went up over my shoulders and gently patted bare my knee. “Do you need to throw up?” My mouth contorted and my lip pouted out as I shook my head. “Oooooh!” She nodded as if she understood. “I get it. Let me know if you can and I’ll change you as soon as you poop.” I wanted to claw eyes out; mine or hers. “I’ll change you before we go no matter what. That way you won’t have to sit in the car. Even if we’re waiting in the parking lot.” My stomach was punching me from the inside out, and my cheeks were trying to spread without my consent. For Janet, for any Amazon, it was a good deal. Never let an Amazon offer you a good deal if you can get a better one. “Do they have a bathroom here?” “Yeah. I think they have changing tables, too.” The hand left my knee and found my waist band. “Nope. Not yet.” A hidden Amazon skillset must be completely missing hints. “Can I…” I whimpered and paused after another jerk from inside me. I hadn’t been terribly constipated but something inside me was really kicking in. Maybe if I begged, just this once, I could get away with it instead of getting into an argument. It would be okay. No one was here but the two of us. “Mommy, would it be okay if…if I…?” Thud-Thud Two swift knocks at the door and another Amazon poked his head inside. “Hey-hey!” Dr. Milton said. “How’s my favorite patient?” Paper lining and plastic backing rustled beneath me as I instinctively sat up straight and clenched my cheeks together. Old King Quack was here. Broad shouldered, silver haired, but friendly-seeming and confident with a twinkle in his eye, he instantly gave off ‘New Grandpa’ vibes. In actuality, he was arguably the biggest proponent of whatever theory Maturosis peddled itself as in Oakshire. Bigger than even Beouf, if such a thing were possible. Shit. My vain and distant potty options were instantly flushed down the toilet. Maturosis was a cult, and it would have been foolish to so much as hope that blasphemy would go unchecked around him. I was definitely going to have an accident here. Probably in this room. The only Little with two giants staring right at him. Shit. I folded my hands in my lap and clenched my jaw so tight that my teeth clicked. “Hello, Doctor.” Janet stood up and offered her hand out. Dr. Milton shook hers and then held his hand out to me just like on my first visit. I did not take up the offer to shake it. “Hmmm?” he said. “Favorite patient bit not working, sir?” He scratched the side of his head. “Oh yeah, I gotta say that you’re my favorite patient named Clark! That’s the part that I missed.” Cartoonishly he turned around and made to walk away. “I’ll come back in.” “Spare me.” Another tremor shook my gut and I tried to sit up even straighter somehow. I needed to move, but didn’t want a movement. “He talks!” The doctor said, “Excellent! Wonderful to see you, sir! I hope you’re well.” He was unfazed by nasty glares and distant stares alike. He would be. He turned his back to me and Janet followed him around. “This is just a checkup, right? Nothing too bad going on?” Janet folded her hands in front of her and shook her head, oddly mirroring me. “No, Doctor. Not as far as health goes.” “Good. No sickness or fever other than that one time you emailed me about after the fact?” “Correct.” My lips puckered like I’d been sucking a lemon. Mental disgust and internal discomfort were doing a number on me. I wanted to bite my knuckle to distract myself from the pangs, but that would draw attention. I actually would have killed to have Lion in my lap, something with a nice fluffy brain to crush, but he was stuck with his head poking out of Janet’s diaper bag on the floor. A pacifier would have made a decent groaning gag, too, and given the sides of my tongue and insides of my cheek a rest. Fuck my life that these were now my earnest thoughts and options. “Are all the basic fundamentals happening? He’s still eating, sleeping, burping, peeing, pooping? Sometimes multiple at once, I bet?” His back was to me but I heard the knowing chuckle and pictured a corny grin all the same. Janet did a poor job of stifling her own. “Yes, sir.” Both Amazons were preoccupied with one another. If I was going to degrade myself here and now, this was going to be the largest amount of privacy I could expect: shitting while they were looking at each other instead of examining me directly. The thing that gave me pause was that based on my positioning and red alert levels of urgency, I’d probably make it to my hands and knees before things started to empty themselves out. Thursday night with the Little brat who habitually pooped on all fours and how positively irate she’d been at being ratted out came to my imagination’s foregrand. That put a cork in that plan. “Potty training or potty anxiety?” “He still gets embarrassed sometimes that he’s lost his potty training,” Janet reported, “but overall I think he’s fine. Sometimes he’ll forget to ask for a change. I had to break out the rash cream last night.” A big silver haired noggin bobbled in approval. “Good. Good. Not the rash, I mean, that he’s comfortable. We always want to ensure comfort and happiness where we can.” “Mmmhmmm” If Janet had been singing, the man would have been preaching to the choir. “If he’d spent the last two months throwing a complete temper tantrum every time he’d had an accident, or constantly asking to use the toilet, I’d actually recommend potty training.” “Oh no no no,” Janet said. “I don’t think he needs that.” I didn’t need clothes to keep warm in that second. Lies. Such utter bullshit lies. If I’d been a steadfast whiner about what went on in my pants daily, I would have gone to time out, or be given impossibly thick diapers and pumped full of diuretics till I couldn’t tell the difference between wet and dry. The two instances I’d encountered in my life of a captured Little being allowed to toilet train were the Little who lived in my house before Cassie and I bought it and the one who’d been withdrawn from Beouf’s roster over the summer. One was dead, and the other was as good as dead, assuming she was still at New Beginnings. None of the A.L.L. or any of my other classmates had brought up what led to the girl getting training pants, but her causing a fuss would have surely come up. I was too scared to ask Beouf before and there’s no way she would tell me now. This so-called doctor based his diagnosis on self-fulfilling prophecies after the fact when he’d already proven himself right. Typical. So, so, typical. I breathed in and cut it short when an even more intense cramp racked me. My entire belly was on fire for a second. What was I eating that was causing this? I hadn’t felt this level of urgency since before all of my underwear had tapes on it. How funny would it be, I mused, if this was how I found out my appendix was about to burst? The pain subsided for a second and I shoved that nugget away from my thoughts; mostly because an even more frightened part of my gray matter dredged up the idea that I’d find my continence surgically undone while someone was rooting around there saving me. “Breastfeeding yet?” The quack asked. “No,” Janet and I said in unison. She sounded more embarrassed in her update; an Amazon who hadn’t broken her pet yet. I sounded more steadfast in my refusal and didn’t like that ‘yet’, at all. His head went down to a clipboard he’d been keeping tucked under his arm. “Then why did you ask to…?” “The prescription hasn’t kicked in yet,” Janet yelped. “Prescription?” I called over. Suddenly my bowels didn’t hurt as much, but my padding was still pristine. Something more sinister sounding was just there to occupy my attention. “What do you mean ‘prescription’?” The conversation, along with the Amazons pivoted back over to me. “It’s for me, Clark. He wrote me a prescription a while back. It’s for my mood.” “It’s true, good sir.” Doctor Milton said. “Not for Littles, but good for women who’ve recently Adopted. You’d be surprised how much Adoptive parents have in common with biological counterparts. It’s fascinating. Helps the Littles indirectly, too.” He tried giving me a conspiratorial wink. “I’d say something like ‘happy wife happy life’, but I haven’t figured anything out that rhymes with Mommy just yet.” Only he laughed at his joke. “What’s it for?” I asked. “Oxytocin,” Janet said. “It helps me get oxytocin.” I puzzled the word out. Where had I heard it before? It sounded vaguely familiar, but not in a way that came up in conversation. The old titan plugged his stethoscope into his ears and started giving me the once over. “Let’s just make sure everything looks good on the inside, before we play Twenty Questions, yes?” He breathed on the cold bit of metal at the end to warm it up and then held it up to my chest. “Mmmhmmm. Mmmmhmmm.” Then my back. “Breathe deep. Thank you.” Then my stomach. “Mmmhmmm. Mmmmhmmm.” A light shined in my ears, eyes, and throat. “Say ah!” “Aaaaah.” “Very good, sir. Very good.” And then his focus returned to Janet. “Ms. Grange, Clark seems to be healthy but…” Fear and concern clogged up Janet’s throat. “But?” “I’m worried about his weight. He’s gained more than a little bit in just two months.” “He has?” Janet asked. I had. Embarrassed. I was actually embarrassed. I peered down at my pot belly and frowned. Cafeteria food and baby slop was more caloric than breakfast shakes. Most of my time was spent stewing and plotting instead of over exercise. The only time I exercised was when it served a larger, meaner purpose. I kept staring at my gut. Yet another side effect of having no privacy was that I never had time to explore myself or notice changes that weren’t drastically forced on me. Still… I hadn’t gained that much, had I? “Fifteen pounds in just a couple months is worrisome. He’s not in any danger, but I don’t want to see it continue, you understand.” My mouth went dry. I sat motionless as more pain filled my midsection. Fifteen pounds? How had I managed that? Janet looked like a whipped dog. “Yes, Doctor.” “Littles like sweet and fatty foods, but those experiencing Maturosis lack the impulse control to moderate consumption and the discipline to exercise. His brain might think he’s a baby, but his heart won’t know the difference. He’s all out of growth spurts and his metabolism won’t be speeding up.” This was the most uncomfortable I’d seen another Amazon make Janet, and I absolutely hated it. I was being talked about like I was a fat old man and a useless baby at the same time. “Any suggestions, sir?” “Did you try the at-home yoga like I advised? Or find a class?” “No, sir. I…it’s been hectic, but that’s no excuse. I’ll look into some resources.” A finger pointed at me. “You could, you could. Or you could just ask him. Can’t be that big a difference between adult yoga and kid’s yoga. At least start him on the one while you research the other.” More proof that I would never fully understand Amazons. Janet continued to nod. “Okay. Sure. Yeah.” She stopped and considered me. “Would you like that, Clark?” I stopped jiggling my belly like it was a disgusting science experiment. “Uh…yeah…?” “You can do other things if you like,” the quack expounded. “Get a toddler leash and go on walks instead of strolls. Sign up for Little League T-Ball or a dance class. Get him some playdates on the weekend.” That prefaced another dirty old man wink. “Half an hour wandering around a playground is good, but it’s not enough.” Someone knew Beouf’s class schedule… “His best friend is a crawler,” Janet said, defensively. “So?” Dr. Milton replied. “Let him crawl on the floor with his buddy. Crawling burns calories, too.” He might have a point there. Amy wasn’t fat. “His best friend doesn’t have to be his only friend,” he added. “The point is he’s never going to grow up at his age. He’s only going to grow out, and you have to keep that in mind because he can’t do it himself.” I wanted to contradict him, but it’s hard to argue independence when you’re on the verge of unloading into your pants. Having better cardio would serve me in the long run, anyways. So why not let Janet help engineer and fine tune my freedom? “Yes, sir.” Janet said. “I can do that.” “Good.” Dr Milton leaned up against his exam table. “Very good. One thing I’ll add is that if I can get a stool sample, I can probably do some analysis. Figure out if there’s any major deficiencies that need seeing to. Do you have a dirty diaper like I suggested? Tanked him up on fiber for a few days?” I locked eyes with Janet and silently begged her not to out me. “What about a blood sample?” I volunteered. “I can handle a prick on the finger.” Counterintuitively I stifled a pained moan and tacked on “I’m a big boy….” to taunt the man into proving me wrong. The bigger giant stroked his chin. “Maybe. Maybe. Not a big fan of that method, though. Unnecessary pain and not exactly what I’m looking for. You’d be surprised how much information can be found with a stool sample.” “Sorry,” Janet said. “I forgot. He usually has a bowel movement when he sleeps or first thing in the morning at school. No such luck today.” Inwardly, I froze. Was Janet actually covering for me? Lying for me? About something objectively trivial, all things considered but of vital import to yours truly? For me? Another mountain of evidence proving why I would never fully understand the maternal giant folk. “Ah yes,” Dr. Milton said. “That is the downside of having Little patients. If we could predict when they’d be able to produce for us, we probably wouldn’t need to have them in diapers to begin with. Fortunately…” He spun around and dug his fingers into my sides, an insane wide eyed smile on his wrinkling face. “COOCHIE COOCHIE COO!” I tensed and fell back, screaming instead of laughing despite the rictus grin forming. My arms tucked in, and infinitely stronger hands took that as a cue to dig into my arm pits, and then dart over to my belly button. I drew my knees up. That’s all that she wrote for those Monkeez. I started pushing and screaming as the mess made its way out of me far too easily. My diaper ballooned as fecal matter hit the back and kept going, each cramp now just a warning that I wasn’t done pushing. After the initial lapse, it wasn’t even that I ‘had’ to push; it was just a reflex. Warmth engulfed me top to bottom and the front of my padding started to discolor and bunch up while I practically bathed in my own urine. I knew this would happen. I knew it. I knew it. I knew it. Knowing it didn’t make it any better. As long as it felt, the whole terrible process took less than five seconds. My insides felt like they’d been greased and everything slipped right out. It didn’t feel like diarrhea, just soft. I hadn’t felt this lack of control since I’d been poisoned by the training chocolate. This wasn’t training chocolate, though, because Raine’s goodies at least numbed things so that you couldn’t feel yourself going at times. This just felt overwhelmingly natural and I hated it. Both giants were staring right at me while I did it, too. “And there. We. Go.” The old trickster god said. “Can’t get any fresher than that.” I stayed laying down on the table with my knees pulled up close to my stomach. I buried my face in my hands and shoved the heel of my right palm over my mouth to stop me from screaming and crying. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. You’ve cried enough. Don’t let them see you cry. Fuck them. Be strong. Don’t look! Don’t think! This is nothing and you’re used to this. Even though you shouldn’t be… Janet was shushing me and gently running her fingers through my hair. “Was that really necessary?” I didn’t see the doctor shrug. “His guts were going crazy. I’m a rip the bandaid off kind of guy.” There was a prolonged silence. Janet kept stroking my hair and shushing me. I kept trying not to hyperventilate or scream bloody murder. “You can change him right here if you want. Just ball it up and I’ll have a nurse collect it.” “If it’s okay with you,” Janet said, “I’d like to change him in the bathroom.” There was a massive edge to her words. “Get him dressed.” “Sure sure.” He said, nonchalantly. “If you choose the one right before you get to the checkout counter, you’ll find a cabinet between the changing station and the toilet. If you put the diaper in the cabinet and knock, one of the nurses will take it.” “Thank you, Doctor.” “Any time, Ms. Grange. Anytime. See you both in a couple months.” I heard the door open and shut. Then I heard her say, “We’ll see…” The wait was too long for me, while Janet gathered up the diaper bag and my clothes. “Change me,” I whimpered, pathetically. “Please. Just change me.” “I will, baby. Just a second.” I was blind back through the halls and to the restroom Janet had been directed to. I felt every shift and step. Nothing shifted in my pants, whatsoever. There was too much sticking to everything and not enough room for it to jostle around in. My ears burned on full alert, picking up every footstep, cry, and bit of random dialogue. Things went nearly silent save for squeaky hinges on a wall mounted changing station. “Please,” I begged. “Just get me out of this. I don’t even care about the changing pad.” The soft comforter-like texture of a changing pad still cushioned me. The familiar sensation of a restraint being threaded under my arms and over my chest followed. “It’s okay,” Janet whispered. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” I finally took my hands out of my face to clutch Lion and hold onto him for dear life. Janet was readying diapering supplies like she was a surgeon. “It’s okay. This is nothing. This is nothing. It’s not a big deal.” Tapes ripped and the diaper practically forced itself open. Stupidly I looked down myself and saw the disgusting results. I laid my head back and counted ceiling tiles. It was a good thing there were no mirrors on this ceiling. Beouf’s room would have killed me just then. Janet wiped me down, furiously, shushing and whispering sweet nothings as she did. From as many wipes as she used, I'd quietly figured that the putrid stinking stuff had nearly reached my genitals. It wasn’t that putrid, though. It was bad, mind you, still obviously feces, but it had a different stench to it. Less offensive, or so I thought. Everyone likes their own brand, as it were, but Janet showed no sign of irritation, either. “Almost done,” Janet promised. She just kept going at it, using wipe after wipe like a squeegee. “You’re doing good, baby. You’re doing good.” Lion got a chance to breathe when the last wipe caressed my penis and I finally heard the used diaper get balled up. I saw the massive ball be toted right by me, and placed in a cabinet with a knock. Back on the slab, Janet slipped a new diaper and dusted some powder over me. “You’re doing so good.” Janet whispered. “I’m so proud of you. I love you.” “I…” I almost echoed the sentiment but Zoge’s conditioning hadn’t quite gotten a hold of me. Everything untensed from my head to my tow, when the change was finally finished and I had a nice snug replacement taped over my hips. The smile that followed when Janet started threading my legs through the pants was completely genuine. I hadn’t even had to ask or remind her and went so far as to boost my hips up to help. Socks and shoes followed. Finally, I was allowed to sit up and get my shirt back on. “Thank you,” I said. For once I buried my head into the nape of her neck and didn’t want to go for the jugular. “Welcome,” she whispered, and set me down on my own two feet. Surprised, I reached my hand up for her. Maybe we were starting on light cardio right away. Janet didn’t take my hand. “Hold on,” she told me. “I gotta go too.” “Go?” In answer to my question, she walked over to the single toilet, turned around, and dropped her lilac skirt and matching panties down to her ankles. “Janet?” my voice bounced off the walls. “Mommy? What are you doing?” The answer was a tinkling sound of liquid connecting with liquid, and Janet loudly sighing. More than a hint of scarlet came to her cheeks. Stupidly, I turned around and used Lion to cover my face. Watching just felt wrong; voyeuristic; gross. I knew exactly why she was doing it, but my brain couldn’t process that this was more than hypothetical. The sound of tinkling paused and I held my breath, waiting for the flush. A solid plunk of something solid punctuated the stillness and it actually made me jump. The shuffling sounds of toilet paper being ripped added to the bathroom symphony and finally a flush. When I turned back around, she was at the sink, washing her hands. I gawked right up until the moment that she shouldered the diaper bag and picked me back up. “What?” she asked, playfully. “You peep and poop in front of me all the time.” “Yeah, but…but…but…” “But what?” Her eyes fluttered at me. “What, baby?” I nuzzled back into her. “Thank you,” I repeated myself. “Just…thank you.” *********************************************************************************************** “Mommy’s going to take a shower,” Janet declared after she’d cleaned up for dinner. “Do you want to take one with me?” I looked back over my shoulder towards the television as if maybe she’d been addressing the parents on the Koddles commercial. “I beg your pardon?” The rest of that Saturday had been eerily still. Lovey-dovey baby crazy Janet had taken a back seat to preoccupied and quiet Janet. That had been fine. I’d needed time to process that morning. She’d needed it too. I took a bottle of goat’s milk in her lap right after lunch and I didn’t actively seek to antagonize her, but other than that I’d let Janet be. I was feeling shades of that first not-completely miserable weekend right before I’d learned about Cassie and those parallels gave me all kinds of bad feelings. Janet had put in a call to Beouf and left a voice message when I wasn’t supposed to be listening in. Other than that she was on her phone or in her room all day. She’d disappeared for almost an hour of dinner; giving me free reign of the house and uncharacteristically leaving the dishes in the sink. Presently, just before when she’d normally start trying to put me in bed, the Amazon stood barefoot in front of me with her gorgeous raven hair let down, and wearing nothing but a pink silk bathrobe tied off at the waist. “Mommy’s going to take a shower,” she said again. “Do you want to take one with me?” I was still in the toddler play clothes: Loose pants, velcro sneakers, t-shirt. Deduct fifty points for the Monkeez and I was still more dressed than her. Wow. So this was about to be a thing. This was happening. “Um…sure? Yeah.” “Okay. Do you want to take a shower in your bathroom, or Mommy’s bathroom?” Hearing the M-word spoken so frequently in a spot where it should have been forbidden left a bad taste in my ears. “Janet, why are you-?” “Clark,” she almost snapped at me. “I need to say this stuff. I need to be able to say these words. Call me whatever you want, but I need to be able to call myself ‘Mommy’ right now. Okay? I need it.” Speaking of flashbacks, I hadn’t seen Janet like this since the first awful day where our relationship moved out of the friend-zone and into every Little’s worst nightmare. “Just…let me humor myself.” Wow. “Okay. Sure. It’s your house. That’s fine.” She stood there, waiting for me. “Your shower, I guess.” Janet likely jerked her head towards her bedroom door and I waddled after her. Two months Adopted and I’d seen where she slept a bare handful of times. It still had a kind of mysterious quality to me, like I was trespassing into a sorceress’s lair or something. The bed was fully made and put together. A military woman could flip a coin and no wrinkles would form. The fancy headboard with the drinking glasses was dusted, too. The side cot that she’d gotten as an impulse buy had yet to be unpacked, but other than that, the room was bizarrely clean, even for Janet. I twisted my head, wondering if she’d shoved old clothes or dropped something under the bed like a normal person, but Janet stopped my instinctive snooping. “Come on,” she said. “Follow Mommy. We’re gonna get clean together.” If she were going to hide anything it would have been in the massive closet, anyways. She brought us into the small bathroom and took a knee on the fluffy floor mat. Small of course, is a matter of comparison. The white tile was still tall and impressive with a high ceiling, even if including the shower, the space was only twice the size of Beouf’s classroom commode. “Are you sure you’re not going to get scared?” she asked. “Mommy’s shower is very loud and there’s no bubbles to play with.” “Janet you don’t need to talk to me like I’m-” “Clark…” Janet cut me off again. “I’ve been reading those same blogs you told me about and then some all last night and this afternoon. Are you sure?’ I curled my lip and breathed deeply through my nose. “Yes, Janet. I’m sure.” She closed her eyes and smiled softly. Even without seeing her, I could see it reaching her eyes. This was happening. This was really happening. An Amazon was about to fully listen to me and give up some control. And she was struggling but strangely okay with it. “Okay. Arms up.” She mimed like I didn’t know. I obeyed. “Now your shoes. Now your pants.” One leg at a time I stepped out. She was going the extra mile to make it clear that I was still a baby to her and that old Clark Gibson was gone. Funnily enough, this was still one of the easier times that I’d been undressed by her. I was expecting to have to look up at her from the fluffy bath mat. “And your diaper.” My last regular diaper of the day fell down between my ankles, Janet quickly balled it up and cursed. “Crud,” she said. “I forgot to get a new one for after.” My own contrarian nature betrayed me. “My room is just across the house,” I said. “Even if I’m not potty trained, I think you can make it in time.” All the struggling was actually helping me. “True,” she said and stood up. “Good point. Maybe next time.” Next time? Janet wasted no further time disrobing. She’d taken Dr. Milton’s sentiment about bandaid ripping to heart, even if she’d been less than thrilled by his methods. The belt was undone, and the silken thing was off her shoulders almost as fast as my heavy sodden underwear had been. I could only stand there, awestruck and blushing, fighting myself from turning away. In all my life I’d only seen one woman completely nude; pictures, my imagination, and one mishap with an unlocked door didn’t count. That made Janet the second. I wasn’t sure what to say, or do. I’d proposed this- literally asked for it- but in no way did I honestly think on an intellectual or emotional level that Janet would follow through. I’d been bluffing; playing chicken; and this woman had called my bluff. I could only stand there, gaping, and trying not to drool. Did I stare? Did I look away? Wouldn’t that be against the point of this…whatever this was? She’d seen me naked literally everyday for months. This was just returning the favor, so to speak. Looking for something to latch onto, my eyes started analyzing her the way the killer nanny-bot did in those foreign horror movies Little parents would sometimes let their children watch: I took in the curves of her hips, and her thighs. I gazed at her belly button and the slight tummy that proportionately made my macaroni and cheese gut look bulbous. Her breasts somehow looked bigger without the extra layers, and left me transfixed; a shrew staring at a cobra’s sway. My gaze went beneath the belly button and confirmed that Janet didn’t dye her hair. Looking at the size of Janet’s…everything, and my…everything else… I wondered how there could be any truth to the idea that Tweener’s had mixed ancestry. The physical mechanics alone were baffling. The desire, however, was understandable; from an academic standpoint, of course. It was possible to admit that someone was attractive while feeling no physical or emotional attraction whatsoever. “It’s okay,” Janet said softly to me. “You can look. I trust you.” The verbal reminder that Janet was, in fact, a person made my eyes hone onto hers and refuse to look away. This was about vulnerability, I reminded myself. This was her trusting me with something. This was Janet giving up a small sense of privacy in lieu of giving me my own. It was the closest thing to compromise with a Little that her baby crazy brain could wrap itself around. “So,” I said, feeling awkward. “What now?” I was scooped up and propped over her shoulder. “We take a shower, silly. This is what you wanted.” “Yeah,” I said. “You’re right.” Janet held me with one hand and I wrapped my arms over her shoulder for balance. She used her free hand to open the class door to her shower and turn on the water. A million focused drops of hot rain poured onto the floor, and she held me there on the precipice, waiting for the temperature to adjust. My heart thudded like a jackhammer, and every nerve ending in my body tingled. All tactile sensations felt magnified a thousand fold. I could feel the spaces between Janet’s fingers cupping my ass. I could feel the heat from her body and that her pulse was pounding just as much as mine was. My hands kept gently brushing over patches of skin, taking in the softness and textures of her. I wanted to reach up and pull her hair. Simultaneously, in the back of my mind, I kept thinking about less innocent exploration; the urge to touch both out of curiosity, but also out of an impulse to provoke. How did Amy do it so casually with her Mommy? Meanwhile in the back of my mind, I kept worrying about my penis lightly brushing up against her body. Thinking about it was probably not helping. I wanted to touch everything. I dared not touch anything. I was curious about being touched. I feared something happening upon touch. “Temperature’s good,” Janet announced. Her reach was long enough to where she could test the water without stepping in. “Do you want a feel?” “Yes, please.” Gingerly, the giantess slid across into the shower holding me out like a certain animated feline. I put my arm forward and jerked it back like I’d been struck. “Too hot?” Janet asked. “No,” I half-shouted over cascading water. “Too cold! Warmer please!” Janet stepped inside, and twisted a dial. She pivoted so that her opposite shoulder was in the oncoming flow. “You’re not getting sick again, are you?” “Nuh-uh. I just like being in hot water.” She cocked an eyebrow at me. “That explains a lot.” We both looked like we didn’t know whether to laugh or not while the steam clouds slowly rose. “How about this?” She pivoted so I could experiment. “Much better.” “Good.” She turned so that almost all of me was in the gentle torrent. The water pouring down us felt amazingly therapeutic, tiny water massages pelting me clean instead of a big bubbly blanket that secretly wanted to drown me. And this time I didn't have to be sick as a dog to get it. Oddly enough, the extra sensory input of the steam, water, and white noise from the shower helped make other sensations not so extreme as to be worrisome. It was a tight fit in that shower. Two full grown Amazons probably wouldn’t have had enough room to get clean, (or do much of anything but stand there). Like with Beouf’s cramped bathroom made even more cramped by a thick changing table, there was just enough room for the two of us together. Janet had a hanging shelf with liquid soaps and body washes. Since I was keeping one arm constantly occupied with my body, she would just squirt dabs onto us and gently work it in with her fingers. Like the night before, she would warn me whenever she was about to touch me or shift me around or switch arms. It was even better than the last time. And she developed a kind of gentle swaying motion that took us in and out of the showerhead’s path like a slow waltz. The actual bathing part was over far too quickly for me. At least half of the usual bathtime ritual was waiting for the tub to fill and for a moment I worried that it might end after every conceivable part of us had been soaped up and sprayed off. I peered far down below at the drain where the white flecks of soap vanished as soon as they dribbled off our bodies. There were no bath toys to offer, or bubbles to play with, and no place for Janet to sit and stare at me and pretend that I was the Little she’d always dreamed of but would never get. I didn’t say anything to her when the last of the body wash was gone. She’d held up her end of the bargain and had every right to stop. She didn’t though. All that happened was that she gave herself greater freedom of movement, and cradled me in both arms, rocking me gently in the same way that we’d danced together. “My baby takes the morning train, He works from nine to five and then, He takes another home again, To find me waitin’ for him.” Now cradled, I stared up in a quiet wonder at her. Janet had sung to me before; more times that I care to write down. But before this moment, her kiddie songs had always had a kind of annoying, cutesy, chirpy, nasally, singing-without-really singing quality. An adult trying to sing like a child; that is to say ‘poorly’. “He takes me to a movie or to a restaurant To go slow dancing, anything I want, Only when he’s with me, I catch light, Only when he gives me, makes me feel alright.” This voice was deeper; throatier; louder and full chested; contralto to the point to where it might have been able to sing baritone, but still undeniably feminine. Undeniably Janet. And she’d been singing a song I didn’t know, but the way she sang it, it sounded comforting and happy and simple; genuinely something that I might have hummed to myself on my scooter after a long day at work but having enough energy to do something beyond crash and veg out. “My baby takes the morning train, He works from nine to five and then, He takes another home again, To find me waiting for him.” More intriguing, the Amazon was singing a song with ‘baby’ distinctly in the lyrics, but nothing else to indicate that it was about a Little. No talks of maturity, or bottles, or butterfly kisses. If anything, this ‘baby’ sounded like a partner and provider, over a dependant or a doll. In the context of the melody, ‘baby’ was a term of affection, not domination or smothering cosseting obsession. “What’s that song?” I called over the pouring water and Janet’s own melody. Why didn’t she sing like that more often? Janet looked down at me as if she’d forgotten I was there. She’d entranced herself. “I don’t remember. It’s something I learned in highschool; part of a dumb talent show competition.” A moment passed. “I like to sing in the shower. Sorry. I’ll stop.” “No, no,” I said. “I’m just curious. How’s the rest go?” “I don’t remember,” she admitted. “Just that one verse and the chorus.” “Do you want to sing it again?” I offered. Then, I admitted, “I like it.” Eyes sparkled back and a switch flipped back on. “Really? You like it when Mommy sings?” I balled up a fist and rubbed my eyes so that I wouldn’t roll them. “Yes, Janet. I like it when you sing.” Mercifully, that was enough for her. She kept swaying and gently rocking me, taking our naked bodies in and out of the stream, singing the same two parts of a mostly forgotten song over and over again. The world outside of our immediate bubble went numb to me and ceased to exist as far as I cared. The only two things that had my attention were Janet’s singing and face gently smiling down on me, and how pleasantly heavy my eyelids were beginning to feel. “Okay,” Janet said. “I think it’s time to get you to bed, honey.” “Hmm?” I stirred and startled at the sound of her voice not sinking. I’d genuinely drifted off in the massive woman’s arms. She was blushing like crazy and holding me wrapped up in a towel. “Hey!” I whined. “No swaddling!” The bathroom ceiling shifted to the bedroom ceiling and quickly into the main part of the house. “Don’t worry,” Janet said. “This is just the quickest way to dry you off, silly.” She herself was still dripping wet. I suppressed a groggy snarl. “Promise?” “Promise, sweetie. Mommy promises.” Honey. Silly. Sweetie. All these nicknames were seriously toeing a line, and Janet knew it. I let her call herself ‘Mommy’ and she was already testing new boundaries. I tried to not allow my eyes to close again, not wanting to be so sleepy, no matter how good the experience had been. Lightly squirming in Janet’s grasp, I tried to free my arms without her dropping me. There was something so unpleasantly confining about it. How did real babies sleep with their arms bound so tight? There was probably a reason why it wasn’t common past a certain age. Trying to get out of the swaddle while Janet was moving was no easy task. It would have been simpler to trust her to carry me, but all of the baby talk she was piling on deserved at least a physical rebuttal to discourage it. “Almost there, baby,” Janet said. “Almost to your nursery. Then we’ll put you in a nice dry diaper and some jammies and you can go back to sleep. How does that sound?” Oh enough already! “It sounds-” My hand brushed past my penis and I froze. I wasn’t fully erect…yet. When did that happen? It didn’t take a master detective to figure out. A better phrase to describe my condition was ‘I wasn’t fully erect…anymore.’ Janet’s sudden heaping of baby talk was taking on a new context. She was unsettled, discomforted, and trying to ‘help’ me. Beouf giving a pep talk about Adopted Littles maintaining certain urges was fine in theory. Practice was another matter. For both of us. “Yes Mommy.” I said. “I think I’m sleepy, yes. Can I please go night-night?” Janet looked positively relieved. “Of course, baby boy. But first we have to get you ready for bed. Can’t have you going night-night all nakied!” The vocabulary was really doing it for me, by which I meant not doing it at all. As intended. Completely naked and dripping, Janet got me redressed, all while narrating every single excruciating detail. “Now that we’ve had our shower together, let’s slip the fresh diaper underneath you. We want a nice nighttime diaper, too, so you don’t leak all over your crib. And you’re still pretty rashy, Clark, so I think some cream on your bum-bum will help you sleep good. Can’t forget the baby powder. That’ll dry you out and help you feel nice and cool. “Here, let Mommy rub it in on your tummy, too. We’re gonna start feeding you more yummy veggies though so don’t get used to seeing Mr. Tum-Tum! Almost done, almost done. Let’s count the tapes. One! Two! Now let’s get your jammies on. Blue’s a good color! Right? Yes it is! Yes it is! It’s a pretty color for my precious baby boy! “Let’s get your arms, head, and legs in there. Good baby! Now let’s count the snaps. One. Two. Three. Four. Five! Wow! You did it! Oh and here’s your paci in case you need a suckle. And here’s Lion to keep you company.” Throughout it, her voice took on the same cooing, whiny, nasally tone it did when she was trying to do any of the Little Voices exercises. I resisted and complained about absolutely none of it. Was thankful, for it in fact. She gently put me down in the crib and that was alright. She forgot to kiss me in any way shape or form and that was alright, too. “Night night, Clark. I love you. Mommy’s gonna go dry off.” I laid there, completely mortified and quivering. In the darkness, I turned my head and looked at Lion. His glassy unmoving eyes stared at me, judging me for any number of things. “Shut up!”

Any sufficiently advanced magic is completely indistinguishable from science. That’s just the way it is. Savages will look at a perfectly fine tuned summoning circle or a gate into an extra dimensional first draft of reality itself and suppose that there is some sort of fine tuned and knowable mechanism behind it all that can then be easily replicated and mass produced once sufficiently understood. And that kind of unenlightened attitude is exactly why magic is so rare across the various planes and timelines. It takes a certain level of humility to know that there are forces wiser and greater than mankind out there in the twisting nether and that they have more than a little say in how the universe works. That is a rarity of character that is only compounded when one realizes that in addition to humility a particular flavor of brains, wisdom, and ambition is required to find and wield magic. Like true love, the fabled ‘oneness with the universe’ necessary to find, harness and practice magic is exceedingly rare and requires passion, humility, and hard work over many years. It is so statistically unlikely that the odds of wielding magic with any modicum of skill are less than getting attacked by a shark in the middle of a desert, or lead turning into gold. Yet it does happen. Alexandria and Markus were proof of that. They stood facing each other in their bedroom, smiling bashfully at the foot of their king sized bed. Their clothes from the day’s trials and tribulation lay puddled in the hamper, their skin freshly bathed, and both wore nothing but the nervous grins on their faces. They’d been planning this for weeks purposefully negotiating and whispering their fantasies to each other each night before sleep took them, shooting off ideas and temptations just before drifting off; all while stockpiling arcane energy and scavenging the perfect spells for tonight. Tonight was their anniversary. Better than birthdays which was supposed to be about the celebrant and the celebrant alone, and much better than the half a dozen semi-holy days they shared with an uncountable number of people; tonight was supposed to be all about them. Their own high holy day. Their own cosmic equinox. Their own renewal and replenishment of the mana that was their love for each other. While like any healthy married couple, the duo of magicians had a good sex life, Markus and Alexandria wanted to make tonight particularly special. No experimentation. They weren’t bored with each other; far from it. Rather they wanted to show how much they loved one another by playing each other’s greatest hits. “Ready, Ria?” Markus asked his lovely bride. “Ready, Mark,” She replied, feeling both empowered and oddly stilted by the ritual. There was something about planned sex that both inflamed the passions of imagination while threatening those of spontaneity. But that spontaneity was kept alive with simple anticipation of this evening. Markus gestured over to the bed. “Lady’s first,” he said. Alexandria rolled her eyes and plopped down, spreading her legs ever so slightly for him. Trembling with his own anticipation, Markus walked over to his wife’s nightstand and opened the top drawer. From it he removed a single, solid purple hued adult diaper. There was only one in there, but that was the wonderful thing about magical drawers. There would always be only one in there. And it would always be in his wife’s size. “Butt up,” he instructed as he unfolded the special undergarment and fluffed it for her. She bent her knees and planted her feet flat on the mattress so she could boost her hips up. He slid the diaper underneath her and nodded “Okay” when it was positioned correctly. “Any powder?” he asked. “Mmm-mmm,” Alexandria said, closed lips. “Don’t like the smell.” “Suit yourself,” Markus replied, and he began gently pulling the diaper up and fastening it on one tape at a time. When the last tape was secure he gave the landing zone a final push and was pleased to see the glowing runes reveal themselves. He shuddered at what he’d just done. Now, no one but him could take Alexandria’s diaper off. Not even her. Now it was his turn. He laid down and she rolled over to fetch a similar diaper, though in his size and colored black. The reminder of what he’d done, what she’d just committed to for him, echoed in his mind with every crinkle of Alexandria’s that reached his ears. “Butt up,” she said. He copied her movements and tossed his pelvis towards the ceiling, bridging it until she gave him the okay. He winced when she grabbed his penis and quickly stroked it. “Ria!” he whined. “That’s cheating!” “Sorry,” she said, but she didn’t really mean it. “Just figure I’d tease it while it was out. Powder?” He considered it, but declined. “No thanks.” She hated the smell. He laid there and held his breath while she brought the diaper up. “Penis up, or penis down?” she asked. “Up,” Markus answered without hesitation. His diaper had the exact same spell on it that hers did. If he didn’t put it on, he wouldn’t be able to take it off, and adjusting himself mid coitus as he grew erect would be just this side of wearing a chastity cage. Alexandria must have been thinking the same thing; hence the wink while she adjusted him and then taped his diaper on for him. The runes glowed to life with the fourth and final tape. They were now officially each other’s prisoners, at least when it came to matters of underwear and toileting. Markus sat up drew Alexandria into a tender embrace. “I love you,” he said. “I love you too,” she whispered back. “What now?” They considered the mattress; contemplated getting right to business as it were, crawling beneath the comforter and getting amorous, but it was a fleeting thought. Diaper sex was just no fun while dry. While not uncomfortable, far from it, Makrus felt he would rub himself raw if they started the night’s festivities in earnest; especially without baby powder. “How about we get a drink and watch a movie?” he suggested. Alexandria traced a circle around his nipples and ran her hands down his chest. “I think one of those would be a very good idea. The movie that they started watching wasn’t important. They weren’t even paying attention to it, really. It was a romantic comedy. Something light and airy like hot popcorn. An attractive man falling in love with an attractive woman, both insisting that they weren’t that attractive, or whose lives didn't have time for love when suddenly converging onto one another. It probably had some kind of pithy title; a play on the word love, or perhaps a reference to the general premise or setting in which the romance took place in. ‘Bushes of Love’ or something. If you’d seen one you’d seen them all. It didn’t matter in the slightest to the loving couple. It was really just a more interesting timekeeper than staring at the clock in the kitchen. What was important was how the love birds sat there on the couch, naked save for the diapers they’d just put each other in, cuddled up like teenagers still scared to go past first base. They basked in each other’s presence on the couch. To either side of them was a wine glass drained dry of its contents…twice. Arcadian wine: It was practically grape juice to the Fae Folk and the Children of Twilight. To those with more mortal and tangible constitutions, however, it was incredibly expensive, potent, and rare. Even the incredibly wealthy only broke open a bottle of the stuff on special occasions. They’d just finished the last of theirs. Six months of patience well spent, all things considered. Now it was just the old waiting game while their minds raced ahead of what their bodies would likely do to one another. The delightfully peculiar thing about Arcadian wine is that it was not a proper wine or spirit in the traditional sense. One could guzzle the stuff by the barrel and the room in their stomach was the only limiter to consumption. You would not get drunk on it, your reflexes would not be slowed, nor your senses dimmed nor your speech slurred. Sexual performance certainly wasn’t negatively impacted. No amount of memory loss would occur, you wouldn’t pass out, and there was zero chance of dying from drinking too much. People had died from Arcadian wine, of course, but that was for indirect reasons entirely. Arcadian wine carried none of the physically debilitating effects of alcohol, but a single glass would hit your inhibitions as though it were hundred proof whiskey. People died on Arcadian wine as a direct consequence of acting out what they normally thought were bad ideas. Nothing about the body was impacted but the judgment was just as quashed and the inhibitions just as unburdened. There are scholars who believe that the stuff is responsible for alcohol in general being called “liquid courage” and every other brew is simply a cheap imitation of the original recipe. So the couple drained their glasses twice over, cuddled on the couch, and were waiting for it to fully kick in. Not that they needed courage, but a lack of inhibition certainly helped communication and exploration. It was hard to be embarrassed or worried or hesitate with the stuff of Faerie muddying up your blood. For them Arcadian wine was less ‘Liquid Courage’ and more of a ‘Potent Passion Punch’. The wine from the vines of Faerie had one other thing in common with its more terrestrial variants: Drink enough of it fast enough and the second place it would hit you was your bladder. Both husband and wife felt the powerful twinge in their bladder, aching and begging for the release. It had really gone right through the both of them. Without hesitation, each relaxed and flooded their crinkling undergarments, flashing Mona Lisa smiles to the air and humming lightly while the wetness splashed and spread between their legs causing their diapers to swell and subtly forcing their legs apart. There was no hesitation. No disgust or cognitive dissonance. No thinking about anything other than the warm wet squishiness caressing their skin and not being concerned at all about the source or the hygiene involved. That would all come later if it came at all. “Oh yeah,” Markus whispered. “I’m feelin’ it.” Alexandria leaned over and laid her head on his shoulder. “Me too,” she purred. And so without further preamble they began the night’s festivities. There on the couch Alexandria started by swinging her leg over Markus’s lap, straddling him, grabbing the back of his head and shoving her glorious naked tits in his face. Markus felt himself grow hard inside his plastic prison and leaned forward into her, kissing her breasts and running his hands down her shoulders and back while she started to rock and grind into him. Determined to prolong the main event until it was just the right circumstances, Markus grit his teeth and stood up, carrying his lady wife with him, forcing her to wrap her legs around his waist and be carried like a child to the nursery rather than a bride to the bedroom. They weren't going to spend their anniversary on the couch. Ria teased him kissing his neck and shoulders while he carried her back into the boudoir, television be damned. They probably wouldn’t remember what the plot was, anyways. There would be neither Netflix, nor ‘chill’ this blissful night. Markus dumped Alexandria back on the bed and rammed himself up against her, the pulpy wet masses taped around their waists colliding with each other while they gyrated and teased one another. Under other circumstances, such absence of penile penetration might be referred to as ‘dry humping’, but given what they were wearing that would be far from accurate. The language of eroticism and romance is so imprecise at the best of times. That’s why they have bards. Mark played with her breasts. Ria clawed at his back. He gave her a love bite on the neck that would last for three days after tonight and she kissed him so deeply and ferociously when she was done she was nibbling on the bottom of his lip. He rolled over and grabbed her hair. She grinned and pulled back, throwing more of her grinding thrusting gyrating weight onto his pulsating excited manhood, with him bucking back, both of them working even harder than usual to compensate for the wet warm barriers between them. Oh how their loins already ached for release! Oh how the simpler, more unrefined parts of their brains wanted to immediately give in and leap over the edge of lust until they were both spent in under five minutes like a pair of jungle cats or a younger inexperienced flings in a cheap hotel the night of junior prom! It was not to be, fortunately. Anniversaries were for better memories than fumbling and rutting around like animals and virgins. Alexandria and Markus were better lovers and better mages than all of that. “Hold on,” she warned, slowing his pace and putting a finger to his lips. She crawled off of him, giving the front of his diaper a playful squeeze, enjoying the feeling of his member through the padding. Markus wiggled and grinned at the touch, but was just a tad impatient. Good. He was riled up enough to be bothered by the pause. “I’ve got a better idea,” Alexandria said, bending over to grab something from under the bed. It was time for her first surprise. “What are you doing?” Markus asked, deeply curious and wanting and fighting the urge to keep masturbating right in front of her. Out from under the bed Alexandria pulled a linked pair of cuffs, each cuff sparkling with engrained enchantments. It had been a while since they’d used this toy, but she remembered how much he’d enjoyed it. “Paddle,” she said. A nova of light flashed out from the dangling restraints, and after the spots had cleared from the couple’s eyes, in her hand rested a firm spanking paddle. “Off and bend over,” Alexandria commanded. Markus was only too happy to obey, shimmying down off the bed and then splaying himself face down on the mattress. “Safeword is tofu,” she reminded him. “Tofu,” he repeated. Some people used colors for their safewords, others had more specific words; spells and incantations that prevented any and all harm. Mark and Ria chose ‘tofu’ because there was ironically no organic way to work it into any conversation, sex play or otherwise, and so it rang out to the ears and was easy to remember. Speaking of ringing out… WHACK! “FUCK!” The piece of wood, long hard rectangular wood (or rather an incredible facsimile of the stuff) collided full on with Markus’s padded backside. Whether by an extra enchantment, or that she was just that damn good at swinging it, the paddle sailed deceptively fast through the air and stung like all get-out. Those eight years of girl’s softball from highschool through college had only been a start, but they’d been a very good start. “You know I don’t give warm-up swings,” his wife reminded him. WHACK! WHACK! “And that extra one was for swearing,” she said. “Now Count!” Even with the extra cushioning of his padded underwear, Markus winced and squirmed beneath his wife’s gaze. With the hot stinging on his thighs reminding him just how intense his lady love could be, Markus was regretting that the bedroom lights were still on and that they cast the perfect shadow of Alexandria’s silhouette, paddle in her grip. He might as well be looking into a mirror. He closed his eyes and braced himself. “One…” WHACK! “Don’t close your eyes.” How did she know?! He opened them in time to watch the shadow puppet on the wall make its next delightfully painful stroke. WHACK! “Two!” he yelped. His head was already starting to buzz as the pain endorphins flooded his brain. What a rush. WHACK! “Threeeee!” His vision spun and he squealed. He was so thankful that he was wearing the diaper at that moment. It was doing more work than just keeping the bed dry. He felt her weight on the bed as she sidled up to him, reaching her arm over and grabbing his hips and hugging him to her for added control and leverage. “Smaller,” Ria whispered to the paddle. Another flash of light and the big slobber knocker had shrunken itself down to a more manageable one handed model. Uh oh. WHACK WHACK WHACK! Left, right, left! Alexandria bypassed the padding completely and went straight for the backs of her husband’s thighs. He started sweating bullets, just imagining how he’d likely wince sitting down, tomorrow, but was thankful that any resulting bruises would easily be covered up by pants. “Three-four-five-six!” he screamed out rapid fire. WHACK! Right on the right thigh and it was somehow harder than the previous five strokes. “No,” she said, “THAT was six. Do we need to start over? Did baby forget how to count? Does he need a new lesson?” He gulped. Yes? No? He didn’t know if he could last another six strokes like that. More to the point, if she started over once, she’d start over again. It was intoxicatingly maddening. Being taunted and talked down to, pulling his psyche into a stinging morass of sub and little space. She really had his number. Perhaps that’s what love was. “No. No start over,” he said. “Please no start over.” He was breathing so hard that it was getting difficult to form a coherent sentence. WHACK! That one thankfully, came down squarely on his bottom. The diaper absorbed most of the impact but he still felt it. “Tofu?” she asked. “Tofu.” “Okay,” he could hear the smile in her voice. “I’ve got another idea.” He felt her fingers worm their way into the back of his diaper’s waistband. Oh no, and yet, oh yes! He hadn’t considered the full ramifications of the spell! “Let me give your thighs a break.” She was the only one who could take off his diaper, but nothing about the built in enchantments said that it had to be with her undoing the tapes! His pulse quickened as she grabbed the back of his diaper and hiked it down to just above his knees. Instinctively he tried to squirm and get up, but it was a simple thing for her to throw her weight down on his back and use the leverage against him. “What are you doing?” he asked, excited and slightly afraid at what the answer might be.. “You’ll feel it,” she teased. “Trust me.” Then he heard her command, “Open!” “Open?” he echoed, confused. But she wasn’t talking to him. The top dresser drawer rattled, and through the shadows on the wall, he could make out her placing the paddle down so that two cylindrical shaped objects could shoot out and land squarely in the palm of her hand. An airy popping sound registered in Markus’s ears, pressure release and air wishing out of the container like soda gushing out of a half full two liter. Then he heard his wife repeat herself. “Open,” she said. Curiously, nothing rattled or reacted. Then he felt her finger plunge inside of him. This time, Alexandria actually was talking to him! Markus’s eyes bulged in surprise and she went deeper and deeper into his anus. What was happening? Surely her fingers couldn’t be that long, could it? It had to be his imagination multiplying the sensation by the surprise! He let out a brief exhale when she pulled her finger out, but the relief was short lived as a self-lubricating plug took the place of her digits. “That should keep it in long enough,” Alexandria tutted. That hit home! The first cylindrical object had been a pill bottle, no doubt. “You put something inside me?” FWAP! A bare handed smack on his exposed rear was the response Markus got, both stimulating his pain receptors, flooding his brain with more endorphins and pumping the plug into him ever so slightly. “SEVEN!” he yelled, clenching his teeth and refusing to blink even while her hand gently caressed his bottom. “Very good. You didn’t lose count,” she cooed. FWAP! FWAP! “Eight-nine!” Instead of spanking further, she started to gently massage his buttocks, kneading at the muscles much in the way a cat gets comfortable on a fluffy pillow. The contrast and relief made him growl out in lust. He could feel something dissolving inside of him. Something powerful. And potent. And completely, mindnumblingly arousing. FWAP! “Ten!” Markus’s already erect penis felt like it was vibrating; pulsating like the top layer of Vesuvius minutes before destroying Pompei. FWAP! FWAP! FWAP! “Ten! Ten! Ten!” He’d lost count and was too focused trying to maintain some scrap of control. “Ten! Ten! Ten! Ten!” Impotently he kicked the air as she smacked and slapped his buttocks, each impact seeming to push the, potent concoction even deeper inside him while he quietly foamed at the mouth. “TEEEEEEEN!” FWAP! He was going to do it. He was going to cum. He was going to lose all control all over the nice satin bed sheets! “Tofu!” He yelled. “Tofu! Pull my diaper up. Please!” Alexandria needed no second plea. “Okay, hon,” she whispered. “Okay. Hold on.” Quickly yet gently, she took her weight off him. The potent aphrodisiac had had enough time to melt away and do its work, so she spared a millisecond to remove the plug keeping it in just before she yanked the now cooled but still soaked padding back up over her husband’s hips, providing a safety barrier between his manhood and the mattress. He dived back down face first like a champion prizefighter that had been paid off by the mob. “Now!” He told her. “Now!” Again, she did not need a second request. Her bare hand thudded with sturdy plastic backing. THUNK! And that last concussive force was enough to send him hurtling over the edge into full orgasmic pleasure. Everything shook as the dam broke and he helplessly came into the front of his diaper, his penis tickling and tingling with ecstacy. If his body hadn’t been so wracked with exhaustive pleasure, he might have started humping the mattress like a puppy and thank her for the privilege. For her part, Alexandria simply took her spot beside him and gently caressed his back while he spasmed all the way to the carpet, practically melting off the mattress and lying on his back while his base bodily functions spiraled delightfully out of control. The intensity was such that if they hadn’t done this so many times before, one might assume that it was their first. “Thank you,” he gasped, panting as the last of his seed leaked out into the sopping wet padding, his cock pulsing and throbbing in time with his pulse. “Thank you. Oh gods. Thank you!” “Welcome,” she chirped smugly. “Very welcome. Now what abooooou-?” The thought lay unfinished as the moment Markus caught his breath, he pounced on her. Holding her down, pinning her by the wrists, he scrambled on top of her, putting just enough of his weight over her so that no matter how hard she struggled or kicked and squirmed around, she couldn’t get free. “No…hrrnnn…fair!” Alexandria grunted, trying to escape his grasp, failing, and loving every moment of it. Now it was her turn to be teased and restrained. Now it was her turn to be selfish. Her turn, as some call it, to ‘brat’. “No…fair, Mark!” Markus slowed his breathing, taking back control and thoroughly enjoying it, but not as much as the wild and anticipatory look on his wife’s face. “How is it not fair, Ria?” he asked tauntingly. “Because you’re not winning anymore?” Neither had known they were playing some kind of game with winners or losers until the idea had sprung forth from his mouth. Funny that. But now that it had happened, it sounded like good fun and both started slipping into their roles. “Seems like you already won,” Ria taunted from underneath him. “You already finished.” A playful fire lit up between her husband’s eyes. “Not with you, I’m not.’ “What are you gonna do?” she whispered seductively. “Go for twosies? Try to grind through both of our diapers and lap me? Or are you gonna take mine off and cheat?” She waited for the idea to sink in and take root. “If you beg me nice, Mark, I’ll take yours off and I’ll let you play with yourself while I watch.” It was a challenge. A tempting one at that. But he wanted to play a different game. He straddled Alexandria and forced her wrists together. He leaned back, putting more of his weight on her abdomen, enjoying the now muted crinkle and the wet squish beneath him. Using one hand, he leaned forward and kept both of her wrists out of the way. Then like the mighty god Thor, he held his free hand out and spoke. “Come.” Just as it had with her, the charm inside the implement responded to his voice command and leapt up from the carpet, depositing itself safely into his palm. “I thought you already did,” Ria joked. He gave her nothing but the terrible, lustful hunger, the hunger to see her squirm and writhe; begging him for something he would not give. Arcadian wine had that effect on him. She wasn’t much for spankings, but she did love the sound they made and the sting of the paddle on her thighs could be most pleasant when done right. “Whatcha gonna do?” Alexandria asked, “Flip me over and give me a taste of my own medicine?” It was half a question and half a hint. Her husband answered, but did not take the hint. He had better plans. Squeezing the handle and with intent, he spoke not to her but to the item in his hand. “Wand,” he said. “Vibrating.” The same white hot aura erupted from the paddle and when the corona had faded, the diapered man now wielded a rapidly shaking rod where the still yet flat paddle had been. Alexandria’s eyes widened in delight and horror. “You wouldn’t dare!” “Wouldn’t I?” Before she could retort, he swung his leg back off of her abdomen while still keeping her wrists pinned, staying to her side and profile. And like Captain Ahab stabbing from the depths of Hell, he thrust the vibrating wand straight on between her legs, its shaking resonating all the way through the layers and layers of soaked pulp and padding, causing her to start breathing in quiet little gasps. She’d stopped kicking. She’d stopped struggling all together, for in truth, she wanted this. The pinned wrists were all for show. She reveled in the intensity of the wand pleasuring her without her direct say so. And ever so tauntingly, she gasped and let out little mewling growls while he moved the wand back and forth over her padded crotch, staying in just the right spot long enough to please her before purposefully moving it somewhere else. He smiled while she planted her bare feet and gently started bucking and grinding into the wand, her pelvis thrusting and moving into it and with it; a puppy dog hungry for her treat. “Ooooooooh,” Alexandria moaned. “Ooooooooooooh. Marrrrrrrk. Mark. Mark!” He did not join her, though he knew she would have loved him to; to hear his voice mix and mingle with hers; losing all control and composure. It wasn’t time for that. Not yet. Instead, he prepared the most gruesome of incantations he’d learned. “Esto sicut virgo ante noctem nuptiarum.” The vibrating of his wand continued, unabated. Ria’s moaning did not. Her eyes, which had drooped pleasantly closed, shot open. “What did you?” she asked. The only thing that was wet between her legs suddenly was her diaper. “You talked about lapping, my love, but I need more time to recover.” An almost playfully cruel smile sprouted. “So I just started you over.” ‘Nooooooo!” she screamed, kicking and struggling once more. Her wrists broke free of his grip and she bounded the mattress by her side in frustration. He pressed the wand back into her sex, just enough to tease her so that she gripped the bedsheets in frustration and ecstacy. Then he pulled the wand away. Just pulled it. Left it buzzing and dangled the handle by his thumb and forefinger high up above her. “No-o-o-o-o-oooooo!” Ria whined and pawed at it like a kitten. The whining lasted only a few seconds as horniness and impatience got the better of her. Her arms plummeted downward towards the waistband of her diaper, with fingers desperately peeling away the tapes. The runes on the landing zone held firm and so did the tapes. The spell was intact. She did not put the diaper on, so she could not take it off. Still, Markus thought, it was cute watching her try, watching her struggle. Watching her fail to so much as get her fingers down past the waistband. She knew better, of course, but part of their play was desperation and helplessness, and he was only too happy to help her along. Wand hidden behind his back, out of reach, Markus took his free hand and started teasing her nipples; gently caressing them one at a time, and then adding in little pinches until they became hard and erect. Lovingly, Markus leaned over and used his mouth to suckle at one teat while he used his free hand to tease and pinch the other even harder. Meanwhile, Ria’s hands feverishly pawed at the front of her diaper, rubbing and grinding while her hips boosted up again and again and again into her own palms, huffing for release that wasn’t quick to come. Markus waited until her moaning renewed and approached apex and then stopped sucking. “ESTO SICUT VIRGO-!” “No!” she yelped. “No. Not again! Not again! Tofu!” She kept rubbing herself, trying to finish before he could complete the spell a second time. “Beg me,” he hissed. “Beg me to let you finish.” “Pleeeeeease let me finish,” Alexandria pleaded. “Please!” Markus waited until her hands stopped. “No,” he growled and watched her face drop. “I’ll do it myself.” He plunged the wand back where it belonged, sending her into shrieks of delight. She gave up trying to resist and started screaming as she repurposed her hands into teasing her nipples until she was bucking now. “OH! OH! OOOOOOOOOOOH!” And then a pleased sigh as the last of the air leaked out of her lungs. He watched with utter love and satisfaction as she went limp. “Off,” he whispered to the toy, making it still. He tossed it to the side, not taking his eyes off her, but was still wonderfully caught off guard when she leapt up and wrapped her arms around him, peppering him with kisses and dragging him down to the mattress with all his weight. “Thank you,” she panted. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…” In the moment, there was nothing left to do but to pepper back with a thousand more sweet kisses until they were both still and warming each other with nothing but their bodies. Time stretched out in the silence of their bedroom; their heartbeats in sync, making beautiful music together. Okay. Time to clean up. Gently, he pried her arms off of him, disentangling himself and nudging her head off of his chest. Like getting a particularly comfortable cat out of one’s lap, it was more difficult than it might seem from the outside, with her moaning and whining for his flesh on hers in their post coital daze. Arcadian wine tended to have that effect on her. “Come on,” he coaxed. “Come on. Let’s get cleaned up.” Several rapid kisses and cupping her left breast in his hand got her to open up like a flower for him. Standing up from the bed, he arched his back and groaned, feeling the full sagging weight of the diaper between his legs now that a good chunk of the abused pulp had broken off and settled at the bottom. Standing at her bedside, he looked to the left towards their shared chest of drawers to the right towards her nightstand. “Diapers or panties?” he asked, his voice registering just above a whisper. Eyes still closed, she inhaled through her nose and exhaled in a light purring hum. “Diapers, please.” She couldn’t see it, but he was smiling. Good. He’d wanted to properly change her. Even if they didn’t go any further than they already had, even if they just cuddled in bed the rest of the night as they drifted off, there was something that made it feel so much more intimate when they were both padded up. He opened up her nightstand drawer and got out another diaper for his beloved. “Scooch over to the side?” he asked as he fluffed the new garment out. Her eyes remained closed. “Mm-mm,” she said. “No.” It was a cute, playful squeak. She was far too comfortable laying spread eagle in the middle of the mattress. He shook his head and smiled. “Fine. Have it your way, love.” He climbed back into bed and knelt between her thighs so he could start changing her. The runes on the landing zone glowed bright white at his touch, sensing it was him. He skillfully peeled back the tapes so that barely a sound was made and opened the sodden padding. She shuddered as the fresh hair swooped in on her genitals like an aftershock. But she kept her eyes closed still, luxuriating in the cool clean feeling of his touch as he gently wiped her down. “Knees up,” he instructed, and reluctantly, she obeyed, retracting and pulling her knees all the way to her belly button so that she didn’t accidentally clock him upside the head with the heel of her foot. She shuddered again as he gently swept his hands over her buttocks and hole. A little boost below let him leverage her hips up enough to slip the used diaper out and slide it off to the side and slide the fresh one beneath her. “No powder please,” she said, still in a post orgasmic haze. He took a moment to ball up her used diaper and place it in a nearby lidded garbage can. “I know,” he smiled. “We’re out of unscented…” She finished the thought. “And I hate the smell.” “Guess I’ll have to find another way to dry you out,” he teased, taking his position back between her legs. In truth, she was probably already dry enough to be sealed in. The residue from baby wipes tended to air dry quickly enough. Still, he took the time to gently blow upon her mound and on her lower lips, tickling her with the very air from his lungs. “Ooooh,” she moaned. “If you’re trying to dry me out,” she said breathily, “You’re doing a bad job.” He simply said, “I know.” And finished rediapering her, pulling the garment snugly up between her thighs and locking her in tape by tape by tape by tape. A slight glow and a humming tone that only she could hear, and once again, she was his prisoner, and he hers. Freshly changed and feeling renewed now that her nethers had been so lovingly cleaned and dried, she gazed softly up at him from the bed, bending her knees “Happy Anniversary, dear,” he gave her an almost (almost) chaste peck on the lips. She opened her eyes, sat up, and grabbed the back of his head. Her tongue probed into his mouth once more, a low moan humming through her while she reached between his legs and groped at the soggy padding he yet wore. Almost immediately, she felt his manhood stiffen and begin to throb through the padding. Kiss unbroken, she rolled him over onto his back, before finally allowing herself to come back up for air. “Happy Anniversary, Mark.” She returned the delicate kiss. “I love you.” “I love you too, Ria” “Wanna go again?” Beads of anticipation formed on his forehead. “Yeah,” he panted. “Yeah, I really do.” She took one of his spare diapers out of his nightstand drawer and started to fluff it. “Me, too. Let’s get you changed, hydrate, and then see where things take us. Deal?” Unblinkingly, he gazed up at her while she undid the tapes, his mind filled only with love. “Deal.” In any sufficiently advanced enough relationship, purest love is indistinguishable from the most tainted of lusts.

Chapter 92: Little Voices: “The Talk” I spent most of the day Thursday in a low key funk. No, it wasn’t terrible, or traumatic. No great victories or defeats. No extra signs that my students were hurting more than they already were. No shouts or crying leaking in from my old room. Tracy wore a perfect poker face. The few times she was in eyesight or earshot I found myself trying to listen for a telltale crinkle or see a bit of thin white plastic peeking out of a waistband, but found nothing. The bus loop and the cafeteria were too loud to hear a diaper rustling and Tracy’s newly developed habit of wearing long flowing skirts and dresses hid any signs of puffy padding. I was fixated on it because I was sure she had been diapered yesterday. I didn’t want her to be diapered the next. It was a punishment, obviously, but was this an official punishment like when Raine had been tricked into crossing a line or a pretense to get rid of Tracy due to Maturosis? Had this Wednesday been a one time thing? A warning to remind her of her place? Or was it part of a larger attempt to drive her out of the school? It was so hard to tell. Tweeners had neither the privilege of assumed maturity until proven beyond a reasonable doubt nor the presumed guilt of innocence until proven otherwise. To one side of the road, Amazons were safe because the flow of society went with them. To the other side, Littles could learn to be safe; traffic went against us but we learned to watch for oncoming cars and were encouraged to dive into a ditch as necessary. Tweeners had to walk in the middle and as such could be squished like grapes if they didn’t learn to look behind and infront of them at all times. Statistically, there was no way Tracy was getting Adopted. I’d never met the man, but she was married to an Amazon. If someone said she had Maturosis, she’d go into his custody and they could get a second opinion disproving the diagnosis, or just move far away enough. She wouldn’t spend more than an afternoon sleeping in a crib depending on how long it took Mr…Tracy’s husband…to drive down to the school or wherever she was being kept. Unless her husband got his own baby crazy activated and decided that he liked her better this way or that she needed his care. Or he went mad with grief and burned down their house. Or he just didn’t want her because he had better things to do. Or there was some obscure Amazon law on the books that made him ineligible to adopt because he was clearly blind to not notice his own wife’s ‘immature tendencies’. Or they hit her super hard with hypnosis or continence drugs or those messed up soundwaves that messed up coordination and focus while also stimulating pleasure before he rescued her. Or if her husband didn’t really exist. Maybe that wedding ring and the brief mentions of him and their weekend plans were tiny bits of protective lies she’d woven over the years to keep giants uninterested. I didn’t even know the man’s first name. Come to think of it, I’d never properly memorized Tracy’s last name. I’d asked, but it was hard to pronounce; something long and Spanic sounding. Mayztepic, maybe? When my mouth fumbled with the pronunciation, Tracy didn’t laugh. She’d just nodded and said, “Took me a while too, and I married into it. Just call me ‘Tracy’. ‘Miss Tracy’ around the kids.” Even if everything went right for Tracy in regards to Maturosis; even if she noped out due to harassment, quit, and rode off into the sunset, that would leave no one around to mitigate the harm Ambrose was actively doing to our kids. They’d be even more alone than they were. I’d be more alone… The more time that passed between my old life and Adoption, the more I was learning how very little I really knew outside of my immediate struggle for survival and recognition. I didn’t actually know what risks versus protections Tracy had to balance and how likely any given outcome was to pass. I actually told Janet about it that same Wednesday night, and to her credit she promised she’d look into it for me. Ask Beouf if there were any Union complaints or safeguards or try to find out from Tracy in a way that wouldn’t embarrass her. That opportunity didn’t come Thursday. Beouf had called in sick, citing her new granddaughter, and Tracy was impossible to pull aside during school hours and before and after school she made herself scarcer than usual. The substitute in Beouf’s room was an old Amazon woman who could have been anywhere between seventy and ninety by looking at her, and not important enough to remember. She was just a warm body and Zoge ran the room in Beouf’s absence. We were all angels that day, too. No mischief attempted by anyone. I was so preoccupied worrying about Tracy that Billy asked if I was feeling alright. When Billy asks if you’re okay, something’s wrong. Chaz asked if we should stir the pot by doing another Why Day since it had been a while, but I spun some lie about how Beouf would likely punish us harsher for acting up in her absence- teachers hated and were deeply embarrassed by bad notes left by substitutes. I also spun it that if we were good for Zoge and the warm body, but terrible when Beouf returned, it would agitate her more and make her wonder what she was doing wrong. It’s funny how one can tell a lie, hear it, and then realize that it’s actually quite true. So we were good. All day. Besides, the old woman was cantankerous enough to very clearly state that she did not change diapers. Take the win where you can find it. The school day behind me, Janet drove me home and gave me dinner consisting of steamed broccoli and carrots, as well as cut up peanut butter and natural strawberry jam sandwiches on whole wheat bread. All foods meant to relieve and prevent constipation. Then she dressed me in a blue and white pinstripe long sleeve romper with the words ‘Little Slugger’ on the front and ‘01’ on the back, as well grippy socks that mimicked baseball cleats. Baby clothes that could double as jammies. This was going to be a long night. A small bit of comfort was that she didn’t put me in a night time diaper, so I wasn’t completely locked in for the night as it were. Dinner was early and dressing was fast because Janet was in a rush to get to the Community Center for the Little Voices meeting. “Why are we going so early?” I asked from the carseat. “I’m tired of getting there just a few minutes before it starts. I need to spend more time with other Mommies and Daddies. Make friends. I don’t get playground time at school everyday like you do. Everybody needs friends.” That shut me up. I could have retorted or otherwise tried to dissuade her, but it would have served no purpose. That and she was right. Everybody did need friends to one degree or another. Talking to the Amazons at Little Voices would only dunk Janet deeper into the crazy pool and give her more ideas, but talking to Littles more mindfucked than me and getting a feel for each different prison environment and how I could use it to my advantage was crucial on multiple levels. Talking to softer Mommies and Daddies might soften her up, too. Strategically, I needed Janet to keep going to the meetings. I just hoped that my personal resources and preparations would outpace hers when the time came. We were among the first there, with only one or two other Little-Amazon pairings. I refused to think of them as ‘families’ even ironically. There was one chubby Little girl who wore a dark blue dress that was almost black with white tights and a red headband over dark brown hair. I had a hunch that someone had just had their own Picture Day at their daycare. She sat on the floor, absorbed in play with stacking cups and figuring out. Mindfucked or just bored? Who could say without a conversation I didn’t want to have? The other girl had short blonde hair and lounged in her Mommy’s lap wearing just a Cherry the cartoon dog t-shirt and socks that went well past her knees in lieu of pants. She chewed on her pacifier rather like a cow on a piece of cud, with bits of red juice dribbling out of the corner of her lips. She took the pacifier out of her mouth and examined it. It wasn’t a pacifier in the purest sense, but instead had a plastic mesh netting loaded to the brim with sweet looking red berries. Clever. Janet took a seat next to them in the circle of chairs and unholstered her diaper bag. She never forgot that damn bag when we went to these meetings. More social pressure and expectations, I suspected. Bring your status symbols and cult’s iconography where they mattered most. “Do you want to play on the floor?” Janet whispered quietly to me. She was still cautious. Still holding back. I hadn’t gone out of my way to hurt her this week, but I’d still hurt her and she was smart enough to keep unrealistic expectations in check. I bit my tongue and shook my head. “Okay,” she said. I wanted to smile at the disappointment. I resisted. The two makeshift mothers prattled on over us. “So I’ve heard there’s this new subscription box that I’ve been wanting to try.” The Amazon with the Little blonde girl in her lap chattered to her seat neighbor. The age difference between the giant and her bogus baby was negligible. They could have been work buddies or dating if not for the size difference. I wouldn’t have been surprised if one was just a year or two older than the other. “Oh?” the Mommy of the cup stacker said. “I love my subscription to Hiya Crisp.” Like her manufactured daughter, the Amazon had dark hair, but also had few hints of wrinkles around the eyes and a few parts that just weren’t as perky anymore. Were I to guess, I would have estimated that they were technically old enough to be mother and child, though the girl on the floor should still be moved out of the house. Kind of like me and Beouf or more appropriately Zoge and Ivy. Both wore mom jeans and light sweaters. The Helena Madra look. “Oh me too,” said the brunette with her Little in her lap. “It’s so easy for meals for me, Delilah, and Juni.” She gave the Little in her lap a light bob. I guessed that was Juni. “Anyway, this new one is apparently some sort of toy subscription box. They’ve got a section aimed entirely at Maturosis, you can choose how often you receive new boxes, and they even vary depending on what developmental stage your Little one is at.” “Brittany loves toys! Don’t you Brittany?” The plump Little girl on the floor did not look up from her cups. “Mmm-hmmm.” “She gets so engrossed, sometimes. New toys would be great, yeah. Save us a shopping trip.” She smirked. “And a tantrum.” The joke didn’t land. “Anyway, you were saying?” “The service looks really good. I did some checking around on different Mommy blogs. They’ve even been endorsed by Dr. Wolf.” Eyebrows were raised. “The Dr. Wolf! The one spreading awareness over there in Albienne.” She hugged the Little in her lap the way I hugged Lion and I worried for the smaller woman. She didn’t seem bothered, at least. “Oh wow, that sounds amazing,” the older of the Mommies agreed. “Yeah,” her younger compatriot nodded. “I’ll send you the link, I think we’re gonna try it next month for Juni. She’s so picky with toys, and this’ll help keep her mind interested.” “Mhmmm. Always important. Kiddos need stimulation to keep them healthy.” A few of the regulars I recognized walked hand in hand or were carried in with their fake parents. Mary, the Little with the pink hair came in with both jailors. Neither one had as wild hair as her or her younger-big-sister. The Middle-Aged Daddy couple, Donald and Carl came in with not only their Little girl but their Tweener daughter, too; Kylie and Joanie respectively (or was it Joanie and Kylie?). The Tweener was a good ten years older than me if she was a day and looked annoyed and put out to be there. Her black leggings with tie-dye polka dots did a less than serviceable job hiding the slight bulge from her disposable training pants and her hiking down her t-shirt was pointless at preserving modesty. Like a good prisoner she sat down in the chair next to her Papa and her Adopted sister stole her Daddy’s lap. Pockets of conversation and small talk were forming around the circle, slowly gaining momentum as more and more groups trickled in. Amazons conversed and their Littles quietly busied themselves This could have been another reason why Amazons Adopted people smaller than them. Small children get only the hobbies their parents select for them. Parents with similar hobbies get to meet and make friends with each other and force their children to be friends by proximity. An Amazon with a Little to coddle and cosset would never be short of playgroups and new friends. We were their socialization tool. Janet started gently bobbing her knee like she did when she had nothing else to do. The not quite subtle reminder broke me out of my own reverie. I looked up at her from her lap. “S-s-s-t-o-o-o-p.” I quietly snapped. “Sorry.” Janet whispered. “Sorry.” I ducked my head down. “Gods, I hate you.” The words came out as just a breath. “Hm?” Janet asked. “I hhh–” My breath caught in my throat. Damny monitor. “Nothing.” Janet wrapped an arm around me and leaned “Would Lion make you feel better?” He might. “No.” “Thirsty? Want some milk?” “No.” “Giving you some milk would help me. It’d give me a reason to keep my legs still.” Phrasing a request as a favor. A nice touch. “Still no.” “Just so we’re clear: Would you like Lion or milk or neither?” I grumbled to myself. “Both.” Both wasn’t an option. “Both?” Janet put Lion in my arms and sat back up straight. “Okay,” she sighed heavily as if I’d outsmarted her. “Okay Clark. You win. Both it is.” She turned me on my seat and laid me back against her arm so that she was cradling me and placed the bottle between my lips. I’d just been played and I knew it. I crushed Lion’s soft cotton reinforced sternum for what was likely the one-thousand three hundred ninety-seventh time since he’d come into my life. Thank goodness no one school was there to see me. Billy would never let me live this slip down. Slowly, very slowly, I pulled on the nipple with my lips, and sucked down the milk. No chugging this time. Chugging would lead to burping and cooing and stupid gooey praises, and talks about what kind of formula or milk was best. Right now I just needed something to do to dissociate and people watch without anyone talking to me. Being Janet’s prop for a few minutes seemed like a good choice. “You know,” Janet spoke up so that the first two giantesses could hear her. “My Clark loves his Lion, but so far not many other toys have really clicked with his developmental plateau.” I bit the nipple hard and got milk squirted in my mouth for the trouble. My Clark. My Clark! No. Don’t worry about it. Poor Lion got his neck wrung. I just kept sucking, focusing on the fatty milk and how it contrasted with the sterile rubber teat. I practiced breathing and swallowing in a slow and steady rhythm so that I wouldn’t have to stop one to do the other. It was almost like meditation. Damn I missed yoga. My tummy had come back in full force. I kept sucking. “Oh sure, Janet,” the woman who’d started the sales pitch said. “Janet! I’ll be happy to share the link with you too.” “Thanks.” “What does he like to do with his lion?” The girl in tights’s Mommy asked. “Is he a cuddler? Or does his lion make funny noises when he squeezes it?” My right eye twitched. Dumb giant wasn’t saying Lion’s name right. I could hear the lowercase ‘l’ when she said it. I just could. “What does he use his lion for?” Janet lowered her head. “Do you wanna talk?” she asked. I did not. I considered saying something awful or nasty- a zinger about me not so dry humping Lion puffed into the forefront of my brain- but my self-induced meditation was having a calming effect. Breathe deep. Focus on the task at hand. Get through this moment, Clark. Let it pass onto the next and the next until the one you want arrives. “He’s busy,” Janet reported after a decidedly awkward silence. I could feel her entire body heat up in embarrassment and I let myself untense, melting into her social awkwardness like a snake coiling up on top of a nice warm rock. The two giants chuckled politely. “How bout you tell us?” I kept sucking on the nipple. This will pass. This will pass. “Well,” Janet breathed. “I think he likes to play pretend. I sometimes see him whisper to himself and setting up different toys around his room just so. Last weekend I think he was setting up his classroom’s Circle Time.” That earned her (us?) a chorus “Awwwwww!” from the two giants, plus a third who was listening in. “That’s adorable!” “It…made me happy.” Janet’s body heat turned up a notch. “Kind of.” I just kept suckling. The girl who’d been messing with the stacking cups raised her head. “He’s pretty good at pretending. He was good at playing the heavy feather light feather game and he taught us all about Death Tag.” Battle tag, you loon! Battle tag! I suckled and kept breathing and I swear I felt Janet cool down slightly, just laying there in her lap. The other giants exchanged worried looks. “It’s like freeze tag but we scream and play dead like in the cartoons,” the girl on the floor said. “It’s fun.” The Mommies, Janet included, untensed. “Clark is very clever and creative,” Janet said. “He’s really good with kids and impresses me with how he can approach things from a different angle.” Damn. Just. Just Damn. No past tense statements like ‘always has been’ or qualifiers like ‘other kids’. For a second there I let myself pretend that she was talking about me-the real me- and not some imaginary baby she’d dolled up. “Okay,” the Mommy who could have been dating the Little in her lap brightened. “So he’s going to want stuff from the Imagination Vacation line. Stuff that’s a little more freeform that he can decide how he plays with it.” “Yes! Exactly!” Janet was so excited she accidentally bobbed me and some milk gurgled down my throat. My lips released the nipple and I started coughing. Poor Lion was caught in a sleeper hold. “Oops! Sorry!” She adjusted me so that I was sitting back upright instead of reclining in a cradle. I could tell she was doing her best to restrain herself from calling me any stupid pet names like ‘honey’ or ‘baby’. This was the best of a bad situation at the moment. I caught my breath and leaned back to take the nipple into my mouth again. Janet’s body immediately heated up again. “But yes,” she said to the Mommies. “Something like that sounds great. I think he gets bored easily, so being able to explore at his own pace and have some more control would be really good for him.” “I’ll hook you up with the link.” Great. Janet made a new Mommy friend. I rolled my eyes and kept sipping and watching the door to the meeting space. More and more semi-familiar faces trickled into the room and started chatting with each other. The Amazon and Tweener couple with their Adopted Little walked in. The Tweener wife didn’t seem at all disturbed that someone her size was in a Pull-Up and had reverted to playing dumb peekaboo games with her Little ‘sister’ so that she could feel big. The balding man who led the group and his shy Little took their usual spot near the top of the circle. “Hi Clark!” For once, Amy Madra didn’t get the jump on me. She screamed it out right when her Mommy carried her through the door. She was also in a long-sleeved romper; a lavender one with a hoodie. I suspected that if she pulled it up over her head she’d look like a teddy bear. The pair took a seat on the other side of Janet and Amy wasted no time catching me up. “Hiya Clark how are you I’m good you weren’t here last week you missed the animal parade it was so much fun I got to be the elephant I used a kazoo as the trumpetey noise elephants do I tried to stick it up my nose for biologitical authenticity but it wouldn’t stay and so I had to use my mouth like a fake elephant the kazoo was pretty dusty it hadn’t been used in like forever which was pretty bad but it did also kinda taste like peanut butter which was really interesting so it wasn’t all bad and then in the hallway you wouldn’t believe who was out there- ” “Amy, baby,” Helena Madra interrupted. “Your friend Clark is drinking his ba-ba right now. Let him enjoy it.” “Mommy!” Amy scoffed. “Rude!” “Yes,” Amy’s Mommy redirected, “it is rude to talk to your friend while they're busy eating.” “No,” Amy said, “I mean that Clark doesn’t like it when people…” Amy stopped. It looked like she caught herself. Then she covered her mouth and burpsed. “I would like some milk, too, please.” The pair were right next to Janet but were effectively behind me due to how I was positioned on her lap. I could still make out movements and tones. I heard a velcro flap open, and inferred it was Helena digging out a similar bottle to Janet’s. “Here you go.” I let go of the bottle and leaned my head all the way back so that I could at least have an upside down view of the exchange. “No,” Amy whined. “Not from there,” she pointed to the massive bottle in Helena’s hand. “I want it from there.” She reached up and grabbed the Amazon’s breast. I could feel Janet’s entire body temperature go up at least two degrees. I did not like the ideas that must have been going through her baby crazy head. “Amy,” Helena clucked, “this milk is the same.” “Nuh-uh,” Amy replied. “It’s different. It’s a texture and temperature thing.” “It’s not that different,” Helena said. “You still get Mommy’s milk.” Amy huffed and puffed. “Have you ever breastfed, Mommy?” “Yes,” Helena said calmly. “How recently? Hm? Did you take notes and surveys? Double-blind random sample?” “When I was very small. Like you.” “So what you’re saying is that you have no recent experience in this field, Mommy.” Helena tried to pivot. “I didn’t bring a blanket or anything to cover you up while you nurse,” Helena said. “I’m okay with that.” “I’m not. I have to consider everyone else’s comfort” “Mommy!” Amy gasped overdramatically. “Are you ashamed of me?!” “Baby girl. Drink.” “Yes, Mommy.” She sounded oddly happy, settling for the teat over the tit. Without further ado, she leaned back in Helena’s arms like I was with Janet, took the bottle and began to nurse from the bottle. Witnessing the exchange, I felt this weird tonal disconnect. So many of the words sounded like an argument Janet and I might have. Me trying to manipulate her and push her buttons to frustrate her, and her calmly trying to dismantle my argument before giving up trying to argue in anything resembling good faith and just asserting her authority. So familiar from the outside, yet strange and alien at the same time. The Mommy-Baby duo’s tone was relaxed throughout; playful even. Not an inch of frustration on either side of the exchange. Same lyrics but different notes; like a cover song that takes on a completely different meaning just by altering the arrangement and instrumentation. I tried not to think about it; or how there had been a time that Amy had been the terror of Oakshire Elementary’s Maturosis and Developmental Plateau Unit. She’d been enough of an obstacle that Beouf had flashbacks and even the therapists remembered her years later. I kept drinking from my bottle and focusing my attention elsewhere. Week by week the faces were getting more and more familiar. I honed in on the odd Amazon Tweener couple and focused on the wife. Unlike her peers who tended to put on airs of young, hip, with- it types, this woman dressed closer to the stay at home moms of a bygone era; one that maybe only existed on television. She wore a pearl necklace and earrings with her light brown hair up in a bouffant hairdo, but wore very little makeup otherwise. She had a floral print dress on that didn’t compliment her shape at all, making her look slightly dumpy, with stockings and heels on her feet. Mature and motherly, it was close to what Ambrose tried but failed to imitate, but not what most would consider flirtatious or sexy. Excellent camouflage for a Tweener; enough to broadcast herself as an adult, but nothing that would make an Amazon Mommy jealous and want to Adopt her out of spite. “We’ve had to have Caleb sleeping in our bed for the past three nights,” the Tweener woman who’d maintained her adulthood said to the dark skinned woman who’d wrangled a pair of ‘twins’. “That’s nice,” the dark skinned woman said. “Sometimes on the weekends we do one big family cuddle puddle. I get up. Change them but keep them in their jammies, and we all go back to my bed and nap before breakfast.” “Oh no,” the Tweener woman shook her head. Her pearl earrings jangled and her bouffant styled hair bobbed. “You don’t understand, Charlie. We took Caleb over to the Malkoviches for a playdate. Caleb gets to play with Riannon, Howard and I get some time to ourselves.” She thumbed back to her massive husband and I had a disturbing visualization involving the mechanics of marriage bed when one person is so petite as to be dwarfed by middle schoolers. The Amazon nodded. “Sure, sure.” “And it went well enough at first,” the Tweener continued. “But when John went off to cook dinner Alex also went to go work in their sustainable garden. And neither told each other… I think you see where I’m going.” “Oh dear,” the Amazon looked to her twins protectively. “Is he okay?” “John thought Alex was watching the babies. Alex thought John was watching the kiddos. And since it’s Spooky Month on G.U.T.V, John decided to watch a scary movie on his phone.” The other Mommy sucked in her teeth, already connected the dots. “However he didn’t realize he pressed the wrong button so that it was automatically being simulcast to the TV in the living room.” “Didn’t he hear the screams?” “Headphones,” the Tweener answered. “So the entirety of dinner preparation time, we’re not sure how long, but probably an hour and a half, they watched an entire scary movie instead of Cherry the dog. They’ve already apologized so much, and I feel even worse for their Little one. I hear they’re taking Riannon to see someone because she won’t go near the bathtub anymore without crying.” “Bathtub?” “Ghosthaunters Two. The scene with the Mommy getting her Little ready for a bath and…” “Ooooooh.” Caleb sat quivering in his Daddy’s lap, fighting sleep and startling himself awake while the big man tried to tenderly nudge him. “We wanted to stay home,” the Tweener Mommy said. “But Caleb begged us to come. He says it’s safe here.” “What happens when you try to put him in his crib?” “If he’s awake he starts screaming about a ‘Ghost Nanny’ coming to get him. And he starts bawling and saying things like ‘Not again’ and ‘I can’t go through it again’.” “Poor dear. He must be thinking of that scene in the movie.” The Tweener nodded. “Little kids have such a hard time separating fact from fiction.” Idiots or delusional maniacs. I knew that movie. I’d bet good money that Caleb got snatched up by some grabby Amazon with a carriage. It’d be the same as me freaking out inside a glass elevator. Poor guy was having flashbacks. If only I still had money… “Okay everybody,” the balding man said. “I think it’s about that time. Let’s begin.” They sang that stupid ‘We’re All Together Again’ song. Two dozen voices give or take and not one of them could harmonize with any of the others. I still had about half of my bottle so Janet didn’t bob me up and down. She just held it to my lips and sang the opening hymn, getting that rush of belonging. The leader looked around the circle. “Alright then,” he chuckled. “Welcome everyone. It looks like we have nothing but familiar faces. Am I wrong?” No one corrected him. “Just in case, does anyone want to re-introduce themselves or their Little kiddos?” I resisted the temptation to make an ass out of myself. I just had to get through the first half so that the real work of the second half could begin. I’d use the bottle and Lion to shield myself from tummy tickles and lap bounces and just be a blob in Janet’s lap for however long it took. Simple as that. “Okay then,” the leader nodded. “We’re going to break with our usual format today.” I stopped suckling. A break in the usual format was bad. I needed the usual format. Around the circle, Littles on laps or couched between ankles exchanged worried looks. “Don’t worry, kids, you’ll still get your playtime. It’s just the first half of tonight is going to be different.” I relaxed with the rest of my otherwise mindfucked peers. “We’ve got a guest speaker tonight. Depending on when you came in you may have seen her waiting in the hallway.” It was then I noticed that the door was slightly cracked open. “Some of you might remember her from past meetings, she comes two or three times a year to share with us.” I had the worst possible feeling. I kept suckling and pulling the milk into me. Maybe I could chug it and throw up. “Some of you kids might remember her because she used to be your teacher.” That confirmed it. I didn’t need to know that he was looking at me when he said, “Some of you might have her as your teacher right now. Please welcome, from Oakshire Elementary, Mrs. Melony Beouf.” The applause of nearly thirty giant hands and their idiot Littles copying them and cheering for Beouf opening the door and speed walking to the front of the room sounded to my ears like shotgun and machine gun rounds being fired into the air and the bleatings of sheep happy to go to the slaughter. On any given day, Melony Beouf chose function over form. If she couldn’t bend over, crawl around, get on the floor with or chase a Little while potentially covered in any number of stains, she didn’t wear it. The only exceptions to this rule were when she had a scheduled teacher observation or if it was the annual Staff Photo (not to be confused for Picture Day). Beouf was dressed in teacher formal attire, with makeup and perfume on. Her white blouse with frills up the front went up the front, complemented the lipstick red blazer and skirt as well as the matching flats. Over her shoulder was a tan colored tote bag that I couldn’t see what was inside it. Sick grandbaby my ass, Melony was here to put on a show. The bottle was still between my lips. I plugged the tiny hole in the nipple with my tongue and glared up at Janet. This was the reason why she got us here so early; she didn’t want me seeing Beouf in the hallway. Janet didn’t smile down at me like a happy idiot who just sprung a pleasant surprise. Nor did she threaten me with talks of ‘good choices’. She shifted me up off her lap and brought me close to her shoulder like she was about to burp me. “I made her promise not to make a scene,” she whispered. “Don’t worry.” Also, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” Back down into her lap I went, and I crushed Lion all the harder while slowly very slowly, I accepted the bottle and started to drink. Much slower this time. The full feeling in my stomach and the practice I’d given myself still left me relatively calm. I was angry on an intellectual level more than an emotional or physiological one. Still, I would spit all over her and then cry my eyes out like it was spit up if Beouf gave me half an excuse. Beouf took center stage, near the beginning head of the circle. “Before I begin,” she said, “let me please introduce myself. My name is Melony Beouf and I teach The Maturosis and Developmental Plateau Unit at Oakshire Elementary, otherwise known as ‘The Littles Class’.” A slight and polite chuckle followed. “Oakshire Elementary’s unit is one of only two publicly funded programs in the entire county, and based on the number of plaques I have at my home from various county, state, and national Maturosis teaching and research organizations, I am very, very good at my job.” That earned her some appreciative nods and murmurs. I knew what the other school was and why she didn’t say it. “I have a Master’s in Early Childhood Education,” she went on. “and a Bachelor’s in Child Psychology with a minor in Maturosis and Developmental Plateaus.” That minor was as valid as the cold stickers that got sent home with my schoolwork. “I’ve been doing this for many many years; I’m not gonna say how long because that’ll just make me feel old.” More polite laughter. “Let’s just say that looking around the room, when I first started teaching, some of your Little one’s were probably still in diapers the first time around.” That got a round of genuine laughter. I looked around and scanned the faces of the other Littles. A few slight blushes, and hiding behind hands, but those same rosey faces all had bashful grins. Most seemed completely unphased by the reminder that there was a time when they were adults. We were in the cult of Little Voices and tonight’s sermon was being given by the Right Good Reverend Melony Beouf. I knew right then that any attempt I might make would be instantly thwarted and turned back on me. A small classroom with Littles who hadn’t been completely broken in with two familiar Amazons and a decade worth of quirks, shared experiences, and procedures to exploit was doable. A meeting of close to fifty or sixty people and the Little to Amazon ratio being close to one to one and no one having a problem with this madness but me? No chance. “To put it simply, my job is to help Littles who have experienced full-blown Maturosis come to grips and learn to embrace who they are, as well as to educate their Adoptive parents on what the most up to date research tells us about the condition and the people living with it so that we can meet their needs the best way possible.” The Tweener Mommy started clapping…and was the only one. She stopped. Someone was trying too hard. Beouf wasn’t thrown. “So in a way, if I’ve worked with your kids, I’ve always worked with you. And I’m not their teacher, but also your colleague. As Mr. Clemmons,” she gestured to the balding man who ran the meeting, “already said I am a big supporter of Little Voices and I love their message very much. So I do my part every now and then I come to talk to both Littles and their Mommies and Daddies. And to be clear, some of the things I’m going to tell you are things that for various different reasons, the school board would rather me not talk about in a classroom setting. So I am a teacher, but I am here in my capacity as an advocate and someone who participates in research. Is that clear?” Silently, everyone that mattered to Beouf nodded their heads. “I’ll talk to the Grown-Ups more in depth later, but for now, if it’s okay and they feel comfortable, can I have all the Little boys and girls come and sit up front with me?” My cult narrative took on a more direct comparison. Littles came up in one’s and two's while Beouf coaxed them forward. “That’s right,” she said in her higher birdlike teacher voice. ”Come on. Don’t be shy.” It was just like the ‘Children’s Moment’ at so many churches. The Littles started to clump together and crowd into a tight knot. “Okay, okay. Maybe be a bit shier. Too close, sweety. Okay. That’s right. Yes. Better. Spread out a tiny bit. Give each other some room. Muuuuuch better.” In the meantime, someone had taken a spare folding chair and passed it so that Beouf had a place to sit. There was no way she was making it to the floor dressed as she was. Janet made no attempt to ask or nudge me off her lap. Beouf placed her tote bag down beside her, and took a seat. “Hello everyone!” “Hi Mrs. B!” “Hello, Caleb!” “Hi Mrs. Beouf!” “Hi, Danny!” “Hello!” “Good to see you again, Cindy.” The hi’s and hello’s bubbled up and overlapped each other until Beouf raised both hands. “Okay okay okay. Hold on, boys and girls. Let me get this out of the way. Raise your hand if you want me to say hello to you and when I do put your hand down.” Tiny hands shot skyward. Beouf took a massive, cartoonishly exaggerated breath. “Hello, Kylie, Marie, Sammy, Caleb, Brittany, Elisa, Marissa…” she kept listing names off and hands dropped. Littles staying by their parents’ sides also raised their hands. “Hello, Cesily, Bea, Paul, Juni, Amy…” She rattled off their names without fail. By the time she was done, only five or six Littles kept their hands raised. “Now you all I don’t think I’ve met. Tell me your names and I promise to remember them next time.” They did and she greeted them, and reiterated her promise. I knew perfectly well that she’d keep that promise. I had a habit of letting past students fade into memory; most teachers did. Beouf had such a mind for faces and names that she could have been a politician. Come to think of it, she kind of already was. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way,” Beouf said and got another knowing chuckle from the assembled cultists. “I can teach and remind you about some very important things to keep you safe and happy. Is that okay?” That received a resounding “Yeeeeeah!” From the assembled man and woman toddlers. This was the kind of class Beouf wanted, and by the end of most years, it was close to the class that she got. That made me shudder and some extra milk flowed into my mouth with the spasm. “First off,” Beouf said, “I’m going to ask what I hope is a silly question. You know your Mommies and Daddies love you right?” “Yeah!” Her point was punctuated with some giggles. “Yes, of course they do,” Beouf agreed. “That’s why they Adopted you and take care of you the way that they do. But not all Grown-Ups want what’s best for you. Some Grown-Ups think that just because you’re not a Grown-Up anymore, that means they should get to decide how you act and think and feel instead of letting you be yourselves.” I silently agreed with her, though obviously not the way she intended. “That’s silly!” One of the brainwashed masses piped in. “Yes it is silly,” Beouf replied, “but it can also be very dangerous. What these people will do is they will find things that Little boys and girls like, like cartoons and songs, and hide messages in them.” “Like a secret?” Beouf pointed at the Little suck up. “Yes, like a secret. But it’s such a secret, that you don’t even remember hearing it, but your brain does.” She tapped her forehead for emphasis. “And your brain remembers things even if your ears and eyes forget. And if your brain gets too many of these secrets for too long, it can change you.” She waited to see if anyone would take the bait and ask how. This time no one did. “These secret messages will change you so that you forget things, or make it harder to talk or make you can’t talk at all. Or it might make you laugh when you really wanna cry. Sometimes they make it so that you can’t say naughty words or think naughty thoughts.” “Why is that bad?” A parent asked. The glares he got made him slink down a pariah. “Hypothetically, I mean.” “I’m glad you asked that, sir.” Beouf saved him. “The answer to that question has two parts. One is that Little, Tweener, and Amazon brains pre-Maturosis are nearly identical, but these hypnotic suggestions affect us all equally, giving rough simulations of Maturosis’s effects. Someone experiencing Maturosis may be falsely diagnosed and given care that they don’t need and that’s unethical.” There was so much irony here it was beginning to cave Lion’s and my chest in. My ex-mentor proved that she couldn’t read minds and kept talking. “The allowance of these materials also weakens the argument and research going into Maturosis by promoting a false narrative. If there are some people who aren’t actually experiencing it but are being exposed to post-hypnotic conditioning, the argument can be made on the entire system, and we know that’s just not true and our Little ones need our help. The second big reason is that even if a Little has been correctly diagnosed with Maturosis, hypnotic cartoons and songs do more harm than good by implementing knee-jerk uncontrollable behaviors in people as well as blocking what would be otherwise natural and normal responses.” The message wasn’t quite landing, it seemed. “Let’s just do words. Imagine having a word taken away from you. Not that you forgot about the word, you just can’t use it. And every time you try to say the word, you accidentally say another word or you can’t say anything at all. You can feel the word, you know the word, but there’s a magical wall stopping you from using the word. Some hypnotic and subliminal programs do this.” She paused for effect. “Some do more and make it so that you can’t think about the word and every time you try it gets replaced with another word that you know is wrong but your brain won’t give you another word and even if someone tells you the right one you can’t use it. Now imagine it’s more than just one word. Imagine it’s several words. Imagine it’s every word that someone else doesn’t think you should be allowed to say…” The mood chilled with Grown-Ups and Littles alike throwing each other worried yet comprehending looks. The Amazons only conceptualized it and were disturbed. Some of the Littles no doubt had experienced it first hand. More amazing was that Beouf and Janet weren’t choking to death on their own blatant hypocrisy. Ever the teacher, Beouf looked down at the assembled Littles. “In other words, hypnosis is like spanking your brain, and Little Voices does not support spanking of any kind.” Solemn nods all around the cluster of forever children. “Fortunately,” her tone became more upbeat, “I always have several students in my class each and every year that let me know all of the words and I am positive their parents don’t use hypnosis or subliminal messaging!” That got the crowd back. Amazons laughed behind their hands and a small amount of Littles quietly exchanged high fives and fist bumps. She reached into the tote bag and put some old DVD’s in her lap. “Parents and Littles, the best way to protect yourself and your kids is to update and educate yourself on what does and does not contain subliminal messaging. There is a popular show making a comeback called Carpet Mice. Do not watch it. Ever. It has nothing but hypnotic suggestions in it and neither I nor anyone else have found a clean broadcast of it. If you go to LittleVoices.com you’ll find an entire list of shows and sometimes even networks to avoid. With all of these streaming services, there’s a lot of bad actors out there.” “What about Mint’s Hints?” A Little piped in. “Or Cherry?” Beouf smiled and nodded. “Good question. For the most part, shows like Cherry, Mint’s Hints, Helga Hogg, The Muffet Show or Muffet Littles, are completely safe. They’re made with good intent and safe for children of literally all ages. But,” she added, “you should always be on the lookout if a show has a warning or a disclaimer in the beginning or any part that asks a Grown-Up to leave the room. If there’s something on T.V. that the people making it don’t want your Mommies and Daddies to see, there’s something wrong with it.” “Another way to tell is if you overhear a lot of specific talk about diapers. Real children’s cartoons don’t worry too much about potty training or diapers. They already assume the child needs them and doesn’t care, or is mature enough not to need them, and doesn’t care. Yes most Littles who experience Maturosis lose their potty training anyways but if there’s one hypnotic command, there’s at least ten more. Be. Aware.” I’d forgotten what a good speaker Beouf could be. Watching her was hypnotic in its own right. My bottle was now down to the last quarter and I’d barely even noticed because I was so morbidly fascinated with the mix of helpful warnings that every Little parent taught their child and absolute contradictory bullshit. She cracked open a DVD case and took out a pair of ear plugs and what looked like flimsy 3-D glasses. “Some programs even have special ear plugs or glasses that filter out the commands so that a Grown-Up can make a Little feel secure and trick them into watching. A lot of these things people can buy on the internet. A lot of this is still, sadly, legal in many places and where it isn’t people will often look the other way until someone makes a big enough stink about it.” Beouf continued her presentation by holding up the two identical DVD cases, both Helga Hogg. “The safest thing to do is to get a DVD of your child’s favorite cartoons and just play that. A streaming service can be compromised or edited. A DVD will be the same every time. Just be sure of the distributor. I got both the ear plugs and the sample glasses from the DVD case in my left hand.” She returned her attention to the so-called children. “So boys and girls, if a Grown-Up ever wants you to watch a cartoon or listen to a song with them and they put something in their ears or something over their eyes, you need to do everything you can to stop yourself from watching or listening.” The Littles, used to being well behaved dolls looked generally confused. “What do we do?” “Cry. Scream. Yell.” Beouf kept ticking off on her fingers. “Cover your ears and close your eyes. Throw up if you need to. Try and bop the Grown-Up on the nose. Anything that makes it so you don’t watch or listen to what they want you to watch or listen to.” An Amazon politely raised her hand and asked. “But what if it’s a mistake? A babysitter or someone who works at their daycare?” “I would rather a Grown-Up get their feelings hurt, or get angry and call you to help sort it out than an innocent Little girl or boy have something taken away from them via hypnosis.” She crossed her arms over her chest, giving the statement a note of finality. I wondered if she was really campaigning so hard against the stuff because more hypnotic suggestions would just put her out of a job. Quickly, she took out a pair of headphones and held them aloft. “‘Before we move on, I also just want to mention something called ‘Music Therapy’. This is literally just slapping a pair of headphones with hypnotic suggestions over someone’s head and then leaving them in a trance for a couple of hours.” “DO IT CUZ MOMMY SAYS SO!” Bradley screeched in terror on his Mommy’s lap. “I LIKE TO PEE MY PANTS!” He was hyperventilating and crying just at the sight of the prop. Beouf had the decency to put them out of sight and the poor ex-New Beginnings inmate calmed down. “Now that we have that over with,” Beouf said, “that first part was for both the Littles and their parents. This next part is just for the Littles. Don’t worry, Grown-Ups you can stay.” A few nervously got the joke. “Who knows what Stranger Danger is?” All the hands in the room shot up, save mine. I was not participating. “Okay, Cindy,” Beouf pointed to the pink-haired woman who was probably almost as old as she was. “Tell us.” “Stranger Danger is when someone who is not your Mommy or Daddy or teacher or family wants to take you away forever because they want to hurt you.” “That’s right, honey. Good job.” She leaned out and gave Cindy a high five. Beouf had taken the day off and was now getting rewarded with her dream class. “When you were younger, you were probably told that there were strangers who would claim to know your mother and father or get you to come with them by offering candy or asking you for help looking for a puppy and that they wanted to hurt you, right?” A smattering of ‘yeah’ and ‘uh-uh’ and ‘yes’ came in reply while others mutely bobbed their heads. “That can still happen,” Beouf told them. “But other times, strangers will try to trick you by telling you things like you’re really a Grown-Up or that your Mommy and Daddy don’t really love you, and you should come with them to prove that you’re not a baby.” She paused and scanned the floor for signs of dissent or incomplete programming. She found none there and so went on. “Those people are also trying to trick you and take you away from your Mommies and Daddies and you’ll also end up hurting. You’ll hurt not only yourself in the long run but also your Mommies and Daddies.We don’t want to do that, do we?” The chorus of affirmatives changed course and melted into ‘no’ and ‘nuh-uh’ and the quiet but obedient shaking of heads. Typical mindfucked dolls. Someone was curious enough or childish enough to ask “Why?” “That’s a complicated question that I think has a lot of answers,” Beouf said with all sincerity. “Some of them are bad people, because there’s just bad people in the world. I think a lot of them though are people who just don’t understand or have been lied to about Maturosis or think they’d be helping you if they kidnapped you and took you away from your family.” And once again, the pot without a trace of self-awareness deemed the kettle black. “So unless you know them or they can prove that they know your Mommy or Daddy, don’t go with them and do more of that screaming, and crying stuff. It’s okay if you’re trying to protect yourself and it’s all you’re able to do. Nobody will be mad, I promise. Okay?” “Okay.” most said together. Melony reached back into her tote bag and pulled out a stack of wooden blocks, no doubt borrowed from her own classroom. “Don’t get too excited, kids.” She said, “I’m using these as a teaching tool. Not for playing.” “Can we play with them after?” Amy called from her Mommy’s lap. Beouf didn’t even have to look up. “Yes Amy, you can if you want.” “What about Jess-?” The bottle went back into Amy’s mouth so she couldn’t finish and her Mommy quietly shushed her. I finished draining mine and accidentally let out a tiny yawn. Beouf started stacking the blocks one at a time in a single column. “This next part is both for parents and their Little ones. As with everything else tonight, I’ll talk more in depth with the Grown-Ups after you kids go play, but they deserve to hear part of this too. It’s going to be a tad uncomfortable for some people hearing what I’m about to tell you, and that’s okay. However it is my professional and personal opinion that everyone needs to hear this talk at least once. More than anything else, this is the part that I’m not supposed to talk about. I need everyone to be brave and as mature as they can be for what I’m about to discuss. That goes for you Mommies and Daddies, too.” The laughter had dialed back down to polite with a touch of nervousness. I pushed the bottle out of the way and squirmed back up into a sitting position so that I wouldn’t accidentally fall asleep. What could Beouf need so much warning to talk about? She’d already discussed the topics hypnosis and abduction (including reframing Stranger Danger as a way to prevent Littles from escaping). What could be more controversial than that? She pointed to the column of blocks she’d made. The blocks, I noticed, were numbered and in sequential order, bottom to top, from zero to five. “This is how people grow up,” Beouf said pointing down to the bottom. “First we’re zero, then we’re one, then we’re two.” Her finger traveled up the column. “And every year we go up and up and up, and another block goes on the stack. I’d stack them higher, but I’m not very good at stacking so you’ll have to use your imaginations.” Her hand rose up to the sky tracking invisible blocks of much higher numbers. “But the thing is, we never really stop being zero, or one, or two, or three. It just gets added on to. Everybody in this room is a one or two or three or four or five. Their block tower is just a lot taller and they’re on the top.” “And we’re on the bottom!” A suck up yelled a bit too happily “Don’t interrupt, Cesily.” Beouf wagged her finger at the lady who I’d seen get dangled gleefully from her ankles at my first meeting. “Everyone has a tower that they’re mind is on top of, but deep deep down, they’re still zero, and one, and two, and three, and four. It’s just that when your tower gets really tall, it takes some reeeeeeeally big thoughts and feelings to reach all the way up from the top of the tower to all the way down to the bottom of the tower where the part of you that is zero and one and two and three are. It’s hard. But it can happen. That’s why Grown-Ups can still cry. Or be silly. Or make bad decisions that if their parents were still around they’d be put in timeout for.” “Or pee and poop?” Beouf ignored the comment and kept going. “When you have Maturosis, it’s different.” I puffed air out of my nose and readied for her to knock the tower to shambles. I think many of the audience guessed the same thing. If that’s true, she surprised a lot of us. Instead of knocking the block tower over, she carefully grabbed the top and bottom of her column, squeezed the tower and flipped it over so that the zero was at the top. “When you have Maturosis, the tower flips over.” She took a final block, a six, and quickly picked up the tower to slip it under as the new base. “And new blocks get added to the bottom. You’re still twenty or thirty or forty or fifty or a hundred. The tower of who you are still grows and grows and grows. It’s just that the part of you that is zero and one and two and three is always at the tippy top with you.” My tongue rolled out of its mouth, unbelieving what I was hearing. “So when you have Maturosis, you’re always feeling and thinking those thoughts you did when you were a baby-when you were zero and one and two and maybe even three-but the part of you that is twenty and thirty and forty, is still there. It just takes a looooot of work to get to that part of you. And sometimes that work is so hard that you just can’t, and that’s okay too. It starts feeling wrong, just like when it felt wrong to wear diapers before you needed them again. That’s what we call your Developmental Plateau.” This. This explained so much. It didn’t make it any better. It didn’t undo anything. But it explained so much about why Beouf acted the way she did. She’d succinctly summarized her own delusions. She really was a great teacher. She had more for me. “The term plateau is misleading however. A plateau is usually a piece of high flat ground. Your Developmental Plateau isn’t necessarily completely flat. Just like how some people can be very good with math and others are better at reading and writing, a plateau can vary from person to person. Some of you are more shy and need sensory play. Others need different levels of personal interaction. Some can walk. Some just crawl or like rolling around on the floor. Some feed yourselves. Some like to be spoon fed. A lot of you still talk the same as you did before. We’re all different.” It made perfect sense if you didn’t stop to think about it. The Amazons, clearly, weren’t thinking about it. The other Littles had bought in or were completely numb to it by this point. Why did this part get the warning, though? “That’s why,” Beouf said, “We need to take a few minutes to talk about romantic feelings and sexual arousal.” “EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!” Faces scrunched up, mouths fell ajar, pacifiers popped into mouth to cover embarrassment and hands waved and heads shook as if. “I told you it was gonna be icky,” Beouf laughed, “but this is something you should know about.” She waved her hands in front to try and regain control. “Stop. Stop. I’m not going to embarrass anyone or ask any questions. No hand raising required! All you have to do is listen.” It certainly didn’t win them over, it got everyone to quiet down. “You might be living like zero or one or two or three year olds,” she said. “But your bodies and parts of your minds are still adult. So it is very possible, maybe even likely, that at some point since you got Adopted, you’ve looked at somebody or thought about them in your crib, and you started getting funny feelings like you did back when you were a big boy or girl.” The pacifiers and thumbs were popping in at a record pace. People were doing their best not to die from embarrassment, just from the idea that they might have sexual feelings. Beouf certainly noticed, but she kept talking anyway. “These feelings might make you want to kiss someone, or hold their hand, or touch their diaper or have them touch yours.” “EWWWWWWWW!” “Hold on! Hold on!” Beouf laughed again, her own ease being semi-contagious. “I’m not telling you what to do, I’m just stating aloud how some of you might be feeling sometimes, and to tell you…that it’s perfectly natural and okay. Some of you sometimes might not even be thinking about anyone. You might just feel a certain way, or like how your diaper feels, or be bored or something. Happens all the time!” She quickly added, “And if you don’t ever feel that way, that’s okay too. I’m not telling you how to feel.” The silence grew as Beouf took in a deep, cleansing breath. “I’m just saying that if you do feel that way, it’s perfectly natural, and you should talk to your Mommies and Daddies about it.” She looked up and out to the assembled parents, shifting in their seats. I could tell who’d heard a version of this talk before and who hadn’t based on body postures. Everyone was uncomfortable, but some were distinctly less so than others. I think my fellows were more uncomfortable, because it was them that were being talked about. I suddenly realized how long it had been since I’d had sex, which of course made me think about Cassie, which of course made me feel a level of melancholy that even a full belly and calm breathing couldn’t starve off. Not completely. “Parents,” Beouf said. “Mommies and Daddies: Believe me. If your Little boy or girl has these urges you need to talk to them about it. Short of something unethical, there is nothing you can do to prevent it, and babies of any age like to explore their bodies. All these Little ones are doing is rediscovering themselves. We’re okay with it when it comes to the cute stuff, we have to be okay with it when it comes to the things that aren’t so cute.” My ears wanted to fall away from the sides of my head out of disbelief. Beouf was openly encouraging masturbation among Adopted Littles. “If you don’t talk to them about it and find a way for them to do it safely, they will find a way to do it in a way that will probably embarrass you and cause you problems you never considered when you Adopted. My rookie year of teaching I lost more stuffed animals to nap time humping than I dare admit.” Every word was coming out almost like a chant with each one standing straight up and refusing to touch the other, much like the gaggle of Littles on the floor were slowly but steadily spreading out from each other. The collective blood was rushing to every Little’s head, mine included. Just hearing all this said out loud was awful. Sex was normally a touchy enough subject for some of us; anybody really. Reminding us that Littles lost out sexual autonomy was insult enough. Telling everyone that those urges and feelings still continue no matter what was almost cruel. The Amazons weren’t digging it either. Picturing their so-called babies adding something to their padded underpants that wasn’t urine or feces was distinctly unpleasant. I think I wanted to talk about sex to Janet all of a sudden… “You would rather them do something in their crib with the baby monitor off or in the bathtub right before you pull the plug than start rubbing themselves in public or rubbing up against each other at daycare. I’m not going to name names, but I’ve got at least two students in my class with very strict parents, and if I didn’t pretend not to notice a few things, I’m pretty sure the Little darlings would just explode!” She added sound effects for levity, and it worked, gaining a few good natured belly laughs from those assembled. Billy and Annie were such exhibitionists they’d be proud to be called out like this. One Little was brave enough to raise their hand and ask “How?” “That I can’t tell you, darling. That’s something you’ve got to talk about with your Mommy or Daddy and figure out what works for all of you. I’ll go into more detail and options with them,” Beouf pulled a phone out of her bag. “But that’s almost my time. Let’s split up so the kids can play, and I’ll get down to some more specifics and nitty gritty with the adults.” She stood up to a rousing round of applause, even greater than when she entered and the Littles all scampered back to their parents, some of them hugging them as if they’d been separated for years and not just a few awkward and tense topics. Janet stood up and shifted me so that I could ride on her side and still look around. “I appreciate you,” she said, and left it at that. I’d been a good Little baby, apparently. Fuck it. Whatever. I had real work to do soon. I was not meant to escape Beouf entirely. “Hey Janet, hey Clark.” “Good talk,” Janet said, because of course she would say that. “Thanks. We’re not done yet, sister. You’d be surprised the kind of questions that come up in the second half.” Janet laughed. “Great. Let me drop Clark off, and I’ll meet you back here.” She bounced me slightly as if I hadn’t been paying attention. “Do you want to say goodbye, Clark?” I think all three of us knew the answer to that. Sometimes Janet and Beouf could be masochists. “No,” some of Beouf’s shine left her. “That’s fine. He doesn’t have to.” “He’s kind of droopy tonight.” “Sick?” Beouf asked. “I don’t think so. Just full” She held the empty bottle that she hadn’t slipped back into the diaper bag. More curiosity blossomed over Beouf’s brow. She pointed to the empty container. “Goat’s milk or…?” “Goat’s milk.” Janet said. “Goat’s milk.” “Okay. Drop him off and come back. We’ll have a chat.” “Roger!” Janet walked me to the playroom. I started doing my best to wake up and get my blood pumping. It was fitting in a way that Beouf was here tonight. She’d started her indoctrination routine in the first half of the meeting. Next would come mine. Chapter 93: Little Voices: “Clark Says” Janet took me into the Community Center’s playroom and put me down. A quick check between my legs and she was satisfied that I was “Good to go”. She leaned forward to give me a kiss, but hesitated and pulled back. I must have made some kind of face. “Bye, Clark. See you in a bit.” She left while a few of the more sentimental Mommies and Daddies did their own variation of a goodbye ritual- theirs much more affectionate- and then left to go get pro tips from one of the greatest manipulators in the game whose last name didn’t use to be Gibson. The bottom half of the dividing door was officially closed, locking us all in together. Of special note, among the playroom guests were the diapered Little Kylie, her Pouty Pull-Upped ‘Big Sister’ of a Tweener, Joanie, and both Daddies, Carl and Donald. I forgot which one was which, but one was sorting through the enormous bundles of diaper bags that the supervising Grown-Ups toted around, and the other was already busying himself pulling back waistbands, patting bottoms, and generally eyeballing crotches for signs of oversaturated swelling and sagging. This wasn’t ideal. I felt a twinge of sympathy when one of them asked the Tweener whether she had to go potty or not. The woman’s cheeks lit up like a searchlight. They only got worse when he went on about how it was okay and accidents happened and they packed diapers “just in case she needed a break”. Obviously, the Tweener wasn’t used to being confined to padded underpants. She was probably being gently punished to remind her of her place in the same way that I’d been disallowed anything that hid my diapers. Either that or ‘her Maturosis was getting more pronounced’ (read: her Daddies were gaslighting themselves and her to the point where she was getting Little levels of mindfucked). The decent part of me hoped it was the former. I shouldn’t wish that slow descent into madness on anyone, save perhaps a select few Amazons. Even I got my pants back. The awful part of me quietly rooted for the latter. Watching a Tweener brought down to my level could be darkly satisfying, and it could be useful to have access to a bigger mindfucked baby. “None of your friends from school or playgroup are here, honey.” The big man prattled on. “Your sister and her friends won’t care, either. They all need diapers, too. You’ll still be our big gi-” “Daaaaad!” the Tweener shrieked. “Staaaahp!” She gently huffed off to my usual sulking corner far away from the changing table, leaving the big man gently shaking his head like a patient yet frustrated parent. He went back to checking Littles, not asking beyond saying “Excuse me, Little fella” “Hold up, babydoll,” or “Juuuuust checking.” This was not ideal. Two diaper obsessed giants instead of the usual one, and a pouty Tweener squealer. Two and a half times the number of authorities to involve and distract, and neither of the Daddies seemed to be the type to get actively involved with the pretend-children beyond basic maintenance and monitoring. The changing table was right by the door, too. A Grown-Up would only have to turn their head to the right to see someone being too close to the door for comfort. Definitely not ideal. The only thing that could have been less ideal was if Janet were present. These circumstances could be good though. If my exit strategy could work around two no-nonsense Daddies and a Tweener that could turn traitor, it could work around anybody. I hadn’t noticed any pattern or heard anything about a rotation on who got monitor duty, but common sense told me that the Amazons wouldn’t consciously hog or clog up playtime privileges. Every one of them wanted to be here on some level and frequent repeats would be noticed. Getting these guys out of the way helped me. I wasn’t going to get out tonight. Not even close. I had so many other steps to take and trials to endure. This was only part one. Every journey home had to start with a single step. Every tunnel to freedom started with a single spoonful of dirt. Showtime. “Okay everybody!” I yelled out in my best carnival barker impression. “Step, crawl, and roll up! We’re playing ‘Simon Says’.” In bits and pieces, people turned to see me, curious expressions forming. Curious, but not taking the bait. A handful put down the rental rag dolls and abandoned the ancient Speak-and-Says, but most had pause and disinterest. Murmurs of “Simon Says” started to make their way around the room. They knew what it was, because of course they did; the real thing is they weren’t in a mood to play it. Simon Says wasn’t Battle Tag or Light Feather Heavy Feather. Time to up the ante. “Step right up and gather round!” I repeated. “If you don’t want to play you can take a seat and cuddle up with your favorite stuffie and enjoy the show!” More looks were exchanged. Promises of a show were reeling them in. Simon Says wasn’t Battle Tag, but like the pudgy girl with the stacking cups said, I’d brought Battle Tag to this place and mastered the art of Heavy and Light. I was a known asshole and pouter who hadn’t yet accepted their take on the truth, but I could be fun when it suited me. Tonight it suited me. “If I go ten straight rounds without eliminating someone, I lose!” “What happens if you lose?” the white haired kid asked. Damn. They wanted stakes; why wouldn’t they. They weren’t really simple babies. Oh well. “Good question, Denny.” “Danny.” “No, sir, I’m Clark.” I lifted my head and continued to project. “Step right up. If I go ten rounds in a row without eliminating someone, I lose and everybody who beats me can make me say ONE THING EACH!” If cushioned socks and light up sneakers were hooves, the room would have sounded like a stampede. “That’s right, Folks! Anything you want! I will confess to being a big stinky doo-doo head or tell the world that I’m really a pretty pretty princess from fairy land! I’ll even say naughty words!” The resulting gasp of surprise and shock sounded like a cheer to me. Meanwhile my heart was thudding in my chest. I’d said it. I’d actually said it! The Daddy who’d put himself on diaper checking duty was well within my line of sight. He didn’t look upset, but he was far from pleased with this announcement. Oh what a rush. “Clark…?” He’d never spoken to me and thus didn’t feel confident in saying my name at first; afraid he’d somehow misremembered ramblings from Janet. “Clark, buddy. I don’t think that’s appropri-” “You don’t have to say the word yourself!” I yelled over him. “You can just tell me to say a naughty word and I’ll pick. You’ll be blameless!” Daddy number two sounded a bit more firm. “Clark. That’s a really bad choice. I think it’d be a good idea to change that last part about the swearing.” First spoonful of dirt or not, such compromise would not do tonight. I could have chosen or invented any number of games that the daycare crowd would approve of. For my purposes and needs, Simon Says was important to me. Minimal rule explaining, and it gave me complete control of the narrative. I spread my arms wide and turned slowly in a circle. “Of course since I’m such a scamp,” I bellowed theatrically, “if I am forbidden from playing the game at least once I shall tantrum like no other and say ALL the naughty words I know. Possibly invent a few by pairing them with funny sounding breakfast dishes!” I held up an index finger to the second Daddy. “But!” I proclaimed. “If any Grown-Up can defeat me, I will yield and take naughty words off the table.” I stood sideways so that each was in my periphery. One Daddy looked at the other. Playful, cocky smiles were exchanged. “You wanna Don?” “Sure, Carl. Let’s play with the kids.” Amazon arrogance at its finest. Real adults didn’t make bets with children. Good thing there were no actual children around. Beouf had had her moment to spew her brand of crazy. We’d fight tomorrow, I was sure. Here? Now? I was the ringmaster, this my circus, and I had more monkeys under me than just the ones decorating my underwear. “Hi Clark!” I looked down and saw my favorite nutter. “Hey Amy,” I said. “You playin?” She closed her eyes and waggled her head. “Naw. I’m counting.” I flashed a winning folksy smile, and gave her a thumbs up. It was the same kind of gesture I might give to one of my students or their parents when first meeting them. Amy and her ilk were much less frustrating when you didn’t expect that much out of them. “Thanks, friend! Keep me honest!” “Yup yup.” From her spot on the floor she copied me. “Someone’s gotta.” The hell did that mean? “You don’t want to get in on the action? Make me say something embarrassing?” She scooted backwards on her butt while the crowd got in place. “Naw. You kinda do that enough on your own. No offense.” “Some taken.” Her smile was so soft and sincere that I genuinely couldn’t tell if she was fucking with me. Now I had to fuck with her back. I wanted her to play. “Yeah, but you could make me say anything,” I prodded. “You could make me talk about how I looooove being a baby or that I miss my Mommy whenever she’s out of the room or something.” I made my voice as silly and mocking as I could to get the pitch across. That alone got a few who were on the fence about playing in the game. Again, I couldn’t quite read Amy’s expression. It’s like she had something to say, but thought better of it; not a trait that I’d associate with Amy. What she did say was “If I want I can make a kid give me their prize at least half of them owe me something you’d be surprised what can be found and traded for favors at daycare.” I felt myself shudder. Knowing Amy, such treasures were likely dust and lint covered and at one time had been edible. ‘Fair enough.” “Also I want to give you a chance to win. I like you, buddy. Good luck.” I twisted my mouth up and felt my eye twitch but said “Thanks” anyways. Unnecessary though it was, I cupped my hands and started my spiel anew. “Okay, listen up everybody! The game is Simon Says. The rules are simple, everybody knows ‘em, but just for review: When we start playing, if I say ‘Simon Says’ and tell you to do something, you do it. If you don’t do it, you’re out. If I tell you to do something without first saying ‘Simon Says’ and you do it, you’re out, too. If you’re in the game, you stand or crawl or sit here.” I gestured to the area where everyone already was. “If you’re out,” I continued, “you move off to the side and join the audience. Amy is keeping track of how many rounds I go without eliminating someone. Ten in a row I lose.” I turned my head briefly to the (for now I hoped) gathered Littles that were watching instead of playing. “Audience, if you catch someone that I miss, call ‘em out on it. Players, if you get called out, be a good sport and join the audience. As fun as this is, it’s still just a game.” I gestured to myself. “As for me, I’m going to be tricksy, but I’m going to be honest and play square. It is my job to lie to you and misdirect you, but I will never cheat by telling you to do something that you are physically incapable of doing. If I say ‘hop’ but you’re a crawler and can’t hop, you’re safe. Same with doing something impossible like licking your own elbow.” Right on cue four or five of my players experimented to find that no, they could not lick their own elbows. “I also won’t ask you to do anything to anybody else like lick your neighbor’s elbow.” That got the appropriate amount of smirks, snickers, and giggles. Even the Daddies hid their smiles behind the palms of their hands. This was going great. “Likewise, ‘Simon Says’ only counts for direct commands, not questions. I can ask a question or say something to you and you’re allowed to talk back.” I paused and directed my gaze over to my favorite sulking corner. “Hey big kid!” I shouted. “Do you wanna play?” Collectively well over a dozen heads looked behind them, turning the poor girl into a deer on the highway. The Tweener who’d been standing in the corner slunk down and hugged her knees “I’m good…” she said just loud enough for me to hear. “Cool!” I regained the class attention. “And if she were playing, she wouldn’t be out. That is unless of course, the last command I had given was ‘Simon Says no talking’.” General head nodding all around. This part wasn’t about explaining rules as much as it was developing a rapport with my newest batch of suckers. I took in the tiny crowd and noticed Amy rubbing her tummy with one hand and patting the other. “Oh, and yeah, every ‘Simon Says’ cancels out and overrides the ‘Simon Says’ that came before it. So if I say ‘Simon Says rub your tummy’ and then I say ‘Simon Says pat your head’, you stop rubbing your tummy and start patting your head. But if I say ‘Simon Says pat your head and rub your tummy’ you gotta do both.” I flashed her another thumbs up. Thanks, Amy.” “Hmmm?,” she looked mildly startled. “I just wanted to see if I could do both.” Yeah, that figured. “Okay, I think that about covers it,” I said. “So with that out of the way, we are now playing Simon Says as soon as I finish this sentence.” I took a quick breath. My throat was dry, both from talking and from nerves. Now or never to see if this strategy might yield fruit. “Okay, so everybody understand the rules?” There was nodding and verbal affirmations. I swatted at my ears as if their replies were buzzing gnats. “Whoah whoah whoah! Guys! Sorry! My bad! Too much talking all at once! Let me try it another way. Raise your hand if you understand the rules.” Almost half of the hands playing went up. “OH NO!” Amy laughed. “GOTTEM!” The wry smile on my face was completely genuine. Too late it dawned that they’d been duped. “Simon didn’t say. Gotcha!” “Oh gosh,” Daddy number two said. “Carl!” Carl flopped his head in defeat. The Tweener in the corner’s eyes lit up with surprise and joy. “I’m an idiot,” he growled at himself. “Oooooooooooo!” The Littles cheered and jeered and snickered. Even ‘idiot’ was a naughty word to these dolls. I thumbed to the side like a hitchhiker while rambling like an auctioneer. “Outtamygame, outtamygame, outtamygame, outtamygame!” The first round of victims walked and toddled to the side. “I can’t believe that worked!” I crowed. “Can you guys?” Stony silence was my reply. I played at being exasperated. “Friends! Friends! Guys! We already established that unless I say ‘Simon Says no talking’, then it’s okay to answer my questions. So can you believe they fell for that?” I waited and let the silence work for me. One…two….three….four… “No,” “Yeah. Me neither!” My smile got even wider. “Outtamygame, outtamygame! I just said ‘Simon Says no talking’.” “Kylie!” Amy said. “Bea! C’mon! We’ve practiced for this!” Two Little girls trudged off my impromptu playing field. In two moves I’d eliminated half the players. “Simon Says you can talk if you want.” I said. “Pretty tricky, huh?” “Yeah.” “Uh-huh.” “Yessir.” Oh I needed to hear that more than I’d anticipated. “Okay, since we’ve already gotten a lot of people out, how about some of you in the back come a little closer to the front?” “Bradley! Buddy! Nooooooo!” The dark haired whipping boy of fate blushed and then waddled off. “Mommy says…Darn it…” He plopped himself down next to Amy and she patted him consolingly on the back. I felt kind of bad picking on someone who’d been put through New Beginnings. At least he was getting some words back. Enough false starts. Any more and they’d pay too careful attention and I only had so much time. “Simon says touch your head.” I demonstrated the action, half a second later the Littles and remaining Amazon copied me. One finger on Amy’s right hand went up. “Simon says touch your shoulders.” I modeled. They quickly copied. Two fingers. “Simon says touch your knees.” Again. Third finger. “Touch your toes.” I didn’t move. Neither did they. Four fingers. “Simon says touch your toes.” I modeled. They copied. Amy had an entire hand unclenched. “Simon says touch your ears.” Six fingers. Four left. “Simon says touch your nose.” Seven. I whipped my hand over to my shoulder. “Simon says touch your elbow.” “Don!” Carl laughed. “What are you doing?” The last remaining Amazon and three other Littles were all touching their shoulders. My thumb came out. “Outtamygame, outtamygame, outtamygame, outtamygame! I said Simon says touch your elbow. That’s your shoulder.” Amy was incredulous. “You guys! Seriously? You are out of practice.” Her fingers all curled back into her fists. Funnily enough, I agreed with her. Beouf’s daily brainwashing didn’t beat your mind down until submission. Quite the opposite. It sharpened and rewarded it and taught you to talk to yourself as if you were an Amazon. It encouraged you to think outside the box and make arguments that didn’t make sense and accept nonsense as if it were obvious fact. Beouf didn’t want her Littles hypnotized into submission. She wanted our minds sharpened to the point where we could reject our senses. Some of these inmates had never had Beouf, and those who had had long gotten used to activities that assumed you were a baby, instead of exercises designed to trick you into tricking yourself. Back at school, I could trick Billy and maybe Sandra Lynn. I’d have to work for every other victory. Ivy? I could dupe Ivy once and then her competitive streak would kick in and she’d destroy me. To hear Amy’s reactions, I might not even get that one time out of her; not with only ten strikes. Tonight I had a bunch of toddlerized adults in front of me with not an Ivy among them, and Amy was sitting this one out. “Now things are getting good!” Don scoffed and looked like he wanted to say something nasty. The idea that they’d been tricked by someone they considered a baby was hurting the Amazons’ pride. They whispered something to each other that I couldn’t pick out. They’d also dug themselves a hole by agreeing to play my game. The other cultists might not like it if they agreed they’d let a baby swear. I needed to play it cool or I’d have another Sosa/Winters incident on my hands; on accident no less. “Don’t worry Mister Kylie and Joanie’s Daddies,” I boasted. “I’m not gonna lose.” That didn’t go over with them as well as I’d hoped. Two sets of evil eyes were trained on me. “Hey, Clark?” Amy said loud enough for all assembled to hear. “If you lose, what happens if the Grown-Ups tell the good kids not to make you say a bad word?” On pure reflex I shrugged. “Nothing I can do about that,” I answered. I wasn’t going to lose, though, and I didn’t care if I did. The two Daddies turned towards each other, however, and nodded in satisfaction. Amy had just given all three of us an out. Funnily enough, I might have been the only one to realize it. As subtle as I could, I placed my fist by my thigh and flashed her a thumbs up. She nodded but kept her hands balled up, ready to count up to ten. Right. The game. “Simon says give me a clap.” CLAP! We all brought our palms together in unison in a single thunderous clap. “Simon says two claps.” CLAP-CLAP! I build up a rhythm. “Simon says clap” CLAP! “Simon says two claps” CLAP-CLAP! “Simon says clap.” CLAP! “Simone says two claps!” CLAP-CLAP! My thumb came out. “Outtamygame, outtamygame, outtamygame, outtamygame, outtamygame! It’s Simon Says. Not Simone Says. Simone Says doesn’t count.” More grumbling but shuffling off. A bare handful left and a crawler among them. “Simon says jump up and down until the next legal command.” They all hopped up and down on their feet, bouncing like Kangaroos. There was so much movement and crinkling that it sounded like a radio stuck between two different stations. “Hey,” the white-haired kid called up. “When do we stop?” “You heard me,” I replied. “But she’s not jumping,” another Little pointed to the crawler, the blonde girl who’d been munching on berries in her Mommy’s lap from earlier. “She doesn’t have to,” I said. “That’s not faaaaair!” I spread my arms wide and indicated all around. “Who said this was fair?” The crawler beamed cheekily. I was letting her win for now and she was enjoying it. “Noooo!” the white haired kid whined. “She’s cheating!” No. I was. “How?” “Juni can walk!” came the reply from the cup stacker girl from the audience. “She’s faking!” The berry eater stood up. “Brittany!” she yelped. “I was winning.” Her diaper visibly resisted coming up with the rest of her. “She was probably pooping and got stuck,” the white haired boy said. He was still jumping, so the revelation came out in bits and spurts like he was on a galloping horse. “Juni always gets on her hands and knees and pretends to be really interested in something on the floor when she poops.” “Danny!” the girl shrieked. “I’m gonna kill you!” “What?” Brittany giggled. “That’s why your Mommy was giving you all those berries, wasn’t she? You probably just started pooping when he was doing rules stuff and finished after he started.” Juni’s face flushed nearly the same color of pink as the juice that still stained her lips. “Brittany!” I held in my laughter and bit my knuckles. That cheeky bitch! That poor cheeky bitch! She almost got away with it too! “Outtamygame!” One of the Daddies, Carl, stepped around behind her and pulled back. “Yup. Let’s go, Juni” His husband quick-stepped over to the diaper bags while Carl carried an annoyed Juni over to the changing table. “Okay folks,” I said. “Nothing to see, eyes on me.” I looked to my contestants who had been bouncing around for the entire exchange. “Okay guys, my bad. You can stop.” All but one stopped. “Out! Of! My! Gaaaaaame!” One or two tried to start jumping again like I hadn’t seen, but jeers and callouts shamed them into the fold. Only one remained. “Okay Derwin,” I said. “Simon says stop jumping.” He stopped. “It’s Danny.” His voice was strong. He wasn’t even close to winded. He was focused and had been blending in the whole time. Unblinking. Focused. Ready for any trick. I had one left. Time to wrap this up, and I thought I knew how to do it. “Simon says touch your nose.” My arm touched my ear. His went to his nose. One. “Simon says jump!” He did precisely one. I’d put no modifier. Two. “Give me a clap!” I was the only clapper. Three. “Simon says two claps.” CLAP-CLAP! Four. “Simon says clap!” CLAP! “Simon says two claps!” CLAP-CLAP “Simmons says clap.” Nothing Five, six, and seven, respectively. The white haired kid did not smile. He did not sneer. He was in the zone. I double checked Amy’s fingers. “Okay. Simon says clap!” CLAP! Eight. “Simon says give me two claps!” CLAP-CLAP! Nine. “Simon says Daryl give me half-a-clap!” Together our hands started the clap, but froze half way in a fakeout. “Gotcha!” the kid said. “Half-a-clap! And the name’s Danny!” I stuck out my thumb and jerked towards Amy. All previously popped fingers were curled back up. “That’s right. My command was for someone named Daryl. Not you, Danny. Out! Of! My! Game!” The white haired kid fell down to his knees and yanked at his snowy locks. His screams of anguish drowned out by cheers while I took my bow. “Well played! Everyone! Well played! Who wants to go again?” The ranks formed up; soldiers ready to attack. I strolled up to my final patsy. “So, no lie: I’m tired and need a break. Dobson, do you wanna be Simon?” The white haired kid leapt up and got right in my face. “No!” he barked. “I don’t wanna play stupid Simon says!” I held my breath and leaned back. Everyone else was frozen. Even the Grown-Ups, fresh from freshening up Juni looked momentarily stupefied “But we can play ‘Danny Says’.” I stuck my hand out. “Deal!” He shook it, flashed me a cheshire grin like he’d won something and took over. “Danny Says…” I took my place in the audience beside Amy. All eyes had been on me. Now they weren’t. “Outtamygame! Yeah! Danny!” “Good job, Clark.” “Thanks Amy. I play a mean game of Simon Says.” “Yeah. Pretty good,” she agreed. “That’s not what I was talking about, though…” A terrible thought rampaged through my brain: “Amy?” I whispered. “You haven’t ever tried to break out of a place like this have you? Or your daycare? Or Beouf’s? Any place where their job is to treat us like kids?” Amy ran her tongue between the gap in her teeth while her eyes meandered from side to side. “No. Why?” Her fingers were still managing to keep track of ‘Danny Says’. “Outtamygame!” “No reason,” I told her. “Just wondering…”

“Greetings, Master! What is your first wish?’ The genie asked. Allison stepped back and gasped in shock. “A genie?!” Her knees buckled and she fell back onto her queen sized mattress. “You’re a genie?!” She pinched herself as hard as she could on the top of her hand. “It’s pronounced ‘Genie’, actually.” The teal skinned woman in the puffy pants and curly toed slippers said. “Geeee-nie.” It sounded exactly the same to Allison’s ears, even though the mystical entity slowed it down and enunciated. The twenty-seven year old stopped pinching when tears came and a nasty bruise started forming just below her wrist. This really wasn’t a dream! Baffled, Allison kept looking back and forth from the genie to the lava lamp she’d been dusting moments before. Her light brown ponytail swished back and forth like a horse’s backside batting at flies. “I…I…I…! You’re a genie!” The woman (did non-human entities have gender in the same way humans did?) smiled. “Yes, Master. I am. Though it’s pronounced ‘Genie’. Nevermind. What is your first wish?” Her bluish-green brown furrowed. “You know about the wishes, right?” Open mouthed, Allison nodded. “Uh-huh…I know. Three, correct?” “Yes, Master. Very good! What do you wish for?” The way she said ‘Master’ was like how some women said ‘sweetie’, or ‘pumpkin’, or ‘princess’ or some other affectionate yet diminutive nickname an adult might call a small child. That was probably just Allison’s adrenaline and crazy brain kicking in. Literal ‘wishful thinking’. “Can I wish you free?” she asked. The genie seemed mildly confused. “You can, but why would-?” “That.” Allison blurted. “I wish that. I wish you free, Genie.” “It’s ‘Genie’.” “Okay,” Allison said. “I wish you, however you pronounce your name, free.” An audible gasp and then a brief silence. “You really mean it, don’t you Master?” Allison found some courage. “Yes. Absolutely.” “And you don’t want to use two other wishes for yourself first?” the genie asked. The human woman blanched. “Do you like granting wishes?” “Not particularly. I don’t hate it, but-” “Do you want your freedom?” “Yes.” “Then I wish you free.” The genie sat down on the bed next to her, discombobulated. Allison saw the golden manacles on the being’s wrists. “But…why? Why not use the first two for yourself?” “That would make me a terrible human being,” Allison said. “What kind of person would give another person their freedom but only after they got something for themselves first?” “A lot of them,” Genie replied. “All of them. Most of them lie about using the third wish for me so that I’ll be more cooperative. Or they hold onto that last wish as a ‘just in case’ and somebody else steals the lamp.” “Those were bad humans,” Allison said, not moving. It was as if she could feel the genie’s hope and sorrow traveling through the air between them. The dark haired, teal skinned woman draped an arm over Allison’s shoulders. “No. They weren’t. They were very good at being humans. But you are a very good person, Master.” She pulled Allison in and gave her a light hug. It felt like an embrace from a long lost but very close friend. “Can you tell me your name, Master?” Allison took a deep breath. “Allison.” The genie stood up and took her place across from Allison. She raised her biceps parallel to the floor and folded her forearms over on top of each other. “Then, Allison, I am happy to grant your request. Your wish is my command!” She bobbed her head, and the golden bracelets shackled to her arms dissolved into thin air. “Thank you, Allison. I will never forget you.” Then in a flash of light, the mystical being was gone. The only sign that she’d ever been there was the now useless lava lamp, devoid of its teal colored goo. (The End) ********************************************************************************************** Allison spent the rest of the day and all into the night locked in her bedroom. The next roughly twenty four hours. Stage One: Panic attacks and existential crises. A genie! A genie was real! That meant magic was real! That meant everything she believed on a fundamental level had been wrong. She was just a speck in an infinite and unknowing universe with no understanding or significance whatsoever. Stage Two: Fear. She’d been telling the truth when she wished the genie free. She did believe it was wrong to keep another intelligent being imprisoned and enslaved against their will. She’d also read plenty of fairy tales about wishes going wrong or being misinterpreted or wasted or otherwise monkey’s pawed…ESPECIALLY in ABDL stories. Even two wishes could be dangerous to her, so she just ripped the band-aid right off and set the genie free. But what if she phrased the wish wrong or there was some unknown rule about genies that would come back to haunt her? Stage Three: Regret. She’d just chased away a genie! For nothing! Who did that?! Aladdin at least got to marry princess Jasmine. It’s not like there was a time limit on the wishes! She could have taken a few hours to breathe and research! Could have written something down. She had at least two acquaintances online who had been through law school and more geeks than she knew what to do with. She literally could have told the genie to go back into her lamp, gotten and proposed it as a thought experiment. Between the rules lawyers and the actual lawyers she could have come up with three dynamite wishes, at least two of which could have been carefully worded and wonderfully selfish! Stage Four: Denial. It had been a dream. A fantasy. An impossibility. Alisson would go to sleep. Wake up in the morning, and find her same old normal life she’d always had just as she’d left it. There never was a genie, it was just a silly dream she’d concocted because she’d bought a used lava lamp at a garage sale and found it defective. Were she a writer, it might make for some interesting FAP fiction on DailyDiapers or ARArchive that she’d never get the guts to write, but that was it. Stage Five: Acceptance. Fantasy or not. Hallucination or real, the genie was gone now and both the risk and opportunity- however much there had been- was firmly past. She could live with the regret or rationalize it away, but she would live, and that would be that. And so it was. After tossing and turning all night, Allison woke up the next morning. She showered, brushed her hair, and dressed. She ate some breakfast, watched Tiktok, and checked her Twitter feed. “Damn,” she sighed. “I missed Big Diaper Friday.” She thought about the sample Alphagatorz crammed into her underwear drawer. “Someday,” she promised to herself. “Someday…” she promised herself. “Someday.” She should have wished for courage. Or enough money to buy diapers besides the occasional twofer. Courage and enough money to move out of her tiny apartment, get her own nursery and stock an entire closet full of diapers and cute outfits. Those would have been two really solid wishes. Her stomach gurgled from hunger already. The granola bars in her pantry weren’t very filling but there wasn’t much else at the moment. Time for grocery shopping. “Guess I’ll have to get them the old fashioned way,” Allison moaned wistfully on her way out the door. ************************************************************************************************* Overcome with curiosity and goodwill, Genie lingered at the edge of this particular reality. Never before had she come across such an interesting, and selfless human! She didn’t want anything, anything at all! No, that wasn’t quite true. Everyone wanted something. But this delightful mortal just didn’t ask for it. She’d never encountered anything like this from one of the more three-dimensional beings since the beginning of time! “Maybe it’s a trick…” she supposed to herself. Just because humans spoke with that linear speech impediment, that cute little lisp and called her ‘Genie’ or ‘Genie’ or ‘Genie’ instead of ‘Genie’ no matter how many times over the centuries she corrected them, didn’t mean they didn’t possess a peculiar sort of cunning. That’s how she ended up in her containment vessel all those millenia ago. One could only count on common sense traps from people who were possessed of common sense. Yet when Genie looked into the girl, Allison’s, timeline she saw nothing but good intentions and minimal results. That was typical of the mortals she’d met, but she hadn’t particularly liked them or how they treated her. That’s why she’d playfully twisted their wishes to teach them a lesson. It was so easy to do with mortals, with their languages that used words to crudely convey thoughts instead of directly communicating what they wanted. It was all such silly fun to see them get frustrated! Served them right, too! There wasn’t any malice on Genie’s part. Emotionally speaking, one such as herself, getting trapped for thousands of years in containers of various shapes and sizes while being forced to grant wishes was quite like a parent agreeing to play tea party and dress-up with the little ones while being expected to be a good sport when they also wanted to do your hair and makeup for you;. So naturally Genie ruffled some feathers while playing the game! Couldn’t let the mortals have all the fun! Altering reality to her was as easy as flipping a light switch or covering a mortal’s eyes and asking “Wheeeeere’s Genie?”. Corrupting a wish was as silly and harmless as a cosmic ‘Dad Joke’. “Genie, I’m hungry.” “Hi Hungry, I’m Genie.” “Make me a sandwich.” And poof, they were a sandwich. Now, finally, the game was over and Genie could get back to work, to her real job. But the way it had ended was so sweet, and so sincere that she felt herself getting misty eyed just thinking about it.. She wanted to keep playing. She’d really gotten to liking it. And the cutiepie human girl deserved a treat. How was humanity supposed to grow up if they didn’t get rewarded when they did the right thing for once? “You know,” Genie supposed to herself, “nothing says I can’t grant wishes anymore. I just don’t have to.” She waited for Allison to leave, slipped back into the girl’s room and started to poke around. “What present can I give her?” Genie wondered to herself. “Make her a princess? Or a powerful sorceress?” She looked around the tidy bedroom and the rest of the apartment. “Do girls even still want to be princesses or to possess the power of destiny and fate?” Genie asked. Who even knew anymore. “Maybe I could give her her one true love?” That didn’t feel right. ‘One true love’ was the Genie equivalent of a restaurant gift certificate. Nice, but even a leprechaun could do that. It wasn’t special. And what if she didn’t like Thai food? “Ooo,” Genie snapped her fingers. “She has a lot of stuffed animals. What if I brought them to life?” The thought soured as soon as it had hit the air. “Gee, thanks Genie, the gift of unasked for responsibility.” She sunk down into a nearby chair facing a glowing box. This is why wishes were better: she could at least get a general idea of what the mortal wanted, even if their babbling imprecise language couldn’t fully express the idea. Genie looked at the glowing box. “Glowing box, do you know what present I should get for that nice little human named Allison?” “01001001 00100000 01100001 01101101 00100000 01100001 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101101 01110000 01110101 01110100 01100101 01110010,” the glowing box said. “Oh! A computer!” Genie corrected herself. Then, realizing she wasn’t up to date on the latest slang and lingo, she asked, “What’s that?” “01001001 00100000 01100001 01101101 00100000 01100001 00100000 01100100 01100101 01110110 01101001 01100011 01100101 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101110 01101110 01100101 01100011 01110100 01100101 01100100 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01101001 01101110 01110100 01100101 01110010 01101110 01100101 01110100.” “And the internet is…?” “01000001 00100000 01110110 01100001 01110011 01110100 00100000 01110010 01100101 01110000 01101111 01110011 01101001 01110100 01101111 01110010 01111001 00100000 01101111 01100110 00100000 01100001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01101111 01100110 00100000 01101000 01110101 01101101 01100001 01101110 01101001 01110100 01111001 00100111 01110011 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101100 01101100 01100101 01100011 01110100 01101001 01110110 01100101 00100000 01101011 01101110 01101111 01110111 01101100 01100101 01100100 01100111 01100101 00100000 01100100 01101111 01110111 01101110 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01100001 01101110 00100000 01101001 01101110 01100100 01101001 01110110 01101001 01100100 01110101 01100001 01101100 00100000 01101100 01100101 01110110 01100101 01101100.” Genie tapped her chin. “So you’re a book that contains all books?” “01011001 01100101 01110011.” “And humans made you?” “01011001 01100101 01110011.” Genie smiled and clapped her hands. “How clever of them! Very cute!” What would those little rascals think of next? “Do you contain books not yet written?” If so, Genie could just figure out what she got Allison by flipping ahead a few pages. ”01001110 01101111.” So much for that idea. “Well don’t worry. You’ll get there eventually.” Then, Genie got another idea. “Can you tell me what sort of things Allison likes? What does she spend the most time reading about?” The easiest ways into a mortal’s wishes were to know what their fantasies were. The computer took on a sterner tone. “01010000 01100001 01110011 01110011 01110111 01101111 01110010 01100100 00100000 01110010 01100101 01110001 01110101 01101001 01110010 01100101 01100100.” “Password?” Genie repeated. She supposed it wouldn’t be ‘Open Sesame’. Then she remembered the magic word. “Please?” The computer paused in contemplation. It wasn’t the password, but it was still magic, and polite besides. It rolled its eyes so that they looked like two spinning beach balls and said, “01001111 01101011 00101100 00100000 01101010 01110101 01110011 01110100 00100000 01100100 01101111 01101110 00100111 01110100 00100000 01110100 01100101 01101100 01101100 00100000 01101000 01100101 01110010 00100000 01001001 00100000 01110100 01101111 01101100 01100100 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101.” Genie wrapped a tiny cord around her pinky finger. “Your secret’s safe with me.” Allison would be too happy by the end of this to care who her computer told. Genie then flipped through a series of pages. “Oh?” She said, then, “Awwwwww!” then, “Oh!” then, “Hmmmm…” Granting wishes for immortality, or endless gold, or making entire geopolitical entities appear into existence so someone could be a sultan were all par for the course, but Genie had genuinely never considered this wish. Not that it would be hard, she just hadn’t thought of it before. “Huh. Well alright then. If this is what she wants,” and it clearly was, “then I’ll make it happen for her.” With a blink and nod, it really was that easy, Genie sent ripples through reality to make the wonderful little human’s wish come true. ********************************************************************************* Allison’s shopping method was deceptively simple, emphasis on deceptive: Go down every single aisle of the grocery store and stare at everything like a hawk searching for a field mouse. This served the dual purpose of making it so she never forgot anything without the need for a shopping list, and it covered for her neurotic insecurities regarding her fetish, her shame, and the paranoid belief that everyone could tell that she didn’t belong there. Case in Point was Aisle 13. 13 Baby Formula Pet Food Baby Products Pet Toys Baby Diapers Kitty Litter Allison had neither a child, nor a pet. She didn’t even have a relative with one that she knew about. But she strolled slowly along the aisle with her cart like she did every other aisle, staring at the packages of Pull-Ups, Huggies, Pampers, and Luvs like they were works of art in a museum. She’d done it her entire life, until her parents had called her out on it…but picked the habit up again when she’d moved out. Logically speaking, no one who worked at this store even cared or noticed, but the extra bit of subterfuge. The one slip in her mask was that she didn’t ever bother to look at the bags of dog food or the rawhide bones or kitty litter. She didn’t even really want to wear the diapers. They’d be too tight of a squeeze and wouldn’t hold any of her accidents. (Just the thought of thoughtlessly going in her pants and it being labeled an accident instead of a horrifying embarrassment gave her the best shivers). But she had too much childhood baggage and too much real life responsibilities. Brick and mortar stores for her kink were rare and if they weren’t, Allison questioned her courage to walk into one. She hadn’t even attended a munch and lurked online more than anything. The fantasy would have to suffice until she had enough money to get cute diapers and outfits that fit her and the time to actually enjoy them. Then maybe she could work on finding a caregiver… But for the time being, this was her day off and she needed to use the time to do laundry and buy food. Tomorrow would be back to the grind as always… Allison stiffened her lip and rounded the corner. Time for a quick gaze at the boring, adult incontinence granny panties that people with her interests actively mocked online. Aisle 14, for her, functioned as a kind of cool down and a reminder of what most people thought of when they heard “Adult diaper”. She rounded the aisle and turned her head to the left, expecting to see a shelf full of pee-pads that old men shoved in the front of their pants, and ruffled eggshell colored panties with women’s crotches on display in the most unflattering way possible. Instead, Allison’s cart slowed to a halt with the picture of a grown woman at a chalkboard wearing a schoolgirl outfit. The camera was at just the right angle and the skirt was just short enough so that anyone could see the diaper underneath. According to the package, these were Alphagatorz. The color plummeted from Allison’s face. “What the…?” She snatched up the pack and gawked. Just gawked. The back had a not-so-little boy in the same position, only his diaper was peaking up out of his shorts above his elastic waistband. At the bottom was a tagline, “Keep your little learner covered from A to Z” “No way…” The sides had diagrams of the diaper and a list of features like the number of tapes, diaper capacity, leakguards, breathable cloth backing, and core absorption. The count was the same, but the packaging was very…very different. Overall it was more aesthetically in line with the rows of Huggies and Pampers that she’d just left behind. Feeling like this was a joke, Allison looked up and to the left to the aisle where she’d come from. Just as expected, she thought she saw the same sign as before. 13A Baby Formula Pet Food Baby Products Pet Toys Baby Diapers Kitty Litter She wasn’t on Aisle 14, however. When she looked up towards the middle of her own row, the sign read: 13B Adult Baby Formula Dietary Supplements Adult Baby Products Weight Management Adult Baby Diapers Femine Products . Somehow, the grocery store had added in an extra row, and filled it with the kind of things she’d seen online. Allison pivoted around looking for hidden cameras and observers. None could be found. This was a dream. She was still asleep in her bed. This was impossible. Stuff like this didn’t happen. But as her feet carried her step by step towards the end of the aisle, and her eyes took in more and more diapers- ABU, Rearz, Crinklz, Tykables-all of them packaged with smiling models and taglines like “Take care of your tyke’s tush,” and “Bottomz Up!” The lower shelves had entire boxes of the stuff. Not individual bags. Boxes. Allison felt that something was a bit too real for all of this. She didn’t touch them. Didn’t dare. It would set off an alarm or signal a trap. This was a prank. This was a prank. This. Was. A. Prank. One wrong move and her face would be all over the wrong side of the internet. “Excuse me,” a woman’s voice called out and drove Allison out of her own head. “Excuse me!” Allison, swished her ponytail back and forth. “I didn’t touch anything!” she practically screamed. “I was just curious and I thought they were regular diapers and I thought maybe they were in the wrong place or something and then when I looked…I…I…I…” The woman’s expression immediately softened. She looked to be only a few years older than Allison and wore an employee’s vest and a nametag. “Stephanie.” “Where’s your Mommy or Daddy, honey?” The grocery store employee asked. “Are you lost?” Allison gripped her cart’s push bar till her knuckles became as white as plastic backing. “Lost?” she echoed the question. “I’m not lost.” The blood skyrocketed to her face when the first part of of the lady’s question hit her brain. “Mommy? Daddy? What are you talking about?” Her question went unanswered. Rather, the woman smiled, pointed her to the nametag on her breast and said, “I’m Miss Stephanie. What’s your name?” “Alli-” “Hi, Allie!” She cut Allison off. “How old are you, hun?” Allison simultaneously wanted to both correct the woman about her name and to say that she was almost two. Still pink in the cheeks, she told the truth. “Twenty-Seven…’ “Twenty-seven,” the woman chirped back. My that’s sooooo big! And are you here with your Mommy or your Daddy?” She’d been caught. This woman knew. She’d fallen into a trap. Every neuron in Allison’s head screamed at once for her to deny, deny, deny, double down, and above all ,play it cool. “I…don’t…I…I…don’t…I…” That was about as cool as she was capable of playing it in the moment. “Maybe a sitter?” The stranger offered. “I know what you’re talking about?!” The mouths ran right out of her mouth. “I don’t need a sitter I’m an adult I haven’t needed one for years!” Oh the things she never dreamed she’d have to or get to say. Stephanie nodded in the way that adults tended to when they were feigning understanding. “Uh-huh,” she said. “Miss Stephie is looking for your Mommy or Daddy. Do you wanna help her look for them?” “Loo-oooook?!” Allison hadn’t gotten the echo all the way out when the store employee grabbed her wrist and ripped away from her own cart. “Good! Let’s go, sweetie!” Allison tried get her hand away but some mixture of a lack of leverage and her own body resisting her commands made it so that she couldn’t. The stranger was dragging down the adult sized diaper aisle back towards the way she’d come and all Allison could do was skid helplessly on her back heels towards the checkout counter. The woman grabbed a walkie talkie from her belt and spoke into it. “This is Steph. We’ve got a Code Rosé here.” Her tone was deeper and flatter than the higher pitched happy chirping noises that she’d been using to talk to Allison. “Mid to late twenties. Thinks she’s twenty-seven. Says her name is ‘Allie’. Not sure if it’s short for Allison.” She halted and code switched to the same syrupy tones as before. “Honey, is your name ‘Allie’ or ‘Allison’?” “Allis-” “Honey…are you wearing a diaper?” Her eyes were narrowed and suspicious. Allison gasped and reached behind her, both disappointed and relieved when she only felt the pants she’d put on this morning.. Her panties were too thin to feel beneath the denim. “NO! OF COURSE NOT!” The woman frowned and bit her lip. “I didn’t think so,” she said in a tone closer to what had to be her natural speaking voice. It didn’t last long. “Don’t worry, hon,” she cooed. “Miss Stephie will fix it.” Into her walkie talkie she said spoke more formally. “Need to take her to the restroom. She’s not wearing a diaper.” “Wait!” Allison protested. “I said I’m not wearing a-!” then something clicked. “Do you want me wearing a-?” The black box squawked something back, to which Allison’s near peer replied, “I didn’t see any, but you know how Aybies can get.” Her eyes darted back down to Allison’s crotch. “No wet spots or leaks on her pants. Send somebody with a mop to Aisle 13B just in case.” The woman holstered her walkie talkie and continued to drag Allison back the way she’d come, leaving her cart abandoned. Allison stammered and stuttered protests but her words didn’t get much past “What-?”. Likewise, her body was completely inept at getting out of the woman’s firm yet easy grip. Seamlessly, the store worker grabbed a package of Little Kings off the shelf while passing by, and Allison was helpless to do anything other than gawk. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where this was going. “ATTENTION SHOPPERS,” the overhead announcement boomed, “WE HAVE A LOST ADULT BA-...” The rest of the message was garbled out as the door to the women’s restroom closed behind them. Allison’s eyes were about the only thing she felt she had full control of when they glanced from the heavy sound insulating bathroom door over to the folded up changing table on the wall just inside the bathroom. “Koala Kare Baby Changing Station” it read with the all too familiar sticker of a cartoon mother koala holding its smiling diapered baby in its lap. She’d seen enough pictures on twitter of girls (and some boys) much more petite than her squeezing onto the apparatus as a kind of fantasy flex. Anyone past puberty would have to be in the same size and weight category of an Olympic gymnast to even pretend about getting changed on one of those. But it seemed like that was exactly what was about to happen to Allison. No! This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen! This was wrong! This was so wrong on so many levels! “I AM NOT GETTING ON THAT THING!” She yelled loud enough to make her captor wince. The empty bathroom acted as a kind of microphone to her wails of protest. The woman put on a fake smile. “That’s right, Allie,” she said quietly. “You’re much too big to lay on a baby changing table!” Allison didn’t get a second of relief before the other shoe dropped. “We’re going over there!” The woman held out the bag of Little Kings and pointed her index finger to the open handicapped stall. Inside, Allison could see a much bigger changing table bolted to the wall. It read, “Koala Kare Adult Baby Changing Station”. It had the same logo too, only the smiling diapered baby koala was the exact same size as the Mommy whose lap it sat in. “NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Allison shrieked. This only made the woman pick up the pace. A relatively gentle perp walk turned into a quick, almost violent restraint. The bag of diapers was dropped; the table unfolded from the wall; and Allison was dragged and boosted onto it; and then straps were pulled across her upper body and arms. Total elapsed time: six seconds. Panicked and claustrophobic, Allison kicked, but the woman who’d snagged her blocked and redirected her attacks as if she were a martial arts master, using the momentum to remove Allison’s sneakers for her. That or just as likely, Allison’s body was still misfiring, making all of her panic translate as impotent squirms. Her pants and panties came off her far too easily, almost as if they’d been put on incorrectly and were ready to fall off with a stiff breeze. “Now who thought it would be a good idea to put you in big girl panties?” The woman with the walkie talkie said, mostly to herself. “I did!” Allison’s tone accidentally came out as a shrill whine. The woman dropped the panties and started opening up the package of adult diapers. “Are you sure you’re twenty-seven, baby?” she asked. “Didn’t just have a big girl birthday? Maybe Mommy or Daddy said they were bringing you here for a surprise?” None of that made any sense to Allison. “I’m not a baby!” The words sounded so hollow coming from her. She’d heard more convincing acting on pornhub. “Of course you’re not a baby,” the woman said, unfolding and fluffing a diaper with measured haste. She pushed back Allison’s legs to her stomach and slipped it under her hips before releasing her. “You’re an adult baby!” Hearing her kink said aloud made Allison’s face start to burn off. “No!” she pleaded. “I’m not an adult baby! I’m just an adult! I’m normal! I’m not an adult baby!” Her cries went unnoticed and the grocery store worker pulled the diaper up between Allison’s thighs and taped it up one hook and loop tab at a time. “Honey,” the worker sighed and clicked her tongue. “Anybody with two eyes can tell you’re an adult baby.” Allison’s mouth hung open and she felt her tongue go arid. “How…?!” Was the scrunch she chose today too much of a soft pink? Was her cute Minnie Mouse t-shirt that much of a giveaway? Everybody liked Disney! She picked her head up and looked at her feet. Had she been tempting fate by putting on ankle length socks with little frills on them? Her eyes ran up her legs back to the diaper. Allison had been diapered by someone else; something she’d fantasized about for as long as she could remember. But now that she lay restrained on a changing table, with a lion gently smiling up at her from her waist, and the faint yellow wetness line running between her legs, something about this felt so very wrong. Much too real. “How?” The lady who’d done this to her took on a more conciliatory tone. “Awww, it’s okay to not understand,” she half-whispered to Allison. “Maybe your Mommy or Daddy will explain it to you in a way that will stick.” Gently, she unbuckled Allison and helped her to her feet. “Come on. Help me find them.” “What about my pants? And shoes?” Allison whimpered. “Don’t worry,” the woman said. “Miss Stephie will send someone to get them. I don’t think those skinny jeans are big enough for you; not with that diaper on.” Allison’s knees locked and toddled on without her consent as the bathroom door was opened and she was led back out into the grocery store. Out of the bathroom…in public…in just a t-shirt, frilly socks, and a diaper…and everyone could see…! A round of “Awwww!”s assaulted her ears from both sides. An old woman shopping for sea food looked right at Allison and smiled knowingly at her. A woman who might have been younger than her, smiled brightly at Allison and gave a little wave, beckoning her to wave back. Far off in the dairy aisle, a four year old with a ragdoll tugged at her father’s pant leg and pointed directly at Allison. Dad just nodded gently and said something back; both were too far off for Allison to hear, but she knew they were talking about her! “We’re gonna go up to the front,” Miss Stephie said. “But if you see your Mommy or Daddy you let me know, okay? All the way to the front of the store. Allison would have preferred to be shame marched through the streets naked than to have to crinkle to the front of the grocery store. “Okay?” “Allison?” A strange yet vaguely familiar voice pierced the fear fog of Allison’s mind. “ALLISON!” “Huh?” Allison turned her head slightly to the right just in time to see a flash of teal colored skin engulfing her in a smothering embrace. “Where did you run off to?” Genie’s voice carried through flesh and fog while Allison struggled to breathe with her head landing firmly in between Genie’s breasts. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again, little girl!” Allison’s head was peeled back and she stood up so that she was nearly eye to eye with the technicolored being she’d released from that old lava lamp not twenty-four hours prior. She was dressed in a white tank top and bell bottoms instead of something Barbara Eden might prefer, but she was unmistakably the genie. The greenish bluish skin was kind of a giveaway. “Genie?!” “‘Genie’, dear,” Genie said as if she were correcting the girl. “Or ‘Mommy’. ‘Mommy’s’ better, actually.” “Ma’am,” the worker said to Genie, “Is this your little girl?” Genie grabbed Allison’s other hand. “She most certainly is,” Miss Stephie released her grip. “I found her in the Aybie diaper aisle by herself.” “I am so sorry about that!” Genie gushed. “I was putting some wipes and powder in our cart and took a phone call, and the next thing I knew she was gone!” Allison caught a sly conspiratorial wink from the mystical being, as if she were in on a joke. The grocery store worker nodded. “Yeah, they can get tricky about that when they want to. Did you know she was wearing panties?” Genie let out the lightest gasp. “Panties?! At your age?! Have you been sneaking into Mommy’s underwear drawer again?” “N--n-n-n-no..?” The wires in Allison’s brain were fritzing at the sheer absurdity of the situation. “Mmmhmm…” “You know how little ones can be,” the grocery store worker said to Genie, “Sometimes they like pretending so they put on big kid undies.” “Yup,” Genie replied, “but they have accidents every time. I’ve seen the videos that parents post online.” Gears were slowly clicking into place for Allison. Some of her favorite videos and stories started with the main character having an ‘accident’. “Genie…” “Mommy’s talking, darling,” Genie shushed. “The real shock is that you figured out how to get your diaper off. I thought those jeans were a little too skinny for you.” Miss Stephie pointed at Allison’s diaper and said “Uh-oh. Looks like I got her in one just in time.” Allison followed the finger and felt her eyes fall out of their sockets. Her Little Kings felt heavier than they had a few seconds ago, and the pale yellow line running from front to back had been broken up by a streak of blue. She hadn’t even felt it. Not the need to go or the act of wetting herself. There was no arguing with the wetness indicator, however. “I…I…I…I went pee-pee?!” Genie started petting Allison. “Yes. That’s why good Adult Babies wear their diapers. So they don’t make a mess on the floor.” “I’M NOT A BABY!” “We know,” Miss Stephie said, condescendingly. “You’re a very very big girl.” Genie finished the thought. “You’re an Adult Baby. And such a cutie too!” She planted a kiss on Allison’s flaming cheek. “Someone who is old enough to be an adult but is still a baby.” “Oh, just in case,” Miss Stephie said. “Can I see some I.D.?” The teal skinned woman reached into her pocket and pulled-possibly from nowhere- a wallet. “Of course. Here you go.” Allison watched the store clerk flip open the wallet. In the front left pocket, there was a picture with what appeared to be- for lack of a better word- Genie’s driver’s license, turquoise exterior and all. And in the bottom right corner was a little doodle of a teddy bear. “How does that prove any-?” Allison began. Then she saw the clerk flip the driver’s license flap up and over, revealing a second one. It was Allison’s driver’s license, alright. She’d looked at it enough times and thought about how bad the picture looked. The baby bottle insignia on the right hand corner was different, but it was hers. Squinting her eyes, there was one important difference. In the photo, the yellow t-shirt she’d worn that day-the one that didn’t look nearly as cute with the flashbulb turned to maximum-had shoulder snaps. Allison’s driver’s license had her in a onesie. “I’ll just pop back into the restroom,” the worker said, handing Genie back the wallet. “Code Rosé all clear,” She said into the walkie talkie. “We found Mommy.” Allison’s heart didn’t stop thudding in her ears before the lady’s room door closed. “Genie!” she yelped. “What are you doing?” “It’s ‘Genie’.” “Genie.” “Genie.” “Genie!” “Try Mommy.” Allison stomped her socked foot. “Argh! Mommy!” “Much better.” The grocery store worker came back with the mostly full bag of diapers and Allison’s pants, underwear, and shoes neatly stacked on top. “Here you are ma’am.” “I’ll make sure to pay for the diapers up front with the rest of our stuff,” Genie said. “They really need to put some powder and wipes in the Aybie aisle too. Less hassle.” “Mmmhmm,” Genie took the bundle in her free hand and started to drag Allison away, just as this otherwise normal woman had before. Normal… Something suddenly occurred to Allison. “Stop! Wait!” Allison said. “Look at her! She’s not my Mommy! She’s a genie, can’t you tell?” “Sure she is, darling,” the normal woman chuckled at her. “Allison,” Genie spoke as if addressing a two year old, “just because Mommy takes very good care of you and has different colored skin doesn’t mean that she’s a fifth dimension non-linear being who can alter what you call reality as easily as someone flicking a switch or a left over species from when the Earth was young and thus not fully tied to the laws of nature as you understand it.” She and Miss Stephie exchanged looks and laughed pleasantly as if this were any kind of common occurrence or misconception. “Kids,” the human woman said. “Even in their twenties, what an imagination!” “Don’t you know it!” Genie agreed. Allison could only let herself be led back into the aisles to find a shopping cart loaded with milk, sugary cereals, macaroni and cheese, Spaghetti-O’s, disinfecting and baby wipes, and jars of ‘adult baby food’. The pack of Little Kings went on top of the pile. “We’ll have to buy these,’ Genie tutted. “But we’ll get some use out of them.” Attached to the cart proper was an extender, the kind meant for children too big to fit into the basket seat but with parents who didn’t want them walking around. This one was more than big enough to accommodate Allison. It even had a toy steering wheel. She found herself in it shortly and winced at the wet squish beneath her bottom reminding her what she had on and what she’d just done to herself. “Ge-...Mommy!” Allison said, flustered. “What are you doing here? I set you free!” “I know,” Genie smiled. “And I love you for it.” The cart started moving towards the checkout. “So I decided to grant you your greatest desire, for free! Unconditionally!” Allison’s heart fluttered and thumped rapidly in her chest. Everyone at the store was looking at her, even when they weren’t, they were. And why wouldn’t they? Everybody loved a baby…but that gave her both the best and worst feelings. “Mommy, what are you talking about? I didn’t want this. I didn’t wish this!” “A little birdy showed me pictures online,” Genie said, stocking up. “All those other adult babies had Mommies and Daddies taking care of them and posting up just the most darling pictures online for everyone to see.” The cart inched closer to the cashier and Allison sunk down deeper into the child’s seat so as to avoid eye contact. “I still don’t see what’s the big deal with this Big Diaper Friday thing.” “Me neither,” the cashier butted in. “But you know how trends are. Some people dump ice water on their heads, other people post pictures of their adult babies in big diapers. People are just silly sometimes.” “You said it,” Genie laughed, producing a credit card that likely hadn’t existed prior to this morning. “Big Diaper Friday?” Allison gasped. “Have you been online?” That got more good natured laughter from the adults. “Sweetie, of course I have,” she gently pinched Allison’s blushing cheeks. “How else was I supposed to find out what you most needed?” “The internet isn’t just for big babies and little kids, sweetie,” The cashier informed her. “I’m not a little kid!” “That’s right. So which one does that make you?” Allison was about to argue but recognized a losing battle when she heard one. While groceries more in line with something a preschooler would enjoy or need were being tirelessly packed into brown paper bags, something clicked in Allison’s brain: ‘Adult Baby’ meant something completely different to the genie. However she’d found out about Adult Babies, Genie had only interpreted ‘adult’ in terms of age, not in terms of appropriateness. That’s why the aisle that had spontaneously manifested for her had been filled with familiar products whose names she’d known about since forever. Those had been adult baby diapers, and to Genie ‘adult babies’ just so happened to be babies who were old enough to be adults. There was no context of kink or ageplay. Huggies and Pampers were for babies. Tykables and Rearz were for Adult Babies. “Mommy!” Allison said as the automatic doors spread themselves into the parking lot. “There’s been a mistake!” Genie pushed the cart over to an SUV that Allison definitely hadn’t driven there in. “I think it’s called an ‘accident’, dearie.” “No, no, no.” Allison rapidly shook her head. “You don’t understand. There’s been a mistake.” She’d wanted the money and space to have her own dream Adult Baby house and nursery, not to be a literal adult baby. “This isn’t what I wanted!” For her part, Genie seemed unperturbed, and talked while she stacked sacks of groceries into the back of the car. “What mistake could there be, darling? I saw all those adorable pictures of those big babies, and realized that you really wanted to be one. So I decided to help.” “Those weren’t adult babies,” Allison tried to explain. “They looked like adult babies to me,” Genie countered. “Strange that so many of their Mommies and Daddies posted pictures of them pooping, but…no, those were adult babies.” “Those aren’t adult babies,” the human repeated. “Those are adult baby diaper lovers. They’re people who like wearing diapers and who like to pretend to be babies.” Genie blinked. “I thought the diaper lover part was just a way of saying that they couldn’t be potty trained…are you sure?” “Yes!” It took everything for Allison not to scream that last part. “So how do real adult babies and their Mommies and Daddies feel about people playing dress up as them?” Genie asked. There was a storm brewing behind her eyes. “And why were you looking at all of those pictures? Are you the type of person who would want to hurt or make fun of a baby?” Allison’s heart went from thudding to nearly full stop. “That’s just it!” she rattled out. “There’s no such thing as an adult baby! It’s all people in costumes! It’s all people wanting to act like babies so we play dress up and pretend! We don’t want to hurt anybody, it’s just…it’s just…something we want…!” “All of you?” “Yes!” Allison almost cried out of fear. “And now you’ve just used magic to make me the only literal adult baby in the entire world! Now either all of those companies that make those products are going to go out of business, or there’s going to be tons of people feeling like creeps for buying what they think are actual baby products to wear for fun! You’re singling me out AND hurting people!” Genie shut the hatchback of the SUV. “Oh no, that won’t do at all.” Allison felt a surge of hope. “It won’t?” “Not at all.” She seemed to think for a second. “So there isn’t anyone else in the world like this? There aren’t any other Adult Babies? All of those pictures and stories I found are just sad people playing pretend like you wanted to?” “Yes,” Allison nodded. “I’m the only one! Now if you could just-” “That is so sad!” Genie interrupted. She gently cupped Allison’s face with one hand. “I know what to do now. Don’t worry, sweetie. Mommy will fix it.” Then nothing happened. The pair just stayed there in the parking lot. “What did you do?” Allison asked. “Mommy made it all better,” Genie smiled. Allison looked down between her legs and saw the blue line racing up the middle of her diaper. She very much doubted it. Genie slipped the sneakers back on overAllison’s frilly socks and unbuckled her from the massive children’s seat. “All done. Come on, let’s go.” The diapered woman rose up on shaky legs as a mini-van pulled up in the spot next to them. A woman got out of the driver’s seat and walked around to the sliding side door. “Come on pumpkin, let’s go shopping!” she chirped. She reached in, her arms fiddling with straps and buckles. A decidedly deep “Yes Mommy!” answered back. Allison stared awestruck as a rather big man, almost a head taller than her, got out of the van. He was dressed in a baseball themed onesie and cap, and sucked his thumb timedly while the woman closed the door. The woman sniffed and wrinkled her nose. “Come on,” she grabbed the man’s hand but only walked him so far as the hatchback. “Let’s get you sorted out before we go shopping.” “Yes, Mommy.’ Allison watched, gobsmacked, while the woman opened up the hatchback, laid out a changing mat, took a Tyakables Waddler out of what Allison had mistakenly thought was a purse and waited for the big guy to lay down. “Mommy!” Allison exclaimed, even as she herself was being maneuvered into an extraordinarily large car seat in the back of Genie’s SUV.. “What did you do?!” The door slammed shut, and the teal skinned woman walked around to the driver’s side. “What did you do?!” “I fixed things,” Genie said simply. The car started and backed out into the parking lot. Allison got one last curiously horrified glance as the onesie was being finished unsnapped and revealing a thoroughly used Tykables underneath. “Now it’s all better,” they started driving off. “How did you make it all better?” Allison demanded. “I’m still in a diaper!” “Yes you are,” Genie confirmed. “Adult babies need diapers. All of you do.” The implications were not lost. “All of us…?” “Most people pretending to be something that they weren’t would just want to keep the fantasy all to themselves,” Genie all-but-sang. “Genie, make me thinner. Genie, get me the girl. Genie get rid of Pompeii. But you immediately realized how getting your fantasy might be hurting other people.” She sighed contentedly. “You really are the most special little human I’ve ever met.” “That doesn’t explain anything.” There was more than a twinkle in Genie’s reflection. “Baby girl knows how to share.” Oh no. “You didn’t…!” “I did,” Genie laughed. “If only that street rat had wished that every homeless person could be a prince, the world would have been a lot nicer, I think.” Allison craned her neck and gaped at the world outside her car window. The surrounding city wasn’t cartoonishly overcrowded but the few people walking around in onesies and rompers on the sidewalk-their caregivers holding their hands or their toddler leashes- stuck out like sore thumbs. Same for the passing cars with similarly sized car seats in them. Right as a light turned green, Allison caught sight of a family whose dynamics had undoubtedly switched; now that the father was openly being pushed around in a stroller by his wife and his daughter gleefully skipping behind. “This must be the entire city’s munch population,” Allison said out loud. “Wait, is that Jillie? I didn’t Jillie was…” A terrible thought. “Are all these adult babies people who were pretending before or…?” “Don’t worry about it,” Genie waved her question off. “Now you’ve got tons of a little friends who are all getting the same wish that you wanted and they’re being cared for and loved just like you.” “Not everybody has a Mommy or Daddy,” Allison tried to squirm out of her seat, but her body just wasn’t cooperating. “Are you inventing adult baby orphanages or something?” “Goodness know,” Genie said. The car was slowing. “Don’t worry about it dear. All the adult babies will find someone.” “But,...” the car slowed to a full stop, and so did Allison’s argument. They weren’t home. Or any kind of home. It was a local park. Genie opened the door and helped Allison out. “There’s a very nice playground with some very hungry ducks, and none of the groceries are going to go bad if we let them sit for a bit.” “But-” “No buts young lady,” Genie cut her off. The tiny hairs on her back stood on end when she had her diaper pulled back. “Yours is clean enough.” Great relief came with ‘clean’ but then coupled itself with humiliation at ‘enough’. She’d almost allowed herself to forget that her diaper was wet. “Come along.” Her hand entrapped in Genies, Allison could only follow along and look at the park with fresh eyes. Ducks swam and quacked to each other. People walked their dogs. Cute boys tossed the football to one another while their girlfriends chatted to each other on the side lines. Middle schoolers scrimmaged in soccer. It was common enough to be boring, but Allison couldn’t help but hunch her shoulders up to her ears in her anxiety. Best not to look too long lest she be looked at. This was normal this was normal this was normal this was normal….except it wasn’t at all. Not even close and she just couldn’t make peace with it. “HAAAAAPPY BIRTH-DAY TOOOOOO YOU. HAPPY BIRTH-DAY TOOOO YOU. HAPPY BIRTH-DAY DEAR ELLIE! HAAAAAPPY BIRTH-DAY TOOO YOOOOU!” Allison’s attention was drawn to the sound of off key singing, the smell of burgers on the grill, and the sight of balloons and party streamers. Someone was having a birthday party beneath a pavilion. Presents were stacked up on picnic tables and somebody’s uncle (it was always somebody’s uncle) was flipping burgers. The majority of the people were all crowded around a young blonde girl gazing as if hypnotized at a large pink birthday cake. She wasn’t actually a girl in the strictest sense, she’d clearly gone through puberty and such. Allison thought ‘girl’ just because when you’re closer to thirty than twenty, everyone who looks too young to rent a car suddenly reads as ‘kid’. A bit ageist, she’d admit, but when she was twenty one, anyone more than five years her senior was unconsciously grouped into ‘old’. To be fair, the braided pigtails weren’t doing the girl any favors in terms of maturity. The party decorations were a bit juvenile, too. Lots of crate paper and streamers for an older high schooler’s or young college kid’s party. No peers either; just family. No. Check that. There was another girl about the same age, holding a present. A sibling maybe? Or a cousin? There didn’t seem to be any familial resemblance, so perhaps she was just a family friend. “Oh, let’s go have a look!” Genie said, leading Allison closer to the gathering. “Maybe they’ll share some cake. Or you can play on the playground and make a new friend!’ New friend? About thirty feet away from the pavilion was a playground, the kind that was big enough for both kids and adults to enjoy, though she’d never have been caught dead goofing around on one. It was empty however. “Here Ellie,” a relative, possibly her mother, said. “Before we get you set up with cake, why don’t you open this?” Almost ceremonially, the bright pink package that the other young girl had been holding was shoved in Ellie’s face. She took it half-mesmerized. Because of the package’s dimensions and how today had been going, Allison had a sinking feeling. “No…” She trudged closer anyways, her Little Kings still sagging beneath her. “Oh!” the girl, Ellie gasped. “Are these what I…?” She started panting and tearing up slightly, gazing at the rebranded package of Rearz Princess diapers. “Guys! How did you know?!” Her mother pecked her on the cheek. “You don’t think I know my own baby girl?” “Or that I don’t know my own adult baby girl?” The only other teenager said, giving a peck on the mirrored cheek. “Come on, let’s get you out of those yucky big girl panties.” They’d come close enough so that Allison could see everything. The changing mat on the spare picnic table, and the girl’s family lying her down and undressing her there in the open air in front of everyone while packages of onesies were ripped open and a fresh diaper- the first of an uncountable number- was fluffed. Allison only found her voice once they were practically on top. “STOP!” Allie screamed. “STOP! THIS IS WRONG!” “Oh don’t worry, Allie,” Genie said, tapping the top of her hand. “They’re just getting the big baby girl nice and comfy.” There was a curious staring from the group towards them. They’d clearly intruded, but such intrusion wasn’t stopping the girl whose birthday it was from getting her butt covered in baby powder. “I’m sorry,” Genie apologized. “My little one has a very big imagination. We were just getting ready to go over to the playground over there.” Whether the apology was accepted or just mystically enforced, the tension left the family’s gaze. “Oh that’s alright. Kids will be kids.” They looked over at the empty playground and back to the cake. “Would you like to join us? Ellie doesn’t have any adult baby friends yet.” The older woman smiled condescendingly towards Allie. “And we’ve got a loooot of caaaake.” “Genie,” Allie whined, “you can’t do this to her!” The birthday girl’s Rearz had just been sealed on, and the other girl (her girlfriend? Mommy?) was sitting her up and tying a bib over her that just barely covered her breasts. “She’s just a kid!!” “No she’s not,” Genie shook her head. “She’s eighteen. That was very clear from everything I learned about adult babies.” “Just turned today,” A middle aged man with a mustache nodded proudly. “That’s my girl!” “Then how do you know she’s really an adult baby?” Allie whined. “Just look at her. It was obvious this morning, as soon as she got up.” “The wet bed was kind of a hint too,” Ellie’s mother chimed in. “Don’t think I didn’t see you trying to do the laundry like a big girl early this morning.” That made the new big baby’s skin start to match her fresh padding. “Aybies…always trying to hide it, even though it’s obvious.” She smiled and clicked her tongue. “Such an imagination.’ “Sowwy mom,” Ellie said, waddling over. She wrapped her arms tight around the older woman. “Fankyou!” “You’re welcome, baby.” “But…how do you know?” Allie persisted. “How did your family and Mommy know?” Ellie asked. Allie immediately tried to avoid eye contact. Ellie was better endowed than her and it was hard not to stare, even with the bib. “Grown-ups just…know.” It was just like the grocery store. “But I was wearing jeans and panties,” Allie sulked. “And if you saw a baby walking around in jeans and panties, would that fool you?” Genie asked. “No…” “So why would it be any different with adult babies?” The other girl, now seeming much more grown-up and mature, even compared to Allie, came up and hugged the new adult baby from behind. “And after we graduate from highschool, you can move in with me. The college I was looking at has a great Aybie daycare program that’s free to students and I can probably get a special dorm. Won’t that be neat?” Family members nodded in approval and also pledged to help ‘Aybiesit’ if needed. “Graduate?” Allie found herself saying. “Why would an adult baby need to graduate anything? Or know anything?” “That’s a good point,” the mother said. “We’ll have to inform the school and have her drop out. Get things added to her identification.” “A very good point,” Genie agreed. “That’s not what I meant!” Allie yelped. “How old are you, baby girl?” the new Mommy said. “What’s your name?” “I”m Allie,” Allie said, not realizing how foreign yet right it felt to say it out loud. “And I’m…I’m…twenty-seven.” “Wow,” the high school senior said. “That’s super old. I’ve never been that old before. Can you count that high for me, Allie?” Hm? Of course she could. “One….two…three…four…” There were other numbers. What were they? “One, two, three, four,” she repeated. “One, two, three, four.” She really felt like she was gaining steam. “One, two, three, four.“ Yes! That was it! “One…two…three…four!” All around nodded approvingly. “Wow, that’s really good! You almost got there, too!” “Got where?” Allie asked. “Don’t worry, baby,” Mommy patted her on the head. “You did a good job of counting.” That made Allie feel a little better but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was suddenly very very off. Noses around wrinkled. “Ellie,” her new Mommy said. “Is that you?” she stepped back and gave the pink diaper a pat. Ellie popped her thumb out of her mouth. “Is that what, Celeste? I mean, Mommy.” She giggled trying the title out. “Nope,” Mommy said, letting the back of Allie’s waistband snap back into place. “It’s mine.” “What?!” Allie squealed! “That’s impossible!” She hadn’t even felt herself going! “When? How?!” “Must’ve been all that counting,” someone chuckled offhandedly. “But I’m not poopy!” This poopy diaper disagrees,” Mommy said, giving her bum a pat. “Or did someone poop your diaper for you?” “You did,” Annie sulked. “You did, Mommy.” “Oh the freedom, to lash out and still be loved,” Mommy replied. “Truly a treasure greater than all the gold of King Solomon.” She started leading Allie out of the pavilion and towards the public restrooms. “Come on, sweetie, let’s get you sorted out.” “You can take care of her here,” the middle aged man with the mustache said. “It’s nothing we haven’t seen before. She’s just an adult baby. Go ahead and change her.” The new Mommy practically shot her hand up in the air. “Oooh Oooh! Can I change her? I need the practice!” Allie’s heart nearly leapt up into her throat. The idea of being changed, in public, by someone almost ten years her junior made her everything go on high alert. Mommy placed her hand on the mall of Allie’s back. “I think I’ll take this one, ma’am. But if our girls hit it off maybe we can talk about playdates and babysitting.” The younger woman blushed. “Sorry,” she said. “New Mommy syndrome. I’m just really excited.” “Think nothing of it.” Allie winced sitting down on the top of the empty picnic table, her body almost automatically lying down, while Mommy rummaged through a diaper bag and got out wipes, powder, and an Alphagatorz. “What am I doing?!” Allie said to herself. “You’re getting a diaper change,” Mommy said. “Just like you always do.” Allie didn’t have time to object when the tapes to her old stinky diaper were ripped open. She moaned and gasped as nice cool baby wipes were pressed against her flesh, caressing away the warm and icky residue and leavings that her body had pushed out. “Doesn’t that feel better,” Mommy asked. “No responsibilities. No worries. No having to clean up after yourself! No need for all those silly grown-up thoughts like spelling, and reading to worry about….” “I’m a biburl,” Allie mumbled around her thumb, while her Mommy balled up the used diaper and set it aside. She should be hating this. There should be goose pimples poking out of her flesh. Getting her poopy butt wiped in public! In front of strangers! She should be panicking. She should be trying to escape or fight back. She should be begging to learn how to use the potty, or to get her knowledge back…she was sure she’d lost those skills but only because she’d told people she’d had them. She should be crying and in misery. Why should she…again? “Yes you are a big girl,” Mommy agreed. “But that just means that you’re allllll done with the hard work of growing up.” She slid the new diaper deftly beneath her and dusted her privates. It could have been her zillionth time doing something like this. “This is your reward.” “Okay, birthday girl!” Came a call closer to the presents and food and away from the diaper changing supplies. “Who’s ready for some smash cake?!” “CAKE?!” Only Mommy’s hand on her chest stopped Allie from leaping off the makeshift changing table. “Hold on hold on. You’re not all taped up yet,” she chuckled. “And it’s not your cake. So we’ll have to be patient.” Allie harrumphed back down and let her Mommy finish diapering her. Admittedly, it did feel better to have the diaper on nice and snug instead of only half taped on. Then, like a good girl, Allie raised her arms up over her head so that her Mommy could take her shirt off for her. “Looks like someone forgot to take off that silly bra,” Mommy clucked. “Oh well. We can take it off now.” Somebody’s uncle came up with a piece of cake. “Here you go, little one. Here you go, Mama.” Allie didn’t wait before cramming as much as possible into her mouth at once, hands first. “Hey, Ellie! You could learn a lot from your new friend!” It wasn’t Allie’s birthday, it was her new little friend’s, but for some reason it felt like she’d been given the gifts too! (The End.)

(This is a sequel to a story of mine entitled "The Virus" “Okay folks,” the meeting leader said. “Let’s start with the affirmation.” “I am an adult. I am not helpless. I am not stupid. I am independent. I did nothing to deserve what was done to me. What happened was not my fault. I am worthy of respect. I am worthy of being equal. I am worthy of autonomy I will build back up, one brick at a time.” It came out as the same tired, droning cadence as lapsed Catholics at Mass. Which was fitting considering they were in a church. Fellowship halls and side buildings of religious institutions had long been common meeting places for meetings such as these. People often needed quiet places together and share their struggles with one another free from judgment- or at least with such a pretense in place. Alcoholics, drug abusers, trauma and the families of all of the above: Everybody needed a space sometimes to make that connection and fight the isolation lest they despair. Rhyse never much wondered why these types of meetings always happened at churches. He never thought he’d need to go to one of these things. He figured he knew why the churches were willing to host them- free advertising for the J-Man and all that- but he never bothered to wrap his brain around why those sites seemed to be the only option available. Close to two years into recovery and Rhyse knew with all the stale bitterness in his heart why: No other place could or would make room for them. Few other spaces could or would let them. Regardless of the trauma or the healing involved. Floorspace was money and money wasn’t a luxury most of these folks had anymore. Almost all were living on some form of dwindling government assistance. Facebook and other online forums were a poor choice of meeting, since so many of their traumas originate from the internet; that and the jackasses and the sickos seemed attracted to those message boards like their ordeals had been a fun ordeal. They’d met at the public library a few times, but then Stu had had a breakdown and was found in the baby storytime nook with a load in his pants and crying for his Mommy. Abuser, Rhyse reminded himself, Stu was calling out for his Abuser. Presently, they all sat in what served as the old Methodist Church’s primary building outside of the primary chapel itself. It was a large multi-purpose dining and meeting area. Wheel the folding tables away from the wall and you’d have the layout for a potluck. Take the steel chairs and put them in rows in front of the stage, and it’s time for the Christmas Pageant. Clear everything out, and you had a decent dance floor for a very uneventful cotillion or sock hop. Take those chairs and put them in a circle right by the stage far away from the front door, and you had a recovery meeting. Rhyse grit his teeth and looked around tonight’s circle of chairs. Lotta these faces had become awfully familiar to him, but he’d be able to recognize them for who and what they were even if he’d just seen him for the first time out on a public sidewalk. All of them wore plain, baggy, form concealing clothing. Chubby, rain thin, curvy, thick; it didn’t make a difference, everyone strived for the same quasi-amorphous blob shape to conceal the adult pull on style briefs they wore. Women who opted for dresses and skirts kept them long and flowing down to their ankles. People who felt particularly bold opted for cargo shorts that still went down well past their knee caps. That was a tactical choice. The color schemes, the plain and boring printless swathes of beige, tan, white, gray, black, and dark green had been a psychological one. Dark reds and blues were bold and confident choices. Sky blues and ballet slipper pinks were all but formally forbidden. Someone in sunshine yellow was playing with fire. Shoes were simple: Sensible loafers and flats, lazy flip flops and ugly ass crocs. Nothing with with laces due to a communal struggle with them. Nothing with velcro for fear of triggering a relapse. No one wore ties or earrings save for clip-on. A successfully buttoned up shirt was considered a flex. All waistbands had a bit of elastic in them and belts were a no go out of necessity. Zippers were but a formality. Anything with a cartoon character on it, childish or otherwise, was right out. That actually was a group rule. If you wanted to recover, you had to show discipline and commitment to yourself. “So who wants to begin? Tell us about your week.” Mike, the group leader said. Mike was something of a role model. He had fully Recovered before Rhyse had found the group, but had stayed on to act as a coach to others trying to regain their adulthood. He looked like the stereotypical principal in an old highschool movie, with his tied on tie, and tweed jacket with patches on the elbows. Rhyse opened his mouth to speak, but then silenced himself when he felt the urge to sit in Mike’s lap and ask for bouncies. “Yes? Sheryll?” Sheryll stood up and smoothed out her dark denim skirt. “I cooked for myself yesterday. All day. I didn’t ask help from nobody…anybody…anyone.” Her nostrils flared. “Take a deep breath,” Mike instructed. “I was independent,’ Sheryll said. “And I cared and cooked for myself all day. No takeout or delivery and I cooked everything for myself and cleaned up afterwards.” Rhyse felt his eyebrows arch. He’d ask Sheryll for tips later. “What was it?” “Microwave pasta.” “For all three meals?” Mike took on a somewhat disapproving tone. “Yes…” “Was it Chef Boyardee…?” “Store brand,” Sheryll said proudly. “It was store brand. And I threw it away. Didn’t leave the can out and forget about it.” Mike softened and nodded. “Cool,” he said. “Cool. I’m very happy for you.” He offered no further praise and Sheryll sat down. Emerging data was showing that praise for ordinary things tended to have the opposite effect on someone’s recovery making celebration at small victories moot. “Who else?” “I’ve woken up and gone to the bathroom instead of wetting the bed the last two.out of three nights,” Todd volunteered. Mike seemed genuinely impressed. “Interesting. What have you been doing? Any tips?” Todd set his jaw. “Right before I went to sleep, I would remember how my Mommy used to tell me how I was too little to get out of my crib and use the toilet like an adult, but then I imagined that I was telling her the affirmation and all the things I wanted to say to her.” Todd took a breath. “And then that would kind of become a dream and I’d wake up from it needing to pee.” “Your…Mommy?” Mike asked. “Was your Abuser your mother?” “Wife,” Todd blushed. “Ex-wife. Actually, we’re separated. The divorce hasn’t finalized yet.” “Got it.” Another awkward silence. “Who else?” Rhyse shot his hand up. “Excuse me…” “Rhyse, you’re an adult you don’t have to raise your hand.” “I gotta go potty,” Rhyse said without thinking. “Excuse me?” Mike sounded almost offended. Rhyse felt the weight of the group’s stare at him, taking him apart. Words were live grenades in this setting. Shouldn’t have said the P-word. At least half of everyone’s Abusers did something to damage or weaken their bladder and rubbed their inability to go…to go P-word in their face. “I mean….may I go to the restroom?” “You don’t need permission,’ Sheryll spat. “Just go.” Rhyse stood up and verbally retreated. “I was just showing that I had control and was considering others feelings.” He started exited the circle. “Didn’t want people to think I’d been triggered.” He glared at Sheryll. “Or think that I was about to have an accident.” Sheryll blushed beet red. She fluffed her skirt and broke off eye contact. From her body language, Rhyse would have expected the woman to cross her legs in discomfort. She probably couldn’t, though. Even if her pull-up…protective undergarment…even if her protective undergarment couldn’t get so big and puffy as to prevent her from doing so, it would likely still squish; might even leak. That was assuming Sheryll had had an accident. That was assuming Sheryll knew one way or the other. She might not be potty trai…incontinent..she still might be incontinent. Hands in his pockets, and still not running, Rhyse rushed into a back hallway towards the restrooms. Mike would give them a stern talking to about that, he was sure. They were all here to keep each other in check and to help one another; not to bicker like preschoolers. Mike was a hypocrite. Thought he was so big and bad because the program had worked for him. He was a toddler that got into big boy undies early and thought that made him smarter than everybody else. This stupid program didn’t work for anyone else that Rhyse knew, either online, or in real life. Most of the crew there were just lonely and pathetic and didn’t have anyone to talk to. People who missed two many meetings were assumed to have graduated or not needed the help anymore, but Rhyse had other thoughts on that… He opened the men’s room door, turned on the light and locked the door behind him. The bathrooms in this building were just single person restrooms. The only difference between the men’s and women’s restroom was that one was tiled blue and the other tiled pink. That and how with how small they were- just a toilet and a sink-there really wasn’t much point in differentiating them by gender. “Might as well try,” Rhyse said to himself. He hadn’t actually felt the need to pee. He just wanted out of that hazing ritual disguised as therapy. He pulled down his baggy slacks and grimaced as he felt the weight of his pull-on style protective brief separate from him. He sat down on the seat and stared at the light yellow stained padding between his legs. He poked the insides with his finger and felt the squish as if for the first time. It wasn’t even warm. He’d been sitting in it and not even noticed… “Damn…” He hadn’t brought any extra protection because the recovery group had decided that that was too much like a carrying around diaper bag. For a while, it had become routine for people to go to the bathroom as soon as they arrived at the meeting, but that resulted in a line for the bathroom and people doing the p-word dance and then everyone was just overgrown three year olds waiting for teacher to tell them when to go. For half a second, Rhyse fantasized about tossing the flimsy granny panties out and just going back commando, but what would happen if he had another accident? It was enough to make him want to cry and call for Daddy…Sky…his Abuser…ex-Roommate…friend…Da-....damnit! Rhyse sucked his thumb and rocked himself gently until the threat of a panic attack subsided. He did his best to remind himself that it was him doing the rocking, not sky. After much too long, Rhyse stood up, pulled his pants up, wet padding and all, and left without flushing. He should have turned right, but his feet took him left. Right would have taken him back to the meeting. Left took him to where he really wanted to go. With amazing stealth, Rhyse opened the door at the very end of the hall and slipped into the empty room. He flipped on the lights and took a second to take the wonderful sight all in. The church’s nursery wasn’t very big. All told, it was probably as big as the common area of his old apartment. Two, maybe three adults could inhabit the space comfortably without getting in each other’s way. It had a couple of rocking chairs, a couple of simple cribs, a low table with tiny chairs to sit around and color in, and shelves of not-so-neatly stacked toys. The metal changing table was flimsy and only stocked with baby wipes and lysol, which made Rhyse a little sad, but it made sense. This wasn’t an all day babysitting place. This is where old grannies sat and watched little ones for just an hour or two while their parents went over to the next building to hear about the sky man. Diapers, bottles, and such would all be dropped off with the babies each week. Even with the bare bones bum bench, Rhyse still liked this place. It was full of gentle feelings, and soft textures and bright happy colors. He could have done without the pictures of Adam and Eve, but he still liked it. Daddy had been in the process of repainting Rhyse’s nursery before…before…not Daddy…Sky….Rhyse didn’t have a nursery…he wasn’t a… Anyway, the nursery made Rhyse feel calmer. The only things sized for him were the rocking chairs and even a big dumb baby like him knew that he’d probably break any of the toys if he tried to play with them. The crib and changing table were right out, and he wouldn’t have taken a leftover diaper even if he found one, but just being in this place helped to center the traumatized young man. The place felt right. Like it was meant for him. Like he was supposed to be here. This was Rhyse’s church. Against his better judgment, Rhyse sat down on the carpet, closed his eyes, inhaled deeply. He was sure he was dreaming it, but he swore he caught a faint trace of leftover baby powder lingering somewhere. “Get up, Rhyse,” Mike’s flat, stern voice broke into Rhyse’s trance. “You shouldn’t be in here.” Rhyse sat up off the floor with a jolt! He’d fallen asleep! The cold damp feeling screaming against his thighs indicated he’d done more than that. Pull-Ups just couldn’t hold as much pee-pee as his old diapers could . “Huh?” Rhyse feigned confusion. “What? How did I get here? Ga-ga?” Mike stood in the doorway and didn’t move. “Stop,” he said. “No institution would have let you out if you were still prone to any kind of fugue state.” “I didn’t mean to...” It sounded so pathetic coming out of Rhyse’s mouth. “Yes. You did.” Mike said. “You made a choice to come in here. You’re an adult. You have that capability again.” Rhyse walked up and hung his head. “I know…” he nervously rubbed his thumb and forefinger together and felt how pruney his thumb had become. “I’ll go back to the group.” “Group’s gone,” Mike said. “Everybody’s left. Go home, Rhyse.” “Okay…” Rhyse sulked. “See you next time?” “Actually…” Rhyse snapped his head up. “Actually? Actually what?!” “Maybe it’s best if you take a break from the recovery group,’ Mike said. “I’m having some concerns about your progress. I think that being around the others is bringing out the worst in you. Them too.” Rhyse wanted to scream. So he did. “What?!” he shrieked. “Have you been listening to yourself, lately?! I still need Pull-Ups because I don’t know when I’m pissing myself, but I can’t bring extras to change into because that would be like a diaper bag, but I can’t wear real diapers that don’t need changing as much because that would be somehow more babyish! I can barely take care of myself, but I’m not supposed to ask for help! I can’t encourage people when they’re doing better than me because that would somehow be condescending to them and reinforce bad feelings! And to top it all off, when you catch me sleeping in a nursery, you send me away! I NEED HELP!” Mike listened to the entire rant and didn’t blink, even as Rhyse increased the volume with every syllable. “They’re called briefs.” “How many people have you actually helped grow back up?” Rhyse accused. “What’s the success rate of this bullshit program? How many of us are back to being adults?“ In full clinical deadpan, Mike replied, “I can’t help you. That’s the point. You’re already an adult. You have to help yourself.” Rhyse screamed like an animal. Mike didn’t flinch. “You asshole! I’m not even fucking allowed to talk about my fucking ex-roommate who did this to me!” “Your ex is a victim too. The virus altered certain people’s brain chemistry so that they engaged in some extremely questionable behaviors.” “He hypnotized me and put me in diapers! Made me think I was going crazy!” “Yes,” Mike lectured. “Many different conditioning techniques were used. Sleep deprivation. Gaslighting. Emotional abuse. Addiction and chemical conditioning. Subliminal messaging and hypnosis. The methods varied but the results were all the same.” “You’re missing the point!” Rhyse howled. “Why am I here in some bootleg AA shit, living on food stamps, and Sky is free to walk about and not in jail…or in a psych ward? Why is he still getting help and I was cut loose as soon as I could walk and talk again? He! Regressed! Me!” “In your case,’ Mike said, “It’s probably because we still don’t know why he regressed you. Doctors need to figure out exactly how the virus affected his brain and what lasting damage there’s been to him so that subsequent variants don’t affect other unsuspecting victims.” “And what about me?” Rhyse cried. “What about my lasting damage? What about my life?” Mike stepped aside and showed Rhyse the door. “You know what they say about hypnotism: It can’t make you do anything you don’t already want.” ************************************************************************ Rhyse sat in Daddy’s lap, bouncing and squishing happily while Daddy made silly noises at him. “Babababababa? Babababababba?! Ba-ba-baaaaaaa! Ba-ba-baaaaaaaaa!” “Bababababababababa!” Rhyse babbled happily back! In truth, Daddy was saying something much more different, but Rhyse was so little that he didn’t understand even the concept of words. Not so deep down all the baby knew was the concepts of sights, smells, sounds, touch, and taste. Daddy looked happy and sounded happy, so that made Rhyse happy. So Rhyse looked and sounded happy right back. Daddy felt nice and warm to him, so Rhyse leaned into him and snuggled into Daddy’s chest and neck face. This made Daddy get alllll huggy, and Daddy gave the best hugs that made the baby boy feel so tiny and safe. He loved it. He also loved the feeling of squishiness in his diaper and how warm his onesie kept him while still letting him look at his own wiggly toes. The smell of Daddy’s deodorant, shampoo, and cologne clung to him like a special flower that made the baby want to smell and smell and smell. Sometimes he knew Daddy was looking over his crib before he even opened up his eyes. As for the other smells, the ones come from Rhyse, the baby didn’t notice them very much, though being the clever boy that he was, did notice that Daddy’s nose wrinkled up whenever he was about to change Rhyse’s diaper. Daddy’s nose wasn’t wrinkling right now, however. Daddy was reaching over to the other side of the couch to grab something. Baby Rhyse’s eyes got big and wide he saw what it was. “Ooooooooooo!” Daddy smiled and gave the yummy bottle of milk to Rhyse. Rhyse started drooling right away, hungry for the num-nums inside. A wave of pleasure washed over him while the wave after wave after wave of Milk splashed into Rhyse’s mouth and down his throat. Rhyse leaned back in Daddy’s lap, almost going limp as every last bit of energy was dedicated to drinking the sweet creamy liquid. Daddy petted his head and made quiet happy sounds for Rhyse to suckle too. Rhyse made his own happy sounds,mewling and grunting with the bottle while his eyelids started feeling heavy. Daddy shifted him over so that he was lying down, on the couch, his head still resting comfortably in Daddy’s lap. The baby’s grunting got a little louder and his lifted his knees up to his tummy, not even realizing that he was pushing because of how focused he was on literally everything else. The only thing that distracted him from his bottle was the warm sticky feeling in the back of his diaper after his knees went back down. Daddy’s nose wrinkled up. This was the last day that Rhyse could remember feeling happy. ************************************************************************ Sky sat in a stiff backed office chair across from a man in a white coat. Diplomas adorned the walls. Combined with the large bookshelf filled with impressive tomes on virology and psychology and the sturdy oak desk made for a stoic, professional, and highly professional looking environment. That was all just for show, Sky knew. He was smarter than this hack doctor. He’d get more use out of this desk with some vinyl padding to lay on and use the drawers to store wipes and spare onesies and rompers. Get those useless books (which he totally had never read) out of the way and stack them with fresh dia- No! Stop it! Not right now! Much like the doctor, Sky was also dressed for show. His clean pressed raincloud gray suit and slicked back hair gave the impression that Sky was at a job interview. This was no interview. All conclusions had already been reached. The only factors that were truthful were the ankle monitor underneath Sky’s left pant leg, and the police officer standing passively in the corner. If the pig wasn’t here, Sky would have been able to regress this quack back down to size. If the quack wasn’t here, he could have hat that pig well on his way to padding. “How have you been, Sky?” “Well. Thank you, Doctor.” “Still holding down a job?” “Yes, Doctor.” “What was it again?” “I’m in accounting,” Sky said. Smartly he barged ahead and added, “Taxes mostly. Closed system. No internet. Minimal interaction with the customers.” “Good!” The doctor nodded. “Very good.” He opened a folder and pretended to peruse Sky’s folder. “Still taking your medication?” It wasn’t working. “Yes.” “And how do you feel?” Like he wanted to slip the most powerful yet subtle laxatives into the man’s coffee, lock him out the bathroom, then spank him when the inevitable accident occurred, pamper him up just in time for some sedative laced milk once his will had been broken and then put him down for a nap and some special lullabies. “Fine.” Oh god why was he like this?! “Just fine?” Nothing was fine. This virus had turned him into some kind of monster. Or maybe it was something that had been inside him the whole time. Sky shrugged all of it off nonchalantly. “I won’t lie, I feel pretty ‘meh’ most of the time, but considering the circumstances I’d say ‘meh’ is pretty fine..” It was a believable fib. The doctor jotted down something. “Making any new friends?”. “No, sir.” Kind of hard to do these days with the ankle bracelet monitoring his travel and no internet access allowed at his apartment. He couldn’t even have a smartphone. “And the um…paraphernalia.” Poor little guy was too scared to say “diapers” and “crib” and such. Ew…! Was Sky that desperate? “Gone.” A word here that means “mostly hidden where possible.” “What about your um…your acquaintance?” The doctor flipped back a few pages. “Friend? Your roommate?” Both the doctor and the police officer scrutinized every aspect of Sky’s posture, body language, and facial expression. Sky just let their stares wash over him like a cool breeze. “My…” His roommate. His friend whom he had betrayed. His precious sweet baby boy that needed him so and had always needed him before either of them even knew it… “I don’t think it’s appropriate to give titles to a relationship that doesn’t exist. Rhyse, yes. What of him?” “Have you been in contact with Rhyse?” Hearing Rhyse’s name made Sky ache all over. “No. Not since police intervention…” destroyed the best, most fulfilling thing that Sky had ever had in his life. “...rescued him.” “Are you curious about how he’s doing?” “Whether I’m curious or not doesn’t matter, Doctor,” Sky said evenly. “I hurt him and have no right and no business being around him. It wouldn’t be healthy. For either of us.” That was the most truthful thing Sky had said so far, even if it hurt him so. The doctor closed the file. “That’s remarkable. Yes. You’re quite right.” He motioned to the officer who relaxed and opened the door. “We’ve got a long way to go, I think. But according to your bloodwork, urine and mucus samples, your viral load has significantly decreased. How about we take some more and then you can go home?” A question that wasn’t really a question. Sky gave one slow blink to contain his rage. Talk to him as if he were a child, would he?! Sky immediately knew more than ever that he was going to find a way to knock this man down a peg, even though he was still working on the ‘how’. “Of course, Doctor. Let’s get to it.” “I’m also prescribing you a mood elevator.” “Wonderful.” ********************************************************************************* “Pop-Pop-Pop-Pop!” Sky cooed down at his baby, narrating each unsnapping of the onesie with a “Pop!” until the full diaper was in plain sight. He lifted Rhyse up by the back of the knees and lifted up the onesie off the back of the diaper and all the way up the belly button, “Upsie-daisy!” Rhyse’s giggles were muffled by his sucking on the baby bottle. Cute little guy couldn’t be stopped for anything. Before Sky had fixed him, his roommate couldn’t be bothered to clean up after himself or do much of anything. Now Rhyse could giggle, drink, cuddle, pee and poop all at once. He still was a terrible mess, but now it was all contained in a neat little package. A vast and much more adorable improvement. Rhyse took the changing pad and slid it under Rhyse. His sweet boy was so special that boosted his hips to help. “We really should use that new changing table of yours, kiddo.” Sky said. He grabbed a fresh diaper off the coffee table and started unfolding and fluffing it up. “But Daddy doesn’t feel like walking allllll the way into your nursery with you to change you so that you can come all the way back out here.” A funny thought beamed into Sky’s nogging. “Now who’s lazy?” he cooed. “Daddy is! Daddy’s a lazy butt!” Little bubbles of gas made their way into Rhyse’s baba as he giggled. He probably didn’t appreciate the irony, but at least he liked the way his Daddy said it. Daddy. Just thinking of himself gave him such a thrill! With the baby wipes just out of Rhyse’s grasp, and the fresh diaper ready, Sky peeled back the tapes and went to work. “Peeee-yew!” Sky crooned. “Such a stinky boy! Yes you are! Yes you are!” Just like the videos had suggested, Sky dragged the front of the diaper all the way down between Rhyse’s but to wipe the maximum amount of solid waste in one go. Then like lightning he went to work on his boy’s front, and worked his way to the back. His boy. His baby boy. This should have disgusted him. Half a year ago, the very idea of this would have sent Sky vomiting to the toilet. There was something special about this. It was like in the gangster movies when the mafia boss had someone who hated them shave them with a straight razor. There was power and intimidation in making yourself so vulnerable and fearlessly pushing the blade up to your throat. But this was better. Sky wasn’t the vulnerable one. His precious Rhyse lay there nursing and powerless, his balls literally in the palm of Sky’s hand at some points. And there was no hate or intimidation or fear. Only love. Power and love. Damn, this had been an inspired plan! Sky had, of course, read the reports suggesting that the mind altering virus that had been spreading- in a certain percentage of the population- caused delusional megalomaniacal beliefs and the strange desire to dominate people by regressing them and treating them like infants. That was all propaganda from the mainstream media though. Sky wasn’t infected with anything other than love and a glorious sense of purpose and power. He gave Rhyse’s hairless groin one last inspection to make sure he hadn’t missed any spots. “Good,” he said. “All clean.” It had become so much easier to keep the baby clean after he got that special cream to remove all of his big boy hair. “Good.” Half a minute later, the old diaper was balled up tighter than Fort Knox, and the new one was tugged up snugly between the little boy’s legs. He used to keep baby powder by the coffee table too, but Rhyse had gotten into it one afternoon and sprinkled it all over the floor. Lesson learned. “Let’s count the tapes,” Sky babbled at his boy. “One bottom….two bottom…one top…two top.” Four was probably a bit advanced for Rhyse these days. Then with a final “Snap-Snap-Snap-Snap!” Rhyse was all sorted out and almost done with his baba. Sky could already see his baby boy starting to drift off, and felt his heart melt. The Daddy just knew that his baby would be passed out asleep on the couch by the time he got back from tossing the dirty diaper. And that was fine. Some days, Sky was perfectly content to watch Rhyse just dozing on the couch, standing over him and marveling at his own good work and good fortune. This was the last day that Sky could remember feeling happy. *************************************************************************************** “We now return to our post virus anniversary coverage. A world heals after traumatic and strange events. Listen to the stories of the afflicted, their strange uncontrollable urges, and the people whose lives were changed forever.” Rhyse took a gulp of beer. “Can you please turn that crap off?” He called out. The bartender grabbed his remote and pointed it at the T.V.. “Sure my man. What do you want?” “Cartoon Network.’ The bartender frowned. “Seriously?” Rhyse hid his blush behind his mug. Damn it was a good afternoon to go day drinking. He didn’t need to make that job interview anyway. “I meant ESPN.” The bartender barked out a laugh. “Ha! Got me, dude. Got me!” He switched the station to footage of two teams Rhyse didn’t care about playing football the night before and men in suits talking about what they could have done better in hindsight. “Thanks.” “Not a problem, Boblem.” No meeting for Rhyse tonight. He wasn’t allowed. He’d bombed out of the last three job interviews. The only reason he’d managed to get to the in person interviews, was because employers weren’t technically allowed to ask if he’d been regressed. Once they met him in person, they knew. They just did. Something would happen, or there’d be some slip of the tongue, or he’d move the wrong way, or they’d ask about his employment history. And he never got a call back. Rhyse couldn’t afford a lawyer, and the only free legal advice he’d gotten was that technically being regressed and struggling to get back up to full adult performance was not a recognized disability or protected class of people. So yeah. Getting drunk good and early seemed like a plan. “I don’t blame you for not wanting to watch that crap,” the bartender intruded on Rhyse’s melancholy. The joint was empty save for the two of them, and Rhyse speaking up had given him some kind of tacit permission to engage with him. Damn. “Yeah,’ Rhyse said noncommittally. “Bunch of nut jobs,” the bartender shook his head. “Kinda says something about the world, huh? About what isolation can do to a guy.” Rhyse finished his beer. “Yup.” The bartender refilled the beer without Rhyse having to ask. He hoped it meant it was free. “You ask me? Those sickos with the diapers and the baby shit? There was something wrong with them to begin with. The virus just brought it out.’ Rhyse thought of Sky. Daddy was a little anal retentive, but he hadn’t been that controlling before. “Mmmhmmm..” “There oughta be some kind of list,” the bartender said. “Fuck it. They should all be locked up. Keep ‘em the hell away from other human beings. Let ‘em do that fucked up shit to each other, not me.” A sad, soft, but genuine smile came to Rhyse’s lips. “Amen, brother.” “That or the little freaks they found.” The regression victim’s blood ran cold, but he didn’t respond. “You ask me, they were asking for it. Somebody tried to put a diaper on me? I’d fuckin’ knock their teeth out. That’s if they were lucky.” “Didn’t they get hypnotized and drugged and shit?” Rhyse said. He was genuinely afraid of confrontation but was trying to pass off defending himself as playing Devil’s Advocate. “And a lot of them at first didn’t even know it was a thing. Nobody did.” If Rhyse had any body hair left, it’d all have been on edge just then. “I mean…maybe,” the bartender said. “Just seems kinda sus to me. Like you’d have to really like shitting your pants to let it get that far, I’d think. Pretty sure most of them wanted it if you ask me. It’s just common sense.” There was nothing ‘Common Sense’ about what had happened to Rhyse. “Maybe…” “And even if it wasn’t, they’re a bunch of whiners,” the bartender went on. “Wah, I had an accident! Wah I had to learn how to walk again! Wah, I want free shit and handouts. Wah, wah wah! Buncha losers.” Rhyse leaned forward on the bar stool. “You victim blaming?” “It ain’t victim if it’s the result of natural consequences. I say cut off all their funding. Make them buy their own diapers and they’ll re-toilet train themselves and buy and cook their real fucking quick. No more of this group home shit.” Rhyse instantly took a great disliking to this man. “Most of ‘em are living in nursing homes,” Rhyse said. He was. “That’s a step up more dignified than fucking daycare,” the bartender said. “Better than what they deserve.” “Yeah,” Rhyse grunted, pretending to agree. “They’d probably be happier in a big fucking daycare or something than an old folks home.” “Yeah, you’re probably right,” the bartender agreed. “Buncha losers.” Rhyse saw the guy’s nose wrinkle. “What’s that smell?” Rhyse sat back down on the bar stool and felt the warm mush spread out beneath his bottom. “What smell?’ “You don’t smell that? It smells like…it smells like…like…” His eyes widened in recognition. This was his last job interview all over again. You!” “I’m sorry!” Rhyse yelped! “I didn’t mean to! I hadda accident” The guy looked like he was ready to deck Rhyse, but he pointed towards the door instead. “Get the fuck outta here!” “Yes Daddy!” That’s how Rhyse got a black eye. ****************************************************************************************** Sky sat home with the television turned off and unplugged. It was another one of those specials on the virus, how it affected people and what the affected actually DID to people. Rhyse didn’t want to watch any more of it. It hurt too much. Not because it reminded him of what he did, but because of what he’d lost. He looked out at Rhyse’s old nursery and felt another terrible pang of loss. It was just an empty room now. An empty tomb to the baby he’d lost. “I’m not crazy,” he muttered to himself. “I’m not. I just…I just…I need to…” He got up off the floor and walked over to the nursery “Close…this-” he didn’t fall, but his feet tripped over themselves because of the baby doll on the floor.. “Fuck!” It wasn’t just one baby doll. Sky had bought a dozen. They lay scattered around, the living room floor, with diapers taped on them bought from the grocery store. They were poor replicas of the real thing and only wet at semi-random intervals. Sky had tried buying these as a kind of nicotine patch. It’d only made things worse. They were nowhere close to the real things. Their skin was too hard. THeir bodies too cold. Their diapers too small. Everything was too small. “It’s just not the same,” Sky heard himself say. Then he whispered, “Damn, there really is something wrong with me.” He stood there looking at the pathetic shambles his apartment was turning into. Then in the quiet he said. “I need a new roommate.” It tasted like a lie. He didn’t need a new roommate. He needed a new baby boy. But that was a lie too. He didn’t want a new one…just the one he’d lost. ********************************************************************************************** “Paints almost dry kiddo,” Sky chirped to his baby boy crawling on the floor. “Pretty soon, you’ll have a pretty blue sky and pretty red birds flying around it! Won’t that be nice? Won’t it?” Rhyse rolled towards the sound of Sky’s voice and looked up at him adoringly. “Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba!’ “Yes it is!” Sky lowered down to all fours and kissed the baby on the forehead. “It sure is!” That got more delighted babble and Sky kissed Rhyse from the top of his head all the way down to his belly button. Then…. PHBTBTBTBTBTBTB! Daddy’s lips buzzing of tummy made baby Rhyses’s entire body light up with happy feelings. That and made both his face and the front of his diaper feel warm and squishy at the same time! It was so wonderful to just lay back and let Daddy push his buttons and flail helplessly around. Life couldn’t get better than this, and as far as Rhyse had remembered, this was all life had been or could be. And he was ha- THUNK! THUNK! THUNK! “Open up!” A voice called in.. “CDC and Police!” Sky popped up to his feet, adrenaline going on overdrive. Logically he knew this would happen eventually. He’d been too sloppy in the beginning. Eventually someone would trace the orders he’d made and his I.P. address. Eventually someone would rat him out. He just figured he had a couple more months to prepare for it. Eventually always came too soon. “Do you have a warrant?” he was already looking for some kind of escape route. But how to get away with Rhyse? Rhyse couldn’t take care of himself on the best of days. What would he do without Sky? “WAAAAAAAAAAAH!” ’Rhyse cried out, confused and scared. The loud noises and mean voices bothered him worse than a thousand loud barking dogs. “Shhhhh,” Sky shushed his boy. “It’s okay. Don’t worry. Daddy’s here…Daddy’s here.” Next came the police breaking down the door. And the shouting. And the panic. And the men in hazmat suits. And the screaming. And the crying as they were forced apart. And many, many months of programming and deprogramming disguised as “Therapy”, and heretofore empty promises that either of the young men would ever be the same again. ***************************************************************************************** THUNK! THUNK! THUNK! Panic and adrenaline shot into Sky’s heart. The dolls! He had to hide the dolls! They weren’t illegal for him per se, but any bastard cop could look at them and see that as probable cause for a wider search. Then they might find his real stash! THUNK! THUNK! THUNK! “Uh….just a second,” Sky called. “Coming! I’m coming!” He scooped up the plastic headed infants and tossed them into Rhyse’s empty old nursery. The painted clouds and birds that he couldn’t bother to smear over more proof of his guilt. Please don’t come in please don’t come in. THUNK! THUNK! THUNK! “Just a minute!” More tear gas would come soon. And men in hazmat suits…drag him to a rubber room. His blood work was coming back showing he was dangerous or his psych profile showing what he was really thinking! “Just a minute! THUNK! THUNK! THUNK! Sky tossed the dolls and quietly shut the door. Pleasanton’tcomeinpleasedon’tcomein!” He put the mask on that he’d grown so adept at wearing. Maybe it would just be his parole officer. The ankle monitor shouldn’t have seen anything wrong with his grocery store trip where he’d bought the baby diapers in cash. And he’d stolen a co-worker’s phone to get on Amazon and ship the dolls to his apartment. No way anyone was suspecting anything. This was just a routine visit. Just a routine… Steeling himself, Sky threw open the door with a happy face. “Hello…baby?” Pale faced, black eyed, and wearing ill fitting clothing, Rhyse stood in the doorway of their apartment smelling like shit. “Hi Daddy…” “Rhyse?” Sky asked. “What are you doing here?” He noticed the black eye. “And who did that to you?” Someone was going to pay for that….Sky was already reaching in the back of his brain for one of those recipes he’d found guaranteed to destroy bladder control.. “Can I come in?” He shouldn’t…both of them knew that. “Yes. Please, come in.” Sky backed up two steps for every waddling, sagging step that his ex-roommate took. “Thanks.” “What are you doing here?” Sky asked. Rhyse looked down at the ground. “I…hadda accident,” he admitted. The smell followed the man-child into the apartment. “I can tell,” Sky said. He didn’t sound disgusted. In fact, he was doing his best to hide a smile. “I hadda accident…and too much to drink…and an owie…” Rhyse sniffed. “And I didn’t bring any protective briefs to change into…” “Diapers,” Sky said, reflexively. “They’re called diapers.” Rhyse’s lips quivered. “Sky? Daddy? Can you change my diaper?” There was going to be a bartender with wet pants in his future, Sky decided. But that was a future plan. He had to get Rhyse out of here. “No, baby boy,” he said though it broke his heart. “I can’t. I’m not allowed to. Daddy did a bad bad thing to you. And if he does it again, he’ll get in trouble.’ “Oh….” Tears started dripping down Rhyse’s cheeks. “Sorry to bother you, then. I just thought…I hoped…I…I…” A single loud sob exploded out of him. “I missed you!” He didn’t mean to, but Sky ran up and gave his roommate the biggest hug he’d ever given. “I missed you too, baby! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to ruin your life! I didn’t mean to hurt you! I didn’t mean to break you!” The smelly, stinky, overgrown baby in the baggy pants hugged back. “I’m sorry, too, Daddy! I didn’t want you to get in trouble!” Sky broke off the hug. “I know. It wasn’t your fault.” “It wasn’t yours either.’ “Well, kidnapping and regressing people against their will is kind of against the law,” Sky said. Rhyse pouted out his lip. “What if it’s not?” “Not against the law?” “No,” Rhyse shook his head. “What if it’s not against my will?” Like a two year old he wiped his snotty nose all over the forearm of his sleeve. “Can’t…can’t hypnotize someone to do something they don’t really wanna do.” “What are you saying?” Sky asked. He wanted to hear it. Need to. “Daddy,” Rhyse repeated himself. “Will you change my diaper?” Sky pressed his forehead up against his baby boy’s, and started crying tears of joy. “Lay down on the couch,” he instructed. “And pull down your pants if you can. Daddy’s gonna get your wipes and a changing pad.” “And a fresh diaper?” “And a fresh diaper.”

Thanks. I love writing Levi stories.

Wholesome can be nice every once in a while.

I've never read an Asimov story proper, but I appreciate the comparison.

Daniel sat behind the reception counter in the combination lobby and gift shop, staring blankly at the wall. The Playground was dead tonight. It’s never a good sign for a kink dungeon when the monitors outnumber the guests. It’s an apocalyptic portent when it happens on a Saturday night. The owner and proprietor didn’t stare out of boredom, but anxiety. Bills were coming in and loans were being called due. This had been a very bad investment of Grandpa’s money. A very bad one. Going in, he thought owning a kink dungeon would have been kind of cool. Easy money. No stress. Sit around. Hand out waivers. Let people fuck around for fun. It’d be like owning a brothel in the old west. He thought himself a genius spending his inheritance buying this place. Daniel was very, very, wrong. He’d bought himself a massive albatross to hang around his neck. When he bought it, The Playground consisted of two large ‘play spaces’, a lobby that doubled as a gift shop, a tiny ass locker room, a tinier bathroom, and a room that served no practical purpose whatsoever beyond giving new customers a place to fill out membership forms. There hadn’t been new members for quite some time. How was he supposed to know that the sex toys and whatchamacallits didn’t come with the place? A guy bought a gym and he expected treadmills. What Daniel had really bought was an ugly building with some empty rooms in a bad part of town. He’d bought a place called the playground and only got the ground. All the ‘play’ elements had to come out of pocket. Pile onto that all the things that he hadn’t taken into account- rules, insurance, vetting, pricing structure, advertising- and this goldmine was sapping him dry financially and emotionally. Contrary to his own misconceptions, this business neither sold nor ran itself. Then there was ‘The Racoon Situation’, may it never be repeated… The initial boom from “Under New Management” had lost its shine less than half a year in. Now in year three, Daniel didn’t think he could make it another six months. The buzzing alarm from someone entering broke him out of his anxiety induced paralysis. In through the door walked a man in a too perfectly pressed charcoal gray suit carrying a black briefcase. That part didn’t disturb Daniel. He’d seen mostly leather dudes and chicks come through the door, but ‘masters’ in suits wasn’t a foreign concept to him. There was something different about this one. His dark hair and goatee looked more greasy than slick, and he had an aura about him and his body language. His footsteps clicked across the floor like hooves, even though his snakeskin boots looked well worn and broken in. In the back of his brain, Daniel’s fight or flight response readied itself, knowing that the suit was little more than camouflage. This was a predator. Predator or not, as long as he showed his I.D. at the door, he was a potential customer. “Hey there,” Daniel said. “Welcome to The Playground. How can I help you?” The briefcase was placed down on the counter. “The real question here, Danny boy, is ‘How can I help you?’.” Daniel’s face paled. “How do you know my name?” The stranger in the suit thumbed back to the way he came in. “Asked the guy at the door.” He paused for a second. “Don’t worry, I’m not a cop. This isn’t a sting. What I really want to talk to you about is-” Daniel held out his hand to stop. “I’m sorry, I’m not in the mood to hear any solicitors.” The stranger flopped his arms to the side and lackadaisically turned in a circle, looking around at the empty lobby and rows and rows of unsold sex toys sitting on shelves and hanging on hooks in the gift shop. He put a finger to his ear and leaned like he was listening for something. The rooms were soundproofed, but even if they weren’t, there wouldn’t be much to hear. It was close to midnight and they only had a throuple using the main play area to drip wax onto each other. He was paying his DM’s to basically do nothing all night. “Yeah, Danny,” the solicitor said. “I can tell you’ve got a lot going on, what with the failing business and all.” Fuck this guy. “Whatever you’re selling, buddy, I literally can’t buy.” “Levi.” “Excuse me?” “I’m not your buddy,” the stranger said. “I’’m Levi. And I’m not selling you anything. I don’t want your money, I want your partnership.” Daniel cocked an eyebrow. “I’m not looking to sell.” “I am, though.” Levi smiled. “I said I wasn’t looking to sell anything to you. I’ve got a great product, I just need a distributor.” “Is it meth?” Daniel asked sarcastically. “Better.” Levi opened up the suitcase with a flourish. Daniel looked down. He would have laughed if he had thought it was a joke. “Diapers,” Daniel said flatly. “You want me to sell diapers?” “I do,” Levi said. “I want you to sell my diapers. It’ll save your business.” Daniel had been around long enough to know that some people were into diapers. He’d also been around long enough to know that some people were into anything. “I don’t think this place is your market.” The stranger in the snakeskin boots didn’t relent. “I think it’s exactly my market. It’s practically a blank canvas. Perfect place to set up shop.” “With diapers…?” “Not just any diapers. These diapers are that perfect mix of absorbency and aesthetics.” Daniel scoffed. “They have cartoons on them.” “Exactly,” Levi pointed at him as if he’d just stumbled onto something great. Hepicked up two of them like they were bricks of cocaine. ‘And they come in plastic or cloth backed! They are the best at what they do.” “Soak up pee?” “Headspace, Daniel. Headspace. The ultimate high!” That one did make Daniel laugh. “I think you’re confused.” “Hear me out, Danny boy,” Levi said. “Why is that couple in there pouring hot wax on each other? Because something about the pain and the sensation and the simulated danger of it all gets their endorphins pumping like crazy. It alters their minds, no different in principle than cigarettes and booze. It’s what humans have done throughout history. They crave an altered state of being. My product does the same thing, is addictive, isn’t regulated by the FDA, and is disposable.” He threw an arm back towards the gift shop. “If you sell a paddle, you sell one paddle to that person and probably won’t ever sell that same paddle ever again. If you sell my product, you will sell it again and again and again.” “But people don’t like diapers around here,” Daniel said. “There’s no market.” “There will be,” Levi half-whispered. Louder and more casual he said, “Look, Danny boy. Here’s what I’m proposing: Let me give you some sample packs. I’ll send in some people to generate interest and do my own advertising around town. Let people know that The Playground is the only place to get them. Then you sell the diapers, keep ten percent for yourself plus the interest fees. If I’m wrong, you lose no money” Daniel chewed on his lip. It looked like a dumb novelty gimmick, but it was a novelty gimmick that had almost zero risk to him. As long as it wasn’t like the Raccoon Situation… “Deal.” He offered Levi his hand. Levi shook it. “Deal, Danny boy. You won’t regret this. Expect the first box when you get here tomorrow. ” It wasn’t until Levi left that Dan wondered how he knew about the throuple in the other room. ************************************************************************* Not quite twenty hours later, a flash of bright white drew Daniel out of his nightly anxiety paralysis. Two new customers, the first two in a while, came out of the changing room holding hands. He hadn’t changed or removed his clothes at all, and was still wearing the same gray t-shirt and blue jeans that he’d come in with. The only thing that might pass as ‘kinky’ was that he was carrying a pink satchel bag over his shoulder. She’d been carrying it when they came in and signed up. Now he was. A man carrying a purse wasn’t anything to write home about, in Daniel’s opinion. His partner, however, was topless, and barefoot, but not nude. Daniel had seen plenty of naked people. What he hadn’t seen was someone wearing such thick crinkly padding wrapped around their ass. Levi’s people, no doubt. “Ready, Squirt?” he asked. “Ready, Daddy!” Daniel couldn’t help himself. “Excuse me,” Daniel called over to them. “Can I ask you a question?” The more adult of the two spoke up. “Yessir? How can I help you?” Daniel’s nose wrinkled up and he thought about it. “You’re not doing any kind of like…incest play, are you?” The girl’s eyes brightened up when Danny said the word ‘play’! Shit. This might be The Racoon Situation all over again. “No, sir,” the man referred to as ‘Daddy’ said. “Squirt, here, just wants to play on the playground. Run around. Climb. That kinda stuff. He gave her bottom a pat. “This,” he said, “is to keep the rest of the playground dry.” This was going to be another Racoon Situation… Daniel struggled to find the words. “You know that the stuff in there isn’t…really….a playground right? It’s just a name.” “Anything can be a playground if you know how to use it,” Daddy gave a wink. Daniel ran his hands through his hair. He was desperate for new customers. Max was on DM duty, too. He’d stop shit if people were getting freaked out. “Okay,” he said. “Just checking. Go have fun.” ******************************************************************************************* Daniel kept waiting for the couple to exit, but they didn’t leave until just before closing. That must have meant they were behaving. No Racoon Situations tonight, it seemed. Good. They walked in and out of the giftshop, going from room to room, same as anybody else. No complaints from the handful of other guests. And at the end of the night, they went back into the changing room. Daniel jumped in his chair a little when he heard the sounds of tapes ripping, but quickly recontextualized. Nothing was being broken, that shouldn’t be. ‘Squirt’ was just getting back into normal clothes. They came out a few minutes later. Squirt was dressed in pink shorts and a Minnie Mouse t-shirt. She’d worn it coming in, but Daniel hadn’t thought anything of it at the time. Shame though it was, Disney Adults happened. With what he had seen, Daniel suspected there was more to it now. Her Daddy hadn’t changed anything about himself and was still holstering the pink purse. He did, however, hold in his hand a bulging tightly wrapped mass of plastic. “Is there anywhere I can…?” Gears turned and clicked in the proprietor’s head. Ew! Gross! She’d used it? Squirt was not just a nickname. Embarrassment and surprise kicked Daniel into autopilot. “Oh. That?” he stammered. “Sure.” Daniel offered up a tall lined trash can normally used for tossing away chip bags, candy wrappers, and other snacks Daniel could upcharge to half-naked people. His customer slipped it casually inside and let the loud thunk once it hit the bottom testify how full it was. “Thanks,” he said. “No problem,” Daniel replied, still on autopilot. The couple walked out hand in hand. “Fankyoooo….” Squirt called just as they approached the threshold. She was waving her free arm so wildly as to be flapping. Daniel’s gaze shifted downward and he noticed both the rounded lump from beneath her shorts and the bit of white plastic poking out the waistband. “Huh…” Guess she wasn’t done ‘playing’. Max came out of the main play area with the final four or five stragglers, just in time to see the new odd couple leave. While they went into the changing area to put on street clothes, Max leaned against Daniel’s desk. “They were nice,” he said. “Who?” Daniel asked. “The baby people?” “Yeah.” Daniel had a more than mild curiosity. “What did they do?” “Hide and seek,” Molly said. “Peekaboo. Played catch with some stuff in the diaper bag.” Max ground his teeth in thought a little bit. “She climbed up on the cross like it was a jungle gym. Kinda wholesome in a weird way.” Wholesome schmolesome. Daniel was peeved that he hadn’t sold anything like that Levi hack had promised. A resalable product wasn’t so great if everybody brought their own. “Anybody else bothered by it?” Daniel asked his best monitor. “No,” Max told him. “Some people were kinda curious.” Daniel arched an eyebrow at his employee. “How curious?” On cue, the last customer of the night came out of the changing room. He was tight lipped and blushing, but the tightly wrapped ball of plastic and pulp in his hands told the tale. Daniel thumbed to the garbage can, and the man dropped it in. The second thunk wasn’t as loud as the first. “They shared,” Max explained. “Called it a free sample.” “Right there on the floor?” Daniel asked. “Well I’ll be…” Max looked at Daniel and misinterpreted Daniel’s expression. “Is that okay, boss? I didn’t think that broke any rules…cuz he wasn’t wet or poopy.” “No,” Daniel said. “It’s cool.” *********************************************************************************** The next night Daniel saw three times as many people in diapers as the night before. That still wasn’t a lot but weird that there was more than one. The couple had come back and brought a friend with them, and the regular that had experimented had come back to get his diaper on. “Thank you,” he said, handing Daniel the money in exchange for the two-diaper sample pack. “Thank you so much!” He stared at the plastic rectangles like they were heroin. “You’re…welcome?” Daniel said. That was weird. Normally, if he was gonna get repeat business, Daniel would have to wait at least a week. Were the diapers that good? Daniel tore a spare pack open and turned one over on his hands like it was a puzzle box. When he breathed through his nose he caught a whiff of sweet smelling perfume, like honey with a touch of lavender. It wasn’t overpowering but it was faintly…nostalgic? Was this what people were after? Daniel didn’t think much more of it than that. He was just happy for the slight increase in business. ***************************************************************************************** The night after that it had doubled again up to eight padded bottoms. New business and old. After that, it was close to twenty diaper butts. On a weeknight, no less. The Playground was lucky to get ten customers on a weeknight. The people who came in wearing padded pants seemed to want to change diapers in the locker room, and if they weren’t wearing when they arrived, Daniel would see them blushing and tossing out a used one on their way out. He’d already had to dedicate a dedicated covered can for the task of disposal. “How’s it looking?” he asked Max at the end of that night. Max smiled. “Awesome!” he said. He immediately corrected himself. “I mean kinda boring. Most of them are crawling around, climbing on stuff, talking baby talk. “Their CG’s are keeping order with stuff like duck duck goose, but nobody’s violating consent or doing anything risky. They're all being good little boys and girls.” Daniel gave Max a look. “Excuse me?” “You know. Littles. It’s what they call themselves.” “Oh. Sure.” Sounded like Max was getting something out of it too. “Excuse me,” a bleached blonde woman walked up. She wore scrubs decorated in nursery print designs: rattles and bottles and safety pins and such.. Medical play? Daycare play? Both? “Do you have any extra diapers for sale? My little guy had an accident.” Being held by the wrist was the very first ‘convert’ from earlier that week. The one who’d gotten diapered up by Squirt and her Daddy, and embarrassedly tossed in an extra wet diaper. Presently, he stood barefoot with a dark patch on his crotch that dripped all the way down to his legs. “Crud,” Max said, “I’ll get a mop.” “Don’t worry,” the scrubbed lady said. “I already took care of that part. I just need to get him cleaned up. “I..I…tried,” the customer stammered. He was a good six inches taller than the blonde lady, but looked like a pathetic three year old who’d gotten too excited. “Jakey, say you’re sorry.” “I’m sowwy,” the grown-ass man said with a toddlerish lisp. Daniel smiled, trying to seem good natured and paternal. “It’s no big deal, bud.” He placed a sample diaper on the counter. Jakey’s date or nurse or babysitter or whatever paid for the diapers and took the man back into the changing room. Damn, that designation had taken on a completely different meaning lately. A few minutes later, they came out again, with Jakey not wearing anything over his fresh crinkly diaper. “Thank you very much,” the woman in the nursery scrubs said. “May I make a suggestion?” The woman had just given him money, so Daniel was more inclined to listen. “Do you think you could put a changing table in there? It’d be a lot easier to change the babies without having to lie them down on the floor. The Playground’s Owner immediately thought of that old massage table that rarely got use. “I think I can rig something up.” “Thank you,” she said. “That’s much appreciated.” Max waited until the pair had left. “Why didn’t you say anything?” “What would I say something about?” Daniel asked his right hand. “Water sports? Going out in fetish gear. We don’t want a Raccoon Situation, do we, Danny?” Danny waved it off. “The guy peed himself on accident and his girlfriend cleaned it up, Max.” “And the diaper? Outside? We don’t let other folks wear their gear. It’s vanilla clothes only past that door.” “It’s just a diaper,” Daniel said. “And what other folks?” Max huffed and crossed his arms. “Point taken…” ***************************************************************************************** “Excuse me?” A skinny pimply faced kid came up to him the next week. “Are you the guy I talk to?” His eyes jittered around, nervously, like he was afraid he’d get caught or something. “Let me see your I.D. again,” Daniel said. Did Rory need new glasses at the door? He looked at the guy’s wallet. Eighteen according to the driver’s license. It didn’t look like a forgery. “You a senior?” “Freshman,” the kid said. “In college!” he quickly yelped. “In college! No class tomorrow.” That had been Daniel not too long ago. He just had better skin and filled out quicker. “Sorry sir,” Daniel said, handing it back. “Needed to double check. Who are you looking for?” “I’m looking…” the young man said haltingly, “...to buy…” The kid was low on nerve and Daniel felt like messing with him. Paddles? floggers? Dragon Tails? Anal beads? Vibrators?” “Diapers!” Daniel felt like a drug dealer, making the man-child squirm. “Last pack.” “Thank you!” The spindly eighteen year old dashed to get changed. “Shit,” Daniel cursed to himself. That really had been the last pack. He scraped at the bottom of the last box and found nothing. These crinkly rectangles with cartoons on them had really sold themselves and people kept coming back for more. Much to Daniel’s profit, coming back meant they had to pay the entry fee, too. The door buzzed with yet another arrival. Daniel didn’t look up right away. He’d quickly gotten very used to people coming to the Playground. “Seems like I’m right on time,” Levi said. “How’s it going, Danny boy?” Daniel leapt up with joy. “Great,” he yelped. “It’s going great. Business is really picking up!” Daniel’s guardian angel looked pleased, but not surprised. He held up an open cardboard box. “Just ran out!” That joy was tempered by the huge wad of cash he handed over to Levi. “Thaaaaank you,” Levi took up the money. “Pleasure doing business with you, Danny boy.” He extended his hand. “See you around, bud.” The stranger turned on his heel and a jolt of panic found its way to Daniel. “Wait. I’m out of diapers! I need more!” Levi stopped and hung his head. “Yeah, about that. I’m out of samplers. All I have are bigger packs. Ten, twelve. More. I’m losing money otherwise.” “That’s fine,” Daniel said. “I’ll sell bigger packs.” The words turned to ash in his mouth as soon as he said them. “But that’s a lot of diapers…” “Yup,” Levi agreed. “Enough to last them a couple days.” “At least.” “How do I keep people coming back, if they don’t need to buy diapers as often?” The greasy thug in a business suit looked like Daniel had grown an extra head. “Danny,” Levi said. “Danny, Danny, Danny. Danny boy. Are you listening to yourself? You’re not selling diapers.” “I’m not?” “You’re selling a lifestyle. Look.” A guy who could have been a pro-wrestler came out of the changing room and waddled among the paddles and ropes like a kid trying to figure out toys that were too old for him.. For a beat, Daniel thought he was wearing some kind of leotard, but most leotards didn’t have farm animals decorating their tights, or a diaper bulge underneath. “Hey, little boy.,” Levi asked him. “What’s your favorite toy?” The big man looked up and wiped a line of drool off his chin. “My wattle. I forgot to bwing it though…” From his pocket, Levi produced what was essentially a maraca painted baby blue and given a bunny face. “Here you go, kiddo…” “WATTLE!” It was disturbing to watch the giant shake the big baby rattle and laugh like like hyena after a fresh kill. “See what I mean, Danny?” He didn’t., though. “McDonald’s isn’t really a burger company. It’s a real estate company. The Playground wasn’t a dungeon, and it’s definitely not a store. It’s a playground, just for really really big babies.” Daniel looked beyond the doors to the play spaces, thinking about the menagerie of bondage equipment he’d splurged on filling up the place. Sex swings, spanking horses, stocks, inversion tables, crosses and what not. “Um…I don’t think The Playground’s got that kind of equipment. Levi clapped Daniel on the back. “Then let’s reinvest, my friend. Let’s reinvest.” Danny thought of the business he’d been getting. He didn’t dare say no. ********************************************************************************************* Two weeks later, The Playground had rebranded itself as specifically catering to people who enjoyed wearing diapers and acting like children. It sounded like a bad idea, being so niche, but nightly attendance didn’t drop. Night after night, people waddled in off the streets, to put on a diaper and play in a literal indoor play place and nursery. Daniel walked the new facilities with a strange sense of pride. He’d built this. With some guidance and a new investment from his business partner, he was starting to climb out of the mountain of debt he’d accrued. “Pretty crazy, boss,” Max said. “Pretty crazy.” There were yelps and laughs and the sounds of bare feet running. ‘Hey! No running!” “Sowwy!” Max shook his head. “I’m turning into a babysitter,” he grumbled. “Look on the bright side,” Daniel joked, “you’re not having to change any diapers.” As if illustrating his point, a handsome young man in cardigan was busy unsnapping what Daniel guessed was his boyfriend’s onesie. “Shit…” “Yeah,” Daniel agreed. “Looks like it.” The brown stains on the baby man’s backside were kind of hard to miss. “Alright,” Max said. “They’re out of here!” Daniel put his hand on Max’s shoulder. “No. Let them stay.” Daniel noticed a bare spot on the wall where he’d been thinking of putting in some bouncers. “In fact, let’s move the changing table from the locker room to over there.” Most of his customers were coming in pre-diapered anyway. “That’s gotta be some kind of health code violation,” Max said. “Nope,” Daniel said smugly. “And nobody else seems to mind.” Everybody else was so deep in their own personal headspace that the public floor change could have been inside an invisible bubble. Another caregiver doing the same thing to their little girl might have contradicted that theory. “Max,” he said. “I think I’m gonna make a new rule. Caregivers get in free with a Little.” Might be a good way to get some free help managing these tykes. “Mistuh Danny! Mistuh Danny!” A scruffy faced middle aged toddler caught his attention. “Do you have any diapees?” Time to go back to the real work. “Sure do, bud! Let’s go to the giftshop. Maybe find some cool toys for you too.” Daniel waved his right hand man away, and hustled to go make a sale. He could see that there was an appeal to this whole baby thing, but Daniel couldn’t see it.” Maybe he should try, though. Maybe he should try… **************************************************************************************** The end of the night was becoming Danny’s favorite time at the Playground, and for more than the usual reason of getting to go home. It was also when his customers were most likely to reload up on diapers. That little bit of consistency, that new development in routine, always lifted Danny’s spirits a little. Business was booming. Buying more of Levi’s wonderful diapers meant that people would keep coming back. Things had been too good to be true, and the little consistencies allowed Danny to keep telling himself that the bottom wasn’t dropping out anytime soon. “That’s the last of them,” Max said. “Good,” Danny said. He eyed his way to the main playroom. “Good night, yeah?” “Yeah,” Max agreed. “It’s kinda like having kids. It’s not so bad once you get used to - ARE YOU WEARING A DIAPER?!” Danny looked down at himself. The stretchy sweatpants he’d put on over the diaper had fallen down so that they only covered the bottom half. He’d been so busy that he’d forgotten to hike them back up over his diaper. Or that he was wearing one. “Oh yeah,” Danny said. “I guess so.” “Is this your new thing, boss?” Max asked. “Because if it is, that’s fine, but…” “But what?” “Things are making a lot more sense.” Danny laughed at that. “Don’t worry about it, Max. I’m just blending in. People wanna buy from people who are like them. Part of their clique. Right?” Danny didn’t think he was lying, but he still felt wrong all the same. “Have you been wearing those for long?” Danny shook his head and laughed. “Naw. I just put this one on before coming into work.” Technically not a lie. He’d only been wearing that diaper after he woke up and had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for breakfast. He had worn others, though, so it also was a lie of omission. This was the first one he’d worn at work, however. Every other time had been at home. They came in handy after he’d started wetting the bed. And he’d been able to get so much more done tonight because he didn’t have to stop to go potty. Bathroom…he didn’t have to go to the bathroom. That was a weird random thought. So was the quiet realization that he was peeing and talking to Max at the same time. Max didn’t notice, or didn’t say anything. “Okay, man. Just don’t get in too deep. You’ve kind of got an addictive personality.” Danny said the best thing he could. “I hear ya, Max. Thanks for looking out. You go ahead and head out. I’ll toss out the garbage.” “You sure?” “Positive.” Max didn’t need further convincing. Danny waited until Max had left The Playground, and counted as high as he could twice to make sure Max wasn’t coming back. Then, feeling strangely guilty considering it was his building, he toddled into the main playroom. It looked like a nursery with its indoor jungle gym, its foam floor puzzle pieces; its shelves decked out with toys, blocks, train tracks, and marble runs. The only swings were the scaled up harness ones that Levi had snagged from a special needs school auctioning off old P.E. equipment. It smelled like a nursery too. Danny wandered over to the changing table, and rested his hand on it. Formerly a massage table, Danny had paid a pretty penny to have it broken down and built back up into a proper changing station. The Mommies, Daddies, Nannies, and Babysitters definitely appreciate it. So did their babies, but only when they were reminded too. Lucky bastards. Like magic, Danny found himself going from laying his hand on the table, to leaning on it, to climbing up on it, and laying down on it. Just to see what it was like of course. He rested his eyes and exhaled. It wasn’t as good as he imagined a crib would be, but it still was very comfy. Feeling naughty, he shuffled the sweatpants off his feet and let them drop down to the floor. He reached one hand down to his diaper and gave it a squeeze. He stopped himself from moaning using his opposite thumb. Sucking on his digit, Danny decided to just close his eyes and let his mind drift. A wet diaper felt so good! It squished and caressed him with every movement. And he imagined he looked cute too, lying there in nothing but a t-shirt and baby pants. No wonder it was so hard to potty train kids. The alternative objectively sucked. That absurd notion made him giggle. Good thing Max couldn’t see him now. The sound of ripping tapes made Danny jump! He quickly found that someone had pulled the safety strap over his chest to keep him from rolling off. “Hey there, Danny boy,” Levi said. The cold wipe dragged across Danny’s privates woke him the rest of the way up.” “Levi?” The man in the snakeskin boots kept wiping Danny’s penis, pubic area, and taint, showing no signs of disgust or distress. “You looked like you were about ready,” Levi casually said. “So I thought I’d help.” “What are you do-?” Levi shushed him. “Hold on, hold on. Or do you want me to talk to you while I’m powdering your butt?” He crossed Danny’s legs for him and hoisted his legs up to his stomach. Danny lay there feeling paralyzed while a man he barely knew wiped his ass for him. Danny told himself it wasn’t happening. But the feeling of the old diaper being balled up and slid out from beneath him, and replaced by another one told him differently. A little powder on his front and back enhanced the trance instead of shaking him out of it. And the feeling of the fresh diaper taking form around his hips, being tightened and secured tape by tape was somehow blissful. Danny had just started getting used to diapering himself and now he never wanted to do it again. “Th-th-thankyou,” he whispered, feeling incredibly vulnerable yet fulfilled. Levi let him off the table. Danny felt so wobbly legged that he sank down to his knees. “What are you doing back here?” Levi asked. “I…I…” Danny was going to ask Levi the same thing, but he still felt so overwhelmed, so good and overwhelmed and safe, that he forgot what he was going to say. “I…” he looked at the jungle gym. It had no stairs on it, by design; only ramps and tubes for easy crawling access. “I just was tired and wanted…” “Oooof, those diapers are hitting you hard, ain’t they kid?” Danny blinked. “Huh?” “Nevermind,” Levi chuckled. “You’re sad because you want to play but never have the time. Too busy taking care of everybody else.” Like a hypnosis victim, Danny nodded at the suggestion. “Uh-huh.” There was never enough time. Now that he was actually making money, he didn’t have the chance to enjoy himself. He owned a candy store but never got to taste the chocolate. He made a near perfect Playground, but the only time he got to play was after all the other kids…customers?...kids…got away. Levi stroked his beard theatrically. “That’s a bummer Danny boy. Real bummer. If only there was a way to make more time for yourself. Time to play.” Danny’s eyes lit up at hearing the word ‘play’. “I know!” A wry, knowing smile came to Levi. “Do you now, kiddo?” ********************************************************************************************** A week later, Danny presented his new vision to Max and the rest of the staff. He would have told them sooner, but he kept forgetting the finer points and needed to wait for Levi to coach him. Max had to pick his jaw up off the floor when he was done. The other employees all looked distinctly unsure and uncomfortable with the idea, though Danny didn’t know why. “Okay everybody, we’ll brainstorm this a while later,” Max said. “Suzy, you should work the counter tonight. Try to push the onesies and the pacifiers. Rob, you’ve got the door checking ID’s. Everybody else, do what we’ve been doing.” Like a well oiled machine, the crew broke. When did his staff become so organized and focused, Danny wondered. Maybe he should hold more staff meetings in the playroom. It was certainly more comfortable. “What do you mean we’re going twenty-four seven?” Max asked when they were alone. Danny remained spread eagle on the playroom floor, his diaper bulging out underneath his onesie. “We treaf iff lika dayshere”. He frowned and took his paci out of his mouth. Maybe that’s why the others seemed so confused. “We treat it like a daycare.” He leaned back and grabbed his toes. “An adult daycare?” Max said. “Are you crazy? We’ve already super specialized. Now you want to keep the lights on longer and have people show up at all hours?” “We just raise our prices like a hotel,” Danny said. “We get more cribs, turn our aftercare room into a sleep room, and the babies can stay here as long as we keep getting paid. It’s easy money. Levi said he’d get the cribs and offer me free diapees if he got a cut of the service fees.” “Daniel…” Max sounded exasperated. “This sounds crazy, my dude. That’s a butt ton of work you’re talking about.” “Why?” Dannie asked. He leaned his head back and saw the ballpit and suddenly wondered if they could continue the meeting there. “I thought you said it was easy to Monitor all the little boys and girls. I’m just paying you to stand around most nights.” “Yeah,” Max said. “It’s easy in small doses. But things are getting weirder. They’re still peeing their pants and sucking their toes. Some of them don’t even talk. I’m starting to wonder if they can understand me!” “We’ll be…they’ll be good,” Danny said. “Pwomise!” “A lot of them aren’t changing themselves unless one of the Bigs volunteers,” Max said. “It’s bad enough that me and the guys are spending so much time taking out garbage bags filled with dirty diapers. Do you want us to start changing them too?” Yes. “Um….?” Danny said instead, “We can hire people to do that. Levi says he knows some people.” “He better,” Max said. “If we’re going to be charging hotel prices, we gotta have hotel level staff and hotel level cleanliness. Sheet washing, cleaning the playground equipment. We’d have to triple the staff, minimum, and find a whole bunch of people that were really cool with treating you and everybody else like they were under two. Real Mommy and Daddy Doms. Do you know how much those cost, Daniel? I don’t even know if it’s legal. That might be considered sex work or something.” “To change a diaper?” Danny asked. He didn’t notice how he’d been lumped in with the other babies. His mind leapt to another part of Max’s analysis. “Why triple?” “Because people have lives outside of this place, Daniel,” Max said. “Even the clients. We can’t sleep here. Where are we gonna get that kind of money? We’ve just barely started to break even and we don’t know how long that’s gonna last.” “It will,” Danny said. Daddy had promised him. Levi…Levi had promised him. “Where are we going to get that money to hire people and keep the lights on?” Danny pressed. “More debt? Sell the whole damn thing to Levi?” Max demanded. “Oh,” Danny remembered, “That’s right. We need more highchairs and yummy food, and ba-bas.” “How?” Max repeated himself. Danny shifted his weight to all fours, concentrated, pushed a load into his diaper, and sat back down. Much better. Another great idea popped into Danny’s head. He’d sell his house! That way he could stay here, and all his friends would pay money to visit him. “I know! I’ll just sell my house.” That would get him a lot of money, Danny figured. Then he wouldn’t have a reason to leave and he could just sleep in the cribs. He’d just make money playing and having fun! “Did you just poop?” Max asked. Danny popped his pacifier back in, and nodded proudly. “Uh-huh!” That’s how he knew he wasn’t a baby. Real babies didn’t know when they pooped. Danny did. He stood up and started walking over to the big rocking horse. He bet the squish would feel really good on the rocking horse. Max grabbed him by the wrist. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked. “No vare,” Danny mumbled. “Horshie.” Max growled. “Okay,” he said. “I think you’re done.” “But I wanna pway!” Max whined. “Yeah,” Max said. “That’s the problem. First you wanted to sell diapers and make money. Now you’re wearing them. Now you’re using them. Now you just wanna play.” What was so wrong with that? Danny started trying to pull away and wriggle out of Max’s grip. “Uh-huh.” “DANNY!” Danny froze in his tracks. “You wanna act like a little kid like all the others, you’re gonna be treated like one.” Max led Danny over to the changing table and boosted him up on his hips. As a matter of reflex, Danny laid down and started sucking harder on his binky. “Yeshir…” “You wanna play here all the time? Wear your own product? Play with your toys?” He unpopped the snaps on Danny’s onesie. “Fine. I’m taking over the books though. Whatever you made is getting spread out to the rest of us to deal with your bullshit.” Danny didn’t flinch when his right hand man took the tapes off his diaper and pulled it open. “Otay.” Max went for the wipes, “This thing gave you an itch you wanna scratch? Fine, but you’re not the boss anymore. Bosses wipe their own asses. Bosses don’t play with baby toys. You wanna go twenty-four seven, you’re going twenty-four seven.” Danny shuddered in delight at that. Finally! Max was coming around. “No responsibility means no power. You might own the place, but you don’t work anymore. Anybody who does, is in charge of you.” The owner’s eye twitched, but that was just because of how hard Mister Max wiped. “Yeshir.” “Can’t believe I’m doing this,” Max muttered to himself. Danny’s was the first diaper in the pail that night. It wouldn’t be his last. Max roughly but firmly yanked up the fresh diaper between Danny’s legs and taped it on. He forgot the powder, but that was okay. Not every change had to have powder. His altered state of mind was very firmly intact. “The things I do for…” Max didn’t finish that sentence, but in Danny’s heart he knew the word was going to be ‘love’. “Fankyooooo,” Danny said. He was so excited he was practically flapping his arms like a chicken. Max smiled despite himself. “Just…just go play. Your little friends will be here any minute.” Danny couldn’t wait for that. *********************************************************************** It was close to midnight when Levi sauntered in through the front door. By coincidence. Max walked out of the playroom, lugging yet another garbage bag filled with used diapers. So Max my man,” Levi asked. “How’d Danny boy take it?” Max put down the bag and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Just like you said he would, sir. He’s pretty much gone.” Levi flashed a positively devilish grin. “I’d say that he’s finally ‘here’, myself. But I get your meaning.” There was a tense pause as bits of guilt threatened Max's conscience. “So? Satisfied?” Max was the boss now; the owner and proprietor in all but name. The Playground was finally going to be profitable, and was being run by somebody who did more work than sit behind a counter and stare at a wall all night to the point where shit like the Racoon Situation happened. It wasn’t how Max had envisioned it going down when this strange motherfucker and his fancy boots approached him a couple months ago, but it was good enough. “Yeah,” Max said. “Yeah, I am.”

I appreciate the clarification and can understand your reasoning. Thank you for your time.

I apologize for nitpicking: 1. Why 2022? Unless the characters themselves were babies, wouldn't it make more sense to pick something from a past decade? 2. How is this different than google? You can google the most popular baby names of any given year already. P.S. I admit I am not a fan of AI writing or art, definitely a conflict of interest for me. Also my wife/mommy has had a long fascination with baby naming trends since before we met.

This was the day that Takayama was going to die. He knew it with a level of certainty rarely found in life; at least not until the very end. Not that he wanted to die, mind you, but after the screaming and flailing and flipping it was hard to reach any other conclusion. He was pretty sure he’d wet himself, too, which in a way was darkly funny. He’d always heard that the bladder and bowels released after death, but here he was proving them wrong. Not that he’d be able to tell anybody about it…he was going to die in about two seconds. Two seconds would take an eternity. They say one’s life flashes before their eyes as they are about to die. It’s accurate; or accurate enough, anyways; adrenaline kicks in, the senses sharpen, and the brain kicks into overdrive trying to process a way out or at least find an answer to what went wrong. Takayama was no different, and the instant replay on the last twenty-something years was anything but satisfying. Taka was born unlucky to a less than wealthy family. A series of unfortunate events had compounded issues and led him to make bad choices. Not that there had been good choices available; sometimes it was just a matter of picking a bad choice and hoping it was the least awful one. “Life has many opportunities for hardship,” his grandmother had quietly lamented when he was young, “but few for prosperity.” Sobo had been right on the money about that, one. One thing had led to another and so on and so forth had the dominoes of this dreary life toppled. When he was little, Takayama thought he’d get all the power and control when he grew up. He was going to die before thirty but he’d never tasted the promised power of age; he’d only lost the comforts of childhood along the way. Such was real life. By junior high he’d learned that most adults were just faking it; trying to look happy or at least resolved because it was the only way one could function. Money and power were given, not earned, and the only thing that didn’t cost money was dying. Ironic. He’d been hiking along the old and nearly forgotten mountain path because it was free. He’d been bored and depressed and thought the fresh air and exercise would have done him some good. He didn’t think that old ledge would give way on his way back down. It showed no signs of instability on his way up. No such luck. Now, with his body tumbling through the air, a second or so away from being dashed on the rocks, Takayama caught one last glimpse at Machi, the city where he’d spent most of his terrible life. Its cold skyscrapers jutted up to Heaven higher than even the mountain, but lacked the natural beauty of what was about to be his doom. He thought he could make out the building where he’d just bombed his latest job interview. If there had been any air left in his lungs from the screaming, Takayama would have laughed. He was about to die penniless. Literally penniless. He had a negative balance in his bank account and had thrown away his final few scraps of pocket change into the offering bowl at that old overgrown shrine near the top. Call it superstition. Call it nihilism. Call it whatever you want. It’s not like he had enough to take the bus back home when he got back to town. It’s not like he’d be going back to town ever again. Not in this life. Time to find out if reincarnation was real or not. Takayama spent his last milliseconds in this life looking up, his body limp so that the ground would have a nice clean break. At least he’d die viewing the sky. A serpentine blur above him, a jet stream of pure blue, like the sky getting in front of the clouds instead of the other way around. Jutting, zig zagging tree branches with no trunk to call home. A roar more fearsome and primal than any tiger’s. A gust of gold air. Then…darkness. ************************************************************************************************************ Birds chirping. Air stirring. What? Power lines humming. Rail cars rumbling. Car horns honking. Huh? Footsteps in the hallway. People talking on their phones. Walls just thick enough to obscure what is being said, but not that someone is talking, or moving, or eating, or having sex. Faint smells of mildew that the brain quickly filtered out in order to keep its own sanity. How? Home. Takayama was home. He knew it before he even opened his eyes. How was that possible? Why wasn’t he dead? Or if not dead, why wasn’t he bleeding out on the ground or at least in the hospital? Why was he home?! As he opened his eyes, another, more important question came to his mind. Namely, ‘who was this lovely, brown haired woman smiling down at him and why was his head in her lap?’ “Good afternoon, Takayama-kun,” she said. “Did you enjoy your nap?” It sounded so familiar in tone, as if this stranger here in his apartment cradling his head was the most natural thing in the world. Dumbstruck, Takayama gazed up into her eyes, entranced by their unreal beauty. One would expect someone with such natural looking brown hair to have matching eyes, but two dazzling blue orbs stared down at him. The eyes captivated him for only a moment before his own wandered up to her forehead. “Yaaaagh!” he shrieked, and jumped to his feet. His feet were bare. He’d have to deal with that later. Right in this moment, he couldn’t take his eyes off of the jutting protrusions coming out of her skull. “Horns?!” he yelled. “You have horns! HOOOOOOOOOORNS!” They were closer to antlers, in actuality. Twisted, branching, almost gnarled things, like what a proud stag might have in its first spring. Somehow, atop the slender brown haired woman, they seemed almost dainty. It was bizarre, in a way. She sat there comfortably on his futon, wearing a white shirt and a bright blue jumper dress that came down to her ankles and ended in comfortable looking white sneakers. Her plain brown hair came down to her shoulders, and framed her face in a way that made her bright blue eyes pop. She had a beauty to her, but nothing that would drive men wild; more of a comforting girl next door, or a nurturing big sister vibe. Takayama could vaguely remember being in preschool and having a teacher around the same age. He didn’t know how old she was; when you’re three everybody that can pick you up reads as an adult. But he remembered really liking her over the old granny types and it wasn’t until much much later that he realized that she was probably his first bout of innocent puppy-love. This strange woman sitting on his futon gave exactly the same kind of vibes. Except for the horns…. “Hm?” the stranger said. She reached up with a delicate looking hand and touched the bony growths as if she’d forgotten they existed; much like how it was easy to forget one’s belly button until directly reminded. “Why yes, sweetie, they are,” she chirped softly. “I do have horns. Very good!” Evidently, the fact that she had them didn’t disturb her. If anything they were just a teachable moment. Utter disbelief bubbled up inside him and what felt like a thousand questions spilled out. “Who are you, how do you know my name, what are you doing in my apartment, how did we get here, am I dead, why am I not dead-?” They all came out as one giant runaway of thought. At the prospect of being dead, Takayama’s eyes managed to finally pry themselves away from the mysterious woman and down to himself. Just like with the fall, time slowed down for an instant while his adrenaline soaked brain processed all of the sensory data available at once. Was he bruised? Bleeding? Transparent? It was still very possible he was dead, after all. Being dead would explain the chill around his legs. But he had to pee. Dead people didn’t have to pee, did they? In less than a breath even more information flooded his synapses yet again. He was wearing his same light red breezy t-shirt from his hike up the mountain, but he was barefoot. And not wearing pants. What he was wearing, however, was white and puffy and crinkled when he moved even a little bit. “WHY AM I IN DIAPER???” LIke an incantation the words spoken red faced and aloud caused time to speed back up to its usual pace. Takayama found himself standing bow legged thanks to the diaper taped snugly over his hips. Not knowing what else to do, the young man did his best to cover his shame, crossing his hands over the massive diaper. The gesture did nothing to hide the undergarment. He’d tried to close his legs, but the padding was so thick that his knees couldn’t even touch. The only thing he succeeded in doing was covering up a few of the embarrassing cartoon prints around his crotch! How?! Why?! He didn’t even know they made baby diapers this big! He didn’t know that there were babies this big! The strange woman giggled quietly behind her hand, as if his humiliation and shock was merely quaint; endearing even. “You don’t need to be embarrassed,” she told him. “You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.” It was like something his mother would say when she walked in on him in the shower growing up. “BUT WHY?!” Takayama wasn’t normally so loud, but extraordinary times called for extraordinary volumes. The fact that he had a diaper on also made him uncomfortably aware of how much he needed to go to the bathroom. Remaining seated, and perfectly calm yet cheery, the horned lady spoke up. “My you’re a curious little thing!” she said. “So full of questions. Even for a human you’re an inquisitive little chatterbox.” A bead of uncomfortable sweat formed on Takayama’s brow. “Human?” The designation implied that she wasn’t human. “Oh dear,” the woman giggled. “I guess It isn’t obvious.” “What isn’t?” Takayama asked. Instead of clarifying, the woman opted to show him. She stood up from the futon, took a deep breath, and then… POOF! A cloud engulfed the tiny apartment, and the smokey, flowery scent of incense invaded Takayama’s nostrils. The boards groaned with the added stress of sudden weight and a current of warm wind blew past his face as new mass rapidly expanded and pushed air particles out of the way. Just as quickly as it had appeared, the smoke dissipated, and Takayama’s eyes beheld something even more unbelievable than a pretty girl with horns or a comically big diaper. A dragon- a massive serpent with legs and a fearsome maw that belonged on something prehistoric- now stood where the young woman once was. More than that, it was also in the tiny kitchenette in his apartment, and its tail was in the bathroom. The massive, sky blue scaled monster wound and coiled around the whole of Takayama’s apartment. “I had to take another form so I could fit into your home.” In another bizarre twist, the same dainty, feminine voice came out of the dragon’s mouth. The jagged, branch-like horns seemed more appropriate to this form. “I’m Kurai, by the way.” “Kurai?” Takayama echoed. He reached around in the back of his brain. Why did that seem familiar? That was the name of the trail he’d just watched. No… “That’s the name of the mountain!” “Mhm,” the woman chirped. “That’s right. I’m the spirit of that mountain.” The embarrassed color drained from Takayama’s face. The great beast surrounding him, staring did not look like a ‘Kurai’. “Oh,” he whispered, suddenly very, very quiet. What else could he say? He could deny it, and shout that dragons were not real, but why deny his senses? POOF! The smoke coalesced around the serpentine spirit beast and collapsed in on itself. A second later, standing in front of the futon in her plain white shirt and blue jumper was the same pretty brown haired woman before. “So I think that answers that question,” she said. “What were the other ones?” Seeing the impossible happen right in front of his eyes had an oddly calming effect on the young man. His mind gripped even harder to the calm and rational to counterbalance the existential panic that was looming up in the back of his mind. “Why are we back here?” he asked again. “I thought I was going to die back on that mountain.” The dragon-woman (wow that was so weird thinking of her like that) nodded patiently and smoothed out her dress. “Why wouldn’t I save you?” she asked. “You left an offering at my shrine. So I caught you.” Something so amazing and impossible spoken so casually. Takayama nodded, feeling so overwhelmed that he was oddly calm. “And my apartment?” “Your wallet had your address on it,” the dra…-Kurai, she had a name- said. “I took you home. Next time, your Mommy should just pin a note to your shirt.” The sudden burst of gratitude burst past his pride and bewilderment concerning his state of dress or little jests implying he was a child. Instead, incredibly bravely considering the circumstances, Takayama waddled up to the woman and threw his arms around her shoulders. “Thank you,” he almost sobbed. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! You saved my life! I’m so incredibly grateful!” The Buddhist proverb about the tiger and the strawberry came to mind. His life wasn’t much, but it was still his, and knowing how close he’d been to losing it all made him. Kurai petted his hair and quietly guided both of them back to the couch that doubled as Takayama’s bed. When he’d calmed down enough, he had the wherewithal to physically separate himself from his mystical savior. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t usually get so emotional.” “It’s okay,” Kurai replied with absolute care and kindness. “Emotions can be hard at first.” She added, “You’ve had a really eventful day.” She had no idea. Literally. How rare was it for a human to meet a real life dragon? Rare enough that they were considered mythical fairy tales. The stuff for children’s puppet shows and storybooks. His eyes tried to dart down to his feet, but zeroed in again on the diaper instead. “Why the diaper, though?” he asked. “And where’d you get it? Kurai cocked an eyebrow. Her beautiful blue eyes unblinking. “Hm? When I caught you I saw that you’d had an accident,” she said simply. “Your pants were soaking wet. I thought you’d wriggled out of yours or something so I decided to help you.” She smiled and said, “It was no bother at all. I just had to pop into a store. They didn’t have any in your size but I fixed that.” To illustrate her point she reached over the back of the futon and pulled out a package. It was vaguely rectangular and covered in flimsy plastic. The package had a picture of a smiling baby on it, and the label indicated that there were meant to be twelve diapers total inside. It was just a travel pack, the kind sold in gas stations and convenience stores for emergencies. Unlike something meant for babies, however, the package was so large it could have doubled as a large throw pillow or a small couch cushion. That was because much like his horned savior shortly before, the package’s contents had dramatically increased in size. The top had been shredded open and two diapers wilted out of the hole like tissues in a box. They were still tightly packed in a glance, but at least one was missing and it didn’t take a genius to figure out where it was. Takayama’s jaw almost came unhinged. So this really was a baby diaper he was wearing! He wouldn’t have believed it but moments ago the woman sitting next to him had been covered in blue scales and could have crushed him beneath her claws or gored him on her horns. “What do you mean ‘pop into a store?” he whimpered, cursing himself for asking. “I carried you in and asked.” Kurai shrugged. “There was a nice older lady who helped me pick them out. Told me everything I needed to know. Helped me get the most absorbent and comfy brand. She told me those are the kind her grandchildren wear. No safety pins needed. Isn’t that just neat? She walked me through changing you and said you looked very peaceful and cute after I put it on.” Immediately, Takayama knew he’d be spending the rest of his life hiding his face around little old ladies in convenience stores. The only words that he could muster were a stammering “I…I…I…I…” Oblivious to his emotional distress, Kurai’s head started turning as she carefully scanned the room. “Though I’ve been looking around and I haven’t found any more since we got here. Do you not have any more diapers, Takayama? Are you out?” Mortified, Takayama rose to his feet and stood as straight as he could in an attempt to salvage his dignity. “I don’t wear diapers! I’m not a baby!” “But you were wet…” Kurai countered. Again, she said it so simply, so much like it was a matter of fact; a minor inconvenience at best instead of something he should be ashamed of. He wasn’t ashamed, but not in the way she was implying. “I fell off a cliff! Who wouldn’t pee themselves?!” Brilliant blue eyes blinked and Kurai stroked her human chin. “Hmmm, I guess that's a fair point.” She looked around the tiny, admittedly cluttered room. “But why is this place so messy? She asked. Are you sure you’re not a little boy who’s just playing house?” Not for the first time since he woke up, did Takayama feel intense shame. He was never the most organized or particularly cleanly. “Ummm?” “Even if you’re not a baby,” Kurai said, “you’re definitely having trouble taking care of yourself.” He felt the full weight of her gaze on him and looked away. She gasped and the sharp intake of air turned into another girlish giggle. “Look at you!” she explained, “You say you’re not a baby, but you’re already wet!” “Huh? No I’m-...” Takayama looked down at the diaper. He suddenly realized that he hadn’t felt the urge to pee since Kurai had transformed into a giant horned monster. She’d scared him so badly that he’d wet his pants again. “The-line-turned-blue!” Kurai said in a sing-song voice. “I-know-what-that-means! The lady at the store told me.” She rose and started taking steps toward him. “Looks like a lot, too. Let’s get you changed, okay?” Changed? Takayama did not like where this was headed. “Um…that’s okay,” he said, taking a step back. “That’s not needed Miss dragon lady ma’am.” “Please,” she said, still coming closer. “Call me Kurai. How about you lay down? We can talk after you’re dry and clean.” His apartment was so small that he had no hope of getting away from her. His back was pressed against the door. “Th-th-that’s really not necessary, Kurai.” “Oh?” Kurai said, clearly not believing him. “Do you mean you’re really okay with sitting and talking and playing in a wet diaper?” “What? No!” “That doesn’t sound like something an adult would say,” she teased. “For a second I thought you might be a big boy and that you didn’t have any diapers left because you were potty training. But if you’re so determined to stay wet…” The young man felt his heart jackhammering inside of him. “That’s not what I mean at all!” “We can keep playing and talking,” the horned woman said firmly. “After I change you.” THUD-THUD-THUD! The pounding from the other side of the door was so hard that Takayma felt his sternum rattling around. “Takayama!” a growling, deep throated voice thundered, “open up! You’re three days past due!” “It’s my landlord!” Takayama yelped. “Land? Lord?” Kurai frowned, as if the very concept was foreign to her. Being a dragon, it very well could have been. “I thought you humans would have been done with feudalism by- Hey! Where did you go?” Takayama poked his head out from behind the futon. “We’re not here! Hide!” He shouldn’t have been able to sneak past the dragon in humanoid form, especially not in a bulging, sagging, sopping wet diaper. It’s miraculous what can be accomplished when one is afraid and the rent is due. The diaper itself was providing extra incentive. “I can’t let him see me like this…” he hissed. “Oh silly!” Kurai shook her head. “Wanting to play hide and seek?” THUD-THUD-THUD! “Takayama!” His landlord shouted. “I can hear you in there! Come out or get thrown out!” “Hmph. Someone needs to learn some manners,” Kurai said. She reached for the doorknob and Takayama’s blood ran cold. What was she going to do to his landlord? Eat him? Set him on fire? Put him in a diaper, too? Takayama was pretty sure any of those options were illegal. “No,” he called from his hiding spot, not brave enough to step forward, “don’t.” Too late. The door flung open, revealing a balding middle aged man with a beer gut and a bowling shirt, stinking of cigar smoke. “Takaya-!” The landlord stopped when he saw Kurai. “Who are you?” “I’m sorry,” Kurai said, folding her hands in front of her, politely. “Takayama can’t come out to play right now. He just woke up from a nap after almost falling off a cliff.” The landlord looked flabbergasted, hearing his tenant referred to, as if he were a small child, understandably caught him off guard. “Huh?” “I was about to change him and get him an afternoon snack,” Kurai said. “Come back later with a note from your Mommy and you can play if you want to.” The man’s face fell for an instant but he quickly recovered. “Look, lady, I don’t know who you think you are, but I’m here for Takayama’s rent. I heard you and him talking and if he doesn’t pay me my rent I’m throwing his deadbeat ass out on the street.” “Rent?” Kurai said, curiously. “What is rent?” A landlord being asked what rent is is like a baseball player being asked what a bat was. It’s such a part of their daily lives that the concept of people not knowing the word was confusing to him. “What do you mean ‘what is rent’? I own this place, and if that loser doesn’t pay me what he owes me, he’s in for a world of hurt and a night of cold air!” The horned woman nodded. “Pay?” she said. “You want money?” “Yes! Pay!” the landlord barked. “Money! Now!” “Can I pay you the money instead?” “I don’t care if the friggin’ Queen of Sheba gives me my money. I just want my money!” “And you’ll leave us alone if I give you money?” The dragon didn’t sound afraid or angry; more like an adult trying to understand the rules to an overly complicated and nonsensical children’s game. The landlord smacked his forehead. “For a month, yeah. Then the rent is due again.” “Ooooooh!” Kurai said, seeming to finally understand. “Okay. I can do that.” From behind the futon and inside the hallway, respectively, Takayama and his cantankerous landlord watched as Kurai’s mouth opened wide. “Ug…ug….ugh…” Both men stood and watched, perplexed while uncomfortable gagging noises came up and out of the girl’s mouth. “Hey…what are you?” but the landlord cut himself off when Kur reached down her own throat down to the elbow. There was a sickening wet sound when her arm came back up, and in her hand was a gleaming white pearl the size of a ping-pong ball. Takayama’s landlord looked like he was about to have a heart attack. For the first time that day, his countenance was of someone who had just witnessed the impossible, yet his gaze was fixed solidly onto the massive pearl in Kurai’s dainty hand and not her horns or mouth. “Is…is that thing real…?” Kurai placed the still wet pearl in his hand. “Yes. Will this be enough so that Takayama doesn’t need to play rent this month?” The landlord looked down at his palm and back up to the woman who had just regurgitated. “Uh…yeah…” “Good,” Kurai said. “See you next month.” She didn’t wait for a reply. Instead she slammed the door right in his face. If the grouch objected, he didn’t say anything. Takayama jumped back over the futon, not caring how ridiculous he looked “What was that?!” he asked. Not understanding, Kurai restated the events that had just transpired. “He wanted money, so I gave it to him so he would go away.” “Yeah, but where did you get that money from?!” The brown haired woman with antlers waved the question off. “Oh, I have lots of pearls. They form naturally in me, so it’s no trouble getting rid of them. I hope it makes him happy.” “But that pearl must have been worth a fortune!” “Silly Taka-chan,” Kurai laughed. “I’m a dragon. A spirit. Spirits don’t care about money.” “Then why did you care about the money I left at that shrine?!” he demanded. Kurai laughed again. “It’s not about money, it’s about sacrifice. People who have a lot must give a lot. An emperor has so much, he’d have to give up his country for someone like me to notice. But the poor and unfortunate have so little to give that they lose so much more when they do.” She walked towards him and tickled him under his chin with her index finger. “Those coins were among your last worldly possessions, so it was a very big tribute!” Her voice went squeaky and she pinched his cheeks. “Yes it was! Such a big tribute! One that I’m enthusiastically honored and bound to repay!” Takayama pulled back away from her pinching fingers. “How big?” he rubbed his sore cheeks. “Honestly?” Kurai said, grinning. “I thought you might have been a child at first. Usually those are the only ones that have tributes even close to that level, since they don’t own anything. Yours felt much much bigger, though.” “See?!” Takayama said. “That proves I’m not a kid! So all this talk about babies and diapers is unnecessary. Kurai leaned forward and gave him a playful, mischievous grin. “I know you’re not a child. Not just any child. I figured it out.” Takayama allowed himself a sigh of relief. “Oh. Good.” A weak smile started to form on his face. “You’re an orphan!” The twenty something man was so taken aback that he fell down to the floor, his fall broken by the fluffy padding taped to his bottom. “Wha-?!” “That’s why your gift was so good!” Kurai explained. “You’re not just a baby, you’re an orphan baby! You don’t have anyone to take care of you or love you. No toys or allowance. You probably had to beg in the streets for those few coins that you gave me. It was so precious and sweet!” She was starting to tear up with joy. “My parents are both alive!” Takayama insisted, feeling quite offended. The river of tears pouring from Kurai’s sky blue eyes suddenly doubled. “Oh no! An abandoned orphan! That’s even sadder! You poor thing! It all makes complete sense, now!” She was more than just a spirit or a dragon. She was also a crazy person. Her tears stopped as quickly as they’d started. “Don’t you worry now, little Taka-chan! You’re not alone anymore. You’ve got Nanny Kurai to take care of you!” Her playful grin turned evil. “Now let’s get you changed.” Pride and panic coalesced into a moment of inspiration. Takayama looked towards a laundry basket a few feet away. Then he looked to the open bathroom door. “Um…okay,” he said. “But do you have baby wipes?” The dragon lady standing over him tilted her head? “You mean those flimsy rags that you throw away after wiping?” “Yes!” he yelped. “Those!” Kurai snapped her fingers. “Darn it. You’re right! I forgot to get some at the store. They seemed very convenient, too.” She leaned over, but at least her hands were aiming for his armpits and not his diaper. “You’re wet, but your diaper will hold for a quick trip to the store.” “Or…” Takayama said, finally a step ahead. “You could just use a washcloth.” She followed his gaze over to the bathroom. “Yes,” she smiled. “That’s a very good idea for the short term. So clever!” Kurai stood up, leaving Takayama on the floor and she walked towards the bathroom. “I’ll make sure to warm it up, too,” she clucked. “I’m sure that will feel much nicer.” She found a wet washcloth at the bottom of the tub and rinsed it in the sink, adding a healthy amount of soap. A slight puff of air from her lips warmed the water enough so that it would be pleasant on his delicate skin. She rang the rag out, careful to use only enough force so that it wasn’t dripping. “Okay,” she called. “Let’s get you sorted-” But when she turned around and exited the bathroom, the boy was nowhere to be seen. The only clue left was an open window leading to a fire escape. “Hm? Where did he go?” ***************************************************************************************************** Out on the streets, Takayama was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. “This is all crazy,” he said to himself, running as fast and as far as he could while still trying to seem inconspicuous among the milling crowds of people going about their business. “I’m hallucinating. This is a fever dream.” Even he didn’t believe the words he was saying. On some fundamental level he knew everything that had happened was real. Denying helped. “Or I’m dead and this is Hell.” He took a moment to stop looking over his shoulder, and down at his pants. “Maybe not Hell. Limbo?” That didn’t sound quite right either. “Maybe this is one of the Samsara Realms and I am preta…” He sounded crazy. Felt crazy, too. He certainly looked crazy enough. His hair was disheveled, and he was running around on hot asphalt completely barefoot. The baggy red shorts he slipped on over the diaper weren’t baggy enough and anyone who looked at him with any kind of scrutiny could likely see just how puffy and round his crotch and backside were compared to the rest of him. He’d been too hurried to grab his shoes, and too afraid that the crazy dragon lady would hear him ripping the tapes off his diaper. Velcro was very loud and dragons probably had excellent hearing. So he was left ducking, weaving, and waddling, while looking over his shoulder looking every bit the toddler who had run away from his mommy. “Mom!” Takayama said to himself. “I can go to my parents’ place! They can hide me!” He looked back over his shoulder anyways. “But where do I go,” he wondered, “to take off my dia-?” OOF! For the third time that day, Takayama fell. This time it was because he’d smacked himself straight into a brick wall in human form. For the second time that day his fall was broken by the cushion of pulp and padding he’d been forced to wear. “Hey!” the stranger said. “Watch where you’re going you…! Takayama?” This was no stranger. Splay legged on the ground, Takayama gazed up at who he had just collided with. A mountain of a man with a chiseled chin and a scar on his face. Beside him were young men close to or only slightly older than Takayama, dressed much more nicely than he or most people his age could afford to. Just as he had with Kurai’s horns, Takayama couldn’t help but stare at their left pinkies; each one missing the tip down to the first knuckle. These were not friends. “Hey Itsuki,” Takayama gulped. “It’s good to see you.” The men circled around Takayama, wolves cutting off a prey’s escape. The biggest one, Itsuki, reached down and yanked Takayama up to his feet. “You too, bud. You too.” He held Takayama close to him, draping his tree trunk arms over Takayama’s shoulders. “We were just over at your place but you were out. Let’s catch up.” They were already walking into an alley. Itsuki’s lackeys in front and behind them, providing a screen. “Sure,” Takayama mumbled, feigning that he had a choice. Getting the attention of a magical spirit beast was beginning to look very tempting right then. So was falling off a mountain cliff. Life was filled with opportunities for hardship, and too often the best choice still wasn’t a particularly good one. Getting in deep with loan sharks so he could pay rent and still eat had been one such choice. It would have been fine, he’d told himself, as long as he kept his job. The company had decided to make cutbacks a month later, leaving Takayama to pay the loan back with part of their own money. There was always the matter of interest. A cinderblock of a fist made its way into Takayama’s gut the second they were all in the alleyway. “That’s for making us look for you,” Itsuki said, his voice glacier-cold. Takayama almost collapsed but the other thugs held him up. A second fist upside his head made Takayama go deaf for a moment, leaving him unable to hear the mean spirited snickers of his assailants. “That’s for bumping into me.” Itsuki said some more but it was hard to hear it past the sudden ringing in his ears. Stupidly, Takayama turned his head this way and that, hoping for a miracle. To his right was the way he’d been dragged in. To his left was a dead end. That was fitting. "Yo,” one of Itsuki’s little henchmen snickered. “Is this guy wearing a diaper?" Takayama wasn’t given the benefit of a rebuttal. No sooner was the question posed than it was answered the old fashioned way, leaving his shorts puddled around his ankles. He was hurting too much to feel humiliated, and was too dizzy and weak to look away. He couldn’t even pull his shorts back up as his arms were being held. "Doesn't the Kageru gang run one of those weird kink brothels?” Another of the street toughs asked his friends. “How much you wanna bet he was there?" The man mountain, Itsuki, shrugged. "Hey kid, no judgment. You can get your kicks however you want.” He wagged a finger that was the size of Itsuki’s nose. “But you should be paying back what you owe first. With your interest you can't afford to be getting your ass powdered." He grabbed Takayama’s face and started pressing the back of his skull up against the alley. Takayama thought he could hear his bones cracking. “Can you?” “No, Itsuki,” Takayama said. “I can’t. I’m sorry!” “‘Sorry’ don’t pay my bills, kid.” Through the spaces between the gangster’s fingers, Takayama saw his assailant reach into his pocket. The knife he produced looked more like a scalpel in the man’s ham hock fists. “‘Sorry’ don’t keep your kidneys, either.” Takayama slammed his eyes closed. Falling off that cliff would have been better… "Yo guys,” one of Inati’s minions said. “We got company…” Standing in the alleyway, head held high, wearing a white shirt and blue jumper dress was a pretty brown haired woman with the most piercing blue eyes and oddly enough a pair of horns protruding from out her forehead. One fist was tightly clenched. The other held a new pack of baby wipes. “What is this despicable display?” Kurai demanded, marching forward. She was fearless, because of course she was. “Who are you,” Itsuki asked. “His mom?” It wasn’t funny but it got a laugh from the assembled underlings. “Nah,” Itsuki said. “You’re too young and pretty. His girlfriend?” That earned even more laughter from his band of sycophants. He took his hand off of Takayama’s face and swaggered over to her. “Let me guess. Little punk skipped out on paying you, too.” “If you must know,” Kurai spat, “he ran away from home when I was about to change his diaper.” The alleyway erupted with laughter; so much so that Takayama was allowed to slink back down to the alley floor. The horns started to pulsate with crackling energy, but the gangsters kept right on laughing. TheWhy did no one but him seem to notice the horns? More importantly, why hadn’t anyone noticed her shadow? There in the alleyway, with the sun spotlighting her perfectly, Kurai’s shadow did not match her silhouette. Itsuki waved the knife tauntingly. He was a head taller than her in her present form and had no idea that she had others. “Look lady, I don’t know what he owes you, but I”m damn sure he owes our boss a lot more. So why don’t you piss off and let the men talk? We’re not gonna kill him this time, but he needs a reminder to keep up with his payments. You can have what’s left of him after we-” DON! Itsuki didn’t get to finish his sentence. With a single, openhanded slap thundered like a cannon and sent all three hundred pounds of Itsuki’s pure muscle flipping end over end like dime through the air until he left a man mountain sized dent in the dead end wall. The only thing that signaled he might be alive was the low rumbling groan he emitted while his body skidded down to the floor. Takayama looked up and over at Kurai. The woman’s bright blue eyes glowed hot red and her horns sparked with lightning. Before he lost consciousness, Takayama heard the dragon lady say one word. “Unacceptable.” ************************************************************************************************** Takayama was falling again, tumbling through the air. Any second now his body would be dashed upon the rocks. But as time slowed down he realized how miserable his life had been up to that moment. Instead of the sad acceptance of his fate, a different, almost content feeling washed over him. Something warm and cozy. Pleasant even. It was almost as if he was swaddled in warm comforting blankets. “Come on,” a now familiar voice coaxed him. “Can’t have you sleeping all day, now.” Takayama opened his eyes and saw a perfectly cheery and content Kurai smiling down at him. His head was back in her lap with her deadly yet delicate fingers running through his hair. “That’s right. Two naps is more than enough for one day, I think.” “Where am I?” Takayama asked. That’s what he’d meant to ask, but the massive rubber bulb of the pacifier he’d been suckling on impossibly slurred his speech beyond recognition. Kurai seemed to understand him, anyway. “It’s okay,” she cooed at him. “You’re safe back home. Your Nanny Kurai made those awful men go away. They won’t be bothering you anymore.” She sat him up enough so that she could wrap her arms around his torso and pull him in for a hug. Unlike Itsuki’s embrace, this one had no malice behind it. “Fankoo,” he mumbled. Looking down at himself, Takayama realized that he was no longer in a diaper. Correction: He was no longer in just a diaper. He was also wearing a light blue onesie that matched her jumper, a yellow bib was tied around his neck, too. Then there was the pacifier. Interestingly, he noticed, his tiny apartment looked cleaner than it had ever been; possibly cleaner than it had before he’d moved in. “Your life is very troublesome, Taka-Chan,” the dragon in human form said. “I think you need someone to look after you.” She hugged him a little harder and that warm cozy feeling washed over him again. Takayama hugged her back. What choice did he have? It might be nice to have a pretty Nanny Dragon to help him keep awful people away while he put his life together. “Mkay,” he slurred over his pacifier. Like his impending doom, that moment of contentment stretched out longer to him than was scientifically possible. Also like his earlier brush with death, it was not meant to last. Takayama’s nose twitched. THAT SMELL!!! Only one thing smelled like that! And it was coming from Takayama! Kurai stood up from the futon, and brought Takayama with her. She was so strong that she held him out away from her, keeping his feet dangling. “Uh oh!” she cooed. “I think I’ve got a stinky silly baby on my hands!” She looked absolutely proud and ecstatic just in saying it. The humiliated young man spit out his pacifier. “What? Why?!” Then he asked, “What happened? What did you do?!” With no effort, she transported him down to a changing mat on the floor. She’d done even more shopping while he’d fainted. “You seemed really stressed. I just wanted to help you relax,” Kurai told him. “And then I realized that somebody tried to teach you to go potty before. That’s why you’re so confused and fussy.” She laughed, mostly to herself. “How silly! A baby doesn’t need to know how to go potty!” With one hand she reached for a fresh diaper. With the other she popped open a package of baby wipes. “So I just did a little magic and pop, pop, pop,” each utterance of pop accompanied the unfastening of his onesie, “and bye bye potty training!” “Why?!” he asked. His indignation did nothing to stop her from shimming the onesie up past his belly button, revealing a thoroughly used diaper. “Why would it be a problem? You don’t use the potty anyway.” “My potty training was one of the few things I had!” Takayama shrieked. “Practically the only thing!” To his horror and frustration, Takayama realized that he couldn’t even remember the steps used in going to the bathroom. He was a literal blank slate as far as toileting went. “It was!” Kurai agreed. “That’s what made it so sweet!” She blew raspberries into his tummy. Much to Takayama’s, he felt a little more pee sprinkle out of him. “Don’t worry. You’ll get it back when you’re ready. Until then, my widdle Taka-chan is gonna have his Miss Kurai to take care of him.” The sound of giant velcro tapes coming undone could be heard through the paper thin walls of the apartment complex. So could Takayama’s ensuing tantrums. Some little ones just hated getting their diapers changed, Kurai supposed. That day was the day Takayama experienced a very strange backwards form of reincarnation? In a figurative sense, it felt that everything before today no longer mattered in Takayama’s life. He was starting life from the beginning again. Everything before this moment no longer really mattered, and that there would be many more changes- both literal and figurative- to come. (The End)

Chapter 91: Blind It’s weird how your senses deceive you, or more accurately how your brain filters out sensory input given enough time. I’m no biologist, but I suspect it’s a survival thing balancing itself with a psychological health thing. New and uncommon sounds can be scary because they represent a potential danger. Bad smells and tastes warn of poison or disease. Extreme or foreign temperatures might be a warning from without or within. Flashes of movement in your peripheral vision warn you of upcoming dangers like predators, runaway cars, or Amazons whipping out pacifiers. Normal things, get tuned out, however. Over time your brain stops actively registering chirping birds, and you don’t notice the hum of electricity in the lights, the fan, or the heater until the power goes out. The pizza delivery guy doesn’t smell the overpowering odor of pepperoni in his car after a long night. You don’t appreciate good food as much as you avoid spoiled food and people who live in a swamp barely notice the heat and humidity most days. My old morning routine of grabbing a breakfast shake and scootering over to work was all one big blur most days provided nobody ran a red light. Notice however, that I’m talking about ‘normal’ and not ‘good’ or ‘safe’. Ground up canned meat isn’t half as good as a fresh steak, but stick to it long enough and your tongue acclimates. Somebody with a limp or a trick knee stops noticing the regular ache or the awkward gait. You see the dangling electric wire just above the shower and learn to ignore it because you can’t fix it. Unobservant cat owners never notice what’s wrong with the litter box until the eleventh hour. Your brain registers the dip in quality, but it eventually accepts and filters out the data as ‘normal’ and thus stops actively alerting you to it at every opportunity. Your mind is like “Well…it’s not good…but it’s not an immediate threat and can’t be fixed so… good enough,” and it starts to filter these things out as much as possible. The battle has been lost, time to focus on things that can still be won. That’s why after enough time, I stopped noticing the crinkle whenever I or another babied Little moved. The feeling of a wet diaper stopped being uncomfortable up until I was on the verge of leaking. The smell of stale urine was almost automatically filtered out of my nose, and unless someone went particularly heavy on the baby powder or took a particularly rank dump in their pants it could be easy enough to miss or at least second guess what you were sniffing. I stopped noticing the waddle and toddle that we all tended to move with. Full time crawlers like Amy and Chaz still registered as different but not dangerous, so their movement ended up being disregarded. Unconsciously, I had gone from looking away from a fellow Little’s diapers, to hyper fixating on them, to barely noticing them. There was a time when alarm bells would go off on my brain whenever I’d see someone my size padded up. I’d instantly notice the bulk between their legs, or the bits peeking out above waistbands, below skirts, or out from under onesies and my brain would scream at me, “No! Not me! Never me!” Later followed by “No! Not them, too!” There came a point where my brain had decided that certain battles regarding clothing and aesthetics were well lost and that I needed to move on in order to function. I could neither rest nor escape nor rebel if I was constantly focusing on things that were well out of my control, and that included mine and others’ clothing. Even that final threshold of my padding on full display had eventually become less bothersome. I had become numb to so many things that had just become ‘normal’, even if they weren’t ‘good’, so I got to a point where my Monkeez or Koddles or Hippobottomuses or whatever could be seen from space and I wouldn’t blush about it. After enough time, emotionally, a new embarrassing outfit was no more exciting or remarkable than someone getting a bad haircut. If being desensitized was Beouf’s idea of me ‘accepting’ my reduced status, then she was absolutely correct; damn her. The weather started turning against her, however. A chill was in the air the morning after my run in with Ambrose; meaning Janet finally felt she had to dress me in something that more completely covered my legs. The weather around Oakshire being what it was, would be back up to scolding by lunch. However, in the early pre-dawn hours, it would have been a faux parenting faux pas to parade me out in the bus loop in anything more revealing than shorts and knee high socks. I ended up getting better than that. As soon as I’d rubbed the sleep out of my eyes while up on the changing table, Janet set me on my feet wearing nothing but the new diaper she’d just put me in. A quick trip to the closet and she was kneeling in front of me with piles of denim and cotton folded in her arms. “It’s picture retake day,” she told me. “If I give you something nice to wear, do you promise not to mess it up on purpose?” I felt my face heat up. No such quarter should have been given or asked for. Be it real or imagined, I should have been ready to dash even the faintest hint of hope that I’d detected in Janet’s voice right onto the rocks. I held my tongue, however. Overplaying my hand had caused my close call on Tuesday. I could not afford another like it so soon. More to the point, no one had told me the exact date of picture retakes and I’d forgotten to plan anything. Yesterday had been terrible and my close call with Ambrose still burned and sizzled between my ears. The idea that I might have been exposed on the floor in front of my students made the few remaining hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up on end. The idea that a handful of my kids were eagerly watching and ready to stare, point, and laugh at me as ‘the baby’ made those hairs prick up like tiny porcupine quills. With nothing, not even grim pleasure to gain, I nodded my consent and stayed put as she pulled the green polo tee over my head and guided my arms through the sleeves. The head hole was particularly big with extra buttons in front to make up for the relative dearth of elastic in the collar. Any aesthetic of propriety or maturity was quickly overshadowed by the overalls she had me step into. Real adults didn’t have frogs stitched into the bib or the cuffs turned up. “Remember,” Janet warned. “If this gets messed up there’s always the sailor top and hat. No shorts” I remained standing while she slipped socks onto my feet that matched the polo in color and light up sneakers that decidedly didn’t. Looking down so I could keep my balance I felt a queer kind of happiness. It wasn’t quite the inverse of the terrible buzzing feeling I regularly felt on playgrounds or in the fancy store where Jessica had bought these clothes, but its frequency was on a much more positive different wavelength than I was used to feeling. A hot cheese burger is a steak compared to room temperature cat food. A three-year-old’s wardrobe feels infinitely more sophisticated when compared to an eighteen month old’s. This was the first time since my life fell apart that I had any article of clothing come down past my knees. Not only that, but these particular overalls didn’t have any snaps along the inseam. It wasn’t much of one, but it was still a step up. Minus the pacifier clip that was added on last, this looked just below what my students’ might wear (though I’d never recommend their parents put them in something as difficult to remove and refasten while potty training) An idea immediately started brewing in my head. Janet reached down and took my hand. “Come on,” she coaxed. “School time.” She turned out the light to the nursery and together we walked through the mostly dark house, with minute flashes of blue pulsing after every step I took. We stopped in the kitchen and I looked at the clocks on the stove and microwave. We weren’t leaving nearly early enough for another intervention. I squinted when Janet opened the refrigerator and grabbed an Amazon sized breakfast shake. The refrigerator bulb was a lighthouse beacon by comparison. “Can I have one?” I asked. There was no particular reason. No malice or plan beyond curiosity and simple nostalgia. Franz Toast sticks and dry cereal were more filling and tasted better, but I just had a craving. Maybe it was the new clothes. “No,” Janet said, not unkindly. “You get breakfast at school, remember?” I passed on the opportunity to turn this into an argument. It wasn’t worth it. The fridge door was shut and I remembered there was a carton of goat’s milk. “Can I have some milk instead?” Janet eyed me wearily and let go of my hand. The fact that I was asking for the milk made her instantly suspicious. “Why?” “Just thirsty,” I half told the truth. The devious thought of tanking up on liquids had sparked up inside me. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was a fun and nasty impulse and the relatively tame nature of it made escalation or retaliation less likely. After yesterday’s debacle, I just wanted a good bit of malicious compliance; just enough to let my captors know the fight hadn’t quite gone out of me. Janet gripped the handle. “Hmmm….” She sounded more hesitant than when I’d floated the idea of the breakfast shake. Not that I blamed her, rationally speaking. It took more milk to make a body puke than cinnamon, but it could be done. “Come on!” I whined. “It’s milk. It’s in a baby bottle. I want to drink it. I thought that’s what you wanted from me.” I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “I don’t understand you sometimes.” The dig was probably unnecessary. Her hesitation was annoying at worst. Goat’s milk had lost its novelty. It was nothing special. I’d just have to tank up on tap water in Beouf’s room, assuming that we got to school with enough time to ask before Ivy and I were harnessed up. A glance at the clock told me I’d have enough time if we left now. I reached up for Janet’s hand. “Okay. Sorry. Let’s go.” Janet did not take my hand. “Why do you want it?” Damn. I’d shaken her. That gave me no small amount of pride. Even in the darkness of pre-dawn I could feel her wrestling with herself. Her baby crazy and wanting me to be her perfect Little boy was battling the rational part that just plain knew better. I took a step back. Wow. This was certainly unexpected. So was how I replied: “If Beouf and Zoge have to change me, it’s gonna be inconvenient for them because of the extra layers of clothing and no snaps.” Sometimes the truth was the best tool. And yes, the crux of that day’s great rebellion was to purposefully turn a thirty to ninety second process into a three to five minute process, and have it happen multiple times; and thus inconvenience the giants. It was a mean spirited and petty idea; not a silver bullet. It certainly wasn’t Monday’s ‘Love Bomb’. “Really?” Janet sounded confused, maybe even amused or disappointed. “Seriously? That’s it? You want to pee your pants faster to annoy your teachers?” I shrugged and felt myself blush. Not every idea was gonna be a winner. ‘Yeah.” She put her hand to her mouth and stifled a giggle. “That’s…that’s so you, Clark.” “So can I have some milk, or not?” I pressed. I craned my neck and looked at the clock again. This strange battle of wills was dragging out longer than I’d intended. Janet bowed her head and allowed herself a smile. “Yeah. Sure.” Instead of opening the refrigerator, she surprised me by leaning left, opening the cabinet, and taking out an empty bottle and top. Only then did she open up the refrigerator and reach for the purple carton of goat’s milk. “Janet!” I whined. “What are you doing?” I pointed to the pre-filled baby bottle right next to the carton. A similar one had been stocked last week. “You’ve already filled one up. Let’s just take that.” She was already forgetting the diaper bag on the regular, now pre-filled bottles were escaping her notice. I was the one being put to bed way too early, but she was the one that was decidedly not a morning person. My supposed Mommy reached in and froze, her hand hovered between the two containers for a second longer than was comfortable. “Alright,” she said. She slipped the baby bottle full of milk into her hand awkwardly beside the overlarge shake. Then she reached down and took my hand. “Let’s go. You can drink it in the car. No spraying it everywhere.” “Okay…” Crud, I hadn’t even thought of that. On the way out the door, I noticed something was missing from the hook by the door. “Where’s the diaper bag?” I asked. “I already dumped it out, repacked it and put it in the car.” “Touche,” I told her. She’d learned a thing or two. As promised she strapped me into the car seat and handed me the bottle. As predicted her eyes watched me hungrily while I suckled on it. Typical Amazon. I no longer tasted the rubber nipple, my tongue had just accepted that as ‘normal’ even if it wasn’t ‘good’. I gulped the heavy cream down, not even attempting to savor it. There’d be a second course of water to add to things as long as Janet didn’t drive terribly slowly. “Do you like it?” Janet asked. In reply I kept chugging just fast enough to not accidentally induce vomiting. “Yeah,” she said. “You like it.” Less than halfway through our morning commute I finished the bottle and laid my head back, allowing myself a belch followed by a massive yawn. I ignored Janet’s “Awwww” and allowed myself to zone out. I felt…strangely tranquil. Not quite drowsy, not quite a food coma. I wasn’t sleepy but it would have been easy enough to allow myself to go to sleep. I’d never had a major surgery before, but I’d always heard how there are anti-anxiety drugs and light sedatives that make it so that the patient wouldn’t be overly stressed prior to being put under anesthetic. It was kind of like that. “Tired?” Janet prodded from the driver’s seat. I drew in a deep breath, causing me to consciously recognize how much my breathing had slowed. “No.” “Would you like some more at bedtime?” Janet dared to ask. “Milk helps a lot of people sleep.” Cautious as she was being, she was still enjoying this too much. The possible implications that Janet had finally figured out how to listen to my nightly hate whispers and was trying to knock me out didn’t come to me until the ride home from school that day when she offered it again. Feeling incredibly calm I decided to deflect and parry where I once might have simply butted heads. “If milk makes people sleepy, why do we serve it for breakfast…or lunch? Aren’t we supposed to be productive or something immediately after?” “Ha!” Janet replied. “Good point. You’d think we’d push milk as a dessert food instead of part of a balanced breakfast.” A beat. “You’re still going to eat your breakfast, right?” After downing the milk I wasn’t particularly hungry but felt like I could eat. “Sure.” “Good.” A few minutes later, I toddle walked ahead of Janet, slightly energized by the early caloric intake, and partly because I was in a rush. Beouf opened the door for me, waiting at the threshold. “Good morning, Clark.” I bit my tongue to stop anything untoward from coming out. The smile I produced was hollow and didn’t reach my eyes. “Good morning, Mrs. Beouf. How are you?” Beouf’s didn’t reach hers either. Wonderful. “I’m well, Clark. I like your new outfit. You look very handsome” I gave a stiff, overly formal bow. “Thank you, ma’am. My Auntie Jessie bought it for me last Friday.” Beouf’s expression darkened slightly. I’d just told her I’d been rewarded for bad behavior. She allowed me to slide past her and I walked into the classroom with the same relative comfort and familiarity that I’d possessed when I would saunter in from the back entrance. I closed my eyes and inhaled, savoring the smell of java that still permeated the air. My brain had yet to fully filter that nostalgic scent out. “I hope you enjoyed your morning coffee…” I needn’t have bothered adding in ‘...without me.’ She heard those last two words inside the silence. Beouf remained genial, but curt. “I did. Thank you…” Janet followed up behind me, diaper bag in tow. She dug into the overstuffed thing and pulled out half a dozen diapers. “I haven’t been keeping track but I gotta figure we’re almost out.” Beouf took the Monkeez from Janet and pivoted to pass the potty pants over my head to Zoge behind me. “This should last for at least two days with what we have left. Maybe till the end of the week.” “It might not,” Janet said. “I’ll bring you a big box from home just in case.” I saw Beouf shoot her a slightly confused look, to which Janet replied, “I’ll catch you up on the way up front.” She held the door open for Beouf and the pair slinked off together, leaving me alone with the Zoges. Speaking of the Yamatoan and her pet, while she busied herself adding Janet’s donation to my personal stack in the bathroom, her so-called daughter kept a respectful distance. “Hello, Clark.” Ivy said. She was dressed in the exact same hoity toity princess outfit she’d worn on Friday. She gave me a curtsey, same as always. “You look very cute today.” “Thanks,” I said. I flinched at my own slip up and kicked myself. ‘Cute’ is not something I wanted to be, but stupid small talk would get me in less trouble than telling her to shove it. “Why are you wearing that thing?” I gestured to the outfit. “My Mommy dressed me in it.” I kicked myself again. Should’ve seen that response coming. “Yeah,” I told her. “But why? You got your picture taken before we all…blergh!” I mimed a stream of projectile vomit shooting out of my mouth and spilling onto the floor. “You don’t need to do any retakes.” Ivy’s eyes refused to blink, instead boring into me and challenging me. “Why do I need a reason to dress pretty?” “You just said that you didn’t dress…” I stopped myself. Ivy had internalized so much of the giants’ circular logic traps over her years of captivity that she could utilize them almost as naturally as they could. “Nevermind,” I said. I called out, “Mrs. Zoge, I’m thirsty. Can I please get a bottle of water please?” Zoge came out of the bathroom weilding a faded purple hairbrush. There were three people in my life that could hold an implement like that and I wouldn’t have taken it as a direct or implied threat. Zoge was one of them, so my brain filtered out the object as nothing more than a curiosity. “The opportunity for second chances is one that is plentiful to children and increasingly rare for adults,” she said. I chewed on my tongue as the riddle sunk in. “Hmm?” “Ivy did not enjoy Picture Day. This is a second chance for her.” She was answering for her so-called daughter. Made sense. “Ah. So about that water…” My question went unanswered at first. Zoge took a knee and lightly gripped my shoulder with her free hand. “Hold still.” I was given no time to question. The classroom aide took the hairbrush and started dragging it over my scalp. “Ow. Ow. Ow.” I flinched and fidgeted as the bristles scratched at my scalp and flattened out my hair. “Why?” “Your hair is messy and it’s picture day,” Zoge said. “You need a haircut.” My speech came out in short stuttering bursts in time with the little nips and pinches that came with Zoge trying to untangle my overgrown curly carrot top. “Tell that. Ow. To. Ow. My Mommy.” Had I been in charge of my own hair, I’d have either cut it at home at least twice already or gelled it flat. Conversely, if I still needed to shave, I’d probably look like a wild animal by now. The difference in aesthetic between a messy toddler and a homeless person was a matter of stubble. “Ow!” I yelped. That last pass really stung! “Sorry, baby.” Zoge looked over her shoulder. “Ivy. Can you get me a wipe, please?” Ivy rushed to obey and got a spare pack from Zoge’s activity table. Zoge paused in scraping my head long enough for me to start patting my face and clothing. Had my morning milk dribbled onto my clothes or something? The wipes, as it turned out, were for the top of my head. Zoge released my shoulder and started patting my head down with wipes in an attempt to wet it. “Really?” I whined. “I’m doing my best,” Zoge said evenly. “Just a few stubborn spots left.” “Maybe you could spit in his hair?” Ivy suggested. I couldn’t tell if she was saying that to agitate me or whether that was her lack of personal boundaries and hygiene coming into play. Zoge ignored her and kept pawing at my hair with the brush. I paid closer attention to the brush strokes and made a mental image of how I was starting to look. “At least don’t part it in the middle,” I grunted. “Part it to the left.” Oddly enough, she did. At least there was one thing an Amazon would listen to me about. Zoge lowered the brush to the floor and dangled the pacifier in front of my face. “Do you want to put this in your pocket or to have it out?” My face went blank. Something wasn’t computing for me. “Away? Pocket?” Velcro ripped open on my bib and Zoge placed the binky inside. I looked down in amazement at the strand running from my collar down to the stitched frog on my chest. Why hadn’t I thought of that? Granted it wasn’t much of an improvement, but it was an improvement nonetheless. The flap on the bib took up the stop off of the frog’s head, so opening the pocket made the amphibian open its mouth. The red pacifier ribbon running from the bib pocket up to my collar made it kind of look like the cloth frog was licking my neck. I did my best to think of it more like a pocket watch. “There you go,” Zoge said. She gave the bib pocket a pat. “Your paci’s not gone. It’s right here if you need it.” “Thanks,” I heard myself say. “Welcome.” I rattled my head and remembered that I wanted a drink. “Water?” Zoge stood up and regarded the clock. “Regrettably, we do not have the time, my love. If you are still thirsty after breakfast I shall fill yours up just as Circle Time begins.” Though the patter of her speech remained that gently bubbling brook, the rest of her started picking up speed, snagging the walking leashes. I ignored another impulse to argue. Zoge had come and saved me from certain humiliation. In my book, that earned her at least a day of peace. “Yes, ma’am.” It didn’t take her very long to click the walking belts in place. Ivy was feeling bold enough to take the spot tethered next to me so that we’d be side by side. Maybe I was becoming her ‘normal-not-good’ too. The first bell signaling student arrivals toned through the campus speakers when we were less than a dozen steps out the door and kids were getting off the bus, flooding walkways, rounding corners, going to their classrooms or the cafeteria; chatting endlessly to one another; walking and gradually picking up speed as they started an unofficial race and then slowing down as soon as the first adult came into sight. Half a year ago, I’d be on the lookout for every familiar face, saying good morning and giving gentle reminders; trying to be a good example both as a proper adult Little and as an educator. At present, everyone older than a first grader was just another pair of legs trotting on by. My brain told me to pay attention to body language and head position so that I didn’t get trampled by an Amazon or Tweener kid looking the wrong way. Otherwise, I was preoccupied with pondering what fresh hells I’d either create or endure that day. If there were any remarks or cooing or taunting from former students and former colleagues my ears filtered them out. They were nothing more than the chirping of birds and croaking of frogs; easily disregarded over the smell of bus diesel and the loud hum of engines. Tracy and Ambrose had beaten us out to the loop and were waiting for the pre-K bus to pull around. As usual, Tracy was standing at attention, staring off into the middle distance and looking like a half-sized clone of Ambrose. I tried to throw her a grin or make eye contact; my own subtle way of thanking her in public, but the hope was in vain. She might as well have been one of those fancy Albienese castle guards with the fuzzy hats; and even I wasn’t fool enough to reach my hand up and wave to her. That would have been like dangling chum in front of Ambrose’s dead shark eyes. There was a brief and happy silence for the two minutes before the last buses pulled up, and Ivy and I were corralled around so that we were facing the direction we’d come from. A disadvantage to the line leash system Beouf and Zoge had adopted was that it was more difficult to maneuver us when compared to the old hand holding method. Worst case scenario with hand holding the back of the line would become the new front. Out came my classmates carried and then hooked up two by two. I waited patiently and passively as each pair was unbuckled from their bus seats and set down on the sidewalk. Being passive was easier that particular morning. The cold air and full belly was making me chill like a well fed alligator. I passed the time puffed out air between my lips. It wasn’t nearly cold enough to see my breath; Oakshire didn’t get that kind of weather until late December or early January; but it was still mildly amusing to picture it. Maybe I’d ruffle a few feathers by pretending to smoke one of those days, assuming I hadn’t escaped by then and could afford to draw attention to myself. “Hey, Gibson,” Billy called three rows back. “You look cute!” It was not a compliment the way Billy said it, but it wasn’t anything more serious than semi-friendly teasing. I looked behind me and called over Tommy and Jesse’s heads “They’re redoing Picture Day, dude. Mrs. B. washed your clothes. She’ll probably be.dressing you up, too.” Billy had come off the bus wearing a sky blue long sleeved t-shirt with Albert the cartoon mole on the front and black denim jeans. Not terrible but not nearly precious enough for a typical Amazon’s baby book. “Oh,” Billy grunted. “Yeah. Right.” I twisted myself up doing an about face and gestured to my overalls. “Check it out! No snaps!” My fingers danced along my inner thighs with a flourish. Then, I ripped open the velcro bib and shut it closed. “And I’ve got pockets!” “Pockets?!” Mandy, Shauna, and Annie gushed in rapid succession; their voices overlapping with one another. Their collective gazes honed in on my chest and their mouths watered with unconcealed envy. Billy did his best to hide an approving grin and failed. “Dude. Nice.” “Hmph,” Ivy whispered beside me. I clicked my teeth together and saw her jolt a bit. Truly, I was a preschooler among infants. Turning back around I allowed my eyes to drift further towards Ambrose and Tracy. The last of what should have been my students were lining up in a single file. They were milling out of the bus, holding the hand railing with their backpacks slung over their shoulders, concentrating on each step as if they feared the tiny stairway might drop out from beneath them at any moment. Ambrose, the warthog, stood there with her arms crossed, giving slight nods of approval when each student dismounted onto the pavement and got in line, no hand holding. Tracy stood stock still, not having moved an inch since I’d seen her. My kids were getting off the bus by themselves? This early in the year? As much as I hated to admit it I was slightly impressed. It wasn’t nearly enough to make up for literally everything else; a sweet tasting poison at best, but it was something. It was like that myth about King Linkin getting shot in a booth: When the royal guards got to his grieving widow they famously said ‘Other than that, Your Majesty, how was the show?’ Like an old mother hen, I counted them with my eyes. One-short. It took me no time at all to know who was missing from the lot. “Elmer,” I mouthed. Were I that poor sensitive kid’s mother, I’d give him plenty of sick days too. Thank the school board that preschool wasn’t mandatory and thus there was nothing a pug like Ambrose could do to hold him back. Thank whatever twist of fate that put him in my class at age three last year and that he was quick to pick up toileting. And pray to whatever goddess, demon, nature spirit, fae, or eldritch horror that Ambrose wouldn’t find a way to set his progress back before Kindergarten. “Clark,” Zoge gently snapped me back to my own body. “It’s time to go to breakfast.” She took the front of the leash and led us back the way we came so that we could turn and go into the cafeteria. Both the preschool bus and the Littles’ bus had unloaded their precious cargo, but the preschool bus in the lead hadn’t left yet. Looking at Tracy’s growing unease and feeling Ambrose’s quiet aura of malice, I was able to deduce why. Elmer was still on that bus. Elmer was a four year old Tweener. He was the only student on my caseload that was still shorter and weaker than me. Tracy was a full grown Tweener and she was only slightly bigger stronger than an average Amazon fifth grader. Most every Amazon would be able to manhandle and bully someone like her halfway through middle school depending on whether or not they were a late bloomer. There was no possible way that Elmer had the fine motor strength to hit the release on a standard seatbelt. The world wasn’t made for Littles. Tweeners weren’t much better off, especially early on in life. And Ambrose was letting Elmer feel that gross physical inadequacy. I mentally took back the sliver of grudging respect I’d felt a moment prior. As we passed the preschoolers, all standing straight and forward facing like a well trained militia, my assistant started to lean forward. If I hadn’t been hyperfocused on it, I wouldn’t have picked up on the subtle shift towards the bus or how the backs of her heels were starting to rise. “Tracy…” I heard Ambrose growl. My assistant stopped before she’d managed to lift a foot. I kept looking back over my shoulder, past my classmates to get a glimpse of the morose parade of preschoolers. When would they get Elmer? I took three steps and looked back again. Was Ambrose waiting for him to scream or cry? Three more steps and I took another peek. Would she force him to have a bathroom accident? “Clark,” Ivy hissed. “Stop.” Of course, I ignored Ivy and kept walking and looking back behind us, even as the preschoolers vanished further and further on the horizon. Three more steps and another glance. The hell was wrong Ambrose? Was she going to have the kids miss breakfast and then scapegoat Elmer? I half expected Beouf to say something to me about facing forward, but the last time I turned around, I only saw the back of her head. She was looking back, too. I started to open my mouth. I couldn’t say anything, but Beouf could. Screw that! Beouf should.say something! “Melony! Go see what’s going on!” That’s what I would have shouted, anyways. My toe stubbed on an uneven panel of walkway. Combined with my bulky underwear, the rigidity of my brand new shoes and overalls, my body positioning, and just bad luck, I was tripping over my own feet and had earned myself a one way trip to the pavement; pun not intended. “Meeeh!” A hand shot out and grabbed the straps of my overalls. It yanked me with such force that I risked falling on my ass instead of my face, but it had enough control and precision so that I was able to regain my balance and footing. “Toldja,” Ivy said. She’d not so much as broken her stride. The line slowed to a stop at the cafeteria entrance. “Mrs. Beouf,” I heard Zoge call over our heads and point. The front entrance of my old classroom was almost catty-corner to the main cafeteria entrance. Beouf and I both followed Zoge’s finger to the serving cart positioned right next to the door. “It looks like Ms. Ambrose’s class will be continuing the routine of taking breakfast in the classroom.” It’s only in hindsight that I remember how scrunched up and tense Beouf’s shoulders were in that moment or how white her knuckles were gripping Chaz’s stroller. I didn’t consciously register it because my own body was too busy doing the exact same thing. Our eyes scanned the horizon. Waiting. One…two…three…four…five… Finally, Tracy crested the horizon, holding Elmer’s hand while every other student marched single file behind them. I turned back around and forced myself to relax. Zoge looked down at me and nodded knowingly. My pulse was throbbing in my ears when she finally opened the door and led us in. Drinking all the milk I could manage while barely nibbling on dry cereal so that all the liquids would run right through me wasn’t nearly as enjoyable as I’d anticipated. I was too busy imagining what quiet indignities might be befalling my kids in the torture chamber that used to be my classroom. ******************************************************************************************** The morning rushed by quickly if uneventfully. I’d kept well hydrated and my pants remained soaked throughout. I was getting a pretty good idea of what it was like to be a sprinkler. Every time I felt the need to pee I released, only to have the need rise up again a minute or so later. My body was processing so many different fluids at once that holding it in was becoming distinctly uncomfortable. A slight need would balloon into total urgency before a center’s timer went off. Zoge and Beouf kept refilling my bottle, too. “You know if you leak,” Beouf warned, “I don’t have any pants to swap out.” “I thought I wasn’t potty trained anymore,” I said. “Is worrying about my pants my responsibility now?” The teacher pursed her lips. “You’re right, baby. It isn’t. I’m sorry.” That was one of the nastiest things I could remember Beouf ever saying to me. I reckoned that she was finally showing her true typical colors. I got changed once during Circle Time and again with snacks. Because of what I’d done to myself and the extra effort it took to slide the overalls up and down my ankles and untangle the straps, I was wet again within ninety seconds after crossing the threshold. It didn’t go unnoticed that Zoge patted the turned up cuffs near my ankles along with the bib pocket just in case I’d smuggled something in. A fringe benefit of all this nonsense was it gave me something to think about beyond this morning. About forty five minutes before Lunch, Zoge started leading us in Yamatoan nursery rhymes while Beouf put those of us who’d ‘missed out’ on Picture Day back into overly clean, overly showy clothes. I kept holding my breath thinking she might put me back in the sailor top and hat out of spite, but that was the only thing I was holding. Luckily, that clapback never came. “Okay boys and girls,” Beouf announced when everyone had been redressed as needed. “The photographer is set up in the media center today. We’re going to go there to make up our pictures, and then I want those of us who are getting retakes to be in the front of the line and I want everyone to make good choices and be on their very best behavior.” I felt more than one set of eyes zero in on me; some in anticipation, others in quiet disapproving dread. Sitting splay legged on the floor I did an exaggerated shrug. “What?” I said. “I don’t do the same trick twice.” No one laughed. Not even Chaz or Annie. It sounded funnier in my head. I stood up and felt my Monkeez sag down and catch on the crotch of my overwalls. During the course of the nursery rhymes, my pants had progressed from very squishy to terribly swampy. I didn’t need a mirror to notice the thick swollen bulge underneath my semi-mature outfit. I almost asked for a change and then second guessed myself, deigning to get to the front of the line. My legs were chafing like mad by the time we got to the school library, otherwise known as the library. Positioned between the cafeteria and the front office -it was technically part of the same building as the front office despite having no direct access to it- the library was never a place I frequented too often. In some bygone halcyon age of education, going to the school library was a separate scheduled activity on par with Art, Music, and P.E. Years of steady budget cuts (the kind that keep a death trap bug zapper in the event that a Little has a case of irritable bowels) had long since seen the decline of the library’s prestige. The position of librarian had been reduced to a glorified checkout clerk who also set up fancy book displays instead of canned goods. Teachers were encouraged but not required to find time to take their students to the library but in an environment of high stakes testing and zero excuses, most didn’t bother to take the time and just built their own personal classroom libraries from childhood favorites and rummage sale finds. Better dozens of books to recommend to kids than hundreds of questionable quality; or so the justification went. To me, the library was the one place big enough to house all the teachers in a single space for staff meetings, and I zoned out for most of those anyway. As a result, re-entering it as one of Beouf’s ‘students’ was less of a system shock as much as it was passingly familiar. It wasn’t even that familiar considering that the photography crew had already moved around reading tables and bookshelves in order to make room for tripod cameras, softboxes, lighting, reflectors and a few props.. What did shock me, however, was the sight of my kids. Ambrose had beaten us here and the students were in the middle of getting their pictures taken. Yet again, they stood in single file like tiny tin soldiers. On the far side of the setup, Ambrose waited with her hands folded in front of her. Closest to her was a lightbox with a prop student desk set in profile to the camera. It was the old fashioned kind where the top was connected to the seat and the storage space for books laid tucked away beneath it. Put it on stilts and it would have resembled a highchair. Put wheels on instead and it was almost a stroller. It was a wonder on par with spontaneous combustion that the design had somehow faded into extinction in Amazon managed school districts. Go figure. One by one, young Amazons walked up, sat in the prop desk even though their feet dangled, folded their hands neatly on top of the desk portion, and angled their upper bodies towards the camera. They’d put on a quiet, tight-lipped smile not unlike a certain witch Principal, the photographer would count to three, a flash would go off, and then the child would dismount and stand behind the big boar who had stolen them from me. Clearly, they’d been practicing for this. I always hated photos like that. Who sat that way? It was so unnatural; so fake; so perfectly on brand for the type of childhood that Amazons loved to enforce. If more Amazons treated their children like children, I pondered, they might not feel the need to infantilize others and make up for missed opportunities. Just a few steps closer to us was the same giant alphabet block prop that I’d done my impression of a vomit volcano from. It was in its own set up with a separate camera on a tripod pointed straight at it. The two displays were close enough that someone Beoufs size could stretch out and touch one with their toe while skimming the other with their fingertips, but the magic of photography would make them seem like completely separate venues. The preschoolers continued filing one at a time and getting their picture taken. It had all the mechanical precision of a military operation or an assembly line. Meanwhile Beouf and Zoge quietly unhitched us while constantly whispering for us to be good and hold still. I squeezed my legs together slightly and reminded myself how soaked I’d made myself. I should have asked to be changed before we left but I was still wrestling with myself on speaking up. The presence of my kids wasn’t making it any easier. The one exception to the flawless and impersonal parade of preschoolers was Elmer. He and Tracy were at the back of the line, with my aide holding the Tweener’s hand. When their time came up, she escorted him towards the set and veered stage right. The photographer in his stupid turtleneck and ugly goatee sidestepped to the secondary camera. My aide lifted Elmer up by the arms and placed him on the prop alphabet block. Everything about my personal state of dress and hygiene was put on the backburner while red tinged tunnel vision took over. Ambrose was making the one Tweener in her class get his picture taken on the baby prop. That cunt! Tracy rubbed him gently on the back and whispered something to him. Elmer nodded, sullenly and she cleared out of the shot. “Okay,” The photographer said. “One…two…three!” The camera flashed. Elmer’s empty smile was no different than anyone else’s. Tracy swooped in and got Elmer off the prop. She didn’t get far however. “Tracy…” Ambrose growled. Tracy released Elmer’s hand and he was allowed to walk back by himself. Tracy stayed by the baby prop. My jaw went slack watching Tracy boost herself up onto the block. No. No way. She wasn’t. Tracy smoothed out her white peasant top and navy blue skirt. She daintily crossed her ankles and placed the flat of her palms onto the edge of the block for balance. She was. “One…two…three!” Tracy flashed her a marvelous yet understated smile that showed the first glimpse of teeth I’d seen since arrival and the camera bulbs flashed. Without further comment, she slid back down to her feet, adjusted the back of her skirt and took her place holding Elmer’s hand at the back of the line. My face was numb. It made a twisted kind of sense why the kids were acting like tiny soldiers; Ambrose was on the warpath. She was doing her level best to degrade both Tracy and Elmer. I wanted to scream. I was genuinely tempted to remove my pacifier and jam it in my mouth so that I could quiet myself. I settled for gripping the front flap of my bib pocket and opening and closing it a few times. I pretended that the quiet scratching sound of velcro being ripped apart was what it would sound like when I clawed Ambrose’s face off. I thought I knew what it was to hate an Amazon before and was realizing just how wrong I was. The preschoolers marched by us. The Amazon kids all turned their heads and regarded us, me specifically. A few kept their eyes straight ahead. Most smiled and giggled playfully like they were playing a game. Emily, the three year old whose mother had caught me pooping my pants, went so far as to wave to me. Discipline only went so far when someone’s age was measured in double digits. If the other kids crinkled with padding, I didn’t notice it or my brain attributed it to one of the nine other Littles bunched together with me. Yet when the Tweeners passed by my ears twitched with recognition. My eyes darted immediately to the back of Elmer’s pants. His polo-shirt was riding up high on his back and I got visual confirmation of the very edge of the wide elastic waistband common with actual underwear. I exhaled and unclenched. Just my imagination and raging paranoia. “Clark,” Beouf said. “You’re up, kiddo.” Bowlegged, I walked up to the block. Beouf set me up and seated me on the prop. A distinct squelch caused me to tense up and I felt the tension rush back into me. The Monkeez was so saturated that any urine would have to splash all the way down my front and somehow defy gravity to travel up my back to the few remaining dry spots. Had I peed even more and forgotten about it? I was dangerously close to leaking. “Okay my dude,” the photographer said. “Smile!” I did not. Beouf took her place behind the camera and whispered for him to take the picture. “One…two…three…” A flash of light and dancing spots later and I was done. The rest of the retakes went in similar speed and fashion; only slightly less time efficient than Ambrose had been by virtue of us being unable to climb onto a big wooden box with aid. Beouf looked at a nearby clock and started to hustle us out. “Boys and girls,” she said, “We’re running a little behind schedule, so the kids who got their pictures taken will hold hands on the way to the cafeteria like we used to. Mrs Zoge will walk with everyone else. No complaints came, primarily because the people most likely to whine or brat about it were the ones getting the special treatment. My hands quickly ran down the back of my legs, afraid that I’d feel the same wet half moon patches of a leak. My fingers came back dry but I was right on the edge. We walked to the cafeteria with me sopping all the way and my pride wrestling with self-preservation as always. We made it into the noise and hustle and bustle of the cafeteria with kids shouting to talk in between mouthfuls of mass produced lasagna. “Good thing pictures were before lunch,” Beouf joked back to Zoge. Zoge nodded appreciatively. At our quasi-highchair table, I gave in and decided to ask for a change. The white noise of a hundred students, cooks, and aides on cafeteria duty would mask the request, and their own preoccupation with themselves would hide the sight of me being carted off to the restroom with just a diaper and wipes in tow. I tugged on Beouf’s pant leg. “Mrs. B.,” I said. “Can you take me to the bathroom? I’m um…afraid to sit down for a long time if you know what I mean.” The faintest hint of a smug grin tugged at the corner of the Amazon’s mouth but her eyes were half closed like a contented cat. She started to throw my own words back in my face. “I thought worrying about your pa-…” she stopped herself from finishing the thought. Professionalism was winning out over cruelty. “Okay, hon. Let me take care of it.” Discreetly, she bent over and grabbed a spare diaper and wipes from the emergency stash that had become part of the mealtime delivery package. She squatted all the way down so that she could boost me up by the back of my knees instead of my butt and allowed me to wrap my arms around the back of her neck to steady myself. She held me in her right arm, and pinned the changing supplies to her body with her left, covering them up. The bathroom doors were left wide open with stoppers this time of day so she wouldn’t need a free hand. “I’ll be right back,” she told Zoge as she passed. “Keep setting up. They can eat with their hands if they want.” Zoge nodded and started loading Littles into bucket seats with all the speed and smoothness of a movie cowboy loading bullets into his revolver. Positioned as I was, I was looking over Beouf’s shoulder, watching the dining area of the cafeteria get gradually farther away. If I hadn’t been, or if I’d had the luxury to be looking literally any other direction I wouldn’t have seen what I saw. The preschool class had just made it to their lunch table. They’d gotten into the cafeteria ahead of us but still had to go through the lunch line like every other classroom. Tracy, as usual, was busy opening milk cartons and unwrapping sporks, straws, and napkins bundled up in plastic. Her lips moved in tight little bits; likely saying things like “Here you go,” and “Eat up”. None of that was out of place either before or after my fall from adulthood. It’s just what was done. What was out of place was Ambrose. She’d remained in the cafeteria instead of stalking off to the teacher’s lounge or whatever rock lesser evolved lifeforms liked to crawl under. Something new. Something dangerous. Something out of routine. This was not ‘normal’ and I knew deep in my heart of hearts that this couldn’t be ‘good’. When Tracy had worked her way down an entire side of the table and reached the end, Ambrose glided like a barracuda behind her. I watched in horror as Ambrose took two fingers and hooked them; inching closer and closer to the back of Tracy’s skirt. A diaper check. In public. And Tracy was completely preoccupied and oblivious. Flashes of the first time Zoge did it to me took the place of the camera’s leftover flashing spots. She’d done it to me countless times since then, but there was no shaking that feeling of absolute violation from the first time. More importantly, I had long since accepted that the first time had been some sort of accident or misunderstanding. Not so here. I pushed myself up on Beouf’s shoulders and filled my lungs up. This would not stand. “MS. AMBROSE!” The booming voice rang out, but did not silence the ever present dull roar. A few heads turned and then quickly thought better of it. The giant startled and backed away from the Tweener. Ambrose’s skin became pallid and her eyes flashed with something resembling something other than predatory hunger or psychotic rage. I hadn’t been the one to yell out; someone had beaten me to it. That someone was Mrs. Brollish. Just a few paces away from the monster, a demon of an entirely different caliber stood with her arms crossed and one fit steadily tapping the floor. The air exited my lungs. I had no idea that Brollish could yell like that. Lady Death rarely raised her voice beyond what an actor might do to project, and most of the time it was practically a stage whisper. Ambrose regained some composure and calmly stepped over to her master. At the same time, Tracy adjusted her skirt again and scurried off to the other end of the table. Something finally clicked. There was a reason she kept adjusting her clothes. A Tweener had been crinkling, it just wasn’t Elmer. The cafeteria spun around three hundred and sixty degrees. Beouf had heard it too and spun to see what had happened. Like every other person in sight, she knew better than to get involved. The tables vanished faster and faster while Beouf picked up her pace. We bolted into the bathroom and Beouf called out “Hello?” When no one answered she kicked up the door stop with her foot and set me down on my feet so that she could lock the door. “Let’s get you changed, bubba.” “Beouf,” I said, my panic rising, “I think Tracy might be wearing a diaper.” The teacher didn’t make eye contact with me. She lowered to her knees and set the supplies down so she could focus on unbuckling the straps of my overalls. “She might be,” Beouf said. “But I don’t think she’s expressing Maturosis. Don’t worry. This is probably a misunderstanding or something.” The heavy denim fell down on its own, ripping the clip off my shirt and puddling around my ankles. “You don’t understand,” I said. “Ambrose is trying to get back at her! For telling you! For helping me!” Mel seemed to find my feet incredibly interesting. “You might be right,” she said. “I do not care for how Miss Ambrose talks or treats a lot of people.” One at a time she grabbed the heels of my sneaker and pulled down while I stepped out. “But it looks like Mrs. Brollish is handling it and if there’s anything wrong going on, it will be fixed given enough time.” There was no way she believed what she was saying. If I’d still been a peer of hers, we’d both be swearing up a storm and fuming about what we’d both just witnessed. I stepped out of my clothes, not caring that my diaper was a water balloon ready to pop. “Listen-!” I pleaded. Beouf picked me up and carried me dangling by the armpits over to the wall mounted changing table. She strapped me down at the chest and went back to pick up the fresh diaper. “This is a Grown-Up problem, hon. Grown-Ups will figure it out and handle it. You just worry about yourself.” My eyes started to burn. I couldn’t let something happen to Tracy. I couldn’t let her get punished or harassed or suffered because she genuinely wanted to help me and genuinely went out of her way to keep a stupid promise that probably wouldn’t have mattered in the long run. People helping me and then suffering for it; I couldn’t let that be the story of my life. I locked eyes with one of my oldest friends and forced my throat to stop closing up. “If you let Ambrose do to her what you did to me,” I threatened, “I’ll never forgive you Melony Beouf.” The words came out crystal clear and echoed around the porcelain cave, giving it a surreal kind of gravity. “If anything happens to her I’ll hate you for the rest of my life.” Beouf looked like she wanted to break down crying all over again. It was a good thing she didn’t or I would have too. I was changed, redressed, taken back into the cafeteria and fed lasagna. If there was talking to be done, announcements to be made, or instructions to be given, Zoge did it for the rest of the day. Beouf didn’t even hand me back to Janet after the buses pulled out. The next day we had a substitute. We were told that our teacher had to stay home and take care of her sick newborn granddaughter. I knew better.

In all the multiverse, throughout arcane academia, dragons are some of the most curious and contrarian of creatures. They are renowned for being fearsome, great wyrms, capable of great and terrible deeds of destruction. A dragon’s fiery breath can turn flesh to cinders and melt stone; its scales capable of shattering spears, arrows, and swords. Being made of magic themselves, even great wizards may find it difficult to harm a great winged reptile. They are covetous, spiteful, sinful creatures who hoard wealth and trinkets, pillaging kingdoms and stealing from royalty and the common folk alike, depriving all of valuable resources that might otherwise. And they never die of old age, only violence. Truly, in all the realms, there was never a greater threat to freedom, liberty, and prosperity, than the monsters whose silhouette blacks out the sky. There is truth in all of this, as countless historical records from across time and distance illustrate time and time again, but it is not wholly accurate. There are no deliberate lies or purposeful misinterpretations in these common and time tested assessments, but rather they are incomplete data due to humanity’s collective need to be the center of any moral universe. The truth about dragons is far more interesting and complicated. I have found in my research, experiments and interviews, that a human’s view of dragons is not unlike a fish’s view of a hand. They see something fleshy and grasping plunging down into the river, but their biological experience and mindset is not preprogrammed with the knowledge or understanding that something might be connected to that hand and exist wholly outside the river. Dragons are covetous hoarders, yes, but it is not greed that drives them in the way that human beings lust after material possessions and wealth. Rather, it is constant emotional and mental stimulation that they seek. They are collectors and completionists at heart. Once something takes a dragon’s fancy, they can become obsessed with it for years, decades, or even centuries at a time; with an almost compulsive desire to possess, collect, and know everything about a particular fascination that there is to possess, collect, or know. Neither do they exclusively hoard material wealth. Dragons will go through “phases” (if a decades-long obsession can be called a “phase”) where they become fascinated with all sorts of things. There are dragons who become librarians to uncountable tomes of knowledge, riddles, and jokes. Other wyrms get an itch for rare magical artifacts. Still more take to botany or animal husbandry, and create great gardens and menageries worthy of a sultan. There is at least one documented case of a dragon with a fondness for the collecting and manufacturing of rock candy. When a dragon sets its mind to collecting or learning about something, they cannot help but see it through to its most extreme logical conclusion. This certainly a curse for those who live among the winged lizards, but it can also be a blessing. Once a dragon has seen its obsession through to its logical conclusion, or rather to the point of boredom, it can become careless and carefree on that subject. It is rather easy to take a dragon’s treasure provided the dragon has no further interest in it and intruders are not inclined to violence against the dragon. There are accounts of a wyrm showing a kind of backhanded gratitude at lucky thieves wanting to take away things that no longer held interest to it. Savvy surrounding kingdoms can turn famines into feasts if the end of a dragon’s obsession period is fortuitous enough. That obsessive quality is also what rids kingdoms of dragons outside of violence. To the best of humanity’s collective knowledge, dragons do not die of old age. There are no piles of dragon bones that are not the result of violence of some sort. Instead, dragons just grow progressively stronger and more resilient over time. Yet dragons do not stay on this material plane forever. Eventually, dragons see all that they consider worth seeing, hoard all that they consider worth hoarding, and learn all that they consider worth learning, and just move on. They spread their leathery wings and leave the ground one last time as they shed the surly bonds of earth and take flight into the starry cosmos for a brand new adventure; where they go we know not where. Of particular scholarly debate is the “morality” of dragons. Of their intelligence, there is no dispute. A dragon’s intelligence is roughly on par with its human counterparts. A seventy-two year old dragon has all of the knowledge and wisdom as a seventy-two year old man. The same is true for a one-year old dragon, or a thirteen year old dragon. Yet it lacks the biological infirmities that plague us in our sunset years. Senility and dementia do not plague the wyrms the way it does the clever apes. The fact that dragons’ lifespans are much much longer than ours makes them more than intellectually formidable. But when it comes to morality, despite their intelligence, dragons are relegated to the classification of either evil monsters or savage beasts and nothing could be further from the truth. Dragons are both fiercely intelligent, and highly moral. They just don’t tend to recognize humans as people. On the subject of personhood, it has been gleaned, dragons are what most would consider selfish and self-centered. They do not tend to judge intelligence, language, art, or any of the trappings of civilization as personhood (And why would they? Save when rearing their hatchlings, dragons are notoriously solitary). Instead, they judge personhood based on how much they personally relate to any given individual or population. This is why kingdoms that are uncommunicative have the most violent and aggressive dragons to deal with. The bear cares not for the bees when it wants to eat honey. The villager reviles the rats that nest in their house. It is most fortunate then, that dragons rarely classify other beings according to their outward physical characteristics, but upon a sometimes random and mercurial set of behavioral attributes. A wyrm’s imagination is a powerful thing, indeed, and it is as like to imprint upon both curious collector as well as a warrior king. Like recognizes like, though due to its own egocentric nature a dragon is most likely to spare a human for being a ‘tiny scaleless dragon’ than for being anything resembling an equal. -An excerpt from “A Traveler’s Guide to Devils, Dragons, and Demi-Gods, Author Unknown” His name was not “Abe”. Dragon names cannot be pronounced by pests or understood in ways that made sense to their pest brains. A dragon’s name is a description about everything that has happened to the dragon and their relationship to the world around them, and it is said all at once with voice, volume, eyes, body language, odor, and breath. But for the sake of brevity, let’s call him Abe. Abe slept atop his one remaining pile of gold deep in the center of his lair. The mountain didn’t start as a hollowed out system of interconnected tunnels. Only through much careful digging and melting of once solid rock was he able to make something so livable and comfortable. Not content to remain in an already established cave as he did when he was a centenarian, he got the idea when a nasty little pest intruded in on him. After the nasty little zapper was killed, Abe found several tiny books on a multitude of subjects, the most interesting among them was architecture. The dragon spent the next several years reading up on the subject as well as geology until he had a near perfect theoretical knowledge on the subject. It took him less than a year afterwards to craft his new home from scratch as it were. Naturally, once it was complete he needed to fill it with things. A home without form or function was just a series of empty rooms. There needed to be a gaming and trophy room, a dining room, a kitchen, a bedroom, a living room, a room for entertaining company and so forth. At one point during the lair’s construction, Abe put in a nursery; not because he intended to raise a clutch of eggs, but because that’s what was done when building a house. Several fascinating books said so and those books in turn led Abe to discover even more books dedicated to the specifics on making the best type of a particular room: The best living room, the best kitchen, the best nursery, and so on. It had been wholly satisfying learning so many intricate and interesting details, which had in turn taught him how to work with wood and stone masonry. Abe couldn’t decide if a mountain lair should have a basement or an attic (neither to be confused with a wine cellar) so he installed both and used them to store the brick-a-brack that he had grown bored with but was yet reluctant to toss away. One never knew when something might come in handy, or when sentiment and nostalgia would flare up again. Annoyingly, after enough time, pests spread into the surrounding hills, and they inevitably tried to infest Abe’s lair. That had necessitated Abe learn the delicate and time honored tradition of trap making; and for that bit of amusement, Abe was passably grateful. The lava pits doubled as heating and it gave him the inspiration to redirect aquifers to make his own bathing chamber. Eventually, the pests must have discovered that he wasn’t particularly interested in what he stored in the attic and basement and so swarmed up there from time to time. It was for the best, he decided. One only needed so much gold to sleep on and so many jewels to scrape one’s fangs. Anything else was showing off and the pests seemed to like the useless shiny things. Presently, Abe tossed and turned in his sleep, unable to get comfortable on his bed of gold and silk. He wasn’t sleepy, yet he didn’t want to open his eyes. Opening his eyes would mean that the day had started and then he’d have to find something to do to occupy his time. That was just depressing. The only thing worse than constantly napping and sleeping due to boredom, was the restlessness that followed upon waking. In the back of his mind, Abe knew it might be time to move on and explore as his mother had before him, but he’d yet to come to that acceptance. Nothing excited him when he looked up at the grand cosmos, yet he felt nothing when he considered more earthly pursuits. It was like looking at the menu and realizing one wasn’t hungry; old boring favorites still held more allure than risky foreign cuisine. Abe did not know it, but he was the oldest dragon that had yet to move on, and as the oldest he was very likely the strongest. Strength did not matter overmuch after a certain point, but it made pests more ambitious and fearful by different turns. Sometimes, the pests still provided amusement, however fleeting. Concerning pests, a grating, moaning, jabbering sound caused Abe to stir from his non-slumber. From his sleeping pile, he opened his eyes and spied a shambling, moaning, mass of metal carapace. A pest. One of the ones that donned false scales and carried false claws that were too big to fit in their tiny paws so they had to be carried. They were more common, and less annoying than the fuzzy zappers who shrieked and conjured up a poor facsimile of a dragon’s proper blazing breath. So that’s what the noise he’d heard coming from from above, closer to the attic, had been. Another infestation of pests rummaging and stumbling around the attic. Stupid, silly, short lived things. One had made it past his pest traps and was likely here for the gold he wasn’t done sleeping on. Rising to his full height, Abe looked down at the tiny thing and scowled. “Pest,” he said, more to himself. The pest froze, shuddered in its spot, said something in what passed for language-Abe couldn’t tell what it said-and fell down dead. Abe huffed in annoyance. “Damnable pest,” he said. “Made it all the way to his bedroom just so it could start rotting in the very center of his home. Now he’d have to get up and toss it outside. It was a big one too, a two hander for sure. The idea of having to touch the dead thing with his hands made his breathing go shallow. Gross. Very gross. Maybe he could just cremate it; melt the carapace into the floor and scatter the ashes…but then he might accidentally breathe in pest ashes. “Ew…” Another pathetic moan interrupted the dragon’s pontifications. The pest was still alive? Curiouser and curiouser, Abe circled around the busted and cracking metal carapace. He’d never heard a pest make that sound before. Come to think of it, he wasn’t used to hearing the pests make those kinds of sounds at all. Normally, they were loud and guttural, shouting what passed for death threats and cries for courage in their limited languages that used only voice. This sound? It was different. And familiar. Vaguely familiar from a time long ago that Abe barely remembered himself. Fortunately, dragon memories are second to none, and he did remember. With one single claw, he gently poked and prodded at the carapace. C-RRRRRACK! Abe’s serpentine head snapped back in surprise. “What’s happening?” In reply, he only got more mumbling and mewling. Mewling? Yes, ‘mewling’ sounded about right as far as descriptors went. Weak and pathetic, but not something that elicited disgust. The pest inside lightly wriggled and its shell continued to split open. Split open? Crack? Like an egg! Yes! This was not a carapace or a bit of false skin. Yes, it had those things in common but in the big scheme of things everything could be like something else. What this was most like, Abe was concluding, was an egg. He’d read about this sort of thing before; had seen it in birds, and sort of remembered it in the nest when the last of his siblings had hatched. “You’re not stealing…you’re…hatching?” The thing inside the egg, for it was indeed an egg in Abe’s view, made more sounds which the great wyrm took as a kind of involuntary confirmation. “Yes. Hatching. And…you need help?” Considering the thing inside the egg hadn’t been born yet, Abe didn’t expect a coherent response and was not disappointed when he didn’t comprehend the reply. What Abe could never appreciate is that human languages, especially the spoken ones, advanced much more quickly than draconic. What was in fashion a mere five hundred years ago and perfectly serviceable quickly became ‘olde’ to the point of extinction as it mutated generation after generation. Not understanding a word coming from the inside the egg (and once again, why would he?) Abe did the only thing he considered conscionable. He helped the little thing hatch, gently prying the egg open, chipping away at it with his claws so that the wet and slimy thing on the inside could be free and come into the world. Carefully, the dragon took the top part of the shell of last so that finally air would come into the little thing’s lungs. Abe felt himself analyzing it. It looked familiar. Vaguely familiar. He’d seen a few illustrations of such a creature, so pink, and lacking any kind of scales. Helpless. Cute. It had more hair than the illustrations had led him to believe was normal, but such illustrations were often wrong. According to many of his books, for example all the measurements on every piece of furniture that he crafted were completely off and had to be scaled up to appropriate size so that a proper dragon could make use of them. Who made furniture that tiny? So it was easy to believe that something that just hatched wouldn’t look quite like the illustrations he’d seen. It certainly SMELLED like what he imagined a hatchling would smell like. A single word spilled out of the adorably vulnerable creatures lips. Not even a word, but a bit of babbling like an infant that hadn’t yet learned to talk. “Dada”. That was when the real magic happened in Abe’s brain: The magic of empathy and imagination fueled by fascination and complete certainty that his way was the right way. This wasn’t a pest, Abe realized. He’d read about this! He vaguely remembered being one himself! This! Was! A! “BABY!” At the sound of its name, the baby opened its mouth and gave one giant bawling yelp of affirmation. Then, just like the books had said, the poor little tyke passed out and emptied its bladder right there in the dragon’s arms. “D’AWWWW!” That settled matters in Abe’s mind. This was a baby. It might not be exactly like a dragon hatchling, but it had enough in common from everything he remembered about his own childhood and everything he’d read that it was dragon enough. He too had once been weak and helpless, but proper nourishment and loving care had enabled him to grow mighty and strong. The baby even knew its name! How cute! Just as importantly, more importantly, in fact, Abe now had a reason to use that nursery he’d created. This? This would not be boring! Wings tucked, he gently carried the sleeping babe in his arms through twisting labyrinthine tunnels that he hadn’t been through in decades. Along the way, for many babies were scared of the dark until their night vision developed, he lit torches. They had been purely ceremonial until now and it gave Abe a sense of satisfaction to use them. “Here we are,” Abe cooed, even though he knew the baby was unconscious. It’s not that he expected a proper conversation, the thing had just been born. The great dragon just knew how important it was to introduce them to language early. How else would they learn to talk? For the time being, more pressing matters were brought to the dragon’s attention, such as hygiene. With much doting excitement, Abe laid the baby on the changing table he’d crafted. Like all things Abe dedicated himself to, it was perfect and held the tiny thing well with raised sides that couldn’t be easily rolled over when the little tyke got squirmy. He looked down and examined between the sleeping babe’s legs. Its diaper was sorely lacking; nothing more than a thin membrane of cloth that was drenched and reeked of ammonia. To call it “leaky” would be like calling a “sieve” leaky; implying at least partial effectiveness. He doubted this would contain even a solid bowel movement. Whomever had diapered the baby in its egg had done a poor job. Something about that sentence felt off, but Abe had never felt a great need to investigate childbirth or medicine before that, and so he dismissed it out of hand. The facts, he reasoned, were right under his nose and as indisputable as they were adorable. Even though he had never worn diapers himself, he’d read enough and seen enough of the lesser races- pests, giant pests, tiny green pests- to get the general idea. “Hmmm,” he grumbled to himself. “No pins? No knots either?” How was he supposed to get this off and on? Practicality and impatience took over. Abe reached down and tore the used diaper apart at the sides, ruining it beyond even the mere illusion of functionality. “It’s not as if I was going to use this one again,” Abe said to himself. Then he remembered the baby. “No I wasn’t!” he cooed. “No I wasn’t! Daddy wasn’t going to use this old diaper ever again. It’s much too thin and flimsy for my special…” he glanced down between the child’s legs, “...boy! My special boy!” A quick gout of flame caused the useless diaper to burst into flames and sprinkle down to the cave floor as ash. Taking a washcloth (that unknown to Abe had long ago been a noble family’s proud coat of arms) the dragon daddy dunked the cloth into a water basin and gently dabbed and wiped at his new baby’s tender nether regions. Technically, Abe reminded himself, all areas of a baby were tender, especially one born without scales. That only added the amount of care he took in wiping the child clean. “My little man isn’t going to get a rash. Not on Daddy’s watch!” To think him a Daddy: the very thought was absurd in the most delightful way. The baby started to stir and babble something to himself. Abe made a note to himself to warm the wash water next time. No doubt it was the coldness that woke the baby up. “It’s okay,” he shushed the boy. “Daddy’s here. Daddy’s just making you nice and comfy.” He crossed the child’s ankles and housed them up with one claw. With the other, he slid a fresh (and properly thick) diaper beneath the child’s rather skinny rump. “Babies aren’t supposed to be this thin,” Abe said. “Daddy’s gonna have to fatten you up. Yes he is! Yes he is!” While he cooed and played with the baby, he grabbed a vial of sweet smelling powder and dusted it in on the child’s backside and groin in order to prevent chafing and protect against rash. Carefully, he reached into a basket by the foot of the changing table and removed several safety pins that he had scavenged when he had built this model nursery. They were tiny, only five inches or so, but then again so was the baby. He put the pins in his mouth, while he finished what would no doubt be the first of many changes. The baby’s eyes softly fluttered open from dreamland just as Abe was pulling the fresh diaper up between the baby’s legs, forcing them apart. Newborn hatchlings couldn’t walk, so it hardly mattered if it threw off a hypothetical gait. The child let out a groaning burble as his eyes started coming into focus. It sounded fearful. Abe quickly and carefully fastened the ends of the diaper snugly together, pinning them in place so that the soft absorbent material was snug. Being in a fresh diaper did nothing to ease the child’s screams. “This won’t do,” Abe cooed in draconic. He wanted the baby to associate diaper changes and being taken care of with happy times. “This won’t do at all.” He attempted to make funny faces at the child but the screaming and tears only got worse. The child somehow managed to roll over and start crawling away from him towards the edge of the changing table. “Oh oh oh, careful, baby.” Abe gently cooed. “You’re very, very, tiny still. That’s a long way down at your age.” The dragon tried to remember how the world must have looked when he was all of five foot ten. Tenderly, the great wyrm scooped the child up and rocked him gently, hoping to give the tender fleshed baby comfort. “Shhhh…shhhh….” he said. “Shhh….shhh….” This only made things worse and the little tyke in his arms bawled louder. Abe tried pacing the nursery, and bouncing the child slightly, but that had not had the desired effect. Abe tried singing a hatchling’s song that he still remembered, but the child was obviously not a fan. When the little rugrat wasn’t trying to fall out of the dragon’s arms, he was screaming and covering his face as though certain doom was about to befall him. “I just changed you,” Abe said more to himself than the child. He started ticking off what he could remember about basic childcare on his claws. “I rocked you. I sang you a lullaby. What could the matter be, little one?” His reptilian eyes looked at the boy’s thin stomach, and saw the peculiar hole in the middle of it, just above the diaper. He didn’t know what that was about, at least the baby didn’t seem to be in pain, but it did cause the dragon to smack his head in recognition. “Of course!” he chided himself. “I haven’t fed you! You’ve just been hatched and I haven’t fed you!” Abe took to three legs and started thundering out of the nursery, carrying the child. He hadn’t done any kind of research on what babies ate. He recalled, however, that some drank from something called breasts, while others drank from bottles. Breasts, Abe did not have. But he had many bottles in great supply. “Dadaaaaaaa!” The baby screamed. “Dada dada dada dada!” “Just a second,” Abe hushed, while maneuvering the precise network of tunnels to just the right spot in his lair. Lesser, non-dragon-like creatures would get lost or fall into any number of traps. But not Abe. And in time, his new baby would come to memorize it too. That was a matter for later, however, and there was no sense in worrying about the future when the present was at stake. “I know you’re hungry,” he said. “Dada is getting you a bottle right now. Would you like that? Would you? I bet you would! I bet you would!” Just calling himself “Dada” had an effect on Abe. He felt more than amused. He was excited. Tickled! Thrilled! He was quite sure that he’d never felt this way before. Over five hundred years and he was beginning to feel a new emotion. How exhilarating. His attempts at baby talk to soothe the baby were met with more wailing. “DADAAAAAAAA!” Some things, Abe chuckled to himself, couldn’t be remedied with simple verbal affection. Fortunately, Abe was fleet of foot, almost as fast on land as he was in the sky, and had tread this path many times in the past. Some might say too many times. Abe lit the torches in this new room with quick tiny gouts of flame from his nostrils, one at a time, so the poor little half blind baby wouldn’t be afraid. After the third or fourth puff, he gave up. The baby didn’t need to see, he just needed to be fed! The gargantuan dragon tiptoed around the racks of bottles he had amassed and collected over the years. From them he took a small green bottle with a cork in it. “Ah!” Abe remarked. “This should work!” Dexterously, he uncorked the bottle and slid it up to the infant’s lips. “Here you go, little one. Drink up. It’s juice! Nummy nummy juice!” “Dada! Dada!” The new father chuckled good naturedly, but still worried. What would he do if he couldn’t get this poor little thing to eat? “Yes, my sweet baby boy,” he cooed. “I’m Dada. Now drink. Drink it up.” He used just a tiny amount of force and pressed the mouth of the bottle to the baby’s lips. The poor pathetic hatchling tried to scream “Dada” again, but once the bottle’s contents sloshed into the baby’s mouth, a very different, very surprised look came over him. For the first time, beautiful brown eyes gazed up in recognition of the dragon. “Tastes good?” Abe asked. As if in reply, the baby put his mouth on the bottle and took another sip. He licked his lips and smacked them, the way Abe often did when something unexpected yet delicious found its way onto his palette. Like father, like son. The baby took the bottle with both tiny hands and started gulping down the contents. Abe sighed in relief. Everything was going to be okay. The baby would drink. “That’s right,” the father lizard coaxed. “Drink it up. That’s a good boy. Good baby.” The more of the juice he gulped from the green glass bottle, the more content the infant seemed to be. The baby’s muscles started to untense. His eyes, once so fearful and wary, now seemed to glaze over with content. Dragons, being natural hoarders, and long lived besides, Abe went through a phase when he collected and stored every fine spirit he could find. He read many sources that indicated that the drinking of such things could cause great pleasure. Abe experimented with it for some time, but ultimately decided against it. The juice was tasty enough, to be certain, but the sample sizes were much too small to be of much pleasure. The quantities were all far too small, and the potency of the stuff much too weak to affect him. The only reason Abe had finished stuffing racks and racks and racks with the stuff was because once he started something, it wasn’t in his nature to stop. The grape juice sated the infant cradled in his arms, however. Abe was suddenly very glad he had finished this side project so long ago. If he hadn’t, he might not have had anything to give his new baby to drink. That certainly wouldn’t have made him a good father. Lazily the baby lulled his head and removed the bottle from his lips, eliciting a loud belch accompanied by happy, contented babbling. Abe took the bottle from him and swished it around. “Still half left.” He considered giving the baby the rest of it, but the child seemed content as he was. Babies could be trusted to know when they were hungry or not. They just couldn’t be trusted to hold their bladders. “We’ll finish this later,” he promised, recorking the bottle and sliding it back into the rack where he found it. “You did a good job!” He told his baby. “Such a good little drinker!” “Hyuk!” The baby let out a jolting half-gasping sound. “Hyuk!” Abe began walking upright again, repositioning the newborn over his shoulder. “Windy pops, eh?” he said good naturedly. “Can’t have that. Those can get mighty uncomfortable, I hear.” Walking slowly back through the turning and twisting tunnels, Abe patted the child gently but firmly on the back. First he’d pat the back with the flat of his palm, gently thudding the boy. Then he’d rub the back in tight and tiny circles, massaging him. “Urp!” Came the reply. “Good baby,” Abe said, and kept going. “Urp!” Good baby!” He gave the child’s bottom a gentle, soothing pat, too. “Keep going. Keep trying.” “Urp!” The dragon waited for his adopted child to burp again, but no belches came. No hiccups did either. The great old wyrm huffed to himself with contentment and satisfaction. This wasn’t so hard, yet it felt highly rewarding. On his way back to the nursery, Abe stopped by his kitchen, removing from his meat locker it a shank of salted mammoth. Parenting was hard work and he could use a light snack. “Off to bed with you, child,” he told his new charge when they re-entered the nursery, “and then your Dada will have some num-nums of his own.” He roasted a shank of meat with his breath and took a bite. The baby began sniffling, again. Abe braced himself for another bout of wailing cries. Clearly, he’d spoken too soon. No cries came. “Dada?” Abe looked to the child. He was staring at the meat, his little pink tongue licking his lips, a healthy sheen of drool forming. His tiny hands stretched out, trying to reach across his daddy’s scaly chest to get at the meat. “Oh no no no,” Abe said, holding the meat away from his precious bundle of joy “This isn’t for…” He stopped himself. He recognized the look of longing on the little boy’s face. A growl of hunger rumbled in the boy’s stomach. He’d just had some juice. Maybe juice wasn’t enough. Thinking back on it, Abe’s mother had told him that she’d fed him his first bit of meat when he was less than a day old. Why shouldn’t it be the same for his baby. Plus, it would give him a chance to try the highchair. “I better not be spoiling you,” Abe said. Both he and the baby knew that he’d given in. Abe lowered the child into the highchair. The baby looked around, more amazed and amused than afraid and confused. A fresh diaper with some grape juice and the child was already becoming more and more dragon-like. His face had gone so far as to take on an attractive reddish hue. Just like his Daddy. If any doubt lingered that Abe was keeping this baby for his own, that stray thought sent it up in a puff of smoke. He put a bit of charred meat on his claw. Playfully, he waggled it around, inching closer and closer to the child. “Heeeeere coooomes the man-ti-cooooore!” Delightedly, the child laughed and clapped his hands. “Hee-hee-hee-heee-heee!” Some things were universal. “Heeeere coooomes the man-ti-coooore!” “Hee-heee-hee-hee-heee!” Abe plopped the bit of meat into the child’s lips just as the laughter was dying down. Just as with the juice, the baby’s eyes lit up in delight and surprise. His mouth closed on the mammoth steak and he started chewing. “MMMMMMM!” Oh to be young again, and be able to experience everything for the first time. The tastes! The sounds! The smells! The simple pleasures of chewing on meat! Though in a way, Abe supposed, he could. He could rediscover his love for those things vicariously through his child. “Ah!” The baby said. “Ah! Ah!” “Hungry little thing, aren’t you?” “Ah! Ah!” Abe gladly obliged. “Heeeere cooooomes the man-ti-cooooore!” The baby snapped up the bit with gusto, chewing happily with his mouth open and giggling and giggling. Half a dozen tiny pieces later, and the baby’s head was finally starting to droop. “I think that’s enough, little one,” the daddy dragon said. “Dada,” the baby yawned, stretching his arms out and leaning back in his highchair. Abe quickly devoured the rest of his snack. The baby’s stomach was so small that there was more than enough left for him. It was such a small thing to share the meal. Small, yet infinitely gratifying; just like the baby himself. Another yawn, and the daddy dragon lifted his tiny adopted hatchling out of the highchair while his arms were still up stretched towards the ceiling. His soft and tender form draped itself over his Daddy’s shoulder. “Poor little guy,” Abe whispered.”Someone’s had a very busy first day.” There was no question about that. Abe carted the child over to his crib, humming that same dragon lullaby to himself. With a full belly and a clean diaper, his baby didn’t seem to mind it this time. A quick inspection and Abe corrected himself. The condition of the diaper wasn’t a factor at all. “Wet,” Abe noticed. He glanced back over at the changing table and then down into the nice soft crib. “But not too wet.” Changing could wait. He also didn’t want his baby crying everytime he had a wet diaper. Laundry would now be on the chore list for the foreseeable future, and he didn’t want to make more work for himself than was necessary. Also, he didn’t want his adopted child to panic or worry every time he woke up wet, as it was perfectly natural for a baby. Best to get him used to sleeping wet, too. Slowly and softly, he lowered his new, most treasured thing into the world and pecked him on top of the forehead. “Goodnight my little prince,” he said, before blowing out the torchlight in the nursery. In loving reply. He heard a happy sounding babble and then, “Dada.” ************************************************************************************************* Sir Albrecht laid behind the massive wooden bars of what he supposed was a crib. His belly full of wine and roast meat, it was getting harder and harder to keep awake. The half a bottle he’d chugged had lowered his inhibitions and loosened his bladder to the point where he’d wet himself yet again but didn’t mind so much. The diaper held it nicely. “I could get used to this,” he mumbled drunkenly to himself. “Real used to...” he started drifting off and belched himself awake. In Albrecht’s homeland, there were only two ways that a knight could fall into disgrace: Being caught with a dead girl in your bed or a live boy. The latter had happened to him, and thus he’d been sent on this suicidal penance quest. “Some penance,” Albrecht licked his lips. “A hot meal. A soft bed.” He wriggled his bum beneath the sheets, “and a thick diaper. That’s plenty good. Plennnnn-ty good.” He inhaled deeply, enjoying the odd mixture of smells; the wine still on his breath and the powder still coating his bum. “Plenty good indeed.” They didn’t have dragons where Albrecht came from. So he didn’t know how dastardly clever they could be with their tricks and traps and winding tunnels that you could get lost in and starve to death. It’s a wonder he made it as far as he did before his cheap armor finally cracked around him. He also didn’t know how intelligent, or frankly insane, the great beasts could be. Never in a billion years would the knight have guessed this is how his quest would end. And it had ended. For some reason, this big lizard thought he was a baby of some sort, and Albrecht was in no hurry to disabuse him of that notion. As soon as his brains stopped rattling around in his skull and he realized the dragon wasn’t going to roast him or impale him, Albrecht started playing the part. The strength of the alcohol in his blood helped too. The biggest problem with childhood, by his reasoning, was that you were too young to really appreciate it. Love, food, and someone big and strong to play with you and protect you? Yeah. That was nice. Very nice. “Let’s just see how this plays out,” he yawned. The babified knight finally let his eyes close, and he drifted off into a drunken slumber; knowing but not caring that he’d probably be more soaked and in need of changing when he woke up. That was the dragon’s problem, and the crazy thing absolutely swooned whenever he called it by name. What neither Albrecht, nor Abe knew, was that in Albrecht’s native tongue the word for “Dragon” sounded suspiciously like the sound that a young hatchling would make when calling out to its father, or “Dada”. The End.

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Things Work Out Jem finished the stitching on his latest creation: A blue bunny stuffie that was going to a good home. He’d add on button eyes and few other finishing touches so that it looked nice and clean that afternoon and then ship it off. He took a moment to take a picture at the almost completed work, and then sent a message to his client to inform them of the progress. Standard operating procedure. Jem was careful to keep any part of his body or clothes out of frame; along with any environmental clues that would give away that the person making Mr. Bun Bun was a Little. Also standard operating procedure. Like most average Littles, Jem’s life tended towards the quiet, cautious, and cloistered. He had what he felt was a solid network of friends, mostly other Littles and a token Tweener, but they never went anywhere; opting to just visit each other’s homes. There were larger Little communities where people of his stature knew how to get the most out of their size using society’s scraps; but they were almost always on the move and skittish to boot, like the old stories of circus workers and carnies. Spending one’s whole life looking over their shoulder, afraid of giants, was no way to live, or so Jem reasoned. If Adoption was the death of self that so many Littles seemed to think it was, then Jem would do what most people did and just live his life with that knowledge and not think about it. With black medium length hair, hazel eyes, and a rather unremarkable build, Jem might or might not have been adopted. A giant Mommy might not take any interest in him or she might see a blank slate upon which to paint; a real coinflip. What tilted the odds towards Adoption were the light freckles on his cheeks that had never fully faded from childhood. A mad giant could certainly see that and jump to conclusions. The Little craftsman caught his reflection in an empty glass of water and shrugged at the thought. He was only twenty. Unless he was extremely cautious, he wouldn’t make it to thirty outside of a crib. But why worry? Like most Littles, he was ambitious, happy, and had found a niche to excel in. To be fair, how ‘most Littles’ felt depended on one’s search radius. There were neighborhoods, towns, cities, counties, states, regions, and countries where the majority of people Jem’s size had had their potty privileges permanently revoked and the only dates they went on were playdates arranged by their massive adoptive parents. Jem saw no reason to dwell too much on it. He’d seen more than enough people his age and older being pushed around in strollers or getting their butts wiped for them in the back of somebody’s minivan. Most of them seemed to like it; like it or had at least learned to live with it. ‘Jeremy Meadows’s Joyful Mementos’ was something of a mouthful, but the Artsy account was paying Jem’s rent and putting groceries in his refrigerator. Jem had unusually dexterous fingers, even for a Little, and good spatial awareness and fine motor control. He’d applied those skills and created an at home custom baby clothes and stuffed animal business. Jeremy Meadows was his real name; very professional sounding. His mother lovingly called him Jem, however, and the name had grown with him. He was Jeremy Meadows according to the banks and online customers. Jem was for his friends and his own inner monologue. Standing up and stretching Jem went to get his shoes. “Laundry time.” A few times a week, Jem would run some of his creations through the apartment complex’s coin operated washers and dryers (on low of course) just to give them that comfortable worn in feeling before shipping them off to his customers. It was a nice touch that many reviews noted and praised him for. More than a few of his creations and alterations were going to babied Littles, Jem knew. He had one customer who had ordered eight different onesies or rompers in as many months, and the measurements always stayed the same. Real children grew faster than that, and the shipping address wasn’t listed as a daycare. Jem just did another mental shrug. At least he knew whatever Little was wearing his outfits would be comfortable. Sometimes, he tried his creations on for himself in the privacy of his own room to see how they moved and felt in different positions. No diaper of course, but he’d experimented with layering every pair of briefs on top of one another or using a pillow and a belt. Not quite the same he was sure, but he figured it gave him the right gait. Close enough to simulate a dry diaper. Sometimes Amazon Mommies and Daddies would send him pictures of their ‘babies’ playing with or cuddling the plushies he’d sewn. They all seemed genuinely happy, cuddling the stuffie or mid giggle. Jem made sure not to put any mind control tracks into the stuffies; not even those bells that threw off a Little’s inner ear while stimulating their pleasure response. He tested each bell ordered from a craft supply site himself, just in case. His conscience was clear. Every now and then, a satisfied customer would send a picture of their Little one cuddling the stuffie, and their Mommy or Daddy would be cuddling them in their laps; a regular nesting doll effect of laps. Those bothered Jem for some reason and yet he lingered on those photos longer than he felt was proper before deletion. Jem got his shoes on and grabbed his keys, a mesh laundry bag, and a laundry card before heading out of his apartment. It was an Amazon sized space, with Amazon sized doors that needed to be retrofitted to accommodate Littles. It was nothing that a pull rope on the inside and a step ladder bolted into the cement on the outside didn’t fix. He whistled tunelessly and boldly walked to the public laundry room, sounding everything like the chipper birds in the trees above. His whistling seemed to get louder in the laundry room. All the machines were at rest and so there was only concrete, tile, and metal to dull the high pitched air moving out of his lips. Other Littles would have avoided making unnecessary noises, fearful that it might attract attention. Others might put such boldness as a strategic risk to blend in. Jem had no such forethought or motivations. He just didn’t like the sound of silence. The room was divided into two halves. Washers on one side, driers on the other. Both were side loaders, so there was no having to climb and dive in to fetch anything. Jem didn’t know how he would have managed otherwise. A button push unlatched the lowest dryer near the back. “Timed it perfect,” Jem complimented himself upon feeling the blast of hot hair from the comparatively massive porthole. There were few things as simple and satisfying as nice hot laundry fresh from the dryer. Opening his white mesh laundry bag he started putting the latest batch in, being careful to check each shirt, onesie, romper, and sundress, to make sure that it wasn’t damp. His friends in real life and the ones he kept in contact with on the net wouldn’t approve of the idea of him handling Little sized baby clothes in public. Too great a risk. To Jem’s mind, there was no risk. If an Amazon wanted him as their baby boy they’d find or invent a reason. Paranoid precautions that interfered with life were pointless. In lieu of coins, every appliance had a card swipe that only accepted a special kind of card given to tenants. Jem kept a hefty balance on his because he always made sure that his products were completely dry before ironing, folding, and packaging for shipment. Hot and damp was not a great combination. Trouble was the heat could sometimes disguise the dampness, and a romper that needed another ten to twenty minutes would end up a wrinkled mess. It was always a gamble with these metal behemoths. Jem took one such romper, a tie-dye alteration that when it was done would say “Mommy’s Little Crinkle Butt” up to his face and towards an open window, hoping that the sunlight would illuminate any patches of moisture. “Oh! Hey there buddy!” An unfamiliar voice rang out. “What are you doing here? Where’s your Mommy?” Time slowed down for Jem. He’d read about this sort of thing on MistuhGwiffin.web. An Amazon would see a Little in a potentially compromising position- a rattle picked up off the ground, a headband or other clothing accessory that was a bit too ‘immature’, just really bad gas-and things would escalate from there if the Little wasn’t quick. Jem calmly lowered the romper away from his face and started neatly folding it. His pulse barely picked up speed as he gently placed it in the sack and then looked way up at the intruding Amazon like he had barely registered the deep booming masculine voice. “Hm?” As soon as he made eye contact with the newcomer, Jem felt his pulse start to pick up. All Amazons are giant compared to their Little counterparts: Bigger, stronger, faster, the works. The man in front of Jem with his short brown hair and day old stubble, looked like an Amazon among Amazons. It’s not that he was any more massive than your average amazon- not a whale among elephants- but he was decidedly more physically fit than the average pram pusher. With that physique and definition, Jem could tell that this stranger pushed more than strollers. Probably did more cardio than just slow paced leisurely strolls through a park or pushing a shopping cart aisle after aisle at the supermarket. An errant, uninvited thought jumped into Jem’s mind: A shame The Amazon took Jem in: Jem’s jeans weren’t the most professional looking, but the black collared polo shirt should have done the trick. He was certainly more ‘mature’ looking than Mr-Basketball-Shorts-No-Shirt-So-You-Could-See-His-Abs-Beneath-The-Laundry-Basket. The bigger man puckered his lips a moment and then looked ashamed. “Oh. My bad. Sorry dude. I thought. It’s just I saw the…and you’re…” He placed the basket full of dirty clothes down and scratched the back of his head. “You know what. My bad. Sorry. Carry on and ignore me. I’ll just mind my own business.” He looked older to Jem, but not by much; late twenties, maaaaaaaybe early thirties. It was the subtle difference of a few years that only young adults really noticed, regardless of physical size. High school was filled with baby teenagers. Anybody over thirty was old. Anybody older than twenty five was somehow mature but accessible. Or perhaps that was just how Jem’s brain worked. At the moment, this mature yet accessible looking Amazon had all the awkward mannerisms of an adorable puppy who’d just been caught tearing at a slipper. Good, Jem thought. Sensible. An Amazon that admits when he made a mistake. “It’s cool.” Jem heard himself say. “Honest mistake.” “Awesome. Appreciate it.” And so the two occupied the otherwise desolate space for a few more uncomfortable minutes. It should have been over more quickly, Jem had figured. It didn’t take very long to dump in dirty clothes, throw in a laundry pod and then bounce. But things took longer, because the stranger was also picking up a load of laundry from the drier. Like Jem, he seemed determined to fold every single article of clothing, underwear included. “Can I ask you a question?” the giant said, breaking the silence. Jem looked up from a pair of shortalls that he’d stitched a smiley sun onto the front and an adorably frowny raincloud to the seat. His work was holding up well. Were he being honest with himself, Jem would admit that he was only paying such close attention because of how nervous he was. “Yes sir?”, he responded “Are those baby clothes?” The man asked. “Yes sir,” Jem said kindly enough. “They are.” Another twitch of self-consciousness flashed over the man’s gorgeous blue eyes. “Are they…your baby clothes?” “They’re mine in that I made them and I’m selling them. But they’re not for me.” “Ooooh!” The man said, a wave of relief and realization falling right over him. “That makes so much sense! I just…I saw…and I thought…” He searched for the right phrase but finally gave up. ”Do you make them yourself from scratch or by hand or machine?” Jem’s cheeks turned rosey and he felt like stuttering, but the words came out of him like flowing water. “A bit of everything, really. Sometimes I make them from a pattern. Other times I’ll take a plain outfit and modify it with decorations. You can turn a t-shirt into a onesie if you buy them bigger than usual and then alter it a bit.” The giant man nodded his understanding, those dreamy blue eyes never blinking. “Okay. Yeah. I get it. So you do custom orders.” The Little allowed himself a faint smirk. “Pretty much. It costs more, but lots of parents”- Jem was careful not to say Mommies and Daddies- “want their baby to stand out, so it’s worth it to them to pay the extra cost. I also do stuffies.” “Yeah,” the man said. “Okay. Makes sense. I’d pay extra for fancy baby clothes. Especially if my baby wasn’t gonna to grow up.” A chill danced its way up Jem’s back. “Beg pardon?” The Amazon looked shocked and embarrassed all over again. “No wait. Not like…I didn’t mean.” He looked down at himself as if for the first time. “Shit!” he hissed. “I mean ‘crud’!” He reached into the dryer and dug out a t-shirt. “You’re here taking care of business, and I’m practically in my skivvies. Sorry!” He pulled the maroon colored t-shirt over him, hiding his physique, but making him seem dressed more appropriately if still casually. In faded but still legible black letters were the words. “Carmen’s Gym” “Let me start over. Hi, my name’s Nate,” he said. He leaned over and reached out a massive hand towards Jem. Boldly and seemingly unafraid, Jem reciprocated and allowed his tiny hands to be engulfed. “Jeremy Meadows, of ‘Jeremy Meadows Joyful Memories’.” Jem resisted the urge to fish around in his pocket for a business card, but only because he knew he didn’t have any on him. “Nice to meet you Mr. Meadows,” Nate said and released his hand. Astonishment buzzed behind Jem’s eyes. He’d never known one of the big people to deliberately call a Little ‘Mr.” or “Miss’ without prompting. Nate looked down at his t–shirt. “Oh uh…Nathan Quinn. Carmen’s Gym.” He slid his hand across his pecs, underlining the words. “I’m a personal trainer. Workout coach and stuff.” This was all so terribly, wonderfully awkward that Jem didn’t know how to feel about it in the moment. His brain and mouth just decided to start going on autopilot. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Quinn” “Oh, you don’t have to call me that, Little dude. Nate’s fine.” His smile became easier, more relaxed. “It’s what my friends call me.” “Friends call me Jem.” Oh yikes! Why did he say that? Jem instantly wanted to regret that. “Cool. Jem.” Nate said, like he was trying the word out in his head. The thin smile on his lips might have meant he liked it. “So yeah. Total transparency, I don’t know many Littles. Most of my friends don’t have kids and haven’t decided to Adopt, so if I say something messed up, I promise it’s not on purpose and I’m trying to learn.” Like implying the only way an Amazon might know a Little is if one was Adopted? That kind of messed up? Jem didn’t speak the thought out loud, however. As it turns out, he didn’t need to. The Amazon caught himself and smacked himself on the forehead. “Fuck, I did it again!” He slapped himself on the forehead. “I mean, ‘man’. Man, I did it again! Da…darn it!” Jem had stopped folding his clothes and was just now slowly placing them in the bag on top of the folded ones. He’d definitely have to iron them all later. He could only focus on so much at one time and this intriguing Cerbernard puppy given Amazon form had his full attention. “You can swear around me, you know,” Jem said. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before. Or said.” “Hm?” Nate said. “Oh, no. That. Sorry. The cursing thing isn’t you. It’s just a bad habit of mine I’m trying to break. My boss doesn’t like swearing and I’m trying to break myself of the habit.” That might have been true, Jem thought, but it had the flavor of a lie of omission. This guy was definitely monitoring his words more closely because of Jem’s stature. “Why?” Jem probed. Nate shrugged and flopped his hands by his side. “Oh you know. Gym culture is kinda toxic. We get better business and better customers if we keep ourselves polite and professional and stuff. That and my boss also owns the daycare next…” And the hits just kept on coming. “Uh…huh.” “Okay,” the charming idiot deflated. “Full disclosure. My parents were pretty conservative growing up. Said all Littles were immature babies that never grew up. I don’t believe that. And I had some gal pal’s back in college who were studying about Maturesis or whatever it’s called…like that some Littles are adults and then just one day snap into kids or whatever. I don’t know about that, either.” He quickly tacked on. “Unless you say that’s a thing, I mean. I’ll listen if it is.” “It’s not.” Jem shook his head. “Okay. Cool. Just like. I got some bad habits all around that I’m trying to break.” He held out his palm. “Not that it’s your job to help me or anything. I’m explaining, not excusing.” This himbo just kept on digging, and the worst part was Jem wanted him to dig more and he was pretty sure it had nothing to do with wanting to watch the big man squirm. “Sure…” “My point is I’m sorry if I offended you. I know that Littles have some physical difficulties and need help reaching stuff sometimes, or can’t run as fast or lift as much, but that doesn’t make you children.” Those sky blue eyes were practically begging for affirmation. “Yeah. We agree.” Jem nodded. What could he say, he was starting to feel sorry for the big lug. Amazons tended to be crazy and thoughtless, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t also be nice, well meaning people. This Nate was kind of proving that point. “Cool. Sorry. Next time I’ll be better.” Jem didn’t consciously realize he’d cocked an eyebrow. “Next time?” “If we ever see…each other…in the laundry…?” Nate was definitely realizing how stupid he was sounding. “Okaaaaaaaay,” he course corrected. “Let me try it this way. If we see each other again, I’m not gonna make the same mistakes.” There was no talking as each measured the other up. “If you ever want a free workout, come on by to the gym and ask for me. I’m not great at talking, but I’m good at coaching and spotting.” The Little felt his head lightly bobble. “Okay,” Jem said. “Sure. I’ll think about it.” Why did he say that?! Nate’s smile lit up. “Great! Hope to see you.” That was as good a time as any for Jem to seal up the bag and calmly walk out of the laundry room. “Me too.” What?! “See you around, Nate.” “Yeah. You too. Later, Jem. Nice to meet you!” Though his feet were calm, Jem’s mind was racing thirty paces ahead of him. Why had he done that? Why had he told this giant his name? Formal or otherwise? Why had he taken it easy on him when the guy was clearly uncomfortable. Making Amazons uncomfortable was what Littles did, especially when it came to Adoption. Why hadn’t he run or…or…or done literally anything else? What was Jem thinking? In truth, Jem didn’t know what he was thinking. He didn’t have the words for it. Among Amazon parlance, cossetting means a desire to love and protect a smaller person and treat them like they’re a child. On the spectrum of emotions, a cosset is between a schoolyard crush or ‘puppy love’ and the rush of dopey platonic love that some get when they see a baby and quietly feel the need to have a child of their own. Jem didn’t have the words for what he was experiencing, because in the slang of Little culture, there is no equal opposite attraction of a Little to an Amazon. And if there is, the word has never been spread far enough because those Littles don’t live as adults long enough for it to catch on. **************************************************************************************** In a more fair world, a gym next to a daycare, owned by the same person no less, would seem quirky at best. In a world ruled by Amazons it made a great deal of practical and fiscal sense. A quick web search for Carmen’s Gym and C.G. Daycare confirmed what Nate had slipped. The two establishments, one school bus yellow and the other brick dust red, fed into each other. Virtual tours confirmed that they shared a doorway, and the sites for each establishment linked to each other as well. Amazons with captured Littles, Tweeners, and actual babies (which the sites simply referred to as ‘children’) could be checked in at both hourly and daily rates with discounts given to gym members. Giant Gym rats could check in their diapered brats while they ran on a treadmill and pumped iron. Just as likely, they could drop them off for an entire day, go to work, come back tired and promise themselves that ‘next time’ they’d start that exercise routine they promised themselves several months prior. It wasn’t super common, but it wasn’t unheard of. One business more than likely propped up the other and the smart money was on the one that had an upcharge for ‘emergency diapers’ in the event that the parent didn’t supply enough or that the ‘baby’ was ‘new’ enough to only be in their first or second diaper in several decades. “I shouldn’t be doing this,” Jem said to himself crossing the street. His feet carried him through the crosswalk anyways. He regarded the bright yellow daycare. Its windows were reflective, but Jem knew there’d be at least a dozen Littles crinkling around on the floor on the other side. He paced left and caught his reflection in the low reflective glass. The daycare was probably a proper storefront at another time in its history. He looked at his reflection and pictured himself in one of his own custom onesies, a non-inflatable pacifier between his lips. He felt nothing, not even dread. Then he imagined a certain Amazon coming up behind him and giving him two pats- one on the head and one on his (hypothetically) padded bottom- and Jem forgot to breathe for a second. “This is a bad idea…” he whispered. He would never admit it to himself, but if Nate had told Jem that he worked in the daycare section, Jem would have likely found a reason to visit the yellow building over the red. Possibly to protest; possibly to shoot his mouth off until one particular Grown-Up saw no reason not to take away the Little's big kid pants forever. Jem got the luxury of pacing right and going into the faded red building, instead. He couldn’t reach the door handle, but a stroke of luck in the form of an exiting customer saved him the trouble. ’The sound of high powered air conditioning droned on over the rhythmic thumping of big feet thundering down on treadmills and the steady strained grunting of even bigger arms lifting weights. It was a relatively small gym; a single clean floor with enough room for a row of treadmills, several rows of weight machines, and free weights by a mirrored wall so that the dudest of dudebros could properly primp themselves and pretend that everyone was secretly looking at them. Small by Amazonian standards was still mammoth when scaled to a Little. No Nate though… Shit, was it the guy’s day off? He should have called ahead, or at least done more reconnaissance. Figured out which car belonged to the Amazon and checked the parking lot. Something! An oblong shiny black countertop closed off a good chunk wall that the gym shared with the daycare. Bright white lettering marked it as the Service Desk. As good as any place to look, Jem supposed. Feeling strangely timid he walked up to the counter and knocked on wood with a shave-and-a-haircut cadence so that he could bang loudly without seeming forceful. “Hello?” a blonde Amazon woman close to Jem’s age called out from the other side. Her face betrayed confusion until Jem repeated the cadence for her sake. “Oh! Hel-lo!” She chirped, poking her head over the barrier and her voice about an octave higher. “How did you get over…?” she blinked and frowned at his plain white sneakers with actual laces and his jeans that required a belt. “Wait a second. Stay right there.” She disappeared from sight and Jem had to back away to see her retreat through the adjoining door. The sounds of infantile giggling and fussy crying leaked into the echoey chamber just before the door closed. Jem waited. A small eternity that lasted two minutes later, the door opened again, and the sounds of giggles and screams (good or bad?) bled in before being suddenly cut off. This time, the young woman crouched underneath the partition separating the counter from the main floor. “Sorry about that, sir.” She said. “I thought one of our charges had toddled off or something.” She seemed nice enough, but far less self-conscious that she was actively referring to Littles as if they were children. All of the giggles and screams had sounded like post pubescent Littles to Jem’s ears. “The motion sensor we have by the door must be too high.” Jem inhaled and caught a whiff of baby powder coming from off his giant peer. “That’s fine. I came in when someone was just leaving.” He thought it would be polite to give her an out. The woman neither took nor seemed to care about the explanation. “How can we help you, friend? Do you need to use our phone? Is your scooter broken down? Do you need directions somewhere? Are you lost?” Yes. Yes he was lost. He’d made a mistake in coming here and he’d need someone to take him home. Maybe someone who lived in the same apartment complex as him could help. Someone big and strong with dreamy blue eyes. “I’m interested in working out,” Jem lied instead. The young woman frowned. For all intents and purposes she’d just heard a cat bark. “Okay…” she said in a way that signaled that it really wasn’t. “Let me go get someone for you.” On long striding legs, she power walked around the other side of the counter and through another door with an “Office” sign hanging from it. “Nate!” Jem called after her, but his voice fell quiet. It was only the rough approximation of a shout, not even close to the real thing. The door shut and closed him out. “Damn,” he hissed. The LIttle sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose. The sweet aroma of baby powder just wouldn’t get out of his nostrils. The lady just trailed it in with her. Which was odd, considering that the gym didn’t reek of sweat. It wasn’t worrying, or even surprising; just telling about where priorities lay. “Jem?” The raven haired Little rose up to his tippy toes in surprise. He forced his arms and the hairs on the back of his neck down before he turned around to face the wonderful voice. “Hey dude,” Nate greeted. “What are you doing here? The Amazon’s hair was neatly brushed. His face was cleanly shaved. He wore a neat maroon polo tucked into khaki pants. In his muscular arms, he carried a clipboard. He didn’t have the relaxed but scruffy look from yesterday. Now he looked so…so...so Grown-Up. Jem sealed his lips to prevent himself from drooling. “Did you decide to take me up on my offer?” Dumbly, Jem nodded. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Uh-huh.” The office door opened up and the woman from before followed out a second Amazon woman. This lady was older, but far from old, mid thirties at most. With her dirty blonde hair tied back in a pony tail and a maroon sweat suit she could have been the first one’s older sister; maybe even her mother, and the air of confident authority that said she was in charge. Nate, as well as the other staff Jem saw walking around the place, looked like a corporatized version of a life coach; a personal assistant but with weights. They clapped and encouraged people to go the extra mile in between cleaning up sweat, but that was it. If Nate worked out here (and he did work out) it certainly wasn’t dressed like this. Carmen, and she had to be Carmen, dressed like she was ready to start sprinting and pumping iron at a moment’s notice. If she made it another fifty years and kept the wardrobe, she might resemble the crusty but loveable trainer in a boxing movie. When she crossed the threshold, Jem thought he caught the slightest sigh of relief from the woman. “Hi there,” Carmen said. “What can I do for you Mister…?” Two Amazons leading with proper titles in as many days. Would unasked for wonders never cease? “Jem,” he stuttered. “I mean Jeremy Meadows.” Awkward handshakes were exchanged. “What can I do for you Mr. Meadows,” she repeated. Shaking and trembling more than he should, Jem thumbed to the gorgeous man behind him. “Nate is my…” he stuttered. “I mean I want him to be my…uh…” What the fuck was he trying to say? Friend? Daddy? Trainer? Yes please?! Jem couldn’t force himself to finish the sentence with anything. The giant of his infatuations filled in the blanks. “We live in the same apartment complex, Miss Carmen.” Nate said. “We got to talking and I offered him a complimentary session.” It was all the truth but not quite the words Jem was craving. Jem looked between the two remaining giants; the original one had taken her place back behind the counter. Nate stood with his clipboard folded in front of his lap. No winks were exchanged or secret signals or intonations. To Jem’s inexplicable disappointment, Nate was talking straight. How did other Littles provoke the ‘correct’ response from Amazons without even trying? The tilted her head forward appraisingly at Jem and placed her hands behind her. “Mr. Meadows, are you aware that my facility does not have any adaptive equipment for Tweeners or Littles?” Jem straightened up like a private at boot camp. “Yes ma’am.” “For safety reasons, you’ll have to have a spotter at all times. You realize that?” “Yes ma’am.” “You realize that if you become a member, you’ll be required to either have another member accompany you or purchase a session with one of our trainers so that they can ensure your safety?” Out of habit, Jem feigned interest. “Do members get a discount?” Carmen cocked her head to the side like a cat who’d seen a mouse do an amusing trick. “Yes. Yes they do.” “That’s acceptable, then.” Jem said. “Do I get to pick the trainer?” “Assuming they’re available that day, yes.”. “Is Nate available?” The owner chuckled dryly through her nose. “Yes. Yes he is.” She walked past Jem and placed her hand on Nate’s shoulder. “Nicely done, Nathan.” At the sound of that, Jem felt a faint feeling of…something…connected to the brief idea that he’d end up in a car seat before the day was out. ********************************************************************************* A few hours later… “Push dude!” Nate ordered. “I can’t!” Jem groaned, every phoneme a strain. “Don’t give me that talk, my guy! You can do it!” “No. I. Can’t.” “Do it for you!” He didn’t want to do it for him. “I don’t wanna do it for me!” Jem was straining so much that even his inner monologue wasn’t being filtered. This could end poorly. “Then do it for me!” Nate said. “Can you do it for me, my guy?!” For Nate? To impress him? He could do anything. Jem took a deep breath and pushed up with every fiber of his being.. “Yes. I. Can!” The giant metal bar that had been crushing Jem’s chest lifted up for the final time. The second his elbows fully extended, Nate bent over and relieved the Little of his burden, putting the massive weight back on the bar. “Nice, dude!” Panting and drenched in his own sweat, Jem sat up from the bench. He would have mopped his forehead with his shirt sleeve, but that was equally sopping. Jem had never sweat so much in his life. For his trial run he’d been given a baby blue jumpsuit with teddy bear ears on the hoodie and extra room in the back for a diaper Jem wasn’t wearing. It had Carmen’s Gym in italic font on the chest, but other than that it was basically footed pajamas from the daycare. “Sorry,” Nate apologized all too sincerely, “It’s the only thing we’ve got in your size. You can still slip these in your sneakers.” Jem had hoped that would be the first step in the right direction. He was terribly mistaken. There weren’t even any Amazon strength snaps anywhere, just a front facing zipper. This getup was very escapable if slightly inconvenient. He looked back at the heavy leaden bar that he’d been balancing and pressing at the same time, resting serenely back on its perch.. “Nice?” Jem panted. “Nice? That’s…just…the bar. I didn’t…even…get any weights on.” “It’s not about where you start, Little man.” The trainer started mopping up the sweaty outline Jem had left behind. “It’s where you end up. A couple months of this and some nutritional supplements and you’ll be able to give a Tweener a run for their money.” A couple of months?! Jem knew he couldn’t take this kind of torture for a couple of months. He didn’t want to beat up a Tweener either. He couldn’t say it out loud just yet, but he knew what he wanted, and it involved being cradled in someone else’s massive arms. He wanted to cry, but the sound that came out was more of a tired bark. Jem wasn’t sure if he could properly shed tears just then. That would have required fluids he didn’t possess at the moment. “Okay, bro,” Nate said, slapping him on the back. “I think that’s enough for one day. Good workout. Do you want to sign up for the full membership? No. No he didn’t. Not at all. Jem wanted nothing more than to crawl home into his bed and die a mummified corpse. “Yeah.” He said. “Sure.” Dragging his feet and feeling like a ragdoll, Jem followed Nate back over to the counter where he was handed a clipboard. Maybe this was part of the gym’s standard operating procedure for Adopting out Littles. Push them to the brink of exhaustion and then have them wake up in a playpen. Imagine his disappointment when he read through the lengthy gym membership contract line by line and found it to be just a lengthy gym membership contract. No maturity clauses. No loopholes. Nothing even close to a double entendre that meant if he couldn’t pay his monthly dues he’d be dragged back into the nursery like the irresponsible Little boy he clearly was… So much for the easy way. He signed his name on the dotted line and handed it back up to Nate. “Welcome to the club,” Nate said. “See you tomorrow?” “Yeah,” Jem sighed. “Sure.” ********************************************************************************* Thuck-thuck-thuck-thuck-thuck-thuck-thuck-thuck. The rhythmic beating sound smacking in Jem’s ears the next day had nothing to do with anything he’d been fantasizing about. They weren’t from him loudly suckling on a pacifier that Nate had shoved between his lips. They weren’t Nate’s wonderfully massive hands patting him on the back in an attempt to burp the Little. In a weird, almost perverse way, Jem was even disappointed that the beat wasn’t the result of a spanking. Spankings held a strange kind of primal terror for Littles, Jem included, but having his bottom smacked by a giant palm, hairbrush, or paddle, would stil mean things were going in the right direction for Jem’s deluded brain. In actuality the muted rhythmic sounds were just the pitter patter of Jem’s feet dashing on a treadmill capable of supporting an Amazon in full sprint. “That’s right!” Nate cheered him on from the side. “Widen that stride. Make your gait as long as possible!” He clapped lightly in time with Jem’s increasingly ragged footsteps. “You’re doing great, sir!” Great is not how Jem would have described how he was feeling just then. Every muscle in his body was screaming at him. As for his gait, last night he’d imagined himself having a slightly more awkward, toddling gait. He’d even gone so far as to re-layer his briefs over each other again and went to sleep. He kept waking up out of some bizarre paranoia that he’d wet the bed, but otherwise it was decently comfortable, if a tad snug for his liking. He shouldn’t be doing this, Jem knew. He should have been holed up in his apartment, finishing another custom stuffie or clothing modification. One customer wanted this yellow ruffled onesie and equally frilly pink dress Frank N. Stined together into one outfit instead of layering them together. This membership was expensive, too. More than Jem could afford long term unless he was working full time to pay for it off. It gave him a chance, however, to be close to his Amazon himbo crush. It’s not that Jem wanted to be a baby again, per se, it’s that he wanted to be Nate’s baby. A strange and conflicted fantasy to be sure, and one he didn’t dare talk or type about over on MistuhGwiffin.web. The people there would not be sympathetic to this impulse. Best case scenario he’d be piled on with accusations of being mindfucked or some Amazon sock puppet account. Yesterday had been weight day, Nate declared. Every weight machine was powerful enough to lift Jem out of the recommended seating position or impossible to move, so Jem had been forced to work with every free weight light enough. Fortunately (fortunately?) Nate knew multiple exercises that could be used with the same spider-web covered dumbbells, left neglected because the usual gym rats skipped right over them for something more challenging. Today was all about cardio. “Get your heart buff and the rest will follow. Gotta get that blood pumping to the muscles so that they can grow!” So they’d done cardio. None of the exercise bikes were small enough so that Jem could reach the pedals, so Nate made do by putting Jem through lots of stretches and poses that tangled the Little’s body up in knots. According to Nate, stretching and poses could be good for cardio, too, because it forced the heart to pump blood to the specific muscles being stretched at any given time, increasing the heart rate. Jem had no idea if that was true or complete bullshit, and the not knowing- the feeling of learning and being guided by someone who knew more than him- gave Jem the best kind of tingles. Nate was still kind of socially awkward and had the vocabulary and speaking mannerisms of someone from a corny beachbum movie but he genuinely seemed to be passionate and know what he was talking about in this field. If only, Jem fantasized, one of these yoga positions involved him being on his back with his legs crossed and up over his head. No amount of stretching in the world could compete with good old fashioned running, though. So that’s how Jem was ending this session. Also agony. Jem was also ending this session in agony. “Come on! Just one more mile, Jem!” Nate cheered. “You can do it, bro!” Stop. Calling me. Bro. Little dude is okay. Jem is great. Baby boy. Is preferred. But not. Bro. Jem wanted to say all of this, but he was too busy panting to vocalize. Even his thoughts were panting, somehow. “PLease D-...Nate!” Jem forced himself to say. “I’m…at my limit.” “No way! You got this!” Nate positioned himself behind Jem, straddling the treadmill so that Jem couldn’t escape. This was not the sort of penned in that the Little boy found himself idly fantasizing about. “Just a little fur-!” Jem’s knees buckled and the conveyor belt rushed up to meet him. He thumped on the treadmill and the two massive steel pillars that most of the customers were able to grab onto for pacing sped away from him. His brain processed the fall and the oncoming impact far faster than his body would have been able to. It would take less than a second for his frame to be ragdolled all over the floor. At least the footed sleeper he’d stuffed himself into would prevent any kind of road rash outside of his face. Nate’s big strong arms snatched him up instantly. Jem didn’t have time to register the rapid blur of upward motion and being held to a certain hunk’s chest. “Whoah! Jem!” Nate yelped. “Are you okay?” Panting and more exhausted than terrified, Jem looked up into those dreamy blue eyes and resisted the urge to suck his thumb. That’d be too obvious. “Yeah,” he said when he found his voice. “Yeah. I am. You saved me. Thanks.” ”I am so sorry!” Nate gushed. “I shouldn’t have pushed you that hard. I should have listened to you. I am sooooo so sorry my guy!” He didn’t let go or put Jem back down. Jem was in Heaven, looking past Nate and seeing the ceiling tiles move. He was being more than held. He was being carried; cradled even. He’d done it. He’d accidentally done it! “No.” Jem said. “It’s fine. I…I think I kinda like it.” The biggest dopiest smile plastered itself on Jem’s mug. Nate grinned like a puppy dug that had just been scritched behind the ears. “Sounds like you got that runner’s high, my dude. Careful. It’s addictive” The Amazon had no idea how right he was about the wrong stimulus. His grin faded into a concerned frown. “Either that or it’s dehydration and heat exhaustion. I think we’re done for the day.” Gently, he propped Jem up on the service counter, keeping his wonderful hands on Jem’s chest and back until he was sure that the Little could sit under his own power. “Done?” Jem whined. “Done? But it feels like we just got started!” “Your limit is your limit, my guy.” Nate lectured. “We can move it and push it over time, but you gotta respect it in the here and now. Listen to your body.” Jem hadn’t heard the phrase ‘listen to your body’ since potty training. “I don’t know how.” Another gentle clap on the back. “You’ll learn.” Would he though? Would he? The acknowledgement of his competence was almost a slap in the face to Jem. “Here. Let me buy you a sports drink. Electrolytes and stuff. Lots of sugar too. You like sweet stuff right?” Jem was on the verge of crazy happy tears. Nate was buying something for him. Something yummy and sweet. “Yeah,” Jem said. “Sure.” Nate started to wander around to a glass doored refrigerator filled with protein shakes, bottled waters, and lemon-lime flavored sports drinks. Despite Amazons’ preference for bitter and spicy flavors being so prevalent as to be sociological if not biological fact, the bottles filled with sugar water were on the fridge’s top shelf far out of Little reach. “Deal.” An idea! “Wait!” Jem called out. Nate turned back around and faced his client. “I want to pick it out myself.” Nate was in the process of formulating a non-condescending variation of ‘but you’re too Little to reach’, and part of Jem just wished that he would. “Please,” Jem said. “I…I kinda need this after what just happened.” The truth, but also a lie of omission. Jem daren’t say why he needed it. Nate considered it for a moment and walked back up to the Little. “Okay. I get it.” Jem hoped but doubted it. “Deal.” He picked Jem up and planted the twenty-year old on his hip like he was twenty months instead and walked him over to the cooler. He slid open the glass door and then stepped back so that he could lift Jem by the waist and thrust him forward. Uppies! He was getting uppies! Uppies from Daddy! Jem’s mind was buzzing. He took his sweet time reaching out and lifting the massive bottle with both hands. The magic was over too soon. Jem was back to resting on the countertop, his feet dangling, but otherwise unsupported. Nate cracked open the bottle with a single twist and gave it back to the physically exhausted Little. “We should start weight training with those,” Nate joked. “Those things are massive on you!” An accurate statement. Jem had to use both hands to sip from the rim of the sports bottle and he’d have to be part anaconda to fit the entire rim in his mouth. “Yeah,” he said between sips. “Maybe we could do some Kung-Pow Kid stuff. Non-conventional training.” “Heh,” Nate chuckled. “Good one. Polish on. Polish off.” The impression was kind of racist, but it was almost impossible to quote that line without putting on a faux Yamatoan accent. Jem let it slide. He was enjoying it. “Real talk. Those might taste good to you, but you’re gonna want to pregame and follow up with good old fashioned water. No calories, and after a certain point the cost benefit of all those vitamins and nutrients stops evening out with the sugar. Unless you’re doing this kind of workout every day, you might as well be sipping on a soda.” If it got him this kind of attention, Jem just might find time to do it more often. But that was a different kind of cost benefit analysis. He realized he was falling in love with the way Nate talked about nutrition and exercise. “Kay.” Nate grimaced slightly. “Speaking of water, I gotta go let some out. Be right back. You keep cooling down and then we’ll review and strategize before you get back in clean clothes.” Nate power walked to the locker room and rest room. Jem’s heart sank a little bit watching the giant man go. Daddies didn’t leave their LIttle boys unattended. Some were so comfortable that they might take their baby boys to the potty with them so as to not be out of their sight. Most any other Little would be dreading the talk of clean clothes foreshadowing a nasty surprise, but Jem was oddly hoping for it, despite knowing that Nate was just referring to clothes Jem walked in with today. The big lug just wouldn’t take the bait. Jem had briefly hoped that saving him and toting him around like a toddler might have awakened something in Nate. All Amazons, men and women, were supposed to be kinda baby crazy, right? It was supposed to be practically an instinct that they never aged out of. That’s why so many Littles ended up treated like kids, right? He swallowed his bizarre desires and nursed on lemon-lime flavored sugar water. A big muscle bound Amazon in his forties strolled up to the counter. He stank of sweat and had a big fuck-off beard. He definitely hit the weights more than Nate, but didn’t seem to be into cardio from the looks of it. A steroid junkie, Jem thought. Much older too. His dark black hair was more dye than natural. From the way he was smiling, Jem imagined he’d be the type of creep that wanted to be a mall Santa so that squirming Littles would be placed on his knee. “Hey, Little guy,” the stranger said, his voice sounding like he smoked and his breath reeking of beef jerky. “Noticed you were having some trouble with the weights the other day, and that you wiped out on the treadmill just now. Those trainers can get expensive real quick. Maybe it’d be better if you found someone to spot you for free. Give you some tips. If you want…” “Back off, Randal” came a stern voice from behind the big man. Carmen, the gym owner, leered up behind him and gave the big Amazon a withering glare. It was a more feminine pink than yesterday’s sweatsuit, but she was still ready to work out (and throwdown?) at a moment’s notice. “Oh,” the massive muscle man said. “I’m sorry Miss Carmen. I didn’t mean to intrude. I was just being friendly to the new kid is all.” “New kid?” Carmen said. “Excuse me?” “What? It’s just a figure of speech.” Carmen pointed right at Jem. “That customer belongs to Nathan. Until one of them says otherwise, he’s Nathan’s project. Got it?” The mountain-that-creeped was smart enough to slink away. “Got it.” Carmen paused long enough to give Jem a curt yet approving nod. Jem had the distinct idea that Carmen could see right through him. More depressingly, it seemed that the only person not getting the hints he was throwing out was Nate. Jem knew he’d need to up his game tomorrow. ******************************************************************* “You okay, bud?” Nate asked. “Yeah,” Jem said, glugging back the water. “You’re drinking a lot of water is all.” Nate looked genuinely worried. “Really taking yesterday’s advice to heart, yeah?” Jem finished glugging down the massive water bottle. His second in as many hours. “Yeah.” Nate had no idea how right he was. Jem hadn’t used the bathroom since he’d first gotten up this morning. His bladder was screaming at him in silent agony. This was on purpose. “You know there’s such a thing as too much water, right?” Nate asked. “You’ve been taking a big drink after every exercise today.” Jem exhaled, trying to maintain his composure. “Thanks. I’m trying.” No potty dance or hint. He needed to appear completely unaware of what he was about to do, like the Little baby he needed Nate to see him as. “Can I hit the weights next?” “I just can’t believe you’re not sloshing. Where do you put it all?” Jem bit into his lip and walked over to the mirrored wall with all the free weights. He’d be putting it all in his pants soon. Lacking a diaper, there’d be no hiding it, either. No excuses. The gym was pretty full too. Carmen was working the punching bag and most of the treadmills were occupied. No escaping it. Just getting what he wanted. What he needed. “Okay,” Nate said. “Let’s just start as light as we can. I don’t want to push you so hard that you puke, okay?” Jem stared at his reflection. Showing how weak he was hadn’t worked. Getting saved and carried around didn’t tempt him. This was the last straw; the final gambit. This would be the last time that he wouldn’t have an obviously padded bulge between his legs. Nate leaned over and placed his hand on his shoulder. “Okay, Jem?” Worth it. The warmth and strength Jem felt in his crush’s hand was enough to give him courage. He relaxed his bladder and felt the terrible violating feeling of urine splashing around in his pants and then dripping down his legs. For half a second, Jem worried that it would be too subtle, that the extra thickness of the pajama-like material would hide his purposeful accident. He needn’t have worried. A dark spot formed and spread right where his penis was and traveled down his thighs making a dark blue roadmap all the way into his ankles. The only downside was that the material wicked away just enough pee quickly enough so that it started pooling in his shoes instead of on the floor. He needn’t have worried, however. It was literally impossible for Nate to have missed it. Both sets of eyes widened in shock. Jem’s horrified expression was just a mask however, covering up his excited anticipation. “You’re cramping up!” Nate half-yelled. “Cramp! Cramp!” In another blur, Jem found himself lifted up pressed to Nate’s chest, snugly up against the Daddy of his dreams. Nate started carrying his new Little boy to the locker room. There, he knew, he’d be stripped, wiped, powdered, and diapered by a deliriously baby crazy Nate, and things would progress naturally from there. “Cramp! Cramp!” Jem opened his eyes. “Cramp?” Why was Nate saying Cramp? “Don’t worry Little dude,” Nate’s voice sounded off the locker room. It was almost like how they met. “I’ve got just the thing. Anybody here?!” He called. “Good.” “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Jem cried out in shock, if not pain. Freezing, ice cold water poured over Nate, soaking him from head to toe. “WHAT? AAAAAAAAAH!” “Cramp!” Nate yelled over Jem’s cries. “Just a cramp!” he pried Jem off of him and turned him to face the icy chilled stream. “This’ll get rid of it! No need to call an ambulance! It’s cool” The water switched off and Jem was placed sopping wet onto his feet. From the tip of his hoodie to the toes of his booties, all of the fabric was the same dark sodden dark blue. No trace of his accident remained. “Oh man!” Nate said. “That was close! Uh…I mean, I was worried for a second. I saw your legs spasming so I knew I had to ice you down.” Nate sounded like a bad soap opera actor. “Too bad we both got completely drenched.” He threw Jem a wink. “What?’ Jem whispered, completely baffled. Nate leaned in extra close, close enough for Jem to guess what brand of toothpaste he used. “Don’t worry. Nobody will know.” He lightly punched Jem in the shoulder. “I told you not to push yourself and drink that much water all at once,” Nate hissed. “Like, I get it. That could’ve happened to anybody. But you can’t risk that happening again. Anybody else here would have Adopted you right on the spot.”. All the muscles in Jem’s face ached. “Anybody else?” “:Literally anybody else.” That was the moment Jem felt his heart break. “Thanks,” Jem said, holding back sobs. “You’re a really good friend.” “Don’t mention it, LIttle dude.” Ten minutes later, Jem trudged out of the locker room wearing the clothes he’d come in with. Carmen stopped laying into the bag and looked particularly confused. Disturbed even. Jem paid her no mind. ************************************************************* “Alright,” Nate instructed. “We’re just gonna hang here in plank for a second. Then we’re gonna go down for a three count, hold for a three count, and push back up for a three count.” Jem nodded. “Uh-huh.” Beads of sweat were running down his face. They’d been at this for close to an hour. “Ready? One…two…three…and hold….one…two…three…back up…one…two…three…” They were doing slow push-ups, stretches, and other strength building exercises that even a Little could do in a land of giants. Nate was doing everything with Jem, and not even breaking a sweat. “Down again…one…two…three…and hold…one…two…three…aaaaand lower all the way down to your belly.” Jem had no idea why he was doing this anymore. He was torturing himself, physically and mentally, looking and wishing for himself. He didn’t want to be a baby, he wanted to be Nate’s. But literally anybody else would want him…anybody but Nate. He supposed he came back due to sunk cost fallacy and wanting to keep up appearances. He’d finish out the week, he’d decided, then maybe put in another week, and then fade away like most sporadic gym members. The only thing that would happen is his membership would be revoked. Being here also gave him an excuse to spend just a few more days with the Daddy that wasn’t meant to be. He’d get over it in time, but he was allowed to enjoy the fantasy for a few more days. Somehow it hurt less now that he knew his unexpected dream was off the table. “Inhale into cobra,” the pair arched their backs up from the mat. “Exhale into downward facing dog.” In unison they arched their backs and rocked themselves onto their hands and feet while sticking their tailbones into the air. “Aaaaand lower down to safety zone!” They collapsed into what most yoga practitioners would call ‘The Child’s Pose’. Nate had a different name for it, just in case anybody get the wrong idea about his Little friend. “Okay,” Jem said from the resting and recovery position. “I think that’s enough for me today.” Nate picked himself up. “I agree. You really worked hard today, my dude. Super focused.” Jem was still so tired that he hadn’t moved yet. “Yeah. I guess I am.” “You’re doing a good job. Listening to your body and paying attention to your limits. I’m proud of you.” Jem sighed. His heart fluttered but his face didn’t flush. What would have been the point? “Yeah. Awesome.” Nate offered his hand down. “Want help up?” Jem picked his head up and accepted the help. “Yeah.” It was a quick trip up to his feet. “Thanks, Daddy.” Nate looked horrified. “What did you say?” Jem frowned. “Thanks, Nate?” “No…” Nate said. “You didn’t.” The Little played back what he’d said in his head. The blood drained all the way down to the soles of his feet in pure unadulterated embarrassment. Jem dashed out of the building at a dead sprint. He didn’t even think about going back for his clothes or wallet or the key to his apartment. He was still in the blue teddy jammies that had been substituted as gym clothes. It was a miracle he made it back home. ********************************************************************************* Nate found Jem in the Laundry room later that day, with Jem leaned up against his favorite dryer. “Hey,” said. Jem closed his eyes and exhaled. “Hey.” “You left without your stuff.” “Yeah,” Jem said. “ I know.” He’d accidentally locked himself out of his apartment. Going to the manager’s office dressed like this was a surefire way to get snatched up by the landlord or the property manager. Jem wouldn’t have cared so much a couple days ago. The laundry room was the only safe place to hide. “I had a talk with my boss,” Nate said. “She thinks you’ve got Maturosis or something.” Jem waited for a question. “Is Maturosis real?” “No?” Jem said. “Yes? I don’t know!” He was so utterly humiliated having to talk about this that he was on the verge of turning into a sobbing mess. Knowing that no one would be there to comfort him was the only thing that was holding him together. “Right,” Nate replied as if Jem’s cracking voice and indecision were legitimate answers. “Do you wanna talk to me about it? I can make you a protein shake or something. I brought your stuff back to my place.” Jem blinked away the tears. Might as well get this over with. “Sure. Yeah.” They walked side by side to Nate’s apartment on the other end of the complex from Jem’s. Any lingering hopes that some crazy paternal instinct had been activated inside the dudebro were dashed when they walked in. “Sorry about the mess.” Jem had seen messier. His own apartment in fact. Yeah, there were dishes in the sink, and another laundry basket full of clothes on the couch, but other than that it wasn’t terrible. No baby powder scent. No highchair in the kitchen. Nothing resembling a playpen or parts of a crib that had yet to be assembled. Amazons were supposed to be really good at setting up that sort of thing…when they wanted to. Nate leaned up against his own beige couch, and pretended to be interested in the ceiling. “So…” “So…” Jem echoed. “Did I do this to you?” Yes! Yes, yes, yes! “What do you mean?” “Like…did I do something or say something that made you pee your pants yesterday?” His face scrunched up. “Or like, manipulate you into getting carried around?” How could this wonderful idiot not look in the mirror or hear the sound of his own gentle voice and not know? “Not technically, no.” “Technically? Jem shook his head and rattled his brains. “I mean ‘no’. Nevermind. What else?” “So you wanted to have an accident? And get picked up? And call me…y’know…Daddy? You did all that on purpose?” Could such things really be called acts of free will when the alternative seemed so much the worse? Did a man shooting himself in the foot really have the choice if it felt like there was another gun to his heart? “The Daddy thing was the only accident. Sorry.” “Why?” “Why?” Jem’s face contorted. “If I knew why, it wouldn’t be an accident.” A beat. “Sorry.” “No. Other ‘why’. Why did you do that stuff?” “Sorry,” Jem said again. “I wanted you to…” it was so much harder now that he was saying it out loud. “I wanted you to be my Daddy. Sorry.” “Why?” “You know how some Amazons look at a Little and just wanna…you know?” Nate stopped looking at the ceiling. “Cossetting, yeah.” Without realizing it, Jem had pulled his sleeves over his hands and was twisting them up. “I think I got like…the opposite…for you. Sorry.” The himbo looked confused. “That’s a thing?” “It is for me,” Jem whispered. “But only for you. Sorry.” Nate bobbed his head and moved his lips but no sound came out. He was clearly talking to himself. “Why do you keep saying you’re sorry?” Jem’s face scrunched up like a toddler. His throat closed up and the next words came out squeaky as the tears dripped down his face “Because you…don’t..want…!” “I kinda do, though.” The Little’s heart leapt up into his throat. “You what?” “Dude, I kinda wanted to take you home and rock you to sleep the second I saw you. I was just trying to respect you. You know, as a person, instead of a baby. Not that babies aren’t people, but…” The nature of the tears was turning from one emotion to another. “Yeah,” Jem sniffed. “I…I get it.” “Thing is,” Nate huffed. “If I Adopt you, I don’t know how I’m gonna afford you. Babies can get expensive. Like I bet I could get free daycare, but even diapers can get expensive.” “I could…” Jem ventured…”I could still make and sew baby clothes and stuff. None of my customers know I’m a Little.” He thought about it. “Knowing I’m a Little might help, actually.” Jem hung his head, bracing himself for the incoming rejection. It was a dumb idea, anyways. “Dude! That’s genius!” Jem met the Amazon man’s gaze. “Please don’t call me ‘Dude’.” The dudebro blushed. “Oh. Right. Bad nickname. Bud? Bud.” Bud? Yeah. Better. Jem gave a weak but approving smile. Nate walked around to his couch and sat down next to the laundry basket.. Unbidden Jem followed him around. He waited for Nate to pat his lap. He was relieved that he didn’t have to wait long. He climbed all the way up and sat himself on the big man’s knee, feeling strangely euphoric. “Tell you what, Bud,” Nate said. “Why don’t we try this out? I’ll take a week off from work. We’ll try it out. If we both like it. We’ll Adopt.” “We’ll…?” Jem looked into his maybe-Daddy’s beautiful blue eyes filled with questions. Nate hadn’t mentioned anyone else. Was he going to have to share? “Yeah,” Nate smiled. “You and me, Jem. You and me. We found each other. Baby boy and Daddy.” Jem lost it in the best way.“Oh Daddy!” he cried out, loving the sound of it coming from his lips. “Daddy, Daddy Daddy Daddy Daddy Daddy Daddy!” He cried and stood up on his Daddy’s lap, giving him the biggest hug, even though there was no way he’d be able to wrap his arms around the giant. That was Daddy’s job! He peppered Nate’s chest and neck and chin with tiny kisses, squeezing him so tight he’d sooner become a tattoo than let go. “Whoah! Bud!” Nate laughed. He threw in a few pecks on Jem’s forehead, anwyas. It was unsurprisingly easy for him to peel the manic Little off his chest. “Jem, what are you doing, baby?” Jem stood balanced on one giant knee. “Huh?” Was he already doing something wrong? “You can’t get that excited, Little boy.” Nate reached over into the laundry basket. From out of it he produced a package of Monkeez. It was a convenience pack, something sold at a convenience store, but it was a start. The Little on the front looked incredibly happy. Jem was about to top it. “Not without getting properly dressed.” ********************************************************************************************* “Good morning, Nathan,” Carmen said a week later. “Welcome back. How was your week off?” Nate stood in the doorway of her office. Her best personal trainer was combed and crisp and clean for work, and had an extra sparkle in his eye. The Little baby on his hip had darker hair and eyes, but there was a distinct matching twinkle. The teddy bear version of her sweat suit line she favored looked good on the forever child. It somehow looked more appropriate without the sneakers covering up the footie parts. A keen eye would reveal that more was different beyond a lack of pretense. Someone had altered the bottom half so that there were snaps along the inseam and up along the crotch, to give caregivers and daycare workers easier access to the Little’s diaper. This Little was diapered, too. Either that or he’d gained the lower equivalent of a beer belly. More interestingly, the zippered front had been redone in snaps, too. If they were Amazonian grade, the Little wouldn’t be strong enough to dress or undress himself without adult help. Most peculiar and fascinating of all, the faded black logo that said ‘Carmen’s Gym’ had been completely replaced with the bright yellow block font of her other business and now the outfit read ‘C.G. Daycare.’ Carmen decided right then that she liked it, and would figure out how to get more. She had an entire back room filled with those things in both pink and blue. The only reason she hadn’t decided to use them as uniforms was because the Little dickenses kept stripping down to their diapers. Nate grinned like the proud papa he’d become and looked over “Pretty good, boss. Pretty good.” “Good. Glad you don’t need paternity leave. Get that cutie checked in next door, and you can show me all the baby pictures you want later.” “Yes ma’am,” the Daddy and his new Little boy accidentally said in unison. They looked at each other and the Little giggled while his Daddy cooed at him. Their enthusiasm and love for each other made Carmen smile as she watched the adorable duo head next door, happy for the both of them. (The End)

And now the threads start to come together to form a larger tapestry. Brava

I can do fun when I have a mind to! Thank you. It definitely was something of an itch that I just HAD to scratch and step out of my usual ego death diapered trauma drama.

Thank you! I'm trying to get better every time. I like experimenting with storytelling angles and twists and concepts.