Personalias

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.

Thank y'all. The praise helps lift my spirits as does the emotional investment. I am being short only because if I'm not, I'm going to start gushing.

(Chapter 4) Trial 59 Glitch withdrew immediately after the “horsey ride” incident. The ex-sidekick had seemed genuinely puzzled at Circe’s declaration of loathing. It was the happiest that Circe had been since her capture. She’d done it! She’d gotten underneath the idiot’s artificial skin! Success! Total success! It had been so deceptively easy using those three words. Normally, hero-villain reparte was more complex than all that. Long monologues and barbed insults. Had Circe been trying too hard all these years? Was it really that easy? Perhaps this next generation was just too soft; bunch of special snowflakes. That made her feel old…odd considering everything else about her prison. Regardless, the declaration of hate still hadn’t had the desired effect; not completely. Instead of saying “I hate you, too” Glitch frowned and asked “Why?”. And when Circe couldn’t vocalize an answer, she’d just up and left. What did that idiot cyborg mean in asking that question? Wasn’t it obvious why Circe hated her? Wasn’t it self-evident? Putting such complex and self-evident truths into spoken word was harder than it looked, however. That and the question had been posed right after Circe climaxed harder than she ever had in her life. Who did that?! Seriously!!! Asking those sort of things right after orgasm was right up there with interrupting your rival when they were making their bold declarations about how good triumph or evil It just wasn’t done! Instead of waiting until she’d recovered, and showing ink blots, Glitch had exited with an awkward amount of urgency and haste, and hadn’t come back since. Then Circe was maneuvered over to the robot changing table, stripped, wiped, powdered, and re-diapered, and then left on the nursery floor to change and entertain herself with less than breakable toys. Circe had no way to keep track of the time in this box. There were no clocks and her sense of time wasn’t the best as it was. Both her human mind and Siren soul tended to keep track of things based on victims and crimes or other natural biological urges. Now all she had was feedings, nap times, and bed. Oh, and diaper changes. Those too. She hated all the mechanized events, but hated diaper changes the most. Not the diapers, specifically; they were dreadfully comfortable all things considered. But the process of being changed, like some prop on an assembly line: That was the worst. Having to lie there at her most helpless but needing to struggle and not being given the proper opportunity to. It wasn’t sporting! All she couldn’t do was scream in pink. Speaking of pink, that annoying light always flashed in her eyes when she got changed. It was so bright and annoying that even slamming her eyes shut did nothing, she could see the strobing pulses through her lids. It recharged the voice modulator she suspected. At least with feeding and toy time and the crib she felt she had the option to spit something out or try an escape. The table didn’t give her even that much, just calming powder and cooing pre-recorded words along with fresh underwear (that never actually stayed UNDER anything). How long had it been? Where was Glitch? Circe hadn’t seen anyone in what felt like a week. Possibly more. Had there been an apocalypse that the world’s heroes needed to gather to stop? That Circe hadn’t caused?! That she’d missed out on?! Or what if it had been successful and the Siren was now just trapped here, forever until some nigh magical super-science power source ran out? She didn’t and couldn’t know, and it was driving her crazy. She didn’t even know if the security cameras were on or if the nerds in lab coats were watching her still. She might just be alone instead of under careful observation of invisible scientist. More than once she’d screamed at the windows and got nothing. She would have pounded on the windows but she was unable to stand without getting tased. She could break toys, but that would just lose her the toys. Everything came out pink, of course, even swear words. Not that she was swearing much anymore. The paddling machine got well past a hundred before she lost the count. Presently, Circe crawled around in circles on the floor. Her thoughts were zig-zagging quicker than she could process. The need to be her Siren self gave her the need to transgress and destroy. Her need for self-preservation struggled to reign her in. “Stupid Glitch,” Circe muttered to herself. “Follow the rules, Circe. Be a good girl Circe. “Her voice gained a whining nasally quality, as they often do when children. “Eat your mush, Circe. Don’t break your toys, Circe. Don’t run away, Circe! Do what you’re fu….” she stopped. “Do what you’re effing told to, Circe.” Her entire face fell when she realized she’d stopped herself from swearing because she knew that she feared the spanking machine. Torture was pointless without someone to defy. There were no other tormentors for her to put a brave face on. No other inmates to impress with how awful or resilient she could be. No victims to intimidate or terrify. Just her. Alone. In a room. And the only means of entertainment were bits of rainbow colored plastic that were too sturdy to break. She’d done everything else. Circe shifted so that she was sitting on her bottom. Disturbingly, she noticed the squish of her wet diaper. When had that happened? The Siren hadn’t even noticed or remembered peeing herself. Had she gone and just forgotten out of boredom, or was she well and truly on her way to losing her potty training? “The fudge?” She poked at her padded crotch. Even through the inflexible mittens she was incredibly squishy. “What is happening to me?” As if on cue, the pommel horse shot up from the ground. Circe felt panic rise up in her. What had she said? Was ‘fudge’ now a curse word? “GOOD BABY! YOU GET A REWARD!” Glitch’s recorded voice boomed. “LET’S GO FOR A HORSEY RIDE!” “NO!” Circe screamed. “NOT AGAIN!” But the mechanical nursery paid her no mind. On soaking, sopping wet padding, the supervillain was lowered, straddling the ‘Mama’s Knee’ and held in place with metallic tendrils “Bounce me Bounce me on your knee Bounce me bounce me pretty please Bounce me bounce me here and there Bounce me bounce me EVERYWHERE!!!” The songs did not help, only adding to the woman’s humiliation. The fact that they would do nothing to halt the eventual orgasm made it worse. The machine seemed to learn what motions and intensity stimulated her most. It was short work before Circe was collapsed on a heap on the floor, too flustered to move. If she rebelled, she was severely punished. If she did nothing, she was given a mind blowing orgasm. And she was running out of the will and ways to rebel. “Why me…?” she softly cried. “Wh me? Ffffff….” But she couldn’t finish it… ***************************************************************************** Meanwhile… Glitch was capable of performing over a million calculations at once in her cybernetic brain. Something still wasn’t making sense to her. “Why isn’t it working?” she asked herself. She was doing everything right. She was precisely controlling the environment, and giving Circe as much freedom as she could safely handle. Granted, it wasn’t a lot, but one had to start somewhere. Circe should be thriving, not crying in a puddle on the floor. “There’s a variable I’m missing,” she wondered aloud. “But what?” “Ma’am?” Glitch blinked. The camera feed for Circe’s rehabilitation nursery was taking up space in her right eye. She’d been so engrossed in this conundrum that she wasn’t paying attention to what was going on in the left. “What are you talking about?” The technician in front of her was waiting for her to sign off on the latest experiment- a way to use time’s relationship with gravity to speed up the lifecycle of certain endangered species of plants using bits of dwarf star in the hydroponics bay. The real trick would be doing it so that they didn’t affect the evolution of said plants making reintroduction into the wild impossible. “Sorry, Mitch,” Glitch said. She quickly reviewed the proposed calculations, power sources and equipment needed to execute them. Out of politeness she waited a whole three seconds to finish her reply. “Everything appears in order.” She handed the data tablet back. “Thank you ma’am.” Glitch said “You’re welcome,” but she was already observing the images in the nursery. What was she doing wrong? She was giving regular predictable rewards and positive reinforcement, and removing anything and everything that gave Circe a chance to act out, while still providing consequences if she made bad decisions. Combine that with the strobes from the changing table, and Circe should be ready to reintroduce to society by now. Based on even the most conservative simulations,Circe should have been at least back in middle school by now, re-learning adult feeling communication and conflict resolution. There were at least a dozen different rooms she’d constructed that weren’t being utilized at the moment. Circe just kept regressing further and further, and not in a good way. This was supposed to be a Groundhog Day scenario wherein if someone was given enough time they would eventually make the right decision. But Circe had forced the programming to remove almost every decision she could possibly make. Everytime it presented her with a positive option, she destroyed it, leaving her only with the most childsafe and infantile scenarios on file left. Note-to-self: Create virtual reality time lapse to simulate Groundhog Day. Her Asimov protocols were the only thing preventing the room from swaddling the woman up and leaving her paralyzed. The young hero shuddered to think that it could come to that. Glitch had honestly predicted that by removing herself and the staff as a source of perceived antagonists Circe might start to recover. Without someone to rebel against, though, the villain was practically trying to destroy herself, it seemed. How deep did her psychological scars run? “At least she’s not cursing as much…” The cameras zoomed in on the crying woman. Her wails were strengthening to the point where three staff members had resigned in protest because of “what you’re doing to that poor baby”. Naturally, they’d been given their positions back when the effects of Circe’s voice wore off. “What am I doing wrong?” *************************************************************************** Trial 61. Circe was not awake. Not at all. It was the only reason she was able to smile behind her pacifier. The pacifier had been inserted before the lights went out and Circe kept falling asleep with it because she kept trying to chew through the bulb and swallow it out of spite. Lying in her crib and fast asleep, the silver haired woman wasn’t consciously aware that the pleasant wet warmth between her legs was her own urine leaking out of her. She’d be mortified enough once she woke up and realized that she’d wet the bed. Too bad for her that it didn’t stop there. The Siren stirred slightly beneath the covers of her nice warm blankie, an unconscious moan rumbling out past her binkie. Microphones installed in the crib would record the churning gurgling sounds coming from her abdomen just a millisecond later. Her eyes would not open but they didn’t need to for her legs to raise up off the mattress and take pressure off her tailbone. Slowly but surely, Circe grunted and pushed out a healthy mess into the seat of her diaper. To her it was no more physically uncomfortable than for a normal sleeper needing to roll over in her sleep. She smiled in her slumber as her legs lowered back down and the lumpy mess spread back down. The fetid odor wouldn’t reach her nostrils beneath the cozy blankets, and even if it did, Circe was mostly smellblind to her own excrement by this point. Her body only knew that it had become extremely used to the feeling of a bulk between her legs. The extra swelling and wet, warm, squishiness from urine just made it more comfortable, like a warm sponge against her sex. Her subconsciousness associated the warm, clay-like texture coming out the back of her as a positive reinforcer tied into the relief of the mild pain that had been gurgling up inside her gut. Beyond the initial doses used to “break her in and clean her out”, laxatives were not a part of Circe’s diet. Laxatives weren’t needed however. The specialized nutrients in her ‘baby food’ were incredibly easy for her body to digest and process. Her innards were well and primed to expel any and all unneeded waste. That and Circe had all but purposefully sabotaged her own potty training. Like a two year old who understands the basic mechanics of the toilet, but refuses to partake out of stubbornness and an irrational fear of upsetting their own status quo, the Siren had doubled down to the point where her body outright refused to relieve itself anywhere that wasn’t a pair of her thick crinkling baby panties. Whether it was psychological or physiological- at this point it might be both-Circe had very little desire or ability to regulate herself. Bladder swelled up and uncomfortable? Relax and let loose. No more discomfort and things got nice and warm. Discomfort in the bowels? Push it out immediately. No more pain and things got nice and warm. Her brain didn’t want to think about it, so her body certainly didn’t. Somewhere off in her dream scape, Circe was likely sitting on a warm, if muddy, beach, with ocean water gently lapping up, singing songs that would lure Odysseus to his doom once and for all. This was the first time in forever that this had happened in her sleep, however. Until tonight, her unconscious battle against her own toileting had only ‘progressed’ so that wetting and messing herself was habit forming bordering on second nature. It had never been something wholly unconscious…until tonight. She’d be disturbed in the morning, no doubt. More disturbing, something she wouldn’t have evidence of was what she did with her hands. The nursery protocols meant to encourage her to ‘behave’ had left another miscalculated scar on her psyche. Almost every time she was ‘encouraged’ to be good by the nursery protocols, her diaper had been in dire need of changing. One can’t orgasm that many times in a wet and messy diaper without making a connection. Circe certainly couldn’t. In her dreams, Circe may have been making love to a foolish sea captain who thought he could ride her the way he rode the waves. Throughout her lifetimes, many would be conquerors and lovers became her victims and thralls. As far as fate was concerned, it was no coincidence that the Siren’s human namesake was another Greek woman known for twisted men to her will. In reality, Circe’s hands were doing all the work. She was too insensate to plunge them properly past the waistband of her adult baby diaper, but they made do gripping and massaging the front. The crinkling of her diaper was just the crackling of a fire and the crashing of the waves to her subconscious. Her pacifier kept her own lustful moaning from waking her. Her thrusting hips and the ever shifting mass cooling in her seat only increased her body’s excitement. It wasn’t easy. Her imaginary lover wasn’t very good. A virgin without proper technique. Still…eventually she got there, fumbling and sighing contentedly as the orgasm tripped and staggered to completion. She would get better at it. ************************************************************************************************ Glitch frowned in bed. She never slept, not as normal people understood it. Ever since she’d ‘upgraded’ herself she was never truly unconscious. She was always thinking, always calculating something. Boredom was largely a result of a lack of imagination and physical fatigue. The young cyborg always had something to think about. Never boring. Always something to do. Always some problem to fix. She was still organic enough that her body required rest at roughly the same intervals as a normal human being. That was no reason to sleep, though. In lieu of dreams, Circe spent six to eight hours a night, resting her body in bed and recharging her physical hardware while her consciousness connected with the closed system wireless software of A.S.T.R.A.L. Labs. She was flitting about working on at least three different equations to try and bring about world peace, end scarcity, and reverse global warming to pre-industrial levels respectively. Problem was, things never quite worked out in the math. Doing all of these things, really, anything of significance required people cooperating with her calculations: Rich and powerful people agreeing to be slightly less rich and slightly less powerful in return for long term gains; relatively powerless people motivated out of a cycle of apathy due to learned helplessness; politicians willing to pass laws that restrained and discouraged bad impulses and protected and encouraged good ones. None of her perfectly logical calculations worked in systems controlled by irrational, fearful, greedy, meat computers piloting skin robots from their bone cockpits. Humanity, as a whole, had advanced to amazing degrees of technology to ensure global prosperity and balance, but never completely dropped the evolutionary survival baggage of “different means bad” and “everything for me and mine first”. Being an advanced cybernetic being for over half her life at this point, Glitch just didn’t “get” people anymore. People were the hardest part of any system to fix. It would be so much simpler if she could just find a workaround for that terribly pesky “free will” that everyone had. But no. That wasn’t going to happen. Her Asimov protocols wouldn’t allow it. That’s why she was so invested with Circe. If she could figure out a way to re-mold Circe, break her of these bad impulses, and build her back up without violating her free will, she would be a step closer from finding a way to ethically generalize the process. At the very least, she could find a way to truthfully rehabilitate people that actively used their free will to directly harm others. Getting rid of super-crime through positive intervention would be a huge step in the right direction. That step wasn’t coming. Circe just kept regressing, and not in a good way! She just kept getting worse and worse. The pink light should be having more of an effect than it was, subtly taking away bad habits and impulses as she literally saw herself in a different light. None of that was happening! Why??? Viewing her sleeping charge from the security feed, Glitch absorbed and pondered new data. Masturbation? Direct sexual stimulation? For some reason she had never considered that. Was this unique to Circe? Had a child's lack of autonomy further eroded her inhibitions? Had the nursery programming caused her to have a faulty cause and effect association? Without candor from Circe or the ability to read minds, Glitch couldn’t know. Should she punish that? She didn’t really have any tangible rewards to offer Circe and encourage her to modify her own behavior. What would B.F. Skinner say? Perhaps she should activate the artificial intelligence based on that brain scan of his and ask… A lightbulb flicked on above the tech-hero’s head. Literally. “Oh!” A security guard said, startled. “Sorry about that, Miss Glitch. Didn’t know you were in here.” Glitch opened her eyes and stepped out of the cylindrical container that was her charging station. “You’re fine, Mr. Harlowe,” she said. She hadn’t known the man’s name, but cybernetic eyes could quickly read name tags from across the room. “I was just about to get up as it was.” She waited a moment to say, “And please. No Miss. Just Glitch.” That put the watchman at ease. “Okie dokie then, there errr…Gltich. You can call me Harry.” Glitch stared at him in bemused disbelief. “Harry? Harry Harlow?” She was actually fighting a thin smirk. “Yeah?” the man said. “Why? What’s so funny?” “You share a name with something of a pioneer in the field of psychology?” “Yeah?” Harry said. “Whose that?” He frowned, realizing the redundancy of his question. “I mean, I know his name but…?” Glitch was happy to share. “He did experiments with rhesus monkeys,” she explained. “Took them away from their biological mothers and provided them with surrogates.” The security guard nibbled his lips. Glitch was losing him. She pulled up his personnel file. Good background check. Not the best grades. “He gave the baby monkeys replacement mothers. Nothing fancy. Think scarecrows.” Harry the security guard’s eyes went to the right, imagining it. “Something that’d fool a baby monkey but nobody else?” At least he was invested. “Yes. Exactly. Each baby got two fake mothers. One was covered in warm cloth but had nothing else. The other was made of basically chicken wire, but had a bottle of milk where the mother’s nipples would normally be.” The guard nodded his head like he understanded, but everything about him signaled that he didn’t. Thankfully, he was honest about it. “Why?” “He wanted to see what was more important to a child’s development: Comfort and affection, or simple sustenance?” She was about to tell him how the baby monkeys would cling to the cloth mother until they were overcome with hunger, then climb to the wire mother to feed, and then travel back immediately to cling to the cloth mother’s arms. She didn’t get the chance. “Both.” Harry Harlowe the second said. “Babies need both.” Glitch stared dead ahead so that she wouldn’t roll her eyes. “Obviously, but the experiment was an attempt to isolate the two factors. What happened was-” “How did the scarecrow monkey things raise the babies?” Harry cut her off. “They just sat there and did nothing. That ain’t no way to raise a kid.” “Well, no but…” Come to think of it, those monkeys were psychologically damaged and unable to reintegrate with others of their kind. Then Harry hit the nail on the head. “Is that what you’re doing with that supervillain? Doing the monkey thing to recreate it or somethin’?” “No,” Glitched scoffed. “I’m…I’m…I’m…” If Glitch’s brain had been fully cybernetic she might have accidentally shut herself down at the realization. The problem with her entire method had been undone by a single random employee with a highschool G.P.A. of 1.9. “Harry, you’re right.” “Oh…” The man didn’t hear those words in that order very often. “Yeah. Thanks. For what?” She’d been coming at this from precisely the wrong angle. Her entire premise was flawed. But like any good scientist, she took the new data in stride and adapted accordingly. “For preventing me from wasting any more time.” ************************************************************************************************* Trial 62 Circe’s eyes opened. She felt unusually well rested considering she’d been sleeping in a crib. The dreams, memories, and fantasies of a life she may or may not have lived slowly faded into the back of her mind, her Siren soul feeling unusually well rested. The super villain softly smiled to herself. “What a wonderful dream,” she whispered. Perhaps she was so well rested, she pondered, because her bladder hadn’t woken her up. She sat up in her baby bed and felt her own room temperature feces sticking to her bottom. This had happened before. It didn’t lessen the shock. “Oh fucking gross!” she whined in pink. Her skin prickled up and she slammed her hand over her mouth. “Sorry!” she called out to the air. “Sorry Mama!” She drew her body into a ball, bracing herself for the coils to pick her up and carry her over to the spanking knee. She hadn’t even gotten her diaper changed, yet. And nothing happened. Nothing? Nothing? Why nothing? Had something happened? A power outage? A malfunction? One of her peers making an attack on A.S.T.R.A.L. Labs? Oh gods! What would happen if another supervillain saw her like this?! Circe peered through the bars of the crib and wondered if maybe…just maybe…this was her chance to escape. The door to the nursery slid open and Circe caught herself jumping. Glitch was back. At least, Circe thought it was Glitch. She had the rubber apron she’d taken to wearing, but beside that, the woman was wearing civilian clothing. “Good morning, Circe,” Glitch said, sounding positively…positive. Where was the smug know-it-all? “Here to gloat?” Circe asked. “Here to talk about how you broke the great Siren?” She hoped so. It would be so nice to have a little bit of witty repartee again. To snipe. To shout. To sneer. “No,” Glitch told her. “Not at all, Circe. I respect you too much.” It was a trap. It was a trap… It was a trap…! It was a trap! But Circe didn’t want it to be. “Oh?” Circe said, trying to sound blase. “Then what are you here for?” The younger woman walked up to the side of Circe’s crib, and lowered the railing herself. “To change your diaper.” The supervillain felt numb from shock. Change her diaper? She’d had many, many, many, many diaper changes. Too many to count. She went through four to five diapers a day; had even picked up on a pattern to the decorations: Blue dog, giraffe, dragon, racoon. Her routine had become that painfully, kafkaesque and predictable. She’d gone through many diaper changes, true, but no one had changed her. It had been all machine operated at this point. “Change? My? Diaper?” "Mhm,” Glitch said. She leaned into the crib, and lifted Circe out of it. As far as superheroes went, Glitch wasn’t particularly strong; her cybernetically enhanced body able to tip over a small car but still walloped by a runaway eighteen wheeler. That strength was still more than enough to carry Circe as if she were an infant. The warmth of another body pressed up against her made her body tingle all over. Touch starved as she was, the simple skin to skin contact was better than champagne. Better than sex. Circe groaned to herself, clinging to her warden with both arms around her shoulders. A wave of loss welled up inside her when the changing table approached. “NO!” She didn’t even know how she said it. Defiantly? Terrified? Lustful? Desperately? She felt a mystery to herself. “It’s okay,” Glitch said. “You’ll be fine.” Circe was powerless to stop herself from being peeled off Glitch’s body like wet paper. “FUCK YOU!” she shouted. “NO-NO-NO-NO!” “Let me clean you up, honey,” Glitch said, not unkindly. “I want you to smell as pretty as you look.” The Siren’s muscles unclenched and she relaxed on the changing table. She was pretty! Someone else saw that she was pretty! Tempted by her! She knew Glitch swung that way! Who wouldn’t for Circe? Even in middle age, she still had it! “Oh…okay.” She laid still and allowed herself to be strapped down to the table. Allowed. Not forced. All part of playing the long game. “Good girl,” Glitch cooed. “Very good girl. Thank you, honey. This helps a lot.” Gratitude! Adulation! That was the stuff! Oooooh, that was the stuff! The tapes came off and the wipes came out. “Oh wow,” Glitch remarked. “You really hammered this diaper into submission! Nice going!” A blush almost as pink as her words came over the supervillain’s whole body. “Nice job? I thought you wanted to potty train me.” “I did,” Glitch admitted as she began cleaning between the Siren’s legs. “But it doesn’t matter what I want. As long as you’re happy, Circe.” Circe didn’t know how to feel about that. Circe was still being dominated, forced to soil herself and allow herself to be cleaned and taken care of. But coming from Glitch it felt more like a kind of submission. “Okay…” The change went slower than Glitch had become used to. The table automatically changing her had gotten it down to a sweet science. Quick. Efficient. Sterile. The giant baby version of a NASCAR pit crew. Glitch lacked much of that. She was clumsier. Less efficient. Used more wipes than perhaps was necessary. Not as polished. “What’s the matter?” Circe taunted. “Couldn’t find a diaper changing tutorial or algorithm to beam into your computer brain?” The young hero balled the giraffe diaper up and tossed it away.. She grabbed a fresh one off the stack and unfolded it. “Didn’t look for one,” Glitch replied. “When I use those programs, my body goes into autopilot. Good for fighting. Bad for people-ing. You deserve the extra attention.” Flattery was starting to get her somewhere. Circe tried to resist on principle. “Admit it, Glitch. Your machines broke down and you had to rush back to pitch in. Your network or whatever science magic you use is malfunctioning. You’re only doing this because you have to. That’s why you’re here out of uniform.” Glitch put a little too much powder on Circe’s bottom. It was a human touch. A nice touch. She waited until she’d finished diapering the supervillain to reply. “No,” she said simply. Circe bent her head and looked down at her diaper. Blue dog? That was out of rotation. “Then why?” Glitch released the restraint and helped Circe up to a sitting position. “My uniform is for work, Circe. I wear it for my co-workers, and my enemies. You’re neither. You’re not work.” Circe braced herself for a cutting remark. Some quip about her being a ‘project’ or ‘hobby’ or ‘experiment’. None came. “I am too an enemy,” the Siren pouted. “Okay, Circe,” Glitch said. “I’m sorry. You’re definitely my enemy.” She was being condescended to, but just hearing another person’s voice, someone to fight and seduce and manipulate…it felt like water to a thirsty mind. She still mattered enough to be condescended to. She wasn’t being ignored. Glitch stuck her arm out to the side, and her tattoos lit up bright white once again. On cue, the day’s big baby dress lowered from the ceiling and was draped over Glitches outstretched arm. Today’s order was white with red polka dots. So much for the broken nursery theory. A little bit of Circe luxuriated at being dressed in baby clothes. When the nursery did it, she felt like a piece on an assembly line. Some dressmaker’s dummy being wrapped up and vacuum sealed. When her new nemesis did it, it felt sensual. The touch of her fingers. The little clumsy tugs to adjust things, here and there. Circe had had lovers undress her before. This felt very similar, only in reverse. Rather than helpless, it felt kind of powerful in a way. Circe could lash out and headbutt the woman. Force her to get a titanium nose. But she didn’t. But she could. “I'm very impressed by you, Circe,” Glitch said to her. “You’re showing remarkable patience and restraint. Good girl.” How did she know?! Was mind reading something the cyborg had achieved? Another thought creeped its way into Circe’s gray matter. Every time she’d had someone dote on her, Circe had been called by a different name. She was always someone else to the world. A long lost love. Someone who got a way. An imaginary affair. A highschool sweetheart. Her greatest power manifested as the world’s strongest case of mistaken identity. She had long gotten what she wanted through her powers, but not through her merits. The woman presently dressing her was immune to Circe’s charms. The only person she ever saw when she looked at the Siren was Circe. That was a weird feeling. To Circe’s complete and utter surprise, the mittens and booties came off, giving her back the use of her fingers and feet. She stared at her fingers and toes as if they had miraculously regenerated. “All done,” Glitch said when she’d placed the matching polka dotted headband on Circe’s head. Back into the hero’s arms she went. “Good girl.” Warmth and touch. Fresh clean clothes, right down to the underwear. Underwear that she could soil and be praised for, evidently. How transgressive… Instead of the highchair, Circe found herself being carried dangerously close to the exit. “Where are we going?” she asked, feeling for the first time in forever that she didn’t know what would happen next. “Aren’t you going to plop me in a highchair and feed me mush?” “I’m going to get you breakfast,” Glitch replied, nonchalantly. “Just not here.” “Where?” Circe asked. “Out.” Out?! **************************************************************************************************** Circe was shivering, and it had nothing to do with the cold. The weather was temperate if anything. Likewise, the adult stroller she was in was surprisingly comfortable. It had likely been a modified wheelchair at some point. Correction, knowing Glitch she’d made it from scratch with far too much attention to detail and unnecessary engineering. Leaving A.S.T.R.A.L. labs and out into the open city air, nothing else was comfortable. The strap that kept her buckled in pressed up between her legs and caused the hem of her already short dress to ride up, exposing her diaper. “Glitch, what are you doing?” Circe asked. “Why are we going outside? Am I finally going to jail?” “Nope,” Glitch said. “Just getting you some breakfast.” Circe looked above her. They’d left through the back way. Technically the way she’d broken in from. This thing didn’t even have a roof or a hood. Nothing to obscure her face. “Can’t I get a car ride, or a police escort?” The stroller just rolled along through the alleyway. “Glitch?” “You’ll be fine,” Glitch promised. “You’ll see. Though you may want to stop calling me by my hero name. Might draw attention.” “What am I supposed to…?” Circe began to ask, but knew the answer. “No. No way I’m calling you that!” Glitch just shrugged lightly and kept pushing the stroller. They were approaching the end of the alleyway. They were about to turn the corner. A steady stream of humanity walked by obliviously in front of her. “Glitch?” Circe said. “Please stop.” What would people say? How was she going to gain the fear back of the pathetic masses? ”Glitch?” As soon as someone saw her, they’d take out their phones. She’d go viral in minutes. “Glitch? This isn’t funny anymore. Take me back to the underground nursery.” Glitch kept going. She’d be the laughing stock everywhere. “Gliiiiiithc?” All she had was this stupid pink voice to use. Her other voices wouldn’t have helped her out of this anyways. She was doomed. “Glitch?” Ten steps away….nine…eight…seven…six…five…four…three…two…one…! The stroller turned right out into the busy sidewalk. “MOMMY!” Everyone within a three block radius stopped in their tracks for exactly two seconds. They blinked. Then kept walking. Some regarded her briefly, but then they quickly went about their business. “Huh?” Circe wondered. “Why aren’t they staring? Why is nobody talking to me? Or running? Or pulling out their phones?” A deceptively strong hand came down and booped Circe on the nose. “Because you’re a baby, Circe. A baby in a stroller. Who would try to talk to a baby they didn’t know? Or run away from one? And taking pictures of a random baby? That’d be creepy, no matter how cute she was.” Yet another strange feeling. Circe had almost always gone unnoticed by not using her powers. To be safe in crowds she had to not sing her songs and deny that part of herself. This was a real having cake and eating it too kind of moment. A few passerby walking in the opposite direction made eye contact with Circe and gave her big bright smiles, and friendly waves, but otherwise did not engage. “Why aren’t they trying to take me away?” Glitch had an answer for that too. “Remember Dr. Zhao? The heartless psychopath who hated kids?” Circe warmed to that memory. “The one I had in tears? What about her?” “With her feedback, I was able to tinker with your collar just enough so that people see you as just a baby, not their baby. That and you’re with me, so they trust that you’re my baby.” A variation on the red voice phenomenon that made people lust after her, but held them at bay if she appeared spoken for. Circe frowned. The warmth she felt was more than emotional. Her diaper hadn’t remained dry very long. “Fuck!” Wetting in public added on an extra layer of surprise to the scenario. At least it was still fairly comfortable. Circe knew from experience that her diaper would hold far more than this one little wetting. “Circe…” Glitch warned from behind her. “Dont’...” An opportunity! No spanking machines here, and surely Glitch wouldn’t blow her cover or make herself look bad by taking an innocent little girl over her knee in public. Not in front of these sheeple. “FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCKITY FUCK FUCK GODDAMN MOTHER FUCKER CUNT BITCH ASS TITTY FUCK CUNT DICK CHEESE WAFFLE TROTS SHIT MOTHER FUCKING ASSHOLE COCK!” The stroller ground to a halt. Civilians gasped and followed their ears to the Siren’s lips. They scowled and twisted up their faces in horror and revulsion. Yet none of their anger was directed at her. “Ma’am,” one woman said, “Your child…” “Is hotter than you B-Cup!” “I’m…really sorry about that.” Glitch said, sounding embarrassed. “She’s going through a phase.” She glared down at a positively beaming Circe. “A forty year phase, it seems.” “Where did she learn to talk like that?!” Another one of the sheeple asked Glitch, as if they expected a reasonable answer that would make them less upset. “I learned it from your Mom when she was eating me out last night!” Circe crowed. A man bent over and did his best to intimidate her. “If you were my little girl, I’d teach you some manners with a belt.” Amateur. The Siren returned the glare. “Do it, bitch. Do it. Hit me. Right now. In front of everyone. My Mommy will let you. Go for it. Hit. Me.” He broke off eye contact and kept walking. “Thought so.” People gasped and sneered and shook their heads in tremendous disapproval. Then kept walking on. That was so unusually satisfying. And it was causing this hero so much consternation. Except… “Well done, Circe.” Glitch complimented her. There wasn’t a trace of irony or sarcasm. Not a drop “You’ve definitely still got it, girl.” “What are you talking about?” the Siren asked from her stroller. “You’re not mad?” Glitch snorted. “I’m plenty mad. I’m just better at hiding and regulating my emotions than you.” “Then why are you smirking?” “Because I finally figured out how to help you. I’ve been trying to help you start over, but you never really began, did you?” The words sounded insulting, but the way she said it sounded warm. Circe folded her arms over her chest and drew Glitch out with silence while strangers flowed past them like a river. “You literally just want attention, don’t you? It’s a core part of your being, and you don’t care how you get it as long as it’s your idea.” Circe tried to refute the accusation but she had a point. Glitch walked around and took a knee so that she could look her nemesis in the eye. “You’re not a supervillain, Circe. You’re a brat. You’re a toddler with hypnosis powers and are stuck in your terrible twos. You’ve got an adult body, but that’s not really your fault. That’s why my pink light didn’t work.” Circe coked an eyebrow. “What pink light? The one on that stupid mobile above the changing table?” Glitch showed that cocky, condescending smile. “Oh. Yeah. I neglected to mention. I knew you were immune to sound based perception alteration, so I converted your sound frequencies into colored strobes. It was supposed to alter your perception of yourself. Bring you back to a more innocent time.” Her smile seemed less nasty all of a sudden. “But you never exactly left that mindset, did you?” “No,” Circe huffed. “I’m just immune to hypnosis.” “Are you?” Glitch asked. “Look to your right?” The Siren turned her head. The stroller had stopped by a skyscraper with windows that reflected back at mirrors. Sitting in the stroller in the reflection wasn’t Circe, a past her prime middle aged supervillainess. In her place was a silver haired, slightly chubby cheeked cherub who couldn’t have been more than two years old. Neither the stroller, nor the cute polka dot dress and matching bow, or even the big puffy diaper peeking out beneath looked an ounce out of place. It felt right. “Hypothesis confirmed,” Glitch said. Then tenderly, softly, she took Circe’s hands in her own, the way a mother would a child, Circe thought. “I don’t think you really wanted to take over the world or anything like that. I think you just wanted to be free of responsibility and get to act out so people would notice you on your own terms.” No comment from Circe. “Let me make you an offer, baby girl. Stay with me and let me keep working on my research with you. No more robots. No more spankings. No rules that you wouldn’t get if you were really the age you act like.” The Siren was about to say something. “And yes, I expect you’ll break those rules too. But do you really want to live the rest of your life looking over your shoulder or planning some big grand scheme that you’re not really interested in so you can get a dopamine fix? Or do you, Circe, want to subvert expectations and go a way that no one would ever see coming?” When she put it like that… *********************************************************************************** Four Months Later… Jack B. Nimble, the city’s king of arson and highrise robbery, woke up with a pounding headache. He wasn’t all that surprised to be waking up behind bars. Sometimes in his line of work, a costume vigilante caught one unawares. That didn’t bother him. Prison was just a government funded vacation at this point. He’d escape via fire or leaping. He could practically build his combustion leaping boots out of pencil shavings and rubber bands by this point. That’s how many times he’d managed to improvise his escape. Why were bars wooden though? He had weird dreams, too. He remembered falling down a slide naked…and a bath…and pink strobe lights. Maybe he’d gotten another concussion? The last element of his fever dream came into play when he sat up and felt his own bodily waste squish up against him. He looked down at himself. Was that a diaper he was wearing? “What the hell?” Why did his voice sound…not different but…pink? He tugged at his throat and felt something. A choker? Before he had time to think, a door opened up, and in walked a lady wearing pink scrubs. They had pictures of rattles and storks and safety pins on them. “Good afternoon, Jack,” the strange lady. “Are you ready to get up?” He was about to tell her something awful about what he was ready to ‘get up’, when the little Asian woman hoisted him out of the crib, dirty diaper and all. “WAAAH?!” “Don’t be scared,” she said. “I’ve got muscle enhancing exo-armor underneath.” That part didn’t scare Jack. Jack didn’t scare easily. Disturbed though? This was very disturbing, and it only got more so when he was carried into a nursery filled with little brats running and playing everywhere His pleas for decency and modesty were ignored as the lady changed his diaper. In front of kids no less! Funny thought that other men and women in the same kind of scrubs were attending to the children. Why would they need fancy tech for lifting up toddlers? He’d get his answer soon enough when he was put in a onesie, and stood him up on the carpet. “I’ll give you a bit to get acclimated.” The millisecond that the Asian woman left him alone to absorb the weirdness around him, a silver haired toddler marched up and stared him down. “Listen up, loser. I don’t care how big and bad you thought were on the outside. You’re just another pants shitter now and you’re on my turf. Got it?” A moment of cognitive dissonance rocked Jack’s brain. If she was a baby, why was she able to look him in the eye? What did that say about him? “Circe,” one of the daycare attendants called over. “Are you being nice to your new friend?” The little terror whirled around, her dress flaring off and revealing her diaper- identical to his save for it being very very wet. “No! And he’s not my friend!” “Do you need a time out?” they warned. “I don’t know,” the mealy mouthed baby taunted back. “Do you want to have this fight? Over me not being all smiles? To Jack B. Nimble?” The daycare worker huffed and growled in frustration. “I’m…I’m not doing this right now. I don’t get paid enough. I don’t. I just don’t. Just…use your words, okay?” “I. Promise. Nothing.” Eyes rolled and heads shook. “Circe?” Jack repeated. That was an uncommon enough name. “Siren?” The little girl whipped her head back towards him. “Yeah? What? You gotta problem?” Jack gulped. “No. No ma’am.” “Good.” (The End)

Thanks. It was a fun exercise to be sure.

Thank you both!

Howdy folks, By now, y’all surely know the stories of Brer Rabbit: How he tricked Brer Bear into taking his place in a trap by promising a dollar a minute (a still not inconsiderable rate even in today’s economy). How he tricked Brer Fox into hurling him directly into the briar patch (where he was born and bred and was exactly where he wanted to be). Brer Rabbit is a trickster, have no doubt about that. But do you know what his last, greatest, trick was? I bet you don’t. Not because you’re uneducated, but just because no one told you about it, till now. You couldn’t have heard it before now, because I reckon I’m the first to tell you about it. Neither Uncle Remus, nor George Chandler Harris managed to tell anybody about this trick because it happened long after both men went on to their final rewards (or punishment as the case may be). Brer Rabbit, being a trickster, as well as Brer Fox, (though he ain’t quite as tricky as Brer Rabbit), are exponentially longer lived than you, me, and our kin. Brer Bear isn’t particularly tricky himself, but last I heard, he’s still lopin around too. Mayhap it’s because the power of the story always outlasts the storyteller. Mayhap there was something special about Rabbit, and Fox, and Bear that made them worth jotting down, and that included an agelessness that resisted the ravages of time. Mayhap the lot of them and their ilk are just so busy doing what comes naturally to them that Father Time hasn’t managed to catch up to them yet. Mayhap even they’re supposed to age like you and me do, but no one thought to tell them that rabbits and foxes and bears aren’t supposed to live that long. I don’t know. All I do know is that Brer Rabbit, Brer Fox, and Brer Bear have been keepin’ on their same struggle of trick or be tricked for a long time, long after the briar patches got paved over and replaced with parking garages. It’s never stopped; not for long. Sometimes their tricks would get into people’s ears, but the details of who would get muddled in the retelling after retelling. Instead of Brer Fox chasing Brer Rabbit, it’d be a bluish gray cat chasing a tiny brown mouse with unusually big ears. Other times, instead of Brer Fox trying to get Brer Bear to help him, the story would get twisted around, and while sure enough there’d be a rabbit in the story, his pursuers would be a dim witted hunter and a duck who was just clever enough to know something was wrong, but not clever enough by half to outwit the rabbit. That ol’ fox is never half as clever as he thinks he is, and twice as crazy. Anyway, I told y’all that story to explain to y’all that Brer Rabbit’s last (some might say greatest) trick happened a heck of a lot closer to the here and now than the way back when. Come to think of it, that might be why y’all haven’t heard it till now. News spreads fast, but is quickly forgotten. History is what sticks around and lingers after news becomes old and stale. Anyway… It all started one day when Brer Rabbit was hopping along in the park. There were no more briar patches around, but Brer Rabbit liked the park just fine. Plenty of sunshine, fresh air, and green grass, like a little piece of home that’d stay pretty as you please. Presently, Brer Rabbit was enjoying the sunshine and the fresh air, and listening to the birds sing their song way up high in the sky, when the most peculiar sight: a picnic blanket laid out pretty as you please, with a nice basket right smack dab in the middle of it. A picnic. Ready to go, ready to be eaten, and the only other people within shouting distance were barely blurs on the horizon. Now, Brer Rabbit is no thief, and he never took nothing that didn’t rightly already belong to him, wasn’t free, or else owed to him as comeuppance against someone that wanted to do him wrong. But Brer Rabbit was also a curious sort. So while he wouldn’t snatch and steal, having plenty of free time there was nothing stopping him from having an old fashioned sit down right at the edge of yonder picnic blanket. It was during that sit down that Brer Rabbit noticed a whole heap of things he hadn’t taken into account before. Somebody had gone and put stakes in the ground at the blanket’s corners, even though there wasn’t the slightest breeze on this perfectly mild day. And even though there was barely a whisper in the wind, the stakes still quivered mightily, as if they were holding up a decent considerable weight. The blanket, pulled taught as it was, was short more than a few threads, and so when Brer Rabbit took a good squint at them he noticed that there was more black and brown and not so much green under the sheets. In short, Brer Rabbit figured out that there was a hole beneath his here picnic blanket, and that this here was no picnic, but a trap. It didn’t take Brer Rabbit long to figure out who set this trap, neither. It was a clever trap, sure enough, but hasty and relying on a body’s impulse to overpower quick thinking and keen observation. More to the point, whoever set the trap hadn’t accounted for the position of the sun, and how it might cast their shadow far and wide even though they were hiding behind yonder oak tree. “Come on, boy,” Brer Fox hissed to himself, rubbing his hands together and just imagining the fine supper he was finally about to catch. “Get the basket. Go for it. You know you want to.” Brer Fox always underestimated how much Brer Rabbit’s ears listened in, too. Brer Fox was right about Rabbit’s particular impulsiveness, for sure, but what he hadn’t accounted on was Rabbit’s peculiar impulse for trickery far outweighed his curiosity these days, or his sense to leave well enough alone. How fortunate (or unfortunate as the case may be) that it was right then that Brer Bear came moseying along from the opposite direction, having himself his own fine day at the park. That’s when Brer Rabbit got himself an idea. “Oh Brer Bear!” Brer Rabbit called out. “Brer Bear! Over here! Can I speak to you for just a minute, please?” Brer Bear being an animal of powerful muscle but little else, came up to Brer Rabbit at the edge of the trap. “Well howdy there, Brer Rabbit!” Brer Bear said. “What can I do for you?” “I’ve got a most terrible predicament,” Brer Rabbit said. “And I need your help.” “Howsat?” Brer Bear asked, not at all suspicious despite their shared history together. Brer Rabbit pointed to the picnic basket. “Y’see Brer Bear, I just went and left my picnic basket over on that there picnic blanket. But I’ve been hopping around and now my feet have gotten themselves terribly dirty.” He hopped all around right quick kicking up a cloud of dust that didn’t quite reach Brer Bear’s tremendous gut. “But it’s my granny’s picnic blanket, y’see, and I don’t want her gettin’ angry at me messing up her favorite blanket. But you? Your feet are so clean that you could walk on that there blanket and not leave a mark.” Brer Bear scratched his head and did his best to ponder. “Uhh….okay,” he said, nodding his head. “You want me to go and get you your basket then?” “I’d be much obliged,” Brer Rabbit nodded his head. “Much obliged indeed.” And so it was with great pleasure, that Brer Rabbit watched Brer Bear step onto the blanket, and with a mighty THUD fall into the trap deep below the earth. So great was his fall, dragging the stretched out picnic blanket after him acted like a slingshot, sending the basket tumbling through the air end over end and right into Brer Rabbit’s arms. “OH NO!” Brer Rabbit cried out. “I’VE GONE AND FALLEN IN THIS HOLE!” And then he hid inside the basket, listening for what would happen next. He heard Brer Fox laughing, cackling even. “I GOTCHA NOW, BRER RABBIT! I SURE DO! FINALLY AFTER ALL THESE YEA-!” Brer Fox’s celebration was cut short, likely Brer Rabbit reckoned, by the strong paw of a very very angry Bear caught in a hole not. “WHOEVER DID THIS!” Brer Bear roared. “I’M GONNA TAKE HIS HEAD CLEEEEEEEAN OFF!” “BRER BEAR!’ Brer Fox yelped. “STOP! I CAN EXPLAIN! THIS IS AN ACCIDENT. ONE OF THEM MISCOMMUNICATIONS!” “CLEEEEEAN OFF!” From the safety of his wicker hiding place, Brer Rabbit giggled and giggled and giggled until his sides hurt. But just listening to this latest trick of his wasn’t enough to satisfy. He had to see what kind of whoopin’ poor Brer Fox was enduring at the hands of an enraged Brer Bear. Carefully, and quietly he tried to poke his head out, only to realize he couldn’t. He pushed and pushed and pushed with all his might, but the neither end of the basket would budge an inch for him. No matter how he kicked or pushed up on the lid, the darn thing wouldn’t open not a smidge. He hadn’t fallen into that hole, but he’d more than gotten himself stuck in this hiding place. “HEEE-HEEE-HEEEE!” Brer Fox chuckled. “Well how do you like that?” he asked. “It worked. It finally worked!” Brer Rabbit gulped and his blood went cold. Brer Fox sounded a lot happier and a lot closer than he was supposed to be. “That’s been my problem this whole time. I knew you was gonna trick Brer Bear, so I made a second trap special. A basket with a latch that doesn’t open from the inside. And now I’m finally gonna get to skin me a rabbit!” “But Brer Bear...?” Brer Rabbit tried to puzzle out what was going on. He felt a jerking motion as the basket was lifted up off the ground, now not-so-safely in Brer Fox’s claws. “Oh that was just me play actin’.” Rabbit could hear Brer Fox’s smile though nary a bit of sunlight penetrated the wicker basket. “He’s still in that hole.” “CLEEEEEEEAN OFF!” Brer Rabbit knew he had to think fast, faster than his feet, and faster than Brer Fox’s teeth. “And I thank you very much Brer Fox,” Brer Rabbit said from inside the basket. “It’s mighty comfortable in here and you tricking Brer Bear was mighty enjoyable.” “Oh I’m not listening to you no more,” Brer Fox said outside the basket. “That’s how you get me every time. But now I got you, and I’m gonna skin you, and cook you, and eat you!” Brer Rabbit had been in closer shaves than this, but not many. “Yeah,” Brer Rabbit said. “That’s true, I reckon! You got me! But how are you gonna get Brer Bear out of that hole you dug? You’re not gonna let him starve are ya?” “Course I’m not gonna let him starve,” Brer Fox said, sounding insulted. “That hole’s plenty deep for a rabbit, but a bear could get out of there no problem. That big dummy just hasn’t thought to try yet is all.” “YOU HEAR THAT BRER BEAR!” Brer Rabbit shouted out through the wicker basket. “BRER FOX SAYS HE TRICKED YOU INTO FALLING INTO THAT HOLE SO HE COULD CATCH ME AND ALL YOU NEED TO DO IS CLIMB OUT YOU BIG DUMMY!” The air thundered and the ground rumbled as a very hornery and very angry Brer Bear got himself out of that ol’ fox hole and stepped up to a very frightened Brer Fox. “You tryin’ to make me look stupid, Brer Fox?” Brer Bear growled. “Now Brer Bear, I didn’t mean nothin’ personal by it,” Brer Fox stammered. “There was what do you call it...extenuating circumstances.” Quietly, Brer Rabbit kicked and kicked and kicked at the bottom of the basket. Brer Fox had gotten the jump on him this time, but sometimes trickiness is no substitute for poor construction and powerful feet. He kicked and kicked and kicked until he was able to make two holes big enough to slip his feet through. “Extenuating circumstances…?” Brer Bear repeated. “He means he wanted to extenuate you!” Brer Rabbit called from inside the basket. “You know, like the bug man who comes and poisons the roaches? The extenuator!” “What?” Brer Fox asked. “No! That’s not what I mean. I don’t wanna extenuate you! I’d never try an’ extenuate you!” “Then why’d you drop him in a hole?” Brer Rabbit called out. He felt Brer Fox put the basket down on the soft grass, likely so that he could hold up his hands and protect himself. “I’M GONNA!” “Brer Bear, please, listen!” “TAKE YOUR HEAD!” “No! This ain’t what it looks like!” “CLEEEEEEEAN OFF!” Still mostly inside the basket, Brer Rabbit hopped away, his feet carrying him as fast even though his eyes couldn’t see where he was going. Where his eyes failed him, his feet and his ears made up the difference. “Hey!” Brer Fox called after. “Now you get back here, Brer Rabbit! I ain’t done with you, yet!” As long as Brer Fox’s voice was getting farther and farther away, Brer Rabbit supposed, that was good enough in the short term. Long term was for later. Fine grainy sand beneath his feet and the sound of children laughing and shrieking with delight.. He was near a playground. He tried not to think of what else he might be hopping in if he was so near a sandbox. Hot rocky pavement. Brakes squealing. Horns honking. People cursing. The street! The middle of the street. Cold concrete. A cat’s meow echoing off of brick. A smell so thick that even his nose could pick it up through the basket. Some powerful kind of nasty garbage nearby. An alleyway. Knowing that traveling in a straight line can only get a body so far, Brer Rabbit made a right turn; best if ol’ Brer Fox couldn’t see him. He’d make a right, a left, another left, a right, and another right, and get so lost himself that there’d be no way Brer Fox would know where he was. Then he’d figure out a way out of this basket trap. What ol’ Brer Rabbit didn’t know was that the alleyway he was running into hit a dead end and quick, and his first right wouldn’t lead him anywhere but head first into the side back door of a strange building. KA-THUNK!. Brer Rabbit sat in the wicker basket with so many stars circling round his head that he could barely hear the door he’d thunked into squeal open. “Hello?” an unfamiliar voice called out. “Is anyone there?” Unfamiliar was good, as far as Brer Rabbit was concerned. Unfamiliar was the opposite of Brer Fox and Brer Bear, and this particular voice sounded a sight prettier than either one of them and awful nice besides. “In here!” Brer Rabbit. Called out. “Open up! I’m stuck!” The lid came open and Rabbit got himself a look see at a most strange and beautiful creature. “Why hello there,” she said, her accent much different than his own particular drawl. “Let me get a look at you.” And get a look at each other they did: She picked Brer Rabbit up out of the basket and looked him up and down, and he looked her up and down. Her fur was just about the same color as Brer Rabbit’s, though his finer and softer. Her muzzle was longer than his, more like Brer Fox, but it still ended in the same dainty nose of Rabbitt’s. Her ears were about as long as Brer Rabbit’s too, but because she was so much bigger than his they didn’t look so huge on her. Other than the long non-cotty tail, they both had the same tiny forepaws and big hopping feet, too. “Well what do we have here?” she asked, her voice full of curiosity and wonder. “Did somebody leave a baby on my doorstep just like the old storybooks?” Now, Brer Rabbit had never met a proper Kangaroo before, but he reckoned he knew one when he saw one. A lot had changed over the years, and the world had gotten much much bigger and much much smaller all at the same time and in different ways. Seeing this Roo was unexpected, but hardly unbelievable. Just about anybody could pack up a carpet bag these days and go live somewhere more comfortable to their situation should they have the means and inclination (something Brer Rabbit might have to consider when this misadventure was over, he reckoned). He was about to disabuse this kindly stranger of her misconception (rabbits were far from baby kangaroos) when the shadow of Brer Fox loomed near the alleyway, his voice calling out ahead of him. “Brer Rabbit! You get out here now! We got business!” Brer Rabbit knew that Kangaroo’s were awfully protective mothers, and right about then that Roo’s house and that Roo’s pouch seemed awfully inviting, given the circumstances. “Yes Ma’am, I sure am!” Brer Rabbit said. He then started to hoot and holler just like an itty bitty baby. “Waaah! Waaaah! Goo-goo! Goo-goo!” He started sucking on this thumb for good measure. “I lost my Mommy and ended up in this here basket! Will you be my Mommy?” The look on the critter’s face was one of pure love and joy. “Of course I’ll be your Momma, you sweet little thing you!” She hugged Brer Rabbit close and brought him inside her home. Brer Rabbit smiled. This was gonna be easy. Fun too. Brer Rabbit hadn’t known what to expect inside this stranger’s house, but what he saw he did not expect. The inside looked to have toys, lots of them: Rattles and blocks, and dollies, and baby walkers were piled up and stacked along the edge of the walls. Toy boxes with all sorts of gadgets like speak and says, and wind up toys, and stacking rings were full up. Play mats and mobiles were pulled out in the middle. It had been a good long while since Brer Rabbit had been inside a proper nursery, but this was definitely one, and a big one at that. “Um...do you already got kids, um...Momma?” Having a little fun with a stranger was one thing, but Brer Rabbit didn’t want to sucker any children. “Momma Roo,” the Kangaroo said. “All my babies call me Momma Roo. And no, silly. I don’t have any other babies right now.” “Then why?” “This is a daycare, silly little Joey.” Momma Roo said. “I run it out of my home, but I have no children of my own. Today’s Saturday so we’re closed. That must be why whoever left you on my step decided to use the backdoor. That and they didn’t want to be seen, I’d wager.” “Uh. Yup.” Brer Rabbit said. “That’s it alright. My old Momma wanted to leave me to a good home, and figured since you take care of youngins you’d be a good mother.” He saw Momma Roo looking at him a might suspiciously. “Goo-goo. I mean. Goo-goo ga-ga!” That seemed to do the trick. “Let’s get you sorted out then. First a warm bubble bath, and then a nice nappy and some warm milk.” Brer Rabbit leaned back in her arms and folded. “That does sound nice,” and he sucked his thumb. Momma Roo took him into a bathroom and drew a hot bath. She even added in some fragrant green bubbles, that smelled mighty pleasant. “Eucalyptus,” she said. He let her take his pink shirt off and his blue pants, doing his best not to blush. “Hmmmm,” she stroked her chin. “Your last mother didn’t take care of you properly. So dusty!” “Goo-goo-gah-gah,” Brerr Rabbit said. “Maybe that’s why she gave me up?” And that was good enough for Momma Roo. He sighed and relaxed as Momma Roo slowly lowered him in and started to gently scrub away the dirt and dust he’d kicked up in the park and the sweat that had soaked himself in running for his life. “Would baby like a rubber duckie?” “I sure would, Momma Roo,” Brer Rabbit said. “I mean, goo-goo-goo.” So she gave him a yellow rubber duck and he squeaked it and squeezed it while she gently wiped and scrubbed as his fir: Under his arms, on top of his head, behind his ears and in the little creases of his neck, just like his real momma used to do. Then when he was all done she picked him up out of the tub and wrapped him in a nice fluffy towel. “Clean as a whistle,” Momma Roo said. “Now let’s get you sorted out.” “Thank you kindly, ma’am,” Brer Rabbit said. “You’re very welcome,” Momma Roo replied. Still cradling Brer Rabbit in her arms, she took him out and to another part. His shirt and pants however stayed in a pile on the bathroom floor. “What about my clothes?’ “I’m not about to put my new baby in dirty clothes right after his tubby,” Momma Roo tutted. “Now let’s see about your nappy.” Fair enough, Brer Rabbit supposed. Being a rabbit, it’s not as if he needed clothes per say, save in the presence of polite company. A nice nap in a cradle sounded plenty good to Brer Rabbit just then, too, the warm water having eased his tense muscles. He liked the way Momma Roo talked and said silly words like ‘nappy’ instead of nap, besides. Imagine Brer Rabbit’s surprise and consternation, friend, when instead of being tucked into a low rocking cradle with a nice fluffy pillow, Momma Roo set him down on a high sturdy table with a padded mat on it. “Uh, Momma Roo,” Brer Rabbit said. “I don’t mean to complain...goo-goo-gah-gah...but how am I supposed to fall asleep on this thing?” Small as he was, it was a fairly long way down. “I could rightly fall off.” “I can help with that,” Momma Roo said. She reached over the side of the table and pulled a strap tight and firm over Brer Fox’s chest. He could wriggle, but he couldn’t roll. That solved the problem of his rolling off, but what about the nap?” “I still don’t see how I’m supposed to fall asleep,” he said. “Oh silly, Joey,” Momma Roo, “this isn’t where babies go to take naps, this is where they go to get changed.” “Changed? Into what?” Brer Rabbit didn’t know a whole lot about about where Kangaroos came from, but he never heard of any mother turning their baby into something else. Then again, it had been a loooooong looooooong time since Brer rabbit had been a baby himself, and being the type of trickster he was, he’d never been one for settling down and starting a hutch of little ones on his own, so his knowledge of child rearing was unsurprisingly shallow. “Silly Joey, I’m not going to change you into anything.” Mama Roo reached under the table and took out something that was mostly, white. It was folded, and thick, and rustled ever so slightly when she unfolded it for him. It was something that Brer Rabbit hadn’t worn or needed in a long, long, long, time. “I’m going to change your nappy.” Brer Rabbit grasped. A long time ago they’d been made out of cloth and held together with safety pins or just tied in knots at the side, but it was still close enough that the trickster recognized it instantly. “That’s not a nappy! That’s a diaper!” “Quite right,” Momma Roo said. With her other hand, she shoved a rubber nipple with a plastic mouth guard straight into Brer Rabbit’s gasping mouth. “That is what they call it over here, isn’t it? Now suck on your dummy and let’s get the baby sorted out.” It wasn’t a dummy, but a pacifier; at least that’s what Brer Rabbit called it. But he sure felt like a dummy just then as Momma Roo lifted up his feet with her free hand and slipped the thick diaper under his bum. There had been a time when youngin’s hardly wore anything at all and could just hop around naked outside as soon as they could walk; but those times were long gone. Nowadays, babies wore diapers, and a baby is exactly what Momma Roo thought he was. He sniffled as she took a bottle of baby powder and dusted it on his rear and front side. He moaned behind his pacifier while she spread his legs apart and pulled the thick padding up between his legs and fastened the velcro tabs loosely around him. He felt humiliated as she guided his little cotton tail through the the back hole and wiggled it a bit for him. He had to get out of this. Had to think of a tricky scheme and get out right quick. Maybe his real Mama could be calling and he could hop on home to her, but who in their right or wrong mind would believe a baby? Why couldn’t he have said he was a school kid or something? A kindergartener? A preschooler! An age that would at least be allowed to use the toilet! Momma Roo didn’t take no mind of Brer Rabbit’s distress. From underneath the changing table she pulled out a pink shirt the same color as his old shirt and yanked it over his head. Brer wasn’t ready to lay down again so soon, but he found he didn’t have a choice in the matter. With one hand Momma Roo forced him back down to the padded changing table, and then brought the ends of the shirt together, snapping in place with special buttons. “A nice comfy onesie,” Momma Roo told him. “To keep my new baby nice and warm but make it easy to check and change your nappy.” It even had a hole for the tale. “That’s mighty nice of ya, Momma,” Brer Rabbit said, spitting out his pacifier, “but-” Lie, trick, or truth, Brer Rabbit didn’t get to finish that sentence. He was in Momma Roo’s arms and having a bottle of milk popped right in his mouth. “Drink up, baby.” She gave the bottle a squeeze, sending milk squirting into the back of poor Brer Rabbit’s throat. It was either drink or choke. Golly! If Brer Fox or Brer Bear had been half this forceful, Brer Rabbit would have been skinned, cooked, and eaten long ago. “Drink it all up so you can be big and strong,” Momma Roo said. Cradled in Momma Roo’s arms and having milk squirted down his throat everytime he did more than suckle, Brer Rabbit did as he was told. Now friends, Momma Roo might have told him that drinking all that milk would make him big and strong and mayhap it would have in the long term. In the short term though, all a belly full of milk did was make him feel all kinda of full and bloated and tired. He was so tired that when Momma Roo picked him up over her shoulder and started patting him on the back, he didn’t say boo. But he did say “BUUUUUUUURP!” “Good Joey,” Momma Roo said, sounding like a proud new Momma, (and as far as she was concerned, Brer Rabbit supposed, she was). The changing table hopped away as Momma Roo took Brer Rabbit to another room. This room was dark, and quiet, and felt safe. Soft music played gently from a music box in the far corner. A lullabye. Slowly, Momma Roo lowered him down, but instead of a low rocking cradle, it was a crib with high bars. “You mentioned a nap,” Momma Roo said. “Good idea.” She gave him a peck on the head and left. “Night night, baby.” As soon as she was out of the room, Brer Rabbit tried getting out of the crib. But with his belly fully, a fresh diaper spreading his gait apart, and a soft mattress beneath his feet Brer couldn’t leap or scurry or climb over the high crib bars. He was trapped. Brer rabbit settled for getting undressed, but that was no use either. He tugged and tugged and tugged at the ends of the onesie, but it wouldn’t come off. As it turns out, rabbit paws might as well be baby kangaroo hands as far as metal snap buttons were concerned. Full, tired from a chase, surrounded in cushioned comfort, and with soft music gently lulling him, Brer finally laid down and closed his eyes. Turns out he wasn’t fibbing or feigning. It really was time to take a nap. Maybe after a little shut eye, he’d figure a way out of this predicament. (To Be Continued) ************************************************************************************************** It was quiet in the nursery room where Momma Roo had left Brer Rabbit. The lullaby music box had wound down and even the blue birds outside were quietly pecking out bugs, instead of singing “Zippity Do Dah”. The morning had passed by into the afternoon and the time for singing was done. It was long past time for most folks to be busy at work. Brer Rabbit woke up fidgeting in the big ol’ crib Momma Roo had laid him down in. He’d just had a whole heaping helping handful of pleasant dreams, mostly about pulling the wool over old Brer Fox’s eyes till it was too late and the old Fox ended up with thorns in his backside, a hammer to his teeth, feathers tarred to his arms and legs, a yellow stripe painted down his back and polecat spray on his tongue. That’s just what mischief makers like Brer Rabbit dream about. His pleasant dreams got interrupted by Nature’s call however when that bottle of milk Momma Roo had given him finally worked its magic. There’s a reason why it’s called “Nature’s call”. It’s coming, one way or another, but it’s at least polite enough (or loud enough) to give a body plenty of notice. Enough notice, in fact, that most people can stop what they’re doing, open a door, and Nature will pass harmlessly through, not hurting anybody. And as for those who can’t; people who can’t hear the call or can’t open a front way or back door in time so that Nature comes crashing in like a bull in a china shop? Well, that’s what diapers are for, ain’t it? Presently, Brer Rabbit was neither too young, too old, or in any way prevented from hearing Nature’s call. He woke right up, same as he always did. He just didn’t wake up quick enough to remember the predicament he’d fallen asleep in. In his long, long life, he’d never encountered an obstacle that allowed the luxury of sleep. So I hope y’all will forgive him when I tell you that when Brer Rabbit heard Nature’s call, he woke right up, started to rub the sleep out of his eyes, and then slammed face first into the big ol’ wooden crib bars penning him in like a hog. A body has a hard time forgetting certain things, and for the longest time, Brer Rabbit would’ve woken up from his nap, answered Nature’s call, and then either get on with his day if something caught his interest, or go back to his nap if something didn’t. Can hardly blame him for making the honest mistake. The sudden jolting pain to his little pink nose woke Brer Rabbit the rest of the way up and shook him out of his own personal dreamland of perpetual table turning on a certain fluffy tailed trickster. What Brer Rabbit DIDN’T do, is answer Nature’s call. Opening that front door right now would just leave him stuck with more Nature than a grown rabbit oughta have on their person. The presence of the disposable diaper wrapped around his bum and the onesie holding it snugly up to him didn’t make him feel any better about it, (quite the opposite in fact). “Oh,” Brer Rabbit looked at himself and frowned down at the big old bulge underneath his brand new baby clothes. “Reckon I forgot about that.” He reached down and poked the diaper taped up around his hips, and was taken aback and fully amazed at how much push he felt underneath his furry little finger.. He didn’t know how much cotton, pulp, and padding he was gonna have to pee into, but he knew how much Momma Roo was gonna use on him. He’d been wrongfully accused and confused for many things over the years, but being a bouncing baby bunny had never been one of them. Now he had a whole new and unexpected bum wrap put on him (in more ways than one). Things only got complicated when he factored in his current captor. Brer Fox and Brer Bear were greedy, selfish, short sighted, spiteful, and mainly wanted to wallop, bamboozle, or otherwise harm Brer Rabbit; and Rabbit had become incredibly adept at using those qualities against them. His latest warden, however, genuinely thought she was caring for him. How did he trick someone into not caring for him? Just as discombobulating, he’d tricked the maternal Kangaroo into hiding him and guarding him from Brer Fox’s predations under false pretenses. He hadn’t meant anything by it, and had just been following his own natural tendencies. Now she was following hers, and hers seemed a lot stronger than his at this time. He’d tricked her. How did he untrick her? More importantly, he’d wronged her. How did he unwrong her? More more importantly, she’d babied him. How did he get her to unbaby him? “What do I do?” Brer Rabbit asked himself. He started pacing in the crib like a lion in its cage or a convict in his cell. “What do I do?” The trickster didn’t know, couldn’t know. Nature had stopped calling like a proper visit and had started shouting and howling up a whole new kind of ruckus. It might’ve been whisper quiet inside the darkened room of Momma Roo’s daycare, but Nature wasn’t calling no more. It was hootin’ and hollerin’ so loud that Brer Rabbit could barely hear himself think. Quiet as it was inside the room, it was even quieter in the rest of Momma Roo’s place on account of it being Saturday. And Kangaroo’s might not have as keen a set of ears as a rabbit’s, with no other youngins to attend to, an experienced caregiver like Momma Roo could easily hear the rattling of crib balls, the rustling of water proof sheets, the crinkling of diapers, and the mumbling muttering of a child newly awake from his nap. “Well hello there, baby,” Momma Roo said, hopping into the quiet nap room and turning the lights on. “Did you enjoy your nap?” “I surely did,” Brer Rabbit started, “but there’s somethin’ I gotta tell-...” He froze. Brer Rabbit had learned a lot of things in his life. Some of them were taught directly to him. Others were common sense. Still more was a matter of intuition (a word which here means “uncommon sense”). A handful of precious skills were knowledge acquired by learning from his own mistakes. But nobody and nothing had ever taught Brer Rabbit what to do when somebody picked him up and snuck a couple of fingers in his pants. So he froze. “Still bone dry,” Momma Roo remarked after checking his diaper. “A cute little baby like you; I thought you’d be soaking wet after a nice snooze.” “About that,” Brer Rabbit piped in. “Momma Roo could you do me a favor?” The lady kangaroo looked down at Brer Rabbit, her eyes filled with love and a kind of special adoration. “Of course I can. You’re my baby. I’d do anything for you.” Brer Rabbit opened his mouth to tell her the truth. But then a bit of devilry crept into his noggin. It’s not that Brer Rabbit was an immoral sort, or a mean sort; not like Brer Fox. But he was, in his heart of hearts, a trickster. Fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly, skeeters gotta bite till you itch like the dickens, and tricksters gotta trick. And tricksters never tell the truth when a tall tale, fish or a tiny white fib would get the job done instead. “Momma Roo?” Brer Rabbit pretended to ask. “Since I’m dry and all, does that mean I’m a big boy now? Uh, goo-goo?” Maybe he could convince the well meaning Momma that he was growing up and be moved out and back out into the world by nightfall. Kids always did seem to grow up fast, he reasoned. Why not him? Old Momma Roo clucked her tongue and let out a chuckle. “One dry nappy doesn’t mean you’re a big boy yet, but we’re not going to the changing table just yet.” A bit of inspiration lit up behind Brer Rabbit’s eyes. “Yes Momma. But uh...can you take me to the uh….uh….” “The what, little joey?” she asked. Brer Rabbit’s own contrariness was getting the better of him, and Nature screaming at him to get out was making it that much harder. He was so used to asking for the opposite of what he wanted, that coming right seemed like a round peg in a square hole. “Do you think you could take me to sit on that special chair I saw?” Momma Roo stopped hopping. “Special chair?” Momma Roo pouted her lip out in thought. “Which special chair?” “Uh...goo-goo-gah-gah. The special chair that I can...sit in? The one with a hole?” How else would a youngin old enough to be sucking milk from a bottle describe a toilet? She started hopping again. “Oh that! I was taking you there anyway.” “You was?!” The promise of relief and being able to open the front door for Nature to get out of his body and out in the open was almost as good as the actual relief itself. (Almost, but not quite.) “Of course I was.” Momma Roo promised. “You didn’t think I was just going to give you that bottle and not feed you anything else?” She held him out by the armpits, like she was fixing to let him down somewhere; a nice clean latrine mayhap. “I most surely did not,” Brer Rabbit promised, turning on his charmer’s smile. “I most surely did not. Goo-goo gah-gah. I knew you wouldn’t do that to me and forget to…” Brer Rabbit looked back over his shoulder. “Feed me?” It was right about then that it had occurred to Brer Rabbit that he’d made yet another error. The room Momma Roo had taken Brer Rabbit into had a tile floor, clean smooth counters, and even a sink in it, but it wasn’t any bathroom. It was a kitchen. And that wasn’t a toilet that Brer Rabbit was being lowered onto. The highchair that Momma Roo lowered him down into didn’t have a proper hole in the bottom so that he might have certain needs meant. But the rim around it connecting the tray to the chair, and the bar that kept him from sliding out the bottom were kinds of holes sure enough. Much like his pair of pants long since discarded or the diaper he had on presently, the highchair had four holes in it. One for his rear, one for his tail, and one for each leg. And much like the changing table that he’d hoped to avoid, this had buckles and straps that Momma Roo was quick as lightning to use to keep him from getting out of them. Proper babies couldn’t be trusted to stand up or else they might go and hurt themselves. “Now you just wait right there, and I’ll get you sum num nums,” Momma Roo said hopping over to a nearby cabinet. “Nnnng...nnnng…” Brer Rabbit said. It was getting harder and harder to talk, and Brer Rabbit was fussing trying his best. He wasn’t driven by fear or cleverness, just a simple need to open the front door and answer Nature’s call. You see, friend. All people are basically three boxes stacked up on top of each other with little tubes like arms and legs sticking out. On top is the Think Box, where reason, cleverness, and guile come from. In the middle is the Tick Box, where your ticker is and from it comes love, anger, fear, and all of your emotions. On the bottom is what we shall call for this purposes the Nature Box (though certain more vulgar storytellers might call this region the “P&S Box”). The Nature Box is responsible for a body’s instinct and necessaries. It’s not for thought as much as it is instinct. It’s not for love as much as lust. It’s not for things you want to do or feel you should do as much as things that you have to do no matter what. And Brer Rabbit’s Nature Box was so full that he couldn’t think about or feel much of anything else. Nature was clawing so hard to get out his door, that Brer Rabbit couldn’t do much else besides try and old himself shut. Butl like a certain wolf from another story, Nature huffed and puffed and blew and howled until Brer Rabbit lost all strength and a whole lotta Nature came crashing and splashing out of Brer Rabbit, not much caring one way or another that it had a big old layer of padding between it and outside proper. Nature just wanted out of Brer Rabbit and that’s what it got! Brer Rabbit let out a gasp of surprise and relief as his diaper absorbed the flood he was putting into it, acutely aware of the warmth and wetness spreading out his front door and then working it’s way towards the back. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, as far as his Nature Box was concerned. Getting Nature out was getting Nature out and didn’t much concern itself beyond that, one of its primary functions hereby satisfied. His Think Box and Tick Box-his brain and heart disagreed. His brain was disturbed at his failure, and his heart was just plain overwhelmed. It was enough to make a grown rabbit wanna cry. “Everything alright, baby?” Momma Roo said hopping back to the highchair. “Yes ma’am. Just hungry is all.” Brer Rabbit lied, sucking in his tears. Babies cried, his brain thought. His heart was too desponded to admit defeat as much as wallow in it. “Then you’ll just love this,” Momma Roos said, dipping her spoon into a jar filled up with orange mush. Brer Rabbit very much doubted that. That was the hardest part to Rabbit’s thinking. He couldn’t just be obstinate or contrary. He knew enough about babies to know they fussed and rebelled all the time. He couldn’t just go along with this, either. Plenty of children were mild tempered and perfectly obedient and only the passage of time and them outgrowing their clothes marked them as old enough to make their own decision. (This was especially problematic since Brer Rabbit was good and done as far as growth, and the passage of time didn’t tend to affect him as much as it did other folks). Reverse psychology wouldn’t work either. His wants could be outright ignored if his savior turned captored deemed it so. In short, a baby’s wants was often secondary to what their caregiver decided their needs were, and as long as Momma Roo didn’t want to punish him, Brer Rabbit’s repertoire of tricks was decidedly short. His brain getting back in gear, even as his pants were sopping and sloshing in his seat, Brer Rabbit got himself an idea. If he was punished, he might be able to turn things around. Avoiding a spanking or a time out couldn’t be that much different from avoiding being skinned or tarred and feathered. There might not be any more briar patches these days, but an angry enough Momma Roo might likely be provoked into tossing a hornery child out into the cold cruel world. “Yes, Momma Roo,” Brer Rabbit said. “I’d sure looooove whatever it is you got in your spoon right there.” He opened his mouth, ready to spit whatever Momma Roo spooned in like a cannon right into her face. “Here you go,” Momma Roo said. Giving him more than just a nibble. He opened his mouth. Closed it over the spoon...and swallowed. Brer Rabbit swallowed. The texture was different, and much less crunchy than he was used to, but the flavor was delicious and much more than passingly familiar. “Mmmm-mmmm-mmmm!” Brer Rabbit said. “Carrots! I just looooove carrots!” Momma Roo smiled and gave him another spoonful of mashed up carrots. “I’m so glad to hear that. It’s nice to have a baby who likes his vegetables.” The words came tumbling out of Brer Rabbit like fresh spring water. “Oh, I love my vegetables Momma Roo. Goo-goo gah-gah! Can’t get enough of them! Gonna grow up big and strong!” “You sure are!” Momma Roo agreed and then gave him another spoonful. “Maybe”, Brer Rabbit thought to himself, “I can get a little more out of this trick than just some temporary protection.” He didn’t even care that he was sitting a diaper wet with his own Nature. “Maybe I can get a full stomach, too.” If Momma Roo could hear Brer Rabbit’s contemplation, her smile did not give her away. All told, Brer Rabbit ate three jars of strained carrots, two jars of mashed sweet potatoes, and a jar of juicy peaches for dessert. Momma Roo might have thought him an itty bitty baby, but he had a man’s appetite. “You really are a growing boy,” Momma Roo said as she was rincing the jars in the sinc. “You might be on the verge of a growth spurt.” “Yes ma’am,” Brer Rabbit agreed. He gave his belly a firm pat. Solid or not, it had been ages since he’d eaten that good. “I’m a growing boy!” Momma Roo hopped over to the door and grabbed a blue bag off the hook. “You sure are,” she said back to him.” She started filling her bag with baby stuff; clothes and toys and wipes and such. “Pretty soon you might be big enough for the next size of nappy.” Brer Rabbit swallowed, a nasty aftertaste invading his mouth despite the hardy meal he’d just been spoon fed. “Next size? You mean there are…” he paused, “bigger diapers? Goo-goo gah?”” “Of course,” Momma Roo said. “You’re hardly the biggest baby I’ve ever taken care of.” She hopped on back over to the changing table. “Oh almost forgot.” She added a few fresh diapers to the bag for good measure. While this was happening, an unfamiliar feeling of guilt started to worm it’s way into Brer Rabbit’s Think Box. This nice lady might’ve taken care of bigger babies than Rabbit, but surely not older ones. What was he to do? What was he to do? The old trickster forgot about what he was gonna do and remembered what he’d done when Momma Roo lifted him out of the highchair. “Let’s see. Do you need a change?” He felt a flush of good old fashioned embarrassment. “NO...?!” Momma Roo didn’t need to stick her fingers past the leg cuffs of his diaper and feel around to know that was a lie. She did anyway though. “Oh my,” she told Brer Rabbit. “You are VERY wet. But I don’t mind waiting to change you if you’re comfortable in it.” She grinned and added, “And for a second when I found you dry in your crib, I thought you might be an early bloomer ready for potty training.” And that was how Brer Rabbit ruined his chances for getting out of diapers with any kind of grace or dignity, even though our story doesn’t end there. His ego bruised and his now sagging diaper held up by the snaps of his onesie, Brer was lowered down and into the waiting pouch of Momma Roo. Brer didn’t know much about marsupials, but a bit of common sense and intuition told him what the pouch was for. “Why are you carrying me, Momma?” Brer Rabbit asked before remembering to throw in a couple of “goos” and “gahs” to keep up the charade. “I can uh...toddle around the playroom by myself.” “It’s easier than a pram, little joey.” Momma Roo told him and gave him a pat between the ears. Another word Brer Rabbit didn’t recognize. This could not end well. “Pram?” Mama Roo shouldered the bag and put the tip of her finger to her chin. “I keep forgetting. What’s the American word for it. Buggy? Stroller?” “BUGGY?! STROLLER?!” Brer Rabbit knew what these words were. He just didn’t like what they meant, not one bit. “But that means we’re going ou-ou-ou-out!” He was given another pat on his head and a pinch on the side of his face for good measure. “That’s right! I can’t keep my new baby locked inside on such a beautiful day as today. Growing children are like flowers. They need fresh air and sunshine.” Brer Rabbit did not like the idea of going out. Not like this. Not without a sharp knife or a sturdy pair of scissors to cut himself out of his clothes.. Not in Momma Roo’s pouch, dressed up as he was. Better to be outside as naked as the day he was born than dressed as the day after. Unfortunately for good ol’ Brer Rabbit, he didn’t have much choice. The front door came up fast in huge leaps. Held as he was in the lady’s pouch, Brer Rabbit didn’t have a chance as much. All he could do was grip the top of the pouch and go along for the ride. And what a ride it was, what a ride it was! Brer Rabbit was mighty quick, there’s no doubt about it. He could hop faster than most any critter in his neck of the woods and when his mind failed him his feet were quicker than Jack. Brer Rabbit was fast. Momma Roo was faster. Much faster. It felt to Rabbit like he was on a roller coaster, or riding the rails. The wind whipped at his ears and the outside world whirred by him in a blur once he managed to open his eyes. “If only ol’ Brer Fox could see me now!” Rabbit thought; then thought better of it. Still, it felt mighty familiar. He was bundled up by a big strong lady that said sweet things to him, and was hopping along faster than he could possibly hope to keep up on foot with. It had been a long time since Brer had gotten to experience something like this. A mighty long time. All the same, it felt familiar, indeed. Peculiarly so. Just as he was starting to really enjoy the ride, Momma Roo lifted him out of her pouch, and set him down on the grass. The place felt vaguely familiar. The ground was mulched, and jutting up from the mulch like a castle into the sky was a good old fashioned jungle gym. “Where are we?” Brer Rabbit asked. “The Park,” Momma Roo said. “I thought you’d like to play outside for a bit.” Brer Rabbit found himself feeling terribly confused. “The Park?” That explained the playground well enough, but he didn’t quite recognize the streets. “Where’s your...I mean our house?” Even blindfolded by a wicker basket, Brer Rabbit figured that the home daycare he’d rammed into couldn’t be more than half a block away. Why couldn’t he see it across the street from the playground? “Our house is over there, little one,” Momma Roo said. She pointed in the opposite direction. “All the way on the other side of the park.” The park was big alright, and Brer Rabbit found that if he squinted his eyes and focused real hard, he could just make out the street he’d crossed running away from Brer Fox as a tiny dot in the distance. He’d heard the term ‘slack-jawed’ before, but Brer Rabbit had never had it properly to him. Momma Roo fixed this when she put another pacifier in his mouth and tapped the bottom of his jaw. “Just in case,” she said, clipping the pacifier to his onesie on a ribbon. She then reached into the diaper bag and took out a well worn book: New Tricks For Older Mothers “Pway?” he lisped. Then he realized, “Pway!” This was his chance! All he’d have to do is wait until Momma Roo got good and deep into her book, and then he’d sneak away back home and find a way out of his ridiculous getup. “Brer Raaaaaaaabbit!” A familiar voice sounded off in the distance. “Where arrrre you? Heeeere bunny-bunny-bunny-bunny!” Coming up over the hill, looking mean as sin and with big Brer Bear in tow, was Brer Fox. “That was a reeeeeal funny trick you pulled on us. A reeeeal funny trick. We ain’t mad! Come on out and we can all laugh about it together.” “But Brer Fox,” Brer Bear said. “I thought we were still angry at Brer Rabbit. You said we was gonna knock his head cleeeeeean off.” Rabbit’s keen ears could only hear the two rascals talking to each other and see the vaguest shadow of their body language. He couldn’t see Brer Fox roll his eyes at Brer Bear, but sure enough he could hear Fox slap his forehead in exasperation. He could hear him curse under his breath, too. Right then and there, Brer Rabbit wanted to hop away on down the nearest trail as fast as he could. Better to retreat and let time heal their wounds and dim their memories than to go for another round. But as any precious two-year-old will tell you. Running in a dry diaper is one thing. Running in a wet one is another. It only took a couple of hops for Rabbit to know that he wasn’t getting away from anybody dressed as he was. He’d be lucky if he made it past the swingset; and the way the wet padding sagged and swayed between his thighs made it impossible for him to do a proper sprint. That and the kangaroo would catch him anyways, just as like. It was time to use one problem to solve another. “Momma!” Rabbit yelped, hopping up to the bigger woman. “Momma! Lemme in! Lemme in!” He started trying to burrow back into the safety of her pouch. “Hide me! Hide me! You gotta hide me!” Momma Roo put down her book. “Hide you?” she asked. “Whatever would I hide you from?” Brer Rabbit pointe an accusing figure at Brer Fox and Brer Bear still angrily combing the park in the distance. “Them!” he cried. “They’re gonna GET me!” He didn’t really think either had much of a chance of laying a hand on him under normal circumstances, but these circumstances were far from normal. He reckoned Momma Roo could easily outrun both of his pursuers combined. “Oh nonsense,” Mama Roo said. “It’s not like they’re a couple of dingos. Why would two big strong strappers like them wanna pick on an itty bitty baby like you?” “I’m notta-!” Brer Rabbit stopped himself. “Because they’re mean, that’s why! A couple of bullies!” That much was certainly true. Mama Roo put the old book back away in her bag, and tucked him into the safety of her pouch. Brer Rabbit felt much warmer and safer than he had the first time. “Alright, little joey,” she said, giving him a quick kiss on the top of his head. “Let Mama take care of this.” Unfortunately for Brer Rabbit, how Momma Roo handled things was not as all as the trickster would’ve recommended. In the space of three hops and the shake of a bunny tale, Momma Roo crossed the playground, passed the water fountains, and was right in front of Brer Fox and Brer Bear. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” she said. “Can I have a word with you?” Brer Fox and Brer Bear, unaccustomed to being addressed as gentlemen, took a moment before they realized they were being spoken to. “Uhh, why of course madame,” said Brer Fox. He bowed and doffed his straw hat. “Brer Fox, at your service. Enchanted to meet you.” Brer Bear did a bow of his own and set down his club. “Uhhh...Brer Bear. I’m embalmed to meet you, too.” Rabbit did his best to dig himself deeper into Momma Roo’s pouch but had no such luck to speak of. Momma’s hands plunged down and lifted him up, holding up at arm’s length. “I run the daycare over yonder and my baby is frightfully scared of you two for some reason. Do you three know each other?” Brer Fox was still doing his best to mind his manners and kept his hat doffed and his head bowed. “I don’t know any baby,” Brer Fox said. He looked over at Brer Bear. “Do you know any baby “Nope,” was all Brer Bear had to say. “No ma’am, we don’t trifle with or bother with or even know no babies.” Finally, Fox and Bear stood back up to their full heights, donned their hats, and opened their eyes to get a good look at what was dangling and diapered right out in front of them. “I don’t know no babies!” Brer Fox proclaimed. “And that’s no baby!” Both Brer Fox and Brer Bear’s eyes went red with anger while their jaws dripped with hunger. Uncoincidentally, Brer Rabbit found himself so shocked and full of terror that another, more severe round of Nature found its way into Brer Rabbit’s diaper. Those mashed carrots might not have had time to work through his system, but they definitely got things moving, or so it seemed. “Uh oh,” Momma Roo said. “I know what that means.” She then excused herself and turned away from Brer Fox and Brer Bear so she could set Brer Rabbit down...just not on his feet. “Uh...Momma?” Rabbit squeaked as he was laid down on a blanket from out the blue bag Momma had packed. “What are you doing?” “Changing your diaper, silly joey.” Momma cooed down at him. “What else would I be doing?” “DIAPER?” Brer Fox cackled. “CHANGE?” Brer Bear bellowed. Howls of rage turned into peels of laughter. And all Brer Rabbit could do was lay there as his onesie got unbuttoned and his well used diaper was untapped, right in front of everyone. “Mommaaaaaa!” Brer Rabbit tried to scream. Only then did he realize that he still had that old pacifier stuck in his mouth, mufflings his words. Not that it mattered to Momma Roo one bit. She was too busy wiping him from front to back to listen. “Awwww,” Brer Fox laughed. “Look at the little itty baaaaaby!” Brer Rabbit might’ve preferred getting tarred and feathered, or skinned alive. Right then he would have let Brer Bear take his head clean off. It would’ve been quicker that way. “Hey don’t forget to use that special butt cream so he don’t get a rash!” Momma Roo had just finished balling the old diaper off and slipping a fresh one underneath Rabbit. “That’s a good idea!” she called back. “Thank you very much.” That only got more laughter from Rabbit’s two tormentors. Rash cream. Then powder. Then the new diaper was put all the way on Rabbit and his onesie was buttoned right back up. Good (or bad) as new. “All fresh and clean,” Momma Roo pronounced him. Meanwhile, Brer Fox and Brer Bear had sauntered up and seen the whole thing for themselves. “Well I do declare,” Brer Fox said. “I never thought I’d live to see the day.” “Me neither.” Brer Bear agreed. “You’ve never seen a baby get a nappy change?” Momma Roo asked. Rabbit was tucked safely back inside her pouch. “That ain’t no baby,” Brer Fox said. “Thanks for cleaning up though. I’m sure it’ll make him taste better.” Momma Roo hopped backward. “Taste better?” Brer Bear shouldered his club. “We’re gonna knock his head cleeeeean off.” “And fricassee the rest!” Brer Fox rubbed his hands together. “Now if you’ll kindly just hand him over…” Momma Roo balled up her hand into one fist, and used the other to pick up the old diaper off the ground. “You’re not laying one hand on my baby!” “Lady, that ain’t a ba-” Brer Fox started to say before a kangaroo fist punched him right in the nose. Not only could Momma Roo run faster than Brer Rabbit, but she could fight a sight better too. “Hey!” Brer Bear growled, readying his club. “That’s not-!” But he didn’t get to finish his sentence, neither. It’s awful hard to swing a big ol’ club when you’ve got a diaper filled to the brim with Nature thrown right in your face. And before Brer Rabbit could get out his first gasp of astonishment, or his first ha-ha, he and Momma Roo were away in a blur and back behind the closed doors of her live-in daycare. “I’ll never let any big old brute hurt my baby.” Momma Roo huffed. Free room. Free board. Delicious food. Protection from those who would do him the most harm. It was right about then that Brer Rabbit thought that maybe drinking from a bottle and answering Nature’s call in a diaper might not be so bad, all things considered. Meanwhile, half a park away, Brer Fox was checking to see if his nose was broken, and Brer Bear was rinsing his eyes out in the water fountains. “No fair!” Brer Fox muttered mostly to himself. “That kanga lady she fights dirty.” “Very dirty.” Brer Bear agreed, his eyes still dripping. Fox was beside himself with anger. “Every time that Brer Rabbit gets one over on us. Every time! Now this hippity hopper, too! Thinks he’s a baby? Where’d she get that idea?” “She said she ran a daycare over there.” Brer Bear moped. “An Brer Rabbit’s little.” “That’s no excuse.” Brer Fox whined. “I’m not exactly towering myself, am I?” “She probably think just about anybody the right size was a youngin’” That’s when Brer Fox got his own bit of inspiration. He walked over and pulled on Brer Bear’s ear. “Now hold on just a second there Brer Bear. I got myself an idea, I surely do. We’ll get that Brer Rabbit yet, and no hippity hoppin’ Roo is gonna stop us!” He had to tell the big oaf a couple of extra times for it to sink in, but eventually it sunk in. “That’s a pretty good plan,” Brer Bear said. Brer Fox grinned an evil grin. “Yes it is. Yes it surely is.” ****************************************************************************************** The next day, back at Momma Roo’s, Brer Rabbit sat by the little old dollhouse playing with his blocks. He was making a game of it. How high could he stack it before the entire mountain came down. By ones? By two’s? Did it help any if they were off center and counting each other’s weight? What if he had a bigger base? Did that make it less likely to fall down? It was a perfect game for an old fashioned trickster like Brer Rabbit. At its very core, it was about him seeing just how much he could get away with before things came tumbling down and he had to adapt. And of course, if used up all of the wooden blocks, Brer would consider the game lost. It wasn’t about finishing or building anything. Goodness knows it wasn’t about playing it safe. If he wanted to use all of the blocks, he could just as easily lay them flat on the ground and not stack them on top of each other. All the while he played this game against gravity, Brer Rabbit hummed and sang quietly to himself. “Everybody's got a laughin' place, A laughin' place, to go ho-ho! Take a frown, turn it upside-down, And I found mine, I know ho-ho!” With hardly a thought or a struggle, Brer Rabbit let loose his bladder and felt the front of his diaper get a little warmer and a little soggier. It wasn’t the firs time he’d let Nature crash right through the door and into the thirsty padding wrapped around him, and likely wouldn’t be the last. No siree. The trickle bounced off the front of and slid down near the middle where it disappeared into the diaper’s core. Oh the wonders of modern technology! Rabbit couldn’t remember the last time he needed diapers- rabbit’s gotta grow up quick for more reason than one- but he was pretty sure this was a couple of sights better than those old rags and safety pins. Add a plus one to the rest of his clothing. This onesie was mighty comfortable, like a set of fine pajamas excepting that babies were allowed to wear them all the time. Mighty comfortable indeed. The way Mama Roo fussed and over him was something else too. Even right now she was away in the kitchen, deciding to bake him a cake. She’d played with him, fussed over him, cooed at him, checked and changed him, fed him, bathed him, dressed him, put him to bed. And this morning it was happening all over again. Being a legendary trickster, Brer Rabbit had never been on a proper vacation. The only vacating he tended to do was when brutes and bullies were getting too close. Maybe this is what this was: A kinda vacation. “When’s your birthday?” she’d asked him this morning after a breakfast of some pureed vegetables and a bottle of milk. “I don’t rightly remember,” Brer Rabbit replied. For just a second he thought that the jig was up. “I’m just a baby. Goo-goo-gah-gah!” Momma Roo’s face just lit up, instead. “Then we’re gonna say your birthday is today.” And the matter seemed settled. And after leaving him a bottle of juice and checking to see if he needed changing again, she left him to play in her at-home daycare’s nursery. A cake. A whole cake, just for him. One that he didn’t have to bake or swindle himself. And all of these toys to play with. Strange as it may seem for such a legendary trickster, such things were as foreign to Brer Rabbit as Momma Roo’s accent. Having as many brothers and sisters as rabbits tend to do meant that Brer didn’t get a whole lotta toys or a whole lotta ‘tention growing up. Being so little and living in a world filled with foxes, and wolves, and bears made it so being a child wasn’t exactly an option. A fella doesn’t get to be a legendary trickster by living the same normal- and often more comfortable- life as everybody else. People just don’t tell stories about that kind of thing. This, this nursery, might be his new laughing place, Brer Rabbit reckoned. There were precious few briar patches left in the world, so why not someplace softer, and quieter? A new place to hide between mishaps and misadventures. He gave the blocks one last topple, got up and started pacing. It’d only been a few hours, but it was getting harder and harder to notice the crinkle when he walked, or how he was less walking and more toddling. Hopping was easier than walking in his current situation. Crawling might be easier than even than that. “I mean why not?” Brer Rabbit said to himself. “What would I be losing if I kept this up?” He waddled and toddled over to the dollhouse. “The bars and the crib were somethin’, but that mattress was comfier than an old feather bed.” He opened the playset up and looked at the people inside. Happy little people living their happy normal lives. “That chair was confining, but the food was pretty good.” “And the diapers and baby clothes?” He looked down at himself and poked the front and felt the little squish. He could still barely tell that he’d wet himself. “I could get used to these.” Memories of the look on Brer Fox and Brer Bear’s face when a fully loaded diaper went sailing at their fool heads. He let out a little giggle. “ ‘Specially since I don’t have to clean up after myself.” Growing up in the boonies and the backwoods most of his life, Brer Rabbit was of the opinion that most indoor plumbing was overrated. Getting water into the tub? That was handy, no arguments there. But whisking away certain unpleasantries of Nature? Why go to the effort when a tree, a bush, or even an outhouse would do? In his current predicament, what Momma Roo had taped on him was doing the job one better since he didn’t have to go anywhere to do it. “It’s not that different from a briar patch,” Brer Rabbit decided. “Patch has thorns instead of bars. And it’s a lot less pretty.” He picked up a green rubber ball and gave it a bounce. “Lot less to do, too.” He rolled the ball away. What would he be giving up to pretend to be Momma Roo’s baby for a might longer? A job? A wife? A nice home? No. No. And this was nicer. After the initial embarrassment at having one of his own tricks backfire on him wear off, and experiencing the rush of someone else giving Brer Fox and Brer Bear whatfor, Brer Rabbit found himself developing a taste for this baby stuff. Babies got snuggled and cleaned and fed and cared for and defended. The only reason people got embarrassed over playing with toys and being pushed in strollers and having their Mommies and Daddies love on them was because someone came along told them that was the way it ought to be. Men weren’t supposed to wear dresses, either. That hadn’t stopped Brer Rabbit from yanking one over his head and posing as a debutant to throw Fox off his trail that one time… It was all in the trick and babies were the real ones getting tricked. By the time they were old enough to enjoy and appreciate being babied, they weren’t allowed to be babies no more. The more he thought about it, the more Brer Rabbit was convinced that this might be the greatest trick he’d yet played. He risked nothing worth risking, and might just gain so much more. There would be some difficulties, Brer Rabbit was sure. Keeping other people from blowing his cover was one of them. If a couple of blockheads like Fox and Bear could recognize him, plenty of other people could. When Momma Roo’s normal charges at the daycare came back tomorrow, she might have an easier time of sniffing out Brer Rabbit’s ruse. It was always easier to figure out a flim flam when you had the legitimate article right in front of you. That was a problem for tomorrow, however. “Maybe I’ll just get some sleep on it,” he yawned. Lazily, he spread out on the floor, flopping out and stretching his legs. “When I’m Brer Rabbit,” he said to himself. “Laying down and staring up at the ceiling is me being idle and lazy. But if I’m just a little baby,” he yawned, “it just means I’m plum tuckered out.” He closed his eyes and began to doze. DING-DONG! Rabbit had just been about to go to sleep. “Ding-dong?” He scurried to his feet. Who could be calling at a time like this? The daycare part of her home wasn’t even open on weekends. Momma Roo had told him that much. “Coming! Coming!” Momma-Roo shouted. She hopped to the front door. The idea that a baby- a real one- had been left on Momma Roo’s doorstep flickered into Brer Rabbit’s mind. What was he supposed to do if a real little tot was brought in? Be recognized? Be replaced? Or worse, be forced to try and figure out a way to get rid of an actual helpless little kid? As tricky as he could be, Brer Rabbit didn’t know if he had the moral decrepitude to try something like that... Nervously, he followed his new caregiver to the door, making good and sure to hide behind her so he couldn’t be seen. His curiosity got the best of him though, so he still cheated a peak from behind her kitchen apron. “Why, hello!” Momma Roo called out across the threshold. “Can I help you?” Turns out, Brer Rabbit needn’t have dabbled in such paranoid eventualities as what to do if and when actual children came through that door. Because right in front of him were no children at all. Towering above them was Brer Bear, only instead of his usual clothes, he was dolled up and in drag. A green dress that might’ve used to be curtains hung over his massive frame, and his old red hat had been traded for something somebody’s grandma might wear on Sunday. It even had a little flower stuck in the brim and everything, (poor flower). “Hello Ma’am” Brer Bear rumbled. “I have just moved into the neighborhood, and was looking uh..uh...” His speech was slow and stilted, a poor actor rehearsing lines that he couldn’t quite remember. Brer Bear was a lot of things, but brains wasn’t one of them. “I was looking for a playmate for my child. Someone his own age because he is so little..” “Playmate?” Brer Rabbit wondered aloud peeking out from behind Momma Roo’s apron. In most any other situation, Brer Rabbit, might’ve laughed at what he saw. This time, though, Brer Rabbit felt his blood run cold. Standing next to Brer Bear, was an evilly grinning Brer Fox! This didn’t look like no regular Brer Fox, though. He’d changed things up, too. Instead of his usual all green attire, the Fox was dressed from top to bottom in a sailor suit. And based on how short the shorts were, (not to mention the bulky roundness beneath them), Rabbit didn’t reckon that Fox had enlisted in the navy. “Of course! Of course!” Momma Roo said. “Come in. I was just baking a cake!” “Cake?” Brer Bear positively drooled before a quick elbo to his thigh from Brer Fox made him remember himself. “Momma!” Brer Rabbit Yelped. “That’s not a baby that’s-!” Momma Roo picked him up and pressed a finger to his mouth. “Hold on, sweetie. Grown-ups are talking.” Brer Fox let out a little snicker as they came in and were led into the playroom. Momma Roo took a seat and Brer Bear did the same. She placed Brer Rabbit on the carpet, and likewise Brer Fox was plopped down too. “Go play with your new friend,” she said to Brer Rabbit, giving him a pat on the rump. “Uh, you too,” Bear copied. “Be nice and play with your little friend.” “Yes, ‘Mommy’,” Brer Fox grinned a grin full of sharp teeth. “I’m gonna play reeeeeal nice with my new little friend here. Just you wait and see!” There was a bit of the Devil in that old fox’s eyes. “But don’t wander too far off,” Momma Roo said. “Stay where we can see you. I know how babies can get into mischief when they’re together.” She didn’t know the half of it. “Yup,” Brer Bear agreed. “Whole lotta mischief. You best behave yourself.” Brer Fox’s expression soured a note. “Yes Mommy…” he said. “I sure will.” Rabbit hopped on over to the other side of the playroom; still well in sight should Brer Fox try and snatch him up, but far away enough so that Brer Rabbit might talk more freely. He’d need his words to get out of this mess. As expected, Brer Fox followed. Brer Rabbit looked back and saw that Fox kept yanking his shorts up every couple of steps, stubbornly trying to make it so that the edge of his diaper stopped poking out the top of his elastic waistband. He walked funny, too; though the funny was mostly in his face. Kind of like someone trying to slowly get in a cold river stream instead of just dunking themselves. Brer Fox wasn’t used to wearing a diaper just yet. Good. The only thing faster than Brer Rabbit’s feet most days was his mouth. He’d already figured out what that scoundrel Brer Fox was likely up to. The old game of cat and mouse turning into a game of disguise and dress up. He was here to pose as Brer Rabbit’s playmate and use the proximity so that he could finally have a decent chance at ringing Rabbit’s skinny little neck. The thing about scoundrels though is that they’re clever; just not half as clever as they think they are. And as much as Brer Fox rightly scared Brer Rabbit, Brer Rabbit knew that doing the old pleading and whimpering routine wouldn’t work this time. Time for a different approach. “Brer Fox,” Brer Rabbit scolded. “What do you think you’re doing here, trying to muscle in on my top secret training? I thought of this baby thing, first, and it’s no fair for you to try and copy it so quick! Not when I’m so close!” “Just wait till I get alone with you,” Brer Fox snarled. “I’mma get put in one of them baby cages with you, and then there’ll be nothing you can…” he paused. “What are you talkin’ about, Brer Rabbit?” “You know exactly what I’m talking ‘bout, Brer Fox.” Brer Rabbit said. “Don’t think you can fool me!” “No, I promise!” Brer Fox replied. “I’m not tryin’ anything tricksy. I’m just here to skin you, is all. I’d do it elsewhere, mind you, but you’re hiding in here.” Brer Rabbit made a scoffing sound. “Hiding? You think I’m hiding?” Brer Fox lifted the sailor hat off his head briefly to scratch it. “Um...yeah? Ain’t you?” Rabbit sat down, seeming at ease, and ignoring the wet squelch beneath his bottom. “What? Did you think that I ran away from you and Brer Bear in the park yesterday and accidentally got caught by this crazy Kangaroo lady who thinks I’m her baby and I can’t figure a way out so I’m stuck in a onesie havin’ to play pretend?” “Well, when you put it that way…” Brer Fox replied. “Yeah. Kind of.” Brer Rabbit waved it off. “No. I was training.” “Training” “Fixing to whoop your butt.” Brer Rabbit said matter of factly. “Give me a week or two of this and I would have been able to knock your head clean off. I’d be almost as strong as Brer Bear over there.” Brer Fox doubled over laughing. “You?! Knock my head clean off?” But he stopped and sat back up. “How is you wearing baby clothes and playing in a nursery gonna help you beat me?” “Simple,” Brer Rabbit lied. “I’m growin’ up again.” The orange scoundrel frowned. “Growin’ up again?” Brer Rabbit crawled over to his most hated enemy and wrapped his arm over his shoulder as if they were good friends. He even saw Momma Roo and ‘Momma’ Bear point and comment on it. “Think about it,” Brer Rabbit whispered to the fox. “When folks are little, we wear this stuff. Diapers. Onesies. Sailor Suits. They get put in those baby cages and those high chairs and eat mush all day, and they drink outta bottles and get burped.” “Yeah, I know what a baby does,” Brer Fox scowled. “Well what do babies do?” Brer Rabbit continued. “They grow up! And as soon as they get big enough, they stop doing baby stuff! That’s because if you keep wearing him and doing the baby stuff, you keep growing.” Brer Fox shifted a bit and stroked his chin. “My grandmama always did say that youngin’s grew up too fast.” The blocks in Brer Rabbit’s mind were stacking higher now. Time for the real fun. “Mine too! That’s why I’m doing this! I wanted to keep growing so I wouldn’t have to be scared of you no more!” A hint of suspicion flared up in Brer Fox’s eyes. “Hmmm…” “That’s why I’m here,” Brer Rabbit said. “After a couple weeks of this, I’ll shoot up like a weed and will be as big as you. Gimme two years, and I’ll be at least as big as Momma Roo.” He pointed to the woman who had taken him in and gotten him stuck like this. “You can’t be as big as a kangaroo.” Brer Fox said. The blocks of this little scheme were starting to tumble. Fortunately, Brer Rabbit knew a thing or two about stopping schemes from crumbling. “Look at her feet. Look at her ears. Think about that pouch! She was babied for a looooooong time. That’s why she’s so good with little ones and has this daycare.” Brer Fox’s mouth hung open. “A Kangaroo ain’t nothin’ but a giant rabbit…” he said just above a whisper. Scheme saved. “Yes, sir! Yes, sir! A rabbit that got some extra tender loving care. That’ll be me some day. I bet within a year, maybe even less, you could get to be as big as Brer Bear. You’d have the brains and the brawn then.” Brer Rabbit saw the look of greed replace the look of hunger in Brer Fox’s eyes. He had him. “She’s a good momma,” Brer Rabbit told him. “The best. Course, now that you’re here, you can just skin me alive and eat me, and never learn her tricks.” He sighed dramatically. “Neither of us are ever gonna get nearly as big as Brer Bear.” DING! “Oh! Cake’s done!” Momma Roo stood up off the couch and hopped off to the kitchen. Brer Bear got up too, but he didn’t follow Momma Roo into the kitchen. “I’m gonna knock your head cleeeean off!” He pounded one giant fist into the palm of his other giant hand. Brer Fox leapt up and crinkled in between the two of them. “Hold on just a second, Brer Bear!” He looked nervously between the two of them. “We don’t wanna seem suspicious do we?” “But you said…?” Brer Bear growled. “I know what I said...I know what I said!” Brer Fox stuttered. “But...but…” “Who wants lunch?” Momma Roo called from the kitchen. “With cake for dessert?” Brer Bear whipped his head around and sniffed at the kitchen. “Hmmm...cake? “Cake!” Brer Fox stuttered. “Yes! Cake! Can’t smack somebody’s head off before cake, can we?” Brer Fox toddled off to the kitchen, waving behind him. “Come on, uh...Mommy. Let’s go have cake!” Before Brer Bear could follow, Brer Rabbit was tugging at his dress. “Don’t you hate how he bosses you around?” he whispered. “How he tries to bamboozle you with words?” “Uh...yeah.” Brer Bear agreed. “He’s always talking like he’s smarter or better’n me.” “Just remember,” Brer Rabbit told him. “In here, you’re his Momma. He has to do what you tell him to.” A funny look came on Brer Bear’s face. Brer Rabbit wasn’t sure he’d ever seen the look on Brer, but if he didn’t know any better, he’d have called it an idea. “Oh yeeeeah…” Brer Bear said. “I’m the Momma. He’s the baby.” “Mine shushed me, sure enough. You saw that, right?” Brer Bear nodded. “I did. I did.” And so Brer Rabbit hopped happily into the kitchen, where Momma Roo fastened him into his high chair. “I’ve got a spare for your little one,” she said to Brer Bear. “Hey!” Brer Fox started to shout as he was lifted and put in the highchair beside him. Brer Rabbit just gave him a quick conspiratorial wink, and Brer Fox quieted down. Momma Roo went over to the pantry. “Cake for dessert, but first lunch for the babies.” She asked Rabbit, “What do you want, baby?” “Oh, I’ll have just about anything.” Brer Rabbit said. “Anything except prunes, that is.” He stuck out his tongue. “Yuch! Prunes!” Momma Roo laughed lightly. “That’s fine. I don’t think you need any help answering Nature’s call anyway.” She got out a jar of mashed carrots. Rabbit’s favorites. “Yum yum!” Brer Rabbit said. “Sounds good to me!” Then remembering that there were three people he was supposed to be fooling, he made sure to end with, “Goo-goo!” “That’s right. Now eat it up all your food so you’ll grow big and strong.” Brer Rabbit didn’t have to be told twice. He opened his mouth and let Momma Roo spoon in heaps of the the orange mush. No chewing just meant he got to eat faster. Soon he’d get that cake. From the looks of it and smell of it, it was chocolate; Brer Rabbit’s second favorite flavor (behind carrot cake of course). Brer Bear and Brer Fox. “Excuse me,” Brer Bear started, hat in hand. “I seemed to have forgot my baby’s…” Momma Roo didn’t even wait for him to finish. “Help yourself, ma’am. I’ve got plenty of baby food in the pantry and bottles of milk in the refrigerator.” “Thank you kindly, ma’am. My little boy appreciates it too.” Between spoonfuls of baby food, Brer Rabbit wondered just how gullible Momma Roo really was. Brer Bear wasn’t even putting on a falsetto. Copying Momma Roo to a tee, Brer Bear moseyed on over to the pantry and reached in. “What kind of baby food should I give to you?” He said to Brer Fox now trapped in his sailor suit. Likewise, Brer Fox replied. “Anything but prunes.” “Gee Momma,” Brer Rabbit spoke up. “It’s so good that you let us babies eat whatever we want whenever we want!” “Not all the time,” Momma Roo replied. “Only when you want something that’s good for you. It’s Mommas who are really in charge.” She gave him another spoonful. Brer Rabbit swallowed and gave Brer Bear a wink. “Oh yeah. I forgot. I’d have to eat prunes if you said so.” The fake Momma Bear caught the wink and grabbed a jaw filled with purple mush. “I think baby’s gonna have some prunes. Gotta keep you regular.” Brer Fox sat upright in the highchair. He went so far as to waggle his finger at the bear. “I said-!” His words were cut off when the plastic spoon nearly dived into his gullet. Brer Bear was more than a might stronger than Momma Roo, and far less experienced at child rearing. Far less gentle, too, as it turned out. A head doctor might even go so far as to say that given his history of being tricked and verbally lashed by both Fox and Rabbit, that Brer Bear was enjoying the sudden imbalance of power. I’m no head doctor, though, just the person telling you this story. “Nuh-uh-uh. Momma knows best.” Brer Bear waggled his finger. “Now swallow.” Slowly, Brer Fox did. His sigh of disgust only gave Brer Bear another opening for a spoon. “But-!” Another spoonful. Brer Rabbit looked over to Rabbit and shrugged. “Gotta eat your prunes so you can get big and strong.” Bear said. “And regular. “Don’t worry,” Momma Roo said to Brer Bear. “It’s just a phase that they all go through. It doesn’t mean anything.” Brer Bear seemed to agree. They sat in relative silence. The “grown-ups” fed the “babies” and themselves. Bits of nuts and fruit were nibbled on daintily between spoonfuls of mush. Having acclimated to the texture and method already Brer Rabbit found it a most pleasing affair. Having not acclimated to such things, himself, (and hating the taste of prunes besides), Brer Fox found it far less enjoyable. Next came the bottles. Brer Rabbit accepted his without complaint. “Such a good eater!” Momma Roo cooed. Even with his life hanging in the balance, Brer Rabbit couldn’t help but feel good about that. She gently patted his back, until a series of gentle burps rumbled out. Brer Fox gurgled and glugged behind the bottle, trying not to choke as Brer Bear cradled him and shoved the nipple in his face. “Too mch!” He tried to say. “Too mch!” His own burps came out and mumbled and muffled with yelps as thunderous paws rained down on him. Momma Roo slipped two fingers into Brer Rabbit’s onesie. “Hmmm...wet.” She said. “But I think you can make it a little longer without a change. You’re still too little to potty train, anyways.” Brer Bear tried to check Fox’s diaper but Fox slapped his hand away. “I’m dry! I’m dry! I don’t need a change!” “Babies don’t know the difference between wet and dry or messy and clean.” Momma Roo said to Brer Bear. “That’s why I check mine and tell him.” Brer Rabbit had to hold in his laughter just then. Brer Bear flipped Brer Fox over and pulled back the waist band. “All clean.” Next he cupped the inside of Brer Fox’s shorts. “Dry, too. Good baby!” Even through his orange fur, Brer Fox looked like he was on the verge of going beet red. “Miss Bear?” Momma Roo said. “Would you mind looking after the little ones while I do some dishes and finish with the cake? It’s just about cooled and needs to be decorated.” Brer Bear scooped up Rabbit and Fox. “Of course, Ma’am! I’d be happy too.” The pair were picked up and carried out to the playroom. As soon as they were out of sight and out of Momma Roo’s earshot. Brer Fox found a bit of his pride. “What was that about?!” Brer Fox demanded. “I told you I wasn’t wet! I told you I didn’t want prunes either, an’ I couldn’t get a word in with that bottle in my mouth!” Brer Bear crossed his arms. “Babies aren’t in charge.” “I’m not really a baby!” Brer Fox said. “I just got in this getup so I can get big and strong!” Bear was confused. “I thought you said we were doing this so we could knock Brer Rabbit’s head clean off…?” He patted Brer Rabbit on the head. “No offense, Brer Rabbit.” “None taken, Brer Bear.” “Well yes,” Brer Fox stuttered. “At first, but then I found out that...that…” A rumbling in his stomach and a funny feeling in his bladder caught his attention. Nature was knocking on Brer Fox’s door all of a sudden. Prunes and a big bottle of milk will do that to a lot of folks. “Sounds silly, doesn’t he?” Brer Rabbit said. “Almost like a…?” Feeling like a sage ol’ Momma Bear, Brer Bear nodded down at Brer Rabbit, knowingly. Brer Fox started doing a little dance in place, hoping to stall Nature’s call. “ ‘Scuse me a second, fellas. Where’s the bathroom?” “You don’t need a bath,” Brer Rabbit said. “Your Momma fed you real good. Didn’t get a drop on ya!” Brer Bear sat up a little straighter, seeming proud. “I just gotta go...go…” Brer Fox was shifting in place, holding himself. “Go! You know?!” Nature was pounding at the door, about to bust it down. “I thought you were wearing that outfit cuz you wanted to grow like a baby,” Brer Rabbit mocked. “Babies don’t go nowhere special to do their business. They’re always open for it.” “That’s right,” Brer Bear said. He gave Fox’s cheek a pinch with one meaty paw. “You just go on and play. I”ll change you later.” “But...but...but...but…! I’m grown! I know better!” “You’re the baby and I’m the Momma, and I say no!” There was more than a hint of finality in Brer Bear’s voice. “You stay right here and play. I’ll change you when I’m good and ready; just before naptime.” Tears welled up in the old scoundrel’s eyes as the finality of Brer Bear’s statement weighed in on him. Cleverness brought him this far. Greed got him in too deep. And pride was about to be shattered. “But I...I...I…” he whimpered. “I’m not really a baby. I’mma...I’mma big...big…” He stopped and swallowed. He shuddered. That’s when anybody with a brain knew that Nature had just emptied itself right into the front of Brer Fox’s diaper. Funny thing about baby food, especially prunes and certain kinds of formula: It’s easy to digest. Too easy. Runs right through you. Brer Fox’s bottom lip quivered. A hint of a tear formed. He covered his mouth with a gasp and slammed his eyes shut, gripping his guts. Nature wasn’t done with him just yet. Brer Rabbit watched with terrible fascination as Brer Fox was forced to open the door and fill his pants up like he thought he was gonna win something. The way he adjusted his stance gave even more of a clue, a kind of sickly bow legged sight, like someone trapped in their own skin. The second meanest thing anyone could have done just then to Brer Fox was to ask him to sit down. Brer Rabbit wasn’t much better. But because he’d already learned to go with Nature and trick his pride, he was acres and acres better. Like most things, turns out potty training was more of a firm suggestion than an unbreakable law. Having recently been in Brer Fox’s shoes, Brer Rabbit almost felt sorry for Brer Fox. Almost. Not quite, but almost. He hopped over to Brer Fox, squishing with each hop. “Hey Brer Fox, there was one other thing about my secret growing up strong plan.” Disgusted Brer Fox leaned in. “What’s that?” “I lied. I did get myself stuck here hiding from you! You just ate a whole mess of prunes and got burped for nothin’ except to make a state right in your pants!” “Why you little!” Brer Fox yanked Brer Rabbit up the ears. “I’m gonna skin you alive, tar and feather you, and then everybody will be calling you Brer Chicken!” Brer Rabbit looked past Brer Fox and up to the couch. “WAAAAAAAH!” Brer Fox was snatched up so fast that that Brer Rabbit could have sworn that the angels themselves swooped down from the heavens to deliver divine retribution. It was no angel though; just “Momma” Bear a little too into the role and enjoying his newfound power over “Baby” Fox. “I’m gonna knock your butt cleeeeeeean off!” Brer Bear said. He yanked Fox’s shorts down to his ankles and took him over his knee. The second worst thing that could have happened to Brer Fox was to have to sit down in a thoroughly used diaper. The first worst was what was happening. “GOOD! BABIES! PLAY! NICE! BAD! BABIES! GET! SPANKED!” Brer Fox tried to explain, but Brer Bear wasn’t hearing it. He just kept spanking and spanking until Brer Fox was screaming his throat raw (which considering Bear’s strength wasn’t particularly long). “I’m sorry!” “You’re sorry?” “Yes!” “You’re sorry, who?” “I’m sorry...MOMMY!” Brer Rabbit just pointed and laughed. What fun! What sport! He had so much fun he almost didn’t notice as he finished soaking the already wet diaper around his bum. He definitely needed to be changed now. That’s when Brer Rabbit knew he’d found his laughing place. Momma Roo hopped in from the kitchen. “What’s all the commotion.” “I’m powerful sorry, Momma Roo,” Brer Bear said. Brer Fox was tucked under one arm, his bottom sore and his pants still around his ankles. “My baby plum forgot his manners and I think I need to take him home to teach him some.” “Oh,” Momma Roo said sounding disappointed. “Would you like a piece of cake to take home with you, then?” Brer Bear shook his head. “No thank you. Mine hasn’t earned any cake today, and I gotta watch my figure. I’m a Momma after all.” Clearly, Brer Bear was digging up old memories of the things his mother used to say. Strange thing was, he was quickly gaining a talent for it. A real natural. “Well how about I save him a slice for if he’s good tomorrow.” “Tomorrow?” “You’re so good with little ones,” Momma Roo said, “I was thinking I might hire you to come on by and help me. Play with the kids. Make sure they behave. Make sure you bring your little one, too.” “What?” Brer Fox called out. “Come by and help you? But he’s no-!” Brer Fox was cut off by a big paw slamming his muzzle shut. Brer Rabbit pretended to help and offered Brer Fox a pacifier. “How much?” Brer Bear asked. “A quarter a minute.” “A QUARTER A MINUTE?!” Brer Bear took the pacifier and stuck it between Fox’s lips just so that he had a free hand. He reached out and shook Momma Roo’s. “YES MA’AM! THANK YOU MA’AM! ME AND MY BABY WILL BE RIGHT HERE EARLY TOMORROW MORNING!” Brer Rabbit laughed as the duo tromped away. If Bear was as stubborn as he usually was- maybe doubly so if he was getting paid for it- then Brer Fox was gonna be stuck in strollers and such for a loooooong time. This really was a great trick. Except… Brer Rabbit tugged at Momma Roo’s apron. “Excuse me, ma’am.” Momma Roo looked down at Brer Rabbit, eyes full of love. This all started because he took advantage of her kindness and gullibility. People who meant him harm was one thing. Nice folks like Momma Roo were another. “Yes, dear?” “I think you should know. I’m not really a baby. Not in the uh...traditional sense that is.” “I know.” Brer Rabbit was dumbfounded. “You do? Since when?” “About three seconds after we met.” “But why?” “Just because you’re growing older doesn’t mean you’ve grown up,” Momma Roo told him. She winked and picked him up. “Besides, I like a good trick, too.” Brer Rabbit leaned into Momma Roo and for the first time in a long time he hoped for something for himself besides pulling one over on somebody. “Does that mean I can stay?” “As long as you’d like.” Momma Roo told him. She checked his diaper. “Let’s get you changed.” And that’s the story of the last great trick of Brer Rabbit. A trick so good, he convinced himself to stay. Some say he’s still there at Momma Roo’s Daycare. Getting the second childhood that he never have. Some say that Brer Bear and Brer Fox still come by too, though Brer Fox is much less happy about it. I cna’t say why he’s complaining. He gets three squares and a crib. Though he never got used to the attire. Serves him right though, if you ask me. If you ever come across them, be sure to give them my regards. Just don’t mention anything to them about you being a baby unless you really want it. Cuz Momma Roo will be listening and will likely hold you to it. And Brer Rabbit will talk circles around you until you end up there in the playpen with him.

(Chapter 3) TRIAL 2 “Come on,” Glitch coaxed. “Open up. You can do it. Just open up and say ‘Aaaaah!” Circe kept her mouth shut. That science-freak, Glitch, had made the situation awful enough as things stood. Right after the changing table, the room had wasted no time in degrading Circe further. It kept her silvery hair up in pigtails and added a yellow toddler dress with white trim and a Peter Pan collar for good measure. The hem didn’t come close to covering up her diaper, making the garment literally just for show, and there was enough room in the chest so as to minimize the curves of her breasts. It made her less obscene, and therefore worse off than when she woke up topless. At least topless she could imagine one of the lab coats taking notes might be slightly aroused or unnerved by the sight of her nakedness. She looked like a little girl. Not even a little girl; a baby! What the fuck? She didn’t even get nice hard and pointy Mary Janes to kick with; having to settle for yellow grippy socks. Ugh! Adult baby booties! The Siren wasn’t so much as given the opportunity to properly struggle before she was plopped into an adult sized highchair and buckled into a harness. A plastic backed bib was tied around her neck, covering the harness and adding another layer to her humiliation by making her seem even less capable than she really was. More cruelly, her arms weren’t pinned inside the highchair’s tray, giving her a nearly full range of motion and movement. Circe had a compulsion, no, an obligation to struggle and escape. Leaving her arms free was just another demonstration on how powerless she currently was. She immediately started yanking at the bib but it wouldn’t come undone; practically soldered together at the back of her neck. She dug her hands down and reached under her skirt to at least rip the tapes of the diaper open, but her fingers couldn’t find purchase on the sticky tapes. The harness she’d been buckled into wouldn’t budge either; likely more of Glitch’s meddling modifications. The smug bitch’s self-approving nods confirmed as much. Seconds after testing beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was good and trapped, more of the cursed animatronic tendrils lowered down from the ceiling. One of them wielded a mush filled spoon. Just out of reach, too. Circe all but welded her mouth shut and swiped at the damnable thing, just out of reach. Damn machines didn’t even have the decency to put the spoon in arm’s reach so that she could snatch it! Nor was there a bowl to tip off the side of the feeding tray. It just waited patiently for Circe to run herself out of steam. Presently, Circe had given up on going for the spoon; the robotic nursery wasn’t even giving her a sporting chance by bringing it tantalizingly close and snatching it away at the last second. There were better, more effective hells than this, and part of her Siren soul remembered that intimately. So she sat there in the highchair. Her arms crossed like a pouty toddler, and the tops and bottoms of her teeth grinding down on each other. Every other time she’d opened her mouth, some gadget had zipped in to deliver its sinister payload. Snakes only struck when you gave them an opening. Circe knew how to play this game. The Siren waited. She was a villain, but part of being a Siren meant being patient. The original Sirens were a type of ambush predators; not stalkers. Sailors would wreck themselves upon her rock if she ust waited long enough. It only unnerved her if she let herself nurture the idea that they wouldn’t. But there were men and women in lab coats watching her, and a subtly annoyed super-sidekick standing by. Emotional food was there; physically farther away but so much closer than the mush. “Come on, Circe” Glitch tried to coax her. “Just open up, baby girl. That spoon has yummy num-nums for you. Delicious and nutritious.” Her voice was artificially sweet like splenda; taunting her without sounding like it. What did the young people call that? A dog whistle? If not, it was close enough. Circe was very good with sound metaphors “Unless you don’t think you can handle just one spoonful?” The Siren wasn’t falling for it. Not this time. She locked her jaw. ‘H’m hmm hmmmmm hmm hmm hmmmmmmmmmmm, hmmmm!” “Very mature,” Glitch rolled her eyes. “ ‘I’m not giving you the satisfaction, bitch’? Really?” Circe almost gasped in surprise but remembered herself and did a close mouthed scowl, instead. “I’ve got an entire database of your speaking patterns and intonations in my brain,” Glitch said. “I can do better than lip reading.” Circe narrowed her eyes. She could understand Circe down to the hum? Good. This stand off would be easier. It would be simpler to agitate and provoke this way, while putting her at zero risk. Heroes were always less clever than they suspected; their will never as strong as they fancied. “Hmm’mm hmmm hm hmmmm hm hmmmm.” “I’m not going to break your teeth,” Glitch said. She started pacing the floor, her face turning into a concentrated snarl. Circe was presenting a problem the hypocrite didn’t know how to solve. “That would cross so many lines, even for you. I’m trying to help you.” “Hmm?!” Glitch looked genuinely exasperated. “How? You literally wouldn’t understand. I’m intellectually superior to you, and more importantly too…too…?” Cockily, Circe rested her elbow on the tray, and laid her chin in the palm of her hand. “Hm-mm-mmmm? “Immature?” Glitch scoffed. “I was going to say ‘old’.” “OLD?!” The spoon jumped into Circe’s mouth and bland mush slipped out onto her tongue. On instinct, the supervillain swallowed it down, then grimaced. Not because it tasted bad- it didn’t taste at all- but because she’d been tricked yet again. Odysseus was a trickster too, but the comparison felt hollow; a lie a child might tell themselves to help them feel big. As soon as the gloop and glop was down Circe’s proverbial hatch, Glitch’s pre-recorded voice rang out from the headboard of the highchair. “Good baby! Eat your num-nums!” It was both disturbing because the genuine article’s lips remained still, and the recording sounded perfectly like the real thing. Glitch was utilizing the technology that Circe had hoped to steal. Circe’s blood boiled a bit more, and it had nothing to do with the condescending verbage and tone, and everything to do with its source. Witty repartee was worth her time, pre-recorded responses were just a soft form of torture. She could get better from rank and file guards at a SuperMax. One did not give witty one liners to non-sentient automatons unless they were about to destroy them and it would look cool to an imaginary audience. Prosthetic fingers danced up her bare legs. “Good baby!” The tickling wasn’t nearly enough to make Circe laugh or open her mouth, but it made her hold her breath and fidget in her chair. A kind of reward in return for her compliance; or perhaps a threat to gently force her lips apart. The spoon refilled itself with mush via a hidden compartment in the appendage holding it. No dipping into a bowl required. Damn. She resumed her defiant position in the highchair, and did an internal monitor of herself. No strange gurgling, bloating, or cramping sensations presented themselves. Chances were that this mush was just mush, and not some cocktail meant to make her poop herself again. She detected no feelings of other biochemical tampering, either. This wasn’t drugged. At the very least, a single spoonful wasn’t enough to do her in. Glitch was playing at a different game. In order to win, Circe would have to play a different one. Ancient Greek Proverb: When rock collides with rock, the bigger rock wins. When rock is covered with parchment, the rock ceases to be. Or maybe she was getting that mixed up with something else; reincarnation was tricky like that. Either way, she was going to throw paper. “Open up, baby! Time for num-nums!” That came, of course, from the room itself instead of Circe’s not-quite adversary. Circe didn’t react. She sat still, a defiant yet tranquil pool of acid. “Come on Circe,” Glitch repeated herself with an exasperated sigh. “This is a Skinner Box.” A Skinner Box, eh? Circe wasn’t sure what that meant, but she was sure that there was more than one way to skin a cat. Glitch rolled her eyes. “It means the environment is reactive. You’re perfectly safe.” Oh really? Reactive? A leads to B leads to C? How very predictable and mechanical. This merited further study. Circe opened her mouth for another spoonful. “Aaaaah!” The spoon slid in easily and left behind its mushy payload. “Good baby! Eat your num-nums” Circle swished it around in her mouth, noting the distinct lack of flavor and creamy mashed potato texture. Glitch inched up closer, pleased with herself, like always. “See?” she lectured. “It’s not so bad. Chock full of vitamins and nutrients, specifically formulated for different body types towards a desired end goal. Yours is the um…silver formula.” “Good baby!” Circe got another tickle for swallowing another spoonful. A led to B. Everytime. Predictable. Anticipatable. Abusable. Potentially delicious. “It presents as baby food, but like much of your treatment, it’s been adapted from a different source to achieve the desired results. It’s not baby food, just people food.” “Good baby!” Yet another tickle to accompany the mouthful of mush at a one for one ratio. Somewhere in the back of her brain Circe was keeping track of this. Patterns. Patterns Patterns. Boring machine generated patterns. “This is most fortuitous,” Glitch mused. “You’re helping me with so much research from a marketability perspective.” And people thought that villains liked to monologue. Glitch inched closer, and Circe received another spoonful. “Your food is tasteless, but I’m working on different flavoring before marketing to the public. It just happened to synergize well with this particular aesthetic, and you’re providing me with an excellent-” “PTEW!” A huge heaping chunk of light brown grayish mush made the relatively short trip through the air onto Glitch’s nanny apron. The superheroine stared down her chest as the blob drip-drip-dripped all the way down to the floor. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she said. Circe knew she shouldn’t have done that. And that’s why she loved it. “NAUGHTY NAUGHTY BABY!” the room boomed. The highchair propelled forward like a roller coaster, briefly disorienting Circe. It was a short trip at least, straight to the spanking pommel horse. In no time at all Circe was back over the robotic knee, laughing hysterically. “Haaaaa! HAHAHAHA!” Glitch neither wiped at the stain, nor approached Circe physically. “I don’t think you know what you just did to yourself,” Glitch called over Circe’s insane cackling. “Of course I know what I just did,” Circe called back. “I just earned myself a spanking!” “That’s not how this Skinner Box works.” “BABY SHOULD NOT SPIT THEIR FOOD OUT!” The machine room declared. “MAMA WILL FIX!” Metallic tendrils snaked up and hiked down the back of Circe’s diaper so that her bare bottom was exposed. “Huh?” Circe wiggled her rump in abject curiosity. How the Hades had her diaper come off so easily? She’d thought the plastic backed panties would have been effectively super glued to her skin. “You think a bare assed spanking is gonna mess with me a second time?” Circe taunted. If there was one trait that Circe prided herself on having it was her resilience. The Siren’s soul was quick to adapt, and she’d seen this part coming. A punishment machine gave her more control than her captor had beckoned. ““BABY SAID A BAD, BAD WORD. NAUGHTY NAUGHTY! MAMA SPANK!” “You didn’t earn a spanking,” Glitch replied, coolly. “Not until you just said bare-assed.” Circe was about to demand that Glitch explain herself, but said demand was cut tremendously short by the feeling of something pushing its way up into her anus. “EEEEEEEEEEEEE!” The supervillain was lifted slightly off the pommel horse, still bent over, as a rubber hose pumped something thick and sludgy was pumped inside of her. NG-NG-NG-NG-NG! It had an unnatural mechanical sound to it, like paddlewheels trying to churn up a river. NG-NG-NG-NG-NG! With every chug, Crice felt her belly start to distend and an uncomfortable full feeling came over her. Every glugging pump added to the feeling of being overfull and stuffed with none of the satiety of having consumed a meal. It wasn’t half-a-minute before Circe felt like she’d consumed far too much far too quickly and lacked so much as happy memories or a pleasant aftertaste coating her throat. NG-NG-NG-NG-NG! DING! The glugging stopped. Circe felt her diaper hiked back over her and the hose withdraw. A little bit of something wet slurped out of her and into the back of the padding, but pride and years of potty training forced the Siren to squeeze her cheeks together. “BABY WON’T SPIT THIS OUT” The recorded voice boomed over unseen loudspeakers. Gently, the tendrils lowered her back onto the spanking bench and fullness quickly progressed to pain. Cicre found herself quietly wishing she had a bar of soap or a pacifier to bite down on so that she could resist moaning out in baby bootie pink. “Hnnnnnnnnnnnnn…” “Your body will take in those nutrients one way or another, Circe.” Glitch lectured, her scalp blinking as trillions of calculations ran through her cybernetic brian. “Too bad for you that it requires a lot more of the stuff when it’s shoved up the other end. You chose this, honey. Not me.” Circe battled with herself, struggling to speak. She held her breath while her stomach gurgled and cried out in pain. Any exhalation, any relaxation, could result in her emptying her bowels back into her diaper’s waiting seat. And oh, she had just started to get used to being clean! Where had that thought come from…? ““BABY SAID A BAD, BAD WORD. NAUGHTY NAUGHTY! MAMA SPANK!” Uh oh. WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! Again the automated paddles sounded off of her padded backside bottom. Again, the diaper did little to nothing to ease her pain. If anything it was worse the second time around. There was no build up this time, no gradual progression or picking up of speed. The spanking machine continued exactly where it left off, and Circe’s cheeks and tailbone screamed out in pain as though doing so were muscle memory. BLRRRRRRRRRRRT! Finding herself unable to scream, the supervillainess exhaled and a stream and bodily sludge exited her, ballooning out the back of her diaper and causing her to grimace and wince in self-disgust. WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! It was the same as before but worse! So much worse! She was being spanked in the middle of messing herself and unable to stop either. Guilde kicked in and Circe broke. “SORRY MAMA!” WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! It didn’t stop! The spanking machine didn’t stop! Why hadn’t it stopped?! It stopped last time! It had stopped immediately last time, practically like it was under one of Circe’s spells. “SORRY MAMA!” WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! “SORRY, CIRCE!” Glitch yelled over the sound of Circe’s beating. “YOU’RE NOT GETTING OUT OF IT THAT EASY! THE MACHINE COUNTS HOW MANY SPANKS YOU GET AND MAKES SURE TO ADD ONE MORE TO YOUR PUNISHMENT EACH TIME NO MATTER WHAT!” Circe was on the verge of tears. Her bowels had fully re-emptied themselves and she was struggling for breath. If she was going to get spanked anyways, she might as well make the most of it. The siren let out a slew of curse words, euphemisms filled with vile imagery, and outright slurs for good measure that would have made even the most hardened criminals blush and set a good man’s ears ablaze with the vile thoughts such imagery induced. At least three devils and multiple demons would have taken notes had they been present to listen. It didn’t matter to her that it all came out pink. Glitch could understand her. That’s all that mattered. WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! Instinctively knowing when the thrashing was approaching it’s xenith, Circe let out a final “SORRY MAMA!” and prayed that the spankings meted weren’t per swear uttered. WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! The spanking stopped three swats later, and Circe collapsed over the giant artificial knee. “Thank you,” she whispered to no one. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” Much to her relief, Glitch did not say “You’re welcome”. That would have been unbearable. Rather, the ex-sidekick walked around with her arms folded behind her back and leaned forward just enough to look Circe in the eye. “Do you want me to clean you up?” “Ffffff…” Circe froze. “Or would you rather play in a messy diaper.” “Fffff!” She stopped. She couldn’t take this again. Not without a breather. “Screw you,” she hissed. The Siren tensed for a second, but the spanking machine did not start up again and there was no additional flittering beneath Glitch’s skin indicating any sort of technopathing restraint. Middle school and PG curses were still allowed her. Speaking of flashes, a look of guilt crossed the younger woman’s face. “Nevermind. Let’s get you changed. Leaving you in a dirty diaper is a bad choice, and I want as few bad choices available to you as possible. Those words were poison to someone like Circe. She was not to be limited, and if she was, it would be her decision. “Fuck you. Sorry, Mama!” Glitch’s face fell. “Oh, Circe. Don’t…” ““BABY SAID A BAD, BAD WORD. NAUGHTY NAUGHTY! MAMA SPANK!” Circe could have sworn she almost lost consciousness with what followed. She was still cognizant, though barely, when the machines carried her back over to the changing table, wiped her, powered her and rediapered her while the stupid mobile flashed pink in her face. ***************************************************************************** TRIAL 3 The lights were out and no one was home. Circe lay there in the dark, in her crib, tossing and turning in the footie pajamas. She’d tried to work the zipper but her fingers froze up and her arms wouldn’t move whenever she grabbed on. It must have been something to do with magnets, she reasoned.. Still, Glitch had gone easy on the villain the rest of the day. Less actual restraints had been applied in favor of more chemical ones: That damnable baby powder that got poured on her with every change made her heartbeat refuse to go over sixty beats per minute, and she was being pumped full of Zeus knew what in the bottles that followed. Hard to plot on a full stomach, a tired body, and a broken pride. More annoying, as she lay in the crib, Circe realized that there was nothing containing her inside beyond moderately high bars. If she wanted to, she could jump out of the crib and nothing but fear of repercussions could stop her. It wasn’t pride, or fear that drove the villain, but something deeper and indescribable. Compulsion. Purpose. Destiny. She knew she was expected not to do something, and so she was dishonor bound to do it. She stood up on the cushy crib mattress and looked around. Those mechanical hands could literally come from anywhere and any direction. No angle was safe. But this place was a place of consequences. It didn’t act as much as it reacted, and there was no Glitch or her science squad in sight. Part of her knew she would not get away in this attempt. Yet how would she know unless she tried. How could she be patient and wait when someone else wanted her to be? “Here. We. Go.” Circe didn’t make it on the first jump. Having a thick cushy diaper between her legs continued to throw off her gait, and it didn’t help that she’d wet herself at some point, causing the pulpy core to expand. What was that about? “Ah-ha!” Circe explained upon her feet touching the floor. ZZZZZZT! The lights came on and Circe convulsed on the floor, drooling and twitching as even more of her bladder emptied out into her pants. She’d been punched by Tom Turbine and ShockMaster and had it hurt less. “Good evening, Circe.” Glitch said from the doorway. “Let me help you up.” Blinking and flashing from the woman’s circuit breaker tattoos preceded metal appendages raising her up from the floor. “The fibers in the carpet and your clothes are actually superconductors, not insulators.” A beat. “Did you need something?” Circe coughed and almost swore, but she thought better of it. She wanted her time with her adversary to be more special than a spanking. “Don’t you ever sleep?” she asked. The other woman didn’t even pretend to yawn. “No.” “Cyborgs,” Circe spat. “Grown-ups,” Glitch replied. Back in her crib, Circe allowed herself a smirk “As something of an authority on brainwashing, you’re going to have to do better than that, my dear Glitch.” To Circe’s dismay, Glitch did not approach. “No I won’t. I don’t care what babies think.” The door slammed shut, leaving Circe alone in the dark. **************************************************************************************** TRIAL 5 Breakfast had been more mush from a self-refilling spoon. Circe had eaten it, but only because of hunger. She went all the way full ragdoll through changing and being dressed and plopped back in a highchair until Glitch entered the room. She only ate after Glitch promised to alter the formula so that it tasted like vanilla. Presently, Circe busied herself playing with naked Barbie dolls, forcing them to fight to the death, clacking their heads together. The dolls with unrealistic proportions for a woman had started off fully dressed, but Circe had taken care of that. She’d stripped them almost immediately and started the raunchiest simulated sex scene that she could manage without invoking the spanking mechanisms wrath. Spitting out food meant an enema. Cursing meant spanking. Part of her needed to know what else she could do to get a response out of the punishment box. Nothing happened at first. Glitch just kept wandering about the nursery machine running diagnostic scans or whatever Science people called memorizing spells. Plastic crotchless dolls fucking had turned to plastic crotchless dolls fighting. It was amusing to.her. “Having fun?” Glitch asked, ruining the moment. Circe quickly put down the toys she had and glared up at the toy she wanted. Her outfit today was the same as yesterday, save it was a deep forest green dress, she had a bow on her head instead of pigtails, and she had proper booties on instead of socks. It almost (almost) complimented the green dragon peeking out from the front of her squishy wet diaper. “Not as much as you, I’m sure.” Circe replied, trying to keep her cool. “I have to admit, Glitch, you’re doing a far better job of villainy than I thought you capable of.” “Thank you,” Glitch said. “Have fun playing with your dollies.” She turned her back on Circe and Circe felt her throat swell up. “I’m not a baby!” Circe yelled after her. “I’m not a brat! You…you…brat!” The hero stopped and reversed course, coming up to the edge of the playpen. “You’re not a baby?” “No!” “Then why do you commit crimes?” Circe’s opened her mouth, but hadn’t expected that question. “Huh?” “Babies have cribs and playpens and highchairs because they can’t be expected to follow the rules. They can’t be trusted. Can you be trusted?” “NO!” The words erupted out of the Siren’s throat and she knew them to be true before the echo reached the far wall. “Exactly,” Glitch replied. “You can’t be trusted. That’s why you’re here instead of a penitentiary. You’re incapable of experiencing penance, so there’s really no point. Easier to keep you in daycare. More fitting, too.” Circe sprung to her feet…and regretted it instantly. BTTTZ! She was down on the padded playpen mat immediately, convulsing lightly. Her bladder spasmed again and she thought she might have pooped a little. That wasn’t going to get her to grovel for a change, however. “What the fuuuuuu…udge?” she censored herself. “You tried to run away last night,” Glitch explained. Now your booties will give you a helpful reminder. “You are sick!” Her tormentor shrugged. “It’s not my fault you’re immune to sound based attacks. Otherwise I’d just play a sonic frequency to disorient your equilibrium.” Glitch about faced away. “But thank you for the compliment. I know me being ‘sick’ means a lot coming from you.” “Quit turning your back and face me!” A naked doll flew end over end over the playpen and lightly struck the hero in the back. The younger, less infantile looking of the two, didn’t break her stride. “Stop ignoring m-!” Circe cut herself off as the playpen itself rose up to attack her. Added to her outfit were stiff, inflexible mittens that left her completely unable to do anything but keep her palms flat and stop her from grabbing onto anything or balling her hands up. She effectively had flippers in place of fists. Circe lost her Barbie doll privileges for the rest of the day, and lost all hope of using utensils to feed herself. ******************************************************************************************** TRIAL 7 The next day, Circe lost her Barbie Doll privileges entirely when she bit their heads off. From then on she would only have simple toys that she could manipulate if she used both hands in unison and lacked any parts that she might accidentally choke on. Circe swore extra hard just so she’d earn a spanking. She tried to make herself choke on the mush, but that only earned her another enema. *************************************************************************************************** TRIAL 11 “How about some potty training?” Glitch suggested. She placed the prop on. “That might be a good place to start in your rehabilitation.” The Siren glowered. “I am potty trained.” “Not according to my sensors,” Glitch replied. “You’ve made no effort, whatsoever. Show known discomfort in wearing a wet or a messy one.” She was kind enough, Circe noticed, to not mention or bring up any of the enemas she had earned herself. No. That was a strategy, too, come to think of it. Don’t mention certain punishments unless prompted so that CIrce would trick herself into thinking she deserved it. “I’ve bathed in the blood of my enemies,” Circe said. “What’s a little feces?” Glitch nodded. “Yeah,” Glitch said. “I don’t buy it. You’re not the Grinning Man. Nice try though.” She opened up the lid. The inside was a big goofy smiley face. It wasn’t a child’s plastic potty, but not another scaled up variant like everything else in this funhouse. “You want people.” “Do not!” The fact that Glitch continued to ignore her was worse than the indignity of constantly soiling her disposable panties. “When you think of it, potty training is one of the first times that a person has to learn to follow rules. They have to practice physical introspection and communication as a way to scaffold up to self reliance.” The Siren rolled her eyes. “Uh huh. If I didn’t know any better I ‘d say you get off on this.” Her opponent didn’t take the bait. “Maybe. Anyways, I know you know how to use it so I don’t need to explain the mechanics; you’re just an emotional infant after all; so here’s what we’ll do: If you ask to use the potty, you’ll get your diaper taken off, then you can sit and go. Then you’ll be cleaned up, and the diaper will be put back on, and you can continue on about your businesses. If you can follow those rules for a few days, I’ll remove one of your clothing restraints.” The taser booties and the flipper mittens had been a constant part of Circe’s outfit, rotating color with the rest of her. Today she wore blueberry colored baby clothes and a bonnet. “Hmmmm….” It was tempting. Would giving in, just a little help her? Glitch tilted the large chamber pot so that Circe could see inside “There’s a picture of my face…” she offered. Circe narrowed her eyes. “So I call for your help and get to shhh…poop on your face?” The dark skinned woman threw back her head and laughed, her tattoos glowing the full color of the rainbow. “Oh no. No no no. I’m not doing that. The nursery will be doing that. Do you think I’m crazy enough to get near you, Circe? You could do something crazy or at least stupid if I got near enough to even take the diaper off of you! But if you’re a good girl….Circe…? Circe? What are you doing?” Circe was back on her hands and knees, pushing the mess out intentionally. “Nnnn…nothing…” she lied. “Nnn…nothing …at…ahhhh…” She relaxed and breathed deeply when she’d finally emptied herself. For good measure she shifted and sat all the way down on the floor, wriggling and smushing her messy diaper around. Glitch dragged her palm over her face and Circe had known she’d won a battle. She smiled all the way through that next diaper change, hoping the mobile that took her picture with a pink flash was getting her best side. ********************************************************************************************************* TRIAL 17 Circe shook, but for the first time in over a week it had nothing to do with spasming on the floor from electric shock or having her body be wracked by mechanical paddles. “S-s-s-s-s-s-taaaaaaahp!” She was back on ‘Mama’s knee’, her soggy sodden diaper squishing beneath her. As per usual, Glitch kept her distance. “But why, baby girl?” she asked. “Isn’t this nice?” It was nice, alright. More than nice. If not for the restraints keeping her place, Circe would be teasing her nipples. If not for worry that a well deserved spanking might interrupt this, she’d be dropping pink colored F-bombs in ecstacy. The pommel horse had shown off a new future. ‘Mama’s knee’ could bounce, and not just like a cheap knock off at a rodeo bar. It vibrated. It pulsed. It pushed all the right buttons that Circe had been too preoccupied to push each night when she was alone in the confines of her crib. While she inched closer and closer to orgasm, more A.S.T.R.A.L. scientists looked at readouts and took notes. The damn perverts watching her was making it harder and harder not to climax. “W-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-yyyyyy?” “I’ve been replaying our interactions and I found the fatal flaw in my design,” Glitch told her from a distance. (Always at a distance). I’ve been offering you sticks but no carrots. Ways to avoid punishments, but no rewards.” This was a reward? Being forcefully beat off? It was sadistic is what it was and Circe appreciated it on a level she could not express. “You’ve been known to be carnally motivated,” Glitch spoke over the buzzing and humming noise of what was essentially a giant vibratror that she was forcing the supervillain to straddle. “So this might be an appropriate reward.” “D-d-d-d-d-d-ooooon’t!” Circe tried to say. “S-s-s-s-s-ta-a-a-a-aahp!” "This one’s free,” Glitch said. And if you can make it to your naptime without a punishment, you’ll get another orgasm.” So far that hadn’t happened. Circe just kept earning spankings and losing more privileges. “And again if you can make good choices between naptime and bed. And a again in the morning if there’s no mischief in your crib.” Glitch was so absorbed in her pre-programed spiel that she didn’t notice the look of stressor Circe’s face. “Circe? Circe?” she reached out and touch Circe on her thigh. That was the touch that drove the woman over the edge. “O-O-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” The shockwave that followed was so loud and focused that cracks formed in the observation glass. Scientists started dropping their data pads and shouting “baby girl!” Security staff with an extra layer of noise canceling headphones had to escort them away for additional debriefing. The mechanical arms slackened, the vibrating surface stopped shaking, and Circe collapsed on the pommel horse, panting and breaking out into a cold sweat. “Interesting,” Glitch noted. “I didn’t think you could still do that. I wonder if it’s replicable…” “I...I…I hate you…” Circe panted. Glitch got up even closer and seemed more confused than anything. “Why?”

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Part 8: Little Changes Chapter 90: Something Kept The Tuesday after I broke Beouf wasn’t that different from any other Tuesday. Beouf gathered us up at the bus loop, paraded us to breakfast, corralled us back to her classroom, and so on and so forth. Completely normal. But I didn’t want it to be. Like Janet, I could sense that she was keeping up appearances and professionalism as a mask over the hurt. It was all in the way she looked at me when she thought I wasn’t looking or didn’t look when she knew I was; how her smile didn’t go all the way to the top of her head. I didn’t like it. Why? Did I want her to be stronger so I had an excuse to pile on harder? Would it have been better for me if she’d been more like a sobbing mess like I’d found her Monday afternoon so that I could more easily exalt in my victory? Who could say? Certainly not me. Just like Tuesday, the rest of the class was dropping “Love Bombs” left and right. I’d lit a particularly potent fuse in my classmates and they were taking it to its most logical extreme. “I Love You” had become the new “Why?”. I wanted to tell them to stop; that the joke was old; that we should move on to a new terrible game. I didn’t, though. The fuck was wrong with me? I’d won. I’d won and slain the dragon. I’d made Beouf cry real desperate tears as the result of something I’d purposefully set in motion. Janet’s mood was on an emotional swivel, practically wrapped around my finger in wanting my love and fearing my abuse. I’d gotten away with my Picture Day Stunt. I was the Playpen Kingpen to the point where even Ivy was wary of me. I was probably still going to Little Voices, (very important). I’d chased away Horsey McDoucheface Mark. Yeah, ‘Auntie’ Jessica was somehow immune to me through her own warped Amazon privilege and lack of constant exposure to me, but I still had a very good grasp on what I could and could not expect from her. I. Was. Winning. There was still so much darkness around, but my thrusts, parries, and ripostes had punched so many twinkling little holes into my universe that starlight was beginning to twinkle through. I should have been happy. I wasn’t. All that past evening, I was quiet, and it wasn’t even out of spite or a planned attack of some sort. I was just too much in my own head trying to sort everything out. The fuck was wrong with me? Was the baby monitor in the nursery and its subliminal messages taking away more than just my ability to express certain thoughts? Was it slowly and subtly shaping those thoughts? No idea. No way of knowing. One can be honest regarding one’s own thoughts, actions, and motivations, but one cannot be completely objective and unbiased regarding them. There weren’t even any repercussions. No additional sit down talks. Bits of humiliation or passive aggression. I wasn’t even the last to get changed after breakfast. I’d found a way to punch my ex-best friend and she wasn’t punching back. That was frustrating. A queer kind of relief came over me just after snack time. Sosa and Winters came in and took most of the class around with them to their therapy room. Being away from Beouf was a much needed distraction; possibly for both of us. Out of sight. Out of mind. The therapists didn’t bother with line leashes, so we had to do the hand holding method again. We were doing a double session. Half of us would be with Sosa. The other half would be with Winters. Half an hour later the groups would switch. Me and my crew lost the coin flip and were starting with Sosa. The others were with Winters. I suspect Jesse was left behind just to give Ivy somebody to play with. Chaz, Annie, Billy, and I were in Sosa’s Group. Tommy, Shauna, Mandy, and Sandra Lynn were in the other. I wasn’t sure why they grouped me up with my disciples, but one should never interrupt the enemy when they’re making a mistake. It was possible that they’d forgotten; more likely that they’d thought they could handle us all together with both of them in the room and others to act as ‘good influences’. Amazon hubris: How I loved it when it worked in my favor. Winters was taking off her group’s shoes and tying on booties with rounded soles on them. The booties instantly made my classmates’ gait off balance. Their stance went wide and their arms flailed out and flapped like birds who hadn’t figured out how to fly just yet. From the way Mandy moved in them the left one might have been heavier than the right. At least Winters was leaving their other clothes on. I was starting to suspect that part of her hidden curriculum was getting Littles comfortable with having Amazons dress and undress them. The physical therapy half of the room turned into an obstacle course: Not an overly difficult one, but one that would certainly be easier to complete if you crawled or grabbed onto handrails well above your head…like reaching for a Grown-Up’s hand. There were tiny staircases and sloping hills and wobbly bridges, but no tunnels. Nothing to necessitate crawling, but leave it as a good option. The course zigged and zagged and looped back around on itself so that the finish line was a few steps to the left of the starting point. The final stretch was a straightaway with nothing to hold onto. The way it shined and glistened in the daylight was reminiscent of a bowling lane. Everybody was going to have to crawl across the finish. At least that stupid bell wasn’t in sight. I wondered if Chaz was going to have to wear those booties. Over at Sosa’s table were neither beads, nor putty, nor scissors, nor bulky crayons or pencils. That could mean only one thing. “Okay, kids,” Sosa said. “Time for a diagnostic.” Four of those literally impossible puzzle boxes had been toted out and placed in front of us. I’d been hoping she’d forgotten it. She’d just taken her sweet time. Twice in sixty days was still technically once a month, though it was certainly down to the wire. “Do you all remember what you have to do? Or do you need help remembering?” Chaz beat me to it. He raised his hand and spouted, “I totally know what we’re supposed to do. But do you, Miss Sosa? Hmmm?” Cheeky brat. Good. Sosa smiled calmly, and gently, just like Beouf had. “All you have to do is put one hand into the whole on one side of the box, put your other hand in the other hole, and then press the switches inside at the same time. Do you need me to show you?” “Ye-” “NO!” I ran in front and shouted Chaz down. If he’d been closer to my eye level I would have slapped my hand over his mouth. “No we don’t!” I’d just gotten another brilliant idea. I faced my minions. “I hate that stupid robot and we’re not gonna be able to do it anyways so why bother?” Billy, Annie, and Chaz all quietly signaled that they understood. They’d seen the look I was giving them enough times to know that I was up to something. My wild eyes were a dog whistle and my loyal hounds were scenting blood. “That’s fine,” Sosa said. “Does that mean you want to give up Clark? It’s okay if you’re not ready.” Just like Beouf would have done. So predictable. So obvious. So typical. “I can mark you as unable to participate and let you play with something more appropriate as long as you don’t disturb Miss Winters’s group.” I snuck in a wink and then put on a snarl. “Appropriate?” I turned around to face my target. “How are those traps appropriate?” “They’re appropriate for big kids.” She shrugged like she wasn’t secretly enjoying putting me in my place. “The diagnostic is the diagnostic. Data is data. It’s not bad or good. It just is. And it’s okay if it’s too much for you. There’s nothing wrong with finding your limits. Very mature, actually.” The war drum in my chest began to thump. Yes. Yes! I stomped dramatically forward and dragged the bulky contraptions one by one over to us. I whispered to my crew, “Wait for it.” Then I turned around. “Fine. Can we do it? Can we start? Can we get this farce over with?” “Easy there, Clark.” Winters called from across the room. I’d gotten louder than I’d intended to and the OT/PT room was still smaller than Beouf’s. I blanched and she went back to cheering for Shauna and Sandra Lynn who were neck and neck due to Shauna’s stubborn refusal to crawl. Sosa had already gotten out two gelatin cups and was stirring one around so she could tempt us with spoon feeding. “Yeah. Go ahead. Start any time. Have fun.” Alright then. Game on. Billy helped me arrange the plastic crates in a rough circle. I pointed to spots on the floor so that my knight, my rook, and my bishop stood between them. I made sure to stand at the back of the circle so that Sosa could hear me more easily. “What are you kids doing?” Sosa asked. She sounded curious; almost amused. “Chaz,” I instructed. “Put your left hand in the box nearest to me.” Chaz followed my directions. I leaned right and inserted my hand in the same puzzle box. Just like the last time, the cuff shrunk down over my arm. It would let me slide in almost as deep as my shoulder and out almost as deep as my wrist, but wouldn’t release me until someone activated the safety release. The trick of the so-called diagnostic was that the puzzle box was so bulky though that nobody smaller than a Tweener had long enough arms to reach around both sides and grab both releases at the same time. And that was the whole point. Littles were supposed to be cute and helpless and accept outside help constantly and without complaint. This was literally an exercise in installing learned helplessness. “Clark, that’s not how you’re supposed to…” Sosa cut herself off. Amusement was becoming confusion and curiosity was turning into consternation. I pressed on. Literally. “Okay, Chaz. Lean in.” We both jumped in giddy surprise. Our hands brushed against each other. I twisted my wrist and clasped the palm of his hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.” Chaz said. “You too, my good man.” We laughed and fumbled around until we found the releases. ”Ready?” Sosa was putting the cup down. “You’re doing it wrong.” No time. “Onetwothreego!” We felt the click, and the box shivered and vibrated in recognition. The triumphant “TADA!” chords played from hidden micro-speakers and our hands were released. One point five seconds later the cube was rolling forward into the center of our circle and transforming into a complex break dancing droid. The glee on our faces was from more than whatever pleasure giving frequency the song gave out. Winters looked over at our group, plainly bewildered. Sosa was a fish drowning in the air. We all waited for the robot to do its jig and then transform back into a bulky cube. “Awesome!” I crowed. “Halfway there! Now Chaz, you lean right into Billy’s and yours box. Billy, you work with Chaz. Me and Annie will do ours. Then Annie and Billy can finish each other off.” Dirty innuendo completely intended! I was loving this. Feeling like myself again and loving the rush. Malicious compliance at its best! Clark Gibson was back! “Guys, guys, guys, guys!” Sosa shuffled into our midst. “Stop! You’re confused! You’re doing it wrong!” Right on time. “Naw,” I said. “I don’t think so. According to what you just told us a minute ago: We put one hand in one side. We put another hand in the other, and we have to press the releases in the middle at the same time. You never said that we had to do it all by ourselves.” A twitch in Sosa’s right eye. Almost there. “Okay. I can see why that miscommunication might occur. But what about your other arm?” “That’s why we’re taking turns. Me and Chaz did one. Me and Annie are next.” A malicious twinkle glimmered in Annie’s eye. “It’s a team building game!” Chaz was already wrist deep in his second puzzle. “Oooooh! That’s why she keeps offering help all the time! It’s a hint! We’re supposed to help each other!” Billy hadn't locked himself in yet. He added in the final cherry. “Miss Sosa! You’re a genius!” He walked up to and hugged her around one leg. I love you, Miss Sosa!” Still keeping her professionality, Sosa gently peeled Billy off of her. She kept her eyes on me, though. “That’s very cute, guys, but that’s not what’s happening. Let’s try it the right way.” “Nothing we did was against the rules,” I said. I was going to lose this argument. I knew that going in. The skill of the arguments only matters if both sides have equal power. It was still fun. A moral victory and a headache for a giantess was still enough to get my adrenaline going. “Nothing says a dog can’t play basketball, but that doesn’t mean you let one play.” Sosa’s eyes widened for a second. She’d laid a trap for herself and knew it. “You’re right, Clark. I did not explain the rules as well as I could have. I’m sorry. Let me try again.” “What does your rubric say?” I asked. Sosa pretended she hadn’t heard me. “Hm?” “Can I see the rubric? Or whatever form or checklist you use for us?” I leaned to my right and indicated the clipboard on her desk. “You haven’t filled anything out yet, so it’s not like I’m looking at any data? Right? You haven’t predetermined anything? That would be highly unethical.” She puckered her lips like she’d just sucked on a lemon. “You know what? Sure. Just a second.” She stepped out from the middle of us and snapped up her clipboard. Her hands were where anybody could see them; so that she wasn’t erasing or altering anything. I could see her eyes going left and right, scanning the form. There was a very high likelihood that Jasmine Sosa hadn’t seriously read the qualifiers for a high score on her so-called test in a long time. She almost certainly didn’t know the phrasing word for word. I could relate. As a preschool teacher, I’d used diagnostics for my students several times a year, but I would have been hard pressed to tell you what the last few questions of any given test were. Even now, I can only remember that it started with letter and number recognition. Diagnostic assessments tend to have a rule for stopping when a student reaches a frustrational point. There was no point in testing to see if a three or four year old could read a sentence fluently when they were struggling with decoding Consonant-Vowel-Consonant words. It’s amazing what relatively small but vital details people tend to take for granted until pressed. In a way, I respected that Sosa was double checking her work. My former colleague was still willing to play rules lawyer with me instead of just using her authority like a hammer. “Hmm…” she smiled softly, kneeled down and beckoned me forward. “Look here, sir.” Damn. I came over and followed her index finger. Everything but the lowest levels of performance had the keyword ‘independently’ put in the phrasing. All the low scores had “with assistance” or “does not engage.” I looked down at the rubric and did some quick estimation. No way would our development be rated any higher than a three year old based on the values assigned. Whomever had designed this bullshit test didn’t have quite as much hubris and I hated it. “I take it back,” Sosa said. “You can do it with help. Good job, kiddo.” She’d regained her confidence and a trace of smugness was added on for good measure. “So I guess you and Chaz are done for now.” Damn. My head hung so low that my chin touched my chest. “I guess it does say a dog can’t play basketball,” I muttered. Whelp, it was worth a shot. Sosa stood up. “Billy? Annie? Do you want to try it all by yourselves or would you like to help each other?” Dog? A new thought. I picked my head up and looked at Winters, now playing the part of cheerleader for her own obstacle course. Oh. Oh yeah. I’d almost forgotten. I’d planted some landmines some time ago. With Winters, Sosa, and an audience, I could detonate. “Sorry about that Jasmine.” My voice was loud but not shouting. Teachers naturally tend to project. Sosa’s eye started twitching again. “Oh,” I said. “My bad. Jazzie. I meant ‘Jazzie’.” Winters was starting to cross the room and high step over her own setup. “Chaz? Clark? Would you two like to come and play on my obstacle course?” Sosa did not take her eyes off me. “Clark, I know you know not to call me that.” “Miss Sosa,” Winters called, almost there. “Would you like it if I took some of your group early?” My eyes were locked with Sosa. “Why can’t I call you that, Jasmine?” “You shouldn’t call me that, Clark. It’s disrespectful.” Sosa was ignoring her partner in favor of me. Perfect. “We shouldn’t have grouped them together like this.” Winters was pretty much talking to herself by this point. “This was a mistake.” She started massaging her forehead with her thumb and middle finger. Gotta love that Amazon hubris. “Why not?” I asked far louder than I needed to. “Maxine calls you Jazzie. Is she being disrespectful?” Two sets of giant nostrils flared above me. A pair of knees and a different pair of elbows locked from surprise. I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t. Oh…what the hell? “Or is that like a girlfriend thing?” Everyone froze. The volume lowered to pin drop levels. “What are you talking about?” Winters said. Her voice went up in complete shock, not from surprise, but fear. I kept jawing like I hadn’t heard. “Hard to tell. My wife was technically a Cassandra but she’ll always be Cassie to me. You know how it is.” I was bold enough to turn my back to the giants and address my peers. “What? Did I forget to tell you guys? They’re dating.” A couple of the girls let out an unirnoonic “Awww” and their hands started sliding up toward their hearts. “Nice…!” Someone hissed. If you guessed that someone was Billy, you guessed correctly. I continued the verbal shelling. “They live together. Go grocery shopping. Have pets. Might be married, but I’m not sure. Are you guys married? Why or why not?” “How did you…?” Winters stammered. “What? You talk about her all the time! It didn’t take much to figure out who your ‘friend’ was.” Giggles and whispers picked up in the air. “Max…!” Sosa said, sounding betrayed. “Whoah,” I said loudly. “You’re one to talk, Jazzie. One of you gossips about a ‘friend’ who wants a big drooly dog when you want a Rocaw. The other one complains about how their ‘friend’ wants a loud smelly bird when you want a Cerbernard.” I even made air quotes with my fingers for emphasis. “It’s not rocket science.” Giggles grew into chuckles. Both of them were the strangest shade of red I’d ever seen on a person’s face. It was a beautiful combination of embarrassed and angry that I didn’t know if I’d seen anywhere before that moment. Did I just invent a new emotion? Should I call it ‘Angbarrassment’ or just “Emger?” These were the very serious questions that snuck their way into my mind while staring down the barrel of a metaphorical gun. Sosa was the first to recover. “What we do in our personal lives is none of your business.” “Oh shit!” I pretended to gasp. “Was that supposed to be a secret? Like how you faked dog allergies so that you could get your pet but Max couldn’t get hers?” A complete fabrication on my part. Not that she could disprove it right now. Chuckles became full blown laughter. Sosa was blindsided. “What are you talking about?” Winters said nothing but her glare was drifting off of me and up to her partner. “For the record, dog thing aside, I think you two make a very cute couple.” Truth be told, I was being honest there. I was a manipulative asshole who’d developed more than a few sociopathic tendencies; not a bigot. “Does acting as your couples’ counselor give me a boost in finding my developmental plateau or whatever? I gotta be at least a middle schooler on that scale now. Right?” Hysterical laughter ensued. From the looks of things, there was not a dry eye or dry pants to be found among my classmates. “Max,” Sosa said. She was standing her ground but her body was leaning further and further away, recoiling in shock. “That’s not true. I don’t know where he got that-” Winters cut her off. “We’ll talk about that later.” “No no no,” I jumped in. “You guys should talk about it now. You obviously don’t talk to each other enough. Maxine, didn’t you want to prove that you were the more adult or something?” “That’s where that argument came from?!” Winters took a step back. “Jasmine. He-...” “Do you guys need the room?” I thumbed towards the door. “We can all go back to class and you can take a-” “You’re on thin ice, Mr. Grange.” Sosa, of course. Now my eye began to twitch. I spat, “Why’s that, Jazzie? I’m just asking questions.” “Jazzie…” Winters said to herself. “Jazzie...” Her angbarrassment was turning into contemplation. She dug into her pocket and looked at her phone. I thought nothing of it, enjoying myself too much. “You’re doing more than that, and you know it,” Sosa said. She was still flustered and very much emgry. That’s why she was making the fatal classroom management mistake of arguing with a child. “Maturosis or not, being Little is not the same thing as not knowing any better.” Winters put her phone down. “Jazzie…Miss Sosa.” “What?!” Turned on her girlfriend. “What, Miss Winters?!” “He stole my phone,” Winters said. “I only ever call you ‘Jazzie’ on my phone. It’s what’s in my contacts.” A light bulb clicked on in Sosa’s head. “Didn’t you say groceries? I didn’t tell you anything about groceries.” She turned her head and addressed Winters. “Did you mention groceries to him? At all?” “No.” The laughter was dying down. Uh oh. “You stole our phones. Didn’t you?” The laughter stopped. In its place was a massive “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Pearls of sweat were forming on my forehead, even though I was in the shade of two very very large, angry women. “No…?” My mouth was running dry. “I gave them back, didn’t I? It’s not stealing if you give them back…?” As one, they closed their eyes, breathed in, and then huffed out a sigh. “I’m taking him back to Beouf.” Winters said firmly. “No,” Sosa objected. “Mrs. Beouf goes too easy on him. I say what was good for the goose is good for the gander. I’m taking him next door for a few minutes. To Ambrose.” Eight Little mouths gasped so violently that it made a breeze. “You can’t!” I said. “Beouf doesn’t put anybody in timeout over there anymore. She changed the rules!” The two Amazons exchanged looks. “I’m not buying it this time.” “Me neither. Come on, Clark.” Two massive hands scooped me up. “No!” Annie yelled. “Clark isn’t lying! We don’t go there anymore! Not since a crying kid was brought into our class for timeout!” I saw Billy from up on Sosa’s hip. He’d fallen down to his seat and had pulled his knees up to his chest. He was muttering something to himself and had a far off glance. He wasn’t quite here with us. “Billy?” I called. “Are you okay? Billy?” He snapped his head up and looked at Sosa. “Please don’t send Gibson into Ambrose, ma’am! Please don’t do that! To any of us!” Tears were streaming down his face by the end. I knew looking at him that those weren’t crocodile tears. Billy wasn’t that good of a faker. “Billy,” Sosa siad. “Stop. We’re not buying it.” He wasn’t faking it though. Billy stopped himself from having a full on panic attack by sucking his thumb and burying his face in his knees. Tommy pitched into my defense. “It’s true! We don’t do that anymore! Even if we’re really, really bad! We just miss playtime or go on the naughty stool, or don’t get treats!” “Or that one time when we had to do stupid exercises!” Mandy piped up. Everyone else was nodding desperately, pleading my case. ”We stopped going over to the preschool room as soon as Clark stopped being an adult!” My judges exchanged another round of suspicious looks with one another. “You heard anything about this?” Sosa asked. “Not a thing.” Winters answered. “Nothing from Ambrose or Tracy, either.” Of course they were consulting each other over us. We were just babies and couldn’t be trusted. We were all unreliable narrators; even the good ones Dumb babies don’t know what they’re talking about half the time. “Call her!” I pleaded. “Check with Mrs. B!” I was trembling. My kids had seen enough of me lately. I didn’t want them to see me anymore than they already did at mealtimes and the bus loop. Especially not as some naughty toddler off in a corner. Ambrose most certainly wouldn’t have the courtesy to give me a blanket to hide my shame underneath. Seeing Billy fighting his own breakdown sent a chill up my spine. That was near the beginning of the school year and we were close to report card time. Ambrose had hurt him that badly. The others parroted my pleas: “Call her!” “Yeah!” “It’s the truth!” “Please!” The therapists only trusted each other. “What do you think?” Sosa asked. I stayed deathly silent. After a certain point, my pleas would only work against my favor. Winters ground her teeth and wiggled her jaw. “Nothing’s in any of their I.E.P.’s. It’s technically at our discretion, as long as the teacher we’re leaving them with consents. Should we bother Mel?” “I don’t think so,” Sosa said. “When was the last time either of us had to put a kid in timeout?” “At this school?” Winters said. “Years. Kayden. No after that. Jordan!” I somehow knew the answer before Sosa had spoken. “No. After that. Amy. It was Amy.” Of course it was. “Right, “Winters said. “I think we’re good. Go. I’ll watch the others.” Tremendously long legs sped me out of the classroom. A cacophony of objections wailed after me. Above them all was a howling Billy breaking down into sobs. The door opened wide and the sun blinded me. Two tremendous steps later and I was back inside before my pupils had finished contracting. My brain processed everything rather quickly, somehow faster than my eyes. We were in my classroom. Except there were no decorations or fun posters. Everything was in a dull black on white palette: alphabet; number line; multiplication tables; classroom rules; and so on. There were no homey touches. No more dolls or toys or games. Cubbies and shelves were stuffed with books. The kidney tables as well as the circular and rectangular tables that had been used for group work and centers were nowhere to be found. The students’ desks were in neat orderly rows where they huddled over worksheets. On the corner of the big heavy teacher’s desk, my old desk, a stack of diapers and a packet of wipes lay in plain view like a headsman's ax in an old tree stump. This wasn’t my room at all. It was what children of all sizes feared school would be like in their worst nightmares. I then fully understood the crying sounds that I had faintly heard over the passing weeks. “I’m so sorry to interrupt your instruction, Ms. Ambrose,” Sosa said in clipped hurried tones. “But can I please leave this student with you for about ten minutes? He needs a time out and I need a break.” All heads turned to regard me at the back of the room. Children looked over their shoulders and up at me in quiet curiosity. There was no curiosity in Elmer’s face, however. Only fear. None of them smiled. They only stared. Elmer didn’t smile that I could see. His lips were behind a plastic shield guard. Why was he sucking on a pacifier? Ambrose did not smile, either, but she looked like an alligator that had just spotted a baby goat with a broken leg. “Of course. Go ahead and put him down. I’ll take care of him.” I need her kind of care like I needed to swallow a battery. I gripped into Sosa’s shirt out of desperation. She brushed my hands off like it was nothing.. “Thanks,” she said, already sounding relieved. “I’ll be back in a couple minutes. I just…I just need…” “Go,” Ambrose waved her away. “I know how naughty Littles can be. I’ve got this.” It was the closest I’d ever heard her to sounding friendly. The spider always gets chipper when someone drops off a fly into its web. Sosa didn’t make any attempt to prolong her stay. “Thanks.” She was back out the door. I was a deer in headlights. What did I do? What did I say? My kids were staring at me. And so many of their faces looked exactly like Ambrose’s to me. No love. Barely any recognition. What had that monster done to them? Where was Tracy? The massive warthog of a woman somehow made it beside me without me seeing it. It was like she had teleported. “Class. We’re going to stop practicing our handwriting and skip ahead to Science.” One flabby arm came to rest on my opposite shoulder so that I couldn’t lean away from the beast. It coiled around me like a python and drew me in closer while she took a knee. She towered over me, massive for even an Amazon. I felt her breath on my cheek. “What did you put in your mouth this time, you naughty Little thing?” she asked. “I di-” My words were cut off when Ambrose used her other hand to shove a pacifier into my mouth, and not the one that tended to dangle from my shirt. Her meaty claw twisted a knob on the guard and the rubber bulb ballooned to fill my mouth up almost instantly. She held it up against me until the bulb had fully inflated and lodged itself between my tongue and the roof of my mouth. I couldn’t spit it out. I couldn’t even open my jaw wide enough or move my tongue more than a few millimeters. Stupidly, I tried to yank it out by hand and got nothing for it. Tiny, high pitched, mean spirited giggles rang out. Not many. Only one or two voices out of less than a dozen. At this age, in my classroom, one or two was too many. Elmer touched his own pacifier the way one does an old wound and looked away. “That’ll stop that,” Ambrose said. “Littles just love their pacifiers. Don’t they class?” “Yes, Miss Ambrose,” came a dull choral response. “And what’s another word for a Little?” One student raised her hand. “A baby.” The phrasing didn’t even sound like a question. Not a trace of doubt. Hearing that was like a slap across my face. “That’s right,” Ambrose nodded. “How do we know that Littles are babies? What proof do we have?” She drew me in closer, keeping me from shaking. I kept moving my jaw, futile hoping that I could muscle the gag out with just my tongue. From the outside, it likely just looked like I was sucking on it. My heart started to speed up. “They’re small, like babies,” one said. “And play with dumb baby toys,” said another. “And he’s wearing a diaper!” My hands couldn’t cover my front fast enough. I tried to bend over and press my knees together, make the source of shame seem as small as possible from their angle. Ambrose’s hand remained collapsed around me so that my back was ramrod straight. More mocking titters came. The volume and number of voices hadn’t changed at least. I averted my eyes and stared at the decorations along my waist. I didn’t want to know which kids were laughing at me. I didn’t want to have to hate them. I had to pee too. I’d been so worked up that I hadn’t noticed the faintly familiar sensation. I started to let out a little and stopped myself. I fought against my own unpotty training and focused on the unpleasant burning sensation of a full bladder. Not here. I wouldn’t do that here. All eyes were on me. Ambrose continued her lecture. “Do all Littles wear diapers?” “No, Miss Ambrose,” came the chorus. “Should they? “Yes, Miss Ambrose.” “Why?” No one said anything. Asking complex (and fabricated) philosophy questions was a bit too much for three and four year olds. A few seconds of silence passed. Ambrose picked me up and tossed me over her shoulder. Her standing up felt like I’d been strapped to a rocket at liftoff. Her arms pinned mine to the side in a kind of bear hug, and my feet were positioned away from her at an awkward angle so that kicking would do me no good. I found out just how good those pacifier gags were at muting screams, shouts and curse words. I was effectively blindfolded, too; left staring over the back of Ambrose’s shoulder with nothing but the floor, the ceiling, and the back of my old classroom wall. It also meant that I couldn’t see my kids’ faces and they were being given a full view of my plastic backed underwear.. “Tracy?” Ambrose called out. “Do you know why?” Meek and pathetic, I heard Tracy speak up. “Yes, Miss Ambrose, but I think you could do a much better job of explaining it than me.” I had no idea where Tracy had come from. I hadn’t noticed her when I’d been brought in. I could tell it was her, but it didn’t sound like the ‘Tracy’ I had known, more like the same actress playing a drastically different part. She was doing what Tweener’s did best, apparently, and going unnoticed while telling others what they wanted to hear. “I think you know best.” “Good girl,” Ambrose chuckled. It is fortunate that I didn’t get to see the smile that that grim laugh produced. “You see, class. Littles never really grow up. They like to play pretend, but that’s all it is; pretend and luck. Babies don’t wear diapers because they like it. Babies wear diapers because if they don’t they’ll have an accident all over everything.” My body shook violently when I felt her hand slide down and pat my bottom. I screamed too, but it would have been hard to tell how loud it would have been or whether the scream would have been fear or indignation. “You can put them on the potty, or let them walk around without a diaper on, but that doesn’t mean they’re not babies. They just get lucky. Eventually, they will always make a mess. Isn’t that right, class?” “Yes, Miss Ambrose.” “And some naughty babies hide their mess. They have accidents, but they don’t want to stop playing pretend. So they hide it. All the time. Sometimes, if they’re very lucky, Littles can hide their babyishness for months, even years. I heard about a Little who hid their accidents from the real Grown-Ups for close to ten years. But they always get caught, eventually. Don’t they?” “Yes, Miss Ambrose.” My thrashes were nothing more than childish wiggles in her grasp but I had to do something to show that I wasn’t going to just take it. How dare this monster, this charlatan of a teacher lie about me so fucking brazenly! The gagged screams and the impotent kicks that didn’t connect to anything only received in her mammoth palm patting the back of my diaper; smacking it not so gently so that I could hear the hollow thumps and feel the impact just enough. A threat of a spanking. I slowed down and tried to control my breathing. Breathing techniques are much harder to do when one of the two main airways is clogged. “When they do get caught,” Ambrose asked my kids, “what do we do?” “Spank him?” A tiny voice suggested. “No,” Ambrose grunted. “Wish we could, but that’s against the rules at school. Only his Mommy or Daddy can spank him or give us permission to spank him.” The sourness in her tone made me calm down slightly. No way would Janet give that kind of permission. I let myself try one more muffled scream, just to be difficult. “What we do is we just put them back in diapers like they should be. Then we get them a Mommy or Daddy that’s a real Grown-Up and teach them how to be good babies instead of naughty ones.” She gave my diaper yet another pat and I shook again, glad at least that I didn’t have to make eye contact with anyone. “And we clean up their messes for them. Literally.” Tracy,” she snapped. “This baby is wet. Change him, please” The room whipped by and I was left dangling with my arms pinned to my side, staring hatefully at Ambrose’s toad-like face. She glared right back at me. There was no love lost there because there was none to begin with. I felt two smaller hands gingerly grab me by the waist. Ambrose released me and Tracy lowered me safely back down to the carpet. Her hands wafted down gently on my shoulders, resting but not weighing me down like the Amazon’s had. Accidentally, I leaned back into her and reoriented myself. My back was still to the students turned around in their desks. Ambrose was between me and the classroom’s back wall. Tracy was between me and the rows of desks leading up to the front of the room. She was using her body to block me from the kids so that they couldn’t quite see what was going on. Caught between a psychotic monster and traitor. Great. “He doesn’t look that wet to me, ma’am,” Tracy said. From where I was standing I could only get a look at the bottom of her chin. Tracy wasn’t looking at me. “Shouldn’t someone wait until he’s really soaked or poopy? He’s not potty trained, and diapers are expensive. It’d be more responsible to wait, don’t you think?” My bladder continued to ache, begging me to pee my pants as I had continuously been doing the last several weeks. Holding my bladder was becoming less and less second nature and more like carrying a coffee cup around all day without ever putting it down. I could probably do it but it felt like having one hand always tied up and required constant concentration. It might happen, but unless I actively thought about it, I was going to slip and put it down somewhere. Not here, though. Doing that would undermine Tracy’s argument. It worked in my favor so I supported it. “Change him,” Ambrose growled. “Be mature and follow orders.” She crossed her arms and stepped closer, threateningly. “Or do you need some help with that, too?” She very softly threatened, “Maybe you picked up some bad habits spending too much time playing pretend with the baby?” “No ma’am,” Tracy squeaked. Her hands still on my shoulders, she started pivoting me towards the classroom bathroom, past the front row of student desks. Ambrose stepped around and blocked our path. “Where do you think you’re going?” “To take him to the bathroom…?” Tracy said. Obviously we were going there. It was the only place with some semblance of modesty, just like in Beouf’s room. Ambrose slowly shook her head. “He’s a baby with a bad habit of playing pretend. You don’t want him getting confused again, do you? Change him here.” Tracy tried to speak my mind. “But I figured he’d want some priva-” “He’s a baby. He doesn’t need privacy! And there’s no rules against it.” There were no rules against it, because laws against public indecency were already a thing. Those laws made exceptions for babies, however. “Change him here on the floor.” “But-” “Change. Him. Here.” Every word was punctuated by Ambrose stabbing her finger down at her feet. Tracy scooped my legs out from underneath me and laid me down on the floor, feet facing her. “Yes, ma’am.” She lowered to her knees and looked down at me with pity and fear. This is exactly what happened to Billy, I knew. This is what had happened. Laid down on the floor. Changed in public. Surrounded by school children who were only a fraction of his age and a giantess overseeing the whole thing. I remembered reading some bit of trivia that long long ago, before Amazons were completely batshit baby crazy and decided to make Littles their dolls, that things like public punishments were common. People would be put in cages or left shackled in public or lashed and whipped while onlookers laughed and mocked and threw rotten vegetables at them. This was the same thing, in principle. Already the mean spirited childish tittering had started up again. There were now more than just one or two voices in the mix. “Come on. Come on. Gather round.” Ambrose ordered. My former students got up from their desks and started to circle up around me. Three hundred and sixty degrees of chubby faces looking down at me with expressions that ranged from worry to curiosity to something Ambrose would very much approve of. They were about to witness the man who had taught most of them their ABC’s and how to use the toilet get his diaper changed. “Don’t be shy,” Ambrose coached them. “Everyone needs to learn how to change a diaper. Almost all of you will be Mommies and Daddies some day. It’s perfectly natural.” Elmer was shoved to the front so that he couldn’t look away. “Just watch out. Sometimes baby boys make a mess and pee everywhere.” “EWWWWWWW!” Behind Tracy, Ambrose hovered looking down on me. She’d gone back to her desk and returned with the wipes and the clean diaper that I’d soon be wearing. I ignored her and stared up at Tracy, feeling nothing but pure white hot anger. No embarrassment whatsoever. Like literally everyone else still in my life, Tracy had proven herself to be a fair weather friend at best. She’d broken her promise to bail me out of Adoption. She’d broken her promise to look for my wife. She’d barely made a token attempt to spare me a shred of dignity. With the pacifier gag in my mouth, it was impossible to make any proper facial expression, but I could still glare at her. I hoped she felt the absolute depths of this betrayal. Not that it mattered. Within a minute this would be over. She’d survive. I’d still be trapped. Nothing else would change save the literal. I knew what I was going to do, just then. I was going to pee on her. Tracy would rip the tapes off, open the diaper, and then I’d grab myself and pee all over her. Ambrose too if I could manage it. They wanted me to be a baby boy and pee everywhere. Fine. It’s not like anyone taller than me counted any evidence to the contrary. I might as well confirm their bias in a way that suited me. Maybe I could make this batch of kids scared of Littles instead of mocking them or cosset them. Better feared than loved. “Sorry, Boss…” Tracy whispered. Her eyes went south and her fingers gingerly brushed against the tapes of my Monkeez. Her face scrunched up and she bared her teeth, concentrating like the diaper was a time bomb and she couldn’t quite find the right wire to snip. She had no idea. Fuck you, Tracy. I readied my hands and flexed my fingers, a gunslinger in the old west waiting for the count of three. One…two… “Oh no I almost forgot!” Tracy yelped. She jumped to her feet and ran for the back door connecting Ambrose’s room to Beouf’s. “I need one of his diapers I'll go get one from next door be back in a second!” Her words spilled over each other like water. Ambrose started lumbering after her. “Tracy! Where are you going?” One massive foot stepped over me. I saw a new opportunity. “I’ve got a diaper ri-!” I reached up for her other foot and pulled down with all of my weight. “ACK!” I wasn’t anywhere as strong as an Amazon. Were I to get in a fist fight with my students, and I were to fight remotely fair, the smart money would still be on them due to brute strength. Just like booties that were strapped to Mandy’s feet, though, it was remarkable what a sudden difference in weight on one foot can do to one’s balance. The mammoth of a woman flailed and stumbled forward, shrieking in surprise. The children screamed and scattered. The ground beside me shook and Ambrose came tumbling down to the floor. The only reason I hadn’t been crushed beneath her was that I’d been smart and scared enough to let go the millisecond I felt my back leave the carpet. The children laughed nervously. Ambrose picked herself up and retrieved the changing supplies that she’d spilled. Nothing broken or bruised save her pride. A pity. “Stupid girl,” she spat. “I’ve got them right here.” She turned to me and lowered down to where Tracy had been. “If you want something done right…” Meaty claws reached down for my waist. I rolled out of the way. One, two, three, four rotations. That hadn’t been part of the plan. “Hm?” Ambrose sniffed. She reached down again, and I rolled the other direction. One, two rotations. More giggles. Not as mean. “He’s rolling!” “Hold still,” Ambrose threatened. But what threat was there? What would happen if I disobeyed? What was she gonna do? Change my diaper? The ogre widened her grasp. Left wouldn’t work. Neither would right. I kicked my legs up and rolled backwards over my shoulders, flopping clumsily onto my stomach with a muffled “Ufff”. I pushed myself up and stared up at fuming Ambrose, my eyes wide and smiling. The kids laughed more. One started clapping. I was a clown. This was a game. I was winning. The game didn’t last long. The monster of a woman leaned forward, grabbed the back of my non-pants and dragged me across the carpet back to her. I tried to move and scream and wriggle away, but all it took was for her to flip me over and slam down one flabby paw on my chest to pin me to the ground. Back to Plan A. Or was it B? Not important. My primary target had just gotten a whole lot bigger. I flapped my arms out, ready to snake them back in the moment the diaper came open. Vainly, I imagined that maybe I could grab my penis in such a way that the kids wouldn’t get a good look at me, and that they’d be scared to look once my golden stream started going skyward. The ogre flashed an excited sneer. “Now I’ve gotcha you Little-!” “Hello, Miss Ambrose!” An almost musical foreign accent rang out into the room. “I’m so sorry to interrupt your instruction, but I understand you have a child of ours.” Zoge seemed to glide into the classroom. “Oh,” she chirped. “There he is. Allow me to help.” Ambrose took her hand off my chest, and released a confused grunt of acknowledgement. “Zoge?” The Yamatoan took the opportunity to pluck me up off the ground and rest her on her hip. She turned the knob on the pacifier gag and I felt myself exhale as the bulb deflated and she quietly removed it with her free hand. “We’ve very sorry for the inconvenience and miscommunication,” she told Ambrose. “Thank you for sending your assistant to Mrs. Beouf’s class so that I could come and retrieve him.” My heart went pitter patter. Tracy! She hadn’t just run away. She’d gone for help. For me! She’d told Beouf and Beouf had sent Zoge to save me! Ambrose wasn’t having any of it. “That Little sonofabitch tripped me,” she exclaimed. From my perch on Zoge’s hip, I saw my old students wince. Some looked like they wanted to cry but were too afraid to. “Yes,” Zoge replied with practiced tranquility. “I’m sure he did. Babies often get underfoot and don’t realize how they might trip someone. We have a Little girl who used to pretend to be a kitty cat and she would rub up against my legs.” “He did it on purpose!” Ambrose bellowed. “Possibly,” Zoge said. “Who can know? Babies sometimes don’t understand the consequences of their actions and hurt people close to them because they do not understand the pain they can cause.” Ambrose finally found the sense to stand up. “Little brat was rolling all over the place.” “It was funny!” A child laughed. “Mr. G. got all silly.” Ambrose glowered down at her and the girl stopped. “Babies are very silly,” Zoge agreed. Her head looked down at the diaper and wipes that had been laid aside. “That is why we use a changing table in our classroom. It’s safer. They cannot be silly and roll around. No one can accidentally step over them and fall. And we keep ours in the bathroom so we do not distract the other children.” “He! Tripped! Me! On purpose!” Zoge nodded. “Most unfortunate. Once I’ve taken care of Clark, I would be happy to watch your class for you while you go to the nurse’s office. Do you need a bandage?” Ambrose had no way out. She’d just given a lecture on me being a baby and Zoge was turning her own logic against her. Ambrose held the philosophical belief that people my size were supposed to be treated as infants. Zoge had come from a land where that belief was an undisputed fact of nature. Zoge’s crazy trumped Ambrose’s. With me still on her hip, Zoge did something resembling a bow and walked me to the back of the classroom. “Let’s go,” she said. “Thank you,” I whispered in her ear. We slipped out the door and into the tiny passageway over to Beouf’s room. “When the others get back, you are going to apologize to Miss Sosa and Miss Winters.” There was no anger behind the words. Like my perpetual infancy, this was a fact to her. “Why?” I asked. She stopped us just outside Beouf’s back door. “Because when you hurt someone, you apologize and try to make it right, even if you do not like it.” Flashbacks of the Yamatoan woman getting on her hands and knees and offering to diaper herself played in my mind’s eye. That had happened only half a year ago or so. “What’d I do?” My newly freed mouth was already feeling sore and I started massaging my jaw. “I do not know,” Zoge said softly. “You going into Miss Ambrose’s room was a mistake, but not an accident.” She was right, of course. She opened the door and we were back at home base as it were. The moment we crossed the threshold I saw her toss the pacifier gag into the garbage can and make a face like she had been holding something absolutely vile. Beouf’s voice was the first I’d heard. She was on the other side of the room talking into her classroom’s phone. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you guys. It completely slipped my mind. I forgot you even knew I used to do that with…yeah. You have no idea how crazy it’s been this year, except yeah you do.” Her laugh was not at all jolly. “Nuh-uh. Not your fault, hon. That’s nice of you to say, but no. I don’t think the grouping would have mattered this time. This one’s on me. Yeah. Would you mind telling Skinner if you see her first? Yeah. Thanks. No, I’ll keep him. Okay. Goodbye.” My mentor hung up the phone and shook her head sadly to herself. I’d caused her to have to make a lot more phone calls lately. When she saw me, Zoge put me down and Beouf instantly barreled for me, dropping down and giving me the softest, warmest, gentlest hugs. “I’m so sorry, baby!” Her voice cracked with emotion. “That’s my fault.” I looked around with my eyes. Jesse and Ivy weren’t there. I rested my chin on Beouf’s shoulder. There, alone in the classroom, with her enveloping me like a warm blanket, I could almost forget what I looked like from the neck down. Speaking of neck down, I considered releasing my bladder, but didn’t get the choice. Somewhere between me getting scooped up onto Zoge’s hips and thinking about my body in Beouf’s embrace. I’d put down the coffee cup and hadn’t at all noticed. “He is fine,” Zoge reported. “I got there in time. He is safe.” “I know,” Beouf said. “I know.” She was talking to herself more than anything. She started rubbing my back, holding me like she was afraid to let go. After what I’d almost brought upon myself it felt amazing. “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I’m so sorry.” Point of fact: I related so hard to how Beouf was feeling just then. Beouf had been my mentor and I’d picked up her passion and sense of perfectionism. No one’s perfect, however. I’d made plenty of mistakes through the years. Everyone does. In life there’s always so many moving parts. You can’t always remember who needs to know what or when you or if you told them something. Something that doesn’t seem important to you goes unnoticed and a miscommunication happens. A kid is going through a rough time at home or a pair of them are fighting, and you get it managed in your own private ecosystem so you forget the world outside it. Then, out of nowhere, a kid bursts into tears because another adult said something they didn’t know they shouldn’t have or the normally best friends throw everything into chaos. And it sucks and you feel like the worst teacher in the world because of it. It sucks, but it happens. Every time it happened to me, I’d tell Melody and she told me that I wouldn’t end up getting Adopted or fired over it and that more importantly I was still a good teacher. Beouf had forgotten to tell the therapists that her under the table discipline plan that she’d been running for years was null and void and that she hated Ambrose’s guts. That oversight had almost gotten the memory of her best friend violated directly in front of his own students. It was a simple mistake. She couldn’t have known. With Brollish breathing down her neck and Ambrose next door, and Forrest likely listening in, and me to deal with, she was putting out fires on a weekly basis. Of course this one detail had slipped her mind. She was a well meaning madwoman with the self-discipline of a fantastic teacher. But she wasn’t perfect. I wanted to tell her all of that, and give her that comfort like she used to give me. I kept that feeling to myself. Finally, Beouf pulled back from the hug and looked me straight in the eyes. “Are you okay, baby?” I set my jaw, glad to have it closed. “Mmmhmm.” “Good. Go to the naughty stool.” She seemed relieved, and not half as hurt or distant as she’d been that morning. “Alright.” I needed rest. The naughty stool would be a nice break. On surprisingly wobbly legs, I walked over to it and sat down, feeling the wet sopping squish all the way underneath me. How long had I been holding it? I couldn’t be that close to leaking, could I? The sounds of childish laughter came out of the baby monitor. I looked back over and saw Tracy creeping out of the nap room. “Ivy and Jesse are jumping on the bed, but the rail is up so they can’t fall out and they’re having fun.” Our eyes met from across the classroom and I beckoned her closer with my mind. It didn’t work. “Okay. I gotta get back there. Wish me luck.” Zoge leaned over and gave Tracy a quick hug. “Good luck.” She went into the nap room and the monitor picked up her cooing something in Yamatoan. Beouf gave her a quick hug, too, and whispered something I couldn’t hear. My former assistant spared me one last look and put her hand on the back exit door knob. “Tracy! Wait!” The Tweener let go of the door and approached me cautiously. “Yeah?” she asked softly. “Thanks,” I said. “For…you know.” A thin simper of a smile came to Tracy. “You’re welcome. And I’m sorry. For you know.” “Yeah. I’m sorry, too.” “For what?” For what? What couldn’t I apologize for? ‘Sorry that maybe I didn’t appreciate you or how hard your life was before and after this whole mess happened’; ‘Sorry that I took you for granted in a lot of different ways’; ‘Sorry that I gave you not one but two impossible tasks that you had no realistic hope at completing’; ‘Sorry that I wasn’t ready to hear you tell me that’; ‘Sorry that I hated you when you did’? I averted my eyes and stared at the floor, like the dumb kid I felt like in the moment. “Please don’t make me say it.” Tracy leaned forward and ruffled my knots of curly red hair. “Okay, Boss.” she chirped. “I won’t.”

The day after Valentine’s day. The weather was still chilly. Not cold, but just chilly. “Brisk” might have been a better word for it. Chilly enough that short sleeved t-shirts might seem underdressed, but warm enough where sweaters were being eschewed, mittens were out of the question, and people were going out and about in the park despite the occasional blustery wind. In other words, an average Floridian “winter”. “You don’t understand,” Aaron insisted. “I missed our date for a very important reason. I met Cupid! The real Cupid!” His girlfriend said nothing. The godling had said that would happen. “Don’t worry,” Cupid had told him. “I got your back. Lots of guys fuck up this day. It’s what I’m here for.” He’d handed Aaron a candy heart, the pink dry little edible chalk that no one ACTUALLY liked to eat for Valentine’s day. “What am I supposed to do with this?” Aaron had asked. The slim baby faced god winked at him. “Just pop it into your mouth and start talking to her. Everything else will take care of itself.” “Will it keep her from dumping me?” “Better,” he’d promised. “She won’t be able to keep her hands off you.” It was weird. Aaron had always thought that the god normally depicted as a flying baby would look more like...well...a baby. This guy was young looking, but other than that, he seemed to be about Aaron’s age. Yet somehow, as sure as Aaron had been dialing his girlfriend to apologize for the fiftieth time, he knew that this was no ordinary stranger. The fact that time had stopped for the entirety of their conversation had helped...a lot. “Yeah?” Aaron asked. He was in the presence of a love god. A literal love god. “You’re dick will be getting wet every day for years!” Cupid promised. “Thanks!” Aaron said. “Oh,” the suspiciously adult god said. “And I prefer Eros, by the way. Make sure to call me Eros when you tell her this story.” The light red hoodie from yesterday kept Aaron plenty warm. He’d refused to change his clothes from last night. In truth, he was terrified that if he went to sleep he might wake up and this would all be just a dream. Then not only would his girlfriend be rightfully justified in being super pissed at him; but he’d be a complete and total jackass who probably just got high or something. His girlfriend dressed in a pink long sleeved blouse and blue jeans. It was a wonder she hadn’t dumped him for missing their date. Who the fuck missed Valentine’s Day? She very well could just be waiting for him to shut up long enough to break up with him. But Eros promised that if he just explained it to her, everything would be fine. Who was Aaron to argue with a god? “What do you think about that?” Aaron asked, after having told his girlfriend the whole tale. (Okay not the whole tale. He might have left out some of the promises) “Crazy right? But yup. I met Cupid. On Valentine’s Day.” He pouted his lip out. “Eros, technically…” he corrected himself, “but I like Cupid, better. So I’mma call him Cupid.” He popped the candy heart into his mouth and bit down. Magic managed. Forgiveness and sexy times in...3...2...1...swallow. Yet, his girlfriend didn’t respond. He thought he’d at least get a giggle or a guffaw. Maybe a slap to the face for lying or something. Aaron didn’t blame her for not believing him. He wouldn’t have believed it himself if he hadn’t lived it. “Babe?” Nothing. She wasn’t even blinking. Not breathing, either. But she wasn’t suffocating. No one was. Just like yesterday, the breeze didn’t blow, and only the only movement came from his awkward shifting. Likewise, the only sound came from a subtle crinkling and rustling from his pants every time he moved. “Oh shit!” Aaron said to himself. “God powers must be kicking in or something.” Weird though. Cupid hadn’t mentioned about time stopping again. How was she supposed to forgive him if she was frozen and zonked out? He did a full walk around her, hearing his footsteps and crinkling, but nothing else. Crinkle? Rustle? In his pants? Never mind that. Something was wrong with her. “Babe?” He asked again, and waved his hand in front of her face. “What’s wrong? Can you hear me? Baby? Hon? Sweetie? Mommy…?” A burst of liquid heat erupted from below his beltline. Hot and pooling all around his privates. It had been some time since something like this had happened to him, but he recognized the sensation easily enough. Some things people never forgot. “I’m peeing,” the young man gasped. “I’m peeing my pants…” For some reason this was harder for Aaron to absorb than the idea that the supernatural existed. Speaking of ‘absorb’, no puddle of urine formed at the man-boy’s feet. No dark spot along his zipper or shame dripping down his thighs. The warm wetness just splashed up against him, and puddled around his taint before not quite disappearing. His underwear sagged and swelled, but it did not drip or fall off. To an outside viewer the reason might be obvious, but Aaron’s panicking mind refused to connect the dots. His grey matter had more pressing concerns. Fidgeting fingers fumbled for a zipper. Better to piss in the open air than in one’s pants. (What would it hurt if time was stopped?) The zipper to his jeans was gone. So were the souls of his shoes. So were his socks. The entire lower half of his wardrobe had melted like a wax candle into one garment. His top half was getting in on the act a second later; tucking itself in and then blending in seamlessly. The red of the hoodie and the blue of the jeans mixed and swirled around until Aaron was covered from head to toe in an infantile purple. The hoodie portion drew itself up and pulled taut around Aaron’s head. Reaching up, Aaron tried to yank the hood back down, but it was stuck. Trying for the back of his head only revealed that the top of his hoodie had sprouted round little stuffy ears. He must’ve looked like a teddy bear; or a child dressed as one. To finish the outfit, a pacifier popped out of thin air and attached itself to what used to be Aaron’s collar. Itching, like a thousand fire ants biting him at once, overwhelmed Aaron. What was happening? Was he dying? Going insane? Aaron fell to his knees clawing and scratching at the now soft and pajama-like material. He rolled on the ground like a dog, internally begging for the itching to subside. Finally, it did, and when he brought his hands to his face, he felt smooth. Baby smooth. Not a single trace of stubble even though he hadn’t shaved in over a day. When time started back up, Aaron was crawling on the sidewalk, and the majority of his body encased in a macro version of a footed sleeper: The kind of thing people wore in in private; or the kind of things babies were dressed in for public on particularly chilly (but not cold) days. “Aaron?” his girlfriend asked him. “What are you doing down there, baby?” “Mommy!” he shrieked. He tried to stand up, but could only push himself up to his knees. “This isn’t what it looks like! I don’t even know what it looks like.” Begging as he was, he looked like a toddler asking for uppies. His words fell on mistranslating ears. “Awww, come here sweetie. Come to Mommy.” “Wait!” Aaron yelped. “How are you picking me up? Why am I calling you Mom-?” The man-child let out an “eek”, as Mommy started to squeeze his crotch. He should have gotten hard. He should have flinched at just how tight her grip was. But he was too confused to be aroused, and there was some kind of barrier, some thick material giving more cushion than normal, so he didn’t feel her probing as intensely. “Uh oh,” she said. “Someone had an accident!” She giggled and started walking. “Though at your age, I guess it doesn’t really count as an accident, does it?” “Mommy? Where are you going?! Where are we going!” “Uh-huh.” She said in that way that adults used to encourage a baby to babble on, even if they couldn’t understand them. She couldn’t understand him! His own Mommy...girlfriend...couldn’t tell what he was saying. “You don’t say?” He really hadn’t. “Mommy! It’s magic! I’m not a baby! This wasn’t supposed to happen! You were supposed to forgive me and fall in love with me. Not-!” Aaron cut himself off when he saw where she was taking him. He’d never been in the women’s public restroom before, and his eyes wouldn’t focus on the writing long enough to read the letters, but she recognized the human outline with the skirt. “I don’t have to go potty,” he pleaded. That much was true, and Mommy didn’t take him to the potty. Across from a row of sinks, was a thick plastic table mounted on the wall. Miraculously steadying Aaron with one arm on her hip, she reached and pulled down the shelf. “I can’t read…” Aaron said aloud, his voice echoing off the empty bathroom walls. It wasn’t just a matter of his eyes focusing. There was a sign right next to the fold out, and even though he recognized that those were, in fact, letters on the sign, he couldn’t read what they said. “I can’t read!” The symbol on the plaque next to it was of two vaguely humanoid shapes. One smaller than the other. The small one on its back and the big one by the smaller one’s legs. Also, the small one had something white wrapped around its waist. The only person who wouldn’t know what the symbol meant would be the person young enough to be depicted laying down on the mounted shelf. Aaron’s back went onto the plastic tray of the baby changing station. It didn’t collapse under his weight as it should have. Rather it seemed to subtly grow to accommodate his full grown form. Reality had stopped according to Cupid’s whims the other day. Today it was going out of its way to literally pamper the boy. His once-girlfriend pulled a strap over his chest. Aaron’s hands shot down to the buckle, but the locking mechanism might as well have been frozen in place, just like the snaps running along his inseam. “CUPID!” he called out. “EROS! THIS WASN’T PART OF THE DEAL!” The restroom became glassy with Aaron’s tears. “THIS ISN’T WHAT YOU PROMISED ME!” Aaron wanted up. He wanted out of this device, this location, this scenario. He wanted his adulthood back. He wanted Mommy to hold him and tell him it was going to be okay. Holy crap (a poor choice of words). Whatever hocus pocus was making him look like a baby to others was starting to affect his brain, too, and only now was he realizing it. “My baby’s got a soggy bum-bum, doesn’t he?” Mommy cooed. “Yes he does!” Electric jolts of panic came out as laughter while she tickled him beneath his arms. “Ooooh, does Aaron not like the tickles? Mommy’s just tryin’ to help him get all the pee-pee’s out.” “Mommy! Stop!” Aaron sucked in his breath. Why had he called her Mommy? Why was he still calling her Mommy? Why couldn’t he think of her as anything BUT Mommy?! Mommy didn’t stop. As far as Aaron knew, she couldn’t understand him. Even if she could, the love god’s promise was true: She couldn’t keep her hands off him! She couldn’t keep her hands from unsnapping the buttons along the inseam of his footed sleeper. She couldn’t stop unthreading his bare, now hairless, legs from the built in socks, her fingers like tickling spiders as she shuffled the rest of the sleeper up his hips, exposing a bulging sopping wet diaper. Powerless to stop her, Aaron craned his neck up and looked past his chest to see how far he’d gotten into this mess. A diaper! He was really wearing a giant diaper! But it wasn’t an adult diaper or a Depends or whatever old people wore when they couldn’t hold it in. It was a REAL diaper. A DIAPER diaper! A BABY diaper! It was a BIG baby diaper, but it was a diaper nonetheless. He racked his brain. What brand was he wearing? Huggies? No. Huggies wasn’t covered with purple monkey decorations. Which diaper was the purple monkey one? He’d seen commercials for it. Mommy eventually answered his question for him. “Live and learn,” she said, taking a fresh one out of her diaper bag, “and then get Luvs.” Truer words were never spoken. If Aaron made it through this alive, he’d consider himself learnt. Yesterday, he’d come across Cupid. Today he was in a soggy diaper and it was a Luvs of all things. Irony had left the building and now Aaron was in cruel punishment territory. If he made it out of this, he’d learn to not take candy from strangers. How long was he gonna be stuck in Luvs? Not long, it turned out (not that pair anyhow). Mommy tore open the diaper with two flicks of her wrist and peeled the sopping wet padding back. “Mommy!” Aaron yelped. The scent of ammonia invaded his nostrils, as his penis glistened in the light. He had been told that he’d get his wick wet. He just didn’t think he’d be the one wetting it. No pubic hair, either... “Shhh,” Mommy hushed him. “I know, I know.” She really didn’t. No clue. No one did. No one except Cupid. The cold wipes dragged across his crotch were gentle enough, but they were so cold that any pleasure Aaron might have derived-however perverse- was canceled out by the temperature. Hard to gain pleasure when every change was pretty much a localized cold shower. Mommy crossed his ankles over each other and lifted his legs up for him, not even asking for his help. His whole body might as well have been filled with cotton to Mommy; slightly cumbersome but not at all heavy. His backside got the same treatment as the front. Just as refreshing. Just as romantic, (as in not at all). The ruined diaper that used to be his underwear (that was something he hadn’t thought of until now) went into the garbage with such a loud “thunk”, that Aaron was positive that Mommy would realize how heavy it was and therefore couldn’t have been a baby’s diaper and obviously he wasn’t a baby. He was barely half-right. “Wow,” Mommy said. “You really filled that one up, didn’t ya?” She wasted no time in slipping its replacement beneath him. “I’m impressed it didn’t leak!” She took no powder to his privates, but the sickening smell of baby powder took the place of warm piss anyways. No magic needed. Luvs just had a perfumed core. The fight had left Aaron as Mommy pulled the new diaper up and taped it on over him. He hadn’t quite given in to despair. It’s just that diapered was better to him than being naked from the waist down. He stopped squirming and kicking, however feebly, just so Mommy could re-thread his legs into the bottom half of the sleeper and button it back up. The sleeper felt roomier after it was buttoned up. Was he shrinking too? No. The new diaper just hadn’t swollen up yet. Keyword: Yet. Aaron’s tantrum resumed the second he was back on Mommy’s hip. “Mommy!” He cried out. “Listen to me! This is a mistake! I’m not a baby! I’m a big boy! Cupid did this! I’m your boyfriend! Your BIG boyfriend!” Damnit! Even if she could understand his speech, the words weren’t coming out right. Mommy walked them away from the changing table, but instead of going back out to the park, she took a sharp right turn before exiting the bathroom. Aaron had thought it was a broom closet, but he caught a glimpse of the sign.on the open door just before Mommy closed it. Like most bathroom signs, it was genderless and facless; just bulbous sillhouettes of roughly human people. A mother holding a baby, obviously What was this? He’d never seen anything like it before in any men’s room. It was just a small room, not much bigger than a bathroom stall. There were no toilets though. Was this another kind of diaper change station? No. It couldn’t be. Just a small wicker couch and a locked door. Bunched up and cradled in Mommy’s arms, Aaron was carried over to the couch and laid down in Mommy’s lap. “Still fussy after that diaper change? Mommy knows what’s really bothering you.” “I really doubt that.” Aaron quipped. He found himself repositioned so that he was nowhere near eye level with his girlfriend. Then she started to unbutton her blouse.“No…” Yes. Something had changed about her clothing. In its own way, her underwear had shifted too. But only her underwear. She now had cups that unfastened in the front. A nursing bra. “No, no.” Yes, yes. “Baby Aaron is fussy cuz he needs Mommy’s milk.” “No!” His barking protest only made the milk drip out of her nipple. It was over then. With a titan’s strength, Mommy shoved his head towards her teat. His mouth opened to scream, but no sound came. He just latched on. Latched on and enjoyed it. Trapped inside his own body, Aaron suckled and exalted as Mommy’s milk poured into his mouth. The creamy stuff slid down his throat and he gulped with gusto. “Someone’s a hungry boy,” Mommy cooed. “That’s right. Eat it all up. That way you can grow up big and strong.” A lot to unpack in that sentence, considering that if reality had been working properly, Aaron would have had a good hundred pounds on Mommy. This was so wrong. He’d wanted to do so many things to this girl- yes, including suck on her titties- but that was more foreplay than anything else. Drinking out of them had never been in the game plan. Several minutes in, just as he was starting to feel a bit stated, Aaron realized this was wrong on a physical level, as well. His tongue told him this was delicious; the greatest thing he’d ever tasted or would taste. In the same way that he could no longer keep his pants clean to save his life, it made sense. Part of his brain had been switched into infant mode. But his throat and stomach were still a grown-man’s. But he should not be able to nurse this much out of Mommy. Short of a pocket dimension linked directly to her nipple, Mommy shouldn’t be able to produce this amount of milk in one sitting. Aaron’s head was tugged away and he was switched over to the other breast. He got in one gasp before his body took over again and resumed nursing. No more thought. Too much sensory input. Too much warmth. Too much primal pleasure. He could feel Mommy’s heartbeat. He could feel and hear her humming as she gently rocked him there in the feeding stall. Time to check out. Time to give in for a little bit. Time to just fill up. The would-be boyfriend came to draped over his Mommy’s shoulder, and her hand thundering on his back. More reality bending. She’d carted him around and wasn’t even breathing hard. He should be crushing her. But as far as the universe was concerned, he was her baby boy now. “Uuuuurp!” The burps proved it. Mommy paced around the room and jostled him, but it was no struggle at all on her part. Functionally, he was weightless. Just a bit of gentle prodding to get the gas out of his tummy To his dismay, more than just gas was coming out. Had his body been able to fully cooperate, Aaron would have thrashed; kicked and screamed. Perhaps even hit Mommy upside the head so that she’d drop him. That way, he could rush to a toilet in time and stop the inevitable from happening. Had his body been allowed to cooperate, he wouldn’t need the diaper wrapped around his hips at all. Unlike the first time, Aaron was acutely aware of what was happening. There was no surprise this time. Disturbingly identical to the first time, there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop himself. His body did the work. Aaron just had to live with it and let gravity do the rest. He let out a low breathy moan. “Noooooo….” Mommy just shushed him and kept rubbing his back. This wasn’t part of the deal. Carried outside the restroom, Aaron was gently plopped back down into the seat of a stroller that hadn’t been there before and buckled in. Speaking of “plop”, that was the word that best described the situation in his pants as something vile was spread around just beneath his sleeper. Plop. “Noooo...I need a change again.” There was something Aaron never thought he’d never have to say that out loud. Only the assumption that his vomiting up the breastmilk would simply be written off as spit-up kept the contents of Aaron’s stomach where they were. Birds stopped tweeting. New lovers locked lips for an uncomfortable amount of time. Park joggers and dogs catching frisbees hung mid leap. The breeze stopped as if someone had hit a fan’s switch, and neither the sun, nor the clouds moved an inch. For some reason, however, none of that helped the smell coming from Aaron’s diaper. Time was frozen... “Looks like you're getting settled in,” a familiar voice said. Aaron whipped his head around. “Cupid!” The next sounds out of Aaron’s mouth could have been either a child’s temper tantrum or a grown man’s bellowing rage. Hard to tell given the context. The god smirked. “It’s Eros, actually. You look more like cupid. What with the diaper.” He snickered. “Gosh it feels good to say that. I love it when people actually eat the candy instead of tossing it away.” There was something different about the man. He no longer looked so clean cut. His voice seemed a little deeper, and there was a bristly coat of facial hair on his cheeks and chin. Even in Florida, the weather was still too chilly to wear short sleeves, but Aaron would have placed good money on the man having thicker and darker body hair. In other words, this godling now had everything Aaron lacked. All that realization accomplished was another round of wordless screaming and Aaron rattling the bonds of his stroller. All the anger and rage was causing his cheeks to flush and his limbs to tremble. It was almost enough for him to forget the stench and texture in his underpants. Almost. “Oh come off it,” the divine con-man said. “Even if time wasn’t stopped. You wouldn’t be able to get out of that stroller. Stronger dudes than you have tried.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” Aaron asked. “Tell you what? That my magic would turn you into a giant baby? That you’d lose your potty training and wouldn’t even be able to remember your Mommy’s name?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Would you have taken the bait if I had?” Aaron made no reply. He knew the answer. So did Eros. He decided to ask another question, instead. “Why turn anybody into a baby?” “There’s more than one kind of love, y’know.” He winked. “Trust me, there was no way you were getting into her pants after forgetting Valentine’s day. At least now she can get into yours.” Aaron sunk back into the stroller. It was the only way that he could get the straps to have even a bit of slack. “Yeah...thanks for rubbing it in.” Eros bent over and tweaked Aaron’s nose. “I’m not here to rub it in,” he said. “I’m here to help. You’re the only one I tricked into eating the candy this year. The least I could do was check in and maybe offer some perspective.” The baby man took the pacifier dangling off his sleeper and put it in his mouth. “Heph haw?” Neither the pacifier, nor his crossing his arms in a pout made him look terribly threatening. He couldn’t help it. His body and emotions were at-best half under his control. The urge to fuss and cry out for Mommy was starting to well up and if he didn’t find a way to self-soothe, he’d start doing it. “Just that it’s not all bad,” he said. “Free food, room, and rent. Everybody thinks you’re cute. More and more babysitters are sexy co-eds these days.” He looked to Mommy; still frozen in time and checking to make sure her blouse was properly rebuttoned. “Though your Mommy’s not bad either. Good for you. Dude. Glad I could help salvage the relationship.” “I’h in a fugging diaphuh,” Aaron mumbled behind the paci. “I’h huh fugging baby.” The smile was not unkind, maybe even kind of sympathetic. “So what? In the long run that’s a bonus. You can lie around and burp and fart and puke; y’know, the same stuff you used to do. Only now, everybody will still think you’re cute for doing it.” Easy for the off-brand cupid to say. There was an air of condescension to his voice. Eros was the doctor giving a cancer diagnosis but softening the blow with how much weight people lost in chemotherapy. “Buh diaphus…!” “Just think of it as sensory input. Sometimes it’s a cool and dry and fresh feeling. Other times it’s wet and warm...maybe a little sticky. All are nice feelings. Your downstairs doesn’t really care where the feelings are coming from. Hell, it looks like your upstairs doesn’t care so much, either.” That made Aaron spit the pacifier back out. “It’s not like you gotta clean it up yourself, anyway. And the cartoons might suck, but they’re sneaking all sorts of references for the parents these days, so it’s not like you can’t get something out of them.” Aaron couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He felt he was losing his mind and had lost all autonomy, and here this jackass was just breaking his utter degradation into a list of pros and cons; of pitfalls and compromises. Some dark corner of his brain supposed Eros had had plenty of time to compartmentalize and think about things this way. “My brain is turning to mush.” Aaron sniffed. “I don’t even know my Mommy’s real name.” The former baby god twerked his mouth to the side.“Yeah...that part stinks.” His nose twitched. Something else stank, too. He finally got a decent whiff of Aaron’s predicament. “I gotcha covered.” Aaron felt a whoosh of wind as the breeze picked up. The birds were flapping and chirping once more. Time was moving again. “Excuse me miss,” Eros said. “I don’t mean to embarrass you, but I think you’re buttoned up a little funny.” Mommy looked down at her blouse and blushed. “Ooops! Thank you for telling me. How did I miss that one?” The stroller started to whirl around back towards the public restroom. Back to the nursing station. “No worries. It happens.” Eros replied. “And uh...if you don’t mind me saying, I think you’re little tyke might need some help, too. I might’ve just caught a whiff of something if you know what I mean.” Aaron flushed beat red as Mommy lifted him out of the stroller and patted him down like a police officer searching for a gun. The guy who’d roped him into this just winked. “Oh, you’re right,” she said. Her voice got all cutesy high, again. “And I just changed you, little man!” “Did you change him first, and then feed him?” the god said. “Sometimes the input up top makes the bottom start to make room. You know?” Mommy’s eyes lit up. “Yeah,” she said. “I never thought of it that way, but that makes sense. Are you a father?” A devilish smirk. “Something like that. I’ve got a lot of experience with babies is all” Aaron wished he’d accepted candy from a death god or something.. Aaron’s brain went all buzzy again as Mommy nuzzled him. “Baby boy had to make room for Mommy’s milk. Shoulda fed you first, changed you second.” “Yeah,” Eros agreed. “He’s too little to potty train at this stage anyways. Might as well save up on Luvs.” Mommy adjusted Aaron so she could (somehow) hold him and look at Eros at the same time. “How did you know what kind of diaper he wore?” It was the first time that Aaron had seen his counterpart blush. “Lucky guess…Hey uh...what’s the little guy’s name?” “Aaron,” Mommy said. “Is he your first?” “My one and only.” Gross pants notwithstanding, the love Aaron felt made his brain want to melt in the best way. Eros stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I’m sorry if I’m being forward, ma’am, but maybe after you change Aaron I could give you my phone number. You could text me. Maybe we discuss getting a sitter for him and I buy you a cup of coffee…?” Mommy seemed to think for a moment. “Offer to pay for the sitter, and you can buy me dinner.” “Deal. I’m Eros...I mean Errol by the way.” “Sarah.” Sarah. Mommy’s name was Sarah. “Now if you excuse me, I’ve got a little guy who needs me.” As he was carried back into the changing area, Aaron sincerely hoped that Eros wouldn’t be there when he got put back into his stroller again; that this was just a roundabout way of getting him clean pants and a bit of lost knowledge. He could live with thinking of his girlfriend as Mommy, but it’d be a cold day in hell before he called that rat bastard “Daddy”. (The End.)

https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/RNPQ7WL Howdy Folks, I’d like to talk to you about ABDL video games for a second. Just in case y’all aren’t aware, Piece of Soap and I worked together to create the ABDL game “Perpetual Change”. If you haven’t tried it and you like my writing or Piece of Soap's Art, you’re doing yourself a disservice by not googling it and taking the time to play it. Because it’s my writing AND Soap’s art on a FINISHED video game that we worked together on.. If I don’t talk about it much, it’s literally because I thought everybody knew about it by now. Now let me peel back the curtain and drop some history on y’all When Soap and I started on that particular project, I was a full time teacher, part time writer. It was a commission situation, financially, but creatively it developed into something of a partnership. And yes, we had a lot of help from a lot of people. Soap commissioned other artists to do key scenes and stills, and hired someone to help with editing and to make the random bits of dialogue from all the non-named characters. But from pre-production on, Soap and I were the primary creative forces and contributors to that game. We made a really good team. I’m really good at using my words to invest people emotionally and to misdirect and amuse, while Soap is practically a genius at what he does and creates poetry with his visuals and gameplay. We’re practically Penn & Teller but our magic is padded fan-service! I love it, loved writing it, and was frankly AMAZED with how much detail he put into that game. You can only imagine how relieved and honored I was for him to ask me to continue working with him on a second game, called The Hive. It’s a different system, a different feel, and a different story, but we’ve both learned so much since we started on Perpetual Change all those years ago. Here’s the part that hurts to say: I’m a full time writer now, and as glamorous as I make it look sometimes, a niche writer doesn’t make as much money as a public school teacher (a profession not known for its affluence). I don’t want to raise my rates on MY Patreon, either, because I can’t guarantee making more content that is significantly different from what I write. That’s why my focus has always been trying to entertain and asking for your support. Soap’s a full time Patreon artist, too. Sometimes, he can’t afford to commission me or anybody else for that matter. If you think I undersell myself, it is my honest and heartfelt opinion that Soap doesn’t fully know how amazing he is at what he does. It can also be challenging to find a good balance on a collaboration, financially, when the collaboration is entirely on just one of the collaborator’s Patreon amidst tons of their other amazing creative works. Soap puts all of his video game content on his Patreon alongside his fantastic original artwork, fanart, and comics for the obscenely low price of just one dollar. It literally only costs someone 12 dollars a year to get access to ALL of that. It’s difficult to determine who is subscribing for what and where the interest lies. He originally had a Patreon called ABGames, but he shut it down and folded it into his main Patreon. We would like to re-start the ABGames Patreon and move all future work on The Hive over to that site instead. In doing so, we would be able to ask for support directly for that particular project as well as any other video game collaborations going forward and then share the profits with one another. Ideally, this would enable Piece of Soap to not have to commission me and would let me write for The Hive more often. Hopefully, it will also create extra funds so that it is easier to commission additional artists where desired. And as much as it makes sense, financially, and it would help us a great deal, we’re worried. We certainly don’t want to ask too much of you in your support or to feel like we’re taking advantage of anyone. Things are just getting more expensive these days, and a video game charging 12 dollars a year per person COMBINED with all of Soap’s other remarkable work is criminally inexpensive in my opinion. We are still committed to making the best ABDL Video Game content that we can. We just don’t want to take advantage of anybody. If anything, we need your help. It's a balancing act. Please give us your feedback and opinions. We want to be competitive with other niche video game Patreons, but still give you the best value while still being fair to our own needs. Considering the quality of the art and writing, what do you feel would be a reasonable asking price each month in support of a game like The Hive? Please click or copy and paste to the survey below and above. It's only 4 questions. https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/RNPQ7WL

Chapter 89: I ____ You Despite the cry session over who Beouf and Janet thought I used to be, Janet was back to all business the next morning. First thing after the usual morning routine, I was plopped into my highchair and given some microwaved Franz toast sticks, eerily reminiscent of my first day in Beouf’s room with some syrup drizzled over it. Janet made herself a plate. The friendliest thing she said to me was “Here you go,” and it still had that quiet, walled up monotone. Both she and Beouf had gotten all of their feelings out the night before. I didn’t bother telling Janet that I’d overheard the conversation the night before. Let her and Beouf think they still had their secrets. They didn’t have the guts to tell me to my face. Fuck them. My only regret was that they discovered the baby monitor blunder so soon after me. There were weeks to months worth of gossip and plotting that I could have used to my advantage, or at least television programs I could have listened to before going to sleep. Come to think of it, I didn’t fully understand why I hadn’t been hearing more from the baby monitor all this time. Had Janet been walking around the house with both the wrong end of the monitor and somehow kept it off without knowing this whole time? At least that explained why my constant deluge of whispered hate hadn’t landed. In a sick way, I was kind of proud of myself. I’d misfired an entire silo of psychological missiles and I’d still managed to reduce the (literally) giant hypocrite to this. Good for me. I waited for her to sit down and take the first bite of her own microwaved faux food. “Can I have some milk, please?” Janet puffed air out through her nose and rose wearily. Looking almost as dog tired as I felt, she went over to the cabinet and brought out an empty baby bottle and top and placed it upright on the counter. She opened the refrigerator and grabbed the carton of goat’s milk from the fridge. Leaning over I could see that there was another bottle that had already been filled up next to it. “Why don’t you just give me the full one there?” I said. “I’m doing it my way,” Janet answered coldly. “Not yours.” Just like with everything else in my life, it wasn’t enough to treat me like a baby; but it also had to be on her terms. Typical. Probably why she and Beouf had that cry session without me and without my knowledge. Me knowing that they used to like me as a person would have ruined it for them and me asking about it would have been shot down just because I would have been the one who’d asked about it. More than ever I felt I understood them. More than ever, I had zero reason to trust that they’d act in anything remotely resembling rationality or good faith. All that, and I just didn’t feel up to being the ‘bigger’ person. “Jessica drank from out of the carton yesterday,” I tattled. Janet kept pouring. “Don’t care.” She finished and screwed on the cap with the rubber nipple. “Yeah,” I said. “But I do. I don’t want to get second hand spit molecules or whatever.” Janet replaced the carton in the fridge and shut the door. “Do you somehow think that the bottle in the refrigerator will be cleaner somehow?” “Yes.” Janet cocked an eyebrow and put her free hand on her hip. “Why?” I had nothing. She saw that much and placed the bottle she’d poured onto my tray. It wasn’t nearly as forceful as a slam, but it had the same emotional impact as one. “Just take it and drink.” I did. Sucking on the artificial tit, I felt myself wrinkle my nose. Something was off about this bottle compared to the last one I’d had. It was close in flavor, definitely still goat’s milk, but something tasted not quite the same as before. It was on-brand versus off-brand; or when coffee is coming from the bottom of the pot; or when a soda fountain’s syrup to seltzer ratio is off. Not inherently bad. Just different. I think I understood Jessica’s slightly pensive reaction just before putting me down for a nap. Was the milk starting to go bad? Or was being left out in a bottle for a longer period somehow affecting the taste? I’d have thought that at thirty-two I’d know more basic facts about milk. The things you don’t know you don’t know. When I’d downed my dairy and finished my sticky bread, Janet took a wipe to my hands and mouth and set me free. I wasted no time in walking away back to the nursery, eager to think of new ways to cause mischief but lacking focus as to the ‘how’. I grabbed some stuffed animals and toys from the toybox and sat them in a semi-circle reminiscent of Circle Time or one of Beouf’s pre-Lunch whole group activities. It helped to visualize things. With some digging around the layout was almost complete after only a few minutes: A Jack-in-the-box for Chaz, a stuffed pill bug that uncurled and doubled as a pillow for Annie, and an inflatable mallet for Billy, and so on. I placed a tiny plastic chair that hadn’t gotten much use for where Janet might likely sit if she were present. The more important question was should I visualize myself in Beouf’s place and figure out what she might potentially see or hear, or should I sit in my own relative position to dream up possibilities? “Why not both?” I mumbled to myself. It’s not like a stuffed animal or random toy couldn’t switch roles. I went back to the box and lifted the lid back up. A random thought: It might be fun to hide the toys in the closet and then shut myself up in the box. Give Janet a sca- “Lion?” Down at the very bottom, a familiar unblinking face made of plush looked up at me, his noble mane disheveled but clean, his stitched-on smile greeting me for the first time in many days. I dug him out. “What are you doing here?” I asked as if the dumb thing could actually answer me. I genuinely thought that when I’d ruined him with finger paints that Janet had tossed him in the garbage instead of the washing machine. Janet chose that moment to speed walk into the nursery, almost tripping over my display. She stopped and examined the layout. “Playing school?” “No…” She didn’t so much as shrug at my lie, but instead continued on her way to the baby monitor. She unplugged it and started turning it over in her hands like it was a puzzle of some kind or the scene of a crime beyond rookie level incompetence. “I found Lion,” I said. Janet didn’t so much as look back. “Good for you.” “Why didn’t you tell me you fixed him?” “I thought you didn’t like him.” Janet replied. “So I stuffed him in the bottom of your toy chest.” “I don’t like him,” I told her. “I just wanted to know where he is.” “Okay,” Janet said. “Now you know. Take care of him and don’t put paint on him or he’s going away for good.” I didn’t want to give her any kind of promise that I wouldn’t and open defiance seemed like a misplay, so I settled for a “Why?” The question-that-wasn’t-really went unanswered. Janet gazed thoughtfully at the misplaced speaker end of the monitor and back to me. Then back to the monitor’s resting place. Then to my crib. “Did you…?” The question wasn’t fully phrased, but it didn’t need to be. I wasn’t the only one doing some tactical visualizations. She was genuinely questioning whether I’d made the switch. “Did I what?” I asked. I was daring her to accuse me. It would have forced her hand and possibly get her to admit how she found out about her mistake. Or she could have just said she’d been taking a closer look and realized the mistake. It would have been nice to make her squirm, all the same. “Nothing,” Janet said. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” She quick-stepped out of the room faster than she had entered. I felt my shoulders slump watching her go, and not from relief. Admittedly, I was suddenly very melancholy. Part of me had been hoping, stupidly, that Janet might take the quiet of a Saturday morning to tell me all about her Friday Night. In spite of my shrewd insistence on not telling her that I knew about their talk, seeing Janet there by the monitor gave me a fear tinged hope that she might stop being so damn quiet and tell me something of her own volition. Or yell at me. Or cry. Or laugh. Or annoyingly try to cuddle me. Or show some kind of genuine emotion beyond guarded stoicism. Her present emotional state was a flag of victory for me but I still hated it almost as much as the baby crazy stuff. Emotions are complicated. Hate. Oh yeah! I’d almost forgotten! If the two ends of the monitoring system had been switched this whole time, then the monitor couldn’t have conditioned me for anything. I hadn’t been hesitating at telling Janet I hated her straight to her face because of subliminal messaging; it was just a misplaced mental block. Kind of like how even in my head she was still mostly ‘Janet’ instead of ‘Grange’. That was all! A terrible, mean spirited smirk came over me. Now was as good a time as any to say it. I dropped Lion on the carpet and walked out into the hallway. Then, despite myself, I felt kind of bad, doubled back, and picked him back up. Maybe me hugging a stupid stuffed animal while proclaiming my undying loathing to her would rattle her that extra satisfying step. “Janet?” I called. “Janet? I have something I need to tell you!” My words fell into the wind with no reply. “Janet?” Where’d she go? She wasn’t in the guest bathroom, or the living room. I didn’t see her in the kitchen. That meant she must have been in her bedroom. Or the master bath. Could I get away with insulting her on the toilet? My suspicions were quickly confirmed as I approached her closed bedroom door. I could hear her talking to someone on the phone, Beouf maybe? But I couldn’t make out the words until after I reached up and pulled down on the knob. “Janet?” I said, crinkling into her bedroom. “Janet I-!” “Yeah, yeah.” Janet said into her cell, ignoring me. Her upturned finger shot out, shushing me. I held my place. “Uh-huh. Should be fine. Just brush your teeth if it makes you feel better. No you won’t get sick. That’s in your head.” She was sitting on her massive bed with her legs hanging over the edge, lightly grazing the floor. Over in an unused corner, a rectangular and narrow cardboard box leaned against the wall. The picture on the front showed a fully assembled baby cot with an open end and overlap so that it could be slid up and effectively attached to the side of an Amazon sized bed. It was still wrapped in plastic. In Janet's lap were both parts of the baby monitor; the recording part and the listening part. The two halves of the apparatus were similar, but not identical, with the intended parental end having several more buttons to push beyond an on/off option. Looking at them, my eyebrows started to knit together in quiet concentration. Though still on the phone and listening to whatever Jessica was rambling about, Janet seemed to be giving equal attention to the puzzle in her lap. We were both thinking essentially the same thing: “Why didn’t I notice this sooner?” I’d stayed up night after night after night staring at that abominable piece of technology whispering poison into deaf electronic ears. Why hadn’t I noticed and questioned the extra buttons before? Why had Janet gone so many weeks just assuming that I was fine if she heard nothing? Last night, I’d been able to tell when one of them sighed heavily enough or leaned back in a chair. Wouldn’t she have expected to at least hear me quietly snoring or rolling over in my sleep? “Sorry, Jessica,” Janet finally said. “I should have told you about that.” A rosy blush smacked itself on each of the Amazon’s cheeks. “I just didn’t think-...” From her spot sitting on the side of the massive bed, she stopped speaking and regarded me with a mixture of worry, annoyance, and curiosity. “Janet, I-” “Just a second Clark, I’m talking to Auntie Jessica. There’s something I need to find out.” “Cool,” I said. “First though, I need to tell you that I-” “Mommy’s. Talking.” Like the not-slam before it, the not-yell was quieter in volume than her regular speaking voice and still carried with it a menacing air of authority. I chose to keep my mouth closed and wait for my opportunity. Let her have her moment with Jessica. She’d be calling her back in a few minutes, anyways; most likely sobbing. A new delicious thought: What if I worked in some of the things I’d heard into this latest string of admonishments? Something like ‘I’m a cheeky brat but I’ll never be your cheeky brat’? Extremely tempting. I’d been given so much ammo in such a short time; so many silver bullets that the real struggle was figuring out when and how to shoot them off. Emotions are complicated. “Anyway, Jess,” Janet went on, “I had a question about yesterday, when you were watching Clark for me. Something strange might have happened and-” she waited. “What about a diner? No. Nothing like that.” She stopped and gave me another queer, distrustful look. “My question is: At any time during the day did you leave him unsupervised? Even for a minute or two?” This coming from the woman who’d hid in her room and showered so that I could raid the spice rack. Every accusation from an Amazon was a confession in disguise. “No? Only his nap?” Janet eyeballed me suspiciously. “You moved what during his nap? Why?” Suspicion melted into confusion and concern. “He told you he was scared of it? Wh-?” And hardened back into suspicion. “Are you sure? Positive? Then why was it-?...” And just like that suspicion lightened into relief. “You kept them side by side and put his end back after the nap? And he was in the crib both times? Back and forth? You didn’t get him up out of the crib, put him down on the floor and then replace it?” It took me a second to realize that I was shaking my head like Janet was asking me instead. Both times I’d been well imprisoned behind wooden bars. Regrettably for me, Jessica had already learned not to leave me alone. Her version of events lined up with my own. Janet burst out into a full belly laugh. If I peeled my ears and grit my teeth, I could just make out Jessica saying “What?” In a confused and defensive tone. “What?” “Jessica. Honey.” Janet took a breath. “I’m pretty sure you accidentally put the wrong end back in the nursery.” That made sense. That made too much goddamn sense. Janet wouldn’t have made such a rookie mistake at this stage in the game. Jessica would. Which meant… A big relieved groan rumbled up to the ceiling, and Janet sat back up. “That explains so much No. I don’t think he woke up. He’s a deep sleeper.” Her smile was all pearly whites. “No. You don’t need to apologize. It was an honest mistake and nothing bad happened.” She wouldn’t stop smiling. A weight had been lifted from her. All of that tension transferred from her giant body into mine. I was snapping Lion’s non-existent bones and crushing his non-existent airways. This time it had nothing to do with anger. “If it makes you feel any better, you can say we’re even.” She laughed again. “Okay. Okay. Have a good one. Love you, too, sis. Bye.” She stood up, hung up and pocketed the phone and finally looked down directly at my shaking quivering form. “Okay,” she breathed. “Sorry about that.” She was much less quiet now, much less guarded and intense, bundled up in a cozy quilt of relief. “What did you wanna tell me, Clark?” “I hhhh-....” I stuttered. Damn it! No! “I hhh….!” Say it! “You what?” My chin started to shake and my eyes threatened to water. I still couldn’t say it. It wasn’t just a mental block; something to just nut up and get over. “I lied,” I said. “I do like Lion. I’m sorry I messed him up. Can you put him in the diaper bag for trips again?” It was the best, most plausible lie I could think of given the circumstances. The giantess was taken aback. “Yeah. Sure. Not now, though, right?” “No. Not now.” I was already backing up and clinging to Lion like a life raft. “Only if we’re going somewhere.” She was pressing her lips together, trying to push a smile down that her eyes were failing to hide. More than any other batshit crazy Amazon I’d ever met, Janet smiled with her eyes more than anything else. The exact inverse of a crone like Brollish. Her particular crazy was threatening to overwhelm her. If I’d meant to do it, I’d have been patting myself on the back. “Okay. Sure,” Janet said. “I’ll remember that. If you want.” “Okay.” I started backing up. Slowly. “I’m gonna go play now. In my room. With my toys. Not school, though.” Fuck! Why did I say that? I pivoted on the ball of my foot and started toddling out. “Clark.” I froze and about faced. “Yes, ma’am?” Why were my knees locked and shaking? Janet walked over and lowered down to her knees so that she was closer to eye level and placed her hands on my shoulder. “I thought you did something bad that you didn’t actually do and I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair.” “Okay.” I said. Now I was getting very quiet. “Thanks.” She didn’t release my shoulders. “Let’s go get some shorts on.” I started sputtering. “Shorts? Why? Are we…are we going anywhere? Is it getting cold enough, finally?” Her eyes beamed even though the corners of her mouth barely tugged upward. “No. Not yet. We’re not going anywhere today. Maybe the grocery store tomorrow. Just that.” “What’s the catch?” “No catch. No game.” Some of the edge returned in the back of her throat. “Just want to because I feel bad and I’m curious if it would make you feel good.” I opened up to ask a question but she cut me off. “You’re still not wearing anything over your diaper at school. We’ve got a lot to talk about, mister.” She waited. “You want them, or not?” Shut up. Shut up and take the win. “Yeah,” I said. “I want shorts, please.” She stood up. “Alright. Do you wanna ride or do you wanna walk back with me?” “Walk, please.” I raised up my hand and took hers. We walked back to the nursery and she finished dressing me for the day. The rest of the weekend was still quiet. Very quiet. But it wasn’t as quiet as it had been before. Janet let me be most of the time but occasionally I could hear her humming something to herself. She remained quiet when doing her crazy Amazon stuff with me, but she added tiny happy flourishes into the mix: A slight humming here, an approving nod there, like she was taking some pleasure in it and congratulating herself on a job well done. I promised to make her regret that….later. I got nothing but a softer, kinder “Good night,” at bed each time. That first night, though, I purposefully laid awake until the door slid open and those final motes of light from the hallway shined in. “Nini, Clark.” She whispered. “I love you.” So she had been telling the truth. I rolled over in my crib and grumbled myself to sleep. If only she had said something like that before she had thoughts of Adopting me. *************************************************************************** Come Monday morning Janet’s quiet side had come back to nearly full strength. There wasn’t as much underlying coldness, but everything about her that morning had. She was bracing herself. Steeling herself for the future. “Morning,” I said. “Morning.” “Sleep well?” “Mmhmm. Everything that I’d gone to sleep in was taken off and replaced, and I ended up back in just a Helga Hogg T-shirt, a Monkeez, and the new light up sneakers Jessica had bought. My reprieve was officially over. “Come on,” Janet said. “Let’s get going.” Without further preamble, she carried me through the house and out the door. The clock in the kitchen read about fifteen minutes earlier than usual. “Are we going somewhere?” “Just school.” I finally remembered what Beouf had said about seeing me on Monday and made some rough deductions in my head. Their private grieving party was probably meant to be some kind of private huddle figuring out what to do with me. We were going to school early so that they’d have time as a team to dress me down. Again. Possibly literally. What was left for them to take? My shirt? No. Probably not. Not after that cry session. We were going to have to talk about it and I would not like what they had to say. Alright then. So be it. For once, every assumption I had made was accurate. That was a nice change of pace. All the lights in Beouf’s room were already on when we got on campus. The door was unlocked and Janet brought me straight away to Beouf’s kidney table. Beouf was already sitting in her chair, and the Amazon sized one from Zoge’s desk had already been moved so that it was across from her. My old mentor was quietly sipping from a massive mug of black coffee with a second one put out for Janet. I was seated in a Little sized toddler chair next to Janet. No coffee for me. Just a bottle filled with tap water. Same as everyday. It was almost like old days in the worst way. So close. “Clark,” Beouf said by way of greeting. “Ms. Grange.” Janet took a sip of what was supposed to be my coffee. “Mrs. B.” “Hi,” I said. Beouf put her mug down and said. “We need to talk.’ “About?” I figured I might as well play it coy. “We think you know,” Janet said. She corrected herself. “You know.” “What happened on Friday can’t happen again,” Beouf said. “Ever. Do you understand?” I raised my eyebrows in mock incredulity. “I can’t get sick anymore?” “Clark…” Janet warned. Beouf pressed on. “You know what you did, Clark. We understand that you’re upset, but there’s no excuse for what happened.” “What did happen?” I asked. I wanted them to say it. I wanted them to admit it. Admit that I’d beaten them, admit I’d outsmarted them. Admit defeat. Just this one time. I was willing to wager that that was more than Amy ever got. “Tell me. Please. Explain it to me. Like I’m a baby.” Janet craned her head up towards the back door. Beouf looked behind me towards the front entrance. Checking for spies and eavesdroppers. Checking for Forrest or Brollish or Ambrose. “You can’t do it again,” Beouf repeated. “You hurt people.” I harrumphed, and folded my arms. “Did not.” “You hurt Ivy and Jesse and Sandra Lynn.” “So?” They were just as screwed over as me. They were classmates. “You hurt me, and Mrs. Zoge, and your Mommy.” I bristled in my seat. The slight plastic crinkle, normally white noise by now, felt like a static in my inner ear. “No I didn’t.” I said. “How?” “Because we love you,” Beouf explained immediately. Now she said it. Too Typical, too late. “We all do. Me, your Mommy, Mrs. Zoge, and all your classmates. We don’t want to see you hurt yourself or others. If you keep acting this way…” she stared down into her coffee “What? More procedures?” I scoffed. Beouf kept staring into her coffee mug, a wise woman divining coffee grounds instead of tea leaves “No. Consequences,” she said. If you keep doing what you’re doing, we won’t be able to protect you. You’ll be expelled. If you’re really bad, Brollish can recommend that you go to New Beginnings first. Most other daycares won’t take you if you get that kind of recommendation.” I used to hate clichéd turns of phrase like ‘So cold it burns’. I finally found a use for it. It perfectly described the mixture of dread and righteous anger surging through my bloodstream. Beouf was passively threatening me with New Beginnings? The same Beouf who had been more than willing to just drop me off in a basket and ship me to their overnight foster re-education division because she was fine with condemning me to this life but not wanting the extra responsibility of caring for me? If Janet hadn’t shown up when she had… I stood up, red hot, and leveled my finger at her. “Fuck you!” I shouted. “I…I h-” Fuck! I couldn’t say it to Beouf either? “I h…” I was looking straight at her. Was it because Janet was in the room? Could I not even say the h-word in front of her? The naproom had a monitor in it, too. Was that the reason? Was I double mindfucked already? Neither one flinched. They’d been prepared for this reaction. Janet was still clearly uncomfortable. Beouf was as composed as I’d ever seen her. All that chipping away I’d done over the weeks had been purged away with a good cry that I wasn’t supposed to hear. Beouf wasn’t seeing the real me.She was seeing the baby she wanted to see. She was seeing the bullshit diagnosis that she’d slapped onto me. “Well I h-....” I tried again. “I h-.” Beouf sent a worried look Janet’s way. I slammed my eyes closed. Maybe if I wasn’t looking directly at either of them. “I ha-” Janet interrupted. “You hurt Elmer, hon.” The words in my mouth disintegrated like wet paper in a rainstorm. “No…?” “He threw up all over his shoes,” Janet said. “A lot of your kids saw you getting sick and it made them sick, too. Is that what you wanted?” My defiant resolve started to melt with a dawning realization: My students. My kids. They’d been there too. It had registered, but it hadn’t clicked. Nearly seventy two hours had passed and I hadn’t once thought about any of them. As early as last year, any pushback or prank I’d tried would have been specifically crafted to not involve any student. The old me would have aborted the mission the moment he realized they might be in the proverbial line of fire. In the heat of the moment, last Friday, I’d registered them as something of a cross between necessary casualties and bonus targets in my own personal crusade. That didn’t sound like me. It totally did, though. Hearing those thoughts expressed out loud by someone else; by a fellow teacher; by Janet of all people made it harder for the layers and layers of rationalization I’d stacked up to hold any weight. Stacks just made me think of the stacks of random papers I’d misgraded that had been entered into the gradebooks. I wasn’t supposed to be a baby; to be selfish and self involved and focus the bulk of my attention on the big people in my life. I was meant to be a teacher. I was meant to have empathy and a love of learning as well as encouraging growth. That ethos had at some point withered away in me and I hadn’t noticed. It wouldn’t last long, but in the quiet of the early morning classroom, my sense of guilt and shame flared up. For the first time in forever, I felt unclean and it had nothing to do with toileting. Janet repeated herself. “Is it? Is that what you wanted? For those kids to get sick?” I kept standing but I crossed my arms again, even tighter than before. I wanted to huddle in a protective ball; a turtle going into its shell. “No.” “I don’t want it either,” Beouf piled on. “I don’t want the Clark that plays mean games and bullies people. I want the Clark who looks out for his Little friends and tells me when he sees something wrong. Like you did with Chaz last year.” “I want the Clark who cares about other people and worries about their feelings,” Janet said. “Not just himself. Like you used to with your students.” Translation: They wanted the old Clark back; not this new broken thing in front of them they’d helped create. This wasn’t a lecture, it was a cleaned up manifesto from their living funeral for me. “Doesn’t it matter what I want?” It was the first real question I’d asked that morning. I didn’t have an answer to it. They didn’t have one ready, either. That was the scary part. Beouf just kept sipping her coffee. “We can’t help you if things are going to continue to escalate.” I took a deep breath and my seat. “Fine.” I sulked. “I’ll stop…the kind of thing that happened on Friday.” The promise wasn’t for them. It was for my kids. ****************************************************************************** Back when I used to have the luxury of taking a shower, I used to have ‘shower thoughts’: Bits of random ideas and inspiration that would come to me right in the middle of a shower. The act of just zoning out with almost no other sensory input beyond hot water and steam gave me an uncanny focus; like closing tabs in an overworked computer. Later that morning, just after breakfast, Zoge was changing me as she did. Beouf still wasn’t taking up diaper duty. Not for me. I ignored the wet coldness of the wipes and the dry chill of the baby powder and Zoge’s chirps and coos aimed mostly for herself while she was preparing. The only thing on my mind was how to break Beouf. How to make her cry? I’d pushed Janet off the brink into despair, even if she was bouncing back. I’d broken Tommy. Made even Ivy’s optimistic facade drop. Sandra Lynn was next and very close; I had a good feeling about this week. The therapists were low-key terrified of me, I was certain. Especially Skinner. But Beouf. How to really get to her? I hadn’t quite gotten there yet. The sobbing on Friday night didn’t count in my book. Provoking her into shrieking out my old last name was close, but no cigar. Breaking Beouf was like falling in love: I’d just know when it happened. And all through the bus loop, breakfast, and Circle time up until my name was called, one particular bit of dialogue kept playing around in my brain. There was something there. I knew it. “I loved him before,” Janet had said. “I did too.” Beouf had answered. “He was my best friend.” How to use that? Those same three sentences were on loop that morning. I was a walking corpse to Beouf. A diapered zombie that reminded her of her work buddy. She was used to having Littles be her enemies. Every Little started off hating Beouf until she’d numbed them enough with mind games and propaganda. How could I hurt her as a friend? Zoge finished pulling the new Monkeez up and folded it over the front of me. I felt a slight gurgle, not even a proper cramp, and was tempted to take a dump right there to make her start over. I decided against it. I wasn’t that unpotty trained. Barring something awful disagreeing with me, I could probably hold this in all day. It was just a couple of rabbit pellets at most. Fuck my life and the chain of events where the condition and urgency of my bowels and stool was a common consideration of mine. “All done,” Zoge told me once she’d secured the tapes. “Nice and dry.” She helped me up. “I love you.” “I love you, too.” I said without thinking. “AWWWWWWWWWWW!” The exclamation was so loud that she interrupted circle time. Singing and mindless repetition stopped. Beouf was on her feet up from the carpet, looking like she was worried that I’d broken something. “What? What happened? Is everything okay?” Zoge carried me out, grinning and proud. “He just said he loved me too.” Snickers and giggles and even more ‘AWWWWWWWWWW’s came at me in a wave. Billy and Chaz and Tommy were giggling. Annie was sharing knowing looks with the other girls as if there was a betting pool concerning when I’d finally slip and crack. Beouf looked bewildered. Disappointed. Kind of hurt. I didn’t blush. Didn’t need to. It was impossible for me to feel embarrassed. I’d just had the most brilliant idea. Move over ‘shower thought’. I’d just had a ‘changing table thought’. “What?” I smiled. “I do love Mrs. Zoge. She’s really nice. I leaned in and nuzzled my head against Zoge’s neck. “I love you, Mrs. Zoge!” Zoge giggled, but put me down. “Okay, Clark. Go sit down. Annie?” Chaz and Billy were still giggling. Annie looked confused and suspicious. I wasn’t surprised; out of all of the A.L.L. she had an especially sharp sense of emotional intelligence. She cast one more dubious look at me and went into the bathroom. Through the next dumb nursery rhyme, I kept pricking my ears up, waiting for Annie to tell Zoge how much she loved her, but she wasn’t there yet. I’d give it some time. ****************************************************************************************************** “Okay,” I said. I took a deep breath. “Elephants’ tusks are made of ivory. Even though those claims have long since been refuted, ivory was once believed to have mystical medicinal properties.” Had to play this just right. “Medicine is supposed to help make you better when you’re sick. Speaking of sickness, preventative hygiene such as using soap is a good way to make such medicines largely unnecessary. Soap goes in a bathtub. So does a rubber duck. That’s how an elephant and a rubber duck go together.” I’d long since gotten the hang of Beouf’s picture association game. Whenever she brought it out for activity centers, it was a genuine competition between me and Ivy. I’d never admit it out loud, but I genuinely looked forward to those times. It was quite stimulating. Ivy tried to derail my loose logic train. “Soap also goes in sinks for hand washing and face washing.” I’d already found my wits that morning. “I don’t hardly ever wash my hands anymore. A grown-up just uses wipes on my hands and face. But Mommy always uses soap for tubby time.” The pseudo-Yamatoan huffed through nose. “Okay. You’re right.” “Very good you two!” Beouf beamed, playing up her enthusiasm far more than could be considered genuine. “I’m so proud of you both.” Ivy stood up out of her chair so that she could curtsy. “Thank you, Mrs. Beouf.” I said nothing and pretended to look elsewhere. No stares. No eye contact. Total feigned disinterest. The timer went off, signaling us to go to our next center. “I love you Mrs. Beouf,” Ivy said. She waddled around the kidney table to Beouf’s chair and leaned in for a hug. Maybe she figured out what I’d started faster than anyone else. Maybe she was just copying me. Hard to say. Didn’t matter. “I love you too, pumpkin.” Beouf cooed. “Go check your schedule.” I got up, pushed my chair in and. “I love you too, Clark.” I stopped and looked back at her. I gave her a little shrug. “Alright, then.” I walked away to the visual schedule. Time for stupid playtime. We all knew the pattern rotations by heart, but we were required to go take the stupid tokens off the top of the stupid velcro and place them on stupid corresponding center location. Annie walked up to me. “What are you doing?” she whispered. She wasn’t panicked; just curious. The gears hadn’t stopped turning. I ‘accidentally’ took the symbol for Zoge’s table off the schedule despite it being nowhere near the top. “Just spreading the love.” “Clark, you’re going the wrong way, baby.” Zoge called. “Check the top of your schedule; not the bottom.” We ignored her and kept our voices low. “To Zoge?” Annie asked. “Why?” “Clark,” Beouf echoed Zoge. “Wrong way. You’re at the play center.” “Not everybody,” I said. “Just not Beouf.” The gears stopped turning and the lights came on behind Annie’s eyes. Now she got it. “Clark,” she said. “You’re a monster.” It sounded like a compliment so I took it as one. Annie wrapped her arms around me and gave me the tightest hug she could. “I love you, Clark!” “I love you too, Annie!” Billy looked annoyed. I threw him a conspiratorial wink. He frowned until Annie elbowed him and whispered something in his ear. Then he winked back. I went and corrected my scheduling ‘mistake’, and joined Ivy in the play area. As usual we didn’t talk, engaging in what could most politely be called parallel play. When the timer went off. Zoge got a double dose of Littles saying how much they loved her. Ivy tried to double back and give Beouf a hug. I cut that off by shouting. “Ivy, you’re going the wrong way!” She gave me the dirtiest look.. ********************************************************************************************** “Mommy,” I said. “Help?” I pointed to the massive spire of twisted metal and magnets. “I can’t figure it out.” “You can figure it out, Clark.” Janet told me. “I’m just watching.” “Please,” I said. I was doing my best not to lean in too hard on anything that might trigger her crazy. She was still guarded. Leaning into what I knew she longed to hear would only have the opposite effect. “I can’t figure it out.” Sad part was that it was true. I still hadn’t figured out this activity. “Just try it,” Janet said, gently. “You can do it.” Janet was still spending time in Beouf’s when her class was otherwise looked after and occupied. She saw me close my eyes and rub my temples. “Ja-...Mo….” The slip up and hesitation was performative. “I’m trying to say that I’m at a frustrational point.” Basic educational theory is that a person who is at a frustrational point can’t learn. It’s like building muscle when you’re already at your weight limit. Even though she didn’t want to, Janet copped a squat at the table. She’d trapped me by appealing to my educator’s empathy. I could do the exact same to her. “Okay. It’s been a while since I’ve done one of these,” she chewed her lip. She grabbed a piece from the middle of the gravity defying heap. “This one?” Ever the perpetual Helper, Ivy agreed. “Yes ma’am.” She took the metal scrap and moved it to the left. “Here?” “Nooooo,” Ivy said. The piece went far to the right. “Here?” Ivy giggled, like Janet had just suggested something patently ridiculous akin to lassoing a cloud. “Then how…about…here?” As far as I could tell, the Amazon placed the piece back exactly where she’d taken it from, but whatever programming or matrix or algorithm or whatever that guided the floating metal puzzle thought otherwise. The pieces rearranged themselves into a perfect equilateral pyramid. “Hey,” Janet smiled. “I still got it!” She rose up and looked back at the clock. It was almost time for her to go. I wasn’t done with her yet. I tugged on her skirt and beckoned her back down to me. “Can you please change me?” I asked. “I’m just wet but I don’t want to wait till lunch.” I watched her wrestle with the idea. She turned her head right and saw Zoge. She turned left and saw Beouf. Janet wasn’t stupid. She knew I was up to something. “Never mind,” I said. “I’ll wait. I’ll wait.” The timer rang again. That’s what I’d really needed. “Thanks for the help,” I said quietly. I hugged her leg, and dropped the bomb. “Thank you, Mommy. I love you!” That started a chain reaction. “Bye Ms.Grange. I love you!” Annie said. She hugged Janet’s other leg and let go. Chaz crawled up and latched on to an ankle. “Byyeeee. Love you!” Billy threw in. “Love ya Ms. Clark’s Mommy!” He mouthed the word ‘Gibson’ to me. And it didn’t stop there. Ivy, Mandy, Shauna, and Sandra Lynn joined in the cuddle puddle. I reckoned that Annie had somehow spread the game. Tommy and Jesse called out their love, too. We hadn’t had this kind of unity since the last ‘Why Day’. My crew might have spread the game to the rest or the others were just unwitting pawns. Didn’t know. Didn’t care. We were hungry orca circling around and swarming a dying seal. Janet was a drunk trying to fake sobriety. I could practically see the goose pimples breaking out on her flesh and the euphoria clouding her eyes. She pulled her cardigan closed, buttoned it, and shuddered. It was too much for the poor loon. “Okay, okay.” Zoge called over them. “You’re all going to make her late. Let her go.” She too was giggling at the combined cuteness. We stopped crowding Janet, and to my surprise, she bent over and gave me a quick peck on the top of my head. The first overt affection she’d shown in over a week. “Love you, too,” she said, and exited the room. The top of my head tingled, and I felt myself blushing. On my way to the schedule, I glanced backwards at the real target of my love bomb. Beouf looked disturbed. Almost like she’d been slapped in the face. There was nothing she could do, however. Telling someone you loved them wasn’t against any of the rules. Consensual platonic hugs while not explicitly allowed in the code of conduct were very much encouraged by the Maturosis and Developmental Plateau curriculum. Spiteful impulses whispered themselves into my mind’s ear. Give Beouf a wink, or a smile, or a sneer. Let her know how much I was enjoying fucking with her. I exercised discipline instead, and checked my schedule. Snack time. **************************************************************************************************** I stood in Janet’s playpen that afternoon, gripping the top railing, and bending my knees. It had been a good day for being subversively bad. Janet getting cascaded with hugging Littles and childish declarations of love had been the great crescendo, but the song hadn’t ended there. Snack time. Whole group instruction. Lunch. Nap time. The ‘love’ didn’t stop coming. Every interaction was concluded with “I love you,” as a receipt. Always for Zoge. Always for one another. Almost never for Beouf. Ivy and Sandra Lynn tried to spread it to Beouf but it didn’t really catch on. The more mindfucked among us responded naturally to Zoge’s maternal enthralment of delight. Melony’s pensive weariness and building desperation. Brollish did a very quick cut through less than a minute total, and the class became very very shy, myself included. She was the only other one who didn’t get an “I love you” from me. There was no need to coordinate that, and I wouldn’t have entertained the thought of showing Brollish any kind of love- dupe or not. I still had my principles. Having that quiet scorn in common with Brollish was an extra knife twist into Beouf’s heart, no doubt. Good. The unprompted declarations of infantile love to the bus driver and aide, the cafeteria cooks, the custodians, and other random passerby all hit home. If Skinner, Sosa, and Winters had been on campus to work with anyone they would have been dry humped at the way things were going. I want to say that it was just before lunch when people were getting checked and changed as needed when Beouf realized without a shadow of a doubt that I’d overheard what she and Janet had discussed early last weekend. That’s when she’d given up on trying to tell us how she felt. It was well too late for that. She didn’t want to talk to Janet after school, citing paperwork and lesson prep. Report cards were coming soon. I knew better. She didn’t want to be around me. I wasn’t giving her the choice. Swallowing my pride, I filled my pants, pushing out the mass that had been in the chamber all day. I’d seriously miscalculated the size and mess of it and was lightly panting in relief by the time I was done. I went so far as to sit down in it and suck my pacifier loudly to get Janet’s attention. She sniffed and turned up her nose. I breathed through my mouth and thought of roses. “Whoah,” she said. “Clark. What did you eat?” I shrugged. “Do you need to be changed?” Again, I shrugged, and did my damndest to avoid eye contact. Had to hit that sweet spot where my plan didn’t look like a plan. A wet diaper could be put off. A messy one was harder for her to ignore. If I asked to be changed, like this morning and before with Mark, she’d conclude an ulterior motive. So I played a prideful Little who’d just had an accident and was too smart to outright lie, and too embarrassed to confirm. It wasn’t a hard sell. Janet picked me up and gave me a full check up, surveying the damage I had caused. “Crud.” I went back out on her hip. “Forgot the diaper bag. Again.” I’d already noticed and remembered that. It’s why I’d done what I’d done. The cherry on top to this magnificent day would be simple: Janet would barge into Beouf’s room and ask to use the changing table. When she was done, I’d get one last swing at Beouf by thanking Janet and telling her I loved her. If I could accidentally slip and say it to Zoge, I could continue to lie to Janet. Bonus points if Janet pulled a Zoge and initiated the exchange. There was a solid chance she might today. At least a coin flip. A week or two of this would drive Melony Beouf to total and utter despair. Sadly, my final strike that day never landed. It didn’t need to. Janet carried me across campus and circled round to Beouf’s room and opened the door. “Hey Mel, sorry to bother you, I forgot Clark’s diaper bag and-...” Beouf’s head was resting on her desk, her folded arms acting as a pillow. Her glasses were placed aside and her shoulders were heaving. The top of her curly dyed brown hair mixed with gray seemed more frazzled than usual, and mingled in with Janet’s hurried introduction I heard muffled sobs. Melony’s head shot up and looked at us; looked right at me. I’d forgotten to spit the pacifier out. Haphazardly, she wiped the tears from her face, and put her glasses back on. Her face was bright red and blotchy. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. The glasses did nothing to hide that. The buses had pulled out at least half an hour ago. Had she been crying all that time? I definitely thought so.. “Huh?” she said. She was wiping her nose with the back of her hand and trying to keep her voice clear. She was failing. She stood up from her desk and started side stepping over to the nap room. What Janet had started to say sunk in. “Yeah. Sure. I um. I need to take care of some things. In there.” The door to the nap room slammed shut. The lights did not flick on. Mel’s crying could be heard from the other end of the nap room’s baby monitor. She’d forgotten to turn it off. Janet hustled into the bathroom and snagged a diaper and wipes from the changing table. “Let’s go change in my room.” I didn’t argue or play dumb. I sunk back into my own head, flabbergasted at what I’d seen. It didn’t even take more than one day to finish cracking her. All the sneering and twisting things on their head and subverting her authority were completely unnecessary. All I had to do to get my best friend to collapse into a puddle was to show affection to everyone around me and treat her with indifference. I’d broken her. I’d broken Melony Beouf: Queen of mindfucking Littles. Monarch of Maturosis. A name in the Little Voices circles that was synonymous with titles like ‘expert’ and ‘guru’. And it had been painfully easy. No rule breaking needed. No declarations of eternal loathing or betrayal required. It was a victory I’d been wanting since my Adoption. The banner I’d rallied the Adult Little League beneath. I’d made Beouf cry! I’d won! I just didn’t understand why I’d started crying too. End of Part 7

Chapter 2 Circe regained consciousness before she opened her eyes. She woke upon a mattress so comfortably soft that it could best be described as decadent. Feeling surprisingly relaxed she was awoken only from the pleasantly stiff feeling in her legs and arms. Eyes still closed, the Siren locked her knees and raised her ankles just an inch or two above the mattress, pointing her toes away from her as if they might separate from her body if she tried hard enough. She did the same with her arms, thrusting them towards her feet and making a fist. She felt the most comfortable ache and flex of her biceps, doing that and let out a gentle purring hum. Briefly, she remembered one of her contemporaries actually could separate their limbs from their bodies. Who was that? Dizlocate? Or was it Reach Around? Whomever it was, they weren’t important enough for Circe to remember. The idea that their powers might give them this oddly relaxing feeling was the more important thought. Go to sleep. She should just go to sleep. Her body was telling her as such. No need to open her eyes. Her limbs felt heavy in a miraculous way. She went limp and puffed air out of her nostrils; the faintest hit of a smile tugging at her mouth. No thoughts. Not right now. Thoughts later. Sleep now. Annoying, she knew that sleep wouldn’t come back to her. Her neck and back were getting into the act of being sore, and she knew how this routine would go: She’d roll over and stretch her spine, but that would make her legs uncomfortable. She’d pick a new position on her side and try to get the crick out of her neck and inevitably her arms would complain. Then she’d roll again and again and again, until her heart started pumping faster making the limbs antsy. Her brain would start working to calculate the best position, and in that calculation would make it impossible to drift back off to sleep. Inevitably her Siren soul would get restless and cry out for causing some kind of havoc and it’d be back to work. Damn, but getting old sucked. Might as well get it over with and wake up. Heavy lids struggled open and blurry eyes strained to gain focus. The computer of her mind turned off its screensaver and started to come back online. Computer? Technology? The metaphor came so easily to her for a reason. She was more than sleepy, she was groggy. Drugged. After fighting (and losing) to a hero. Fuck. The real world came back into focus for Circe and her short term memory separated dreamless sleep from memories she’d wished had dreamed up. Beneath the fluorescent lights of an A.S.T.R.A.L. Labs sub-basement, things came to focus. Directly above her, Circe stared at what she thought had been some kind of gyroscope that was actually a dangling mobile of the solar system. This wasn’t the first time the supervillain had woken up behind bars, but she could never remember having those bars be made of thick pink painted wood surrounding a crib mattress. And as far as surveillance went, the tiny camera attached to the footboard of the giant baby bed; nothing more than a baby monitor. “Oh Tartarus, no…” Circe cursed. She gritted her teeth, reached out and grabbed the crib rails, and pulled herself up to a seating position. A curse turned into a gasp and any trace of a blissfully ignorant smile spilled down into a massive horrified frown like splattered paint on the wall. The solid, room temperature, almost grainy mass in the back of her underpants shifted in her underpants beneath her wait. As did the swollen midsection that bulged out to the front. Calling the thick plastic backed diaper taped around her hips, encasing her buttocks and loins while forcing her to sit splay legged and lay spread eagle ‘underwear’ was her being generous to herself. It was a diaper. Definitely a diaper. Not an adult one either. Four tapes, but a childish blue dog decoration placed just above her mound. She had no idea what kind of diaper it was, whether Snuggies, or Crampers, or Wuvs or whatever they were called. She had near ancestral memories of when babes were naked lest swaddled. Circe hated kids and didn’t keep track of such vapid clothing fads. Why keep track of styles that she would never wear? Such minutiae only served to delay inevitable realizations that would upset the silver haired supervillain: She was sitting in her own excrement and had been sleeping in it. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” The scream of outrage that blasted out her throat rumbled out and would have brought the ceiling down. Or it would have had she be able to use her powers the way she’d intended to. Her scream just warbled out as a pastel rose petal pink. Her hand jumped up to her throat, her fingers brushing against the choker that had been attached to her. To the Siren being unable to control her voice was more embarrassing than being able to control her bathroom parts. Her voice! She had her voice back! When she’d lost consciousness, she remembered, a sadistic rubber gag had been shoved in between her lips, preventing her to do anything more than impotently mumble as the laxative and sedative laced bottle took hold of her senses. Circe touched her lips as if she almost expected it not to be true. It was! She could talk again! Even if she couldn’t scream or sing her way out, talking was an invaluable tool at her disposal. One could gain information to escape if they asked the right questions and played on their jailor’s sympathies. One could provoke their jailor to act unwisely with well chosen words. These were bits of wisdom that the Siren’s soul soothed to her. Soothing was minimal, sadly. Circe tilted her head to the side and a bit of her own silver locks brushed up against the side of her face and into her field of vision. Her head tilted the other way and another clump of hair brushed up against her. Her hands traveled up to the top of her head and gained purchase in the form of two massive clumps on either side of her head. Pigtails! Stupid, immature, little-girl pigtails! Her pacifier had been removed, but her hair had been done up like a little girl. All while she slept, too! Such an injurious insult! It felt like such a violation! No one had even changed her (she hoped). “Glitch,” Circe whispered. That stupid arrogant wannabe hero had done this to her. Circe would make that upstart bitch pay. But first she had to get her powers back. She grabbed the ribbon with both hands, trying to quickly yank it off, managing only to scratch and scrape her neck. She couldn’t get so much as a fingernail under the modified restraint collar; it might as well be tattooed on. Footsteps signaled approach from out of sight. She’d been heard and her captor was coming. Circe made no effort to stop her attempts. She was a Siren. The Siren! Sirens beguiled in plain sight and need not conceal themselves. If Circe hadn’t been clouded by rage and pride, she might have reasoned that no restraint placed on her would be easy enough to remove by hand. It still felt good to struggle. A young Asian woman in a white lab coat approached the crib with a datapad, reminding Circe that the nursery surrounding her was a facade more than anything. “Good morning, Miss Castallanos. How are you feeling?” She avoided any kind of eye contact, concentrating and reading some kind of readout on the tablet on her hand, scanning dating from behind thin round rimmed glasses. Circe wrinkled up her nose into a scowl. This wasn’t a hero. This lab coat with legs wasn’t even old enough to be an actual accomplished scientist; just an intern. Not a single wrinkle or gray hair. Glasses that were more for style than function. Hair pulled up behind her head in a messy bun. This was nothing doctor’s sidekick! A child playing dress up, and she wouldn’t even look at Circe! How dare that Glitch?! How dare she?! Wouldn’t even give her a proper guard to antagonize! She was the Siren, damnit! She should be taken seriously! The intern punched a few things into the datapad. “I’m here to collect some qualitative and quantitative data. My name is D-” “GET! THE FUCK! OUT!” The young woman’s eyes glazed over and stared into the middle distance, a perfectly acceptable and predictable reaction to her powerful charms. Circe licked her lips in cruel anticipation. Time to find out what pink sound did. The Asian woman whipped her head directly to Circe and her formerly clinical expression melted.. “Hey honey! Are you okay?” The woman’s voice pitched up almost an octave and lowered in volume to a soft gentle whisper. “Did you have a bad dream or something?” Circe narrowed her eyes, parsing out the information she was being given. Her newest victim was acting gentle and sympathetic to her. Perhaps a pink modulation made it so that she appeared to be a victim, or a damsel in need of rescuing. “Help me,” Circe whispered, and leaned up against the bars. “Get me out of here. Please!” She’d heard this speech plenty of times; just not from this side of the crib…er…cage. “I’m trapped. And scared.” She pouted her lip out and made big hopeful puppy dog eyes. “You want out?” the woman cooed softly.. Circe bobbed her head in a nod. The intern sniffed and her nose wrinkled. She frowned curiously. “Oooooh,” she said after a beat. “You want out of that diaper!” More than Circe’s voice was pink upon hearing that. “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll change you.” The woman’s head started scanning the faux nursery and her body meandered around the carpet. “Where is…?” “Wait!” Circe called out. “Where are you going?” The Siren’s whining went unheeded while the lady in the lab coat took inventory. Finally, she stopped and pointed to a comically oversized changing table. “Ah! There they are!” The monster in the crib gripped the bars while her mark came back to the crib. Yes! “Don’t worry, sweetie,” the intern said. “We’ll get you in a clean diaper and maybe a snack. Then you can play! Would you like that?” Diaper?! Why would…? Nevermind. Not important. Focus. “Yes please,” Circe begged. Just focus. BEEP! The woman’s data pad rang in a high pitched alarming whine. The so-called scientist looked down at her data pad, her brow furrowed. “Hm?” She looked to the glass observation window. Circe followed her gaze. Just like before she’d passed out, the hall just outside the nursery appeared empty. Circe knew better. Knowing better did nothing to stop her blush from spreading at the realization that more than one person was seeing her in pigtails and a loaded diaper. “What? No. I’m not doing that. She’s just a-” BEEP! Eyes went back to the datapad. She shook her head. “No. There’s got to be some kind of mistake. That’s not the Siren.” Circe’s eyes widened. “Please,” Circe begged. “Don’t listen to them. Get me out of here. Please…” The stranger’s eyes were glued to the datapad. “Just a second, baby.” “Baby?” Circe drew back. “I’m not a-” BEEP! The nameless scientist turned ninety degrees from the crib so that she was facing the hallway filled with invisible strangers “Are you sure?” she asked. BEEP! Circe shifted to her knees and sat, entranced, curious at the struggle playing out on the woman’s face. A terrible idea. “Mama?” The data pad fell from the woman’s hands and clattered to the carpet floor. “I can’t!” she screamed, shooting her hands up to her hair and dug at her hair. “I just can’t!” A door on the far end of the pseudo-nursery slid open. In walked Glitch, hair blinking and arm tattoos pulsating with white light. “Dr. Zhao,” she said. “You’re needed in the observation room.” She regarded the seeming empty hallway. “Please make room and way for Doctor Zhao so she can safely review the footage.” Circe saw something blinked in the young cyborg’s earbud. “Yes, have a counselor present just in case. I think she’ll be okay.” Airwaves rippled and just as before, a hallway full of men and women in white coats shuffled off and away. Leave it to super-scientists to create personalized cloaking devices that broke down with movement when a two way mirror would do. “Glitch! I’m sorry!” Dr. Zhao,-who was still very much a lowly intern in Circe’s book- snatched the tablet up off the floor and held it between her and the newly arrived superhero. Circe thought she looked like someone who had been caught in the shower and was reaching for a towel to cover herself. “I can’t do it! I just can’t!” The dark skinned super closed the distance and gently placed her hand on the other woman’s shoulder. “You did fine, Dr. Zhao. This is excellent data, and I think you will be fascinated upon a reflection.” “You’re not going to harm her, are you?” Dr. Zhao asked. “She’s just…it’s wro…” Glitch carefully took the datapad out of the meeker and more pathetic woman’s hand. “It’s okay. You did well.” “Are you going to do anything to her?” “No harm will come to her, Stephanie.” Glitch said. “I’m just running some diagnostics.” “Promise?” The scientist was turned away from Circe, but the Siren could tell from the quaver and cracking in her voice that she was on the verge of tears. “I promise you, Doctor.” Glitch repeated. She removed her hand from the woman’s shoulder and tapped her temple. “My brain operates under Asimov’s Laws, remember? I couldn’t harm her if I wanted to.” A half-second. “And I don’t want to.” “STEPHENIE!” Circe yelled from her crib. “MOMMY!” It wouldn’t accomplish anything, Circe knew. It was still fun to watch the woman’s shoulders bunch up to her ears. “You should go,” Glitch said calmly. “I’ll take care of her.” “MOMMY!” “But-!” Glitch pivoted and put her arm around the other woman. She started walking the mere mortal out towards the exit. Circe wished for laser vision. She made do with the one power she had. “MOMMEEEEEEEEE!” The superhero leaped back and in front of the intern holding her arms out. “It’s okay,” Glitch intoned. “She’s okay. She’s just nervous. The longer you draw this out, the harder it’ll be for her.” Dr. Zhao inhaled and bit her lip. “Yes,” she said. “You’re right.” “MOMMEEEEEEEEE!” It seemed less effective that time. The illusion was still being weaved in the victim’s mind, but she was controlling herself. “She’ll be fine?” “She’ll be fine. I’ll take care of her. Starting with a diaper change.” Glitch looked behind her and the hero and rival through menacing stares at each other. At least that’s what Circe told herself. Later footage would show Glitch’s expression as more of a calm and confident smile. “She’s been in it for a while,” the walking labcoat nodded. “We’ve got top of the line rash protection,” Glitch said. “But you have to go and get to work. That’s the whole purpose of daycares.” Dr. Zhao blinked. “It is. Isn’t it.” Stuck in the giant crib, the Siren had the distinct feeling that Glitch was weaving her own illusion; her own cold reading of the situation. And she was doing a better job at it than Circe.” “Yes. Now go.” The young Asian woman, young enough that Circe should have been thinking of changing her diaper (not the other way around) craned her neck and leaned sideways over the science hero’s shoulder. “Okay. Bye… I love you!” “MOMMEEEEEEEEE!” Finally, the woman was pushed past the threshold and the door slid shut. Glitch spun on the ball of her foot and cocked her eyebrow. “I hope you’re proud of yourself, Siren.” Circe inhaled through her nose and caught another whiff of the fetid mess she’d been sleeping in. She leaned back off her knees and tried not to wince feeling the lump move with her. It was more solid than was comfortable. It also didn’t rattle or shake around very much. Part of it was probably stuck to her. She purred anyway. “Now that you mention it, yes.” A wicked grin revealed pearly white glistening teeth. You could put a demon in pigtails and crinkling undies. It didn’t make her any less hellish. Being called by her supervillain name was just SO exhilarating! “Good,” Glitch said. “You should be. Thank you very much.” The smile evaporated. “What?” Calmly, Glitch grabbed the white lace apron she’d had on before from a hook on the wall. “That young lady you just entranced is one of the keenest researchers at the facility.” She draped the apron over her neck, and then tucked the fled scientist’s datapad under her chin so that she could the strings behind her back. It seemed so completely casual, too. could have been practiced precision or it could have been something she’d programmed into herself. “At nineteen, Dr. Zhao is also something of a wunderkind. Genius I.Q., mathematically proved the existence of God, and quite frankly, something of a sociopath. She discusses her parents like they’re uninteresting historical footnotes, has no siblings, or deep familial connections. No maternal instincts or desire whatsoever. When she got her first menstrual cycle, she half a month off from all other interests and designed an artificial birthing chamber that would house, nourish, exercise, and program-slash-educate a fertilized embryo from conception to age eighteen; all while keeping it unconscious. Darndest thing is, as near as I can tell it would work. That girl does not like children.” Circe crossed her arms over her chest. “So?” “So?” Glitch laughed. “Just a few of those ‘pink words’ from you and she turned into a heartbroken first time mom feeling like she abandoned her daughter after maternity leave. She wanted to change your diaper. This is a woman who almost got in a fight with one of our actual mother on staff because she suggested that hospitals should catheterize and give newborns colostomies ‘for efficiency’s sake’.” Terribly amused, Circe laid back down on her side, ignoring the crinkle so she could get away with the smell of herself. She also had to bend her top leg so that her thighs wouldn’t squeeze the soaked bulging garment in a vice. “Hmmm….you sent me a scrapper; a provacateur. I’m actually flattered.” “You don’t understand,” Glitch corrected her, “Zhao was the one who picked the fight. The mother laughed. She thought it was a joke and Zhao was insulted.” Glitch came up to the crib, holding the tablet. “Considering that your powers normally have a history of drawing from the affected’s psyche, I confess to being deeply curious about what she saw when she looked in this crib.” She turned the data pad around so that Circe could view it. Circe reached up and took the data pad from Glitch. It was filled with orange text on a black background. In the upper right hand corner, there was a live camera feed coming from Circe’s crib, showing the supervillain in all of her non-glory, a rolling set of numbers and abbreviations that she could only assume were for her vitals, and a series of text messages that must have corresponded with the correspondence. The Siren looked at each in turn and savored the information gleaned from them. REMEMBER: Subject is Circe “Siren” Castallanos. 14:29:34 Subject is attempting to manipulate you. Engage restraints before continuing interrogation. 14:30:28 SUBJECT IS SIREN! NOT A CHILD! 14: 31:01 You are not thinking clearly, Zhao. You’ve been compromised. You will think yourself ridiculous and you’re not the one in a diaper. 14:31:28 Yes. We are sure. Do NOT extract subject from crib. Your life will be in danger if you do. Like a kitten playing with a ball of yarn, Circe rolled over onto her back and admired the messages on the tablet. “I am good, aren’t I?” She might have as well been a reincarnation of Narcissus. “You really are,” Glitch complimented her. “Zhao had a live feed, a briefing on your powers, and constant reminders from unaffected third parties. And she still wanted nothing more than to play Mommy with you.” “With great power,” Circe purred, “actually, I forget the rest.” “It’s not just the power,” Glitch said. “You had a very limited idea of what you were perceived as, yet you adapted remarkably quickly, turning the situation to your advantage. It’s not just your powerset, Circe, you’re good at this.” The words were sweet perfume to Circe’s ears. This. She loved when a worthy opponent acknowledged her skill. Not that Glitch was a worthy opponent. Yet, even Penelope was clever enough to unweave Laertes’s shroud night after night. The upstart ex-sidekick might not be Odysseus, but she might yet earn her place of honor in someone else’s myth. “It’s not like it was that hard,” Circe said. “Look what you dressed me as. She kept talking about changing my diaper.” She scrolled down the data pad and eyed an icon labeled ‘Extract.’ “I wish I’d stumbled upon this pink voice earlier,” she mused. “It has some of the same advantages as some of my other voices, but it’s far more subtle.” Glitch cocked a curious eye brow and her pupils flashed thousands of tiny digits. “Subtle? How so? I wouldn’t think of registering as a child as subtle.” “Typical machine,” Circe gloated. “All facts and figures, and no social nuance. How many myths do you know about children? Kids are invisible extensions of their parents. I belt out something in red or yellow or green or purple, and people want to take notice of me; make me the center of their world.” “I thought that was how you like it.” “I do,” Circe admitted. “A child though? A toddler? If I can pass myself as someone’s random kid, I can be introduced, go unnoticed, cause havoc, and then get away with a slap on the wrist. Best of several worlds.” She thought of all the recent times her cons and illusions were spoiled by a video going viral and people realizing she was behind it all. “Nobody takes pictures of other people’s kids. Wouldn’t have to have sex with some old rich guy either.” “Wouldn’t everyone you used the voice on just think that you’re their baby?” Glitch asked. “You’d just start city wide Amber Alerts and brawls over people wanting their baby back. Circe sat up and immediately regretted it. The mess couldn’t spread much further than it already had, but being right underneath it was uncomfortable. “It’s far more subtle and nuanced than that, dear,” she condescended, trying to sound wider than she looked. “My illusions are dependent on the individual viewing them, but there’s always a measure of context involved. I tricked all of your security staff into thinking I was Chuck with just a little bit of cyan. I highly doubt he’s the only jackass in their mundane collective lives, just the one that made the most sense in the context of a lab break in.” Stupidly, Glitch began to pace away from the crib. Circe’s time was approaching, she could feel it. “Interesting. So while you can’t influence people precisely, if you know and can account for different circumstances of their psychology you can more readily predict what reactions they’ll have. That’s why historically your illusions are more precise outside of violent confrontation where you have the luxury to control the circumstances and environment.” “Precisely, my dear sidekick.” Circe was disappointed to see that the cyborg didn’t so much as flinch. “Sometimes all it takes is for me to establish myself for one mark to see me as the love of his life, his lady in red, and then when we’re together…” Glitch finished the thought. “Everyone else would still see you as a tempting seductress but infer the connection between you and your latest boy toy. They might see different physical traits that they themselves would lust after, but they’d be more inclined to lust after you from afar due to societal pressures.” “Now she’s getting it,” Circe grinned. If she didn’t kill this brat, maybe she would make a worthy adversary. There was nothing inherently wrong with helping the next generation of heroes get their trial by fire. Coming of age stories were their own forms of mythologies. “ All I’d need is to establish someone as my Daddy-” “Or Mommy,” Glitch interrupted. “Or Mommy,” Circe conceded, “and then there’s a good chance that everyone would see me as someone else’s adorable little girl to be admired, fawned over, and then ignored when it came time for serious stuff.” “Interesting…” Circe didn’t hear the intense curiosity in Glitch’s voice. She was busy poking and broadening at the off-white swollen padding taped to her hips. “I wonder what would happen if I wasn’t wearing this,” she thought out loud. “Would I be seen as a four or five year old? Young and adorable but potty trained?” “Why does that matter?” Glitch’s eyes were still doing an unknowable number of computations. “Besides not wanting to pee in front of an audience?” Circe asked. “The illusion only goes so far, honey. I don’t know if you noticed with all that wiring in your cranium, but kids are dressed very differently from adults depending on their age. A little girl might be in a ball gown to dress like the grown-ups, but a thong is still a thong and that sends up red flags. What if someone went to check me or change me and realized that the diapers they bought from the store don’t come close to fitting? I might need to invest in a whole new wardrobe to pull these types of operations off and not get caught as soon as bathroom matters.. Is Lolita fashion still a thing? “I wouldn’t worry about it,” Glitch smirked. Presently, the superhero was near the middle of the laboratory turned nursery. More than enough for Circe to charge in and attack. Upgrades or not, Circe had fought Techno-Glitch’s mentor and predecessor- enough times to know about weak spots and defenses. Her bones could be reinforced with Titanium; it wouldn’t protect the joints. Noses could be broken, digitized camera eyes could be clawed out and wind pipes could be torn open with teeth. The Siren sighed theatrically. “Me neither. You know what else I wouldn’t do?” “What’s that?” “Hand me a datapad with an ‘Extract’ link.” She felt a surge of adrenaline and triumph pressing down on it. “Ha!” That triumph was short-lived. Robotic hands dropped down from the ceiling, snaking and twining around Circe’s waist and hoisting her up, up,up and over the crib bars. Her bare feet struggled and dangled in the air and the full weight of her very loaded diaper tugged down at her hips. “What?! Hey!” Slowly, like a ride at a theme park, Circe was being railroaded over to the giant changing table. Glitch clicked her tongue and shook her head knowingly. “Circe, baby: do you really think I’d hand you the keys to your own freedom that easily? I just wanted to see what variables were needed to get you to act.” “But the button said…!” “It’s basic coding,” Glitch shrugged. “Appearances can be deceiving. I thought you would already know that.” She flashed a mean spirited grin at Circe. “Or maybe appearances aren’t that deceiving and there’s a reason why you took to the pink sound so quickly…” “Mother fucking bitch cunt twat waffle cyborg asshole dyke mother fucker!” Circe added in several more colorful euphemisms that would have meant a duel to the death in ancient Greek, even the literal translation wasn’t so impactful in these overly modern times.. Sadly, colorful or not, the only color coming out of her mouth was babygirl pink. Glitch hissed and sucked in her breath through her teeth. “Ooops. Shouldn’t have done that, baby girl.” The changing table up against the wall on Circe’s left started to slowly drift away. “This place is automated and has voice identification.” “What the-?!” Circe whipped her head to the right. Up from out of the ground, a large padded lump raided up out of the ground. It was obviously cushioned and padded, but not nearly big enough for a full grown adult to comfortably lay across. It looked similar to one of those pommel horses that gymnasts used but without the handle bars on either end. “Glitch, what are you doing, what’s going on?” Glitch crossed her arms. “You activated the program and then said a bad word. Naughty actions have consequences here.” The supervillain was lowered across padded pommel horse, with the mechanical tendrils not releasing her until its compatriots had sprung up from the floor and secured her by the wrists and ankles. “Naughty? Why are you talking like that?” A mechanical whirring sound made Circe’s ears twitch. If she turned her head she could just barely see a positively massive paddle, the kind used in fraternity college movies, rise up behind her. More easily in her view was a group of scientists on the other side of the window taking notes on datapads. A saccharine sweet voice came over speakers hidden discretely inside the ceiling. “Baby said a bad, bad word. Naughty naughty! Mama spank!” Spank? WHACK! The paddle clapped into her diapered backside, causing Circe to shrink pink in surprise. WHACK! Again it thundered into her. The padding absorbed most of the impact, but she felt the slightest uncomfortable itch. She’d been sitting and sleeping in her mess for quite a while. A rash was likely forming, and the impact and pressing up against the soiled undergarment wasn’t helping. WHACK! WHACK! The paddle was picking up speed, smacking into her with increasing force with every blow. It was starting to hurt, and it wasn’t just because of the rash that she was developing. “Ow!” Circe winced. “Glitch stop!” WHACK! WHACK! “Baby said a naughty word! What a bad, bad naughty little baby!” The message came from above her, prerecorded, but still in Glitch’s voice nonetheless. “Baby needs to say ‘Sorry Mama!” WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! Speed and power increased. It was genuinely hurting. The paddle moving by inches in between smacks so that the impact would be spread out. WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! The backs of her thighs were being lit up, too. Circe started to struggle and kick. The restraints holding her gave her only enough gift so that she could wriggle her arms and legs, impotently kicking and thrashing. “Glitch! Stop it!” The ex-sidekick stood firmly with her hands on her hips and a satisfied close lipped grin on her face. WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! Her ass was on fire and her head was shaking between each volley. She was letting out little pink yelps with each concussive blow and each sting against her flesh. She turned her head to the side and saw men and women in lab coats jotting something down between squeaks and screams of pain. They seemed particularly interested when they caught a glimpse of Circe’s watering eyes. This was cruel and unusual punishment at its finest. Glitch cocked her hip to the side and pointed towards the ceiling. “Don’t talk to me, talk to her!” “Baby said a naughty word! Bad! Bad! Baby!” WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! “Who?!” The words were just coming out pink. Circe couldn’t help it. She was in increasing pain and far too much humiliation to properly control her vocal chords. Anything beyond the normal range of human hearing would simply leap out of her and then be transmuted to that damned pink. WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! The program running the spanking machine clued her in. “Say ‘Sorry Mama!” Circe clenched her jaw and ignored the tears leaking out of her eyes. She would not say that. She would not give glitch or these stupid labcoats the satisfaction. She didn’t care that she’d been reduced to nothing more than a squirming toddler over her Mommy’s knee. “NO!” WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! The spanking was turning into a pummeling. Circe could swear she was feeling the bruises on her thighs and backside start to form and swell. She was having trouble catching her breath; her entire skin felt like it was on fire from the rush of endorphins alone! “This can be all over when you say it’s over,” Glitch called. “Bad bad naughty little baby! Say ‘Sorry Mama’! “NOOOOOOOOO!” The tears were in free fall down Circe’s face and snot bubbled up out of her nose. Over twenty years of villain going down the drain now that she was being treated like a stupid two year old that had spoken out of turn. Just like back home… WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! To say that Circe was behind pain would have been a lie. She felt every stinging impact more than before. But something in the Siren’s spirit cracked if not broke. She’d stopped kicking and struggling. She drew breath only to cry out and stopped wailing in anguish only when she ran out of breath and needed to inhale. The inhalations were the worst part. All the pain of impact with none of the release of screaming. "Say ‘Sorry Mama’!” Even Glitch was beginning to look uncomfortable. “Circe! Say it! Safeword out!” “SORRY MAMA!” Her sobbing continued, even though the paddle machine stopped on a dime. “I’m sorry Mama!” Her body racked itself with sobs and her chest hurt from screaming so much; quite an accomplishment given that she screamed as a form of combat. “I’m sorry Mama. Sorry Mama. Sorry. Sorry Mama.” Circe kept saying it with every breath, in whispers and inhales. She felt the wetness in her hair and forehead. She’d broken out into a sweat. The tendrils snaked down from the ceiling and lifted her up like a ragdoll or a broken puppet. The parade of shame stopped right in front of the young superheroine. She reached up and gently stroked the side of Circe’s face. “You did good,” she said. “You had the power to stop it the whole time. You just had to decide that your pride wasn’t worth what you were being put through.” Circe opened her mouth to give a hearty ‘fuck you’ to her captor, but thought better of it. She settled for a “I hate you so much.” It came out breathy and exhausted and weak and pink; just like Circe. Glitch ignored the declaration and inspected Circe’s padded backside. “If this diaper wasn’t ruined before, it is now. Held up pretty well, though. The spanking mechanism worked extremely well.” Circe could hear the self-satisfied congratulations in Glitch’s tone. She yelped, feeling a cold finger prod at her thighs. She’d had throw downs with Power Guy that left her feeling less sore. “Yikes, that’s a mark.” Glitch noted. Circe moaned pathetically feeling the younger woman poke and prod at her bruises. “Will have to adjust that during the changing sequence.” Glitch walked back around. She had regained that cocky look in her eyes that the Siren inside of Circe wanted to devour. “Fun fact, that was supposed to be a bare bottomed spanking, but the nursery’s A.I. detected the full diaper and left it on you as a result” More digits streamed across the woman’s pupils. “And I want to say the spanking reduced impact after your heart rate reached a certain level. Damn, I’m good!” The supervillain noticed that no tendrils snaked out to take her to a giant spanking knee. The pommel horse was already descending back into its hidden floor compartment. “Why are you doing this to me?” Circe asked, perhaps sincerely for the first time. “To see if this works,” Glitch replied. She stepped away out of arm's reach. “Computer, resume changing.” With all the power and gentleness of a mother elephant the mechanical tendrils took Circe’s limp body to the nursery’s changing table. Unlike its predecessor earlier this morning, there was no mistaking this one’s intended purpose. The sturdy wood was painted a soft eggshell white with with a concave padded mattress that made it more difficult to roll in. Not that Circe could roll. The moment her sweaty ragdoll body was laid out on the table, more restraints leapt out from the table and pinned her arms down to the sides and kept her shoulders square to the mat. The wood outside was only for aesthetic, as was the low railing meant to keep an actual giant infant from accidentally taking a plunge. “Don’t want my snuggly little baby to fall out,” the pre-recorded voice cooed at her. It was so jarring hearing Glitch’s prattling from both a machine while the woman herself was standing twenty feet away. “Oh, such a stinkle little baby. Mama will clean you up so you can get back to playing!” The sound quality was jarring, too. It sounded like another version of Glitch was right beside her, hovering over her and cooing at her like she was a silly toddler. No doubt those same sound systems Circe had been hoping to steal were placed throughout this mock nursery. “Quit playing games you-!” Another pacifier came up between her lips. Circe prepared to scream and bite down for the bulb to comically inflate just like last time, but the inflation never happened. A motorized whirring drew her attention and a mobile over her head started spinning. The mobile was nothing special: just some dangling preschool shapes: squares, circles, triangles, stars and the like, just like occasional stencils in the wall. But when it turned a flash of bright pink light strobed into Circe’s eyes. Mechanical hands came out and lifted Circe’s legs up by the ankles. “Baby made a poopy in her pants, didn’t she?” The Siren winced and sucked on the pacifier while the hand pressed itself into her ruined padding. “Yes she did! She wettums too! Soaked and soggy! Much too little to be ready for potty training!” Circe didn’t need the pink strobe light to make her face rosey red. “Let’s get Mama’s little bun bun cleaned up!” Her legs were lowered back down. RIIIP! RIIIIP! RIIIIIP! RIIIIIIIP! One by one the tapes of the over-large children’s diaper came off, each rip of a tape of the plastic backing was a needle scratch on the record of Circe’s confidence and feelings of adulthood. As the diaper was peeled back, Circe chose to look up into the flashing, blinding, mobile instead of down at the trainwreck below her waist. “Peeeee-yew!” The changing table said. “Where did baby put it all? Don’t worry, sweetie. Mama will fix and make it all better!” Circe wanted to yell, either at Glitch or her demeaning contraption but sucked on the pacifier instead. If Glitch knew that she’d accidentally given the supervillain a real pacifier instead of an infantilized gag, she might correct that error. The lights strobed down, the mobile spun, and Circe sucked on the paci while the machine went to work. Up, up, up, her legs went, and baby wipes came to gently cleans her backside, between her legs, and atop her mound. “This is the way, we wipe the bum, wipe the bum, wipe the bum,” a machine with Glitch’s voice sang almost tunelessly. “This is the way we wipe the bum, because the baby made a mes-sy!” She would save her screams. She would suck and act pacified. This wasn’t her moment. Her moment would come. The new diaper was unfolded quickly enough and slid underneath her hips, but the Siren’s legs were not lowered until they smeared with a numbing rash cream that felt heavenly on her thrashed bottom and thighs. The pink strobing lights vanished, but only because her eyes rolled back into her skull momentarily from relief. Even her moans of relief came out pink. She tried to hold her breath, when the baby powder was dusted all over her, but keeping the pacifier in her mouth was no small task, forcing her to inhale the altered stuff, breathing in the calming chemicals. The mobile and the strobing stopped in time for Circe to crane her neck and see that the nice new clean diaper that was being taped around her hips had a cartoon giraffe on it. The task complete, the restraints left Circe and the various tendrils and mechanical appendages vanished into whatever extra dimensional holding space super science had manufactured for them. Circe spit out the pacifier and lolled her head to face her captor. “Why did you do this?” Circe asked. Glitch leaned over her and smiled down. “Your powerset and psychology are presenting me with numerous unprecedented opportunities. It would be a waste not to test it.” “You made a giant babysitting machine for me because of my voice powers?” Glitch shook her head, but seemed no less pleased with herself. “No. Not for you silly. This actually started out as an automated nursery prototype for actual childcare. It didn’t work out. Actual children are too fragile for my restraint systems. Adults seem to work rather nicely.” Muscles still aching and not ready for a counter attack- her body practically wouldn’t let her- Circe exhaled. “You kept a rejected invention fully stocked with…with…” Circe tapped the giraffe on her new diaper. “Just in case you caught me? “Pffft, no.” Glitch waved the question off. “I was actually trying to capitalize on it by marketing it to fetish conventions.” Circe felt uncomfortable enough right then that she wished she hadn’t spit out the dummy. She settled for sucking on her teeth. “Waste not want not.” “That explains the spanking machine. And the diapers.” She thought more. “Everything really.” She supposed that explained why these recordings had Glitch’s voice programmed in. A home project wouldn’t need a professional voice actor until the final stretch. “Thanks for letting me test it.” Glitch said. Circe closed her eyes and pretended she was just naked instead of diapered and pigtailed. “You’re welcome. Can I please just go to jail now?” “No.” “No?!” “We’ve got more experiments to run.” She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn't. This isn’t how Circe was going to break. The great Siren would not cower. “You think you can break me, brat?” “No.” The young super scientist booped Circe on the nose. “I think I can fix you. Make it so that you’re both happy and no longer a threat to society.” No chance. No chance in Tartarus. “Do your worst then, upstart. Let’s get started.” Looking at the mischievous grin on her captor’s eyes, Circe knew her bladder was well and truly empty. If it hadn’t been, Circe would have felt her fresh dry diaper grow sopping wet for sure. “I already have.”

bump

Siren’s Swan Song (Part 1) Circe Castallanos walked along the city sidewalks humming to herself, looking for her first target. What fresh havoc to sew? More importantly, was it worth it? If she picked the right mark, she’d be having a little petty fun and practice at warming up her powers. If she picked the wrong one, some detective in tights would bust her before her grand plan even got underway. It’d been half-a-decade since she’d last tried to use them for anything more than getting a free meal or a bed. Were she just starting out on the meta-scene, that wouldn’t have been too bad. She technically had never worked a day in her life. All she had to do was sing a little ditty into some fool’s ear and she’d have them under her spell for up to twenty-four hours. Free meals. Free beds. Free clothes. It all came straight to her like sailors crashing on the rocks. Being the reincarnation of the mythical Sirens had its perks. If she was smart and random, and didn’t victimize too many high rollers back to back, she could live extremely comfortably and quietly if not lavishly. Singing “Let me in my love” in tones of deep purple could get her a penthouse for a night or two, as long as she jumped into another random person’s car when she was done and sing “Take me away from here” in sultry reds to relax in a modest but well furnished house in the suburbs. If she needed money to acquire something discreetly, singing in golds about “Cash cash cash” to her mark did the trick. Singing “I’ll have the chef’s special tasting menu and a souffle for dessert,” directly from the menu in earthy greens used to be enough to get her supper, but that was getting more difficult in an age where crowds recorded buskers and performers with cell phones. The Siren’s powers didn’t work through recordings. That was a drawback of being gifted a powerset invented before the phonograph was invented. The magic and colors of her songs didn’t translate through recordings. It didn’t count in the same way that Medusa’s reflection didn’t count. Such were the limitations of the Siren’s powers. At least Circe didn’t need a microphone to amplify her voice. Her singing could fill a stadium and her battle shrieks could shatter glass. Wagyu beef and Champagne were not worth the attention having to entrance an entire restaurant worth of people and the attention that brought with it. Same for going viral online when a French speaking monkey, a datamancer, and a psychic with touch based pre and post cognition learned you were recently at a famous bistro or burger joint. A garden variety speedster could be on the spot and cold cock her before she finished her meal if she was noticed too soon. She was mighty and powerful, but the world was filled with heroes who could triumph over the perils of the Odyssey and Heracles’s labors in an afternoon. Surprise, discretion, and anonymity were her allies. The mortal part of her understood that and was responsible for her greatest successes. The Siren part of her was another matter entirely. Unfortunately, as the reincarnation of the legendary sultry bird women who dashed sailors on the rocks, Circe was essentially a living story. She had certain urges that could be delayed or worked around, but never completely ignored. The Sirens of yore were dangers, but they were known dangers; tantalizing dangers that the foolhardy did not prepare for and even the wise and cautious were tempted by. To Circe’s Siren soul, being defeated or overcome was nothing compared to being forgotten. At forty-five, she’d been defeated many times over. She had a nearly three decade career as a “supervillain” so of course that was going to happen, but she’d had some good times too. She was briefly the true ruler of a small Southeast Asian nation; had brought all of West City to the brink of collapse fighting over her, and started a cult that had gotten very close to gaining official religious protections. The trick to that particular one had been that the people under her songs’ spells never saw her but instead whatever person or thing would get the desired emotional reaction she wanted. A few layers of protection made it nearly impossible for her to be tracked down The cult trick had been ten years ago, however. Presently, she was forty-five,and feeling it in the worst way. Her looks were fading, her hair had turned silver, and her three options for shelter at any given time was prison or a place she’d stolen. That was great in her twenties. Fine in her thirties. Would she be like this in her fifties? Sixties? Did supervillains even make it to seventy? The Siren would not be denied, however. And finding her name in an article entitled “Thirteen Formerly Fearsome Supervillains You Won’t Believe Are Still Alive!” had been the last straw. The part where it said her greatest weakness was earplugs stung particularly badly. It was time. She had to act! To remind the world that she was still here and to be feared! “Run awaaaaaaay,” She whispered into a passerby’s ear, her haunting melody tinted yellow with fear. “I’m coming for you.” The man in suit and tie dropped his briefcase and dashed away screaming away. She’d timed it just right so that his panicked retreat caught the attention of the sheep around her instead of the source. Pretending to be one of them, Circe followed their gaze towards the man’s retreating form. There was a brown wet blotch forming on the seat of his pants. Her lips curled inward to hide the satisfied smile. “Still got it,” she said to herself. She wondered what the man saw. It was so hard to tell when they weren’t coherent to talk. The heroes were easy enough to guess at. You do enough super-brawls and revenge plots and it’s easy to guess what will push a body’s buttons. Circe remembered the time she sang “Help Me!” blotted with morbid black. Every single member of the Sentinels immediately fell under the delusion that she was a loved one or a sidekick at death’s door and started fighting each other to save her. Every. Single. One: Uber; The Owl; Glamazon; Techno; Blitz; Neptunia; Emerald Archon. What a glorious day that had been! How she’d loved tormenting the Sentinels and their ilk! Those were the days. Days that would start again very very soon Circe didn’t know if it was because she was a genuine misanthrope and thus loved tormenting virtue signaling, false piety loving heroes in general, or whether her Siren’s soul just loved torturing demigods. Frankly, she didn’t much care. The only thing Circe cared about was getting her fix and making sure these peons remembered her name! One long inhale and a determined sigh a second later and the Siren had steeled herself. A flick of her wrist and a snap of her wrist would transmogrify her plain jain jeans and orange blouse into her single piece skin tight nigh indestructible hydra skin suit. She looked down at her waist. Her suit used to be a two piece, but it was getting harder to hide her tummy. She wasn’t flabby, she just didn’t have the body that she used to. A moment of vanity made her consider fanning some of the scales out like fringe on a salsa dress, just in case. Hydra skin was good like that. Circe was about to start the day off right by causing a mass panic, being seen long enough to take credit and then disappearing into the masses, when she noticed that her warm up act had left behind a briefcase. No one had so much as bothered to pick it up. The milling crowd on the busy city sidewalk simply stepped over and around it, too self-absorbed in whatever was going on in their short and meaningless lives. “Excuse me,” Cicrce muttered, shoving and sliding her way through the nameless masses. Curiosity overcame her and she felt compelled. That or maybe she was stalling. Afraid. A Has-Been. Nope. It was definitely the other one. Definitely the compulsion. The super-villainess scooped the briefcase up into her arms and slinked to an alley. A common mugging was slightly beneath her., but only slightly. There amongst the dumpsters and the rats, she opened up the briefcase and peered at the documents inside. Nothing but papers and designs for something. Patents. NDA’s. Copyrights. Boring business stuff, but also something more on the technical side. Something…something…? The Siren’s eyes widened as she flipped through the patents in the businessman’s suitcase. “What…do we…have here?” And the more she read, the more she understood. And what she understood the most was that she wasn’t going to be doing a simple street level riot performance. She was going to melt back into the shadows and wait for night to fall. And after tonight, the Siren would be well on her way back to the top, better than ever. ****************************************************************************************************** That night: A.S.T.R.A.L Labs. Long after the doors had been shuttered and locked and all the lights turned off, the Siren made her move. In full, green scaled regalia, Circe walked up to the back entrance of the sleek and polished multi story building. During the day, the one way mirror glass plating made the research facility look like a bright and shining beacon that could be seen for miles around. At night, the glass took on a darker, bleaker, more obsidian color. It was also supposed to be shatterproof. Circe smirked. “Let’s test that, shall we?” She took a deep breath and screeched: “OPEN SESAMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” She didn’t need to say anything, there was no hypnotic magic woven into it. It just felt appropriate. The difference between a supervillain and a common one was presentation. She did feel a little dirty about quoting from Arabian Nights, mostly because the reference was from the wrong set of stories and culture. That didn’t matter. Her scream was The panel closest to her cracked like a lollipop tossed on the ground. Alarms blared and buzzed in howling cacophony that made Circe want to flinch. Instead, one foot in front of the other like a model in a catwalk she strut forward with her hands on her hips. The token security guards rushed forward from the front. Fit young things in white and black full body jumpsuits. Simpletons looked less like private law enforcement and more like glorified janitors. “Stop right there!” One of them shouted before reaching for his holster. Poor things weren’t issued guns, but had to make due with silly crossbreeds of billy clubs and tasers. They’d never get the chance to use them. One of the others, a guard with a bit of a gut and some gray in his temples gasped. “Hold up! Stop!” He yelled. “That’s the Siren!” His calls were almost completely muted by the wailing alarms. “Cover your ears! Get the ear-!” He didn’t finish the sentence in time. His comrades couldn’t hear him clearly, and Siren was more than loud enough to drown out every other noise. “FALSE ALAAAAAAAAAARM! GOTCHA! FAAAAAAAAALSE ALARM NO NEEEEED TO WORRY!” Overpowering, enrapturing, and above all very very loud, the Siren’s playfully cyan call reached out to every year in the building above street level. The lead guard, the one with the gut, took out a control pad and punched in a few codes. The buzzing stopped abruptly, and all the of the guards slumped their shoulders and shook their heads. “Chuck, you asshole!” The head guard on duty said. “You had us scared half to death!” The others were already muttering to themselves and walking away. Circe managed a shrug and guilty looking smile. “Sorry boss,” she said. “I guess I just got a little carried away.” “I oughta fire your ass for this,” he scowled. “Yeah, Chuck!” One of the other guards returning to their post grunted. He slapped his compatriot upside the back of his head. “Way to screw around dickweed!” His coworker rubbed the back of his head and flinched away. “Yeah,” he chuckled. “I really do suck sometimes.” He thumbed backwards to where a most bemused Siren stood. “Pretty funny though, you gotta admit. How the hell did I manage to get all the way over there and be here at the same time?” “How the fuck should I know?!” Evidently, Chuck was something comparable to the night shift’s resident cut up. Another benefit of her hypnotic songs is that the suggestions didn’t regularly have to make any common sense whatsoever. Siren shrugged again, lowered her voice to a suitably ‘manly’ tenor and said, “Sorry, boss.” “You better be sorry,” The head guard scowled. “Now go clean this shit up!” He finally walked away, leaving the Siren smirking at her own cleverness. “Well that was amusing,” Circe said to herself. It was too, almost like a bit of roleplay before the hot stuff really got going. Or more innocently, a fun game of pretend. Either worked for this metaphor. “Now to get down to business.” The business at hand was, of course, larceny. By sheer coincidence, her terror mark earlier that day had been a lawyer of some kind working for A.S.T.R.A.L. labs. In his briefcase she found the very basic designs for a new type of sound transmitter, one that specifically mimicked the human voice box and throat. Instead of electronic speakers that blasted out digitized sounds, the synthetic muscles inside would perfectly replicate any recorded voice. Okay for music. Good for cybernetic and prosthetic advancement. Great for Circe. Perfect for the Siren. If she could have something that perfectly replicated her voice in every facet, the range of control she could exert would be virtually limitless. If she could record and recreate her voice instead of broadcasting it, all of her technical limitations would be overcome. She could leave mesmeric songs all over the place hours ahead of time like hypnotic time bombs. She could record herself serenading someone a song of worship and put it on loop at key locations. With this kind of technology, Circe could do what no one in her field had ever done: She could take over the world! The high heels of her costume clicked against the tile. She waved herself by security, smiling placidly and pretending to be a very repentant Chuck while heading towards the elevator. All the good experiments were kept in a sub basement deep beneath the city. It was practically an open secret. The elevator dinged open. “Stop right there, Siren!” Circe rolled her eyes. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Right in front of Circe was another superhero. A new one; one she didn’t recognize right off the bat. She was a young black woman with short cropped hair that blinked white light at different points along her skull, and the glowing tattoos on her arm resembled a circuit board. A cyborg of some kind. The belt and wristbands with compartmentalized segments suggested a hint of gadgeteer. “Who the hell are you supposed to be?” “Wait. Seriously?” The other woman said. “You don’t remember me? I’m Glitch.” The Siren put a hand to her cheek. “Glitch? Techno’s sidekick?” There was no way that was Glitch. “Aren’t you twelve?” The younger woman looked offended. “I was the first time you kidnapped me. I’m twenty-two.” Oh god that made her feel so old! Nevermind! Push that thought aside. A terrible smile blossomed on the Siren’s face. “Ten years as a sidekick. Not a bad run. Techno’s going to need a new sidekick after tonight.” “He’s already got one,” Glitch replied. “I beg your pardon?” Siren asked flatly. Was this some kind of joke? “I’m a full fledged hero now. Doing my own thing. Techno got a new sidekick. Their name’s Binary, which is kind of ironic since-” “Be the love of my liiiiiiife.” Siren belted out to the young hero and hot crimson. A super hacker or a cyborg would be a good thing to have in her back pocket when robbing this place. Why not make her a love slave? Instead of fawning over her and showering her with affection, Glitch just stood there. “Yeah. About that.” She tapped one ear, one eye, and then her head. “Had a couple upgrades since last time. I’m more wired up than techno, just most of the hardwear is internal. I’m hearing and seeing all this, but there’s so many gadgets and gizmos in my brain that I’m basically perceiving you through a camera. “I’m basically immune to your schtick.” Shit. She thumbed back towards the guards. “Are they?” A quick deathly sing of “Security Breeeeeach!” It worked on the Sentinels. It would work on these mooks. They might not stop the hero, but they could hold her off and inconvenience her long enough for a sonic blast. “Chuck?!” They screamed, and drew their batons. “CHUUUUUUUUCK!” Well, looks like Chuck was as beloved as much as he was derived. Good for Chuck. “MEEEEEEEEEEEE!” The men charged forward as Siren sidestepped out of the way. “BE THE LOVE OF MY LIIIIIIIFE.” Pure and lustful and red the melody came out as intense as the first time and much, much, louder. The goons froze and stared slack jawed and drooling with passion and lust. Circe was used to seeing that look in people. But they weren’t looking at her, and with good reason: That song hadn’t come from her lips at all. The men were all looking goo-goo eyed not at Siren, but at Glitch. “Huh,” the younger hero smiled. “That worked just how I thought it would. Neat.” She turned her gaze to meet the Siren’s. “Thanks for letting me try that out.” Circe froze; stunned and shocked “How?” she stuttered. “How…how did a little brat like you…manage to do… that…?!” Without further banter, a bola shot out of the hero’s right gauntlet, spinning through the air and wrapping itself right around Circe’s throat. The Siren gasped for hair, feeling like there was a noose wrapped around her neck that had been improperly tied. If she hadn’t been so bewildered at someone using her own powers against her, the Siren might have thought to use a sonic shout to stop the projectile in its path and bust out whatever fancy equipment was in the ex-sidekick’s body. Too bad. So sad. Too late. Her hands clutched at her neck, trying to rip the cord from around her throat. Defeated again, before she even had the chance to set any kind of brilliant or chaotic plan into motion. By a sidekick no less. How humiliating. Circe Castallanos didn’t know the half of it. “Brat, huh?” Glitch said. “You just gave me an idea.” The Siren tried to sing or scream or at least give a sufficiently monstrous reply. All that came out was gargled gasps. “This is gonna sting a little bit. Sorry.” Jinx pressed a button on her wrist gauntlet. The volts and jolts of electricity did not sting at all. The Siren was knocked out before she so much as consciously noticed anything painful. She’d wake up extremely sore, however. ************************************************************************* The Siren woke up on a cold metal slab, surrounded by hues of cobalt blue and foghat gray. Her entire body ached and her head felt fuzzy. Instinctively, she tried to sit up. That was how she realized that her arms and legs were restrained. She lifted her head and took full view of herself, completely naked. Her suit? Where was her hydra skin suit? It should be irremovable unless she willed it so. Where was she? Her mind began processing both past and present simultaneously. The plan to return to greatness that didn’t so much as get off the ground. The humiliating and sudden defeat at the hands of a sidekick. That was the past. Presently, she was in some kind of laboratory. It had to be a laboratory. Too many computers and screens and keyboards and what she assumed were fragile monitoring devices to be a holding cell. The lone entrance way had neither a laser grid nor the slight wavering crackle of a forcefield. There were none of the minor comforts or conveniences for it to be a medical facility or hospital. No mattresses or chairs. No sinks. No televisions. Scanning her body she found no evidence of I.V. bags or other basic medical equipment. Both a proper holding cell and a proper hospital would have someone nearby on guard for when she regained consciousness. Unless she wasn’t considered a threat… That intrusive thought, that single bit of half baked analysis almost sent Circe into a frothing rage. How dare she not be under strict monitoring conditions. She was Siren! THE Siren! She was a walking weapon! A threat to global security! Anything less than a gun directly to her head and a clear threat to her life should she so much as whisper was an insult! They would pay! They would PAY! Starting with that bitch, Glitch. Circe slowed her breathing and forced herself to calm down. Even her screams required a degree of breath control. She’d need her screams. She saw more than a few A.S.T.R.A.L. Labs logos in her immediate vicinity. She hadn’t been moved very far, then. There were no windows or outside source of light; only the ever buzzing fluorescent lights overhead illuminated the air. She was likely in one of the very sub-basement labs she’d been meaning to break into. Probably not the lab with the sound systems she’d planned on stealing, sadly. No one would be that utterly stupid. Her do-gooder captor was immune to Circe’s charms, but she could likely still scream her into oblivion or cause some major damage to all of this fragile equipment. Circe wasn’t sure how she could get out of her present restraints with that strategy. She’d shattered bones with her screams before. Could she break her own wrists and ankles to get out of the restraints? That seemed like a bad idea. The Siren in her didn’t much care about escape, per se. If need be this slab could be her rock in the middle of the sea of monsters again. Wreck the place apart and ensnare the fools that came to the rescue. Chances were that not enough time had passed for Glitch to alert the authorities and lacked a proper holding cell. Even if the heroes came at her call armed with earplugs, she could be satisfied at the damage she’d done. The point of being the reincarnation of a monster wasn’t specifically to win. Circe smiled, despite herself. She was breathing easily enough. Nothing was regulating or obstructing her airway. She licked her lips. Time to test out the equipment. “Hmmmm…” she let out a light hum to herself. Good. Her throat felt undamaged. Nothing rattled or made her want to choke. Nothing felt forced. “Time to bring the house down,” she said a little louder. Perfect. Now to follow through on that threat. She laid her head back and with a deep breath she took all the air she could into her lungs and screamed out as loud as she possibly could. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH?!” Circe ended the near deafening shriek on a rather confused note. Pink? Soft baby bootie girly girl pink? She’d never sang or screamed in that color before. Sophisticated rose pink, sure. Fun and bright poppy punk rock pink, yeah. But never pink-pink. Little girl pink? Baby bonnet pink? Training panties pink? Never. Never that color. She hadn’t meant to scream in any color whatsoever. She’d been going for pure volume. She tried again, and got the same result. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Another try. “WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH-AH-AH-AH-AH!” Circe was left gasping and slightly winded. She was trying to bring down this place like the Walls of Jericho; not…whatever this was. “What in the name of Tartarus?” The quiet sound of quick yet confident footsteps drew Circe’s attention to the entrance way. In walked the cybernetic superhero, with glowing circuit board tattoos beneath her skin and various points of her skull lighting up and shining through her hair. “Good morning,” Glitch said chipperly. “How are you feeling?” Over her more tactically minded form fitting jumpsuit that was so common for people in their specific line of work, Glitch wore a white lace apron with a pocket. “Let me out!” the Siren called. “Release me you little whelp!” “Subject has regained consciousness,” Glitch said. “Temperament; hostile. Cognitive faculties appear to be operational, and judgment such as it is unimpaired; or at least unaltered from previous encounters.” The comment into the upturned palm of her hand like it was some kind of recording device. If she’d gone the route of Techno, it very likely was. That was the problem with tech based heroes in Circe’s mind. They were never quite what they seemed. It was so…disingenuous. The blatant hypocrisy considering her own power set didn’t occur to her. “Glad that you’re awake.” “You’ll wish I wasn’t,” Circe sneered. “Let me go, you freak of science!” Glitch’s hair glowed and twinkled, but her face remained passive and preoccupied with whatever was going on with her hand. “Nope.” “Mark my words, girl, you have made a powerful enemy!” Glitch lowered her hand and seemed to consider the threat. “Objectively? Yes. Your abilities are quite formidable.” The Siren felt herself filling up with pride. Finally! Some acknowledgement! “You could do a lot of good with them if you wanted.” “I don’t,” Circe Spat. Her captor went on, ignoring it. “In this particular instance and circumstance, though? To me specifically? No. You’ve got nothing. Don’t feel bad, though. Most one-on-one super fights are about power compatibility and susceptibility over tactics or brute force. It’s rock paper scissors, and I’m your scissors.” Cicre picked her head up and screamed. “LISTEN TO ME!” More little girl pink notes sailed into the air. That was supposed to have taken the hero’s head off. “You didn’t really think that would work did you?” Glitch stood with one hand on her hip, head tilted and unblinking. Circe held her tongue, confused as to what was going on.. “Did you?” She didn’t know how to answer that question. She was more used to being on the other end of the hostage captor dynamic. And the younger woman’s unblinking, unafraid gaze was unsettling. It wasn’t angry or cruel, more annoyed than anything. Disappointed? It had been a long long time since anyone had ever looked at Circe that way. “Why is everything coming out pink?” she heard herself blurt out. Glitch righted her head and looked somewhat confused. “Pink? What do you mean pink?” Ugh,” Circe rolled her eyes indignantly. Had she not been restrained she would have crossed her arms. “My voice turns different colors depending on the songs I sing.” “Iiiiinteresting,” Glitch remarked. She leaned in closer. “So you’re saying that you perceive the different vibrational frequencies that your hypnotic songs produce through a form of synesthesia?” The Siren blinked, confused. “Um…” Glitch leaned in even closer. “When you sing do you see colors in the songs?” “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” The hero winced, slightly, but still had a head. Damn. “And that was pink to you?” The Siren felt her temper rising. “That was supposed to destroy you!” “I’m well aware. Was that pink?” “What did you do to me?” “Was that scream pink?” Circe allowed herself an indignant huff. “Yeah. Why?” “Good.” Glitch spoke again into her palm. “Sonic modulation is successful and working well within expected parameters.” “WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?” The supervillain hadn’t even tried to do a sonic scream or a hypnotic song that time. All she’d done was raise her voice and everything came out princess baby pink. Glitch lowered her palm. More flashes of blinking lights shone through her hair. Did that mean she was thinking or something; like a computer doing complex calculations? The kid used to wear a weird skater helmet back in the day. Circe had no idea. “Okay, I’ll catch you up to speed,” the hero finally said. A screen lowered down from the ceiling. “As you know, you mugged and stole designs from an employee of A.S.T.R.A.L. Labs.” High angle footage showed Circe’s deed replayed in front of her from the vantage point of a traffic light. “Based on your reaction, you didn’t know what you were stealing right off the bat, you just knew you were assaulting a Lab employee with a secure briefcase.” Circe hadn’t even known that much; not that she’d admit it. “Due to your innate understanding of sound waves and vocal chords,” Glitch lectured on, “you figured out what you were looking at and realized the potential for strategic power enhancements; hypnotic time bombs, subliminal messages played on loop and such. The only problem is you lacked the resources and technical expertise to build this yourself. How am I doing so far?” She took the Siren’s silence as a sign of how accurate her synopsis had been. Circe was treated to a replay of her break in. Sonic scream and false alarm and all. “So you decided to break in and steal the prototype yourself. What you clearly didn’t know is that A.S.T.R.A.L. Labs is my base of operations and that I invented the technology you were seeking to steal. So from the moment you stole that briefcase, you were on my radar and effectively walking into a trap.” “GRRRRRRRR..” Circe shoved her anger and her volume deep down inside herself. “Typical hero,” she spat. “You claim to be for the greater good, but you’re just as selfish as the rest of us.” Glitch fiddled with the lace apron straps. “Um…no? I’m inventing new technology to revolutionize broadcasting, communication, and hearing. You’re trying to sew discord and stuff. We are not the same.” “So you’re not getting paid?” Circe smirked, starting to enjoy the battle of words. She’d bait this girl into doing something stupid. “Not as much as I should be getting paid,” Glitch replied, “but yeah. Saving the world is pro-bono. I still need to eat.” “Spare me,” the Siren rolled her eyes. “Just send me to prison, already.” “Nope.” There was a pause. “No?” “Nope.” “WHAT DO YOU MEAN NO?” More pink! Why was it always pink?! Glitch put a finger to her temple and one of her irises turned bright blue like a computer screen booting up. “That scream was pink, too, wasn’t it?” Circe gave no response. Her face was enough of a tell. “Iiiiiinteresting. To answer your questions, your voice is coming out ‘pink’ because of the collar I put on you.” “What collar?” The television screen above her patched through to what could only have been the cyborg hero’s point of view. Around Circe’s neck was a delicately thin pink ribbon with a decorative heart shape in the middle; a choker of sorts. “This isn’t a standard power neutralizing collar.” It was so thin that she hadn’t noticed the foreign (and only) article of clothing until she saw it on the screen. The younger woman suppressed a proud grin. “Yeah. Nah. Those things are too bulky. Lowest bidder tech. You’d find a way to break it or pick the lock or something and break out.” This was true… Circe had been counting on that. “So, I made you a new one. Synthesized your hydra skin costume and got rid of the fire weakness. Oh yeah, apologies for burning up your hydra skin costume. It was the only way I could get it off of you while you were unconscious.” Hearing that her costume had been destroyed bothered her. It felt like more of a violation than just laying naked on a metal slab. ““LET ME GO!” Glitch ignored her and went on. “Thanks to the decades of data you’ve provided the superhero community, I’ve been able to isolate the unique frequency that your voice operates on when you’re singing or screaming. That little heart around your neck is constantly scanning and anytime it picks up something coming from you that is either too loud or too similar to your songs, it turns the sound ‘pink’ instead. Your sonic screams work on the same basic principle of sound manipulation, just kind of inverted, so it was easy enough to modify those too.” “Why pink?” Circe asked. “Couldn’t have you seducing everyone in earshot by turning into their crush or making them think you were a dying loved one, could I? I chose the vibrational frequency that would do the least damage.” “What does pink do?” A bit of confusion crossed Glitch’s face. “You don’t know?” “I mean… I know what it does, but do you? Did your data or calculations tell you the exact power of pink? Are you prepared for it?” Circe was both a fantastic liar and a godawful one. She’d grown so used to manipulating minds through her particular brand of magic that she’d all but forgotten how to bluff the old fashioned way. “You really don’t know, do you?” Glitch asked. “Heh. Heh-heh. You don’t know your own powers!” Glitch started to lose composure and began laughing quietly yet condescendingly. “You poor thing! Has all of your havoc through the years been the result of poor impulse control and guess work?” “SHUT UP!” The hero's eyes went pure white, glazed over and static filled. “Compiling all known data and running through psycho analytic profiling algorithm,” she said. Circe saw a glimpse of binary code flash by. Maybe even some two’s. One second later Glitch’s pupils came back and she gasped. “It has!” Glitch smacked her own forehead, seeming reminiscent of a teacher or nanny that finally understands a childish misconception. “You’re not a super villain, you’re a victim of your own lack impulse and insecurities!” She gave a full belly laugh, folding her hands over the pristine white apron and doubling over in hilarity. Stupid Glitch! Stupid ex-sidekick! Stupid know it all technology user! Stupid hero! Stupid..stupid…STUPID! “SHUT UP YOU BRAT!” The super-scientist stopped laughing, yet a smug, somewhat cruel smile remained. “Oh yeah. That. You calling me a brat gave me an idea…” The Siren suddenly did not like the look on her younger foe’s face. “All things considered, I think you’re the real brat, Circe.” Circe flinched at being called her real name instead of her proper title. What was more embarrassing, the Siren realized, was that she couldn’t return the insult. “I was going to just humiliate you before I dropped you off at the nearest police precinct with a note…or maybe the nearest metahuman preschool.” Preschool? What was that about? ”But the more I’m figuring out about you and your powers, the more opportunities I’m seeing for advancement.” “Do your worst,” the Siren sneered. “I was once imprisoned in the Hell Pits of Malboge!” “Yeah,” her captor said bluntly. “You were twenty three then, and haven’t grown from any of those experiences, successes, or defeats. I was looking to embarrass you. I’m not going to break you. I might actually end up helping you.” “You? Help me?” The supervillain scoffed. “Get real. How?” “For starters?” Glitch replied. “A new wardrobe.” Her arm tattoos lit up, buzzing almost as brightly as the fluorescent lights above, and the sounds of something just out of eyesight moving haunted Circe’s ears. “Fuck you!” Circe spat. She could feel the slab tilting back. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck yoooooou!” She tilted her head back as far as she could and rolled her eyes to see behind her. A panel in the floor had slid open, revealing only a deep dark hole with only empty blackness inside. In seconds she was hanging upside down at a forty five degree angle. “FUCK YOU!” “See you on the other side. Brat.” With a snap of her fingers, the restraints released, sending Circe sliding into the abyss. “FUCK YOOOOOOOU!” Down she plummeted, yet never did she achieve freefall. It turned out that the hole she’d been dumped in was dark, but not close to empty. Slipping and twisting and turning; corkscrewing backwards and forwards, Circe braced and gripped at the sides with everything she had but couldn’t get a grip. Friction was not on her side. Either this ramp was greased up beyond belief or it was made of a frictionless substance. Given where she was, she supposed the latter. The darkness was disorienting and her increasingly pinkish screams and gasps fell on deaf ears. She had no idea how long this insane roller coaster would last. A sudden sudzy splash, head first, gave the villain a new metaphor. “A water slide?” Circe’s lips drew back from her teeth. A bit of bitter, metallic tasting, almost burning liquid had slipped into her mouth. If this was a water slide, someone had gone overboard on the chlorine. She brushed her sopping silver hair out of her eyes, and cursed when she tried to open them. “Agh! Soap!” That explained the taste. A dry piece of terry cloth dabbed at her eyes and she was able to see. “Thanks,” she said accidentally. “I mean-!” But when her vision cleared there was no one in front of her. “Huh?” Lights snapped on, forcing the drenched and sudsy Siren to squint and force her eyes to focus. Looking back up at the slide, a ride that didn’t seem so hazardous now that she was at the bottom and could see- she estimated that she’d traveled only twenty-five to thirty feet vertically. She felt her skin take on a more pinkish hue. Speaking of pink, the walls around her were a kind of rosy salmon colored. Calming, gentle colors to the point of boredom. At about waist height, she noticed a white border going around the room’s perimeter. Stenciled in the border were simple shapes like circles, triangles, squares, stars, and hearts, all in the same calming salmon. Three of the four walls were solid, and other than the oddly childish border running along the middle, and an open doorway, they seemed fairly unassuming. The fourth wall wasn’t, with a pane of glass peeking out into a well lit hallway. It reminded Circe of the viewing glass window in a hospital’s newborn unit. Thankfully, no one was in the hallway. If they were, they would have seen her standing naked, waist deep in a large jacuzzi like vat with bubbles providing the only form of modesty. Modesty, at the moment, didn’t matter so much; escape did. The Siren made it three sloshing shuffling steps. Little did she know that right behind her, like a sea monster rising from the depths, a robotic manacle was rising up from the suds. Before she could so much as swing a leg over the rim of the tub, Circe heard and then felt a definitive click as.the massive steel cuff locked itself around her waist. “The fuck?” “Ah ah ah,” Glitch’s voice was piped in from an unseen speaker. “Don’t want you falling down. You could get hurt.” “Keep talking, brat…” Circe growled. “See what happens.” “Just relax. Enjoy your bath. Get pampered….” Circe didn’t understand the chuckle that followed. She would soon. The manacle around her waist dragged her splashing and screaming back to the center of the tub. Where the previous terry cloth had come from became immediately evident. Panels in the ceiling were coming down and robotic hands lowered from them armed with towels, wash cloths, and bars of soap to spare. The only thing they were missing was little white gloves. Right above the still unoccupied viewing window, An electronic sign came to life. “BATHING…” it read. “What is this?” Circe demanded. “A FUCKING CARTOON?” “No,” Glitch’s voice chimed back in. “Though cartoons would be very appropriate, all things considered.” The Siren would have dropped another F-Bomb, but a mechanical arm forced open her jaw so that another could shove a spare bar of soap into it. She tried to spit it out but the extra appendages held her arms down and the bar firmly pressed in. Trying not to retch her tongue retreated up and back to the roof of her mouth to keep her from either tasting or swallowing the stuff. The next few burbled screams came out as pink, too. Washcloths and towels whirled around her and scrubbed her skin just roughly enough to be uncomfortable at the intrusion. Shoulders, armpits, breasts, bellybutton, and behind her ears were all attended to; more sensitive and delicate areas were not spared. Simultaneously shampoo was massaged into her scalp and rinsed off. Some kind of advanced filtration system wicked the bubbles out of the pool as soon as they were rinsed off her body. The soap came out and she was allowed to wash her mouth with the last bit of rinse water falling atop her. A final spit almost banished the terrible taste. Almost. The water didn’t drain as much as it dropped out of the massive tub through fine grating on the bottom of the floor. Circe hadn’t felt the grating before. The bottom must have dropped out from underneath her with only grating left to hold her weight. “Wouldn’t a hose and delousing powder work better?” Circe complained. She was dripping and miserable. The air conditioning made her shudder, and she resembled less like a person and more like an alley cat that had gotten caught in a sudden downpour. WOOOOOOOOSH! In place of a smart aleck reply from the techno-brat, deafening gusts of hot air erupted out of the floor and blasted her hair up like Frankenstein’s Bride. A second blast from the ceiling pushed her hair back down. Fluffy towels came spinning and softly dabbed away the few remaining water droplets. The electric sign above the viewing window flashed. “Drying.” “Very funny.” Circe said. “You’re trying to teach me a lesson by putting me through a glorified car wash.” “Wait for it,” Glitch came in over the speakers. A buzzing noise signaled another change on the sign. “Hair styling?!” The mechanical appendages returned, now wielding scissors, spray bottles, razors, cream and curlers. The manacle on her waist held her fast, while terrible, invasive hands erupted from the floor to hold her legs and arms steady. “STAY THE FU-!” Circe started to scream. A bar of soap riddled with teeth marks lowered from the ceiling and she corrected herself before it was lodged back in. “Fuuuuuuudge!” “She’s learning!” Circe’s building anger and resentment at the know-it-all’s taunting were the only thing keeping her calm while the mechanical monstrosities cut, brushed, curled her hair. The cream and razors weren’t for her head. Not just her legs, either… When the job was done and everything was left, A full body mirror was transported in from a side panel. The only hair left on the Siren’s body was right on top of her head, and in place of her long seductive locks, were snowy curls that bobbed up and down around her ears and over her forehead. Every other follicle had been shaved down to a molecule with laser sharpened steel. “I look like a toddler!” she gasped. “Mmmmhmmm…” Glitch said. “Guess what’s next?” The styling arms ascended and another buzz from the sign above the viewing window drew Circe’s attention. “Diapering?!” This had to be a joke. There was no way the superhero was serious about this! Had to be a typo. That bitch couldn’t possibly- But she could. The mobile restraints lifted Circe into the air as easily as if she were a ragdoll and held her parallel to the floor until another slab raised up beneath her. Only the manacle around her waist released itself, and that was only so that a similar metal tendrel could wrap around her, securing her. The hands that had been lifting her were similarly traded out. This particular table was the same base rectangular shape as the one she awoke on, but was much softer. Not quite so soft as a bed, however. It was closer to the sturdy couches of a state mandated psychologist’s office or the massage tables of a five star resort she’d once sung herself into. This was neither of those things she realized. “Is that a diaper?” The Siren cried out looking at the ceiling. The hands had returned, and in them was a neatly folded, thick, fluffy, shining white plastic backed diaper. If she had any doubt about it, the bottle of baby powder and the jar of diaper rash cream sent the message home. “I AM NOT WEAR-!” The pacifier that zoomed in cut off the rest of her sentence. The moment the rubber bulb came into contact with Circe’s tongue it started rapidly inflating, filling her mouth until it was impossible to spit out, yet alone suckle on it. It was more akin to a ball gag with a cute little mouth guard and knob at the end. She looked down past her nose and caught a glimpse of lilypad green. At least it wasn’t pink… The massive diaper was unfolded and her legs were forced up by the tendrils keeping her restrained to the robotic changing table. She was helpless to resist. Of all the times that her legs had been hoisted up over her head (very few since she preferred cowgirl), this was by far the worst. The thick, smelly diaper cream had an unpleasant smell that reminded her of hospitals. Circe could only moan around her bulb, while the goop was pasted onto and between her cheeks. The cold yet dry baby powder that followed had a pleasant aroma that calmed her down. Her bottom was lowered down onto the diaper, and she became intensely aware of the thick padding that crinkled beneath her. Some extra powder was dusted on her now hairless mound and sprinkled onto her belly button for good measure. Inhaling more and more of the perfumed dust, Circe felt more and more of the fight go out of her. Her breathing slowed. Her fists unclenched. She stopped testing the strength of the restraints every three seconds. She was completely aware, but much of the fear and outrage and emotion was gone; numbed. The monster in her was silent and she became a curious observer in her own body. She lifted her head and examined herself as the diaper was brought up between her legs. An adult diaper, obviously, but…not? It had four tapes to accommodate her wider more womanly hips, but there was a childish decoration, a blue dog on the front. Only baby diapers had cute little decorations on them; likely so as to not repulse the poor parents tasked with changing them. No self-respecting adult would wear something this obviously infantile. Circe was beginning to wonder if she had such a thing as self-respect. “That’s right,” Glitch’s voice came back in. “Breathe deep, baby girl. Smells nice, doesn’t it?” Reluctantly, Circe nodded her head. “This should make the rest of the process go much smoother. I figured you were immune to pure hypnotism given your background, so I whipped up a little cocktail to help you relax. Nothing like a little aromatic chemical restraint.” Aromatic chemical restraint. Her mind, foggy as it was parsed the words out. The baby powder. She was being drugged. She should be afraid, the Siren realized, but couldn’t muster the effort. Better to just lay here. In her nice, snug, and comfy diaper. “Good girl,” the speakers whispered. “I’d leave you like this but you’re not likely to learn anything. Enjoy it while it lasts.” Joy, or any strong emotion was beyond Circe by the time the board changed to “Feeding” A bottle came down and the pacifier was removed. Circe’s slackened jaw did not try to resist the fresh nipple as it was inserted between her lips. Completely aware, but powerless to resist, she suckled lightly on the milk, letting it dribble and drip down into her mouth and swallowing. Dribbles and drips turned to trickles turned to gushes. Practically of their own volition, her lips started sucking and draining the overly large bottle while her belly extended. The rubber teat slipped out as easily as it had gone in and the last bits of milk leaked down the sides of Circe’s lips. The tendrils propped her up. She read the flashing sign. “Burping.” A foam paddle in place of a warm hand did the deed, patting her back up and down her spine until she inevitably burst. “BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARCHK!” The hands came down a final time to lift the diapered and bloated woman up into the air and deposit her in a newly arrived crib. The pacifier found its way back into her mouth, but didn’t inflate so much that it hurt the second time. The sign flashed one final word that Circe was able to read. “Nap.” Nap? Already? Well…alright. She felt uncomfortably full. Sleep would dull the sensations, no doubt. Something must have been in the milk. The viewing window rushed by Circe while an unseen force propelled the adult sized crib through the singular doorway. On the other side of the threshold was a room very similar to the one she’d existed, but much less sparsely decorated. She caught sight of a giant highchair, a large baby bouncer and of course, a more proper looking changing table with shelves stacked full of the same babyish print diapers that she now wore. It still had the same salmon colored paint job and preschool level shapes stenciled in along the border. Her ever dimming view was cut off by Glitch. “Welcome to the nursery, bratty baby girl.” Circe finally understood the frilly white apron: Major nanny vibes. The younger hero stared at her wrist. “Everything should be kicking in about three…two…one…” Circe’s knees bent and raised up to her stomach. Without meaning to, she felt herself start to push. The once feared villainess was passing muffled farts and more. Warm, mushy stool shot out of her and into the back of her once clean diaper, causing it to balloon out slightly to accommodate. She was pooping but too stoned to care. Her bladder finally relaxed for good measure, soaking the padding between her legs and mingling with the mess for a moment before being completely absorbed. “Right on time,” Glitch said. “Go ahead,” she coaxed. “Sleep. The bottle and the powder should conk you out for an hour or two. Rest up. You’ll need it.” Rest. Yes. That sounded good. And this crib and these ‘clothes’ felt oddly comfortable, even in their current state. “Okay everyone,” Glitch called. “Experiment complete. Cloaking fields off.” Circe managed to see the viewing window to the giant nursery fill with the blinking forms of a dozen or so scientists in white lab coats deactivating personal invisibility devices. Her complete and total degradation had been witnessed and likely documented by those pathetic sheep. Sleep was now more than a relaxing suggestion, but a much needed emotional retreat inside herself. She woke up, Circe promised herself, she’d find a way to get out of this and make Glitch pay. Glitch, that upstart. That brat. That….that….that…

I appreciate the discussion, but it's veering too far away from its initial purpose. I am asking for anyone who wants to discuss the merits of historical morality to continue it elsewhere. The next time I post in this thread I would hope for it to be another chapter.

You know what? Fair enough. That Edison one was probably a bad example. Though from what I understand, AC won out mostly because the infrastructure required to use it was cheaper. So those in power were willing to listen. On history, and I do NOT want to get into a debate and this is more or less unrelated to Unfair: I think a better way to look at it is to look at it forwards instead of backwards. Examine everything that happened before that lead up to certain standards and mindsets and ethical codes of conduct. Not as an excuse, but as context and understanding of what might have been going on that lead to a particular way of thinking. I think that "different standards" or "for the time" is dangerous as an excuse to mythologize historical figures by talking about the accomplishments they made while sweeping away the things that wouldn't make them look so good by today's standards. I sincerely hope that future generations will look on us with such wonder and contempt and wonder what was going on in our heads because of how much progress they've made as a society.