Personalias

@spark We got a troll, here. So much intellectual dishonesty and goalpost moving. I wouldn't bother replying, were I you and I've already hit the ignore button. To everyone else engaging in good faith: Speaking as a former educator myself who spent 8 out of 10 years in a position with a full time para, I get where you're coming from. I had a para for several years who was pretty much my best work friend and my right hand. I also had several caseloads where I had kids who needed diapers due to intellectual disabilities. One of my paras was near the end of her career and didn't want to change diapers so she got moved to another classroom because frankly changing diapers was part of the job description for working in my classroom; and yes this applied to me as well. Diapers need to be changed and children deserve access to the curriculum for free and no strings attached, potty trained or not, and it didn't make sense to have someone who's only job was changing diapers, so it just got tacked onto the job description. We had no school nurse, just a "clinic assistant" or some other title whose duties were calling parents when a kid threw up, letting a sick kid sleep in the and keeping a log of prescribed medication so that it was taken with fidelity and not stolen. Even if we had a school nurse, diaper changing visits wouldn't have been practical. It's not a Rocket Manatee pick where you have an otherwise capable student laying on a changing table looking at their phone while their pants get pulled down for them. If a kid can change themselves, they are given supplies and materials and go off to a restroom and clean themselves up. Kids who need their diapers changed are literally incapable of doing the job themselves. Most have an inability to recognize when they need changing and require some form of adult supervision when traveling from location to location either because of mobility or behavior issues. (Wheelchair or walker bound, or just a tendency to wander off or lay on the ground if unsupervised). So instead of taking a child (who may be as big as some adults depending on age and hormones) and walking them around campus to get their diaper changed or having a non-existent nurse leave the clinic unattended several times a day, it makes way more sense to have at least one adult within the classroom whose job it is to change diapers and make it an added responsibility. And I wholeheartedly agree; paras need and deserve more money for the services they provide. After I quit teaching, my old classroom couldn't fill the vacancy that had been created and my para was left with a substitute teacher for an ENTIRE year. She had to effectively do the job of a full time teacher using all the experience and tricks she had accumulated, including grading papers and entering them into the gradebook because there was no consistency with the substitute. But she wasn't given a teacher's salary for all the extra work she was doing. The school saved money because neither subs nor paras are paid as much money as a fully accredited and licensed teacher, and if not for a court order might have tried to keep it that way. Fucking shameful. But as to the original posting: Yeah, I don't get it. Barring a school that specializes in students with severe disabilities there can't be THAT many kids in a given school setting that require diaper changes to where diaper changing needs to be a contractual point. Like...seriously...it's gross because being on the giving end of a diaper change tends to be gross...but be an adult about it. I did and I have a master's degree. That might be the only part where we may disagree on. I think paras in those positions should expect to change diapers, but teachers should, too. I know I traded off on diaper duty with my para. It was as simple as "I got this one" or "I got the last one".

We don't call a trainee professional a paraprofessional because paraprofessionals aren't trainees. They're support staff. They're teacher assistants/aides. The teacher TEACHES the students, not the paraprofessionals. I'm not an expert on law, but I think it's roughly the same working relationship that a paralegal and a lawyer have. It's not a master and apprentice thing. You sound like you're thinking of college education majors doing a teaching internship. That's a totally different thing than paraprofessional. Everything Spark said is right on the money.

THIS! One of the best ways to become a better writer is to read! Read for enjoyment, then re-read and analyze what the author did to make you enjoy it so much. And I don't mean "the writer wrote about the thing I like". HOW you construct the words is just as important as the subject matter. Finding those specifics, reading and re-reading and asking yourself what the author is doing there to draw you in is just as helpful (if not more so) than taking isolated examples from fiction that you have no personal connection to. For that reason, I'd recommend reading non-kink stories, even if they're just kid's chapter books. Speaking personally, it's easier for me to analyze techniques and THEN add in the squirmy diaper stuff then it is to read squirmy diaper stuff and figure out why it made me squirmy. Porn is a genre like any other...but it's easier for me to analyze and make porn when the blood is all rushing to the top if you know what I mean. Goosebumps, Warriors, Animorphs, Magic Treehouse, all have solid foundations to study from; not to mention any number of classic literary examples. (Ex Elementary Teacher...so my curriculum got kind of specialized) On dialogue, something I noticed that a series from my childhood, Animorphs, did really well was giving characters very specific ways of speaking. Things that they would say that would let you know who was talking before you even read the end of a sentence sometimes. Not quite catchphrases. But they're excellent ways of expressing the characters through their words. Rachel, the pretty girl who discovered that she was a fearless bad ass: "Let's do it." All but her battle cry. Not a shout. Just a flat line. The thing said when the gang has laid out a strategy that is an absolute suicide mission but it's the only way to pull out a win. These "adventures" hardened her to the point where she realized she could probably never go back to a normal life...like a veteran who wouldn't be able to handle being a civilian again. Marco, the cynical, logical strategist who was never quite as gung-ho as everyone else: "Insane!" ie: "Are you insane?!" "This is insane!" "That's insane!" Always "insane". Not crazy. Not mad. Not bonkers. "insane". They were just kids, set with the fate of the human race on their shoulders and this should NOT be something to laugh and play about. This was NOT healthy or good, and it was VERY IMPORTANT to him that his friends knew that and not get caught up in the power fantasy of it. Axamilli-Escarouth-Isthill aka "Ax", the shapeshifting alien adapting to both Earth culture and his alternate human form. "Prince Jake" (All aliens of his race served a "Prince" as part of a military chain of command.) Jake lead the Animorphs, thus he was "Prince" as far as Ax was concerned. ie; "We only have thirty of your minutes before we have to de-morph Prince Jake." "Ax, they're everybody's minutes. Not just ours." "Yes, Prince Jake." "And stop calling me Prince!" "Yes, Prince Jake." That and Ax would constantly play with human words when he morphed human. "We have only thirty minutes. Minutezzzzzz. Miiiiiiin....min-uuuuuuutzzz. Zuh zuh zuh. Ssssss..." (Ax's race was telepathic so using a mouth to speak was amusing to him. Ax was a big comic relief character.) And I can never forget Visser-Three. Who started off all of his villanous monologues with "Ah, yes!" Such an awesome 90's cartoon villain in how he was presented. "Ah yes, the Andalite bandits. I might have expected your pathetic interference." And if you didn't read that last sentence in the voice of Beast Wars Megatron, you did it wrong.

Speaking as a Floridian, born, bred, and raised: - Florida Man exists because of the state's VERY BROAD public record's laws so that our jackasses get 0 privacy and are all but guaranteed to make the news cycle on a given slow day. -Florida Man ALSO exists because we have a very HIGH percentage of jackasses per capita among our citizenry.

One of my favorite characters in all of fiction is Roland Deschain from The Dark Tower. He is a total shit heel in the first book who willingly sacrifices a child so that he can get one step closer to his goal. Extremely unlikeable. It's over the course of the next 6 books that we learn of the causes of Roland's fall and watch him build himself back up to something that could be arguably called a hero. Agreed. As a writer, it's all about whether the criticism is something that is useable. "I think the story should have ended this other way instead of the way you wrote it!" Isn't helpful. I write either what I like or what someone pays me to write. The above comment isn't helpful because either I wrote to my preferences and vision or I wrote to someone else's. "I would have done X in this scenario instead of what the character did." I am very happy that the reader is invested enough to imagine themselves in whatever setting and scenario that they're reacting to, but that's not gonna affect anything because I'm not writing about the person who made that comment. As long as we have that understanding, feel free to tell me how you'd take down whatever monster has been cooked up. "I am invested in this story but X character is being VERY unlikeable." This IS helpful. It let's me know how I'm doing as far as getting an emotional reaction from the audience and whether I'm evoking the right emotions. Spoilers: My intention is for Clark to be an asshole here. He may or may not rise back up, but if you're getting the vibe that he's getting worse and worse as a person then I've succeeded in my endeavor. On the other hand sometimes comments help me know when I'm way off track. Over on patreon, I'd unintentionally worded things so that my readers thought Clark was contemplating suicide and that was NOWHERE NEAR MY INTENT. So I hastily replied to every comment and edited the chapter to make the language more precise and steer it away from that tone. Some people like Clark, some people hate him, some people relate, some people are disgusted; but I never wanted to convey the idea that he was having those kind of thoughts, and that feedback helped IMMENSELY. Just want to take a second and say I appreciate this particular piece of a comment, too. One of my goals was to make the Amazons...complicated.

Yup. This section is called "Problem Child" for a reason, and it has nothing to do with "Mental Regression" in the niche sense. Clark is not very likeable here. This is a period of time where Clark is his worst self. Thank you for noticing and vocalizing that. As close as I feel to the character, I'm really glad to know that you like the story but don't like the character at this point in his life. This is important for me to read, too. I am not going to try and justify Clark's actions in this story through any kind of objective moral lens. You'll get no "um...actually, Clark was justified in this because of this this and this" from me. Maybe (MAYBE) an argument about why CLARK thinks he's right to do something, but never from me. This whole scenario is meant to be descriptive, not prescriptive. Telling the reader about what happened, not saying that it should have happened. Beyond Clark's regrets and reflections there is no attempt "should have done this instead" from yours truly.

Chapter 79: Sabotage “I love you…” “I love you, too, baby boy.” Wake. Wide awake. Burning up with fever and shivering cold at the same time. Dehydrated but almost too tired to drink. And in the moment, none of that mattered. No. No, no, no! Fuck no! I did not just say that! She did not just hear that! I was delirious. I was still feverish. This was a fever dream. A fucking nightmare; the same that I always had when things were either too good to last or too awful to handle all at once. Any second now I’d sit up in my crib, covered in sweat, panting and blinking away the nightmare I’d just trapped myself into. It felt real, but so did all dreams while you were in them. I’d thought I was awake and about to nod off when I was talking to Cassie in our old bedroom but then I woke up back in FUUUUUUUUCK! “I’m sorry,” I said to Janet, my breath feeling hot in my throat. Shit! Why did I say I was sorry?! “I was having a dream! I wasn’t talking to you! I thought I was somewhere else!” Still cradling me, Janet took a seat in the kitchen and repositioned me so that I was seated sideways in her lap, reclining in the crook of her left arm. The bottle came up to my lips. “Okay,” she said. “Drink up. I just want you to feel better. That’s all.” To my horror and shame I’d taken the nipple and a few sips of red flavored juice as she was soothing me. I let the bottle from my lips.. Water mixed with sugary red powder dribbled out over my neck and chest for my trouble. “No!” I said. “No! That’s not what I-” “I understand what you’re saying, sweetie,” Janet interrupted. “But that’s not important right now. You’re sick. You need to stay hydrated. Drink up.” She was being patient with me. Too patient. Infuriatingly patient. “No! I didn’t! I didn’t say anything!” “Just a few more sips for me.” She managed to get the bottle back between my lips.. I took a few sips. My bladder suddenly felt full, as it had been feeling all day, and I started to feel amazingly anxious. “What’s in this stuff?!” “Water and flavor powder.” Janet set the bottle down and felt my forehead again. It was still cold but not icy. “What’s in the powder?” I demanded. I fidgeted and shivered. Hard to focus. Cold. Hot. Had to pee. Again. All day. Janet shrugged noncommittally. “Electrolytes. Sugar. That kind of stuff. I can read you the ingredients off the back of the can.” “No!” I squealed, my voice cracking. “I want water!” I wouldn’t have understood the ingredient list anyways. Who could? She sighed in annoyance. but there was a glint of worry in her eyes. “Sure. Let me get you a different bottle.” “No!” I barked. My throat felt raw and scratchy. “Dump it out, rinse it and refill it!” I didn’t want her slipping in anything else, maybe coating the new nipple in something tasteless and odorless that would have me pissing and shitting in my pants or chemically altering my brain so that I’d be in some kind of bizarre brain damaged haze. No! Not that! Never! “Okay, honey,” the worry was spreading to Janet’s voice. “I can do that for you.” “No! I want to do it! I’ll fill it up!” “Clark, you’re-! “I’m not a baby!” “I wasn’t going to say-” “Baby boy! You called me baby boy just a second ago!” I was angry. I was scared. I was embarrassed and humiliated. I was panicking. My bladder was full to bursting again and the only thing that distracted me from it was the adrenaline and guilty terror I was experiencing. “Don’t call me that!” “Okay,” Janet said.”That’s fine. I’m sorry. I just meant it as a term of affection.” Bullshit! “I h-!” I stopped. She wasn’t looking at me. I needed her to look me in the eyes when I said it. She carried me over to the sink. It wasn’t modified to accommodate Littles at all. I could sit in it and the water would make it up to my belly button. And as weak as I was feeling I probably couldn’t fill up the bottle myself unless I planned on glugging it down right on the kitchen counter. “I hhhhhh!” I just panted. She still wasn’t looking at me. I needed her to know in no uncertain terms how much I hated her. “I HHhhhh!” The bottle came back to my mouth. My throat felt dry. I was thirsty. So thirsty. I’d drink the water, make sure my throat was good and wet. Then I’d tell her. Look her in the eye and make her burst into tears with three simple words. “You’re doing great,” she said kindly to me. “You don’t have to drink so fast. Just take sips. That’s it. This isn’t a race.” “Hhhhhayhhhh.” No. Had to finish the bottle. I’d finish the bottle of tap water. Then I’d chew her out. We stayed in the kitchen the entire time. Outside of occasional hums and mumblings to herself that I couldn’t pick up and had absolutely no interest in knowing about, she didn’t talk. I reached up and grasped the bottle, even though she was holding onto it. Grabbing onto the vessel felt better than leaving my hands idle and my fists close up in potent rage. When the bottle was about three-fourths of the way drained she took it away from me. There was no chance at me being able to successfully resist. “I hayyyyyy!” “You can finish the rest with your broth,” she said and put me into the highchair. No straps or harnesses this time, just the tray and the drop to keep me there. Honestly it was closer to how I had lunch at school. My mouth opened to tell her off. “I…” Janet turned around. “Still want your broth in a mug and a straw?” “I…” She was looking right at me, waiting for an answer. “Yes please…” I slumped forward, my forehead casting a shadow on the feeding tray. Why couldn’t I tell her how I felt? The fuck was going on? I relaxed my bladder yet again and closed my eyes pretending that the dampness was just a warm compress on my junk instead of…you know. The microwave beeped and my soup came out of the oven. A bright green bendy straw was inserted in. “You don’t have to drink the whole thing,” she said. “But it’ll be good for you if you drink as much as you can.” I muttered out another thank you. Janet grabbed a tremendous banana from the top of the refrigerator and peeled it. Without saying a word she broke off a piece and offered it to me with a hopeful “Mmm?” I shook my head and quietly sipped my broth. I’d tell her how awful she was and how much I hated after I’d had enough to eat and drink. If I made her too mad she’d just put some mush in a bag and gag me with it or something until I had to swallow it or risk choking. That’s what Amazons did. Even her. Even Janet. Just thinking about that hurt what miniscule appetite I’d had. If my body wasn’t doing everything it could to try and retain water and fight dehydration I might have cried into the broth. Only babies who didn’t know how to use their tear ducts couldn’t cry. That didn’t make me feel any better. “I…” I stopped while she slowly chewed her banana. I should wait for her to swallow. Out of politeness… Oh fuck. Who was I kidding? I couldn’t even think of her as ‘Grange’. She was Janet. Always had been. The fuck was happening to me? Maybe this wasn’t a virus or me working myself into exhaustion. What if this was more programming? More mindfuckery? Get me to let down my guard again and then WHAM…I’d be Ivy or Amy but without the pink and frills (and many more teeth). “All done?” Janet held her hand on the mug readying to carry it off to the sink and toss it down the drain. “No.” I said. She took her hand off. “Yes.” She put it back on. “NO!” The mug that almost doubled for a soup bowl went away. “I said I wasn’t done!” I whined. “I think you’re more than a little punchy,” Janet told me. My eyes widened. “I’M NOT FUSSY!” My old friend drew back like a caged lion had just taken a swipe at her. “I didn’t say you were fussy. I said you were punchy. You need more sleep, Clark.” “DON’T CALL ME-!” I stopped. My name? I didn’t want her to call me by name? I’d been so sure she’d bust out a ‘honey’ or a ‘baby’ or a ‘bubba’ or some other toddlerish pet name. Janet removed the tray and started carrying me back to my room. “You definitely need sleep.” She said, quickly adding. “And that’s okay. Your body needs to rest and heal. Do you want me to change you before I put you down or do you think you’re not that wet?” Fuck. Back to no-win questions. “Change me, please.” Cry. I was going to cry. I’d barely moved all day and I still felt dizzy. I tried to start myself into raging, desperate tears, but the most I could get was not-even hyperventilating on the table. Bars sprung up around my periphery. “Do you want me to stay with you? I don’t mind sitting in the rocker and keeping you company while you go to sleep.” I was not going to sleep. “No.” She seemed to read my mind. “Okie dokie. You can rest here. I’ll give you some privacy. You don’t have to go to sleep.” Fuck her. I was totally going to go to sleep. She pointed to the baby monitor. “You can call if you need me.” Her actually listening to that heap of scrap; that’d be something. Out of all the ‘presents’ I’d gotten out of that awful shower it was the thing I’d seen the most, day in and day out, and gotten the least utility out of it. Depending on outlook, that was supposed to let her spy on me or allow me easier access to her. Beyond suspicious paranoia, all data indicated that it did neither. Skinner had said that it would be ‘educational’. The only thing it was teaching me was that Amazons were the absolute worst, and I didn’t need any help or remediation on that lesson. I tried one last time before Janet left. “I…hhhhhhhhhhhhh.” She walked out before I could tell her and closed the door. “I hate you.” The curse came out a full thirty seconds later as a growled whisper. The monitor certainly picked it up at least. I rolled over, sneered at the baby monitor, and tried to come up with a plan. *************************************************************************** One afternoon, a few days later, I sat in my stroller while Janet pushed me around in it. I was leaned back, but sitting up, and drinking from my ba-ba. Red! My favorite flavor! I was just wearing a nice sky blue t-shirt and a diaper, but Janet had given me a knit blankie to keep my legs warm. Maybe it wasn’t just a few days? Maybe it was weeks or months? Years? Time meant less to me, recently. (There was an ironic statement). I leaned back and looked at Lion. “Lion?” I asked. “Do you want some juice?” He didn’t respond. “More for me.” I kept sucking on it, enjoying the sweet red flavor of it. Delicious! The Grown-ups walked by. Some waved. Some didn’t. That was okay though. Grown-ups are always super busy. Always worried about all their responsibilities and bills and stuff that they had to do. I used to be just like them. Then Janet found me and became my Mommy. I knew she wasn’t really my mother. ‘Mommy’ was a job title; like teacher or artist or ax murderer. And as Janet liked to remind me, being my Mommy was a full time job with no pay but benefits she wouldn’t trade in for the world. I didn’t have a job title anymore. Didn’t need one. Littles with Maturosis were special. Deep down I knew I didn’t have Maturosis. I knew I was really an adult and not a baby that would never grow up? But why fight it? At least everybody was friendly towards me now. I didn’t have to worry about somebody snatching me up or putting me in diapers; because it had already happened. Speaking of which, I took a moment go pee-pee, sighing even while I continued to nurse my ba-ba. Drinking and going to the bathroom at the same time: There was something I wasn’t allowed to do before! Other strollers with Littles passed by. We waved casually at each other; smiling; content that we were both in on the secret. A few grumpy or sad Littles pouted. Screaming. Shouting about how they weren’t really babies. Just like I had. They’d come around eventually. We all did. The big people knew the true secret to happiness, and not able to have it for themselves, they shared it with us. “Hi Janet!” It was Amy’s Mommy. Amy waved from me over in her stroller. “Hi Clark!” Finally! Finally I saw her coming before she said it. “Did you know that platypusses are the only semi-aquatic egg laying mammals that start with the letter ‘p’? “Yeah!” I said. “I did! Did you know that the Muffets creator got his start by making coffee commercials?” That used to bother me considering how often coffee was used to mask stronger stuff. Not anymore! “No! I didn’t! Did you-?” “Say bye bye to Clark, Amy.” Bye Clark! See you at daycare!” Oh yeah. I never went back to Beouf’s room. I’d been so good and been making such progress that it was decided I should just go straight into daycare. How had I forgotten that? Probably because I didn’t need to remember it. Whether I remembered it or not, Janet was taking me there. So why fight? Why worry? “Hi Clark!” This time I had to look up. Mrs. Beouf was leaning over and waving at me. “Hi Mrs. B.” I suddenly felt very, very, shy. I always did when I saw her outside of school. It was like she was somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be, but I wasn’t brave enough to point that out to her. She’d gone a whole long time without telling me where I belonged. It was only polite. I raised Lion up over my face, using him as a feline shield. Sorry bud. Mrs. Beouf took it in stride like she always did. “Awww, Hi Lion! Good to see you, too. How’s he doing?” That last question was directed towards Janet. I kept drinking my ba-ba, while the Grown-Ups talked. I didn’t think it was weird that there was so much red juice in it. It was a really big ba-ba. Big enough for me! Honestly, I kind of tuned them out, listening less to their words and more skimming the cadence that their voices made. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Two old friends catching up. Small talk. I looked around at my surroundings. Where were we? Were we inside or outside? It was hard to tell. Nothing was obstructing my view, but unless I really concentrated, I couldn’t tell. On one side of my stroller, it was grass and sunny, like a park. To the other side of me were tiled walkways and storefronts. Where in town had something like that? Had we moved and I’d forgotten? Directly in front of me, it was just the Grown-Ups talking. Janet had stepped in front somehow and was now talking with Mrs. Beouf, yet I still could only make out the cadence in their voices. Did Grown-Ups have a secret language that I was only now just aware of? Was that how they did it? “Thanks for catching up with us,” Janet said. “But I gotta get this baby boy home.” She poked my diaper through the blankie. “Hmmm…maybe a change, first. I don’t want you leaking in your car seat.” Oh wow! She was right! I really did need a change! What’s more, I had to pee again. “Say bye bye to Mrs. B.” I took my ba-ba out of my mouth. “Bye bye Mrs. B!” “Bye-bye Clark! I love you!” “I love you too.” Janet pulled a lever and my stroller reclined back. She grabbed the diaper bag and started fishing out the appropriate supplies. She didn’t have to go potty, so no need to go to the bathroom. She could change me out here in the open. In front of everybody. Okie dokie. Janet reached down to the tapes of my Monkeez. “Let’s get you nice and dry again. Then we’ll go home and you can take a nap.” ****************************************************************** “Yes, Mommy.” The sound of those two words rocketing out of my throat woke me up like a loud snore. I sat up in the crib, dripping wet from head to toe hyperventilating. “No!” The only thing that wasn’t wet was my diaper, ironically. The nursery was dark, but tiny motes of sunlight shone through the curtains. It was late afternoon more than likely. The computer of my brain updated itself and made sense of what I’d just seen and experienced. A dream. Just a dream. Random garbled nonsense from my brain. No wonder Amy had been the most coherent in it. My bladder was still screaming too. That’s why I couldn’t stop peeing in my dream. That’s why the bottle never got empty no matter how much I sucked stuff down. The door to the nursery opened. In walked Janet. “Clark? Are you okay? I heard you over the monitor.” Was I okay? No. I wasn’t okay. Not even a tiny bit. “You’ve been asleep for almost four hours. Let’s get you up so you’re not up all night. Get you a snack.” My stomach growled at hearing the word ‘snack’. I finally felt hungry and invisible hands were reaching out of me, desperate to bring food down into my belly. I responded by sitting up in a ball and huffing my way back to my normal breathing pattern. Janet walked up and pressed her hand against my forehead. “It looks like your fever has broken.” She sighed with relief, even as she wiped her hand on her pants. “Good. Now we have the whole weekend to get you better.” Better? Clearly, I was getting worse. I looked away as Janet checked my diaper. “Uh oh. Dry. Let’s get some more fluids in you.” A light on the baby monitor was blinking. Had it always been blinking? No. No fucking way. “I hhhh….” Only hot air came out of me. That and something else. “Ooops. Never mind! I felt that!” Janet chuckled. “How about I change you after snacks? Just in case?” “Hhhhh…Yeah.” I said. “Sure.” I couldn’t tell Janet that I hated her. I was having batshit dreams. I couldn’t even think of her as anything other than Janet and…and… and now the ‘educational’ baby monitor was blinking. I was being mindfucked. Totally and completely mindfucked. There was some kind of sensor in that monitor that scanned and recorded my vitals and waited until I was in REM sleep to start pumping out subliminal messages to turn me into a drooling stupid doll. Me staying up so late was protecting me. “Mommy,” I squeaked. Even my voice sounded better. “Can I please sleep with you tonight? In your bed?” “I don’t know how comfortable I am with co-sleeping, Clark. I don’t want to accidentally roll over and hurt you in the middle of the night.” Stoked by resentment and desperation, I wasn’t at my best yet, but I could still feel my mojo coming back to me. “Pweeeeease!” “I don’t have a cot in my room,” Janet said. Then she got a look in her eyes. That classic, typical Amazon baby crazy look. “Yet. I don’t have one yet. I wonder if Babhub delivers this late.” She dug around her pants pocket for her phone. “It’s just a cot.” A cot wasn’t ideal, but better than the monitor. “We’ll see.” I nuzzled into her. “Thank you…Mommy.” ******************************************************************************* I didn’t spend the night sleeping in a cot by Janet’s bed. Four o’clock on a Friday was just too late for whatever Amazon delivery company specialized in delivering baby furniture for spur of the moment Little abductions. I did, however, sleep in Janet’s room. She went to the trouble of moving a playpen into her room and then decking it out with every spare pillow she could find. I slept like the dead. Nice and dreamless, only waking up every one to three hours to make sure that some other bit of blasphemy hadn’t escaped from me or if I had to pee. Janet slept in the bed, wearing silk pajamas that I was positive she didn’t normally wear. She snored, too, but the rhythmic sawing actually helped me sleep. Since my poisoning and downfall this was the first night that I hadn’t slept alone. It was…nice. I wasn’t here to be nice, however. Saturday was one big nothing. Janet insisted that I take it easy and we just spend the day resting in doors. In truth, I needed it. Just because the source of the spasms had gone away didn’t mean my muscles weren’t still tired from all the shaking. At least she dressed me up in something besides my crinkling plastic padding. Sunday though… Sunday was my opportunity and I took it. “Whelp,” Janet clicked her tongue. “We’re here.” She didn’t have the same sing-song voice she did first thing in the morning. Not that I could blame her. No teacher wants to be at school on a Sunday morning. Papers still needed to be graded. “In and out,” she said. “We’ll grab the papers and then go right back home.” “Or,” I said. “I don’t mind if we do them here.” Janet nibbled on her lip and looked at me from the rear view mirror. “I didn’t bring your diaper bag.” “That’s okay. I’m dry.” I suppressed the blush that was coming. I was a grown-ass man. I shouldn’t have to be talking about the state of my so-called underwear. “It’ll be quicker if we do it here. Less for you to carry back and forth. Less chance you’ll forget something at home.” “I’ll need to enter them into the gradebook too,” Janet said, sounding unsure. “If I get too w…” I stopped and corrected myself. “Worst case scenario, I start to feel bad and we go home?” Honestly, it didn’t matter where we graded the papers. This was more on the principle of getting Janet to do what I wanted. Get the giantess to listen more. To obey me. “Come on, Janet.” I said. “Let me play teacher. It’s not like anybody is around to see.” The sparkle in her eyes died a little bit. I probably should have called her ‘Mommy’ but that would have been laying it on too thick. If I used the M-word it’d become the default and expectation. No. Janet wasn’t getting that unless she was good or I really wanted something. I might not be able to say it out loud, but fuck that bitch. I knew I’d won when Janet walked around, got me out of the car seat and took me by the hand instead of carrying me. No one was around and her classroom was empty. The air conditioning didn’t run on the weekends, so it was more than stuffy inside. Good. I’d use that discomfort to mask any of the residual guilt I was feeling. I stood in a chair, leaning over a student’s desk, two piles of papers presented in front of me. “It looks like the substitute still did the spelling quiz and the math test. Which do you want?” “Both.” My former friend didn’t flinch. “Okay,” she said. “You can start on one. I’ll grade the Science and Social Studies work and come back to help when they’re in the gradebook.” She caught herself. “If you still need help.” A weak smile managed to show itself on my face. “I don’t think so,” I said. “If it’s spelled wrong, I mark it wrong. Same with math. I don’t need to know history or states of matter or whatever.” That seemed to make her feel better, an admission of ignorance. Then, unholiest of unholy, she made the mistake of trusting me with a red sharpie. “Get to work,” she said. “Or play. Whichever.” I took it, cordially, and did a tiny bow. “Thank you very much Ms. Grange.” She reciprocated. “You’re very welcome Mr. Grange.” Then went over to her teacher’s desk so that she could grade and enter things into the school computer while I marked things down. Mr. Grange… If I wasn’t already about to do something awful before… My dirty deed took only slightly longer than an hour, all told. I breezed through the spelling tests, first. No calculations to do. No work to show. Used my best handwriting. I was random too. Fair. As far as I could be. Every third paper I marked, I left alone and graded fairly. If they got all the spelling words right, they were given a hundred. If they made a mistake, I took my bright red marker and scratched out their misspelled words and then in my neatest, smallest, most precise handwriting I’d write the correct spelling of the word. Nothing more. Nothing less. Technically, scratching out the wrong answer and writing the correct answer wasn’t the best method from a pedagogical standpoint. Yeah, the kids would see the correct spelling, but I was also robbing her massive third graders the opportunity to see what their mistakes were. That was intentional. By marking and correcting the real errors like that, it made it more plausible when I inked out a correctly written word and copied it next to its remains. The same happened with the Math tests, though only one out of five got ‘Gibsoned’ since I was intent on showing all my work and many of her students did their math in such chaotic margins that finding the answer- correct or otherwise- turned into a scavenger hunt. The grade point average on these tests and all tests in the foreseeable future were going to slowly but surely go straight down the toilet. The real errors helped me with the forgeries. If not-so-little Kelly made a mistake like forgetting a silent e or thinking that the shorthand for pi was three point five instead of three point one four, then not-so-little Connor would make the same sloppy mistake. It was easier for teachers to believe that groups of their students were all struggling with the same concepts than to believe in complete randomness. I shouldn’t be doing this, a tiny voice that almost sounded like me buzzed in my ear. These were just kids. Some of them had been my students. My babies all grown up. Even the ones that hadn’t been in my class were names I’d learned and belonged to faces that I’d seen around campus. They weren’t Janet. They weren’t Beouf or Brollish or Forrest or Madra or Skinner or Winters or Sosa or any of the other giant condescending authoritarian hypocrites in my life. They were just kids. Except they weren’t. They were Amazons. Living in an Amazon world with Amazon parents. Even the kids I’d helped and taught if they hadn’t directly turned on me had immediately accepted the ruination of my life as normal and natural. Three-hundred and sixty nonconsecutive days spread out over the course of two years wasn’t going to undo a lifetime of further indoctrination. I couldn’t change the world for the better. I couldn’t even change my tiny corner of it. I could only make the Amazons in closest proximity to me have a more difficult life before the programming and mindfucking and gaslighting finally broke me down. Fuck these kids. They’d get over it. Undeserved failure would only breed character in the long run. “Finished?” Janet said, coming over from the computer. “Already?” I grinned. “Yes, ma’am!” “You really are such a fantastic helper!” I was dead inside so I didn’t flinch when she kissed me. I sat down, pretending not to stare as Janet went over and entered the grades. “Russel?” she scoffed. “Really?” She shook her head and entered the grade the kid had ‘earned’. She turned over to another paper and kept typing. “Guess we gotta cover this again.” Everything was going to plan. Janet was going to have a ‘rough batch’ this year of kids who just didn’t quite get what she was teaching. Especially if I was allowed to grade. More time in remediation meant less time covering new topics, and unneeded remediation and lowering grades would lead to frustration for the students. Frustration led to angry parents and kids acting out. None of it would come back to me. I’d even stopped from putting my initials down at the bottom corner. No proof would link this to me. “Mommy,” I called out, distracting her. “Can I sleep in your room again?” Janet yawned and dabbed her forehead with her sleeve. The stillness of the air was finally starting to get to her. “I don’t think so, honey. We’ve both got school tomorrow and need our rest.” “Pleeeease!” There was no way I was going to sleep with that baby monitor again. Not if I could help it. “We’ve been up late the last two nights and I don’t want you super tired in the morning. I blinked. That’s right. Both Friday and Saturday night, Janet and I had gone to bed at the same time. She’d laid me down, then gone to the bathroom, changed into her pajamas and crawled underneath her comforter. I’d never considered that. “What if the cot is delivered by tonight?” “I still don’t want to wake you up when I come to bed.” Then she tacked on “Website says that the model I ordered is on backorder.” “Pweeeeease!” “Maybe we can sleepover together next weekend.” “Pweeeeeeeease!” “No.” She wasn’t angry, but it was final. ‘Final’ was for quitters. “Pw-” “Clark…” My blood froze with the stare she sent my way. Looks like I was out of luck. I opened my mouth to tell her what I really thought of her, and stopped. No. I’d let her listen over the baby monitor like always. Stay up as late as I could until I passed out. Disrupt my own sleep and dreams and keep towing the line towards exhaustion and sickness. Why stop a good thing that up until now had obviously been shielding me? If I played my cards right, I could trick her into getting actual sleep on Friday and Saturdays at the very least. I brooded on it, staring and glaring at her while she played into my trap. Twenty minutes later the work was done and she was standing up and stretching. “Grading done. Now all I gotta do is plan for this coming week. We can do that at home.” “We can stay here and do it.” I was just being obstinate. The warm stagnant air being heated by the sun wasn’t any more comfortable for me considering that I had a layer of plastic coating my nethers. Janet was in no mood to deal with my nonsense. She picked me up and carried me. Like a baby. The game was now over for her. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go home and eat some ice cream or something.” “Okay.” I ceded. “Do we have any more of that goat’s milk?” She smiled weakly. “No. I threw that carton out. I was afraid it was expired or something. We can get some more at the store if you like.” “No thanks,” I said. “Just curious.” “Come on,” she said. “It’s time to go.” As if I had any say in when or where we went. She was right about one thing: It was go time, alright. She just hadn’t figured it out yet.

Love how you took an evil domineering AI trope and kind of molded it into a sweet platonic love story. I'm not rooting for the A.I. just because of lifestyle kink preferences, but because you also tricked me into empathizing with her. Well done.

Slowly, deliberately, Serena took a sip of coffee, savoring the flavor: Two creams. Three sugars. Extra, extra caramel. Truly, it was perfect. It was a shame, almost, that she wouldn’t be swallowing this batch. She counted backwards in her head, three…two…one… and spit out the delicious beverage all over the office carpet. “Did you…?” She stopped and glared at the intern, some barely twenty-two year old Amazon whose mother and father were rich enough so that she could afford to go unpaid for six months in the name of experience. “Did you put something in my coffee?” The girl looked like she’d been sucker punched by a professional boxer. “What?” “Did you…” Serena spoke slowly and deliberately, “put something…in my coffee?” Serena craned her neck upward and put her hands on her hips. Visually, it might remind an onlooker of a chihuahua yapping at a Dire Dane with neither dog realizing the vast size difference. More accurately, to the giants’ brains, it was closer to a toddler scolding an adult and the grown-up being terrified. “Only what you asked me to put in Miss Hudson,” the intern insisted. “Mrs…” Serena flashed her fake wedding ring. Amazons had the tiniest bit more fear of married women, and Serena had learned to weaponize that. The intern corrected herself. “Mrs. Hudson.” “Then why do I taste mocha?” Serena lied. Dramatically she dumped the rest of the coffee on the floor. A more eagle eyed witness might have noticed that there was still a carpet stain from the last time this happened. “Mocha? I ordered caramel-!” “Training chocolate?” Serena scolded. “Really? Did you really think I wouldn’t notice the taste of laxative in my coffee? I’m not some poor dumb Little freshman your Sorority sister adopted just before graduation as a present to herself because she didn’t want to have it all without ruining their figure.” Based on the intern’s facial expression Serena had just sprouted a second head. “I…I…I didn’t…I swear. I’d never…I’d never think that. You’re very mature for your…” If Serena hadn’t already planned this next bit out in advance, the ‘m-word’ would have sealed the deal. “For the sake of time I hope you didn’t unpack or personalize your desk,” Serena spat. “You’re fired.” The girl ran off crying, hands buried in her face. The twenty-five year old Little walked off, the sound of her heels clicking sounded more like goat hooves to the latest crop of terrified interns. Breaking in the newbies at her family advertising firm was a favorite hobby of Serena’s. For every new batch of interns, she’d make sure to hire one more than was needed just so that she could dramatically fire them in front of everyone else; and it was always an Amazon. “Somebody clean that up.” It was a trick she’d learned from her mother. Tweeners were prepared to be fired at the drop of a hat. Littles, if they were mature enough to handle a job, were more worried about being plunked in a crib. Amazons were always shocked when things didn’t go their way; it’s why Serena did it. A Little with authority and she wielded it like a sledgehammer. It was a wonder Serena Hudson hadn’t been adopted yet by some high and mighty Amazon who thought the Little might need a diapered attitude adjustment. Except that she’d already been adopted. “Phone call on line one Mrs. Hudson,” Serena’s Tweener secretary notified her. Petite, even for a Little, Serena still didn’t come up to her secretary’s chest while wearing high heels. “I’ve got a video conference call in forty five minutes.” Serena didn’t so much as turn her head or slow her stride. “It’s your mother, ma’am.” Serena stopped. “Put it in my office.” She clicked into her office and climbed the footstool into her mother’s old office chair. She’d lost count of how many hours she’d sat in Mommy’s lap, learning the tricks and tools of successful management. Mommy was gone now; retired rather; though she still had a seat on the board of directors of various philanthropic endeavors. The custom made leather booster that perfectly matched the original upholstery had to suffice. “Mommy?” she asked, her voice unconsciously raising a half-octave. Little or not, everyone becomes who they were circa age twelve when they’re around their parents. The fact that Serena had already known her Amazon parent when she was twelve only exacerbated the habit. Like so many Littles, Serena had been adopted. Unlike her late twenties and early thirties peers, Serena had actually been adopted, not abducted. She’d been put back in diapers at age three and was allowed out of them by age five; not bad, all things considered. The idea that Littles had Maturosis had been almost a decade away from getting deep roots or firmly codified, and Littles were just adopted for being “immature”. Maturosis or not, Serena getting trapped so early had helped her. Conventional wisdom said that Littles past a certain age were beyond all hope of truly growing up. If they couldn’t hack the real world in their teens and twenties, why bother giving them a chance in their thirties and forties? “Re-raising” Littles just meant keeping them as babies. Being close to an actual baby at the time, Serena had been given the benefit of the doubt and had flourished under a system of private tutors, genuine parental affection, and learning from her Mommy’s and Daddy’s example. Who wouldn’t flourish? “Hello, Siri,” Mommy said on the phone, her voice sounding pleasant, but forced. “How are you?” “I’m well, Mommy.” Serena said. “Yourself?” “I’m fine, dear. How are you minding the shop?” Serena shrugged, unconsciously. “Oh, you know,” she said. “I just fired an intern.” “Good girl,” Mommy’s voice sounded with genuine pride. “Just like we taught you. Did the old botched coffee order?” “Yes, ma’am.” Serena leaned back in her leather booster chair, feeling proud of herself. “I still use that one from time to time at the hospital.” The hospital was one of the places where she sat on the aforementioned board. “Accused the girl of slipping in training chocolates, I’m guessing?” “I technically don’t need a justification to fire her,” Serena said. She shrugged again. “But yes.” “I’m not sure whether I should discourage you from leaning into such dreadful stereotypes or be proud of you for leveraging them to your advantage.” The Little smirked. “The latter, please.” Mommy gave no laugh or other comment. Small talk had officially ended, but Mommy wasn’t going to bring up the reason for her call. Serena had to make the first move. “I’ve got a meeting today that I need to prepare for.” She cushioned the statement by adding, ‘What can I do for you?” It was slightly rude, but power moves had to be made when talking to powerful people. Growing up as she had, Serena didn’t know if it was a rich person thing or an Amazon thing, and frankly it didn’t matter much either way. Hurrying things along was Serena’s way of saying ‘Spit it out, Mom. What do you want? Why did you call?’. “I just got the latest fertility results back.” She hadn’t realized it, but Serena had forgotten to breathe. For as long as she could remember, Serena’s parents had been trying to conceive and have a biological child; an Amazon child. At twenty-five, things had improved on the anxiety front; Serena had aged out of worrying about being replaced and having to share her parents’ love and was firmly in the ‘Will this affect my inheritance’ stage. Still, she genuinely cared about her Mommy and Daddy and wanted them to be happy. There was no good answer to the question she was about to ask. “Okay. What were they?” “Not good,” Mommy sighed audibly. Serena’s face fell. “I”m starting…my body is…” She stopped, not even wanting to say menopause. “I just feel…old, dear.” There was a pause. Growing up as she had, empathy was not one of Serena’s strengths. “I just wanted the chance to hold a baby in my arms again.” “You could always be a grandmother,” Serena offered, and instantly regretted it. Bringing up being a grandmother to a woman who’d just said she felt old was a bad idea. That, and Serena wasn’t exactly lighting the dating world on fire. The physical mechanics of intimacy with an Amazon were… complicated; the social even moreso. She scared off most Tweeners and Littles who might have been interested. They just weren’t on her level. Also, it was hard to get emotionally invested in anyone who could miss a second date because they screwed up and got sent to daycare. That gave her an idea. “Why not adopt again?” she broke the silence that had followed her misstep. “It worked with me. You could even get an immature Little if you wanted. Have a forever baby.” If Serena was supposed to feel guilty, about suggesting another Little get thrown under the stroller, she didn’t. The part she’d yelled to her intern about freshmen Littles getting adopted wasn’t exactly manufactured. Some Littles really couldn’t cut it in the big bad world of Amazons. They were lucky in a way that the only penalty for failure was a life without responsibility. It was compassionate after a fashion. More to Serena’s benefit, a sibling that didn’t grow-up would not inherit any stock portfolio down the line. Knowing Mommy and Daddy, they’d be given a trust to pay for caregivers, diapers, formula and the like, but that would be all. “I suppose, Siri,” Mommy said. “I suppose.” Predictably, she started brightening a tad at the idea. “It might be nice, actually. I wouldn’t have to redecorate her nursery, or worry about tutors. Never needed daycare when I was working with you. Wouldn’t need one now that I’m retired. Wouldn’t have to pay for private teachers…” The Little executive stared at the time on her computer calculating when the best time would be to end the conversation so she could get back to work “See? You’re still a mother, and you can be a mother again.” Mommy’s expression turned sour. ‘Oh, but there’s that law.” “Which one?” “That families can only adopt one Little.” Serena imagined her mother curling her lip in disgust as she did. “Stupid goddamn beauracrats.” “Mother!” “Sorry, Siri. Mommy lost her temper for a second.” As an already adopted Little, Serena was only vaguely aware of the relatively new law. The cold harsh reality was that Littles were a kind of commodity and the government had realized that if Littles were over-babied, there wouldn’t be actual baby Littles being made for future generations of giants to pamper and infantilize. So gone were the days where parents would walk around with Littles in double strollers, or have a gaggle of diapered thirty and forty year olds on toddler leashes. There was a time when the well to do would have an entire nursery all to themselves. But if an Amazon had so much love in their heart that they’d have to find an immature Little to baby and cosset forever, they’d have to give all of that parental affection to just one. There were already positive results, sociologically speaking, Serena had had to admit. Littles were less afraid to approach an Amazon with a bouncing ‘baby’ Little on their lap, provided they didn’t have a particularly cossetting best friend right next to them. Of course, with her peculiar background Serena had never had to worry about getting adopted. Amazons didn’t steal children away from other Amazons. Serena could be spanked, mouthsoaped, and put in a naughty corner, but never adopted by someone else. As soon as they found out she had a ‘proper’ Mommy and Daddy that option was off the table. As soon as they found out who her Mommy and Daddy were those other options were swept up in a flash, too. “We’ll think of something,” Serena promised. “Exceptions can always be made. It’s not what you know but who you know.” She could practically hear her mother nodding along. “True, true. True, true. Your father is already meeting with a lawyer. We’d like you to take part in the discussion, too. You might have some insight that could help us.” “Would love to. I’ve got a meeting in a few minutes, however. Tonight?” “Tomorrow would be better. Mommy said. “At the hospital.” “Tomorrow then.” The Little executive hung up the phone and prepped for her meeting. Filing away going to the hospital in the back of her brain. Mrs. Hudson, the real Mrs. Hudson, wanted a baby and what Mrs. Hudson wanted she generally got. It’s just what Hudsons in general did. What Serna had failed to entertain, even for a second, was that she might end up as the baby. ************************************************************************************************************ It was quite the motley crew that gathered the next day. One might have thought they were going to a funeral, considering how everyone was dressed in black. Perfect strangers, too. The light blonde hair Serena had been born with had turned dark brown enough to be almost black, while Daddy’s had aged to a snowy white. Mommy was still blonde, but that was thanks to her stylist, not nature. Still, among the Hudsons, there was the familial familiarity in how they addressed and looked at each other. It was strange. Normally one didn’t see that kind of closeness between Littles and Amazons unless the Littles needed a pacifier to keep quiet and had a steady cartoon diet to keep them compliant. Looking in the plain, but pristine business office, one might not have guessed that life saving medical decisions were being made in above, below, and around them, but even hospitals need such places: Someone had to keep the lights on, negotiate settlements for malpractice, and negotiate the budget for the coming year. In a way that’s what the Hudsons were doing: Negotiating. “What are our options?” Daddy started the meeting in earnest once initial introductions were made; (fat lot of good that did since Serena had already forgotten the lawyer’s name). They sat around a large rectangular meeting table with far more seats than attendees: just Serena, Mr. and Mrs. Hudson, and the lawyer. He was a Tweener, so his chair was something of a modified stool. Serena’s seat was once a highchair that now lacked the restraints and tray and was given the once over so that it had something besides pastel fabric and hard plastic. It wouldn’t do as well with stains, but the Littles who used it didn’t need to worry about diaper leaks or spilling strained peas…probably. “I’ve had some of my people look into it,” Serena volunteered. This earned her curious glances from her parents on either side. “What? My team is normally more into finance and tax loops, but that doesn’t mean they don’t know a thing or two about a thing or two.” Mommy and Daddy exchanged looks. “What are your ideas, Siri?” Mommy asked. “Based on the precedent of the law,” Serena said, “it’s under the premise that one full time Little baby needs so much attention that it would be unethical to have more than one in any given family.” That wasn’t the real reason the law had been passed, obviously. The art of politics was saying one thing and everyone in power knowing its a lie but going along with it anyways. “Couldn’t the argument be that because I’m not a dependent, that my parents have more than enough resources to foster another Little?” The bigger people’s heads were already shaking by the time she’d finished talking. “While that is the official opinion that lead to the policy,” the Tweener lawyer said, “that’s not how the law is worded. One adopted Little per family. Full stop.” “What if I adopted a Little from an orphanage and then signed away custody to you?” “Siri,” Daddy said, “orphanages are closing left and right. Too many empty cribs.” “From overseas then?” Serena offered. “Even if we were able to get away with something like that,” Mommy explained, “what would happen to you? A Little that tried to adopt and gave up? That’s not very mature, is it?” Damn. That was a good point. Even if she couldn’t be re-adopted, that perception of her could really hurt the business. “A Tweener?” “Legally speaking, we’re close enough to Littles that the law protects us as well.” Despite the confidence in his tone, there was a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. Unlike Serena he’d clearly not been adopted and there wasn’t anything protecting him. “What about just adopting a regular Amazon baby?” Mommy and Daddy stared at each other over Serena’s head, and then slowly shook theirs. “They would grow up,” Mommy said. “Once was enough.” Serena’s adoptive mother didn’t want a child, she wanted a baby. And babies eventually turned into children unless they were Littles. “And I don’t want to adopt again. Did that too.” Mommy gave her a glowing look. “And I have no regrets doing that. You’ve been a wonderful daughter, Siri. I just want to…I want to nurture and carry life inside me. I want to be pregnant.” “Invitro?” Serena suggested. More slow headshakes.A fine layer of mist was building up in Mommy’s eyes. “No offense, Mommy, but it seems you want to have your cake and eat it too. You can’t get pregnant and have a baby that won’t grow up.” In what could only have been stupefied shame, Mommy broke eye contact and looked away. Serena quietly hoped she didn’t get that crazy when her body started changing again. As if in reply the door cracked open. In slid an Amazon man about Serena’s parents’ age; early to mid fifties, possibly late forties, with wispy silver hair. “Am I too early?” the man asked with a quiet shyness. She was about to tell him that he was; this needed’t concern him, when the lawyer cut her off“No, Doctor,” the Tweener said. “You’re right on time.” Serena raised her brow in question. What was a doctor doing here? Was this the one that had delivered the bad news concerning her mother’s declining fertility? Her concerns lessened dramatically as the man leaned over and shook every member of the family’s hand before taking the chair next to the lawyer. “Dr. Maddox, good to see you,” Daddy said. “So…?” “As I told you and your wife over the phone,” the doctor said, “I think we have an option regarding your wife getting pregnant.” “Go on, Doctor.” “Are you familiar with the work of Dr. Matilda Devereux?” Maddox asked, his gaze wandering over to the LIttle. Of course she wasn’t, and of course her parents had been given at least the elevator pitch. This was for the younger Hudson’s benefit. Politely, Serena shook her head. “No, Doctor. What can you tell me?” “I’ll spare you the finer details, but she’s had some remarkable success in…let’s call it ‘unbirthing’.” “Oh no…” the gasp came up out of Serena’s throat almost involuntary. It didn’t take a..a…whatever degree this doctor had to figure out what that meant given the context. Her stomach started to turn. “Yes,” the doctor said, not at all perturbed by Serena’s reaction. “It was invented as a way to kick start a woman’s reproductive system, but there are other implications. There have already been over a dozen recorded successes so far overseas. It doesn’t help with menopause, but pregnancy is pregnancy as far as the body is concerned. The successful implantation of a Little into an Amazon womb is no longer a dream.” “And as far as we can find,” the Tweener lawyer chimed in, “there’s nothing illegal about it.” “Who would dream that?” Mere moments before, Serena was talking about abducting and adopting fully grown Littles, but this was crossing an ethical line that Serena hadn’t known she’d had. Her question went unanswered; at least directly. The doctor’s gaze moved to Mommy. “You’ll have to be on a strict regimen of specialized medication after the implantation procedure. Even as the operation slows the baby’s metabolism, you’ll still have to feed her.” “Of course,” Mommy said. “Shouldn’t be hard.” “Where are you even going to find a Little to do this on?” All eyes honed in on Serena. Her mouth became as dry and coarse as desert sand. “What? No. No, no, no.” She turned in her seat and looked at her mother. “Mommy. I love you, and you’ve been great to me, but I'm not getting shoved into your body so that you can be pretend pregnant.” Daddy’s heavy hand landed on her shoulder. “We don’t have a choice, Siri. We don’t have any other Littles and can’t adopt any more.” She tried to shrug her father’s hand off. She failed. “No! Don’t be ridiculous. I won’t be a part of it. I don’t consent.” She glared at the doctor and repeated herself. “I. Do. Not. Consent.” The lawyer who Serena still couldn’t remember, “Your consent, technically speaking, isn’t needed.” “I’m an adult!” Serena shouted. “No, Siri,” Mommy said, “You’re a Little.” Behind her sad, guilty smile, there was a hunger that Serena hadn’t seen before. It had been hidden by the looming tears. “Your adoption papers from when you were three,” the lawyer explained, “are no different than the papers of a Little who gets adopted at twenty-five. Your Mommy and Daddy are well within their rights to revoke your adulthood from you.” Serena’s brain barely registered when she was lifted out of the chair and pinned face first to the meeting table. “But Mommy! Daddy!” she shrieked and begged. “I proved that I’m an adult! I potty trained! I got straight A’s all through college! Stocks have risen since I took over the family business!” “I know,” she heard Mommy say. “And this isn’t a reflection on you, dear. It’s just…it’s not personal.” “Fuck you!” Serena shouted. “You’re going to be so happy when all of this is over,” Daddy promised. “Your mother and I always regretted that we never got to know the real you when you were a newborn. This is our chance.” This couldn’t be happening! It wasn’t! It just wasn’t! While Daddy pinned her face down against the mahogany meeting table, Mommy started pulling Serena’s pants down. Jarringly, her brain registered the rest of the stillness in the room. Her body thrashed for all its worth but after a certain point she was just helping Mommy get her panties down. Meanwhile the plain white wall of the meeting room was the only thing she could take in. One sense felt everything that was wrong and another saw absolutely nothing. “You can’t do this!” She heard the smug condescension in the Tweener’s voice. “Legally speaking, this is no different than if your parents had tried to potty train you and then go back to diapers. They just gave you a trial run of a couple of decades instead of a couple of weeks.” “What about the company?” “We’re retired,” Daddy said. “There are some things more important than business. Like family. Could have sworn we taught you that.” She’d done everything right! Her entire life she’d been an Amazon in miniature and she was about to be indistinguishable from any other Little she’d crossed paths with. They all struggled and cried and begged in the end. Even her. It must be inborn; reflexive. “Please!” she pleaded. “I don’t want to go back to diapers!” “Don’t worry,” the doctor said from behind her. He must have walked the other way around. “You won’t be. Not for at least seven months.” Serena felt a pinch on her left butt cheek as the syringe plunged into her. The world went away. *************************************************************************************************** “How are we doing, anesthetic?” “Mother is under, Little should be coming up.” Serena’s brain clicked on. Anesthesia was like that. It wasn’t sleep as much as it was flipping the person’s brain on and off. No dreams. Not even the vague awareness of the passage of time. If there was such a thing as a soul, it was probably the closest someone could get to death and still be on this side of the coffin. She opened her eyes, groaning into the bright lights of the operating room. Reflexively she tried to struggle but her limbs were tied down to the slab she was on.. She could just barely lift her head and look around. Amazon doctors were everywhere scurrying about like ants right after the mound had been kicked. Tubing and needles were inserted into her arms, seeming to criss-cross and snake everywhere. The slight tickle in the back of her throat and clogged sensation in her nose told her that she had a feeding tube shoved down her throat. The only dignity she was allowed was a petite operating gown covering her tiny fragile form. The catheter tubes broadcasted that she at least wasn’t wearing a diaper. “Welcome back,” an Amazon in surgical scrubs said, looming over her. It was hard to tell if it was the man who had stuck the needle in her ambush. In the big scheme of things it didn’t much matter. Serena didn’t need to know who it was to let out an absolutely blood curdling scream. The surgeon smiled with his eyes. “No need for that, little girl. “If you can understand me, blink twice.” “Phughoo!” Serena said. Her eyes shot open. Her teeth! What had happened to her teeth? Her entire mouth sang out in unbearable pain. She’d gotten her wisdom teeth removed and had needed to subside on a diet of over the counter pain pills and frozen yogurt just to get through the rest of the week. This was like that but a million times worse. She ran her tongue along her barren mouth and tasted nothing but bloody gums and the tickling ends of stitches. “If you can understand me,” the doctor repeated. “Blink twice.” She did. “Good. We need to get the anesthesia more or less out of your system before we implant you into your new home.” He chuckled dryly. “More of a timeshare, really. A rental?” The former executive let out mewling whine, asking for explanation, or pity. The doctor only gave one. “You may notice that your belly is slightly distended.” She hadn’t, but now that he’d pointed it out. “Don’t worry, you’re not gaining any weight, we just loaded you up via enema and feeding tube; kind of like a bear before hibernation. Took care of your hair too.” Serena was beyond tears as a gloved Amazon hand brushed against her freshly shaved scalp. “Don’t worry,” she heard, “This part will grow back, but not as thick. Babies as Little as you don’t need thick heads of hair anyways. It’ll grow in lighter too. You’ll look even more like your Mommy.” That was no comfort. “In just a few minutes” the surgeon told her, “we’re going to be draining your blood through your femoral artery while we transfer some of your Mommy’s blood into you. Because of the stuff we’ve already given her, you’ll get very drowsy, but it won’t feel like anesthetic. It’ll be just like slipping into a warm bath. As we insert you, we’ll unhook you from the machines and hook you up into your Mommy. Then it’ll be her job to take care of you.” Serena tried saying something else, but the combination of drugs still in her system, tubes in most every orifice, exhaustion from medical abuse, and lack of teeth made everything come out as just more babbling gibberish. The entire staff just ignored her as they wheeled her closer and closer to her mother’s prone, unconscious form. “Maaaaa! Maaaaaaa!” “She can’t hear you,” the doctor told her. “You’ll have to try again later, on your new birthday.” She started feeling light headed, watching as the blood drained out of her. Her skin started buzzing when more blood drained into her. Serena closed her eyes. They fluttered open when one of the needles was removed. “It’s okay baby. Go back to sleep.” It really was like slipping into a warm bath. ****************************************************************************************************** A blur of time. Less a surgery anesthetic and more of a coma. Serena was aware, but only in short bursts, like waking up from a dream in the middle of the night before plunging back to sleep. It was the reflexive kick and startle from a falling dream. It was rolling over when a limb started to tingle or a shoulder ached too much. It was screaming and startling from a night terror, only to be claimed by darkness. There were brief moments of lucidity where the Little woman knew how doomed she was, but those were few and far between. The rest of the time that passed, she’d be half-conscious just long enough to wonder what time it was, where the alarm clock was, and what she was going to do to scare the life out of that unlucky intern she’d inevitably fire, before rolling over and going back to sleep. It never quite occurred to her that the thick heavy bed sheets draped over her head were actually made of artificial amniotic fluid. Occasionally she’d be aware of the thump thumping in the air. It was a passing train, definitely not another heartbeat. Or she’d hear muffled voices. The walls in these overpriced apartments were too thin, and the neighbors must be throwing a party. Stupid college kids… Then… Light! Air! Serena came out gasping for breath and dripping. She’d just started trying to blink away the confusion when an Amazon sized hand turned her upside down and slapped her as hard as she could. “AAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Serena bellowed in shock and pain. She was still too weak and disoriented to do or say anything more coherent. Huge Amazon hands laid her down on a table and started toweling the viscous stuff out of her. “Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Hudson. It’s a girl!” She’d barely inhaled through her mouth when a nozzle practically shoved itself up her nose. A bit of suction and mucous and more viscous fluid jolted out of her clogged nostril. Without actively thinking about it she puffed air out of her right nostril trying to chase away discomforting sensation. The action was premature, she found, as the same tube alternated to the other nostril. Someone was literally picking her nose for her! Her protests and cries of stop simply came out as more incoherent mumbling. Serena was disoriented by everything that was happening to her but once the baby blue nozzle stopped sucking the fluid from her nose she realized that she had been laid onto something cold as an icy chill consumed her bare naked thighs, bottom and back. Whatever she was laying on had slowly lowered itself due to her weight. She tried to lift her arms and legs to get away the cold plastic, but she couldn't even lift her limbs! “Weight,: one-hundred pounds.” Her arms and legs felt like they were weighted down and made of clay. She willed them to move but nothing happened. Someone stretched her legs for her and straightened her spine. “Height, five foot two.” Serena's limbs weren’t asleep, either; with the Little being acutely aware of her legs being lifted up and something being inserted into her rear end. Her shrieks took on an even higher pitch with that action; the rod was smooth and cold and violating. She wanted to thrash and kick at the almost casual intrusion, but she lacked the strength to so much as roll over, let alone fend for herself. “Temperature: Ninety-eight point eight.” Something finally clicked. She was being weighed, measured and having her temperature taken. Just like a newborn. The giant manipulating her body lifted her unresponsive legs up and she felt something soft and cushioned slid under her bottom. She felt as much as heard the soft plastic crinkle over her own incoherent wailing. A diaper! She was being diapered! “WAAAAAAH!” Months old memories came flooding back. No kicking, only screaming for the Little girl. Her arms and legs from months of stillness had become all but useless. She couldn't even sit up or turn away as the fresh diaper was taped on. Serena felt an ankle bracelet snap around her left leg. “Last name: Hudson.” The nurse called out. “First name?” “Serena.” It was Daddy’s voice. “We’re not changing a thing about her name. She’s always been our bundle of joy.” More crying as it was easier than ever for her to be mummified in a clean blanket and swaddled like a newborn. She was trapped. She’d grown into a butterfly, spent over half a year trapped inside the cocoon of her adoptive mother’s womb and had come out a caterpillar. Less than a caterpillar! A maggot! “My baby!” Mommy cried out. “Give me my baby girl!” The room flew by and the open air felt frigid against Serena’s face while she was passed from giant to giant. “That’s right,” Mommy whispered. “Come to Mommy. Come on. You can do it.” She felt something stiff and fleshy brush against her cheek. With near exhausting effort Serena turned her head and felt Mommy’s erect nipple enter her mouth. “That’s right. Go on and latch. Go on.” Toothless, cold, and hungry, the girl sucked and sucked and sucked. The first few pulls reminded her of college dating, until the first bits of colostrum flooded her mouth. Something between forgotten instinct and desperation took the wheel from there. “Latch.” Mommy said. “That’s right.” Serena had no choice. She suckled and suckled while her now birth mother petted the thin wisps of light blonde hair that had grown over the last few months. Were she an adult, she might look like she was just going through chemo. She was a Little, though, and so just seemed all the more newborn. “Take your first meal.” It would be the first of many. There wouldn’t even be a highchair necessary to feed her. The meal didn’t last long. Her stomach was just as weak as her arms from disuse. The new newborn woman lasted no more than a few mouthfuls before she felt like she might vomit. Mommy didn’t force it. Too weak to talk. Too weak to open her eyes, Serena could only listen and breathe. “How long before she can crawl again?” “Unless you put her through extensive surgery and therapies,” a voice said. “Probably never.” “What about tummy time?” Mommy asked. “As long as she’s awake and supervised, you can start in a few days when you get home.” “Good,” Mommy said, sounding satisfied. “I don't want her laying in her bassinet all day. Solid foods?” “Keep her on a liquid diet. Your body will provide for her if you stay on the pill regimen and your milk will come with enough calories. However, there are high calorie baby formulas that can imitate breast milk if you stop taking the medication. Either way, she’ll probably gain a bit of a tummy. Twenty to thirty pounds. Some real baby fat.” Twenty to thirty pounds? A lifetime of diet and exercise being poured down the drain and squirted directly into her mouth! Serena felt her diaper warm slightly, pulling her away from her silently lamenting. Was that her imagination or had she just peed a little bit? Her bladder was so weak she couldn’t tell. It didn’t fill up as much as just constantly dripped out of her. “So she’ll be my little newborn,” Mommy said, sounding tired and happy. “Forever.” “She’s a Little. They stay at whatever age you put them in, but with her it would take a lot of work if you wanted to treat her even a few months older than a newborn.” “I talked with a lawyer,” Daddy’s voice made Serena’s ears twitch. “Because you’re now Siri’s birth mother, we can technically adopt again if we want to give her a bigger sibling. Maybe a Little boy this time. Or a girl if we want to still use all those frilly dresses we’ve got leftover from the first time.” “One thing at a time,” the doctor said. “In the meantime, I think both mother and baby need their rest. It’s been a big day.” Serena was ripped away from her mother’s arms and carried out just as she started silently hyperventilating. The quiet of the delivery room was replaced with the crying of newborns in the maternity ward. Other newborns. The Little opened her eyes just in time to see glass walls surround her. An aquarium of a crib-an incubator- rose up around her and Amazon nurses unwrapped her from her blankets, leaving her naked save for the not-quite-fresh diaper she’d just been put in and her identifying anklet. All around her newborn children screamed and bawled, scrunching up their faces, confronted by the shock of a confusing and frightening world. A newborn in all but mind, Serena related. What would other Littles think of her when they saw her. Probably what she thought of most before all this. “Good thing I’m not her.” She was in diapers and definitely needed them. But she couldn’t walk or crawl or eat solid foods. She’d spend the rest of her life being carried around and breastfed. She might get the quiet dignity of a footed onesie, but it was just as likely that being swaddled in a blanket and knit cap would suffice to cover her diaper and keep her warm, if anything at all. Painfully, aching and exhausted, Serena lifted her head up and did her best to look around. Huge familiar faces stared at her, both young and old. Children coming to see their new baby brothers and sisters. Grandparents meeting their first grandchild. It was supposed to be heartwarming but it was closer to how a zoo animal must feel. It might have been delirium, but Serena could have sworn she saw an Amazon woman sipping a cup of coffee and smiling smugly down at her. How many interns had she done that coffee trick to? Even hospitals needed someone to fetch the coffee and file the paperwork. They had to go somewhere. That’s when Serena messed herself. It wasn’t a big poop. Newborns’ first bowel movements never were. It still felt disgusting to Serena’s formerly adult sensibilities. With her bowels and bladder as broken as they were, it was very likely that she’d spend most of the rest of her life, such as it was, wet or messy. Wearing clean clothing around her bottom would be the exception and not the rule. “I did everything right,” Serena thought to herself. “I was the perfect daughter, I grew up getting straight A's, ran a business and I’m still here, lower than the lowest pants messer. I don’t even have pants anymore…” As the nurses walked away to check on other crying babies, she joined them and lent her impotent screams to theirs. The only difference was most of them would get to grow up.

Dear @Ohmo, If you were arguing that I should give credit to the images I used in the same manner that I remembered to credit small niche community artists, ie; "X Character is owned by X Mega Corporation", I'd say, "Okay. Fair point. Let me add one or two more slides. Thank you for pointing out that oversight of mine." I was pretty sure that most people knew which mega corporations owned the rights to characters they didn't create and wouldn't benefit from the exposure and accreditation in the same way as the small time ABDL writers and artists I featured in those slides, but "fair is fair" as some say. But you're making arguments that me doing a powerpoint presentation with pop-culture references is somehow immoral and/or illegal. There's so much wrong with that that I can barely unpack it all, but I'll try to loosen up the mountain of faulty suppositions, logical fallacies and non-real world experience you've crammed in there. I'm speaking as a writer and a public school teacher with at least a decade experience in each field. You're calling an uncountable number of public educators grade K-12 (not to mention college level) who put funny pics, memes, and references in their lecture slides to grab student attention and help them relate to and memorize the material of being thieves. That's just not the case. That's not how that works. That's not how any of that works. You don't know what you're talking about. Not legally. Not morally. I don't even think the most deontological purist would take your side in good faith. I once had a Psychology and Sociology professor who played a different pop song every lecture and posted the lyrics at the beginning of class to relate to what she was talking about. For example, she played Blue's Traveler's "Hook" as a way to explain emotional persuasion techniques. "It doesn't matter what I say So long as I speak with inflection. That makes you feel I'll convey Some inner truth or vast reflection. But I've said nothing so far. And I can keep it up as long as it takes. And it don't matter who you are 'Cause if I'm doing my job, it's your resolve that breaks." (Yes, there's a reason I chose that song for this particular discourse in reference to you...) By your logic she's a thief who should have been fired and Blues Traveler should be coming after her for a large sum of money because she played their song in a classroom without permission and gave us the lyrics on a powerpoint while she verbally explained the connection she was trying to get us to draw. My high school math teacher taught us the difference between combinations and permutations using a 2-3 minute clip from Spongebob Squarepants trying to build a hamburger and obsessing on the exact order of the toppings. No ethics committee within the school system has taken up the case against him and to my knowledge Nickelodeon hasn't chosen to take legal action. Not even a cease and desist letter. A former colleague who is an English teacher taught passive voice with a slide from AMC's The Walking Dead. (If you can tag on "by Zombies" at the end of a sentence and it's still a correct sentence, it's passive voice.) Similarly, I included pictures of famous pop-culture characters owned by Disney et. al. to act as persuasive arguments and mnemonic devices about writing, world building, planning, point of view, stylistic choices, etc.; with a specific focus on writing ABDL fiction and treating it as as much of an artform as anything else. I didn't include every correlation on every slide, because I didn't want my presentation to be nothing but me reading off the slides. Are we all thieves? I certainly don't think so. Your argument doesn't hold water in the hypothetical thought experiment realm, and it DEFINITELY doesn't work in the real world. Furthermore, you sent me a PM that told me you weren't looking for a reply, you weren't accusing me of wrong doing, and that you'd be leaving the site permanently, and yet here you are again saying very blatantly that I'm a thief. By your own simplistic logic you're a liar, sir. Why should I take the word of a liar? Everything you've said is now suspect you immoral so-and-so; you Sneaky Pete, you! I'd take the time to politely explain how each image was used in context of the greater presentation and how and why it fits into an educational and/or satirical fair use policy, but based on your behavior I have no reason to believe you'll engage with me with any kind of intellectual honesty or good faith. You've already told me and shown me that you have no interest in listening to anyone but yourself and getting the last word in. Copyright, Trademark, IP, and artists' rights are all tricky and nuanced subjects for in depth discussion both from a ethical and legal point of view. I can and have had my mind changed in the past by such emotionally and intellectually honest discussions. However, I have no reason to think that you're capable of having such a conversation. As near as I can tell the only conviction you have is wanting to be "right" and wanting to get the last word in. If you REALLY have a problem with the above content I have submitted at no charge, report it to a moderator here on DailyDiapers and hope they take your side. If they don't, leave like you said you would the first time. If this place is not for you, I don't want you having to go through the struggle of navigating a community that clearly goes against your core beliefs. You can also contact the organization that allowed me to give this presentation: CAPCon. Get them to ban me or shake their finger at me or whatever so I don't do it again. https://www.capcon.club/ If they don't do that, then there's one less event that you have to worry about going to because of your deeply held personal beliefs and you can warn others who share your deeply held beliefs to stay away too. Full support! Integrity first! Are you really so out of touch? No. It's the children who are wrong. (That's also a pop culture reference, btw.) OR... Take a moral philosophy class. Learn about logical fallacies and how to spot them. If you're religious, talk to your spiritual leader and see what they have to say about it. Yes, including the diaper porn part. Integrity! Stop pretending you're standing up for artists like you're protecting the little guy when you're just standing up for corporations that have wealth greater than most small countries. You can overcome Dunning Kruger Syndrome if you choose to; I just don't believe you'll choose to. Sincerely, Personalias

Chapter 78: Fever Teachers don’t get sick that often. It’s not something we do. Part of it is just building up natural stamina and resistance. As a general rule, kids are germ factories, walking petri dishes of viruses and bacteria all spreading it around with one another. Not counting hospitals, schools are probably the biggest hotbed for any number of diseases. So teachers, as a side effect, often develop very robust immune systems. If only that were the only reason why teachers were hardly ever sick. That’s barely a third of the reason why. The rest of it is more of a cultural thing. ‘Sick’ for a teacher, and ‘sick’ for someone else in almost any other profession are two different metrics. Somebody else might get a case of the sniffles or a mild fever or toss their cookies first thing in the morning, and decide to call out of work. It sucks, of course, and their boss will totally give them grief about it if it happens too often, but it’s not like the entire accounting division is going to be thrown into chaos for the day because Steve woke up with an ear infection. As a teacher, though? No such luck. Me being sick meant that I had to call into school as well as put in the appropriate digital paperwork advertising that I needed a substitute teacher for the day. Then I’d have to have plans that amounted to a script so thorough and detailed that a complete novice who didn’t know my classroom norms and procedures and likely didn’t have a teaching degree could run my daily routines as if I wasn’t really gone. This includes being able to tell them in perfect detail where everything is from worksheets to learning toys to art supplies and pencils. Yes, I could have ‘Emergency Sub Plans’ filled with busy work but busy work in of itself is a misnomer. Even with three and four year olds, what was appropriate and challenging at the beginning of the year was nothing by the middle, and six hours worth of material come August might not last half an hour come April. Every time a teacher feels under the weather, they’re faced with a choice: Stay home, rest, and heal, or pop a pill, suck it up, run on fumes and drone through the day like a zombie. When it takes at least a day worth of preparation to be absent for an entire day, most teachers will take their chances and hope that their students are either empathetic enough or oblivious enough not to take advantage of the situation. For me it was doubly so. All it would take was one slip up and… And… Well, you know… Another fun fact, when teachers do get sick, it’s more likely to be on vacation. Three day weekends and other prolonged scheduled breaks are the most likely time for a teacher to finally stay in bed so that they can barf up a lung or something. I’m not sure how accurate that is statistically, but that’s how it always felt to me. Perhaps it was more psychological than physiological, but if I was going to get sick it tended to be on the days when I knew I’d have the time to recover. Like my body would ignore symptoms or my brain would block out pain and exhaustion just long enough until my mind knew that I could afford to be sick and then suddenly everything would hit me all at once. That was another thing about me in particular. I’m a total wimp when I get sick. All confidence and self-reliance goes out of me and I become a whimpering quivering mess who by turns wants to either be left alone in a dark room or to be held and cuddled and told that it was all going to be alright. ****************************************************************************************** There I was that morning, laying out in the middle of the living room on my ‘sick bed’. I was wrapped up in a thick wool blanket with a smooth comforter on top and I was still making the couch cushions vibrate with how much I was shivering. I never stayed in our giant king bed in our bedroom when I was sick: Cassie needed the computer to do her work still, and the guest bathroom with the Little sized toilet was closer to the couch. My joints ached too harshly and my bladder ached too frequently to want to climb the old Amazon sized toilet in the master bathroom. My eyes focused on the T.V. The DVD that had been playing had gone on so long it had looped back to the menu screen. Damn. I’d missed it too. “Cassie!” I whimpered, not realizing just how quiet I was being. “Cas?!” I called out, feeling like I was shouting at the top of my lungs, but it was probably just a more pitiful moan. Quiet, almost gliding footsteps came. “Hey hon,” Cassie said. Even at a whisper her voice sounded booming to me. “What’s up?” She stopped and felt my forehead, her palm feeling icy cold on my face. She looked down at the small wooden table she’d set up. “Do you want more juice?” The plastic sports bottle, something that only got broken out when I was sick, suddenly existed again in my mind. My lips were chapped and my throat was dry, but it wasn’t why I had called out for her. Meekly I shook my head. “Uh-uh.” “I’m gonna get you some anyways.” “But…” My wife picked it up and quickly walked over to the fridge. “Apple or orange?” “Apple, I guess.” “What?” I spoke louder. “Orange!” “Okay. Sit up so you can drink it.” Reluctantly, I did and regretted it. Sitting up brought me that much closer to the waking world and I realized that I had to pee. When I’m sick the combination of dulled senses combined with constant hydration makes it so that my bladder either feels completely empty or is to the point of bursting with no warning or in between. Most of my coworkers would likely snicker something asking how that was different from when a Little was healthy. Typical. Feeling like the dead rising from his grave, I struggled out of my cocoon and shambled to the guest bathroom, my clothing nothing more than a baggy t-shirt and a pair of equally baggy shorts. Peeing felt like it took forever and any stamina I’d saved up felt nearly spent by the time I’d flushed and gone back to the couch. Waiting for me on the table she’d arranged by the couch was a thermometer, a filled up bottle with watered down orange juice and a couple of pills. “Come on,” my wonderful wife said. “Let’s get you back and wrapped up.” “C-c-c-cold.” I felt like my lips were turning blue. I collapsed back into the couch. Something about Cassie’s touch made me shiver even more while she started tucking my legs under the blankets. She started rubbing my legs up and down, trying to build friction heat. “Does that help.” I shivered again. “Not really. But thanks for trying.” She stopped rubbing my legs and put the thermometer in my mouth. The metallic taste and the slight weight from it dangling from my lps made me want to spit it out like it was poison. My eyes looked down at the tiny electronic readout. Ninety-nine point nine. One hundred. One-hundred point five. Cassie’s slender hand twisted the thermometer so that the screen was pointed down. “Don’t look,” she said. “It only makes you more stressed out.” I grumbled but knew she was right. After what felt like much too long the thermometer beeped and she read it. “Hundred and one point nine,” she said. “Take your medicine.” She slid the pills over to me and I reluctantly picked them up and took a swig from my bottle. The orange juice tasted like battery acid to me but it covered up the taste of the pills. I put the bottle down and wiped my mouth. “Why do I even have to take my temperature?” I asked. “I know I feel sick.” With extreme patience, Cassie finished tucking me in, practically swaddling me. “Because if the fever gets too high, that’s bad.” “It’s not like we’re gonna go to the hospital.” That was a sure way to get plopped in a cot. Cassie dodged my whining. “Would you rather I stick the thermometer somewhere else?” She grinned with her eyes, but kept the rest of her face calm and patient. I felt too weak to so much as say, “Pass.” Instead I just feebly shook my head right before another cold flash ripped through my body. She leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I moaned in relief at the very touch of her. I hadn’t even realized that I’d closed my eyes again. “Thank you,” I whispered. “Welcome, hon,” she said. I didn’t even realize she’d walked away. I might not have realized I’d almost gone back to sleep save for that I startled myself awake snoring. “Cassie?” I heard only silence and some light clacking. “Cassie?!” Her footsteps were heavier coming back. “What’s wrong?” I couldn’t tell if she was annoyed, worried, a little bit of both. “It’s only been five minutes.” Her focus honed in on the bottle. “Just sip, hon. Don’t tank up too quickly or it’s bad for your stomach.” She reached over and picked up the bottle; frowning when she felt the weight of it. I hadn’t had a drop. “Oh. WHat’s wrong?” What was wrong? I wasn’t sure. I wanted to ask her not to leave. I wanted her to be in the room with me, even if we weren’t directly interacting with each other. I wanted to ask her to help me climb into our bed so that I could at least be bundled up and unconscious within thirty feet of her. I just wanted her there. A sliver of memory pierced through the mind fog I was feeling. “Can you start my DVD again?” Cassie looked at the screen. “Yeah. Sure.” She went over and pressed play. “Sure, hon.” “It helps me sleep.” “I know.” My eyes closed again and the rest of the day passed me by, interrupted only by the desperate need to not pee on the couch. ******************************************************************************* I opened my eyes, needing to pee yet again. I actually held my breath releasing my bladder, irrationally afraid that the diaper would leak. When the leak subtle seeps out the leakguard and soaks your clothes it almost feels like a betrayal. It had one job and it couldn’t even do that. When the diaper leaks right as you're peeing, hot fresh urine actively dripping down your thighs and legs; it somehow feels worse. It feels even more pathetic than usual. Like I was having my first accident all over again. That was unlikely to happen again. After the first leak that morning, Janet changed me back into a nighttime diaper. I wasn’t feeling in any shape to walk anyways. Janet had whisked me home immediately, changed me, and put me to bed. It was the first time in a while that I hadn’t stayed up trying to curse her name, but sleep had not come for me. I spent the whole night closing my eyes, waiting for sleep, but never feeling rested. Instead, the cold feeling just got worse, and anything that wasn’t cold was somehow on fire. Night had bled into morning and Janet had seemed disappointed but not surprised that I’d yet to make a full recovery. “Don’t worry,” she told me. “I already sent emails saying I’d be out today. Stayed up all night making sub-plans.” Several quiet, hazy hours had passed since then, with only a leaky diaper and Janet opting to lightly swaddle me to mark the time. “Hey,” Janet whispered to me, once she knew I was awake. “How are you feeling?” Everything aching I flopped my head to the side. We were still on Janet’s couch. She was reclining in it, holding me gently against her with her outside arm while working a cell phone with the other. The T.V. was onto some empty talk show where middle aged B-list lady celebrities talked in a circle to the hoots and hollers of their equally middle aged mostly lady audience. “What time?” “Not quite lunch,” she said softly. “I already called Dr. Milton and told him your symptoms. He thinks it’s just a bug but if you don’t get better by Sunday we’ll be going to see him on Monday.” “Mark’s last name isn’t Milton, is it?” “No.” She brushed some hair off my forehead. She didn’t laugh or roll her eyes. Just spoke to me softly like my paranoia was the most normal thing in the world. I suddenly felt silly. I’d forgotten that I already had a pediatrician. Mark probably wasn’t even a doctor. I chuckled at my own stupidity, but the laughter came out as a weak panting. Suddenly my body shook and spasmed, and she just gripped me so I didn’t fall. For either ten seconds or a year, every part of my body that was touching her felt like it was being nuked and the tiniest of slivers of skin that peaked out from the blanket was being flash frozen. I squirmed and wriggled to be closer to the giant source of warmth that only wanted to cuddle me. I was actually glad to have her there. “You can go back to sleep if you want to,” Janet whispered gently to me. “I don’t mind.” My eyes closed, but they felt itchy and burning instead of nice and heavy. I tried to count sheep in my head, hoping that I’d lose count and drift off but only one of those things happened. “No.” I said. “Can’t.” Janet switched arms and picked up a bottle. She sat up a little straighter so that I was resting in her lap instead of curled up against her torso. “Here.” she said holding up the bottle with red liquid. “Take a drink.” I opened my mouth and accepted the nipple, taking more gentle sips of some kind of watered down artificial drink with a flavor that matched the color. It wasn’t cherry, or strawberry, or watermelon. Just red. Anxiety trickled down my brainstem, hissing to me about what the contents of that bottle were. There could have been poison or an addictive drug that caused me to become completely incontinent or killed my brain cells until I’d forgotten my shapes and colors. At that point in time I was so completely and utterly wiped out that I would have welcomed the death of self. Also, the stuff tasted pretty good. Once my cracked throat had some wash down it, it wanted more. “Careful now,” Janet said. “Don’t drink too fast. You might upset your stomach.” She took the bottle away from me, letting me have sips every once in a while over the course of several minutes.I didn’t mind. I was just glad to not be alone. *********************************************************************************************** “How do you think you got it?” Cassie asked. I was sitting up, spooning broth into my mouth. “I don’t know. Probably just the summer campus crud.” Cassie nodded. She’d heard this song and dance from me a billion times. “Somebody coughed on you last month or didn’t wash their hands or whatever and your body has just been putting getting sick on hold.” I shrugged. “Yup.” I couldn’t tell if she’d heard me so I repeated myself. “You are such a wimp when you get sick.” Cassie smiled at me. I felt like crap, but seeing the smile on her face made me feel a tiny bit better. My stomach wasn’t hurting, but anything more substantial than chicken soup wasn’t the least bit appetizing. The soup wasn’t exactly mouth watering, but I could picture myself eating it without feeling my throat tighten in rejection. The way she was eating the spaghetti signaled that she was having no such problems. “I’ll take care of you if you get sick,” I offered. “I’m not a wimp when I get sick,” Cassie said. I took a drag from my sports bottle. The orange juice tasted like I’d just brushed my teeth despite all evidence to the contrary. It might be just because my taste buds were shot. “I’d still take care of you. Get you things.” She favored me with a weak grin and slurped more noodles. “That’s fair.” She finished off her plate in a few more mouthfuls. “Though you know you don’t have to wait for me to be sick and dying to give me stuff.” I coughed a bit and silently hoped that wasn’t a new symptom. “That’s fair.” “I should stop picking on you,” her voice was both taunting and enervating. She was both flirting with me and making fun of me at the same time. If only I had the energy to do more than just whimper and imagine myself nuzzling against her in bed. “Okay. Back to work,” she groaned. I kept sipping broth and listening to dishes clink and clank in the sink. “Need anything?” She called out. I swung my feet over the side of the couch and dropped the blankets to the floor. I tromped after her, doing my best not to shake. “How many clean towels do we have?” The love of my life slowed and let me catch up with her. “At least two.” “Can I get one wet?” She looked at me quizzically. Her eyes glanced down to my shorts before zipping back up to my shoulders. “Sauna treatment?” “Sauna treatment.” *************************************************************************************************** I rubbed my eyes, knowing sleep would not claim me now that I was awake; not when I wanted it. Sleep never came when I wanted to when I was sick. Deep down, I knew exactly how I’d gotten to feeling so absolutely dreadful. For weeks on end I’d pushed and deprived myself so that others could know my pain. Even when I shouldn’t have. Especially when I shouldn’t have. On some level I’d been constantly on guard, constantly coiled, ready to strike. That sweet taste of victory on the playground with Tommy had lulled my mind into enough security that my body finally let down its defenses and whatever gunk inside me had finally kicked into high gear. I’d stepped into the ring, swung against anything and everything within arms reach, and only heard the bell when Tommy hit the floor. Back in my corner, I was out of breath and the adrenaline was taking me so far and I was now officially feeling every hit that life had dealt me. I had this coming. I really had this coming; strategically if not karmically. “I’m sorry,” Janet said. “I’m really really sorry.” Laying in her arms, gazing past Janet and up at the bathroom ceiling, I croaked out. “Why?” “I shouldn’t have taken you to the meeting last night,” she said. “I should have seen that you weren’t feeling like yourself with how sleepy you were and kept you home.” She reached up to a medicine cabinet. For the first time that morning, her voice lilted slightly into her cooing Mommy talk. “Poor guy. You burned yourself out playing when you should have been sleeping. I moaned in half-agreement. “I’m pretty sure I’d still be sick.” “But maybe not as sick,” Janet replied. “Let’s check your temperature.” Every muscle that I could muster tensed up involuntarily. “Please don’t stick it up my butt!” I opened my mouth like a snake ready for a mouse. The Amazon clearly wanted to laugh at me, but everything south of her eyes stayed calm and professional. “It’s a forehead scanner, Clark.” She dragged the top over my forehead and stared at the readout. “Hundred and two.” Her lips retreated inward. “Not the worst, but not great.” The world tilted and the blankets drooped off me as Janet sat me on the bathroom counter by the sink. Blizzard air hit me right in the chest and I had to yank the blankets back across myself. Panting,I shifted and felt the wet squelch beneath me. Had I peed that much already? Janet was busy pouring a viscous liquid into a cup that was tiny even for me. Every joint in my body ached, and despite the chill, the cool bathroom tile was starting to feel very good beneath my naked thighs. She turned back around and held it out to me. “Here you go,” she said just above a whisper. “It’s children’s strength.” She quickly corrected herself. “Amazon children…so…Little sized.” “Will that put me to sleep?” “Uh-uh.” she said. “It’s just acetaminophen. You can go to sleep if you want, but it’s just to help keep you comfortable.” Her eyelids flickered and she glanced back down at the cup. “Not enough for a bottle. Do you want me to put it in a syringe so you can suck it up?” My mouth hung slightly agape. It sounded like a genuine question instead of a veiled ultimatum. I held out my hands and took the plastic cup gingerly from her. “Thanks.” “You’re welcome. Both hands.” I threw it back like it was a shot. The stuff was overly sugared, even for me, and went down like a milkshake. I set it down next to the sink and smacked my lips. “Can I have more to drink?” “Sure. Let’s go get your bottle.” She stepped forward to envelop me again. “Wait.” I held my hands out. “Stop!” Janet froze. My eyes gazed out past her to the bathtub. I was cold. I was trembling. I was wet. “Can I have…” I stopped and swallowed, tasting the last bits of the medicine again. “A shower?” “A shower?” She looked over her shoulder to the tub’s showerhead as if it were a mysterious alien artifact. “You want to take a shower?” Over a month and it had been all baths with the only variables being with or without bubbles. “Yeah…” “Yeah, hon. Sure. You can have a shower.” She transported me over to the tub and stood me up. It felt like a ball ‘n chain was coming off of me when she undid the tapes and my diaper fell down between my legs. I sat down with my knees pulled up to my chest as soon as she balled it up and cleared it away. The coolness of the tub’s basin was exaggerated by my addled senses. I was alone for the first time that day and uncannily awake. I dared not move. Janet came back with a fluffy white towel and left it on the sink where I’d been sitting. “Close the door?” I asked. She closed the door and turned on the water. “Let’s give this a try,” she said. The water came out of the tub faucet and lapped up to my toes, chilly at first. Janet ran her hand under the water until it was warm enough. She stood up to her full height and took the shower head attachment off from his perch and snaked it all the way to the floor. She aimed it down. “Ready?” “Ready.” She pulled a knob on the faucet and it sputtered, stopping for a half a second as water was rerouted through different pipes and tubes. The showerhead surged to light spraying water down by my toes. I flinched when tiny droplets bounced off the floor and onto the tops of my feet. Janet held it steady and I gingerly- very gingerly- slid my feet into the stream. Relief. Sweet relief as my feet felt the warmest they had in forever. I was in a hot spring in the middle of a blizzard tundra. My body untensed and my legs slowly withdrew away from my chest, hungry for more warmth. The water came out hot and fast, stinging like thousands of bees; pulsing like a tattoo gun. My upper body still shook. Janet wisely took that as a cue. The wonderful torrential downpour maneuvered around me and started spraying on my back. My arms fell slack against the side. “Feel good?” Janet asked. “Yeah,” I said. Looking up at Janet. “How could you tell?” My friend smiled lightly, not showing her teeth. “I’ve never heard you make that sound before.” “I made a sound?” In reply, she gave me only pleasant silence, with nothing but the sound of running water hitting my back and the basein to do it. My shoulders wouldn’t quite release the tension, flinching and jerking every few seconds. I heard a click above me and the water pressure changed. Still as hot, but not nearly as intense. That did the trick and my body must have telegraphed it. “Better?” Janet asked. “Yeah.” I threw back my head into the stream and rubbed my hands through my hair, quietly exhilarating in the wet curls flopping down my head and becoming malleable again. Steam quickly filled the bathroom, fogging the mirror and clouding my vision. I inhaled through my nose and relished in the ability to do so. A stuffy nose wasn’t the worst symptom I’d had. I hadn’t consciously noticed it. But damn did it feel good. The medicine must have been kicking in. I spent the next five minutes asking Janet to adjust the positioning of the portable showerhead. First my upper body was too cold, then my legs. Then back to my back. Anything that wasn’t being doused with near scalding water felt unusually cold. It wasn’t as bad as before, but it was closer to an itch that wouldn’t quite go away. I kept my eyes pointed downward, stuck in my own world. “Do you wanna hold it?” Janet said. I looked up at her through the steam. I’d almost forgotten she was there. I sat up leaning back on my hands for balance and my legs spread open wide, not even attempting to conceal myself. Janet had seen me naked so many times that I’d lost count. She knelt over me, holding the wand-like apparatus. She was dressed in light blue sweatpants and a pink t-shirt; and the steam was starting to do things to her hair. My head was finally clear enough to look at her and notice her shifting her body weight and wiggling her shoulder. No way could that position be comfortable for long. “Do you want to hold the showerhead?” she repeated. I reached up and out. “Sure.” She passed it off to me and rolled her shoulder. “Thanks,” she said. Even with aching joints and limbs that wanted to fall off me; even though the portable nozzle was like a hairbrush in Janet’s hands and a club in mine, I wanted it. A big dumb smile plastered itself on my mug right as I aimed the water right on my face. Funny: It took me being sick for Janet to let me do things myself. Using both hands I moved the shower head to my spine. Janet stood back up and was lightly stretching, but she hadn’t taken her eyes off me. Through the artificial mist I couldn’t tell if her eyes contained that trademark Amazon Mommy madness or if she was showing shades of one friend worried and caring about another. Maybe both? “Can I have that towel?” I asked. Janet looked confused. “You want to get out?” “Nuh-uh”. Whether because I was feeling a tad better or because the acoustics in the bathroom carried my voice more efficiently, but it came out loud and clear. “I want to get it wet. Heat blanket. Opposite of a cold wash cloth?” Understanding came to her. “Got it.” She took the fluffy white towel and draped it over my head. “Here. Let me help.” I didn’t put up any kind of fight when she took the shower wand back from me. “I’ll give it back. Promise.” I got hosed down with the towel cloaked over me. My eyes started rolling because of how good it felt. The weight of the sopping towel pressed down on my shoulders, absorbing and transferring the heat of the water all around me while making it last longer. “Oh yeah,” I groaned. “That’s the stuff.” Janet’s laughter joined my voice. It was light, almost humming. Satisfied. She placed the showerhead down by my feet and I just let it spray on me. “Better?” “Much. Thank you.” I looked at Janet and saw her turning away, rubbing her eyes. I’d made a mistake and was too tired to care. Hefting the showerhead one more time I gave the towel a fresh blast of heat. ************************************************************************************ “Clark?” Cassie’s voice bounced off our master bathroom. “You okay in there?” I roused myself up from the tile. My hot water towel had cooled around me and I’d nodded off, the steam and my own exhaustion compensating. I let out a shiver and stood back up, feeling life return to me with more hot water. In truth, we were about out of hot water. It was more tepid than anything, just like with swimming my skin had gotten overly used to it, and my skin swore the air was made of sleet. “Yeah. I’m fine.” “It’s been close to an hour,” Cassie said. There was a pause. “Did you fall asleep?” She didn’t need to say ‘again’. She technically didn’t need to ask. She knew. “I’m getting out,” I called back. “Okay,” she chirped. “I laid out some fresh clothes for you when you get out.” My sick heart melted a bit. “Awww. Thanks, Cass!” “Sure thing, babe!” ************************************************************************************* The toilet roared and I jolted out of my half-memory half-daydream. I almost gave myself whiplash. Janet was in the midst of pulling her pants back up over her hips. “What?” Janet said. Her eyes widened. “Oh no! Did the water get too hot with the flush? I’m sorry!” Without realizing it I’d let go of the shower head. The darn thing was snaking by the drain, spraying impotently by nothing. “No. It’s not that, it’s just…” I started to mumble. Something close to a blush started to spread. Janet allowed herself a smirk. “Big people need to go pee too, you know.” “Yeah,” I said. “It’s just…you’ve never…around me.” Her eyebrows knitted, trying to recollect while she washed her hands. “I haven’t? “ she said. “Huh. That’s weird. I’m sorry.” “For what?” She dried her hands on a bathroom towel. “Nothing. But if I made you uncomfortable I promise it wasn’t on purpose.” I stopped myself from saying it was alright. As refreshed as I was starting to feel I was still exhausted. Only the sound of the shower filled the brief silence. “Thanks,” I mumbled. The self-appointed nurse inched closer to the tub. “You’re all coiled up again. Feeling tense? Achey?” I barely nodded, but that was enough. Reaching over she picked up the showerhead and gently sprayed me down again, coating me with more warmth. I hadn’t even realized how close my shoulders were to my ears until they’d already lowered back down. “Let me try something,” she said. She hoisted the showerhead back to its holster so far above me that I likely couldn’t reach it without being at full strength and being allowed to jump from the rim of the bath. She took a few moments to angle it, playing it. “Do you want it coming down on your head or by your feet?” “Feet, please.” She angled it so that the stream came just south of my lap, then removed the towel from off my back and then held it close to the head until it was dripping. Gently, she placed the heated piece of cloth back over my shoulders and my upper body melted. Janet didn’t stop there. She started pressing and squeezing at my back, shoulders, and neck. Kneading and massaging my aching muscles. I’d never been to a professional masseuse and I highly doubted Janet was anywhere near that skill level, but the level of care she applied more than made up for it. I could feel her strength with every squeeze, but knew she was being careful. She probed and poked and prodded, but only until my body gave some sort of unconscious signal to move on or continue. I’d been touched and carried and picked up and toted and wiped and scrubbed and manhandled so far, but not like this. “How’s this?” she asked. “Uh-huh.” I let out a yawn. “Yeah.” Clearly I wasn’t at my most coherent. “Can I wash your hair? It might feel good.” Another yawn. “Yeah. Okay.” I shivered a bit as flower scented goop was poured onto my hair. Even the shampoo felt cold to my short circuiting senses. The rest felt decadent, however. Every movement of her fingers gently digging into my scalp, massaging my hair was pure paradise. And there was no singing. No cooing. No remarks on how cute she thought I looked. Just some tuneless humming as she took turns massaging my scalp and the rest of my body. For just a few minutes I let myself forget that there was a fresh diaper with my name on it after this. As if she were reading my mind she took down the shower head and gently rinsed the suds from my hair and body. “I think it’s time for you to get out. You’re yawning an awful lot.” “No I’m not,” I said right as the yawn bellowed out of me. “Okay. No you’re not.” She turned off the water. “Stay right there and try not to fall asleep. I’m going to get a fresh towel.” “Okay,” I said. There in the quiet, with only light drips, I sighed to myself and ripped the massive wet towel off my back. It was losing heat quickly now. Good things never lasted it seemed. Janet came in and scooped me up with the old towel’s dryer fluffier twin. She wrapped me up and swaddled me, paying attention. A few strides and we were across the hallway and I was back on my back with an especially thick Monkeez making its way under me. Two giant fingers dipped themselves in a tub of cream. “You’re peeing a lot today.” She hastily added, “Which is normal. I’m going to put some of this on you just so you don’t get a rash.” I let out a tired breathy sigh which she must have taken for resignation if not consent. She started smearing the stuff down below, carefully rubbing it into all the folds and crevices of my skin. Her nose wrinkled. Mine too. The stuff had a funny chemical smell to it. Memories of zit cream and off-brand sunscreen bubbled up into my brain. It was the kind of stuff that you could feel on you for a moment after it was applied. “How about some powder for the smell?” I didn’t complain. She made it snow on my crotch before closing it off and taping the diaper up. She sat me up. The padding of the Monkeez still stuck to me like I’d had a training chocolate level diarrhea. Unconsciously, my eyes started to drift over to the crib. For once it looked extremely comfortable. “I know you’re sleepy,” Janet said in a soft quiet voice; even so it thundered slightly between my ears. “But first, I want to get some more liquid in you. Let’s go finish that bottle you started. Maybe we can try and get something to eat. Then you can go back for a nap like you normally do.” It was true. I was becoming accustomed to afternoon naps. “Something simple. Oatmeal, maybe.” “Do we have any chicken soup?” I heard myself ask. “Broth?” She tapped her chin, thinking. “Yeah. I think I’ve got some. How about I put it in a coffee mug and you can sip it with a straw? All by yourself?” The idea of being able to use a straw sounded heavenly. “Okay. Sure.” She cradled me back up in her arms and carried me to the kitchen. *************************************************************************** I was still wet when I toweled off, but wasn’t dripping. My skin was back to vibrating the moment my feet were out of the shower. I threw on the loose shirt and shorts as fast as I could, praying that they’d somehow magically make me feel warm in a way that three layers of blankets and four stacks of pillows had so far failed. My strength almost spent I hoisted myself into bed and re-wrapped myself in Cassie was at the computer, click-clacking away. The glow of the screen felt like an unreadable beacon to my tired eyes, and all I could see was the back of her head, and only if I sat up to watch her work. “Feel better?” “Yeah,” I said. Then I corrected myself. “Better. But not good.” She kept typing, but I caught the faint outline of her turning around and smiling at me. “Thanks for taking care of me.” “Of course,” she said. “It’s what we do.” She turned back around. I nestled back and closed my eyes yet again. My yawn came out like a contented cat’s. “I love you, Cassie,” I said. She didn’t react. I must have been whispering when I thought I was talking normally again. “I love you,” I repeated myself. Nothing. My eyes popped back open. She was ten feet away but it might as well have been a mile as far as sound went. “I love you.” **************************************************** Something was wrong. My eyes opened, for real this time and not in the fever induced half delirious dream. I was no longer in the past and still being cradled in Janet’s arms. She beamed down at me, softly smiling like I’d somehow granted her deepest wish. Oh no! The giantess had the refilled bottle of juice in her hands and placed it between my lips, waiting for me to suckle down the sugary sweet stuff before telling me, “I love you, too, baby boy.”

Humans today, as a general rule, are an intelligent, complicated, wonderfully messy and diverse species with a sociological defect of thinking things should be simple. This can lead to them pushing themselves and the world around them into unhealthy extremes: Fire or Flood. Weal or Woe. Starvation or Gluttony. Chaste or Slutty. Is or Isn’t. Column A or Column B. The list goes on. This also results in massive amounts of low key unhappiness. People who live otherwise pleasant lives often feel unfulfilled and unhappy and they have trouble articulating why. While not simple, the reason for this discontent can be put down to a feeling of something being “off” or “missing the mark”. Things are never simple in real life, but to put it simply, the discontent in so many people’s experience comes from a place of expectation not lining up with experience. It’s the feeling of wanting barbecue sauce on your burger but only having ketchup or mustard. It’s the sensation of wanting to paint in vibrant colors but your palette seems limited to black and white. There’s nothing wrong with said condiments or colors, but when your palette isn’t completely satisfied, there’s a feeling of fullness but not satiety. In other words, sometimes life feels like settling. A bit of settling every now and then is just good old fashioned compromise. But when you feel like your entire life is settling, it’s not really settling; just losing. And when you keep getting spares and the person to your right rolls a strike, it’s easy to get down in the dumps; even if the person to your left is getting gutter balls. Speaking of settling, Sydney found herself on the boardwalk just after lunch that weekend. No particular reason that she could explain; she just didn’t have anything better to do and she preferred to be alone outside amongst strangers than alone at home. There was nothing inherently bad about the boardwalk, but if “settling” was the sensation of not quite getting what you wanted without getting completely punched in the face, the boardwalk was “settling” incarnate. Where else could one get the experience of going to a traveling carnival that never left but still wasn’t as good as real theme parks? Where but the boardwalk could you go shopping and people watching but with non-brand name stores? Where else could you feel like you were doing something patently nostalgic and interacting with history while being so obviously stuck in the bleakest parts of the present? The boardwalk gave all of that and threw in the smell of low tide and seagull crap for free! The boardwalk was great as long as you were under five or a tourist. Sydney was neither, but being out with the crisp and ever blowing ocean wind gave her an excuse to dress comfortably in clothes that would otherwise be called “dumpy” by folks like her parents. That reminded her; she’d probably have to put on that stupid dress when visiting her family, the one she only wore when visiting. She could already hear her father’s voice. “Is that the only dress you own or something?” It was, but she’d respond with “It’s my favorite”. ‘Only’ and ‘favorite’ meant the same thing. Then there’d be some comment- probably from her mother- about people mistaking her for a boy and how she didn’t want that, did she? And then the subject would get changed and Uncle Pete would ask somebody to pass the mashed potatoes. Sydney didn’t want to be a boy, that was true, but she wasn’t exactly hung up about being ‘girly’ either. It was one of the things she really liked about her name. While there were many more girls these days with the name, there were many men throughout history with the name, too. In her mind at least, it prevented people from making too many snap judgements. It wasn’t quite a girl’s name, and it wasn’t quite a boy’s name, just a name. Sydney would then get to fill in the details and values herself. The cotton candy vendor gave Sydney her change and pink sugar on a stick. “You go little lady.” Beneath her grey hoodie and jeans Sydney rolled her eyes and walked away, taking a bite and letting the cotton candy dissolve on her tongue. She found an empty bench right across from the (falsely advertised) Penny Arcade. She suspected it had just had a makeover when she first went as a kid. All of the video games and pinball machines had been cutting edge at the time; the best entertainment technology the year 1992 had to offer. Besides the Dance Dance Revolution game and swapping out one generic racing title for another, not much had changed. Somehow, the place had stayed in business- Sydney suspected it was a front for something- and things were picking up due to nostalgia. Everything old was new again. She nommed down on the cloud on a cone, listening to the sounds of skee balls rolling and Homer Simpson fighting nameless goons mingling with the waves crashing and seagulls squawking behind her. About halfway through, something conked her in the head. “Ow!” Her candy went to the ground and she rubbed at her temple. It didn’t hurt, really, it was more of the unexpected jolt of it all. Rattling a few feet away from her, the bright orange frisby that had ricocheted off jiggled on the planks before finally settling. A kid, about eight, trotted up sheepishly. “Sorry, Mister!” they said. “I wasn’t trying to hit you. I was trying to pass it but the wind took it away and…and..and…” “Yeah,” Sydney huffed. “That's fine. Accidents happen.” The kid gasped when he heard Sydney’s voice. “Oh! You’re a girl! I’m sorry ma’am! I didn’t mean to call you wrong or anything. It’s just with the baggy clothes and your hoodie pulled up I didn’t…” It was an honest mistake, Sydney knew. No one would have called her ‘Mister’ if her hair and hoodie had been let down, or if her jeans hadn’t been so baggie. Being seen as conventionally feminine came second to comfort with the biting winds coming off the ocean. More vexingly, Sydney felt herself annoyed, not because she’d been misgendered, but because she’d been gendered at all. Why did anything that wasn’t froo-froo and girly or show off her cleavage and curves automatically become masculine? Why did she have to be ‘sir’, or ‘ma’am’ when she just wanted to be Sydney? “I don’t care,” Sydney sighed. “I really don’t. Just go.” She added, “And if you’re gonna throw things, do it on the beach. Less chance you’ll hit somebody.” “Yes sir! Ma’am! Uh…bye!” Sydney bent over and picked up her ruined junk food. “Just as well,” she supposed. If she ate too much her one dress might not fit, and then what would she do? She looked at the retreating form of the kid, their boney legs stretching and carrying them farther into the distance, their encounter already forgotten. She couldn’t quite articulate why- like so many things in life, something just wasn’t quite hitting the mark- but for some reason Sydney felt a twinge of jealousy at the child. Oh to be that carefree and awkward and just have to worry about being yourself. The garbage can next to the bench was overfull to the point that any bit of trash thrown in might cause an avalanche, so Sydney forced herself to cross over and toss her ruined cotton candy into the garbage next to the Arcade. With a sigh she lobbed it in. That was good money wasted and plenty of time left to spend. ‘Now what?” “Fortunes told! Wishes granted!” Sydney heard the recording coming from the outside of the Arcade’s corner. “Step right up and know your future! Have your wildest dreams come true! Madam Xanatos knows allllll! Only one dollaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” Parked outside the arcade, next to the change dispenser, a big metal box with a glass case was positioned, calling out like an old timey carnival barker. The cabinet had been painted to look like old wood, and a mannequin’s form slouched over like a puppet with its strings cut. “Bend the cosmos to your will. Get your fortune told and your fate sealed!” Sydney stepped closer, arching her eyebrow. “This is new.” Actually, it wasn’t. The hokey machine was anything but new, but Sydney had never seen it here before; another not quite accurate statement that her brain had tricked itself into making. It was in good enough condition; but fortune telling machines were out of style back when Mario was 8-bit and more of a scam than claw machines. There was still the slightest chance that Sydney might get the coveted stuffed animal out of a claw machine. The fortune teller dummy hovered over the crystal ball was equally problematic these days; a nasty caricature of a Roma lady with a scarf on her head and too much makeup to “hide” a hooked nose while poised over a crystal ball. It was a small and terrible wonder that these depictions hadn’t gone out of style with minstrel shows. On closer inspection, the fortune teller dummy wasn’t that bad. She’d been made up with long silvery hair and a purple cowl instead of puffy sleeves and beads. A rather petite nose, too. It might have been a store display model before some engineer retrofitted it. It was still hokey and dimestore fake, but ‘generic magic woman’ was a better look than ‘gypsy’. “Make all your dreams come truuuuuue!” Wherever this thing had come from, the speakers sounded a few hours away from total breakdown. Sydney had heard less garbled speech coming from the drive-thru window. “Fulfill your deepest desires and fantazzzzzzz!” Who knows exactly what was going through Sydney’s head? Time, boredom and a general malaise can make people do pointless silly things; like throwing pennies into a fountain. The boardwalk didn’t have a fountain, however, and she still had a dollar left over from buying the candy. Digging into her pocket, she shrugged to herself. “Might as well.” She flattened out the remaining dollar and fed it into the machine. Haunting faux organ music played as the dummy lurched to life. The dummy held its hands over the crystal ball, now lighting up with all the power of five watts could manage. “Choose,” A lady’s voice, faded with time and neglect played on the speaker. “Fortune? Or wish?” Two buttons lit up on the cabinet’s panel. Sydney chose the one she figured would be the least waste of her time. “What do you wish for?” Above the fortune teller a countdown clock started ticking down from ten. What was she supposed to do? 10…9… Say it out loud? Press another button? 8…7…. What should she wish for? She wasn’t getting it either way, but if she wished too big she’d ruin the fantasy of it, but if she wished too small what would the point be? 6…5…4…. The clock was really adding to the anxiety. What if she was vague? Too vague? Too specific? 3…2… Her voice was a whisper, so that even passerby couldn’t hear her over the muzak coming out of the machine. From her lips came something oddly revealing and perhaps profound. “I wish I could just be myself.” It was stupid too, but it was the perfect wish; one that she might someday be able to control. Better than wishing for gold bullion or world peace. That might happen someday, even if it wasn’t through magical intervention. The placebo effect was better than nothing. 1… There was a pause and the music stopped. Then… “Granted!” The doll powered down. The ball stopped glowing, and a tiny card flitted out the side. Not unlike that old Tom Hanks Movie, Sydney expected to flip it over and read something about how her wish had been granted.That would have made her even more annoyed; a dollar for a cheap piece of thin cardboard. “Huh,” she mused reading it over. “One free ride at Comey Island.” Comey Island (not to be confused with the much more famous amusement park) was the local carnival ride section of the boardwalk. Merry Go Rounds. Ferris Wheels. A roller coaster that only went in a circle. Real kids’ stuff; at least half of the rides catered to kids too young to worry about bathroom breaks, but a free ride was still something of a prize. She gave a passing look to the fortune telling machine. “So it’s a coupon dispenser,” she said out loud. Odds are it was randomized, too. Some cards might be duds, others might be good for a free soda at one of the stands; the boardwalk equivalent of the McDonald’s Monopoly game. “Neat.” Coupon in hand, Sydney wasted little time in stolling over to the kids’ section. “Might as well not make it a total waste,” she said to herself. “It’s not like I’ve got anything better going on.” Walking up to the ticket booth, Sydney flashed the card that Madam Xanatos had just dropped out. “Excuse me, is this legit? I got this from a machine next to the arcade” She slid it under the glass. The old wrinkled woman on the other side adjusted her spectacles and squinted? “Yup. Sure looks that way. Didn’t know we were doing this promotion yet, but it checks out.” She slid the card back. “Do you want any more tickets, honey?” Sydney fought back a blush. “No thank you. I’m just going to try the one,” then out of politeness she threw in the little white lie of, “I’ll come back to get more later.” “Sure sure, go ahead.” Sydney walked past the booth, past the kiddie rides where infants rode in their parents laps as train cars decorated to honor Barney and Clifford and the Berenstain Bears gently chugged along oval tracks. She felt that same buzzing jealousy as she had with the kid who’d hit her with a frisbee, but like a swarm of bees Sydney couldn't single out any one reason why she felt that way. Further down, the rides got a little more complicated. Kids screamed and squealed in what were effectively giant car seats being jerkily picked up and dropped again and again. It was hardly extreme. Chances are any of the watching parents could have gone right up and still grabbed onto a child’s dangling ankle even at the ride’s apex, but it worked on the same principle as bigger thrill rides. Some of the rides looked fun and/or relaxing, but she passed on them on the basis that they were mostly for little kids and she wasn’t anybody’s parent. The last thing she needed was a bunch of parents staring at her like she’d grown a second head just because she’d gotten on a rinky-dink carousel. Sydney finally stopped when the sweet music of rubber slamming into rubber at moderate speeds alerted her senses. “Bumper cars!” She jogged over to the rink. One was never too old to simulate a demolition derby! “Last call!” the man at the ride’s entrance barked. “Going once! Going twice!” Sydney’s walk broke out into a jog. Bumper cars were one of those things where it was better with more people and she didn’t want to wait for another group to build up. “Ticket please.” The man said. He looked at Sydney suspiciously when she offered up the card. He twisted his mouth a little, but pocketed it anyway. “Okay. Good enough for me. Go on in.” Sydney trotted out into the rink amongst a sea of impatient elementary schoolers and climbed into a mint green model. As comically low to the ground as the cars were, her head still poked up higher than most. “Hey!” A recently familiar voice called out. “It’s that girl I hit with my frisbee!” Sydney finished buckling herself in (which was really more of a formality than a safety measure) and followed the voice. Not twenty feet away there was a yellow pod with a certain eight year old in it. “Sorry about that, miss!” A mischievous smile overtook Sydney’s face. “Don’t worry about it. I’m about to get you back kid!” The kid returned Sydney’s smirk. “Who are you calling kid, kid? I’m way better at this than you.” “You don’t even have a driver’s license!” Sydney called back. “Don’t need one here! I’m still better than you!” “Oh yeah?” “Yeah!” A buzzing clapped out and the power was switched on sending the bumper cars to life. Sydney floored it, twisting and turning the unwieldy wheel. The kid in the other cab reciprocated. BONK! The two collided hard enough to bounce back a foot. Their second collision ground them to a halt with each car pushing equally against the other. “Hahahaha!” They both laughed, throwing their heads back. It came to the point that the struggle became tiresome. “You go this way,” Sydney called out and jerked her head to the left. “I’ll go that way!” “Sure! See ya!” They split and Sydney started puttering around looking for the next victim. BONK! The kid had other ideas, it seemed, and circled back so that they could rear end the mint green car. Much to Sydney’s disappointment, bumper cars didn’t have a reverse gear. “Oh you little!” “Haaaaaa! Gotcha!” The play continued for what felt like a long time, and demolition derby mutated into a kind of demolition tag. The shrieks of delight and laughter didn’t stop the whole time. Come to think of it, the time might have been longer. It wasn’t like it was particularly busy and the cars probably didn’t run on a timer. Still, it wasn’t long enough for Sydney’s tastes. She easily could have spent a whole half hour playing stupid kid games. But the man threw the switch and there was a collective whining “Awwwww!” as the cars powered down. Sydney’s newfound rival came up and offered their hand. “Good game, kid. That was fun.” Kid? Funnily, Sydney liked the moniker despite the fact that she was at least three times older than her competitor. “Same,” she said. “Same.” “Morgan!” A woman called. “Time to go!” “Oh,” the kid said. “That’s my mom. Nice meeting you!” That was all the pretense needed for them to run back off. Morgan. Oddly enough, Sydney really liked that name too. Morgan seemed like a good kid. “Hey kiddo,” the man running the bumper cars tapped Sydney on the shoulder. “Here’s your pass back. He handed Sydney the bit of cardboard “Don’t forget it, or get your Mom or Dad to hold it for you.” Something rang off to Sydney and it didn’t have anything to do with being called ‘kiddo’ or talks of her Mom and Dad. “I thought that was only good for one ride…?” Her voice trailed off in a question. “At a time, kid, at a time.” He showed her the card with one hand and took a drag off of a cigarette with another. “See?” Sydney stared in disbelief. She was certain it hadn’t had that clause before. “It’s so you can’t get all of your little friends from Kindy-garten in or whatever; they have to pay for tickets. Sydney scoffed. “I’m not a Kindergarten-” “First grade, whatever.” He shoved the card back into the palm of her hand. “You hit the jackpot, kid. Live with it.” He turned his back and waved in some more kids straggling in (some of them had literally just circled back from their last ride), and considered the matter settled. Sydney glared at the card as if a fast one had been pulled; even if it didn’t make any sense. Head bent over, a new wrinkle entered Sydney’s day. “Huh?” She pulled the front of her hoodie straight down to get a better look at it. She was wearing a completely different shirt than the one she remembered putting on that morning. It had gone from a dull grey to a bright white. More than a trick of the light, Sydney knew something was off. Her shirt was supposed to be plain gray. Besides being cotton ball cloud white, this one had Dragon Talescharacters on it. Maybe that’s why people had been calling her a kid. Who else but a kindergartener, a first grader at best, would be wearing a sweatshirt with flying cartoon lizards emblazoned on it? For just a second, Sydney snapped her head up. She had the distinct feeling that someone was watching her. No one amongst the scattered amusement seekers moved or reacted in any suspicious way, but Sydney could have sworn she’d seen a familiar flash of silvery hair. Against all the better judgment in the world, Sydney looked down at her hoodie and allowed herself a shrug. At least it wasn’t overly girly. Nothing light pink or flowery. It had Ord and Cassie on it, too, so no one would be calling her ‘Mister’. By Sydney’s possibly impaired logic it was something of a win-win: She had a cute shirt that could oddly mesh with her preferred aesthetic, and a card allowing her access to the eighth best amusement rides in the state. It was a good way to kill time so might as well murder some minutes. A series of squeals brought her attention back to the lift and drop ride she’d seen before. “Why not?” she said to herself. “Might as well get the bad rides out of the way before the good rides.” The lines for dark ride through the year long haunted house and the two story roller looked a little long anyways. It was awkward standing in line, though, even if it was ironically. The only people whose height didn’t stop at Sydney’s belly button were the ones who were holding their hands. Sydney’s hands twitched feeling nervous, and wanting someone to hold onto, but all they had was the stupid free ride card. While the load before Sydney’s jerked up and down, Sydney jutted slightly from side to side, feeling antsy all of a sudden, but they couldn’t articulate why. Sydney stopped and looked down at their velcro fastened shoes. Something was off. Bunched up. Experimentally, Sydney hopped from the left food to the right. Their underwear -Sydney hated calling them ‘panties’- felt thicker; bunched up even. “Excuse me,” a woman’s voice brought Sydney out of their head. “Do you need to go potty?” Sydney wasn’t a big fan of the color pink, but you would have been hard pressed to guess that based on the flushing of their cheeks. The lady, holding a toddler’s hand, smiled kindly at Sydney. “Maybe you should go find your Mommy or Daddy and ask them to take you before you hop on just in case.” She slightly turned her head and looked to Sydney’s left. “Where are your parents?” Completely irrational nearly drunken panic overtook Sydney in a flash. This lady thought Sydney was a child? Oh gods, why? It was the hoodie, it had to be the hoodie! In normal circumstances, Sydney might have come up with two options: Explain that they were an adult who was just slumming it for poops and giggles and that the lady should mind her own business, or quietly back out of the line in shame. Sydney found a third way. Among the casual boardwalkers, some walking and others just loafing around was a woman in a dark purple coat, her hair an almost eerie silver color that contrasted with an otherwise grown-up but not elderly appearance. “That’s her over there,” Sydney pointed. “That’s my mommy. She’s letting me be a big kid and seeing if I can stand in line all by myself.” The stranger in front of Sydney hemmed and hawed for half a second before finally backing off. “Okay,” she said. “I was just worried, sweetie.” She pivoted and waved towards Sydney’s ‘Mom’. Luckily enough, the random stranger smiled awkwardly and waved back. Sydney just hoped that the lady stuck around long until the next ride loaded up. “Mommy! I want to be a big kid!” The child in front of Sydney said. “Awww,” the nosey mother said, patting her child on the head. “You are a big girl, but Mommy likes holding hands with you.” Sydney saw her nose twitch right before she revealed herself to be a hypocrite. Big kids didn’t get the waistband of their sweatpants pulled back in public. “Just checking.” She pulled the pants back up over the girl’s pink Pull-Up. Blue for boys and pink for girls. Color coding started young, right down to the underwear. Even younger. Diapers were unisex, but anything older than six months was all but guaranteed to be frilly and lacy or blue and rough depending on what equipment was hidden under the Huggies. The ride stopped and unloaded quickly, with the parents who opted not to ride being allowed to walk up and help the kids out of the giant safety harnesses. Sydney showed the attendant at the platform their wish card, waddled up and took the farthest seat so that all the other little kids could sit with their parents if needed. They reached up and tried to yank down the lap bar and the safety harness, but the damnable thing wouldn’t move. “Here you go, little one,” an attendant working the ride helped secure everything. Sydney flashed a sheepish smile; slightly embarrassed. “Dumb old ride,” they said to themself. “Stupid things getting stuck.” They put the thought out of their head and leaned back in the seat while the ride cranked up. Up, up, up, up to the top; a not so dizzying seven or eight feet in the air; but seven or eight feet seems like a long way when you’re sitting down. Sydney’s breath paused, waiting for the inevitable. DOOOOOOOOOOOWN! The entire ride squeaked and shrieked with the first drop, even though it was only a few feet. Sydney joined the little kids letting out a delightful squeal with that first drop, and then shut their mouth while opening their eyes in surprise. More than a shriek of delight had come out of their body. It had been a long time since Sydney had an accident in their pants, but some things were instantly recognizable: The warm wetness spreading down there, and the sudden feeling of bladder muscles relaxing and releasing. They really had been doing a potty dance and had just been distracted by that busybody’s prodding. The sensation was oddly localized. Sydney had expected to feel the damp puddle spread to underneath their thighs but the puddle stayed confined to the very middle of their underwear, pooling for a second and then…vanishing? What was up with that? Unable to enjoy the rest of the ride due to sheer humiliation, Sydney did their best to examine themself as the kiddie ride continued to jerk up and down, half expecting bits of urine to be dripping off their sneakers. Something was dripping, but it wasn’t pee-pee. The bright happy whiteness from the hoodie was spreading like an oil slick across the rest of their clothes. Sydney felt another jet of pee spurt into their pants just by watching the canvas of their clothes change from a muted denim to the same bright white material as the Dragon Tales hoodie. If anyone noticed the shocking transformation, nobody gave any indication; no one pointed or gasped along. If Sydney screamed they wrote it off as the happy excited shouts of a child on a ride. They practically leaped out of the seat when the ride came to a stop and frantically looked around; first to the ride, then to themself. Nothing remained on the seat. No puddle. No paint. Nothing but the standard hard and smooth reinforced plastic of a carnival ride built by the lowest bidder. Sydney’s clothes were another matter. Feeling themself up and down it quickly became evident that they were no longer wearing pants. The seam between pants and hoodie had miraculously melded together making it a kind of brisk weather romper. Beneath the romper, was a noticeable lump around Sydney’s waist and between their legs. Sight unseen but very much feeling felt, their underwear had transformed to contain the weight of their little accident and sagged ever so slightly. Strictly speaking, their underwear wasn’t exactly underwear. “A diaper?” they whispered to themself. A hand gently grabbed Sydney’s wrist and pulled them away from the ride platform. “You were such a brave baby,” the woman with the silver hair and purple coat said. “Mommy’s so proud of you.” “Mommy?” Sydney echoed. “You’re not my…” But Sydney remembered what they’d said in the line. One part of Sydney didn’t want to be a fibber. Another part wanted the fib to be true. Taller than Sydney, mysterious, and pretty to boot, the little one felt drawn in and safe. “Thank you.” “Now that you proved how big you can be, do you want to go on the train ride with Mommy?” Sydney turned their head and saw the hokey kiddie ride, so simple and unexciting. No dips or twists of even one of the kiddie coasters; just a toy train that went around in an oval. Yet the cars looked pretty and Sydney recognized most of the cartoon characters. “Can I ride in the Daniel Tiger car?” The Mommy with the pretty silver hair playfully pinched Sydney’s cheeks. “If baby wants to ride in the Daniel train I’ll be happy to grant that wish.” Hand in hand, they walked to the baby ride. Sydney’s walk was less refined, rather like a penguin’s but it got the job done. The Daniel Tiger painted train- red with hints of yellow and an artist’s rendering of the cartoon feline- was only third from the front, but it remained unclaimed until the silver haired stranger flashed Sydney’s ride card and together they took their seats. The train cars weren’t meant for two adults. Thankfully Mommy pulled Sydney into her lap without hesitation. Sydney fell onto the mysterious lady’s knee, and felt the pulpy padding under their pants squish in reply. Oh no! They hadn’t forgotten the accident, but had disregarded it completely when something else more interesting had come up. It felt completely babyish, oddly comfortable, and totally right somehow. Just like the comfortable, neutral, non-revealing outfit. Just like the wet diaper itself. Just like going with this compelling and somehow familiar stranger. “Do you want your pacifier?” Mommy asked. She offered a yellow binky up to Sydney’s mouth. They opened up and accepted it. “Awww, baby needs to self-soothe.” Sydney suckled on the pacifier thoughtfully as the train went into motion. They leaned into Mommy’s shoulder as Mommy stroked their hoodies head. What was so gosh darn familiar about this woman, Sydney wondered. They didn’t know, but there was something comforting about it all. It was only then that Sydney realized they’d stopped thinking of themself as ‘her’. As if looking into the crystal ball of their mind, Mommy said. “That’s right. You’re just a baby. A cute, cuddly baby sitting in their Mommy’s lap, just like all the other babies. Wish granted and fortune favored.” That’s when a light clicked on through the fog of Sydney’s regressing mind. Fortune? Wish? Silver hair? Purple? This was the lady mannequin from the fortune telling machine. The coupon dispenser that Sydney had idly wished to. Only she wasn’t a mannequin anymore, and the magic was more than just a card that said they could ride dinky carnival rides for free. The rational part of Sydney’s mind urged them to scream out, to call for help. A quick but gentle hug from their silver haired Mommy corrected that: It wasn’t their rational mind urging them to get loose, but their ‘conventional’ mind. The mind that cared what everyone else thought; the mind that never felt quite right with the world and Sydney’s place in it. The mind that carried around the nagging voice and expectations of Mother and Father. “Shhhhh,” Mommy said in Sydney’s ear. “Let the magic happen, baby. Let it all go. Let the wish come true.” For three arduous loops, Sydney looked around the boardwalk, their pulse pounding in their chest. For three laps, Sydney felt like a deer in a clearing, just waiting for a wolf to pounce out or a hunter’s gun to report. Then on the fourth lap, they felt safe, and they sank down a little bit in this magical Mommy’s arms. “That’s right. Enjoy it. Let it happen.” She gave the baby a kiss, and Sydney began to have something of a sinking sensation. By the end of the loop, Sydney only came up to the mannequin lady’s chest. Lap five made Sydney suck on their pacifier even harder as their tied up hair started to itch and recede into soft, fine, baby locks. “Just say stop,” Mommy whispered sweetly. “If you’re having second thoughts, we can pretend this whole thing never happened and you can go back to riding by yourself.” The sixth go about, and Sydney could feel their breasts melting back into their chest and their hips reshaping. Their romper became less and less baggy as a layer of baby fat filled itself in over the course of a few seconds. It wasn’t painful. “Last chance, little one,” Mommy cooed. Sydney couldn’t say stop; or rather wouldn’t. They had all of the ability, but none of the desire. The taste and the texture of the rubber bulb in the baby’s lips became all the richer and more vibrant as teeth painlessly slid into gums on the seventh and final lap. “Gah-gah-gah!” Sydney squealed and babbled in delight. “That doesn’t sound like a ‘stop’ to me” Sydney’s new Mommy chuckled. “I’m glad.” When the train came to a stop, Mommy stood up, a chubby, and perfectly happy baby in her lap. Indistinguishable from all the other six-month olds only in that no trace of clothing or accessory gave away what gender had been assigned to the child; (and anyone who got hung up one what gender a stranger’s baby was likely had much much bigger problems going on upstairs). “Someone needs a change,” Mommy said, pushing her hair off to the side so that Sydney could lay their head. “Don’t think I didn’t feel that little squish. Mommy knows these things.” The baby just sighed, but not out of frustration, while Mommy did the walking for both of them. “You wished to just be yourself,” Mommy said on the way to the family bathroom. “But so few people are just themself. They all start as themself but along the way they become what the world around them molds them to become. Sometimes that works out. Other times it’s….” the magic woman paused. “Maw?” Sydney ventured. Mommy opened the bathroom door and laid the tiny tot on the changing table. The boardwalk had a full - though unstocked- changing table instead of a wall mounted unit. Quaint. “Yes,” Mommy said. “Quite off. More off than a simple snap of the fingers can undo.” Her giant hands popped open the snaps along the romper’s inseams and tore open the wet Pampers beneath. “This was the closest I could manage. This is the oldest you were yourself before something else started to mold and shape you into someone other than you were. I suspect it had something to do with a pair of tights and a festive baby dress as the cold creeped in.” Sydney smiled and babbled. They didn’t ask where Mommy got the wipes or the fresh diaper being slid under them. Far more miraculous things had already happened than a lack of a proper diaper bag. “In lieu of an undo,” Mommy said, taping the diaper up and refastening the snaps, “I’m giving you a redo. How does that sound?” “Goo!” “Than it’s settled then. I’ll be Mommy, you’ll be baby, and we won’t need any more labels than that.” “Dee-dee-dee-dee-dee-dee-dee-daaaah!” “Deal.” The cold air smacked in the face, but it no longer carried the bitter ocean wind, but sweet sweet relief and the promise of a kind of freedom Sydney had long craved but never felt. Diapers and baby clothes were an easy price to pay. “Excuse me,” a pimply pizza faced boy said on their way out of the boardwalk. “Do you know what happened to this thing?” He pointed to a metal cabinet painted to look like it was wood positioned just outside the Penny Arcade. “I could have sworn there was a mannequin in here earlier.” “Someone must have just made a wish that was too good not to grant,” Mommy told him. “Huh?” “I said it was out of order.” The boy noticed the baby in the woman’s arms. “Awwww,” he said. “What a cute baby! What’s their name?” Their. Not ‘her’, or ‘his’, but ‘their’. How oddly fulfilling! Talk about something Sydney never knew they needed to hear until they did. “Sydney,” Mommy answered truthfully. “My baby’s name is Sydney.” The boy frowned, puzzled. “Um…is that a boy’s name or a girl’s name?” The stranger winced at his own impoliteness. So many people got hung up on that sort of thing. “It’s a baby’s name,” Mommy said simply enough. “Baby girl? Baby boy? What’s the difference at this age? They’re just a baby. My baby. That’s all that matters.” “Huh,” Pizza Face rubbed his chin. “Good point. My bad.” “Quite alright.” And that was how Sydney got their wish. (The End).

I didn't see the "like". Apologies.

Where is it say it's Babylon Bee? Also Babylon Bee is basically a conservative "The Onion". Almost all their jokes are "______ identifies as _________", so this lines up with them. But I don't see where this is specifically them?

Are you looking for questions? Or feedback? Or just using this as a way to illustrate and analyze your thought process? I don't want to interfere. I just don't know if this is a dialogue on your process or a monologue. Both are valid.

Mischief Night: The night before Halloween. October 31st was when all the kiddies went trick or treating with their mommies and daddies in their cute little costumes. The day after was either about going to church or recovering from a sugar hangover, depending on how religious you were. The night before, though? That’s when the big kids came out to play. That’s when the teenagers got to do their thing Mischief night was the night of pranks, ding-dong ditch, eggs, flaming bags of dog shit, and toilet paper. And the only costume one needed was something dark enough to blend in with the night. October 31st half the costumes were spooky and the other half were sexy. On October 30th everybody who was anybody cosplayed as a burglar. It was a night of pubescent purging before that slasher series made it a thing. When Kelly had been growing up, Halloween was a night of fanciful and fun pretend, and later it was a chance for her to pretend to be someone else. It was like the internet but in person and with candy. Halloween had become too commercialized though. That dark, terrible part of the human soul still required an outlet. Grudges had to be solved in the dark. Scores settled with a sheath of plausible deniability. Deadly sins had to be expressed. Mardi Gras was for Gluttony Black Friday was for Greed Oddly Enough, Halloween was very likely a center for Lust these nights. And Mischief Night was when Wrath was at its peak just before bursting into candy corn colored confetti. At least, so Kelly had rationalized to herself. At thirteen she put away her dollies and outgrown trick or treating. After graduation she’d decided to leave Mischief Night to kids still living with their parents. Now, in college, October 30th was just the day before Halloween and an opportunity to scout the Kappa Delta Psi clubhouse for last looks. Kelly had chaired her sorority’s committee on running the Annual Halloween Party. The decorations weren’t in place yet, that would be for tomorrow, but all the major hardware had been moved in and set up. Everything was swept and vacuumed. The stage was ready for the DJ with lighting and sound systems already hooked up. The refreshment table was set up across from the clubhouse’s open bar. All that was needed were the refreshments, decorations, and oh yeah, the people. If everything went according to plan, this would be a real banger. Kelly hummed quietly to herself. Maybe not the best choice of words; banger. She brushed back a wave of blonde hair to keep from touching herself. Or maybe “banger” was the perfect word for it. Danny said he was coming by late tonight. He said that he had something he wanted to show her. Kelly wasn’t expecting an engagement ring, but when a boy talked like that to her, it meant he had something special on his mind. What better night than Mischief Night to try something freaky? As long as it wasn’t another dude- been there, done that, too clingy, no thanks- she’d be excited about it. Naughtily she looked at the stage and imagined her and her boyfriend christening it with her heels kicked off and her panties down to her ankles, and both of them in the spotlight. Would turning the speakers on and playing some music cover the screams of delight, she wondered, or would it just attract attention? Would it be so bad if she invited an audience? There was a fantasy she’d save for later. Her panties got a little wetter with the heavy, desperate thudding on the clubhouse door. “Comiiiiing,” Kelly called out, her heels clicking. She licked her lips in anticipation. Danny really wanted this. She opened the door and braced herself, expecting him to burst through the door and throw her up against the nearest wall. She shuddered with delight just thinking about it. It wasn’t Danny who fell through the doorway. In place of Danny’s short brown hair and athletic build and tight t-shirts and jeans meant to accentuate his physique and...other things... was a lanky mess of a girl with stringy black hair who did no favors for herself in the frumpy constantly wrinkled clothes she wore. It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. It is a lesser known, but no less valid truth, that nothing kills one’s libido like the sight of a childhood friend sobbing on the floor. “Marsha?” The two had been fast friends since before they were in kindergarteners. Yet, as so often happens they’d grown apart over the years. When Kelly had put away childish things, she’d put away her oldest friendship with it. It was nothing intentionally malicious, not at first. Just two paths in life diverging slowly but in radically different directions. Kelly cared more about making social connections and how such friendships might benefit her, and Marsha mostly cared about her story books and fascination stuff that- to be charitable- could be best described as ‘weird’ and ‘nerdy’. It was nothing personal. What was a missed birthday party between friends? What was several between just classmates? By the time they’d both happened to reach college, they were more or less barely acquainted strangers who made eye contact in passing every now and then. They’d never so much had an argument about it or a formal breaking things off. They’d just stopped knowing each other. Marsha looked up from her spot on the floor, in frumpy baggy jeans and a sweatshirt that masked what little breasts she had even though it was barely chilly. “Kelly?” She jumped up to her feet and dragged Kelly into a swift embrace. “Oh my god! I’m so glad I found someone! I’m so glad it’s you!” Kelly did not return the hug. “Hey...Marsha. What are you doing here?” For Marsha’s sake it was probably best that she couldn’t see the disgusted expression on Kelly’s face. “The party isn’t…” she hesitated. “Isn’t till tomorrow night.” What Kelly had wanted to say was, ‘The party isn’t for people like you.’ It was for Greeks only. Not even pledges could attend, and no way had Marsha found a Sorority to accept her. There was just no way. She wasn’t even interested in those kinds of things. “What party?” Marsha asked, and pulled herself back. “Oh who cares?! That’s not important!” A party? Not important? “Marsha. What the fuck are you talking about?” She sniffed. Marsha smelled nice, despite looking like she’d been crawling around in somebody’s attic all night. The baby powder scent was a little basic, but it was doing its job of masking unpleasant odors. Almost. Kelly couldn’t tell. “Kelly,” Marsha sniffled, holding back sobs. “I...I found it. I found the Thirteenth House!” She was both excited and utterly terrified. “The Thirteenth Hou..?” Kelly away from the taller girl. “Marsha,” she said. “Marsha, Marsha, Marsha. How did you fall for that?” Marsha ran around to meet Kelly’s gaze. “I didn’t fall for anything, Kelly! I discovered it! Me and my new friend-!” “My new friend and I-” Kelly corrected. She wasn’t a stickler for grammar, but she wasn’t putting up with this nonsense. Not tonight. “My new friend and I,” Marsha repeated, “we found the Thirteenth House!” “No you didn’t,” Kelly said. “Thirteenth House doesn’t exist.” The Thirteenth House of Old Sorority Row was part myth, part urban legend. Just a bunch of bullshit about a wannabe Sorority House that was also a bunch of wannabe witches that all went crazy and killed themselves or were killed by an axe murderer or something. Or it was a fire. Or it was a cover up by the University. Different people told the story differently, but it basically amounted to a spooky haunted house that witches used to live in before they all died for some reason and nobody knew where the haunted house was anymore. Every town had its own ghost story. College towns were no different. Kelly just didn’t think Marsha would be one to buy into all the hype. Not at this age. Did she think she was two or something? “You gotta believe me, Marsha insisted. “We found the books!” “That’s nice,” Kelly sighed. She turned again and started walking back to the door. Time to show the nutter out. Her lip curled in disgust. She was becoming annoyed to the point where any chance of horniness had faded. Maybe Danny could bring that back if he got here in time, but if Marsha was still here when he got there there’d be no chance whatsoever. “The night buses are still running, right? You’ll be able to make it back to your dorm.” “I can’t go back to my dorm!” Marsha screeched. “It has a crib in it!” Kelly stopped and her childhood friend took the time to circle back around and re-establish eye contact, this time with tears flowing down her cheeks. Kelly heard more than just the stomping flopping footsteps as Marsha maneuvered back and fell to her knees. The crinkling, rustling sound coming from the stringy haired bitch’s pockets also caught Kelly’s attention. “Are you fucking high or something?” Kelly asked. “Is that it? Did some weirdo get you to try shrooms or acid for the first time?” If that were the case Kelly didn’t know whether to respect the girl’s courage and doing something halfway normal for a college girl or to spit on her for expecting Kelly to tripsit at the drop of a hat.. Marsha was so hysterical that she didn’t seem to hear Kelly’s question. “We found the books! We found the books that lead to the house! Then we got past the guard cat and did the ritual and signed the contract. Except...” “Except what?” Kelly had no idea what Marsha was talking about. Girl was definitely tripping. “Except I got scared and didn’t finish the ritual!” “What ritual? What are you talking about? You sound like a little kid trying to explain their favorite fucking cartoon! You sound like a friggin... baby!” A crack of lightning. Strange. It hadn’t been cloudy out a few minutes ago. Marsha got off her knees and scooted backwards into a corner like a dog trying to avoid a bath. “A baby? Why would you call me that?! Why would you say that?” Kelly snorted. There were far worse things she’d wanted to call Marsha. “Is the magic starting to affect you, too?” For some reason, Kelly’s eyes noticed that Mary’s pants looked...bulkier...puffier, like she had several extra layers of underwear, or she’d tied a sweater around her butt and then hiked up jeans. “Magic? What magic?” she scoffed. Another crack of lightning followed by a roar of thunder. “My magic,” a new voice said. Both girls whipped their heads around to the suddenly open doorway. The girl standing in the doorway was more conventionally attractive than Marsha. Straight brown hair drifted to her shoulders, crowned by a black pointy hat. The orange and black striped knee high socks went into fierce looking black heels. It was a day early, but the girl was definitely pulling off the ‘sexy witch’ look. The little black slip of a dress hugged her curves and highlighted her breasts. If Kelly were still ‘experimenting’ she’d have been tempted. The only thing off was the bit of black and white padding coming out from beneath the dress’s hem. What was that? The intruder practically sashayed right past Kelly like she wasn’t even there, and Kelly’s ears twitched hearing the exact same crinkle she’d heard before coming from Marsha’s pants. This was the drug dealer. Strangely enough, she also smelled like baby powder. Even more odd, the dress didn’t look like it had any pockets on it. Where was that light rustling noise coming from? “Hello, Marsha. Did you really think you’d get away?” She leaned over and pinched Marsha on the cheek, flashing Kelly her white panties with black cat silhouettes in the process. Getting a full look at the girl’s underwear made Kelly realize that those weren’t panites she was wearing. “Is that a diaper?!” Kelly didn’t know whether to laugh in delight or scream in mockery. The witch girl stood up. “Yes,” she said. “Yes it is.” She looked down at herself. “Kind of hard to tell, though, now that you mention it.” With a flick of her wrist, the hem of her dress flared up and outward, putting even more of the diaper in plain sight. There was no doubting what she was wearing now. Just like that, Kelly’s temptation evaporated. “How about now?” “Cute trick,” Kelly said, “but you need to leave.” “My name’s Zora, by the way.” Kelly rolled her eyes. “Don’t care, Zora. You need to leave. This is Kappa Delta Psi property. Get out.” Even though she was waddling and smelled like a toddler, the witch girl displayed boundless confidence. “And you are?” “Don’t-!” Marsha cried out. Too late. “Kelly. And I’m in charge.” A twinkle- a literal twinkle, a spark of light- came to the witch girl’s eyes. “Oh, I like you. Are you also a friend of Marsha’s?” No. Not really. Not anymore. “Yes. We grew up together. I don’t know what you’ve got her on, but you’re ge-” The stranger interrupted by clapping her hands and bouncing on her toes. “Oh my goodness! That’s great! Now Marsha’s got two friends who have known her since she was in diapers!” Kelly cocked her head over to the side. “Excuse me?” The intruder snapped her fingers and pointed like a gun at Marsha. To Kelly’s amazement and Marsha’s utter horror, a sparkling trail of gold zipped its way from the witch’s forefinger onto Marsha. Marsha stood up from the corner, rising shoulders first like she was a puppet being dangled from its strings. Just as her head popped up, her pants went in the opposite direction. Kelly felt too confused to be afraid. “Why is she wearing a diaper?” Zora stepped out of the way, a magician revealing the prestige of her trick. “Because she’s a big baby. Like me. Like you.” Kelly ignored being included in the statement. She was almost mesmerized by the big puffy diaper hanging from her old friend’s hips, decorated with childish pictures of frogs eating flies. “Why is it...” she stopped and frowned. “Why is it drooping?” “Because it’s wet.” Kelly’s hand shot up to her lips, trying, and failing to suppress the laugh. Marsha was wearing a wet diaper? That was both sad and hilarious! “Don’t feel bad, I got changed before I followed the tracking spell I put on you.” “Okay,” Kelly finally said. “What’s really going on?” It was easier for Kelly to believe that Marsha had found someone who was into Chris Angel bullshit and that Marsha had gotten into pantomime than it was to believe she’d witnessed even a hint of ‘real’ magic. Marsha was totally the kind of kid who would have fallen in with the theater nerds. “Weird old magic with weird old catches.” Zora said the same way someone might explain something completely mundane like local news or the weather. “Stuff like ‘Magic is for babies’ was a warning it turns out. I’m already an infantilist, so it doesn’t bother me. Marsha chickened out at the last moment. Lessened the cost for me, but got none of the good stuff.” Kelly’s brain immediately latched onto the weird ‘i-word’ that this stranger had said. Where had she heard that before? “Excuse me? You’re an in-what?” Was that a sex thing? It sounded kinda like a sex thing. “An adult baby. Literally now.” Zora’s voice drifted off near the end, smiling to herself. The term ‘adult baby’ rang a bell. Kelly knew enough about it to know that it totally grossed her out. Great. More kinky bullshit. Thank god Danny wasn’t into this. “Okay, Marsha. I’m done. Bye bye. You and your new buddy can go away. Forever if you’d like.” “We will,” Zorra smiled. “But you’re coming with us.” Marsha was already blubbering in the corner, apologizing profusely. Meanwhile, Kelly inhaled deeply so that she could release a string of expletives to properly cuss out both Marsha and this new brown haired bimbo in one long winded tirade: Really tell them where they could shove their wet adult diapers but good. The witch’s pointer finger was faster than Kelly’s insults. She hadn’t even decided whether she’d call Marsha and Zora the ‘b-word’ or the ‘c-word’ when a flash of golden light shot out of Zora’s finger and straight into Kelly’s face. Kelly felt herself falling, collapsing to the floor as Marsha screamed. Just before she lost consciousness, she could have sworn she heard a cat’s purring, and felt her panties somehow getting thicker. “Time for a nap-nap. Playtime after.” **************************************************************** Zora drew a tiny white card off the top of the deck. “Oooo!” She smiled. “Double blues! Lucky me!” She moved her red gingerbread man token along the Candyland board. She clapped her hands together excitedly, and bounced on her knees, making a crinkling sound every time the back of her diaper touched her bare heels. Shoes were left at the door. “I’m so good at this game!” Marsha didn’t comment. From the looks of it, it was all she could do to stop from hyperventilating as she drew the next card and revealed it. “Yellow.” “Awww,” too bad, the witch said. “The next yellow space has a piece of licorice on it. That means you lose your next turn.” “Yeah…” Marsha knew. Of course she did. Candyland was so easy, even a baby could play it. That’s why they were allowed to do it. Through hypnotic suggestion, or drugs, or whatever weird ass mind tricks Zora was using - Kelly still didn’t believe it to be magic- the two ex-friends were limited to things that a baby or toddler might be able to do. It’s why, Marsha was now dressed in a snap-crotch green onesie with a frog hoodie; none of the girls could dress or undress themselves. It’s why after she moved her game piece and sat back down Marsha winced at a squelching sound. Marsha couldn’t keep her panties dry either. “Why are you doing this?” Kelly demanded. “The fudge did we do to you?” Swearing was out too, evidently. Despite her inability to say cuss, Kelly still spoke with far more authority and intensity than her position warranted. Real I-want-to-speak-to-your-manager energy. She’d been stuffed into a white t-shirt and pink shortalls with the same kind of baby snaps as Marsha’s onesie. Directly beneath those shortalls was a diaper with cute little carrot prints. The bunny eared head dress tucked behind her ears matched the sewn on cotton ball tail. Overall, Kelly felt ridiculous, was trying to read as confident, and was more likely coming off as whiny. “It’s your turn,” Zora said, ignoring the question. Kelly wanted to smack the pieces off the board. Instead, her hand went and picked up the card from the top of the pile. “Double red.” She moved her gingerbread token. “That’s a shortcut,” Marsha sighed. “You can travel up to big rock candy mountain.” Marsha seemed like she was more or less defeated and resigned. Was it that first blast of hypnosis that had been used on her, or was she even more of a pushover than Kelly recalled? “Oh yeah,” Zora frowned at the board. “It is.” On its own the, the token dragged itself up the special shortcut and much much closer to the finish line. “Why are you doing this?” Kelly repeated herself. Zora ignored Kelly and picked up a card. “Orange…” she said and sulked a bit, moving her piece one measly space. “Your turn, Kelly. Marsha lost her turn.” Kelly drew the top card off the deck. “Ice cream?” “That means you get to skip over to the ice cream mountain.” Marsha said, dully. “Now you’re way in the lead.” Kelly moved her piece and shifted uncomfortably in her crinkling seat on the floor, growing more frustrated. “Why did you take us?” The brown haired witch wrinkled her nose when she drew. “Green.” Her token moved forward only a single space. “Double purple,” Marsha moved up on her turn. “Me too,” Kelly said. Then she nagged, “Why did you hypnotize us?” Zora drew her card. “Peppermint,” she growled. “That sends me back to the peppermint forest.” “Why did you dress us up like this?” Kelly was trying to keep her voice level and calm but was failing. More than a little hysteria was creeping up out of her throat. The diapered witch looked confused. “I didn’t dress you up,” she said. The smile that broke out showed that she wasn’t exactly innocent. A fourth figure entered the room and Kelly’s attention was pulled away from the children’s game and yanked back into her immediate surroundings. Across the creaking wooden boards of the old sorority house, the woman with the cat ears walked across holding a silver platter of steaming Rice Krispie treats. She wasn’t unattractive, but was at least twenty years older than the college co-eds, old enough to be their mother. The wide hips and large breasts added to the matronly effect. What was strange- or stranger-, about the woman amidst the peeling nursery print wallpaper and the dusty victorian style toy boxes was her yellow eyes with the vertical pupils, and the mottled reddish, brownish, blackish pattern in her hair. High end contacts and a fancy wig. Technically, Zora had been telling the truth: the witch- Kelly wanted to call her something else- hadn’t been the one to dress them up. Her henchwoman had. Kelly had regained consciousness in the bizarre haunted looking nursery, naked on an oversized changing table. Her eyes opened just in time for the mute woman to finish ripping off Kelly’s panties and slide the fresh diaper beneath her and fastening it on around her hips. The baby clothes that followed were almost as humiliating. Almost. Kelly wanted to scream or say something, when Marsha pointed to the collar of Kelly’s shirt. “Careful,” Marsha hissed. Kelly glanced down and saw the pacifier clipped there. Unsurprisingly it had a carrot emblem on it. The one on Marsha’s had a fly. She hadn’t noticed either of the soothers before. Had they appeared or had she just been so overwhelmed or drugged or whatever that she only now realized. Kelly picked up the pacifier and inched it closer to her lips, feeling like she was playing a game of chicken. Would she be able to stop? Would she be able to spit it out? “My favorite!” Zora reached up to the lowered tray and took the first bit cereal brick held together with marshmallow glue. “Do you guys want some?” The hostages shook their heads. “Why not? Babies love sweets.” The gangly frog girl and the shorter bunny girl felt their stomachs growl and their mouths salivate. She’d said it, and instantly, they knew it was true. Darn. Now Kelly really wanted something sweet. They each reached out and grabbed a brick from the tray. Rather than the petite, gentle bites she might normally do, Kelly’s mouth practically unhinged itself wolfing down the rice and sugar glue square. Likewise, Marsha’s body had forgotten whatever manners her body had managed to pick up past pre-school. “Thank you, Sousa,” the witch said. “That’s good for now.” Hypnotism went right out the window after that. A sickening crunch rang out with the breaking of bones and the warping of cartilage. The cat lady shriveled like a raisin and howled in pain as her knees bent backwards and clothing melted into skin just so that fur could grow. Human howling became feline yowling and when it was all said and done, where once a motherly cat lady stood, a lady cat now padded over to the witch. If Kelly’s diaper was dry before, it certainly wasn’t now. “You’re...you’re really a witch.” This was real. This was all real. This was more than a prank or illusion, or subliminal conditioning. This. Was. Magic. And Zora was more than just a diaper fetishist with an extra layer of costuming. Zora ignored Kelly and the thing that now looked like a cat crawled into her lap and started to purr. “Who's a good demonic familiar? Sousa is. Yes she is! Such a pretty kitty and dommy mommy too!” Kelly looked at Marsha. “Lady Sousa of the Second Circle.. Viscountess of Temptation and Ecstasy.” “This is not my ecstasy,” Kelly said. “No,” Zora said, cuddling the thing that looked like a cat. “It’s mine. It’ll be yours soon enough when the magic finishes settling in. Then we’ll have lots of fun!” The head of Kappa Delta Psi’s upcoming Halloween party started quivering, and it was from anything but delight. “Why?” Kelly asked. “Why do this to us? You wanna be a big baby, fine. But why do this to us?” “Why would I want to be the only baby?” Zora asked. “It’s more fun with friends.” “Don’t you have other people like...you?” “I might have,” Zora said. “I will. But the vectors work best when they flow naturally and Marsha was here when the final incantations were cast.” If the wet diaper and the childish costume clothes hadn’t made Kelly feel like an incompetent child, that sentence had. “Magic is sympathetic,” Marsha explained, hands hidden in her face. “It spreads from person to person. It’s a virus that spreads through minds, memories and lives. Witches just control the symptoms.” Zora stood up, cradling her cat-thing “It started with the room. Did you really think this used to be a daycare or something? And when we completed the ritual, my good little assistant Marsha was still in the room, so I was able to share the magic with her. Then she went and infected you.” “In..infected…?” Kelly felt hot and cold at the same time. Angry and afraid. She turned on her spot on the floor and stared Marsha down. “I thought..” Marsha stammered. “I thought you’d turn into a grown-up. Take care of me.” “Probably would have too,” Zora agreed. “If I hadn’t caught up, you’d probably remember Marsha as a kid you used to babysit or something. But I got there just in time.” “She’s not my best friend.” Kelly spat. If Zora. “Hey. Do you guys wanna color, or play with blocks or something?” Kelly looked back down to the game board on the floor. “I thought we were playing Candyland?” She’d been close to winning, too. Zora walked over it, lightly kicking the game pieces away and toppling the deck of color cards. “It was a dumb game anyhow. Coloring and playing with blocks is more funner, especially for little babies like us.” Dang it! Now Kelly really did want to play with blocks and color. She couldn’t help it! Her fear and anger were overridden by excitement and relief when Zora tipped over a box filled with alphabet blocks. “Don’t worry,” Zora said. “Sousa will clean it up when we’re done.” “Mreow?” That little bit of permission spurred the girls to crawl over on their hands and knees and start building. Three blocks in, a terrible thought occurred to Kelly. Slowly, like testing the temperature of a pool, she got to her feet and stood up. The tension in her brain eased considerably. She could still stand. She took two or three steps and found that she could still walk normally; or as normally as the big diaper would allow her. Crawling had been born out of excitement, not necessity. Kelly’s vision started to wander over to the front door. “Don’t bother,” Zora said without looking up from the castle of blocks she was building. “Babies don’t know how to undo locks.” Kelly tromped over to a stack of coloring books that may or may not have been by the box of blocks a minute ago and grabbed something with Hello Kitty on the front. All of the crayons were in a disorganized bucket, so she had to settle with taking a random fistful. “Kelly,” Marsha said. “I’m s-” “Not now,” Kelly said. “I’m coloring.” “Oh...okay…” The volume shifted to almost silent. The demon cat purred. The diapered witch hummed tunelessly to herself. Marsha sighed and stacked blocks one on top of the other. Somewhere within earshot, a clock ticked. Kelly heard the quiet wooshing of cars driving by, meaning they weren’t too far from the road (and the insulation in this place sucked). Kelly pretended to color. Or was it coloring, since she was still scribbling crayons on the paper? Kelly didn’t know. Such nuance was beyond babies like her. Babies like her. She was starting to think of herself as a baby and impose limits without prompting. She turned the page and started scribbling. Red this time, like her mood. In her mind, she wasn’t going to college. School was big and scary. She’d rather be at daycare with all of her little friends. Next page. Her dorm room, she somehow knew, now had a crib in it just like it always had, filled with stuffies. Her Nanny the RA would come in and change her diaper and change her into jammies just before beddie bye. A quiet blue and a soft pink meshed well on this page. All her boyfriends throughout the years weren’t her boyfriends anymore; they never would be again and maybe never were to begin with. They were just super nice babysitters that played silly games with her; held and cuddled her when she was getting lonely without her friends at daycare. Blurple was a good color for this. Blurple was a color, right? Fists clenched tight, Kelly felt the crayons snap in her hands. Something else snapped too.. “This is all your fault!” She screamed. She hadn’t been looking at Zora. “Me?” Marsha asked. “Why me?” Kelly stood up and impotently tossed the handful of broken crayons in Marsha’s direction. “I was gonna get to see my babysit...I mean boyfriend tonight! Now, I’m stuck here, with a literal witch and being forced to act like a snot nosed little brat!” Zora snickered to herself. Marsha stood up, too. “I’m sorry, Kelly!” she tried to explain. “I did all the research on how to find this place. I didn’t really understand the magic until it was too late.” “You could have run to the cops,” Kelly said. “Or a hospital.” Her volume was rising with her rage. “Babies um…” Zora said. “Babies shouldn’t…” Now it was Zora’s turn to be ignored. “Or literally anywhere else in the whole fudgin’ world! And you come to my sorority’s clubhouse! Why?! Didn’t you get the hint back in middle school?!” “I didn’t know what else to do!” Marsha started vibrating. “Babies don’t…” “You should have left me the fudge alone and just taken your gosh darn magical punishment by yourself!” “Babies-!” “I thought you could help me!” Kelly would help her all right. Help her right into a concussion! The wooden block went zooming through the air, not unlike the shimmering gold line of magic that Zora had used. It spiked into Marsha’s head, connecting corner-first right above the eyebrow. Marsha made no reply after the block struck her. No verbal one, at least. Instead she charged head first and tackled Kelly, drilling her into the ground. Had there been a women’s football league, Marsha would have attracted scouts with that move. Ask any two public school teachers or police officers and they will tell you they would much rather break up a fight between two guys over two gals. Stereotypically speaking, two girls fighting is much worse than two boys fighting. Men will fight for just about anything: Ego. Pride. Respect. There’s escalation and de-escalation and retreating and parrying. Men will start a fight and almost immediately look for an excuse not to. When women fight, it’s for blood. Everytime. Girls fight to kill. Every. Time. Marsha rammed the back of Kelly’s head into the floorboards. Kelly started clawing at Marsha’s eyes. “Babies shouldn’t fiiiiiight!” Zora screamed. Nothing happened. Shouldn’t and don’t are two different things. Babies broke rules all the time. “Stupid! Fudging! Ca-ca!” “Selfish! Little! Brat!” For a moment each girl, completely caught up with their own bloodlust, thought that they’d broken the bones of the other. That illusion was dispelled when sparkling gold paralyzed them and the large woman with cat ears stood over their prone forms. “STAAAAAAAHP! Zora cried. “No! No! No! No fighting!” She pounded the floor. “Stop! This is supposed to be happy! We get to play games! And dress up! And be little! Forever!” Kelly’s limbs felt like they were made of putty, but she could still move her head and eyes. Was Zora crying? Panicking even? “JUST STAAAAAHP!” Kelly and Marsha were draped over the matronly cat woman’s shoulders. “Time out!” Zora sobbed. “Time! Out!” And so they were. They were taken to a room deeper inside the house. No pastel decorations or otherwise infantilized undertones lurked around the corners. Maybe the magic hadn’t transformed this section of the old house, and that’s what kept the derelict beds and chests of drawers looking like antiques. Maybe making every room of the house suited to a baby aesthetic would have ruined the witch’s peculiar sense of immersion, or perhaps she thought time out would be less terrible if there were toys and soft happy colors around. Kelly didn’t know. What both girls did know, instinctively, is that they were able to move their limbs after the cat-woman-demon thing plopped down in plain wooden chairs located in adjacent corners of the room. Neither girl said anything until after Zora's familiar left. It wasn’t immediate, either. Both sat in silence, staring at their respective corners and thinking about what they’d done. Marsha was the first to break the silence. “Sorry I did that.” Kelly didn’t reply. That didn’t stop Marsha. “Both for attacking you and for dragging you into this. I was trying to get home, but I panicked when I started ‘membering that I slept in a crib and didn’t know what a potty was for.” Crud! Now that she thought of it, Kelly couldn’t remember what potties were for, either. “I wasn’t looking for you specifically, if that helps.” “Fudge you.” Kelly looked down at her lap. “I want you back out of my life.” When this thing spread to whatever trippy mind warped altered reality scenario so that Kelly would be sitting in a playpen the rest of her life, she would do everything she could to make sure that she and Marsha were on opposite sides of the mesh. “It’s true. This was all a big accident.” “Don’t care.” They were quiet again for some time. Once again, Marsha was the one to break it. “You were a bad friend.” This seemingly unrelated comment shook Kelly out of her own bitter fog and made her look up. “Excuse me?” The gangly girl in the frog onesie had already pivoted in her chair. “You were a bad friend,” she stated plainly. “One day we were best friends, and then the next you just ghosted me and started hanging out with the popular girls. What did I do to deserve that?” “Nothing, I guess.” “Then why did you leave me? Do you know how hard it was for me to make friends? I was so desperate to be appreciated, to be liked that I started hanging around people like…” she stopped and gestured to the door. Kelly didn’t have an answer. “I don’t know why I did it. I guess I just kind of…grew out of you?” “Do you have any idea how sociopathic that sounds?” Yeah. It did. It really did. “Yeah. That was a really poopy thing of me to do,” Kelly admitted. “I’m sorry. If we ever get out of this, let’s start over. Okay?” “Oka-” Before Marsha could agree, the muted tones of Florida Georgia Line’s ‘Cruise’ started playing. It was muffled by space and separation, but Kelly would know it anywhere. She heard it at least three times a day. “Danny?” Kelly said. She stood up and followed the sound over to the chest of drawers. “Danny?” Marsha said. “My boyfriend! That’s his ringtone! My big girl stuff must be in this room.” Marsha gasped. “That means your phone is on! We can call the cops!” They couldn’t, though. The door flung open, and a brownish blackish blur cut them off. The top drawer was open, and the phone was in the familiar’s hands. “Hello?” Kelly wanted to scream! That thing was answering her phone using her voice. “Danny! He-!” Kelly was cut off when a pacifier magically jumped into her mouth. As predicted, she couldn’t spit it out. “Oh, hey baby!” The woman-cat said in Kelly’s voice. “Yeah. I’m fine! Noooo! Oh? That was tonight?” Kelly stood up and made to run and try to grab the phone. Zora’s familiar didn’t even need to turn its head to point her fingers down and send Kelly plopping back on her bottom. “MMMMPH!” A quick inspection of Marsha’s mouth found a fly themed pacifier lodged between her lips as well. “Oh? Oh really?” The demon said. Despite never hearing it, she somehow replicated Kelly’s flirty laugh. “That does sound exciting. Too bad I can’t be there. I’m busy babysitting.” A small trickle of hope. Kelly hated kids. Her boyfriend knew that. “Yes, silly, that does mean I’m babysitting. It’s not a metaphor.” “MMMMPH!” “Oh, looks like the baby needs me. Byyyyyye!” She turned off Kelly’s phone and pocketed it, giving Kelly a sly cheshire smile beneath feline eyes. Kelly used her diaper again. At least the pacifier came out. Shame she had nothing to say. The two ex-friends found themselves back over the demonesses shoulders and back in what must have been the dilapidated common area before Zora’s perverse wishes turned it into a baby playroom. Zorra stood there, not contrite as much as a crude pantomime of contrition. “I’m sorry I got upset.” she said. “Really, really sorry. I want to be friends with you, but you needed a time out.” She breathed and looked at her prisoners. “Do you want to be friends with me, too?” The two didn’t even need to make eye contact. “Yes,” they lied in unison. “Yay!” the witch bounced. “Let’s keep playin’!” The block building and page scribbling went on like it had never stopped. The prisoners quickly adapted. While building their towers and stacking and saying such drivel, like, “That’s a great tower, Zora!” and “Mine is gonna be a horsey ranch!”, a second conversation ensued in private. “Maybe he’ll call the police?” Kelly wrote in crayon on the coloring book and slid it over to Marsha. Marsha scribbled it out and wrote in. “Maybe…” “He’s smart and we had plans 2nite ” Kelly wrote. Marsha frowned and wrote in. “Danny? Danny H? Smart?” Kelly turned her huff into a sigh, and scribbled out evidence. She’d heard stuff about Danny before she started dating him. Controlling. Problematic. Kinda douchey. “Trust me.” Sousa the familiar was standing over them before she could pass the book back. Kelly belly flopped onto it like she thought she might hide it. Thankfully, the cat-eyed lady wasn’t paying attention to them; not their coloring at least. Marsha squeaked when the demon nanny bent over and carefully patted her backside. “Uh-oh. Somebody needs changies!” Zora giggled. Marsha blushed. The worst part was that it was true. The off white, almost yellow of Marsha’s soaked diaper was swelling through the seams of her frog onesie. “It’s okay,” Zora said. “Babies don’t need to be embarrassed. It’s natural. Sousa will change you.” Just like that the blush vanished. The look of disgust on Marsha’s face didn’t. She wasn’t bothered about sitting in her own piss, or even being called out on it. Like Kelly, it likely bothered her that her emotions and thoughts could be so easily manipulated. Kelly watched from her spot on the floor as Marsha was taken over to a changing table big enough to comfortably hold a grown woman. She winced while she watched the snaps on Marsha’s onesies pop off one at a time, and bulky soaked diaper ooze forward out of its shell. The onesie really had just been barely containing everything with all the swelling and pressure. Again, she grimaced at the sound of each tape being ripped off the landing zone, going off like a gunshot. Marsha lulled her head to the side, and shot Kelly a confused look. Intuitively, Kelly knew her oldest friend was staring at her and it wasn’t because Kelly was staring back. It didn’t matter to either one that Marsha was having baby wipes dragged across her from front to back. The shorter girl still on the floor looked down on herself. She hadn’t realized it, but she’d shifted her body weight up off her knees and back onto the balls of her feet. She kept her balance by leaning on her outstretched fingertips, rather like a catcher. “Oh no,” Kelly whispered. Those grimaces were subconscious reactions to building stomach cramps. Her body was preparing to do something a little more strenuous than relaxing its bladder. Another cramp sent Kelly into a standing position, her back ramrod straight and her cheeks clenched. There was no way in any circle of hell that Kelly was going to do that to herself. It wasn’t just babyish, it was completely fudging gross. “Whatcha doin’?” Zora asked. An entire wave of cramping cascaded over Kelly from the inside out. “Nothing….” Her eyes were almost as clenched as her teeth. As long as the other end didn’t unclench, she’d be okay. “That doesn’t look like nothin’,” Zora giggled. Under her breath, Kelly heard the witch say “Lucky…” Her fingers wriggling like spiders, Kelly’s hands danced all over her body. Clutching her stomach didn’t help. She couldn’t realistically hold her backside shut, not through all the soaked padding. Clumsily, she checked herself, accidentally feeling and appreciating just how full the diaper was. When had she peed that much? Had she ever stopped peeing since Candyland? She was literally no better off than Marsha. Speaking of Marsha, her diaper change had gone off uninterrupted, and now freshly padded, the big baby frog was put back down where the demon cat had picked her up from. Reeking of baby powder, she stuttered and talked to herself. “I...I...I just got my diaper changed,” she said. “I should feel gross...v-v-violated. But I don’t. I just...just feel...good. Refreshed...like I just took a quick shower or something...and...and I...I…” Of her own free will-such as it was-Marsha stopped herself from talking by reinserting her own pacifier. Zora’s hand went up. “Me next Sousa! Me next!” She grinned over to a still straining Kelly. “I don’t think Kelly is done quite yet.” Kelly had resorted to closing her eyes, and trying to both focus on the pain she was feeling and do anything she possibly could to resist giving into it. “Hey Kelly? Hey Kelly! Kelly? Kelly! Kelleeeeeeeee!” The blonde bunny baby’s eyes opened. “What?!” “Babies like us aren’t potty trained. We don’t hold it in. At all. And we don’t care if anyone’s watching.” Kelly opened her eyes and watched the cat Mommy and the witch baby’s retreating forms head over to the other side of the common room nursery. Zora was getting her diaper changed and already starting to giggle. She only managed to mouth a single word when the magical suggestion kicked in. “No.” Kelly expected her first major accident to be accompanied by rude noises. Lots of wet farts. Or her own pained groans. Probably both; a lot of both. That’s what happened in gross out comedies. Like everything else tonight, Kelly did not get what she was expecting, but neither did she get any form of true mercy, either. The last bit of her diaper’s crinkle rank out as it ballooned from a massive, newly added weight. Her body adjusted, with her lightly spreading her legs and then bending her knees. Her hands automatically found a comfortable spot resting on her thighs. Then came the pop, pop, popping as the snaps all along her inseam and the fully loaded diaper sagged and pulled itself free from the confines of her other clothes, dangling off her hips. The heat and the weight around her hips grew, the pain inside her diminished. What had started as an unconscious body reaction, ballooned into a choice with the rest of her oversaturated padding. She wanted it out. She needed it out. She needed the pain to stop, and this was the only way to do it. Her skin itched all over as the last of her dignity settled into her backseat. She’d have been lying to herself if she thought the sigh that accompanied was anything but pure relief. At least she was next up to get changied. A painful voice brought her out of her own stupor. And like a drowning victim being brought up for air, the sudden gasp only made what followed more agonizing. “Kelly?” Kelly felt the weight of her padding swing around with her. Her jaw threatened to go lower than even her diaper. “Danny?!” Her boyfriend stood in the doorway, completely aghast, looking around the giant nursery. He looked out of place with his short brown hair, athletic build, and frankly normal adult clothes. She should have told him to run. She should have told him to take her with him. What came out of her mouth was, “How?” “I thought you were cheating on me,” Danny said. He stepped farther into the old house and closed the door behind him. “So I followed you on the tracker app I installed on your phone. But this? Wow.” Under normal circumstances, Kelly would have been shocked and more than a little annoyed that her boyfriend was violating her privacy. More important things were at hand “Danny, I can explain, it’s just-” “How did you know?” Kelly did a double take. “Know what?” “That I’m into ABDL.” Danny’s statement was punctuated by the sound of more tapes ripping open. “I just love seeing cute little girls in diapers acting all innocent and shit.” He pulled her into his arms and she melted a little bit, forgetting how she was dressed and what was happening in her disposable underwear. He took her and planted a wet sloppy kiss. “Is this what you meant by babysitting? Looks like you’re the one who needs a babysitter.” For a moment, Kelly completely forgot where she was and felt tingly in the best way possible “I...I...I…” He whispered the worst possible words he could have into her ear. “I’ll be your Daddy little girl.” That. That word. The D-word. That’s what doomed Kelly. “D-D-Daddy?” Kelly shuddered. “You’re...my Daddy?” A perverted, almost wolfish grin spread. “You know it, baby girl.” Kelly leaned into him. Daddy was here to keep her safe and watch her and her best friend Marsha and her new friend Zora play together. He’d cuddle her and hold her and everytime she said ‘Daddy! Daddy! Look! Look at me!” he’d look. She fell to the floor, not because she lost balance, but because it was more comfy down there. She frowned, but only briefly, when she felt the solid smoosh beneath her. That was different, but familiar enough. Why did her pants smell bad? She’d already forgotten. Babies didn’t worry about what happened in their pants, and Kelly was now, always, and forever, a baby. “Uh oh, looks like somebody needs a-” Zora chimed in, and stopped. “Who are you?” “Hey there little girl,” Daddy said. He smiled and made finger guns at Zora, now freshly changed. No magic sparks came out. “Do you have a Daddy?” He noticed Sousa “Oh, that must be your Mommy. Hey. Nice costume by the way. Those contacts are killer.” Zora’s nose wrinkled like a bit of swamp gas had just zoomed up her nostrils. “What did you say your name was again?” “Oh, sorry. I’m Danny, Kelly’s Daddy.” Kelly saw the lump forming in the front of her Daddy’s pants as he introduced himself. But you can call me-” “Dani,” Zora said. It was weird. Even though it was pronounced exactly the same, she could hear the ‘i’ over the ‘y’; even imagined it with a little pink heart over it instead of a dot. “Got it,” Zora said. “You don’t look like Dani.” Hadn’t Zora asked Kelly’s name before? “Boys are too icky. We can fix that.” “Daddy! NO!” Another bolt shot out of Zora’s finger; she had the real guns. Danny’s pupils dilated and his shoulders sagged. “Sousa, take Dani here to the changing table. Extra changing.” “NOOOOOOOO!” Kelly screamed so loud that her uvula rattled. Unphased, the cat Mommy took Dani’s unresisting form back over to the changing table. Her ex-Daddy wouldn’t wake up in time to avoid being taped into something nice and soft and thick and crinkly. Her ex-Daddy wouldn’t wake up at all, in truth. With every step taken, clothes became baggie as muscle melted off of bone and facial feature softened. An unconscious sigh, or maybe it was a moan, escaped from Danny’s lips as bits of fat reallocated themselves to his chest and other things...rearrange themselves. Danny was ceasing to exist. Dani was taking shape before her old grown-up pants had even slithered down her ankles. The cause of the bulge was gone, too. “I’m thinking…” Zora tapped her chin, “pink princess?” Marsha nodded her head, enthusiastically, before noticing that Kelly was absolutely sobbing, burying her face into the floor as though the old wood would soak up her tears. “Kewwy,” she mumbled over her pacifier. “Wus wong?” “I. Want. My. Daddeeeee!” Completely gone and victim to the spell, Kelly wasn’t miserable because her boyfriend was getting stripped down and transformed not twenty feet in front of her. She was upset that she just lost her Daddy. “I’m sowwy, fwiend,” Marsha said. She started gently rubbing Kelly’s back, and that did make the shorter girl feel a little better. Her distress was more akin to losing a puppy fresh from the pet store or a toy just out of the box. It was something she’d wanted to play with and never got the chance more than something she actively loved. As if reading her mind, Zora said. “Don’t worry. We’ll get to play with Dani as soon as she wakes up for her nap. We’re all gonna be best friends.” That didn’t stop Kelly’s bawling. “And you’re gonna get changed next. You’ll feel better after that.” Kelly stopped her crying just enough to talk. “Really?” “Really really?” ******************************************************************************************* October 31st. Halloween. Four little diapered girls who weren’t so little at all were getting their last looks done for Trick-or-Treating, or as they called it “tricker treating”. It took less than a whole day for the changes to work themselves indelibly into reality. The little girl in the froggy onesie had always been best friends with the bunny girl, though the bunny girl still had a special place in her heart for her sister who was going out as a princess; with a golden tiara on her head and on her pink diapers to match. All three had a fanatical, almost cult-like reverence for their leader, the witch. “Are you sure we’re big enough to go tricker treating, Zora?” Marsha asked the head of their play group. “We’re definitely big enough,” Zora winked at her cat mommy. “And we’re not too big either.” Anyone who hinted otherwise, might very well be joining them. The magic had grown stronger, and it wouldn’t take long to take effect. Thanks to the magic, the old Sorority House was now daycare and it always had been. The legends of the haunted daycare had already worked themselves across the town’s gossip history. “Let’s go get some candy,” Kelly said, practicing her best bunny hop. “Let’s go make some friends!” Dani added, giving a delightful curtsey. The others couldn’t remember their old life, but they knew with a distinctive certainty, that they wouldn’t be the only residents of the daycare, come morning… (The End)

Thank you. I like slow burns. But there's nothing wrong with a quick concept piece.

Somewhere on the “UsBox Now”, a stream went live. Simultaneous updates on both public and supposedly private social media sites alerted subscribers to the feed. Anyone tuning in would have seen a pastel blue blur filling up the camera for an awkward few seconds before the figure in front of it slowly and carefully backed away, a plastic crinkling sound punctuating each step. To Amazon eyes, it was an adorable baby girl, barely a toddler despite her curly strawberry blonde ringlets. Surely, she wasn’t big or mature enough for potty training. Her blue pinafore dress had undersea decorations patterned on it, and no diaper was immediately visible, but the pacifier clipped onto her collar was a hint. Toddlers and preschoolers ready for potty training didn’t tend to get the suckles. Common wisdom dictated that the matching ‘panties’ in view were poofed out for a reason. Someone must have gotten a hold of their Mommy or Daddy’s phone and was trying to play silly baby games like Veggie Samurai. Precious! Tweeners would see what they often saw: A Little who hadn’t managed to keep up with the Amazons. The smallest folk often stumbled and bigger arms were always there to catch them and lower them even further into a crib. Based on the tall wooden bars in the background, this analysis was more than mere metaphor. It was a fifty-fifty split on whether this was a call for help or they were putting on a show for their new parents to delight in. It was so hard to tell or predict with Littles. They often took so well to their second go-round at childhood that it was easy to forget that chronologically they were adults. Those who had Amazon relatives or friends might quietly agree that even if it wasn’t something Littles wanted, and that Maturosis was a lie, such accommodations might just be what was best for them. To Littles, this was a preview of a nightmare. Full stop. No further notes. Watching Littles act like babies online was tantamount to watching a snuff film. And to a select cross-section of the internet, it was Grade-A thrilling entertainment. “Hey,” the Little girl said, waving to the camera. “Hope this is going live.” Her neck craned forward. “Yeah. I think so. Light is on. Signal is going strong. Good. So..uh…” she cleared her throat. “Hi. Alexi here, and in case you haven’t guessed, my Alexicons-yeah I gotta get a better name for my fans- but in case you haven’t guessed, I’ve been adopted. No, no, no, this isn’t me signing off, do not hit that unsubscribe button! I’m doing the Amazon Escape Challenge.” Awkwardly, she flashed two thumbs up to the camera. Anyone who had viewed Alexi Live and any of her numerous Little-centric film, television, and book reviews, not to mention her Let’s Plays before would recognize that the Little was clearly off her game and uncomfortable. First timers who just stumbled onto the channel thanks to the algorithm might think she was a rookie at this sort of thing. The next thirty seconds, however, showed a bit of professionalism on her part. “So um...for those of you who haven’t been watching for the last three weeks, watching me prep, or who haven’t heard of it before, I’m doing the Amazon Escape Challenge. You get caught. You get adopted. Aaaaand you escape and tell everybody out there what it was like on the other side of the playpen. I didn’t start this challenge. That credit goes to Mini-Mimi and Tweener Tom, but just because I’m not the first doesn’t mean I can’t be the best.” Her monologue done, Alexi’s hands flopped to her side and she started gesturing and looking around in the crib. “So yeah. I let myself get caught at a local park. I was sucking my thumb and clutching onto a teddy bear, and that apparently was enough for somebody to want to adopt me. Antiope Argyros plucked me up, adopted me, and within the day had this whole nursery set up. Here, let me show you.” The camera’s view radically shifted as Alexi grabbed it and panned around the room. Through the wooden slats of the crib, viewers were treated to what could be called either a horror show or something so mundane as to be somewhat boring depending on the height of the viewer. “There’s the rocking chair where I sit in her lap and she reads stories while I drink from a bottle. Those shelves with the bins have toys; I haven’t played with them very much so they’re still quite organized. And of course, over there in the corner is the changing table.” The camera stayed in and zoomed in on the changing table, with stacks and stacks of diapers folded underneath with wipes, cream, and baby powder within easy reach up top. “Speaking personally,” Alexi narrated, “My family never had a changing table. Littles tend to potty train and grow up quick, so for my brothers and sisters and me my parents were like ‘Why buy something that they’re gonna grow out of in like two years?’. But I guess for Amazons it makes more sense, cuz...you know...they want babies who are never going to grow up.” The phone whipped around to show Alexi’s face. “Also I know it’s kind of hard to see from where we’re at, but there’s lots of different diapers stacked under there. Miss Argyros bought something like a variety pack of diapers, so there’s lots of different brands and designs and styles.” A hint of a blush rose in the girl’s cheeks. “She’s having me try a lot of different ones to figure out which ones work best for me...or her...or...oh you know.” Audio picked up another exhalation while she gave a final slow pan around the nursery. “The creepiest part is this room was an empty guest room until about five hours after I got caught. A bunch of men came in, Tweeners mostly with an Amazon boss, and they set it all up after just one phone call. How weird is that? Like, I don’t know which would have been weirder: For her to have a nursery all set up, or to just have an empty room and a service on speed dial to turn it into a nursery in less than a day. They even added in those sheep stencils and painted everything pink.” Back to her face, viewers saw Alexi’s eyes narrowed as she read comments trickling in. “How did I get my phone in? Oh yeah.” The camera whirled around to show a large pink fluffy teddy bear, head slouched and button black eyes dead to the world. “So this teddy had a zipper back and had enough stuffing in it, so I was able to hide my phone and charger in it ahead of time.” The camera showed Alexi’s hand pressing the bear’s stomach. “You’re my beeeeeest friend.” A deep goofy pre-recorded voice mumbled out. “I just had to stick my phone right next to the bear’s voice box and nobody noticed. Right now, I’m kind of using him as a camera stand. Which reminds me.” Viewers were treated to more shaking and rustling as Alexi readjusted the camera on top of the bear.. “So yeah. It’s been about two days since I got caught. I’m filming this now because I’ve learned that Miss Argyros likes to take a shower during what she thinks is my naptime. The walls here are pretty thick, but you can still hear the shower turning on and water moving through the pipes. So I’m pretty safe.” The streamer’s eyes darted on the screen, reading more questions and comments. “Okay. Sure.” The bloomer-like baby panties slowly went down to her knees and the blue of her baby dress contrasted more with the increasing scarlet of her flesh. “As you can see, I’m currently diapered. These are Monkeez, which is really weird, since that’s what I used to wear as a kid, just not as big.” The camera caught a decent shot of her trying unsuccessfully to peel the tapes away. “Also as you can see, the tapes are Amazon strength; so there’s no way I’m getting out of this without a box cutter or something sharp to cut through.” Her blush lessened as she yanked the faux panties back up over her hips, the very tip of the waistband still on display until she yanked the hem of her dress back down. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, I have wet. Yeah. It’s super gross. Fortunately, as uh...Amazon-y as the lady who took me is, she’s at least very good about changing me when I say I need it.” Her blush doubled down as her eyes unfocused. “Not that I wanted to be changed and have another adult see me naked and wipe my butt for me, but she’s much better than the people at the daycare. You’d think that they were the ones paying for the diapers or something. They won’t change you if you’re not ‘wet enough’ or some junk.” A new light showed in the streamer’s eyes as the candle of thought and memory lit for her. “Oh yeah. I’ve already been put in daycare. I’m not gonna risk trying to smuggle my phone in that place. Too many eyes, and not just the people who work there.” She took a deep breath. “Lemme tell you guys, if you think it’s weird walking down the street and seeing a Little in a stroller, it’s even weirder when there’s two dozen of them, they’re all in diapers, and they’re all clearly loving it. Some barely talk, and the ones that do have totally bought into the lie; insisting that they’re babies. It’s bizarre. I’m pretty sure that at least one of them is old enough to be my dad or something.” Dramatically she rubbed her temples. “It’s really weird and frustrating, and on one hand I can’t imagine the kind of trauma those people have endured, and on the other hand it’s really gross when people start pooping their pants right next to everyone and won’t say anything about it because they want to finish watching cartoons.” Alexi tilted her head. “Oh yeah. That’s another thing. The cartoons. First off, they’re not hypnotic, not the ones at this daycare anyway, and they’re pretty good. Still, I’m kind of mixed feelings on this. Like, there’s almost an entire hour of ‘cartoon time’ at the daycare, it’s on their schedule and everything. And like...on one hand I’m glad not to have a giant hand poking it’s finger in my pants or someone trying to blow raspberries into my tummy or whatever, but it’s like...if these Amazons actually believed that we were babies, just plopping us down in front of a screen and walking out of the room…? How messed up is that?” Like a kid with her hand about to be caught in the cookie jar, Alexi’s head jerked around. “The water just shut off. Okay. Looks like shower time’s over. That means I gotta go, turn this off, and smuggle this back into my teddy bear!” She blushed and squeezed her legs together slightly. “Also...I kinda gotta pee, so I’m gonna have to do that real quick and then get changed.” Waving to the camera, she signed off. “Okay. Bye for now, Alexicons! Hopefully when you see me next, I’ll be back home safe and sound and in my big girl panties!” The view was blocked by the palm of her hand before the screen went black and the feed cut. ************************************************************************* The next stream a few days later was even more adorable and/or horrifying than the first. For starters, it didn’t take an eagle eye for viewers to spot the bottom of the diaper peeking out from underneath Alexi’s purple polka dotted sundress. “Hey there, Alexicons!” the second stream began. “It’s your girl, Alexi!” She let out an almost weary sigh. “So I’ve been like this for about a week, and I’m still here. Mommy’s got the house pretty much Little proofed, so I gotta think that if I’m gonna win the challenge, it’s going to have to be by getting out of the daycare. I told her that I was feeling sleepy so she plopped me back here in my crib. I’m not too worried about her catching me, though. She can’t resist her shows first thing after getting home from daycare. Who knew there was an Adoption Court reality show every weekday at four-thirty?” Alexi visibly shuttered. Without preamble, Alexi sat down, splay legged so that her subscribers got a good look at the bottoms of her black patent leather shoes and her diaper. The girl made no move to cover it up or adjust the hem of her dress. “I wasn’t quite lying. Daycare is...well..it’s work. The Grown-Ups are super condescending, calling all Littles babies, and treating us like we’re children. This one volunteer who fed me lunch in a highchair today came over from the local highschool. Kept trying to get me to eat mush by telling me it would help me grow up big and strong.” Dramatically, the streamer rolled her eyes. “I’m done growing, girl. I’m as big and strong as I’m gonna get and telling me otherwise isn’t gonna make me want to eat that jar of strained beets.” She huffed. “Amazons. Amiright?” Leaning in, her eyes focused and narrowed, reading the comments. “Guys. Guys, I’m sorry. Something must be wrong with my phone. I think it’s glitching. Unless a bunch of people are just smashing their keyboard, it’s getting hard to read what you guys are typing. Something weird must be going on.” Her eyes lit up with recognition before clouding over with dread. “Oh. One word is still coming loud and clear. ‘Diapers’.” With a weary sigh, Alexi started to talk about her uncovered underpants. “Yes. I’m still wearing diapers.” She lifted up the hem of her dress all the way to her bellybutton. As you can see, today’s model from the jumbo variety pack is a Koddles. It has Helga Hogg decorations. That’s the flat looking piggy on the landing strip. Personally, I prefer Jasper and Jinx, it’s one of the ones they show at daycare, and I think there’s something artistic about wordless storytelling. I don’t think they have Jasper and Jinx diapers, though.” Alexi paused and shook her head like trying to get cobwebs out of her noggin. “Anyways a feature of Koddles is a lot of them have this pee line going down the middle,” she indicated the yellow strip running between her legs. “That means anyone can tell when I’ve gone pee-pee because the color changes from this light yellow to a bright blue. As you can see, I’m very, very dry.” There was a bit too much pride in that statement. She let go of the hem of her dress, but the bulk of her diaper kept the Koddles well in sight and the hem bunched up in front. “I’ve had to get used to it of course. Daycare has scheduled changing times, so depending on the time I’ve had to go pee-pee and just learn to play and watch cartoons in a wet diaper. And well..” she wiggled uncomfortably in her seat. “It’s not that bad. The other thing though…” her face paled. “I’ve done it twice and didn’t like either time. I’m gonna have to get out before it happens too many more times, I think.” Still wiggling, the girl leaned back and kept talking to the camera in her crib. “I think my best chance to escape, like I said, is gonna be at daycare. Probably on the playground. Pretty sure that I can figure out a way to climb the fence. It’s chainli-” “Oh! That reminds me!” Alexi interrupted herself. “Weirdest thing happened on the playground today. We got a new kid...I mean a new Little checked into the daycare today, and for a second I thought it was Linked Up Lily! If you’re not subscribed to her channel, you should be, she’s totally an inspiration of mine, and I think she said she was going to do the Amazon Escape Challenge too.” A moment of screen reading and struggling to decipher and Alexi replied, “Um...no. I don’t think this was actually Lily. The Grown-Ups at daycare called her Liliana, which is close, but no cigar. She had a different haircut, too. Like her hair was waaaaaay shorter than Lily’s, and plainer too; Lily is super famous for her long and wild colored hair.” A beat.. “And more importantly, this Lily was totally mindf...you know, I can’t use the preferred term because I don’t want to get demonetized, but the people who know know.” Nervously, Alexi began biting at her nails. “You should have seen this poor girl. They got her bad. She was having a hard time walking, and it wasn’t just cause of the diaper; super uncoordinated. Needed help getting up the slide and such. And then right in the middle of everything, she was like running to the swingset, and she stopped, just froze, and um…” For the first time that stream, Alexi blushed. “She messed herself. Said it loud enough while she was doing it too.” A shudder served as transition between Alexi telling her story and idly biting her nails to full on sucking her thumb. Her unconscious squirming stopped and a relieved smile spread across her lips while they suckled on her thumb. Anyone staring at Alexi’s crotch would notice the wetness indicator on her diaper turning bright blue, leaving nothing in doubt about what was going on in the girl’s baby pants. A second later, Alexi’s eyes brightened and she seemed to come back to herself. “Anyways, I don’t think that was Linked Up Lily. Pretty sure anyways. I’m finding a lot of the cartoons here pretty neat though! I’m gonna have to get a subscription or something to watch them after I finish the challenge! The toys aren’t bad either! I’ve got this four option pop up jack-in-the-box type toy, with different animals, and they say different things depending on the order that you pop them up in, so there’s like...a whole bunch of things you can do with them. Really cool! I kind of wish I had had something like that when I was a baby the first time. I mean...” Alexi froze. “Uh oh! I don’t know if you can hear that stream, but footsteps are coming.” The stream was treated to her teddy bear’s pink underside while Alexi hurriedly hid her only link to the outside world. “Hello, Lexi!” a much deeper, matronly voice could be heard. “Oh. Hi Mommy!” “I heard a certain someone talking instead of taking a nap. Are you not tired anymore? You weren’t fibbing were you?” Viewers could hear a note of panic in Alexi’s voice. “No Mommy! Not at all. I’m not a fibber! I was just telling Pinky all about my day at daycare and all the new friends I’m making.” “Awwww,” the Amazon could be heard cooing. “How about you and Pinky come and watch cartoons in the living room for a bit?” “Okay!” The joy was spontaneous and genuine. Alexi wasn’t that good of an actor. The pink plush curtain was removed and the stream kept going for another two hours, with just a view of the mobile dangling above the crib. Those still tuning in finally got some new developments to the sound of a door squeaking open, and the faint sound of crinkling and humming. Then a gasp. “Oh no!” came Alexi’s whispers. Her face came back into full view as crib bars slipped by. “Uhhh...sorry guys. My Mommy came in and me and Pinky and her watched cartoons for a while. I was so good at watching them that Mommy sent me ahead of her so I could pick out my next diaper.” Just how infantile and bizarre that must have seemed was evidently lost on the girl. “Good-bye for now!” ******************************************************************************************** Two days later a new video was uploaded to Alexi’s UsBox channel. “Hey guys!” she waved to the imagined audience. “Just giving you an update! It’s the weekend and Mommy is talking to a friend of hers, setting up a playdate with one of her friends and their kid!” The camera panned around the nursery, this time without wooden bars. “As you can see, Mommy trusts me enough now that she’s leaving me in my room and letting me play as much as I want, though she leaves the baby gate up just in case.” She giggled uncharacteristically and stuck out her tongue. “Pinky is still in my crib. He’s my bedtime buddy, so I’m having to hold my phone all by myself like a big girl! On the bright side I found a good spot to recharge my phone right behind the diaper pail.” “Oh oh oh! I almost forgot! Have you seen my new diapers?!” She didn’t need to hold the camera back as far as she did for future viewers to get a good hard look at the plastic backed nappy taped around her hips. The (mostly) white decorated diaper was the only thing she was wearing beneath her light yellow t-shirt. Just in case, the video included what some might consider a less-than-tasteful shot of what was going on between her legs. “These are called You-Ni-Corns,” Alex said. “Cuz they have these pretty unicorn horse thingies all over them and they’re super comfy and pretty and Mommy says they’re made just for Little babies like me!” Experienced caregivers would also note that the diaper, while not overly discolored, did swell and sag a bit with bits of the sap bunching up and clumping together where they’d done the most work. Wet. But not in dire need of a change...yet. “I think I’m going to ask Mommy to get more of these cause they're super comfy and none of the other girls at daycare wear anything like them. Whether you’re a baby or a big girl or a Grown-Up, sometimes you don’t want someone wearing the same thing as you.” A silly smile spread on her lips. “At least you don’t have to go all the way home to change.” Gayly, she laughed at her own joke. “I won’t be reacting to the comments on this video,” she said, more seriously. “Something’s going on with my phone where I can’t read any of the words. I gotta get it fixed.” She tilted her head in thought. “Actually, I think it’s more than just my phone. The words in the books that Mommy reads to me every night are looking funnier and funnier.” She shrugged. “No big deal though. It’s more funnerer to listen to her read. She does all these silly voices for all the different characters and stuff.” From the camera’s point of view the room started bouncing with the girl. “Like there’s this one voice she does that sounds juuuuust like Momma Kangaroo in this one cartoon I just found called pocket pals where all the critters are marsupi-...marsh...they all have pockets that their babies get to ride in!, I gotta get her to watch it with me but they say it’s a special one that only good girls and boys at daycare can watch!” The next several words that came out of her mouth were so speedy and incoherent that it was nearly indecipherable over the loud crinkling that came with her constant jumping. Fans of the show who were still able to talk might recognize that she was describing the entire first season in all but one breath (albeit very much out of order). “And then Mr. O. Possum was like…like…” Alexi stopped. With her free hand, she grabbed the pacifier clipped onto her shirt and stuck it in her mouth. “Goffa..” she said. “Goffa go…” Her eyes stared into the distance, unfocused, and her cheeks puffed out like a bullfrog. With a long, heavy exhale, she groaned, and let out a soft smile. “Poofff” The girl’s eyes came back into focus with a blink and the color drained away from her face as the spark of recognition lit a fire beneath her. “I gotta go! Bye!” Comments would speculate that this was a deep fake. Others would guess that poor Alexi remembered how to upload videos through muscle memory and icon recognition; a pre-reading skill, they’d insist. Unfortunately for the Little girl, she hadn’t quite re-figured out how to edit out the part where she openly and flagrantly messed herself before posting. ************************************************************** “Hi everybody out there in internet land! It’s me! Lexi!” Canny recent viewers would notice that the Little streamer had her hands free and wasn’t in her crib. Even cannier voyeurs would realize based on the nursery’s geography that her phone was likely propped up on a lower shelf of the changing table, possibly leaning against a stack of diapers. Speaking of diapers, it could be argued on whether or not a purple t-shirt with frilly sleeves and a stiff rainbow colored tutu counted as a dress; it was indisputable that they did nothing to conceal the babyish undergarment. The knee high socks and velcro sneakers didn’t contribute anything to the girl’s modesty; that was for certain. “I just got back from daycare and they taught us this really neat dance that I wanted to show you! It’s called the tipsy wipsy dance! I’ll show you!” “First you take your hips and you get a little tips...eeeeeeee! Then you take your bowl and you stir it and stir it...one-two-three! And you flap your arms just like you’re a flying bird...eeeeeee! And you kick your feet and you sing a little song...do-ray-me!” Alexi’s dance might have been cute to the digital onlookers...if it had been anything remotely resembling a dance. The Little sang the song acapella, and amelodically. If there were steps to this “dance” they didn’t match the lyrics. They mostly consisted of Alexi jumping up and down and spinning in circles and shaking her rump for the cameras. “One more time!” “First you take your hips and you get a little…” she froze. She bent her knees. She clenched her fists up tight and stared at a point on the wall off camera. Alexi never was quite certain how big or small her viewers were; how many Littles, how many Tweeners, how many Amazons. Whoever they were, they got a good view of what came next: Brief popping, tooting sounds made their way to the camera’s microphone. What came next was evident to all who could see. Alexi had planted her feet so that her profile was in perfect view, and whether they were cooing, gasping, or cringing, every one of Alexi’s viewing audience got a front row seat of the back of her unicorn diaper expanding and drooping while red faced. Alexi huffed and grunted until at last… “Poopy!” It sounded almost celebratory. Shamelessly, Alexi started singing and dancing again, such as it was, her diaper bobbing along with every movement and gyrating motion she made. “And you flap your amrs just like you’re a flying bird...eeeee!” A giant figure came into focus in the background. “Is that someone singing the tipsy wipsy song?” her Mommy said from the other side of the room’s baby gate. Alexi threw up her hands. “Yeah! Mommy! Wanna do it with me?” Mommy carefully stepped over the babygate, her black hair and olive skin a contrast to the Little’s fair complexion and fairer hair. “Oh I don’t think so, baby girl. That’s a dance that’s best done by Littles. I’ll watch, though!” She sniffed. “Uh oh.” “Uh oh?” Alexi looked genuinely worried. “I think I’ve got a Little Lady Lexi who filled her diaper right up!” Mommy said. “Let me check.” She knelt down to one knee, taking her massive palm and cupping it to the Little’s bulging backside. “Uh oh. Yup! I definitely feel some poopy in there!” Rather than blushing, the Little girl giggled into her palm. “I’ve got a stinky baby on my hands! Let’s get you changed!” The ‘baby’ girl only gave more delighted giggles in reply. Mommy glanced over at the camera. A dark cloud gathered. “Lexi? What’s that?” “It’s my phone, Mommy!” Lexi said, cheerily. “I’m showing all my friends on the internet the dance I learned at daycare!” And just like that the sun came out. “Oooooh!” Mommy said. “Is my Little baby girl a streamer?” Theatrically, Lexi threw her hands into the air “Yesh!” “Awwwww! Isn’t that cute! Your friend Liliana from daycare used to have her own UsBox channel, too.” “Really?” Lexi squealed in delight. “Really, really! That’s what her Daddy told me. Now the only streaming she does are the pee-pees in her pants.” “Oh wow! That’s so cool!” Mommy chuckled. “Let’s get that stinky bum cleaned up, and later you can show me all the cute videos and streams you’ve recorded.” Lexi’s legs went out of view as her Mommy stood up and moved her on top of the changing table. “Really?!” she squeaked. “Really, really,” the Amazon cooed. “Hold on just a second.” The view blurred as it was whipped around and held over Lexi’s prone form. Not blushing at all, the girl waved from her spot on the changing table. “Hiiiii!” “That’s right,” the Amazon lady said. “Wave bye-bye to all your friends!” “Byyyyyyye!” The last thing the broadcast recorded was the sound of diaper tapes being ripped off. ********************************************************************************* “Hey everyone, Antiope Argryros here,” the Amazon waved at the camera. “Or as this precious Little one calls me, ‘Mommy’.” The camera panned over to a Little girl, her hair in blond ringlets laying on a forest green park bench. Bashfully, the girl smiled past the rubber teat of her baby bottle, waving to the camera. “Now I don’t know if you can tell just by looking, fam, but I’ve got a young lady who definitely needs a diaper change. Oh my goodness, you are so soaked! Aren’t you?” Lexi giggled. “Uh-huh!” She punctuated her sentence with a loud burp and finished downing the bottle full of juice. “All gone, Mommy!” “Good job!” the Amazon told her. “Now can you be Mommy’s special helper and hold her phone and talk to the people watching at home while Mommy changes your diaper?” “Sure!” the girl peeped. “I’m super good at this!” “I know you are!” The camera moved wildly to a close up of Lexi’s face. “Hi everybody!” she said over the sounds of her diaper coming undone. “It’s Lexi again! Mommy said that I’m too Little to be doing my own channel so she’s gonna be taking it over so I can do more ‘portant stuff.” No trace of irony, agony, dread, or disgust could be detected. “That way I got lots of extra time to play and cuddle and watch cartoons and play and figure out what flavor crayons are and learn new dances and play and watch cartoons and- Mommy! Cold!” “Don’t be naughty,” Mommy’s voice could be heard off screen. “I’m not gonna let you get a rash. The sooner I get you cleaned up the sooner you can go play. Keep talking.” “Yes ma’am!” Lexi adjusted her view to the camera. “So Mommy is getting me a bunch of new play outfits, and that’s really neat, but she also wants to get a bunch of different diapers for me, so like if I’m wearing a monkey outfit, I can wear Monkeez, and there’s these pink Hippo diapers for if I’m wearing pink- I mean the girl diapers are pink, boys have blue that’s super important- or if I’m gonna be her Little Piggy she’ll get me the Koddles with Helga Hogg. I still wish they had the Jasper and Jinx diapers, those’d be neat. But anyway, I really like my You-Ni-Corns, and as I was tryin’ to tell her, unicorns go with everything but she wouldn’t listen. Mommy’s, amiright?” “All done,” Mommy said, taking the phone away. “You can go play.” “Yay!” Wearing nothing but a teal t-shirt that stopped at her belly button, velcro light up sneakers, and a freshly taped diaper, Lexi waddled off the park bench and started for the playground where four or five other babies at or around her age were already at playing. “”I told her she wouldn’t get to go play until she finished her ba-ba,” Antiope winked at the camera. “Parenting hack.” Before she’d properly stepped onto the playground, the Little stopped. “Lexi? Are you okay?” her Mommy called out. As if in reply the tiny form bent her knees and clenched her fists. “Uh-oh. I know what this means.” With huge Amazonian steps, the camera whirled around to see a blank faced Lexi starting to puff her cheeks out. “Yup. Thought so.” The cell phone camera, this one Amazon made and designed, picked up the quiet grunting and moaning leaking out of Lexi’s lips. “Lexi, honey,” Mommy asked, not quite taunting. “I thought you wanted to go play on the playground with all of your Little friends.” The first reply came not out of the Little girl’s mouth but from her bottom as several rude noises reported out from behind her. Tiny toots and farts rang out so fast and clear that no one would mistake what she was doing. It was almost cute. “Lexi? Lexi, baby? What’s my baby doing out here on the sidewalk in front of everybody and the whole internet?” Another grunt. Another groan. Another muffled toot made to smell sweeter thanks to a fresh layer of baby powder. And finally a word from the Little chatterbox. “...Poopin’.” Viewers got the ‘treat’ of seeing the whole thing live as Lexi’s Mommy stepped around and got the perfect shot of the fresh diaper ballooning out. The effect was even more pronounced because of how fresh the diaper was. The camera caught as each and every crease was pressed and smoothed from the inside out. “Never fails,” Mommy clucked. “Put them in a clean diaper and they go and mush in it.” “All done!” “What was that?” Mommy asked. She stepped back around. “Can you say that one more time for all the people watching on Mommy’s phone?” The girl grinned, seemingly proud of herself. “All done!” Antiope let out a good natured laugh. “Awww, okay sweetie. You can go play, now.” The camera was treated to the sight of the Little waddling onto the playground, the lump in her backseat obvious even as she climbed up to the tiny slide. “She’s so precious.” After Lexi slid down, not even flinching at the spreading muck in her pants, her Mommy stepped in front of the camera, so that both her and her new baby could be seen. “So before we begin, I’d officially like to thank the creators of the Amazon Escape Challenge. I think it’s a really good way for Littles in need to find their Mommies and Daddies without feeling too scared or overwhelmed about the whole thing. I would encourage all Littles who think they’re independent and mature to test it out as either way I think you’ll be satisfied with the results and maybe even learn something about yourself.” Little viewers, assuming there were any, likely recoiled at the idea paired with the image of Lexi jumping on a teeter totter to play with another diapered and adopted Little. “For those of you worried about the change in format, don’t worry. This channel might be under new management, but you’ll still get to see lots and lots of Lexi. I might be the host but she’ll definitely be the star. Being a Little, she just doesn’t have the attention span to update this channel enough to make it really successful.” As if proving her point for her, the Little was already off the teeter totter, leaving her playmate whining and crying without her. She fell backwards onto her butt, but otherwise seemed unbothered as she picked herself up and toddled to the merry go round. “I’m gonna have to work on that…” She addressed the audience. “But see? Lexi isn’t going away. If anything you’re going to be seeing a lot more of her, while we show you fun games and songs and tricks for bath time and nap time to make everybody else’s life a lot easier. You’ll just see her as her true self, and not the Grown-Up she was pretending to be before I met her.” “We’ll have something for everyone,” Antiope continued. “If you’re a Little that doesn’t have a Mommy or a Daddy, you’ll see what you're missing out on. Or if you do, you can watch this with them and get ideas for play time and snuggles! If you’re a Tweener, I’m sure this will help convince you on how you can best help your Little friends or land that babysitting job you were hoping to get from the parents across the street.” The narration continued as the giantess strode onto the playground. “In fact, the only thing I think my lovely Little Lexi won’t be able to help you viewers at home on is potty training.” To herself she added. “Oh, we can do product reviews too. She was pretty good at that…” The aside ended at the top of Lexi’s head came into frame. “Okay, Lexi. I need to change your diaper again!” Like a kettle on boiling, giggles shrieked out from the Little’s throat and she waddled away. “Noooooooooo!” Any Amazon parent would infer that the adorable child didn’t really mean it. She just wanted to be chased. “Thanks for watching!” Antiope said. “Now if you excuse me, I’ve got a Little in a full diaper trying to escape!”

Adam and Freddie weren’t twins. Not really. They were born a little over a year apart though and both had inherited the same basic looks. Irish Twins it was called. Though neither Little had any idea who the Irish were, or how big they were compared to Amazons, both had the same light brown hair and square chin as their father, and a near total inability to grow a proper beard. Not quite identical, they could easily be mistaken for one another from a distance. When you got closer to them or examined them side by side, you could pick out the finer details. Adam had his mother’s green eyes while Freddie took after Dad with a dark brown. Adam had slightly leaner and slightly more muscular, muscular features. Freddie was softer and more rounded. Adam’s chest was a little bigger and so his voice was a bit deeper, too. Not much deeper; just enough that either brother would have to purposefully heighten or lower their pitch to an impression of the other. The final major difference between the brothers post puberty went unnoticed until they ended up having their diapers changed side by side and sharing a bathtub again. Freddie had gotten the good deal on that one. A night of drinking to celebrate Adam’s twenty-first birthday had gone upside down. They’d been caught together. Adopted together. The Amazon bartender had become their ‘Daddy’. He’d been right. Little boys really shouldn’t ought to have been drinking in bars. Neither had been able to figure out how the Amazon had managed to slip something into their bottles of beer. Since last week the only bottles they were getting had rubber nipples at the end of them. They were sitting in their playpen, each wearing navy blue sailor tops and matching hats, complete with cute black tassels. Other than that, they were naked with only thick white disposable diapers covering their bottoms and nothing on their feet. This was every Littles worst nightmare, even if it was a statistical probability. According to reports on ‘Maturosis’ almost every Little family had someone in their tree with Maturosis expressing itself. If you had a sibling, chances are one of you would end up back in diapers sometime after puberty but long before senility. The Amazons used such statistics to prove the validity of their pseudo-science. Littles in the know saw it for what it was: A flex. Don’t try to avoid being pushed back into the nursery; it was inevitable. Back when they were growing up and shared a bunk bed, the brothers had fantasized about what they’d do if one of them ever got caught; usually with the fantasy ending with the free one being the hero and busting his brother out of there through cunning and guile. Neither had imagined that they’d both get scooped up, held down and depantsed. Such fantasies were for kids anyways. Both of them were all done growing up, now. “Ugh,” Freddie groaned, clutching his stomach. “Not again…!” He put his bottle to the mat, and shifted from his bottom onto all fours. Adam put his down, too, but remained seated. “Aw, come one Freddie.” “Can’t...help...it…” Freddie’s words turned into low mumbling groans as the back seat of his diaper ballooned out and Freddie filled up his non-existent pants. Adam looked away, and pretended the world outside the white mesh of the playpen was more interesting than it was. He kept drinking the white sloshy milk, hoping that the sound of his own suckling would mask Freddie’s groans, or crinkling of his diaper, or the bodily noises coming out of his older brother’s backside. He looked back over at Freddie when the noises stopped and his breathing came out as tired puppy-like panting. The boys had been potty trained at about the same time. Their parents had wanted to get rid of diapers altogether in one stroke. Adam used to think that that meant he was potty trained early. Now, he thought it meant that Freddie had been trained too late. Only one of them had any memories of pooping their pants, and Freddie was picking the habit back up like riding a bike. That wasn’t fair, Adam told himself. It wasn’t his big brother’s fault. Nor did Adam have much room to brag. His diaper was just as wet as Freddie’s, bulging out from the pressure of the pulp expanding so much. The Little-Ade their Daddy kept giving them in the mornings somehow overhydrated them; made them feel like they needed to pee constantly and holding it for more than a few minutes at a time was nearly unbearable. It was like what being sloshed did to your bladder, but without the fun part of being drunk. “Here you go my Little waterspouts,” Daddy would say as soon as they were changed first thing in the morning. The diapers didn’t stay dry for long. Whatever was in the ‘milk’ Daddy gave them wreaked similar havoc on their guts. It filled them up enough to where come lunchtime they could feel full with just a jar of baby food, but it also made them gassy as anything; and it was hard to get out of their system. “Two babies need burping,” Daddy would proclaim. It seemed to affect Freddie much harder. Adam’s guts were grumbling too, but he had enough control, pain tolerance, and stubbornness to hold back. At least he wouldn’t ‘assume the position’ right away. The sound of his big brother suffering drew their new Daddy’s attention. “Uh oh. Did my baby boys make a present for me?” He reached down and patted Freddie on the behin. “Yup. There’s a nice present.” He repositioned Freddie back into a sitting position. He stuck the half-finished bottle back in Freddie’s mouth. Freddie had no choice but to grab hold of both hands and keep suckling. “That’s my good boy.” He walked around the perimeter of the playpen and pulled back the waistband of Adam’s diaper. “Nope, not yet.” He patted Adam on the top of his head. “We’ll get there.” Adam shuddered at that. “Finish your ba-bas boys. Then Daddy will burp you and change you if you need it.” ‘If you need it’: Translation, they’d only get their diapers changed if both of them had pooped. Dude had a twin fetish or something. There wasn’t a better word for it. They had to be identical, or at least close enough, to get any kind of relief. They weren’t ‘finished’ unless both of them drained their bottles. They didn’t ‘need’ their diapers changed unless both were soiled or close to leaking. “Come on, Adam,” Freddie whispered when the Amazon walked away. “I don’t wanna get a rash. Daddy might not even use cream unless you need it too.” Adam clenched his teeth. “I hate that you call him ‘Daddy’.” “What else am I supposed to call him?” Freddie had a point. The bald headed bartender hadn’t worn a nametag or told them any other name to call him except for ‘Daddy’. Adam had tried several other choice names for him, but Daddy doubled up on spankings too, resulting in both brothers getting rosy red cheeks even though only one of them had opened their mouth. “Okay,” Adam sighed. “Fine. Just...gimme a second.” He finished downing the milk and then pulled himself up to a standing position. If he was going to shit himself, he wasn’t going to do it on his knees. There was some dignity in that, or so he rationalized. The mounting cramps made it easy to grunt and work through. His body wanted the release, even if his mind trembled at the realization. Adam bent his knees, closed his eyes and grabbed onto the top of the railing. He let out a strained grunt as he pushed the first mess of the day into his seat.. He felt his cheeks widening and spreading, as the first turtle head poked out. Another push and gravity combined with bodily inertia did the mess. His diaper was sagging enough that he didn’t really feel the first bit; it almost didn’t touch him, instead dropping to the very bottom of his plastic backed prison. It was almost like going in a toiled. The second and third pushes were harder on him. There was no getting around what he was doing then. Adam had no memories of potty training. No younger cousins either, the sensation of pooping in his clothes was utterly alien to him. Finally done, Adam sat down, squishing the lumpy mess. He hadn’t even opened his eyes when he asked. “How do real babies do it?” “We are real babies,” Freddie said. “That’s why we’re going potty in our pants. Adam didn’t need to open his eyes to know that Daddy had doubled back. That’s the only reason Freddie would be talking like that. Sure enough, the Amazon had been keeping close tabs on them. “Looks like I’ve got two widdle sailor babies who need their poop decks swabbed,” he chuckled. Again, he reached down and peeked down the back of their underwear. “Let daddy check! Yup! Good Little sailors. Let’s get you changed.” “Yes, Daddy,” they said. The giant had a thing for them talking in unison. His arms were big and strong enough that he could pick them both up at the same time and carry them over to the changing mat he’d laid on the floor. The wipes and two identical diapers sat stacked, waiting for them. “Hi diddly dee, a sailor’s life for me,” he sang. If he could have pulled the adhesive tapes off of their diapers at the exact same time, he likely would have. He settled for one right after the other. “Swabbin’ the poop deck. Swabbin’ the poop deck.” He finished balling up their ruined diapers and slid the replacements under them before he said anything that wan’t complete nonsense to them. “I hope you two are ready for a big day tomorrow,” Daddy said while powdering Adam’s bottom. “Because one of you is going to daycare tomorrow.” The brothers looked at each other. One of them? He shifted and did the same to Freddie’s backside. “I wanted to enroll both of you in public daycare,” he said, “but when I told them I had twins, they offered to pay me money to just send one of you.” “Why?” Freddie asked. Daddy looked at Freddie’s crotch and then pulled the fresh diaper up. “Oh it’s not because you’re bad, Freddie. You’ve both been very good boys this week. Very good.” Adam was next. “But twin Littles with the same Mommy or Daddy? That’s super rare. So they wanted to do a study.” “We’re not twins!” Adam yelped. For crying out loud! The guy had checked both their ID’s and seen the different birthdates. The boys’ ability to speak lasted only as long as it took Daddy to finish pressing on the tapes of Adam’s diaper. Then they both got pacifiers shoved into their mouths. With a click and a turn of a knob, the rubber teats ballooned out, gagging both Littles and making it impossible for them to spit out. “Close enough,” the giant replied. “So one of you gets to stay with Daddy, and the other gets to go to New Beginnings. Isn’t that neat?” Gagged by their pacifiers and still laying down, both brothers looked at each other, afraid they’d be the one to go to. The next day it was settled by a coin flip. Freddie lost. ************************************************** Adam’s first day of infancy without his big brother was good; as good as perpetual infancy could be: Peeing and pooping in his pants, being bottle fed and burped, and pretending to be interested in bead mazes were quickly becoming par for the course. If there was a downside it was that he was the sole focus of Daddy’s attention for close to eight hours; a downside that was quickly negated by the fact that he didn’t have to wait for Freddie to be in a similar state or express similar needs in order to get fed or changed. It was the closest thing to independence that the Little had gotten to experience since being adopted. “How was my Little guy today?” Daddy asked the lady who brought Freddie up to the car. “Freddie was positively an angel,” She said, buckling Freddie into his carseat. “We did mostly diagnostics today, but I think we’ll find his developmental plateau very shortly. Isn’t that right Freddie.” Adam’s brother mutely nodded, even though no pacifier gagged him. Satisfied, Daddy turned on the Ruffy playlist loud enough so that the two Littles could converse without being understood. “How was it?” Adam asked. “What happened in there?” Freddie looked thoughtful. “Goo-goo-ga-ga,” he said. Adam blanched. “What?” “I said it was goo-goo-ga-ga.” Freddie repeated. Adam felt a tinge of relief. Freddie could still talk. “What the…” he saw Daddy’s ears prick up and lowered his voice. “What does that mean?” Freddie looked annoyed. “What do you mean ‘what does that mean?’ I said it was goo-goo-ga-ga.” “Bro. Say what you said again. Slowly.” With deliberate slowness, Freddie repeated himself. “It. Was. Goo. Goo. Ga. Ga.” Freddie’s eyes opened with realization. He clearly hadn’t been hearing himself before. “What the…? ! What did I just say?” Adam’s mind started racing. “What did you do today?” Freddie started to babble incoherently. “Blaga-mak-tak-urgle.” The poor boy looked down his noise as if his mouth had betrayed him. The look of panic was growing in his face. “Ug-ug-goo-goo!” “Quick,” Adam said. “What’s your name?” “Freddie.” The tension was palpable. “How old are you?” “Twenty-two.” “What’s my name?” “Adam.” “What’s three times four?” “Twelve.” “What’s the name of the daycare you went to today.” “Marma-goo.” Freddie gasped. A full chorus of ‘Wheels on the Bus’ passed before either one spoke again. “I can’t do it,” Freddie said. “I can’t talk about Fafafafafa-murg.” So they didn’t… Whatever was going on in that place was bad enough that the first thing they did was silence the Littles who went there. ******************************************************************* The topic of New Beginnings was easy enough to avoid. Neither one wanted to particularly talk about their day. Not much point in catching each other up if it was one sided and unpleasant on both ends. So, Freddie would be dropped off. Adam would spend the day with Daddy. And in the afternoons and evenings, they’d try to find something to talk about when Daddy wasn’t listening. Old Movies. T.V. shows. Girls they used to beat off to. Anything. Despite their attempts to remain sane, cracks were starting to form for Freddie though. The third day he was brought back, the lady gave Freddie a tickle, a light one. His eyes looked panicked and scared, but the rest of his face smiled and giggled as though he were delighted. “My baby boy sure loves making friends with all the other babies!” Freddie tried to disagree. At least that’s what Adam hoped he was doing when he started sputtering babble the first two minutes of the car ride. ****************************************************************************** Things got worse at “dinner” the next night. “Heeeere coooomes the birdy! Tweetie tweetie tweet-tweet!” The spoonful of green mush darted into Adam’s mouth. His mouth contorted into a frown. Bits of the slime accidentally dribbled out from his lips and down his chin as he did his best not to gag. There was more than just bland vegetables in that spoon. “Mmmmm-mm-mmm-mmm!” Freddie’s face was likewise contorting, but his lips went up instead of down. Daddy reached over and dabbed Adam’s face. “Swallow, baby boy.” Freddie’s eyes clouded over for a second, and he swallowed.. “Good baby!” When his eyes unclouded the two brothers looked at each other from their highchairs. Adam made himself swallow, too. ************************************************************************* “What happened to you in the highchair?” Adam asked that night in the stillness of their nursery. In the pale of the night light, Adam saw his brother frown. “What are you talking about?” “Daddy was feeding us that mush and you swallowed it.” “So did you.” Freddie sounded more than a bit defensive. “Yeah, but like...you didn’t spill a drop.” “I had to.” “Why?” “Cuz Daddy said so.” This was said with such certainty, that Adam thought Freddie hadn’t heard himself again; another programmed response, like the panicked laughter or the babbling. Adam wasn’t sure where to go with that. When it had been so quiet that Adam worried if his brother had fallen asleep, Freddie said. “I’m glad that it was me going to murka durk.” The younger brother’s blood ran cold. “You like it there?!” Freddie started to babble and then stopped. He spoke with more deliberate slowness. “What I mean is...better me than you.” Adam’s heart jumped up into his throat. “Why would you say that?” “Because I’m your big brother, stupid.” Freddie whispered. “I’m supposed to take care of you. So if that means I go…” he stopped. “Better me than you is all.” Tears not born of diaper rash or a broken toy, started to form in Adam’s eyes. “Thanks bro. I appreciate it.” Silence again. Then. “Adam?” Adam picked his head up off the pillow. He’d finally been about to drift off into oblivion. “Yeah?” “I am the big brother...right?” “Of course, dude.” “Good.” Adam didn’t feel like the younger brother when he looked over. Freddie had drifted right off to sleep… He was sucking his thumb. *********************************************************************** When they were both in Daddy’s living room, he’d often change them side by side. First thing in the morning, though, he’d clean them up on the changing table in their shared nursery. “Such a heavy wetter, my baby boy Adam is!” Daddy proclaimed. Adam laid still on the changing table, allowing the giant to casually violate him. “You really need your diapers, don’t you?” Adam made no reply. For all intents and purposes he was a corpse as he was stripped, wiped, powdered, rediapered, and then shoved into a romper. Plopped back in his crib, he had an almost front row seat for Freddie’s change. Freddie did not lay still. Nor was he silent. Instead of thrashing and kicking and screaming like they both had at first, he lightly kicked his legs and wiggled and cooed. “Someone’s a squirmy wormy.” “Yes Daddy.” “Good baby!” he said, untaping Freddy’s soiled diaper. Freddie lightly kicked his legs and reached for and batted at the mobile above the changing table. He giggled and cooed while he was wiped. If Adam hadn’t known any better, he’d have sworn that his big brother was an actual baby. “Thank you very much for the present,” Daddy beamed, balling up the mess and tossing it in the nearby pail. “Daddy loves it when you make him presents.” “Do it cause Daddy said so!” It came out half panicked and almost robotically, but it made the Amazon smile. “Thaaaaat’s right.”Freddie sucked his thumb and gurgled around it through the rest of his change. Overcome with anxiety, Adam started to bite his fingernails. Daddy turned his head and saw. “Looks like I've got two Little boys just munching on their hands! It’s gonna be a good day!” ************************************************************************* One afternoon, while Daddy was watching TV, Adam smelled one of the rankest stenches he could yet remember. He looked up from the toy xylophone Daddy had put in, debating on whether or not to try it and saw Freddie on his back, his legs lifted up to his stomach. “Freddie?” “I like to poop my pants.” The wrinkle in Adam’s nose turned into a full blown snarl. “What did you just say?!” Freddie strained briefly. “I like to poop my pants.” He gave a final, tired sigh and then lowered his legs. Not a hint of blush or embarrassment was on Freddie’s face. They were both in footed one-pieces, but Adam didn’t need to see the back of Freddie’s pants to know he’d filled it. The smell alone was enough. “I’m sorry, bro,” Adam said. “I...don’t have to go right now.” He was breathing short gasps through his mouth. “That’s okay.” Freddie said. He up, no doubt spreading the foul smelling mush even further. “I like it.” “Do you have any idea what you’re saying?” Adam asked. “I like to poop my pants.” The younger brother had no idea if Adam was telling the truth or just echoing a conditioned response. “Maybe if you cry loud enough?” Thumb already in his mouth, Freddie used his free hand to pick a plastic mallet off the playpen floor. “Good babies don’t bother Daddy. He decides when we need our diapees changed. We should just play with our toys like good babies.” The infantile vocabulary. The simplicity and certainty; like reading from a script. It was almost too much for Adam. Through gritted teeth and locked jaw, he leaned over and hissed, “You’re. Not. A. Baby.” Freddie’s eyes clouded over. “Daddy says so.” He whacked the xylophone with all his might. The resultant shockwave sent both of them into rolling giggle fits. It was one of those toys! DING! DING! DING! DING! DING! DING! “DO! IT! CUZ! DADDY! SAID! SO! Freddie was spasming on the floor rolling, yet managed to keep striking the toy. Adam rolled on the floor, cackling. It wasn’t a happy feeling, precisely. He felt the surge of adrenaline and excitement; along with an almost drunken giddiness, but the surge of chemicals flooding his brain at that moment was something like a tickle. Adam shoved his fingers in his mouth, doing his best to muffle the manic laughter flowing out of him. Too Little, too late, it seemed: Daddy stood over them looking down in the playpen. “Oh! There’s my favorite hand munchers! Eating their fingy sammiches! Giggly boys too!” He reached down and dug his fingers into Adam’s sides. “Gigg-i-ly, gigg-i-ly, gigg-i-ly! The younger of the two called out, begged even. “Daddy! No!” Too late. Adam’s face contracted in that same rictus grin- the one that didn’t come close to reaching his fearful eyes- that was on Freddie’s face almost every day after daycare. It was uncomfortable to the point of pain, but he laughed all that same. Tickling. They were tickling his brother’s brain. Speaking of tickling, the involuntary spasms extended deep inside of Adam. As it turned out, he had a present for Daddy. It just needed more teasing out. “Let’s get you two rascals changed.” Both lied there on the changing mat as snaps came unpopped and diapers were exposed. Freddie wiggled and stuck his fingers in his mouth, gurgling idly, stimming while Daddy undid his diaper and wiped his privates for him. Exhausted and feeling traumatized, Adam did the same. Except he jammed his fingers into his mouth to stop from screaming, and his wiggling was more twitching due to a sudden surge in adrenaline that dropped into exhaustion. Daddy didn’t seem to care. ************************************************************* “Okay boys,” Daddy said. “Are you ready to be potty trained?” A gleeful, malevolent grin, Daddy placed the plastic potty down on the floor. Both boys were naked save for their diapers. “What?” Adam said. “Are you serious?” If he hadn’t peed fifteen minutes ago, he might have wet himself in surprise. “Of course.” Daddy replied. “If you’re ready.” Adam looked to Freddie, wondering if this was some kind of trap. Freddie didn’t seem to see his brother, though. His eyes weren’t glazed over this time, just somewhere else. There was fear in those eyes., real, heart pounding breathtaking fear. “All you have to do is go potty.” The younger brother heard the older brother’s gasp. It wasn’t a happy one. Freddie was breaking out into a sweat. “Both of us?” He asked. “Nope.” Daddy shook his head. “No twinning this time. If either one of you shows me you know how to go potty, that’ll let me know you’re ready to grow up.” Adam saw Freddie. He was shaking. “If your Maturosis isn’t severe enough, you can wear big boy pants...” Freddie lowered down to his knees. “...grow up...” Freddie lowered further and moved to all fours. “...go to big boy school...” Freddie stuck his bum in the air and scrunched up his face. Adam watched, expecting the back to balloon out, but nothing was coming. Freddie was empty. “...maybe even drink one day!” “I like to poop my pants!” Daddy tilted his head. “Are you sure, Freddie? Don’t you want to try to go potty? Even a tiny bit?” The older brother shook his head. “No! I like to poop my pants!” It looked like Freddie was saying a magic word that wasn’t working. “I like to poop my pants!” “Pleeeeease?” Daddy smirked.“Won’t you at least try? For me? For Daddy?!” One slow limb at a time, Freddie crawled to the plastic potty chair there in the middle of the living room floor. His head jerked backwards away from the bowl and his breathing became fast enough to be audible. Two incompatible commands had been put into Freddie’s brain and they were fighting over control of his body. To Adam it seemed like an invisible dog leash had been roped around his brother’s neck and he was slowly but surely being dragged towards the object. “Nnnn…I….nnn….like...nnnn...to poop….my...nnnn….pants!” As he got closer to it, the frightening giggles that he broke out into failed to disguise the waves of pure terror he was feeling. “Haaaahaaahahaha!” “Here,” Daddy said. He picked Freddie up. “Let me help you.” Freddie thrashed and screamed harder than even the night they were taken by Daddy. “NOOOOO! Bagaagagagagagwwaaaaa!” “All you have to do is sit on the potty. You don’t even have to use it. Just sit!” That only made the older sibling bawl harder. He wasn’t on the rim for even a second before springing up and dropping back down to all fours. He screamed as if the potty had been made of red hot iron. “I LIKE TO POOP MY PAAAAAANTS!” The rest was incoherent babble. Daddy picked Freddie back up and soothingly rubbed his back. “There there, baby boy.” He said. “You’re not ready for the potty, and that’s okay. And at twenty-two if you’re not ready now, you’ll never be ready. Isn’t that right.” Freddie nodded his head. “Buh-buh-buh-buh-muuuuuuuuh!” From his spot on the floor, Adam saw Daddy give Freddie a pacifier. Freddie mumbled and sucked on it. No inflating bulb was required. “There there,” Daddy said. “There there.” Adam looked up and started to push the waiting mass in his diaper. It was weird doing it on his hands and knees, but he was quickly getting used to it. Daddy noticed. “Adam?” He asked. “Are you going poopy?” Adam felt like sobbing. “Uh-huh.” “Do you want to try sitting on the potty?” The world was getting blurry. “No…” Not if it meant leaving Freddie behind. Not if it meant outpacing his brother. He was self sabotaging and he knew it. Adam didn’t know if he could live with the guilt. He could live like this though. The last few weeks had proven that. “That’s fine, kiddo. It’s okay to not be ready, either.” Adam was given a condescending pat on the head and a pacifier. This was all a sham, Adam told himself. Daddy would never actually want them to sit on the potty. He’d never let them potty train again. He was just checking on how far Freddie’s brainwashing had progressed. His poor brother was more than eager to defecate himself and seemed absolutely terrified of so much as sitting on a toddler’s toilet, even with the diaper on. Point of fact, though, Daddy was checking on both of their progress. One cried loudly and needed the pacifier to calm himself. The other wept softly, but used the pacifier for much the same reason, even if the emotions involved for either were infinitely more complex than just a child’s need to self soothe. Neither one expressed an interest in potty training or put up much of a fight in getting changed or being fed. ************************************************************************* “Come on, Adam!” Daddy stood on his knees, gesturing for Adam to come closer. “Come to Daddy. That’s it! That’s it!” Adam crawled- hand, knee, hand, knee- all the way over to Daddy. He didn’t even try to walk. Freddie had lost the ability to walk almost two weeks back. At most, he could pull himself to a standing position, but the moment he let go he’d lose balance and fall back down. Adam followed suit. The xylophone had made it easier. Whatever frequency it was on did something to fuck up his inner ear but good. Now Adam was almost as helpless in that department as Freddie. He’d made sure to do it plenty of times during his mornings alone with Daddy. He didn’t want Freddie beating him to tummy time. He could have walked, he supposed, but Freddie became visibly upset seeing his brother walk without him. The masking laughter only applied to what happened with the Amazons, it seemed. Freddie was allowed to cry when Adam did something upsetting. Adam could have just walked when Freddy wasn’t home, but he wasn’t going to have anything ‘special’ or ‘secret’ with Daddy. So he crawled. “There’s my little crawler! Good thing I’ve got the whole place baby proofed, huh! Dejectedly, Adam nodded. “Buh-buh-ugh.” Neither of the boys were talking much these days. Whatever they were doing in that hellhole was expanding to more and more topics than just the daycare. Freddie could reliably say a few words, like a ‘pee-pee’ or ‘poopy’ (he was starting to announce when he was doing it now), and of course ‘Daddy’, but everything else was touch and go to the point of Freddie being incoherent. Adam had stopped talking, too. In his head he had developed a warped kind of game. It wasn’t a game he’d consciously decided on, or one where he understood the rules, but at three weeks out, it was a game that was slowly building up inertia. To actually use his words would feel like a failure. It was getting easier and easier not to talk, but to just babble. Laugh when he was scared. Cry when he was angry or sad or wanted something. Say nonsense syllables when he wanted to remember what his own voice sounded like. Eventually, he imagined, he might forget that using actual words is an option for him. Daddy seemed happy enough with the arrangement. “You and your brother are doing so good, Adam!” Daddy beamed. “After the experiment is over, you can go to daycare with him! Won’t that be nice? You can spend all day together!” He added, “And I can get back to my job…” Adam giggled at that. Finally! An end to this pain would be coming. No more guilt “Wanna know a secret?” Daddy cooed. “Bad people are saying that Littles only turn into babies because of how places like New Beginnings treat them. They think we turn you into babies. But that’s not true! Is it?” Adam couldn’t disagree more. His cynicism came out as excited laughter, just like his brother. “There are people who thought you two would have extremely different developmental plateaus! Thought that you might start to grow up if you didn’t go to daycare with your brother. But you’re never growing up! That’s just not what Littles do! And you and your brother are proof of it! Isn’t that wonderful?” The boy laughed because he was too emotionally drained to cry.“Buh-buh-buh.” “I think someone has earned a diaper change and a nice nap. Then when you wake up, we’ll go pick up your twin!” “Uh-uh-muuuuuh.” “Close enough.”

To the layman, Dr. Ella Sinclair looked like she was wearing an astronaut costume. It wasn’t as bulky, and the material was a shiny silver instead of a muted white, but the general vibe of a baggy full body suit and helmet remained. Diedre, her assistant, had commented early on that the suit looked like a costume from a B-Movie about space travel. If only space travel is what Dr. Sinclair had been aiming for. Space travel was so much simpler. “Remember,” Diedre told her as the final checks were being made to the chrono-capsule. “If this works-” “When this works,” the doctor interrupted. “Confidence, Diedre. Confidence.” “Right,” the intern corrected herself. “When this works, and you go back in time, you’ll still see yourself as you are now, more or less. Your present mind will overlap its own residual self image over your past body, but everyone in the past will see you as you were back then.” “I know, Diedre,” Dr. Sinclair said. “I literally wrote the book on all of this.” “Yes Doctor, I know. You told me to tell you, though.” That was true, too. She had told Diedre to remind her. There was a statistical probability, that in sending her essence back along her own personal timeline, Dr. Sinclair might get caught up in the temporal wave and not so much forget things as much as forget that she was time travelling. It wouldn’t do to be the world’s first chrononaut, forget about it, and then end up reliving her whole life over. Having an outside voice remind her of such a possibility drastically reduced that likelihood; a verbal string around her brain’s index finger. Dr. Sinclair had all but proved her own pet variant of string theory. Theorizing that each person’s lifespan left a trail of chronotons indelibly in the fabric of existence, Ella realized that it might be possible to follow that string back and ride it like a soundwave traveling down a taut string, and thus witness and perhaps even change the past. Today, theory was about to be put into practice. She’d travel back, observe the past through her own eyes, and then come back to the present. The biggest risk, assuming all her calculations were right, was being overwhelmed in the temporal wave, and then losing herself in the process. In short, her mind and very essence was about to travel back to a younger version of herself. She was about to try and cram close to thirty years of time and experience into the mind and body of a much younger version of her. Whether those memories, skills, and personality traits would be shoved deep down into a coma-like state or just blend with her present self wasn’t immediately clear. The problem with being a trailblazer in any field was there was no such thing as hindsight. It wouldn’t do to go back in time to middle school and have to relive her crush on David Bowie, (rather to have it feel fresh...she’d never gotten over Jareth the Goblin King but who did?). It’s why she was going back even further than middle school. Much farther back. If she inhabited the body of herself at age one, it’d be both a radical leap back in time as well as a fairly safe state for her in terms of psychological health and minimum risk of damage to the timestream. Chrono-physically, going back to her time as an infant would give her minimal agency to disrupt her past, but more than enough opportunity to test her theory. Going so far back would also help rule out the possibility of her just having a particularly good memory. Chrono-psychologically, her baby-self made the most sense too for a maiden outing. A McDonald’s McFlurry had most of the same ingredients as a Betty Crocker cake, but less so. It just hadn’t been given heat or baking powder. If Dr. Sinclair’s adult essence mixed with her baby self’s essence, there was nothing she couldn’t likely handle. At worst, she’d have a child’s moodiness that she could more than temper with her adult mind and patience. She’d gone through being one year's old before. This would be just mixing a little extra “one-ness” in with all the other years she had. Conversely, if instead riding the wave and vibrating along her timeline resulted in her shoving her infant self deep down into a back room of her own mind palace, then it wouldn’t be so bad for either her or her past self. Who cared about missing time when they were a baby? If her baby self existed separate and simultaneously from her present self this would just be another nap for the kid. Middle-school her would be justifiably freaked out about missing out on half an hour of her life. Suddenly going under the mental temporal displacement equivalent of anesthesia might traumatize the poor girl and send unforeseen consequences into the present. Damn, it was weird thinking of her and her own past selves as distinct and separate individuals. It literally gave the phrase “I’m not that person anymore” a much more literal meaning. Dr. Sinclair placed the helmet over her head. It was a pain to tie her long light brown hair back enough so that it would fit inside, but she’d refused to cut it for this. 'I shaved my head for a failed attempt at time travel' was not a story she wanted to tell. “Because your body in the here and now will be in a set of stasis inside the chrono-capsule, but you’ll need to be conscious, we’re only going to try for a short ride,” Diedre said. “Half an hour at most.” “Right,” Sinclair said. “So only half as long as it takes Australians to lose a war against flightless birds.” Diedre cupped her hand to hear. “What?” Darn it! A perfectly good joke ruined by the muffled acoustics of a helmet. Sinclair would have to try and work in that line when she got back. It was no ‘One small step for man,’ but darn it, she wanted this! Nervously biting her lip, Dr. Sinclair climbed into the pod and ran a final systems check. Damn, she needed a cigarette. “Three...two...one…” Before the world turned upside down and she was blinded with the electric blue and neon green hues of time itself, Dr. Sinclair briefly wondered if she could stop herself from developing a smoking habit if she just abstained from sucking her thumb for the next thirty minutes or so. “Ha-ppy birth-day dear El-la! Ha-ppy birth-day toooooooo yoooooooou!” The flash dimmed and Ella rubbed her eyes while a place and time far removed from her plain sterile laboratory rushed into her missing senses. “D’awwwwww!” She heard a familiar, almost forgotten scratchy voice. “Looks like somebody’s all tuckered out already.” “What did you expect?” Ella’s grandmother said. “She just turned one. All this attention is a lot at this age.” “Her? I was talking about me,” Ella’s grandfather joked. Grammy?! Grampy?! Her mother’s parents- Grammy and Grampy- had been dead for years relative to Ella’s experience. First Grammy over a decade ago when Ella was still in high school. Grampy died a few years later, fallen to pieces and unable to take care of himself without his wife’s gentle reminders. She’d just been finishing her doctoral thesis when the news reached her. Here they were, literally right in front of her eyes, sitting on the loveseat and eating rainbow frosted chocolate cake. Across from them were her father’s parents, Nana and Pop-Pop. They weren’t dead yet, but they were younger than Ella could ever remember seeing them. Imagining Pop Pop with hair or Nana with dark locks had been more of a thought experiment growing up. This more than anything else, proved her right. It’d worked! It’d really worked! She’d gone back in time! Ella started bouncing up and down in her highchair, a giant beaming smile spreading on her face as her bottom crinkled beneath and bare feet kicked out in exhilaration. “Looks like you spoke too soon, Frank.” Pop Pop said between bites of cake. “Birthday girl just got her second wind.” Second wind didn’t begin to describe the amount of exhilaration flooding little Ella’s system. The baby girl was so excited she could…! She could…! She did. The big birthday girl barely noticed how her diaper went from dry to damp. It was just that absorbent, but clever girl that she was, she did know that it had something to do with how excited she was, and how her muscles between her legs relaxed. That’s how it had always been. She was such a clever girl! The light squishy feeling when she bounced made her giggle even more and she clapped her hands with glee. “Here’s cake for the birthday girl!” A younger, fitter version of her mother said, sliding an entire plate of rainbow frosted cake onto the tray. It wasn’t sliced, but instead it’s own miniaturized cake. Smash cake. No silverware provided. Ella was going to have to eat it with her bare hands. When she got back, Ella promised herself to shove her mother’s physique in her face. She had totally lost the baby weight by Ella’s first birthday, and now Ella had the memories to prove it! Bare feet swung back and forth, and the time traveling scientist wriggled in her highchair. With both hands she plunged wrist deep into the cake. The first mouthful was for sustenance and enjoyment. The second one was for sensory and for show. Her diaper got a little bit wetter. The cake was so delicious and moist that she was now delightfully squishing from her top to her bottom. Another delayed twitch beneath her added an exclamation point to the thought. “I wish I could get that excited by cake,” Daddy said, taking a bite of his own. “Cake’s not why she’s smiling,” Nana said, “She just peed.” Mommy reached under the tray, and slipped two fingers past the leg cuffs of Ella’s diaper. “Wow,” she laughed. “You’re right! Just a little wet, but yeah. How’d you know?” “Body language,” Nana said. “You change five sets of diapers, two of ‘em twins, you start to notice things.” Ella’s laughter sent crumbs sailing through the air. She looked down past her naked breasts towards what was left of the smash cake and went in even though she hadn’t finished swallowing the first two handfuls. Her…? Naked…? Breasts…? Dr. Ella Sinclair hesitated as she came back to herself. “Don’t tell me she’s pooping now,” her father groaned. “Nope,” Nana answered. “That ain’t it. She’s just thinkin’.” Slowly, she chewed and swallowed the cake and blocked out the conversations and comments going on about what she was doing in her pants. Mouth closed, Ella finished chewing and swallowing, using it as an opportunity to exhale and take stock of the situation. The sheer exhilaration of success; it had been overwhelming! The sensory input, so vivid! The complete lack of embarrassment or shame on any level whatsoever! She had felt infinitely herself, not at all babyish...but babies didn’t feel babyish either. They just were. Dr. Sinclair had been a cake, ingredients carefully measured and prepped and baked with the heat of the passage of time. Baby Ella had been ice cream with mostly the same ingredients, just prepped differently. Now, Dr. Ella Sinclair was experiencing both truths at the same time. She wasn’t experiencing cake ala mode, but instead was a kind of ice cream cake with all the bits and pieces smashed in and mixed together. A cake McFlurry Theory confirmed. Probably still a good thing that one-year-old her wouldn’t remember this. It had been the sight of her own breasts and the reminder from Diedre that had settled her back into place. Her present day mind, unable or unwilling to fully comprehend riding the temporal wave back along her own personal timeline, was modifying her perception of herself. The highchair in the middle of her old living room wasn’t actually oversized. Nor was the wet diaper she was sitting in big enough to fit around her hips. More accurately, her hips weren’t actually all that big. Nor did her one year old body actually have breasts. But her present day mind was pushing certain preconceptions through; like an injured athlete dreaming about playing and waking up sore. What did that mean for her hair? “Oh oh oh!” her mother darted with near super human speed. “Not in your hair, baby, not in your hair!” Ella sat in her highchair, stunned, while Mommy...er...her mother, started taking a baby wipe to her fingers. She’d barely been thinking about touching her head when her body started doing it on its own. Even with her adult mind, her one year old body didn’t have much in the way of a filter or impulse control. She waited until her hands were clean before feeling the Pebbles Flintstone top knot in her hair. “If cake’s the worst thing that ends up in our little girl’s hair, I think we’ve done a pretty okay job,” her father said. That got a dry perverted chuckle from Grampy. “See? Frank knows how boys can be.” “Phil!” Nana said. “This is a one-year old’s birthday party! Why would you even say that?” “What?” her father said. “Better now when she won’t remember it!” “Wow!” Ella said. “Rude!” Her assembled relatives from yesteryear all stopped and stared directly out of her. “Did she just say, ‘rude?” Grammy asked. Too late, Ella realized she might have made a mistake in speaking up. Dad just threw back his head and slapped his knee. “That’s my girl!” he laughed. “Smart as a whip!” “Well she didn’t get it from you, then.” Mom said. More wipes found their way to Ella’s face and chest. “You may want to be careful from now on, Phil.” Miraculously, she boosted up Ella onto her hip, needing only one hand to support her bottom. “This might mean she’s advanced for her age. No more swearing around the B-A-B-Y.” “Fine fine,” Dad crossed his arms. “From now on I’ll only spell the curse words, not say them out loud.” Both sets of grandparents were glaring disapprovingly at him. “Fine, no more swearing.” Then he added, “We should probably start saving for a college fund while we’re at it.” “I think for now,” Mom said. “The only thing we need to worry about is dry Pampers and a nap.” Ella let out a yawn. Whether or not she had the mind of an adult or not, she still had the limitations and needs of a baby’s body. A little bit of sugar and excitement went a long way towards a crash. “Damnit…” she whispered, her eyes beginning to droop even as she was toted around her old house. How was she going to convincingly prove she time traveled instead of just hallucinated all this? She’d have to do that next time, she supposed. She hadn't whispered as quietly as she'd thought. “That was NOT me!” Dad said. “We’ll talk later,” Mom said. She wasted no further time in taking the one-year-old back to her nursery. ******************************************************************************************* “Dr. Sinclair,” Diedre whispered. “Dr. Sinclair? Ella? Wake up, sweety. It’s time to come back to the present.” No longer in the chrono-capsule, Ella woke up on a gurney, staring up at bright lights. “Hmm?” “There she is,” Diedre chirped. “There’s my big smart science girl! You gave me quite a scare, there!” “Sorry,” Ella yawned. “I was having a nap in the past. My past body gave out on me.” She sat up, hearing the crinkle of her chrononaut suit. “I’m just glad you’re back, hunny bunny.” Diedre cooed. She offered her hand to the doctor. “Here. Let’s get you sorted out.” Ella took it and sat up. “Steady now. Steady. Easy does it. That’s a good girl!” Bowlegged, Ella stood with her feet more than shoulder width apart. “Oops. Somebody’s a wobble butt!” Diedre laughed. “Come on! This way!” Following her assistant out of the lab, Ella took in her surroundings. She had the strangest feeling of not-quite deja vu. She didn’t feel like she was waking up from a nap or any other kind of natural sleep. It was closer to the feeling of regaining consciousness after anesthesia. Except that didn’t quite fit the bill, either. Emotionally, and intellectually, the closest parallel Ella could draw was turning on a video game that she hadn’t played in a long time, loading up a save file, and refamiliarizing herself with the saved game’s objectives. It wasn’t shock and revelation. Nor was it a proper memory. More like one giant, ‘Oh yeah’. The walls just outside her lab were painted murals of grassy hills and rainbows instead of sterile white. Ella had always liked pleasant colors and happy pictures. Oh yeah. Diedre opened the door to Ella’s quarters. Like always, it was plastered with her findings, theories, and fifth dimensional calculations. In place of holograms, desktop monitors, or just white boards, every bit of data was on pristine white printer paper, and drawn on with crayons. It was disorganized in a way so that no one but Ella knew what was actually useful information and what was toddlerish gibberish scribbled down. Some people thought the doodles of snakes and kitty cats on the back of some might indicate special importance. That was true, Ella remembered, but the important part was that those particular papers looked better with crayon drawings on them, nothing related to time travel. Oh yeah. “Hold still,” her assistant said. “We’ll get you into something more comfortable in just a second.” She unzipped the suit and slid the chrono-suit off of Ella’s shoulders. Gravity did the rest, sending the shell around her body crumbling to the floor like jammies on Christmas morning. “Step out,” Diedre Instructed. With a little help (the material always clung to her ankles for some reason) Ella did and got praised for it. “Good girl! So big!” As she did with most genuine praise, Ella fairly melted inside and gave her assistant a big warm hug even though she was almost naked. Diedre took the closeness as an opportunity to check the doctor’s diaper. “My, my!” she said. “Someone’s wet!” Ella had never been potty trained. Never went to school. She hadn’t needed it. She’d been a genius, walking, talking, and writing complex theorems since she was at least one year old. Oh yeah. “Up we go.” Like always Ella allowed her assistant to boost her up onto the changing table in Ella’s nursery. Bartholomew Ignacius Capernicus Smith - her stuffed ocelot- joined her and she held her buddy in her arms while her big person assistant worked at changing her diaper. Diedre took care of Ella now. Had for years. They were about the same age, but Ella had never grown up. Never needed to. She’d gotten older, and with it had come certain physical changes, but in terms of her lifestyle, she never really got much older than one. Oh yeah. “Somebody’s thinkin’ real hard.” her assistant teased. She worked quickly. The swollen sagging diaper had already been balled up with the used wipes and replaced with fresh padding and sweet smelling baby powder. Ella had never really learned anything in her entire life; she just always knew stuff for some reason. The results were incredibly lopsided, but they’d worked in her favor. “Yeah,” Ella sighed, putting Bartholomew Ignacius Capernicus Smith aside. “Just thinkin’ about stuff.” Her new diaper fastened on, she sat up as Diedre got out a nice, comfy lavender onesie and pulled it over Ella’s head. “Ya know.” She gingerly and thoughtfully sucked her fingers while Diedre snapped the two halves of her onesie over. She used her other hand to give the stuffed ocelot a cuddle. “Like time travel?” Diedre asked. Ella slid off the changing table. “Hmmm? Not really. Well...yeah...kinda.” On some level she was always thinking about time travel, about riding the temporal waves, going back and changing not only history, but herself, even if she never did. The only thing that changed about Ella ended up in the bottom of a pail when she was done with them. Unconsciously, she wiggled her hips, enjoying the simple and fresh contrast between her new underwear and comfy clothes as compared to what she’d just been stripped out of. She sat down on the floor and crawled. Today was probably going to be a crawling day. Sometimes, waddling around and walking was just too much trouble for Ella’s big preoccupied brain. “When did you go this time?” Diedre asked. On top of things, as always, the tow headed girl brought a cold baby bottle of apple juice. “Do you want me to do your hair up?” Ella took the bottle and sucked it down with both hands, getting so into the experience that she laid back and stared at the glow in the dark star stickers on the ceiling while she suckled. She’d almost forgotten that anyone was there in her nursery with her. “No thank you,” she said, a few moments later. “I’ll keep my hair down today. Was her hair down? She could have sworn that her hair was up in a pig-tail, except that was in the past. Oh yeah. Her caregiver had asked her another question. “Hmmm?” Ella said to no one in particular. “I went back to the beginning.” She finished draining the bottle. No sooner had she finished, than Diedre had swapped her bottle out for another one. “Gotta keep hydrated,” Diedre said. She started to walk away. Rubber nipple still in her mouth, Ella started whining and mewling. “Oh oh oh! Sorry, baby! Sorry!” Diedre went back and hunkered down next to her. She started patting and rubbing Ella’s back, half massaging Ella’s tensed up muscles, half stirring up the contents of her stomach. Within thirty seconds, Ella had let out a healthy belch. “Good girl!” She sat all the way down, and let the time traveler’s head rest in her lap. Ella moaned as Diedre started gently stroking her hair. “Better?” “Mmmhmmm.” “You really like going back to your first birthday, don’t you?” Diedre asked in that way that the big dumb people always used to indicate that they didn’t really want or expect an answer. Ella loved that tone. It made her feel so safe and smart and taken care of. Nothing expected of her and she just had to be her magnificent self. If she hadn’t just woken up from a nap, she would have been content to drift back off in the woman’s lap. “Kind of where it all began?” “Hmmm?” Ella cocked an eyebrow and looked up at the wonderful woman who took care of her between trips through the fifth dimension. “That’s when you had the idea for time travel, right? At your first birthday party?” Oh yeah. It had been. “Yeah,” Ella said. “I never thought of it that way, but yeah.” “What’s time travel, like?” Diedre asked. Like a lazy tiger after a full meal, Ella rolled off her caregiver’s lap and crawled for some paper. “I thought I already explained it to you,” Ella said. “Or maybe I went back and changed that.” Still on all fours, she shrugged. Big people were so weird, sometimes. “Maybe you did,” Diedre conceded. “But maybe it went over my head. My job is to keep you happy and dry. Everything else is just coincidence and osmosis.” “Fair enough.” Ella reached for some crayons. “Where’s the teal ones?” “I took them all away,” Diedre reminded the doctor. “You tried to eat them all last week, remember?” Oh yeah. Ella was feeling particularly mischievous. Mischief and science went hand in hand she found. “Well, I’m gonna need teal if I’m going to explain this properly. And some marbles….” “Ella…” her caregiver warned. “No ma’am, little miss. You may be my boss, but I can still put you in the corner if you’re getting fussy or acting up.” The babied time traveler sighed “Fine.” She settled for green, though green wasn’t nearly as good. Tasted too much like vegetable wax. “So how does this work, again?” “Tickles.” Ella harumphed. “Fine, fine,” Diedre laughed. “I’ll give you plenty of tickles. But first show me your big girl science brain.” Ella started doodling on her paper. “So I travel back along my own personal timeline,” she explained for what might literally be the umpteenth bajillion time- being a super genius she might actually be one of the few people who could actually count that high. “And when I jump back, who I am now mixes with who I was then, while my conscious mind in the present kind of pilots and takes over my past body and lets me fix things or warn people.” The diagram was starting to look less and less like a linear graph and more and more like a green wiener dog. Green was a neat color for a wiener dog. “Then when time is up in the present, I ride the temporal wave back here, you change me out of my work clothes, and we get to play the rest of the day.” “Didn’t you say something about seeing yourself different in the past or something?” Aha! She had explained this to Diedre before! “Kinda. My residual self image imprints on my mind and I see myself as I do now instead of how I was then.” From the look on Diedre’s face, she wasn’t getting it. “So like, if you went back to yourself in Kindergarten, you’d see your big people body, but you’d be dressed like a Kindergartener.” “But you’ve always been in diapers and onesies and stuff,” Diedre said. “So how can you tell when you’re in the past?” Ella finished coloring in the doggy and started chewing on her hair. Maybe she did want it up, now… “I don’t know. I just do. It’s like I’m made of cake and my past self is made of ice cream, and I go and mix it in.” Positively charmed, Diedre covered her mouth as she laughed. Ella thought it kind of sounded like a guinea pig’s happy squeak. “So my boss, who has prevented at least three national disasters, is just walking-talking ice cream cake?” “Technically,” Ella said, “I corrected the disasters, but I can see how from your point of view it was prevention.” When you could travel through time and warn the right people, hindsight was a literal super power. “Good thing you’ve been able to do all this stuff since you were super little,” Diedre said. Playfully she laid on her stomach so she could maintain eye contact with Ella. “If you just started showing everyone how smart you were today, my little ice cream cake, people might not listen to you.” “Yup.” Ella said. “So speaking of ice cream cake,” Diedre asked, “what happens when you come back to the present?” “It’s happening right now,” Ella said. She felt both right and wrong in saying that in the most profound of ways. Maybe it was gas. Diedre frowned, but didn’t seem particularly mad about it. “I guess what I mean to say is, you mix your present self with your past self when you ride the temporal wave. What happens when you ride it back? Do you get all the cake out of the ice cream? Or does some get left behind? Do you only bring back cake, or does some of the ice cream of who you used to be come back with you?” Ella stopped blinking. She had never thought of that before. Had she caused a causality loop of some sort? She’d been a genius the likes of which had never been seen ever since she was a baby. She’d skipped all forms of formal schooling and had advanced the progress of mankind to unprecedented heights. She also never grew out of diapers. Or stopped watching children’s cartoons. Or snuggling. Or eating crayons. Or playing pretend games that made no sense to anyone but her and the caregivers who humored her. She’d used the ice cream cake metaphor all her life to describe it to people who were just not otherwise imaginative enough to understand what the experience was like, but it had never felt that way to her. If ice cream was ‘baby’ and cake was ‘adult’, then all of Ella’s personal timeline from age one to present day was one big Baskin Robbins special. It was just how she was made. Or had she made it herself? What if Dr. Ella Sinclair had once been a brilliant but relatively normal person, and when she’d traveled back in time to when she was an infant a piece of that experience had been left behind in the past, and a piece of the past filled in the gaps? What if she created a self fulfilling prophecy, and had somehow meddled with her own personal timeline so that she invented time travel, but also never got a chance at a normal adult life? Ella felt a deep rumbling inside her, one made of doubt and existential crisis. All these years of never growing up and being pulled between the two extremes of giving the middle finger while having these infantile habits and needs...had she accidentally done this to herself? Finally, she let out a final belch and felt better. Nope. Not an existential crisis brought on by a causation paradox. It was just gas. “Ella?” Diedre said. “Baby, are you okay?” Before Ella could respond her caregiver got up and patted Ella’s bottom. “You’re fine; there…” she said. “Just thinkin’ hard,” Ella said. “Thinking of new ideas and possibilities.” “Like how to use temporal waves to travel to your own personal future?” “More like how to fit as many marbles as possible into my mouth without swallowing.” Being a time traveler, Ella already had had several decades worth of being not surprised. Why would she want to double that on herself? She knew enough of the past to be more than happy here. “You are not getting marbles, baby girl!” Diedre corrected her. “What you are getting…” she paused dramatically, “is…” the fingers of her hand went stiff and crooked, resembling.a dragon’s claw or a spider’s legs. “TICKLES!” “NOOOOOOO!” Ella shrieked while the big person descended on her, tickling her mercilessly. Ella laughed and writhed on the ground, kicking uselessly in the air, enjoying herself but not wanting to hurt her sweet sitter. “No, no, no, no! NOOOO!” What Ella had really meant, though, was ‘yes!’. Oh yeah. (The End)

The place smelled of must and hot, still air, but Jillian only noticed because of the distinct lack of breeze. The brick and mortar building, without air conditioning, was still insulated enough so that the insides of the old restaurant wasn’t an oven. It was hot, but so was outside. It only felt hotter because of the lack of airflow. No chance for a breeze in a building that had antechambers before the main dining room and kitchen. “Okay,” Jillian admitted, “this isn’t nearly as creepy as I thought.” Rebecca kissed her wife on the cheek and hugged her from the side causing her shoulders to bunch up. “I told you!” she said. “This is gonna be great! There’s so much potential here.” Rebecca walked out into the open dining room and did a little twirl, her dark ankle length skirt fluttering. Regardless of the dust and old tables stacked upside down on top of each other and the cobwebs, she was Belle seeing the Beast's library for the first time. Positively enchanted. Jillian didn’t see that part of it, frankly. Rebecca had the soul of an artist. So much of her appeal and personality came from how passionately she threw herself into everything. Centuries ago, she would have been one of those most likely to benefit from the Renaissance system of avant garde creators and the patrons who furnished their lifestyles just so that they could follow their muses and create personalized works. She was an Amadeus in the kitchen and a DaVinci in decorating their home for every atmosphere and occasion yet conceived. Some days, their home felt more like an amusement park minus the rides; especially on festive occasions like Halloween and Christmas. Jillian did not have an artists’ soul, or so she thought. She had a mind cut from the same cloth as any of Wall Street’s greatest wolves; or that money guy from Moneyball. She had a mind for costs and figures and risks. If time travel ever was a thing, she wouldn’t need knowledge of the future to live in the lap of luxury, only the opportunity. She could have been a mobster on par with Rothstein or Luciano. It was all about making that money. Granted, since time travel wasn’t a thing, such estimations were the closest Jillian got to flights of fancy. On the more pragmatic side of things, as Jillian inevitably came down on, a black woman and her Latinx wife probably weren’t going to be welcome in most places in the past. Lesbians. Women. Of Color. In some places, that was three strikes in the here and now; nevermind the past. Forget about the past. Time to live in the here and now. “What do you think?” Rebecca asked. What did she think? Jillian thought the place was kind of a dump. It was a dump that could make a lot of money, though. With the right advertising and budgeting, combined with Rebecca’s recipes and flair for decorating, there was a legit chance that this could work. It’s why they’d quit their jobs, taken out a business loan, and invested in this skeleton. That and she loved to see her desert flower smile. “I think it has potential,” Jillian said. “Good use of floorspace.” Then she tried a joke. “There aren’t any evil animatronics haunting the place, right?” Rebecca laughed politely. “Don’t be silly, mija.” A sly smirk snuck up on her face. “Chuck-E-Cheese took all the animatronics away like two or three restaurants ago.” “Good point.” Jillian leaned in for a kiss and got one. According to local small-business superstition, The Restaurant was cursed. Not cursed cursed; there had been no murders or missing people; nothing that would have brought the price substantially down. It just wasn’t ‘in a good spot’ as far as restaurants went. Which was really weird, statistically speaking. It was a little tucked away; not being adjacent to the highway, or downtown; but it was just a stone’s throw from a church, an Elementary school, and a shopping plaza. Near perfect Mom and Pop location. Since she’d grown up there, the place had been a pizza buffet, an Italian eatery, a burger joint, a fine dining establishment, and a bar (though not in that order). It’s why locally it was just called ‘The Restaurant’. “That might be why it failed…’ Jillian said out loud. “Hmmm?” Rebeccah asked. “Oh. Sorry, babe. I got a couple steps ahead of myself.” Jillian sometimes did that. “Maybe this place always bombs because people associate it with bombing. Like a tradition.” “Then we’ll just have to change that tradition,” Rebecca said simply. “Come on, let’s see the rest of it.” The kitchen was fairly standard, if barren. “We’ll have to buy new equipment.” Jillian said. The walls and cupboards were barren. All of the ovens and cooking equipment had been stripped bare. Only the walk-in freezer was still there. “She really did sell everything that wasn’t built in.” Jillian said. “Diapers are expensive,” Rebecca quipped. “Especially for a thirty-eight year old.” They quietly laughed together. The last owner of The Restaurant, the woman who had sold it to them at a decent price, had been an odd one to be sure. They’d signed over ownership at her house and her baby boy-couldn’t have been more than one or two; three tops-had been a fussy little thing the whole time. The whole signing, he was crying like his world was going to end. “It’s a good spot,” the seller had insisted. “Just owning a restaurant was more of my husband’s idea. I don’t have the passion for it like he did.” That sent her son into a bawling fit. Daddy disappeared shortly after they opened; not ‘missing person’ disappeared; just ‘go out for a pack of cigarettes and never come back’ disappeared. Poor thing missed his Daddy. Nothing a bottle of juice and a diaper change on the floor didn’t fix. When Jillian asked how old he was, the seller finished taping up his diaper and sarcastically replied “Thirty-eight.” Except she didn’t laugh when they had. Even weirder, after he’d been put away in a playpen, the kid kept yelling “Boppit! No boppit!” That wasn’t the weird part, though. The weird part was that when Jillian had finished cutting the check and signing on the dotted line, the wailing cries coming from the mesh pack an play sounded deep. Very deep. Thirty-eight year old man deep. Jillian took herself out of the past and dragged her finger across a bolted down countertop and came up with dust. “The downside is we’ll have to purchase all of the equipment ourselves. Upside is that all the freed up space will make it easier to clean. We won’t have to hire anybody.” “That’s what I love about you,” Rebecca said. “You can find the upside in just about anything.” Not the upside. Just the opportunity. “What are we gonna cook in here, again?” Already, Jillian was looking at the space and trying to envision what kind of hardware she’d have to buy for her culinary Rembrandt to work her magic. “Mexican from your side? Maybe some barbecue or soul from mine for the yokels?” “I haven’t decided yet,” Rebecca said. “Just gotta figure it out. You know? Let this place speak to me.” “Let this place…?” Jillian rubbed her temples and stopped herself. Her wife was going into Artist Mode. Like a sculptor looking at a block of clay and ‘listening’ to what it ‘wanted’ to be, Rebecca was waiting for the building to speak to her. “How about a burger place?” “This location tried to be a burger place.” Jillian followed her wife who was practically skipping out of the kitchen back across the main dining room. “Didn’t work. Not for long.” “People got tired of the burgers, they want burgers, they go to McDonalds.’ “Pizza?” “Tried it. Remember?” “Sushi?” “You can make sushi?” “How hard can it be?” The couple speedwalked to the other side of the building. “I swear,” Jillian said, “if it wasn’t for me keeping you stable, you’d get bored and change the menu up every other month.” Rebecca stopped and mumbled something to herself in Spanish. “What if we did that?” “Did what?” “Make this a seasonal restaurant!” Jillian’s wife had a crazy look of inspiration in her eyes. “We could redecorate, rename, and relaunch every couple of months. Keep the best sellers, but rotate the menu and theme again and again!” Jillian’s brain felt like a needle was skipping on the record of her mind. “Why would we...?” “Restaurants always have a boom when something new opens, and then things slow down as people get used to it and take it for granted. So what if we keep re-opening on purpose? Turn the failure of this spot into a gimmick!” “Yeah,” Jillian started, “but we’d have to plan and get suppliers way in advance.” Rebecca embraced her again, and started pecking her neck with sweet, tender little kisses. That always got her. That always broke her. “You can do it, mija. And if we buy local, changing menu costs won’t be a big thing.” Jillian ran some numbers through her head. “We...actually might be able to pull that off,” she said. “I’d have to do tons of research but-” Her words were cut off by the sweet tasting lips of the love of her life. Their self-guided tour of the new property paused briefly for them to make out and press against each other against the nearest wall like they were still in college. Jillian broke off a final kiss and pulled back. Her own low grade germaphobia was kicking in. Best wait to christen the place after a mop and bucket had been taken to it. “Let’s see what else we got.” The pair had expected a smaller, private, dining room. Something that could be set aside or reserved for private parties or more intimate gatherings. What they found behind those two heavy oak doors was- “A ball pit?” Rebecca said. “That lady sold all of that fancy kitchen stuff but she kept a ball pit?” “Probably made her kid happy,” Jillian thought out loud. She felt a moment of clarity. “That’s what her kid was crying about. Not boppit! Ball pit! He didn’t want to lose the ball pit!” “Awwww,” Rebecca cooed. “Poor little guy. Maybe he can come visit and play with it once we're open. Jillian cocked an eyebrow.“You’re not thinking of keeping this monstrosity are you?” “Yeah. Why not?” her wife asked. “Could be fun.” Jillian spread her arms wide. “This is primo real estate. This room is over half the size of the main dining room. We could fit so many tables in here!” “Yeah, but this has a ball pit.” “Becky!” “Here me out, Jilly,” she said. She pointed up to the walls.. “See all that padding on the walls?” How could Jillian not? The light gray carpet of the room went up into the walls to just above the waist standing up. Above that was a kind of padded checkerboard of black and darker black, but with rapid hills and valleys. To Jillian’s mind, someone had crossed giant black foam mats with waffle fries and decided to hot glue it up to the ceiling. Jillian didn’t have much of an eye for aesthetics, but she knew she didn’t like it. “What about it? “I’m pretty sure that’s sound absorbent padding,” Rebecca said. “With the thick doors, this part could be practically soundproof. Keep the ball pit. Add some pinball machines. Maybe a karaoke thingy, and we could make this a play place for families.” The less artistic of the two tried to run probabilities through her head that that would make keeping the kiddie play place and leaning into it an optimal use of the space. Sensing her hesitancy, Rebecca leaned in and said, “And/Or...we set up a bar right outside, set some T.V.s up there, there and there, and book out the room to dudebros wanting to play video games and get drunk. Make it an adult Chuck E Cheese sometimes.” That had possibilities. It was a very big pit too. Jillian felt her heart flutter. “You really are a mad genius sometimes.” The couple kissed again. “I know.” Rebecca winced and grabbed her stomach. “If you excuse me, this mad genius needs time to see if one of the bathrooms works.” “Just don’t bring anything back with you.” “I won’t,” Rebecca said. She stopped and turned around. “Mad genius! Mad scientist! Laboratories! Lavatories! What if we decorated the bathrooms to look like-!” Jillian cut her soulmate off with the palm of her hand. “Swing and a miss, babe.” “For Halloween?” “Okay. Maybe for Halloween. Go to the bathroom. We’ll talk about what our first reopening is gonna look like later.” Rebecca trotted out back towards the kitchen. That’s where the restrooms had been. That or the supply closets. Whether bucket or bowl, something was about to get pooped in. Left alone with only her thoughts, Jillian started to let her mind go over the potential of the place. Pinball machines, karaoke, and T.V. monitors didn’t grow on trees. A general rule of restaurateurs was to take however much something cost and then triple the price. That was for food. What about entertainment? It’d probably be cheaper to hire some guy to come in on saturday nights and play guitar or something. There’s a reason most non-fast food places didn’t have a play place. Play places had fallen out of vogue in general. Jillian walked up the steps to the edge of the pit. Someone had certainly made an investment in this piece of furniture. Big and sturdy and deep enough that even an adult could swim in it. Which, as far as ball pits went, she supposed, was a sight better than something like an inflatable kiddie pool. The last owner’s baby boy was likely too short to use this; the balls would have overridden him and gone up over the top of his head. Could be fun, she thought to herself. She pictured drunk twenty somethings getting that hit of childhood nostalgia in between shots of Jagermeister. As long as the food and drinks stayed in the adjoining booths, she supposed... “Aw,” Jillian said to herself. “Why not?” She closed her eyes and jumped in, propelling herself forward. Not quite belly flopping into the multicolored mass, she landed knees first and sunk down like quicksand. “Haaaaa!” Her laugh was part expression of joy, part shriek of surprise. Rebecca was right about one thing, this was fun. Speaking of fun, wouldn’t Rebecca be surprised to find her fuddy duddy wife in here? Jillian became a cicada, burying herself in the ground, and waiting for her love to come back to her. She’d pop out and yell ‘Surprise!’ when Rebecca came back. Jillian closed her eyes, slowed her breathing and waited…. And waited… And waited… What was taking so long? Was Rebecca retiling the bathrooms now? She startled when she heard electronic buzzing and beeping. Like a cat that had just had a bucket of water tossed onto its head, she thrashed and clawed her way to the surface. Had she dozed off somehow? Feeling like her senses were being assaulted, Jillian waded from the center of the ball pool, blinking away blurriness and rubbing crust out of her eyes. Where had these stupid party lights come from? There was no practical reason to hang red, yellow, and blue spotlights from random places, save to make a place look festive. The shadows that engulfed every other part where the lights didn’t directly shine proved that much. Rebecca and her had only just been talking about pinball machines and video games, but the buzzing, whirring and beeping of electronic entertainment was so incredibly loud that Jillian almost couldn’t concentrate. Tiny figures rushed by her periphery. She twisted her head and through the wall of black netting saw a twelve year old with a wild mop of hair sit down just long enough to take an enormous mouthful of pepperoni pizza, gulp it down with some soda, wipe his mouth with his sleeve and then run off. What could only be his parents looked at each other and shook their heads good naturedly. Kids. Middle schoolers at least, high schoolers at best, walked and darted around the room, playing games and leaning on cabinets that no one was using; the noise and music was too loud to hear them chatting, but body language was everything. Speaking of body language, the booths were filled with parents chatting with each other, eating a hodgepodge of different meals- lasagna, burgers, enchiladas, pulled pork- while keeping a wary eye out to make sure their accompanied minors were behaving. One couple caught sight of Jillian and waved mildly to her, as if their sudden appearance wasn’t the least bit strange. They were smiling at her as well. Friendly. Too friendly. “Excuse me,” Jillian said, still at the edge of the pit’s inside. No one, adult or child, so much as fidgeted. The music and noise was too loud and distracting for her voice to be heard. She raised her voice, “Excuse me!” One of the kids in a loose fitting baseball jersey, he might have been fourteen, looked back over his shoulder. He flashed her a smile, and then went back to jiggling joysticks. Jillian felt her temperature rise. She took a deep breath and shouted, “Excuse! Me!” That got some people’s attention. Several parents turned their heads. The kids who were old enough to have their voices crack stared at her the longest. They had gotten to that age where shows of authority were challenges to be overcome. “What are you all doing here?!” Julian shouted over the music. “This place isn’t supposed to be open yet?” A pack of teenagers, some who looked like they barely knew how to shave, walked up to the edge of the big box filled with plastic balls. “I said-!” “Hey, baby,” A boy winked at her. “Wussup?” A girl who might have been his date or his sister slapped him on the shoulder. “Baby?” Jillian blinked. “Who the hell do you think you’re calling ‘baby’?” If his parents hadn’t likely been around she might have said worse. “I’m not your momma and I’m sure as hell not your baby so talk to me with some respec-” A boy who was probably still in Elementary school interrupted her. “Awww look at the baby! So cuuuute!” Cute? Most people don’t pay attention to how they look outside of a bathroom mirror. The senses tend to be focused outward instead of inward, so in a broader sense, Jillian would later forgive herself for not noticing certain details. “Who’s a cute widdle baby?” The kid had the gall to reach up and try to pinch Jillian’s cheeks.” “Don’t touch me!” Jillian slapped the hand away. “I don’t think she likes that,” the girl among them said. By way of demonstrating she reached over and pinched the fifth grader’s cheeks. “Do you?” Jillian had had just about enough of this bullshit nonsense. In her mind, a list had started to form. Step three was finding her wife and getting an explanation as to what in hell was going on. Step two was whooping these kids’ asses and putting the fear of God that their parents had so clearly failed to instill in them. Step one was getting out of this stupid play place. The co-owner of the building planted her hands on the rim of the box. Something felt off, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Her wedding band’s absence wasn’t immediately missed. Jillian expected the kids to book it and run the moment they realized she was getting out, but they stayed and watched for sport. “I think she’s getting out!” The youngest said. “Come on! You can do it!” Oh she was gonna do it, alright. With a quick and mighty heave, she swung one leg over the side, and froze: A daisy yellow stocking that ran up to her knee emerged from the plastic morass and Jilian forze. “What in the fu-?” “Uh oh. She’s stuck!” “I’ll help.” The girl said. She was a high schooler by the looks of it but just barely; probably a freshman; babysitter age. She reached forward. Shocked and flabbergasted, Jillian took the girl’s hands and finished pulling herself out. “How the-?” Jillian didn’t have words to properly voice her confusion. Her plain red top and jeans had pulled a vanishing act. Now she wore a bright yellow dress that stopped above the knee. Combined with the yellow knee socks, she realized that she must have looked like a little girl. The bright pink sneakers weren’t helping. Neither was the bow she accidentally felt digging her fingers into her hair. Something clicked. This. This is why the kids were mocking her, calling her ‘baby’. How she ended up in the outfit was a bigger mystery to her than how all of these people popped into existence. She’d jumped into the ball pit. Submerged herself. Waited. And then….and then….and then what? “I thought they didn’t allow little kids in here,” the older boy said. “Little-?” Jillian growled. She had a good three or four inches on this punk. The girl freshman answered. “I think that’s the owner lady’s kid. Special privileges and all that.” They weren’t talking to her, they were talking over her. Jillian felt her anger rising. This little snot was talking over her. Girl was barely old enough to be out of training bras and she was going along with this rib. “I am the owner,” Jillian said, fiercely. Despite her childish attire, she stood up straight and crossed her arms over her chest. Her eyes went wide. Anger transmuted into embarrassment. Where the fuck had her bra gone? If this dress were just a little bit tighter upstairs, everybody would be able to see her nipples poking through! And unlike the girl, it wouldn’t be socially acceptable for Jillian to go without one in public. Not noticing the grown woman’s embarrassment, the trio kept talking to one another. “Is that nobody’s going into the pit right now? We don’t wanna hurt her or something?” The older of the two boys- the one who was either late in middle school or early in highschool-asked. “Pretty much,” the teen girl replied, much to Jillian’s chagrin. Now they were calling her fragile? The youngest of the three started jogging out into the main dining room. “I’ll go find her mom!” he yelled back. “My what?” The heavy oak doors opened and Jillian craned her neck to try and see out into the main dining room. It was the babysitter who stepped in front of her and blocked her view. “No, no, no,” the girl tutted. “We’re gonna wait here, okay?” “You shouldn’t even be here!” Jillian said. “Can somebody please help?!” she called out. The other adults didn’t seem to pay her any more mind than one might to a tantrumming child at a grocery store. If they looked uncomfortable, it was only vaguely so. “Sorry, baby,” the girl shushed. “It’s the big kid’s turn to play in there. You can play later. Promise.” “I don’t want to play in there,” Jillian pleaded to deaf ears. “I want to know what’s going-!” “You don’t think she peed in there, do you?” The older boy asked. Jillian felt her nose twitch. Why would they think that? Why would they joke? “Maybe if her diaper leaked.” The teenage girl said. Matter of factly. “My-?” Jillian winced. Did they really think that she was wearing a-? No. But the sudden stiffness, the padded feel of her underwear beneath her dress, now that she thought about it, was more than slightly intrusive. Looking down at herself, she hoisted the hem of her dress. “-diaper?! Hugging Jillian’s hips was something she hadn’t worn in a long long time. She didn’t think they even made Luvs in her size. The purple and white padding taped around her waist seemed to indicate that they did. The teenager slapped Jillian’s hands away. “No, no, no. Keep your dress down, honey. Big girls don’t show their underwear off to everybody.” Everybody! Once again, Jillian was reminded of her surroundings. She was dressed like a baby, a literal baby and had just flashed her diaper in front of all of these customers. Her face felt like she was on fire as embarrassment ratcheted up to near catastrophic levels of humiliation. Jillian tried to open her mouth, to ask questions, to shout, to scream, to do anything, but no words were coming right then. The most she could do was back up against the edge of the ball pit, yank the front of her dress down as hard as she could. Up from one of the booths, a gentleman in his mid forties from the look of it, put a hand on the teenager’s shoulders. “Nobody cares, hon,” he said. “I remember when you were that age. It was hard enough to get you to keep your diaper on sometimes.” The teenager blushed crimson. “Daaaaaaad!” “Now if you and your boyfriend want-” The two remaining kids looked awkwardly at the floor “Dad. He’s not my boyfriend.” “If you and Trevor want to flop around and goof off, we’ve only got ten more minutes before your mother and I pay the check and get in the car.” The young pair, a couple evidently, took that as an invitation. They jumped headfirst into the pit. Jillian followed them with her eyes. They seemed no more toddlerish than before when they popped their heads back up. “Jilly! There you are!” Coming in through the doors to the restaurant’s playroom, flanked by a kid who wasted no time running past and jumping into the pit, was Rebecca. Unlike Jillian, she was wearing exactly what she’d been wearing a few moments ago. Jillian broke out into a near sprint, closing the distance despite the way the huge Luvs was throwing off her gait. “Rebecca,” she panted, “what the hell is going on?” The two embraced as passionately and as warmly as if they hadn’t seen each other for years. Jillian felt safer, and stable. “How did you get out of your playpen in Mommy’s office?” she said. “You should be asleep.” “Asleep? Rebecca, what are you talking about?” Like all the others before, Rebecca ignored her. “Thank you so much for finding her,” she said to the father who’d just embarrassed his teenage daughter. “It was my kid, actually,” he said. He thumbed back to the ballpit. “Thank them for me,” Rebecca said. Even though they were about the same height, Rebecca took a knee and looked up at Jillian. “I knew I shouldn’t have put you down for that nap so late. Now you’re gonna be up all night and cranky the next morning. At least you don’t have daycare tomorrow.” “I remember when mine were about that size. How old is she? One? Two? Maybe Three?” Jillian’s wife stood up. “Twenty-nine.” The man chuckled dryly like it was a joke. The problem was Jillian really was twenty-nine. A fresh wave of realization hit her, and with it came urgency and more than a little panic. “Rebecca,” she grabbed her wife by the shoulders. “You’ve gotta listen to me. That ball pit? It’s magic! It...it...it dressed me up like this and did some kind of magic thing to open up or rewind or fast forward time....what date is it?” How much of that Rebecca understood, Jillian didn’t know. She took Jillian’s hand and started to lead her out into the main dining room. “Come on, mija. Let the big kids play in here. I’ll put on a cartoon in my office and you can cuddle with Mr. Fluffybuttons.” Jillian dug her heels in at the mention of a stuffed animal she hadn’t thought about in years; one that she hadn’t even mentioned to Rebecca. No! This was going too far. “Rebecca! Stop!” She shouted. “What’s the matter, Jil-?” The shout was enough to loosen her wife’s grip on her, allowing Jillian to slip out the grasp. The normally calm and collected Jillian stomped up to the edge of the ball pit, shouting at the top of her lungs. “You need to listen! This place is cursed! I don’t know how! I don’t know why! But I-!” Jillian stopped. More than her temper was going over the edge. Her mouth stopped talking, yet her body took over. She bent her knees, even though she knew that would make it easier for her diaper to poke out beneath the hem of her pretty yellow dress. For a second that didn’t matter. Her thumb slid between her lips and she sucked on it, oddly enjoying the sensation of it, even. For a second that didn’t matter, either. For a second, Jillian’s mind blanked, and she did what most anyone wearing a baby diaper would do; what they were supposed to do… It took longer than a second for Jillian to finish pooping and peeing her pants in front of everyone, but it only took that one tick of the clock for her body to push past the point of no return. The added five or so ticks lasted an eternity. She was peeing! She was pooping! And everyone was watching! In the back of her mind, she told herself that this was all a lie. This was just a dream. She had dozed off in the abandoned ball pit of their newly acquired restaurant, and this was some bizarre nightmare. And even if it wasn’t a dream, she hurriedly added to herself, no one was actually looking at her. They’d just seen her walk up, freeze, and start sucking her thumb. That didn’t necessarily mean- “Ew!” The boy, almost half Jillian’s age shouted. “Gross! She’s taking a dump!” His little not-girlfriend pelted him for the outburst. “It’s not gross. It’s natural!” “Do you wanna change her?” “No! Don’t be gross!” When she stood up, Mommy...Rebecca lifted up the back of her dress, and pulled back the diaper’s waistband. Anyone who hadn’t seen the dry front a few minutes ago certainly had a good look at the ballooned out back. “Come on, mija,” Rebecca said. “Let’s go to the bathroom.” “Bathroom?” The youngest of the three who’d harassed Jillian asked, “Why are they going-?” The teenage girl clicked her tongue and side. “They’ve got a baby changing station in there.” “Oh.” Jillian looked down at her sneakers, only vaguely aware of the quieter atmosphere and gentle murmur of more sophisticated diners out on the main floor. For the smallest amount of time, Jillian was grateful. The relative quiet and relaxing piano music would make it easier to think. “Max,” Mommy called to one of the waitresses, “go get my diaper bag out of the back room. Pink. Can’t miss it. Meet me in the bathroom. We’ve got a code brown.” Jillian flushed even deeper and covered her eyes shut. No admonitions. No comments. Nothing comments came whatsoever from the dining customers. They either hadn’t heard it (though how could they not?) or they hadn’t cared. And that was almost just as bad. No one shared her own disgust. Suddenly, this was normal. Barring health code violations, Rebecca could have laid Jilly down on the floor and changed her diaper right there and no one would have thought anything of it. Just like- Jilly gasped when Mommy took her into the bathroom, and not just because the wall mounted changing table was big enough to comfortably fit her. “Thank you, Max. You’re a lifesaver. Table three needs their drinks refilled.” This. This is why this restaurant always failed. At least half of the owners ended up back in diapers, with onlookers seeing and hearing them as toddlers, even when it might not make sense. The cursed partners and spouses tried to run the business themselves, and being hit with two very different sets of responsibilities, inevitably chose their ‘babies’ over business. While her new Mommy opened up the soiled diaper and started wiping her down, Jilly wondered how long Rebecca could keep the candle burning at both ends? She was very creative and talented, even if she didn’t have the best skillset for budgeting. That one boy, the fussy thirty-eight year old, might have made it harder on his Mommy. Should Jilly try that or would she be a good girl? The real question was: did she really think she could break the curse if the restaurant stayed open? As the cold from Mommy’s wipe touched her again, she somehow didn’t think so. What was she going to do? (Fin)

Chapter 33: A different kind of date night. He wanted a girl who hates dusty roads He wanted a girl who cries porcelain tears He wanted a girl who'd put locks on the door To protect all those gemstones she's got in her ears “His bedtime is eight o’clock,” Mom said. “Don’t let him try to stall you or tell you otherwise.” Amanda Monroe nodded her head. “Yes ma’am.” “I already gave him a bath this morning, so he shouldn’t need one tonight.” “Yes ma’am.” “Make sure he tries to go potty before bed, and change him into his nighttime Pull-Ups too.” “Yes ma’am.” “He can watch cartoons for one hour, after dinner.” Mom held up her pointer and showed it specifically to Tommy. “Yes ma’am.” Amanda and Tommy said in unison. Mom returned her full attention to Amanda. “There's microwavable macaroni and cheese in the freezer for him, and a frozen pizza for you. On the off chance that his sister comes home from her date early, just text me and I’ll venmo you for the full time. My number and all the emergency numbers are on the refrigerator. I’ll be back by ten.” Amanda nodded demurely. “Yes ma’am.” Mom took a knee and looked at Tommy. “Have you tried going potty lately?” “Uh-huh.” That was a lie and Tommy knew it. “Promise to be good for you babysitter?” Tommy looked up to Amanda Monroe. “Uh-huh!” This was not a lie. Whatever strange reality warping effects had twisted his size and other people’s memories, Tommy had decided that this was one of the good ones. He’d spent all day pretending to learn letter sounds and how to count to twenty as his mother “homeschooled” him. He didn’t even go to school anymore, it seemed. He might have still been eighteen, but now he was too “little” to go to public school and Mom was suddenly well off enough to keep him home and bombard him with educational television and toys, alongside crayon worksheets and books meant to make the potty less scary for toddlers. This may or may not have been frustratingly boring if she hadn’t slipped that both she and Katy were going to be out of the house tonight, and so he would have a babysitter: “Miss Amanda.” That had caught Tommy off guard in the best possible way and he’d spent the rest of the afternoon making sure to act like someone who needed a babysitter. “Don’t worry, Ms. Dean,” Amanda chirped. “Me and Tommy will have lots of fun.” She pulled Tommy into a side hug, his face planting just above the soft skin of her hip and Tommy wished that his face would just melt off and merge with it right here. “Do you like board games, buddy?” She gestured over to the coffee table where boxes of Candy Land, Uncle Wiggly, and Shoots and Ladders had been stacked. Tommy looked up adoringly at her. He loved board games if it meant sitting across from her. Amanda Monroe, the real Amanda Monroe. No more pointy elf ears. No more fantasy facsimiles. And Tommy had already done the math, so to speak: If no one ever remembered him going to school; then Amanda wouldn’t remember him either. This was an unprecedented opportunity. A fresh start. A second chance to make a first impression! No more D-List. Not even a week ago, Amanda had held his hand and his entire soul had tingled. Now she was pressing his head against her hip. His insides were on fire. Before, she’d taken him to the nurse’s office when he’d wet his pants. Tommy had taken it as a sign of her sweet, caring, nurturing nature. Tonight, she was his literal babysitter! It’s why Tommy had lied about going potty. His reduced stature had had the side effect of making it...difficult...to get to the potty on time. For the last few days, Tommy’s bladder had gone from zero to ready to explode in a matter of half-a-minute at best. Was his bladder that much smaller, or was it just his internal sensitivity that reduced? As soon as Tommy learned that Amanda would be taking care of him, Tommy decided that he didn’t know and didn’t care. He'd made every effort to NOT make it to the potty that afternoon; and to focus on getting rid of any outward sign of urgency, discomfort, or even enjoyment (especially enjoyment) when he wet himself. Not-coincidentally, he’d been very focused on staying hydrated and Mommy hadn’t had the heart to limit his fluids. Why was he doing all this? Because little boys who did the potty dance and fidgeted might get picked up and put on the potty, but toddlers who just kept playing or singing or laughing through their accident just got checked and changed. Tommy was sabotaging his own toilet training just so that Amanda could give him the full baby treatment. Just the thought, the fleeting fantasy of Amanda changing him- laying him down, cooing at him while she wiped his penis for him as he giggled up at her and sucked his thumb- was giving him a raging erection that only something as thickly padded as his Pull-Ups and denim shorts could hope to hide. (Ironically enough, this would also make it more difficult to pee.) “You be good for Miss Amanda,” Mom said. Then she gave him a kiss on the cheek and then walked out the door into the pre-dusk light. And then he was alone. With Amanda. Tommy’s throat went dry. “So what do you wanna do first, little guy?” Amanda asked. Tommy’s mind raced. There was no “good” answer to that question. So many things he wanted to do to her and her to do to him. He waddled back and drove his hands into his pockets. The still crips crinkle from his pants signalled that he was still very much dry. How to kill time and wait for his bladder to catch up to that big gulp’s worth of water he’d chugged half-an-hour ago. “Um...Candyland?” he said, as bits of guilt radiated in his spine. “Deal!” she said. Amanda took her spot on the couch in front of the coffee table and began setting the children’s game up. Tommy was about to take a seat next to her, and then course corrected for the floor. Not only was it socially appropriate for him to play on the carpet, he calculated, but it would also get him a good look at Amanda’s cleavage every time she leaned forward on the couch. “Which gingerbread man do you want to be?” It took three turns for Tommy to calm down enough to start being interested in the game. It had been awhile since he’d been “old enough” to play this game, but Tommy quickly realized there was absolutely no skill involved; complete crap shoot. On turn one he’d gotten the best possible draw short of a picture shortcut. On turn two, he only moved one square. On turn four he managed to cheat a bit by pretending he didn’t see one square and moved double while Amanda checked something on her phone. On turn five, his bladder finally got into the game. His padding went soggy almost immediately, and even though the quiet hiss resonated in his ears, Amanda didn’t seem to notice as her game piece click and clacked along the board. “Having fun?” she asked. Tommy nodded, but his dopey grin had nothing to do with the game or the colors...almost nothing. Tommy waited, and bided his time on the carpet. He was starting to enjoy the game, as well as the view. The feeling of the wet Pull-Up taking on a hard kind of squish as the pulp absorbed and spread out was nice too. Maybe wait till after the game, Tommy told himself. If he was too quick about telling on his “accident”, Amanda might think he was big enough to change himself. Flashes of last time he’d peed his pants in front of her flitted across his eyelids. She had been nice enough, for sure, but she’d left him as soon as another adult took charge. And the school nurse had insisted that Tommy clean himself up (not that he’d wanted the nurse’s tender ministrations). Tommy wanted more than just being plopped on the potty and being told to clean himself up. He had to play this right. He had to prove that he was little enough to need help. In the meantime, he was enjoying the game and the scenery. One game turned to two. Two to three. Midway through game three Tommy’s bladder let loose again. Such an odd feeling, wetting his already wet pants. He supposed he felt a little bit wetter, but the contrast wasn’t nearly as stark between pure dry and wet. Just a slight heat from the fresh urine, the feeling of relief from the empty bladder and a tad bit more weight being distributed as the Pull-Up did its best to absorb the new stuff, passing it on to dryer pastures when the already wet sections had become saturated. No wonder real babies were so hard to potty train. If Tommy hadn’t been paying specific attention to his bladder he might not have realized he was peeing that second time. No wonder adults had to check… CHECK! That was it! He wouldn’t tattle on himself. He’d let his wet Pull-Up tattle for him. Surely, Amanda wouldn’t trust him to clean himself up if he just kept squishing around in wet pants until she noticed. The perfect plan! “How about some din-din?” Amanda asked, breaking, Tommy’s concentration. Tommy agreed and stood up. THAT was different. The quasi-diaper sagged beneath him, swelling up in his pants and drooping back down towards the carpet. NOTICEABLY! There was no way that Amanda wouldn’t notice that he needed changing. And yet… Several minutes went by. The microwave beeped, and a steaming bowl of macaroni and cheese was placed in front of his booster seat. Amanda didn’t say one thing. Not about his pants. Not about whether or not he needed to use the potty. Nothing except. “Okay, Tom-Tom. Time to dig in.” She plopped a plastic spoon into the yellow noodles before hoisting Tommy up into his booster chair by the armpits. Even that bit of physical contact caused Tommy to mellow. That was fine. This was fine. Everything was fine. “What are you gonna eat?” Tommy asked. “Like your mom said,” Amanda replied, “I’ve got some pizza. I’m not hungry just yet. I’ll probably have some after you go to bed.” That was a bit of a bummer, Tommy thought, but at least that meant he’d be the center of attention! So overcome with a combination of joy and hunger, that several spoonfuls of mushy cheesy goodness made it into his mouth before an idea occurred to him. Darn it! Missed opportunities! Still...worth a try. “Miss Amanda,” Tommy mewled, trying to sound cute. “Do you think you could help me?” Amanda looked up from her phone. “With what?” “Maybe you could...feed me?” He got a condescending smirk. “Cute,” she said. “But I don’t think you need any help with that.” “Maybe you could blow on it for me? Like my Mommy does?” “You just shoveled a bunch into your mouth. It’s not too hot.” Tommy fought the urge to snap his fingers in regret. Still it had been worth a try. Even this rejection had been nicer and softer than anything Amanda had said to him before. Tonight might have been the first time that Tommy could remember having something resembling small talk. Couldn’t blame him for trying… Time for one last ditch effort. The eighteen year old toddler opened his eyes as big as they could, pouted his lip out and jutted his chin. Time for full puppy dog face. “PWEEEEEEEEEASE!” Amanda giggled and rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she said. Then she bent over “Thank you!” Tommy said, and then he began shoveling more of the processed noodles down his throat. Amanda didn’t say, “You’re welcome”. Instead she said something that might’ve been better. “Boys. You’re all the same.” On some level, Amanda knew Tommy was flirting with her, and she wasn’t outright disgusted by it or rejecting him! Mouth still full of macaroni, Tommy looked down at his pants. There was a definite lump in the front, almost like his underwear was eggshapped. How was she not noticing that he needed changing? A quick glance up from the table confirmed that she was again looking at her phone? What was so interesting? Tommy cleared his throat. Nothing. He did it again, and got a napkin absentmindedly handed to him. “Careful with that cough. Cover your mouth.” Another brilliant idea entered his brain! If coughing got him a napkin. Carefully, Tommy gave the front of his pants a pat. The crinkling wasn’t nearly as crisp as before, but it was still audible. Maybe the sound of a wet Pull-Up being jostled would remind his new sitter to check. Nothing. He gave it a firmer pat and a squeeze. Then another. Then another. Without consciously realizing it, Tommy was starting to rub himself through the wet padding. The crinkling continued, and then And she still wasn’t looking at him. Tommy rubbed his Pull-Up harder and faster, quickly building up steam, until there was more going on in his pants than just some light rustling. Amanda wasn’t looking at him, but he could still see her face. So perfect. So beautiful. And the fact that she wasn’t looking at him groping his penis through the thick padding was ceasing to make him feel ignored as much as it was giving him the impression of him getting away with something. He wasn’t being ignored and unnoticed...he was being naughty. How Tommy loved the feeling of being naughty! She knew what he was doing. That’s what he told himself, anyways. How could she not? How could she not hear the noise he was making? How could she not look away from her phone. She was pretending. Maybe if he moaned a little bit? No...no...not subtle enough. Why ruin it? Almost there…. She would catch him. Then she would call him a naughty little thing and talk about how little boys shouldn’t play with themselves! Almost there! She would let him finish, and then stop pretending to notice. She’d coo at him and playfully ask him if he was all done. THEN she’d take him back to his room and change him into a nice clean pair of Pull-Ups. She’d only been pretending not to notice because deep down she knew what was happening and didn’t want him the Pull-Up to be wasted... Almost THERE! THUNK THUNK THUNK! Still in his booster seat, Tommy startled and shook. Just like with his peeing into the already wet padding, he couldn’t tell if he’d cum or just instantly lost his erection from shock. He certainly didn’t feel any sense of relief. His heart was beating too hard, and mischievous delight was giving way to shame and guilt. Within seconds the only throbbing going on was in his chest. Tommy’s heart both leapt into his throat and plummeted down into his stomach. Simultaneously he felt as if he’d been caught on the verge of doing something awful and wrong or been interrupted just before he made it all the way. Tommy jerked his head over to the oven clock. Was the date over already? It couldn’t be! Neither his mother or his sister should be back by now. More importantly, no one who lived here would knock. Both Katlynn and Mom had keys. Amanda got up from the couch and ran for the door like an excited labradoodle. Tommy did his best to follow her, but his sagging underwear got in his way, forcing him to contort out of the chair and waddle along the ground most uncomfortably. Trying to beat off through his wet pants had only spread the pulp around, making it lumpy and awkward and his dick slightly raw. Amanda didn’t even look over her shoulder as she unlocked and opened the door. “Heeeeeeeeeey!” she squealed. “Hey?” Tommy wondered. “Hey who?” Regrettably, he didn’t have to wait long for his answer. The door flung open, and Tommy lost his breath. “Assassin….” Josh Hamlin was no elven assassin, however. Nor was Amanda an ex-sorceress queen. Neither of those facts helped Tommy unclench his jaw and fists as Amanda leaned in and gave Josh a hug and a kiss on the lips. “Hey babe,” Josh said. He stepped in through the door and Amanda locked it behind him. “Sorry I took so long. Nice place.” “Yeah,” Amanda agreed. “Ms. Dean is kinda loaded.” Every step that Hamlin took into the house made Tommy shake a little bit more with rage. Technically, Tommy couldn’t remember living in this place for more than a couple days, but it had still been his infinitely longer than Josh’s. Bully. Invader. Trespasser. He had no right to be here and Amanda was letting him sling himself over her like a cheap coat. While Tommy still had the lingering nerd habit of relating life to various forms of musical theater, he was finding Dr. Seuss more than up to the task in this instance. Josh should not be here. He should not be a bout. He should not be here when Tommy’s mother was out. “What is he doing here?” Tommy sneered. Josh was unwelcome any day of the week, this evening was no exception. His fearsome expression did not have the desired effect. “Oh…” Amanda said. It was as if she didn’t expect Tommy to have any quarrels about uninvited guests; yet alone Josh Hamlin. “Tommy, this is Josh. He’s my uh...helper. He’s my babysitter’s helper.” “Sup, little man?” Casually, thoughtlessly even, Josh gave Amanda another kiss and boiled Tommy’s blood an extra degree. He even was bold enough to reach forward and try to pat Tommy on the head. He got his hand slapped away from his trouble. “He’s not supposed to be here,” Tommy growled. “Oh don’t be rude,” Amanda cooed at him. “Big girls like me...need company every now and then. Otherwise we get...lonely.” Tommy felt himself tearing up. “But...but...you’re supposed to be MY…” he stopped himself and corrected. “..babysitter. My babysitter.” Amanda took a knee and wiped away his tears. “Sorry, bud. You’re too...little for me.” “I’m eighteen!” Josh laughed. “Sure you are, little dude. Sure you are.” “Actually he is,” Amanda looked up behind her. “He’s got some kind of developmental condition.” “Seriously? I thought he was like six, tops.” “I’m telling!” Tommy said. He pointed up to Josh. “When my Mommy gets back, I’m telling that you had him over!” That made Josh look distinctly uncomfortable. The discomfort more than doubled when Tommy added. “Josh Hamlin! Senior at Scrumpton High!” Josh looked like he was actually considering hitting Tommy. “But Tommy,” Amanda said; her voice sickeningly sweet. “If you do that, your Mommy will never hire me to babysit you again. We’ll never get to play Candyland ever again. You don’t want that, do you?” Damn it. Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! She DID know! She knew how he felt about her and was manipulating him just like her high fantasy counterpart! And this time Tommy had no magic strength or flight to counter with. A cramping in his stomach cut off any reply that Tommy might have formulated. A moan, not of pleasure, but pain, took to the air as he helplessly filled the back of his pants up to the brim. Try as he might, Tommy just froze and watched as condescending and manipulative stares mutated to disgust. He couldn’t even slam his eyes shut. His ex-peers weren’t looking away, and neither could he, much as he’d wished. He got no replies of “oopsie”, or coos that he needed to get changed. He saw no adoring faces ready to baby him. No one was readying to change him or use any euphemism to make his act seem or feel more innocent or cute. “JESUS!” Josh yelped, pinching his nose and waving his hand in front of his face. “Did he do what I think he did? Did he just shit himself?” “Yup,” Amanda sighed. “He’s not potty trained. He’s been waddling around in pissy pants all night, too. I’ve been putting off changing him.” SO SHE HAD NOTICED! “I think he was starting to beat off too. Kinda awkward.” Josh didn’t laugh...but that made it worse. “I don’t think it’s his fault.” “Totally not,” Josh agreed. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing. But uh...d’you mind...baby sitter?” Amanda stood up and grabbed Tommy by the arm. “Come on, Tommy, let’s pop you in the shower real quick. Fastest way to clean you up. Then it’ll be time for bed.” “But it’s only seven thirty!” Tommy whined! “In the shower, Tommy,” Amanda ordered. That’s that! You’re stinky and poopy and I don’t have the patience to deal with this right now!” Her voice was stern and authoritative. Tommy felt little and small, but not particularly loved. Just helpless. Tommy felt his will melt away. He was just a chore to her. Something to manipulate and deal with and get paid. That filled his head more than the sound of any crinkling off of bathroom tiles or the sound of running water being switched on. The shower was quick. And though Tommy had been forced to strip down naked in front of her, he felt neither excitement or a sense of intimacy. He was neither a baby nor a boyfriend...and he’d so hoped he could be at least one or the other to Amanda; something to be loved. Rather, he was a prisoner in his own home, with a guard that he really didn’t feel he knew or understood. She showered him off and used the movable head to target his filthy bum and his pee soaked front. Like a good prisoner, Tommy stood still. A warm washcloth was used to pry loose what couldn’t be spayed off. The contents of the Pull-Up were dumped into the toilet before being tied up in a plastic shopping bag to contain the smell. From a technical standpoint, Amanda was doing her job. But there was no love. Tommy was just beginning to accept that…. He didn’t put up a fight when she wrapped a towel around him and carried him to his bedroom. He didn’t fuss when she popped open a pair of Buzz Lightyear nighttime Pull-Ups and proclaimed him ready for bed. He didn’t cry when she tucked him in, turned on the nightlight and then closed the door...not loudly anyway. Through the door he could hear Amanda and Josh talking. He couldn’t hear the words, but the tone told him all he needed to know. They weren’t talking about him anymore at least. The couch in the living room was no longer beat up. Neither was the old clock. Yet when the clock struck eight, he could still imagine he heard old springs squeaking in the living room, and the moaning of two teenagers grinding against each other; their tongues down each other’s throats. Part of him wished he could sneak out and escape to that bizarre and terrible world contained within that clock. Tommy went to sleep that night with tears in his eyes, left only to imagine what could have happened. It was something he’d become adept at, but was becoming increasingly dissatisfied with. Even the admittedly pleasant feeling of wet padding up against his skin didn’t blunt the hurt he was feeling just then. Amanda was never going to be his. Not in this reality or any other. He’d wasted so much time pining after and seeking some form of connection that could never form. That was something that was more impossible than anything Malacus offered. It was that night that Tommy learned to distinguish between living in a fantasy world and an imaginary one.

Chapter 77: Tired I woke up because I needed to pee. Resting my eyes on the playground’s bench had been a precursor to me completely passing out in the playpen in Janet’s classroom not half an hour later. Too many late nights cursing into the baby monitor. One by one, my senses started to come back online like an old computer slowly booting up. Holy cow, did I feel old in that moment. Joints ached. Eyes fought to stay closed. Lips felt dry and cracked like I’d been snoring. And people were calling me “sir”. Damn it felt good to feel old again. The cold blooded and efficient part of my brain considered shifting my weight a bit, peeing and then going back to sleep. Thursday was Little Voices night, big night ahead of me. My eyes wouldn’t roll themselves, after all. I stretched and let out a yawn. Some tiny, paranoid part of me wanted to reach between my legs and make sure I hadn’t already wet in my sleep. Me, an actual bedwetter? That would have been low-key humiliating. I heard Janet’s soft, whispering “Aw” as I stretched and let out my quietest yawn. My stirring on the playpen’s cushions must have alerted her. I wiggled my toes and felt nothing but soft fleece press against them. No shoes. The cushions shifted underneath me and my brain roused itself from its dreamless void. The pen in Janet’s classroom didn’t have any cushions. That meant… I opened my eyes to Janet peering down at me, a soft contented smile. I must’ve looked like a cherub to her Mommy maddened mind. The traffic outside the car door whizzed and hummed by making almost pleasant white noise. Easy to drift off too and not too. “Hey there sleepy bear.” Half-sitting up, half-rolling over I looked around to figure out where we were. The world went spinning and white the tiled floor of the Community Center rushed up to greet my face. “Fu-!” I yelped out in terror milliseconds before giant ropes of arms grabbed onto me. “Ooops! Sorry! Sorry!” Janet caught me just in time to stop me from face planting. The fall chased the grogginess right out of me. It also chased something else out. The front of my pants was quickly warming up. My bladder was still emptying when Janet sat me back up in her lap, and I was too shocked to try and stop it. “Is he okay?” Another Amazon asked. Janet answered for me. “Yeah. He just woke up all at once. Surprised both of us.” “He didn’t hit, did he?” “No, no. Just had a scare.” Just in case, she started looking me over. I chewed on my tongue, annoyed. It was the closest I’d gotten to getting out of an Amazon’s grasp and it was an accident, (pun not intended). At least I didn’t need to pee anymore. The last bits of my mind caught up to the present with that jolt of adrenaline. I was in pumpkin patch print jammies, and everything but my head and hands was bundled up in soft fleecy cotton. I’d more or less sleepwalked without the walking throughout the afternoon and into the evening. I’d been scooped up, put in a car seat, taken to Janet’s house, laid down in the crib, stripped and redressed, and then transported to Little Voices. Success had made it so that adrenaline and spite waned enough for me to pass out. I remembered it all happening through a haze, like tiny snippets from sleep. On some level I probably thought it was part of the dream. No flash memories of any changes either, which explained why I’d been full to bursting. I wasn’t incontinent, just being subjected to unpotty training. Right on cue, Janet prodded between my legs and sighed contentedly upon finding me wet. She probably was worried that I was dehydrated or something. At least she didn’t say anything about it. No declarations of ‘wet’ or ‘good baby’. The quick squeeze around my shoulders was still irksome. As per usual, Amazons chatted with one another as if they were actual parents and their perfectly mindfucked Littles crawled underfoot and talked about things that should have only mattered to simpletons and children. This mixture of self-satisfied smugness and toddlerized small talk was what my brain had warped, mixed together, and written off as the whitenoise of cars passing by on the freeway. A middle aged Amazon let out an exhausted sigh. “She went to sleep after she calmed down, but you would not believe the amount of screaming one Little body can hold.” The pink haired woman I’d reduced to tears a few weeks prior sat in her lap. Looks like her Big-younger sister was off vacation duty. The other Amazon let out a small bark of laughter but gave a serious nod, “Oh I’d believe it. I’ve had my fair share of tantrums.” She brushed aside a strand of sandy hair and pointed to the Little girl waddling around in the common area. “So much effort over the silliest things, and all because she said the kitty cheated while they were playing a game. An hour of crying, and she had completely forgotten after the nap of course.” “Oh they always do,” a Daddy joined in. “My little one once got upset because his sister was looking out of his window while we were on a car trip. Thankfully I was able to distract them with a movie, but it was a long trip.” “Movies in the car,” the first sighed. “Wished I’d had that growing up. Would have made road trips with My Little brother and sister a lot easier.” The three Grown-Ups laughed and nodded sagely. So this was generational… Amazons growing up with Littles forced to be siblings, and thought they should get some of their own. That was low key terrifying. Despite how much they patted themselves on the back, I was betting even money they wrote off ‘hypnotic trance’ as ‘distracted by cartoon’. Speaking of cartoons: “So Daddy said we couldn’t see the Gubble Buppies movie cause they wouldn’t let him come in, and he wanted to see it super bad too.” It was the same girl who’d had no problem with being turned upside down to the point that her dress fell off. “I don’t get it. The poster said ‘All Ages’.” Other Littles nodded while moving around under the chairs, no more noticed than ticks on a dog. They just couldn’t stay still. “Mommy said I couldn’t see it either cause they wanted her to wear special glasses and they were uncomfy, but we got to go to see Princess Party instead and it was really funny! There’s a part where Eliza is playing a silly game with her Daddy, and it’s really funny…” I wanted to slap my forehead as hard as I could. Were they that dense? Were they really that oblivious? That willfully ignorant to the way the world worked and continued to work before their abduction? A third let out an excited gasp. “Oh! I wanna watch that! Maybe Mommy or Daddy will take me, or maybe if Grandma or Grandpa come to visit!” Must be. Blissful mindfucked ignorance. My ears pricked up to another conversation. “...And she’s been so lonely lately, asking for more play dates, wanting to just go out more. She needs somebody else in her life that can be around more often. Someone besides Nick and I, especially since we’re both working so much now.” I honed in on an Amazon sitting next to her friend, both had to be in their mid twenties. “So…..” At this she paused and looked around surreptitiously, even checking under her chair, before confirming no munchkins were around, her own being across the room playing ball with a group of other Littles. “Nick and I have decided to start trying for a baby!” She said it quickly and in a whisper hard to catch. If they hadn’t been right next to Janet I wouldn’t have heard any of it. That poor Little was in for a world of awkward being next to a real kid and them being allowed to grow up. How messed up was that? I remembered. Mary’s blue haired sister. This kind of thing was normalized. The whole thing put lie to the idea that Amazons were overcompensating from an infertility epidemic or something. My eyes panned over and across the room, scanning for Mark. Horsey McDoucheface was pleasantly absent, so I had that going for me. Several reasons why he might be absent caused my upper lip to automatically curl in disgust. If he adopted a Little so he could fit in better, that was bad. If he came back at all, that was bad. I snuck a glance above me and saw Janet’s chin pointed in the same direction. Was she looking for him too? In his usual spot was another woman idly going through her phone. At her feet a Little was rummaging through a seaweed green diaper bag. Wearing just a T-shirt and Monkeez, he was rummaging around like a booze hound looking for a nip. It might have been the sound of the zipper or the crinkling of stacks of diapers being discarded, but he made enough of a noise to make her look down from her phone. She didn’t talk loud enough for me to hear, but she pulled back and looked down inside his crinkling underwear. Homeboy didn’t even flinch. The idea that he might be trying to help by getting himself a fresh diaper made me lose any imagined respect I was having. Turns out that wasn’t his plan. He kept digging, and his Mommy did a double take. She stood up over him and bent over. “Sweetie, no no no. No playing in your diaper bag,” I managed to hear, mostly through lip reading and context clues; kind of like when you’ve seen a movie so many times you can tell what’s being said even if the volume is down too low and there’s a million things going on behind you. His own fingers firmly planted in the mouth, he kept trying to push and rummage through, trying and grabbing at things. “Mmmfmfmgurfft!” A pacifier clattered to the floor, along with a teething ring, an empty bottle glazed on the inside with droplets of apple juice, a packet of baby wipes, plastic keys, and an orange terry cloth bib. Wow. This guy was good. Strong hands began to impede the much smaller limbs in their mission of mayhem. “Give me a second and I’ll get you them, sweetie.” Her voice kindly soothed, trying to prevent a tantrum. “Mmmfmfmgurfft!” Evidently, it wasn’t working. Now tucked under his captor’s arm, he kicked and reached towards the diaper bag like he’d seen his old wedding ring while munching on his fingers. The larger being easily moved the remaining items aside, quickly finding a yellow plastic pouch of some desired goodie. The Little grabbed at it with the hand not plunged between his lips. Picking up the Little and placing him in her lap, the pouch was not given over. Instead a small amount of teardrop shaped objects was measured out and given. “Here are your yogurt bites, sweetie.” The man-baby happily began to munch, tension leaving his body, as they looked around the room, the frenzy over. Other Mommy’s and their Little Helpers picked up the discarded distractions and placed them back in the diaper bag. She mouthed “thank you” and contented themself with petting her now oblivious ‘child’s’ hair. I felt Janet’s massive form lean sideways. A rubber nipple brushed lightly against my cheek. “You hungry? Thirsty?” Janet asked. Seeing that Little get snacks gave her her own ideas. I tried to snarl up at her, but my face still sagged. My mind was awake enough but my body was still feeling tired and old. “You slept through dinner time. I didn’t want to wake you.” My breath felt hot and dry. My skin kind of did too. Knocking Tommy in line this week had made me thirsty. “What’s in it?” I asked. “Goat’s Milk, remember?” She held the bottle up to her mouth and took a sip to prove it. A few errant giggles from fellow Littles made their way up to me. Evidently a giantess sucking on a baby bottle was amusing; they were Grown-Ups after all. I reached up and accepted the bottle, tasting the milk. It wasn’t cow milk, but it was definitely milk. The differences were subtle and hard to describe. It was the difference between a name brand soda and the store brand. The flavor was similar but not quite identical. Some key ingredient had been withheld or something had been thrown in, but it wasn’t inherently bad or inferior, just not what I was used to. It was thicker and creamier, but not garishly so. It wasn’t like a milkshake and flowed through the nipple and dribbled down my tongue easily enough. It was more like whole milk with some extra cream stirred in- extra whole milk- or buttermilk that leaned more towards milk than butter but still had that hint when I swallowed. “Trust issues?” The middle aged woman to Janet’s right asked. She mimed sucking on the bottle. “Yeah,” Janet said. “He’s had bad experiences with people trying to give him candy.” The woman nodded, sympathetically, but said nothing more on the subject. I kept sipping on the milk, leaning back into Janet while pacing myself. She took the opportunity to adjust and cradle me in her lap. Still kind of achey, I let her and slowly sipped at the bottle. Something had awakened in me once I began swallowing. I wanted to guzzle the whole thing down at once like it was a pint, hiccups and burping be damned. I didn’t realize how thirsty I was. I paced myself, however. Gently nursed instead of gulped. The goat’s milk was good enough, but it was novel at best. I wasn’t savoring the flavor as much as I was stalling. No one expected me to sing the stupid “We’re All Together Again” song. Janet didn’t bob me on her knee. I managed to make it through two whole baby lap games before Janet tilted the plastic cylinder up and forced me to finish it. “I’m glad you liked it,” she whispered. I’d gotten out of “kissing booth” which was really just an excuse to violate a Little’s personal space by announcing which body part was next to be kissed, or nibbled, or nuzzled ad infinitum. The way Janet was staring I could tell she was taking notes. I’d be put through this later, that much was certain, but she seemed sad she couldn’t do it right then and there in front of everyone. So much of Amazon Mommydom was, in fact, performative reminders of everyone’s status. I finished up my stalling just as another lap game was taught and reviewed. “This is the way the baby goes, Snappity snap, clappity clap. This is the way the baby goes. Peekaboo! I See You!” Everyone under seven foot got turned into a living marionette with the bigger people puppeting their hands to make them snap and clap and cover their face. I wasn’t going to escape the bouncing games. Janet joined the others on the floor and turned me around to face her. “I went to town To get some butter And when I got there I fell in the gutter!” She bounced me and then opened her lap, plopping me on the floor with a squish only I could feel. This was not how I was accustomed to getting between a pretty girl’s legs. Sooner than the Amazons wanted yet much too long for my tastes, the games ended and the Littles were being herded off into the empty nursery. “Do you want to be changed?” Janet whispered to me. “I can take you to the restroom for some privacy.” Just imagining myself laying back down caused a pulsing headache to well up in the back of my skull. I’d done enough lying down for a bit. “No thank you,” I said. It didn’t stop her from carrying me down the hallway instead of letting me get in line with all the padded sheep. I didn’t stop her either, and just allowed myself to enjoy being carted around. It’s not like I was going to be able to nap again. Experience had taught me that I’d get approximately three to five minutes alone to sulk or nap or just zone out before Amy would meander up and startle me with…wait. I looked around. No crawling, brown haired, gap toothed nuisance in sight. “Where’s Amy?” “Ms. Helena and Amy didn’t come this week,” Janet said. “I’m surprised it took you so long to notice.” She booped me on the nose. “Is she okay?” I found myself asking. “I’m not sure. I haven’t seen anything online about Amy or her being sick.” For a split-second I was actually kind of appreciative that Janet mentioned the Little first. “But I’ll be happy to text and tell Amy’s Mommy you missed her..” And there the appreciation went; right down the toilet. “Maybe Amy was just tired or they didn’t feel like coming this week. Maybe Ms. Helena had an emergency at work, like Mark.” Before I could ask the question, she added, “He texted.” So he wasn’t out looking to fill up a crib just yet. Good. One less giant getting a smug dose that adopting Littles was the one true way. Bonus. Maybe he’d end up adopting a Shetland pony. Horses wore diapers, too and Amazons liked it when their fake babies bore a passing resemblance to themselves. It let them pretend they were related to their dolls. Mark might be happier with a pony. “Oh Clark,” Janet sighed. She set me down on the nursery floor. “What am I gonna do with you?” I hadn’t even said anything, but it felt like she was half-reading my mind. She gave me a pat on the head and walked back to go swap brainwashing stories with her new friends. Just before she crossed the threshold she paused and looked back at me, frowning slightly. “What?” She twisted her lips and then walked out of sight. “Your Mommy’s pretty cool,” someone said behind me. “I wonder what it was like before her Maturosis expressed itself.” I looked to my left and saw the white haired Little boy I’d met my first time in this particular madhouse. He was wearing a black onesie and had on his hips for lack of pockets. I let out a quiet groan. “What the heck are you talking about? Maturosis is complete bullshit.” “No it’s not,” White Hair said. “It’s very real. That’s why they’re meeting. This is a support group.” I sat down on the carpet and grabbed a toy pull string giraffe just to have something to fiddle with. Never let them know you’re interested. Never let them know you care. “This is a cult.” “Same difference.” “Look,” I said, “I’m just gonna call you Danny”. He pointed to his onesie. “That’s my name, actually.” I cursed under my breath and kept going. “Okay, Danny, whatever. Maturosis is complete bullshit. Littles aren’t babies. We don’t spontaneously need to wear diapers or sleep in cribs or drink from bottles, and even if we did that doesn’t justify taking away our legal personhood and strip us of our agency.” “I agree.” The giraffe stopped moving, his long neck no longer bobbing up and down in a lever motion. “Then what are you trying to tell me?” “Maturosis is a legit medical condition. It’s just misdiagnosed. We don’t have it,” he pointed to tonight’s lone caretaker. “They do.” “Amazons have Maturosis?” I resumed pulling the toy along the floor. “Yeah…right. Let me try telling all my ex-coworkers that.” “They won’t listen because they have Maturosis,” Danny retorted. “Most of them anyways.” The wooden zoo animal fell sideways with my swipe. “Then why aren’t they pooping themselves in a parent teacher meeting?” The know-it-all’s eyes lit up slightly. I’d given away something. “Maturosis is what made them force you to poop,” Danny said. “Maturosis isn’t what makes Littles act like babies. It’s what compels them to treat us like babies.” I rolled back and laughed so hard my bladder loosened slightly. My new idiot looked slightly offended. First Amy wanted to make a conscious non-ironic distinction between Adult and Grown-Up, now this bleached mother fucker was trying to sell me on ‘reclaiming’ a bullshit term used to justify my enslavement. Did wonders never cease? “What else would you call their madness?” he asked me. “Lots of Amazons are perfectly nice, reasonable people except for this one thing. They’re absolutely normal and respectful and decent until something in them snaps and then they dress us up like this.” The laughter in me started to die down and my breath felt hot in the back of my throat again. “That sounds totally…totally…” It sounded familiar. It was exactly the same line of thinking that let me go to work for ten years. “What’s your point?” Danny laid down next to me and placed his hand behind his head. “That’s what this Little Voices program is all about. It’s not to help us, it’s to help them.” My head felt heavy. I had been right. I didn’t want to get up again, even though the nursery floor was harder and more uncomfortable than Beouf’s rough and tumble carpet. My eyes felt itchy and in no way wanted to close, but there was almost nothing that was going to make me sit up again. “Help them feel better about themselves,” I grumbled. “You’re not wrong. But it’s also helping them control themselves.” I lifted my foot and wiggled my toes inside the pumpkin patch jammies. “Yeah. A whole lot of self-control going on here,” I said. “Did you know she didn’t even wake me up to dress me in this?” “How many times has she spanked you since coming here? How many of those mind fucky cartoons has she made you watch? How many punishment enemas? How many high grade laxatives? Does she not change you enough? Does she gag you with those inflatable pacifiers? Little Voices teaches Amazons to restrain themselves. It teaches them to see as people, even if it’s just baby people.” “Okay,” I admitted. “Point taken. The lesser of two evils is still evil, though.” “But it’s still lesser.” Silence was my only concession. A shiver ran through me. “Besides. I kind of like it. It’s really not that bad.” That was enough for me to muscle up back into a sitting position. Fuck this guy. Little Voices had gotten to him too. I stood up and went to walk away. Empty cribs here I come. “Hey, do you know Amy?” I froze and turned. “We’ve met.” “She’s not here tonight, but you should talk to her. She has some really good ideas.” “Like Maturosis being for Amazons?” “Naw, that’s me and a couple of the other guys. Amy’s pretty cool though. She can teach you a lot if you pay attention. When I first got adopted, I-” “I literally don’t care, Darby. Could. Not. Care. Less.” “My name’s Da-.” “Don’t care.” Now that I knew this sub-Amy nutbag’s name was Danny I would never get it correct again. I huffed over to an empty crib and lightly rammed my face against the bars. The cool untouched wood felt good against my skin. I was going to call the Daddy on duty to put me in so that I’d have a level of separation from this cult within the cult. I’d be safe there. Safe and alone. Safe, and alone, and away from the door. Safe, alone, and away from a poorly guarded exit that had only one trusting guard and with no allies or pawns to act as distractions. And every day it was getting easier to pee myself. Or wear wet. Or drink from a bottle. Or be carried around. Or half sleep through getting my clothes ripped off of me. Well, fuck. I was throwing away perfectly good opportunities here. How to use them, though? I was in a room full of people who had been broken in with the same methods that Beouf used. I hadn’t asked around, but chances are more than a couple of them had literally ‘graduated’ from Oakshire Elementary on their way to a full scale daycare. What could be done with a room full of people who were essentially like Amy? Not quite, Amy, actually. Not even close in some aspects. I’d been able to make some of them cry. I was getting good at controlling Littles through tears. My smile didn’t reach my soul, though. Once a week for about half an hour? Bullying wouldn’t work. “Ooooooookay!” I shouted in the same teacher voice I’d used earlier on the playground “Gather round one and all!” I mixed in a bit of an old fashioned carnival barker flare. “Hurry! Hurry! Hurry! Step right up! Step right up!” Just like before the mice gathered around me like I was the Pied Piper. “Friends, do you like playing tag but are constantly flustered by tag backs? Do you deserve to be in your school’s Winter Pageant but keep getting cast as Tree Number Four and yearn to flex your acting chops? Then do I have a game for you?!” Among the mini-crowd Danny looked at my one-eighty attitude adjustment through confused and jaded lenses. I threw him a wink. Some might think I was being theatrical. I sincerely hoped he knew I was mentally flipping him the bird. From there I taught the group Battle Tag. It was an instant hit. “Oh Agony! Agony!” “I’m melting! Melllllting!” “Must! Stay Away! From! The Light!” “But I’m too young!” It was tamer than the playground version from earlier in the week. No hard hits or tackles. No mud to roll in. For all intents and purposes it was just a silly game of tag with a little extra sugary melodrama sprinkled on top. Nothing to be suspicious of at all, just the same silliness as the game of keeping the balloon in the air or the feathers that made things light and heavy. Speaking of which. “Gotcha!” I ran up to a pot bellied mammoth of an Amazon man. I was panting but not even working up a sweat, even though I was cocooned and fuzzier than a caterpillar. “No thank you, Clark.” The Amazon man on nursery duty said. “I’m not playing.” Damn. “Okay.” I filed away his appearance. This one didn’t play with us. I’d need a player at some point. I went and just barely caught up Danny. “Gotcha!” While he contorted on the ground screaming about his spine, I rested my hands on my knees. Goat’s milk was a bad choice. I was only able to keep up with some of these guys because Littles’ playroom had less space to run in than Beouf’s fenced in playground. “Alright everybody,” the Amazon called. “Line up. Time for checks and changes.” Panting and giggling, everyone else made a single file at the changing table. I looked around for explanation. “Kylie’s Papa likes to check and change everybody before the meeting ends.” They sounded annoyed but not put out. The attendant heard that evidently. “I never give anybody back wet.” He patted a couple packs of different diapers he’d brought in himself. “Don’t worry. I’ve got something for everybody.” “Sometimes I like to hold it and go just after I get checked,” somebody whispered. “Just cuz.” Nodding and giggles was the reply. I imagined myself in front of everyone stripped down and wanted to heave. It wasn’t just the heat and the goat’s milk this time. My hand shot up. “Uh…sir.” I called, feeling my throat tighten. “My Mommy and teacher are the ones who change me, normally. And our changing table is kinda…private.” This was the wrong move, evidently. The ground trembled beneath my feet as he strode. “Then you can go first, buddy” “What?!” My shriek came out as a cracking squeak. “Everybody is single file and I’m a pretty big guy.” He grabbed his belly for emphasis. He could have played Santa at the Mall. “Don’t need a curtain when you’ve got me.” “Um…I can wait.” I was expecting taunting. Something like “Awww, poor baby is afraid to get his diapie changed.” Or “Widdle Clark wants to keep playing in his soggy pants! What a precious baby!” It’s what I would have done if I’d had the backup and thought I could have gotten away with it. What I got was the so-called kids of Little Voices politely looking away and pretending not to notice me pleading like a public change was some kind of execution. “Seriously, Clark. It’s okay.” Danny said. “We’ve all been there.” “No thanks, Darren.” “Dan-” “Whatev-” I was in the grip of the behemoth before I’d finished my insult. “This won’t be so bad,” the big man confided in me. “I’ll make it quick. In and out; up and down.” “No!” I croaked. “Stop! Not yet!” I had the barest inkling of what that Little girl in the barbecue restaurant had felt like. I wasn’t ready. I was never going to be ready. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s get this over with. Make your Mommy proud.” Like lightning I was trapped on the mat, my breath heavier than normal. It was nothing for him to unsnap the inseam of my jammies. I started quivering as ice cold air poured over my lower half. “Monkeez, huh? Good. That’s what I brought.” He lifted my legs up so he could get the lower half out of the way; make it easier to slide the old diaper out and the new one in, but when he grabbed me the ankles he paused and let go of me. “Wow, you’re kind of red.” Of course I was red. A strange man was about to drag an ice cold rag across my privates in front of everyone. Why wouldn’t I be red? “But not sweating…” “Clark?” Janet’s voice got my attention. She walked into the playroom, leaving the lower door wide open. “Hey Don. What’s wrong?” The big guy put his icy cold hands on my forehead and cheeks. “I’m not a doctor, Janet, but I think your baby’s sick.”

Chapter 32: Shopping Trip Two (Electric Boogaloo) How lovely to be a woman, The wait was well worth while; How lovely to wear mascara And smile a woman's smile. How lovely to have a figure, That's round instead of flat; Whenever you hear boys whistle, You're what they're whistling at. “Katlynn?” Tommy called out. “Katlynn? Can you hear me? Katlynn?” Tommy’s sister was ignoring him. Tommy couldn’t tell if it was intentional or not. Was this some new magic of Malacus? Tommy didn’t know. Couldn’t know. “Katlynn?” His sister didn’t so much as stir. She just kept staring, mesmerized by the box of pink Pull-Ups there in the diaper aisle. Yes, diaper aisle. The Bullseye Shopping Center was so big that instead of an aisle, it had a whole baby section, with diapers, pull-ups, and training pants taking up an entire aisle. Everything was bigger all of a sudden, and not just because Tommy had shrunk again. His house was bigger. Two stories! The fact that he now had a house instead of the apartment complex where he’d grownup had been enough to startle Tommy into quiet contemplation while he ate his hearty breakfast of pancakes, bacon, and eggs. The little compartments of his child’s tray had been decorated with pictures of Paw Patrol characters. That wasn’t all. After breakfast, Mommy had told Katlynn to go shopping for a few odds and ends and to take Tommy along so she could go over receipts for the antique store. Katlynn had agreed, and Mommy dressed Tommy up in a t-shirt and shorts that didn’t even go down to the knees. Aesthetically he was almost identical to the playground that wasn’t a few days ago. The shirt was blue with a green cactus on it with the words “I like hugs” on it, and the shorts matched. Preening in his bedroom’s full length mirror, Tommy quickly figured that if he bent over or raised his arms above his head, anyone looking for it would be able to see the thin waistband of his Paw Patrol Pull-Ups. Not that it mattered. There was the same obvious padded bulge in his shorts. For all intents and purposes he was wearing a diaper without tapes. These had to be thicker than the actual diapers he’d worn last night. There was that same muted crinkle when he moved, and he didn’t walk as much as literally toddled from foot to foot. And this was dry! Somehow Tommy knew that when he had an accident, his Pull-Up would sag and swell beyond what it currently was. Just as he had been considering this, Katlynn grabbed him by the hand, led him out to her car, buckled him into the booster seat, and took off for Bullseye. Ooof! So much to unpack there: A two story house; getting to wear Pull-Ups full time; Mommy seeming to OWN an antique store (or at least be in a high up position); Katlynn having a car! Heck! Bullseye was easily one of the most expensive stores in Scrumpton. It sold clothing AND toys AND groceries. Almost nothing was off brand, and even the store brands were significantly more expensive than the stuff at the Shop-N-Go. It even had a seafood section yet didn’t smell of fish AT ALL! In the course of a few weeks, Tommy had gone from being a highschooler to a big toddler; and his family had gone from poor white trash to upper middle class! And he was the only one that seemed to notice! What Tommy was noticing right now, though, was how intently Katlynn was staring at that package of pink Pull-Ups. She seemed intoxicated. Mesmerized. Almost lusting after them. In a rare moment of self-reflection, Tommy frowned. Is this what he’d looked like back at the Shop-N-Go? It was so weird seeing it from the outside. “Katlynn!” He tried again. “Katlynn? Can you hear me? Can you understand me?” A few days ago, Tommy had been relegated to ‘special classes’ at the school and no matter how many times he proved otherwise, people assumed he was the dumb kid. Had he gone below even that now? He’d have reached up to tap her on the shoulder or to pull on the hem of her dress, but he couldn’t even do that much. The moment they’d gone through the whooshing doors of the store, Katlynn had plopped into the shopping cart’s seat. He JUST fit, but he still fit. Tommy couldn’t tell if he’d shrunk that much, or if like a certain pair of thick cloth training pants he’d once worn, the seat had magically expanded just enough to make room for him. Maybe a bit of both? At present, Tommy was just out of reach. “Katlynn? Katlynn!” Still no reaction. Katy was in la-la land, biting her lip and sucking on her teeth in between muted whispers. A lightbulb went over Tommy’s head. “KATY!” Her back went rimrod stiff and her head snapped to attention. The pink package that she’d been inching closer and closer into her hands got shoved all the way back on the shelf. “What’s up, Tommy? Do you need changed?” She looked guilty like she’d been caught doing something wrong; even guiltier when mentioning changing him. “Changed?” Tommy parroted. “No! I don’t. I mean, I think I don’t…” Tommy decided right then that he didn’t like grown-ups like Katy asking if he needed changing as much as them just checking and seeing for themselves. It was just easier that way; less pressure on him to know. Then he mentally backpedaled realizing that would mean his sister sticking her fingers in his shorts. “Why are you looking at the pink ones?” he asked. “I’m a boy.” “Oh yeah,” Katy agreed. She patted him on the head. “You’re a big boy.” Instinctively, Tommy knew that that was a lie. Big boys didn’t need to be reminded. And a growing part of him had no such desire to be one. “I just got distracted.” “Distracted by what?” Tommy asked. Katy spared one last glance at the pink Pull-Ups. “Nothing…It’s just...sometimes...you wouldn’t understand.” She huffed, then put a package of the blue ones in the cart. “Is this about what happened in Malacus?” Tommy whispered. Katy frowned. “Malacus?” “That was completely messed up. I actually wanted to talk to you about it…” “What’s a Malacus?” Katy asked. She blinked and mouthed the word, getting a feel for it on her tongue. “Isn’t that the label on Mom’s old clock?” “Yes!” Tommy bobbed up and down in his seat. “And it’s the world INSIDE the clock!” Katy looked like her brother had just suggested she nail jell-o to a tree. It just didn’t make sense. “Tommy? What are you talking about?” “Y’know,” Tommy pushed. “Last night? Inside the clock? You and me? I was flying. Nox the centaur had you in a jumper? You were wearing a diaper…” Katy’s eyes went wide and wild. “How do you know that…?!” She’d leaned in and whispered as if Tommy had just cast a spell. “Did Mom tell you? Does she know?!” Now it was Tommy’s turn to be completely taken aback. “Mommy? I mean..Mom? No. She wasn’t there. Just us.” Katy’s eyes danced in her head, doing some kind of mental calculus; retracing her steps. “Okay...okay…” she said. “So how about this. If you keep this our little secret, how about I get you some MnM’s?” Tommy balked. Secret? Why wouldn’t he keep this a secret? It’s not like Mommy would believe that the twins had journeyed to a magical fairytale land that was inexplicably diaper them, anyways. “Peanut MnM’s,” Katy added when she mistook Tommy’s confusion for consideration. “I know they’re your favorite. They’re still your favorite, right?” Did she not remember? She must not have. But why not? Why didn’t she remember? “Sure,” Tommy agreed, if only to ease his twin’s panic. “I’ll keep your secret.” “Promise?” “Promise.” The tension didn’t quite leave Katy’s frame, but it visibly diminished. “Thanks,” she said. “You’re a good little brother.” She gave him a kiss on the forehead. Tommy didn’t feel disgusted or cootied out, as much as he felt sorry for whatever Katy was going through. A rumble in Tommy’s stomach foreshadowed that he was about to go through something himself; or more accurately something was about to go through him. “Um...Katy,” he started. “Remember when you asked if I needed to…?” “Hey Katy,” a deep baritone called out. Katy whipped her head around. “Jefferson?” A tall and trim, not quite elven boy walked up to them, but he only had eyes for one of them. Jefferson was captain of the Scrumpton soccer team and point guard on the basketball team. Mega jock; mega preppy; and he had the trendy clothes and frosted tips to prove it. He’d never done anything to Tommy, but that was probably because he was so far above him, that Tommy wasn’t worth a blip on his radar. Tommy didn’t even know if Jefferson was the guy’s first or last name. To everyone on campus, teachers included, the guy was always just ‘Jefferson’. “How you doin’?” Jefferson asked. “I’m just shopping for my mom. Taking care of my little brother.” There was a bit of an awkward pause. “Y’know...getting him diapers and stuff. Y’know?” Jefferson nodded. “I got a kid brother, myself,” he said. “I know how it is.” “We’re twins.” Tommy interjected. “Good for you, little dude!” Jefferson, reached out. “High five?” Instead, Tommy crossed his arms, letting the offered hand hang in the air. Katy chuckled nervously. “He’s just shy.” “It’s cool.” A slight cramp made Tommy remember that there were more pressing needs than past slights, real or imagined. “Katy…” Tommy yelped from his seat in the court. It went ignored. “So what are you doing here?” Katy asked the mega jock. Jefferson shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s Sunday. Nothin’ to do. Came here to people watch. Then I started watching you…” Tommy rolled his eyes. What a lame and creepy pick-up line. Katy didn’t seem to think so. She giggled. Another cramp made itself known. “Katy…I gotta...I gotta.” “Yeah?” Katy asked. “Yeah.” The two started staring into each other’s eyes. “Katy...I gotta go potty!” Katy broke off her gaze long to stare Tommy in the phase. Katy wasn’t much of a schemer; she never had been anyways; but Tommy knew when the wheels were turning in her head. He saw a strange combination of the mental calculus when she’d unsuccessfully recalled last night crossed with the bizarre and guilty look she’d gotten when he’d caught her ogling the Pull-Ups. “Don’t be silly, baby. You’re not potty trained, yet.” She turned her back to him. “Kids. Y’know?” “Yeah, my baby bro went through the same thing at that age. Lots of false alarms.” “We’re twiiiiiins,” Tommy groaned as a turtle head breached in the back of his shorts. “It’s true,” he heard Katy say. “He’s got a condition” “Yeah?” Jefferson asked. “Yeah, basically he’ll never mature physically past like...second grade...and mentally like...maaaaybe three?” “Oh, that’s really cool of you,” Jefferson said. They were both oblivious to Tommy’s squirming. Meanwhile Tommy was at war with himself in more ways than one. To hold or not to hold? That was the question. Whether it was nobler to suffer the cramps and pains and continue a battle that he desperately didn’t want to fight, or to admit to himself exactly how much of a baby he really was. That was the question. It wasn’t a question that Tommy got time to answer. Far too soon, his body overridden his will. What would be the last cramp rocketed through him and out his backside. “Kaaaaaaty!” Tommy groaned. His body forced him to lean forward over the shopping cart bar. The young man was completely aware as the mess poured out of him and into his Pull-Up, squishing against him instead of sagging as it found no room to droop there in the hard plastic and metal seat he was trapped in. Tommy was equally aware of the conflicting feelings of shame and embarrassment mingling with the feelings of relief and pleasure. And in the heat of the moment, the ratio was favoring relief and pleasure. “I POOPIED!” There were no gurgling or rude sounds coming out from behind him. If Tommy hadn’t announced it, there was a very strong possibility that no one would have known (at least if they weren’t close enough to sniff). Jefferson looked down at his wrist. “Uh...gotta go.” He had no watch on. “Wanna chat on Instagram later?” “I’d like that,” Katy said. “Alot.” The popular boy left Katy and Tommy by their lonesome. Tommy half-expected Katy to whirl around and admonish him for pooping his pants in public. He’d just cock blocked her with his poopy Pull-Ups. She didn’t seem that mad, though. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s okay,” Katy said. “You can’t help it.” He could though. Or at least he could’ve if Katy had gotten him out of the shopping cart. She looked around the cart, this way and that, over and under. “Dang it! I forgot to bring your diaper bag,” she huffed. Tommy couldn’t help but feel that this was a little bit performative on her part. The cart had some odds and ends in it, but not nearly enough to warrant more than a glance to confirm. Tommy’s heart skipped a beat when Katy wheeled the cart down to the diapers and put the largest size Huggies in the cart. “What are you doing? I’ve got Pull-Ups…” Katy shook her head. “And if you’d just wet, I’d change you into them. But I don’t know how to change a messy Pull-Up. So diapers it is.” Tommy didn’t know what to say. Should he cheer? Should he struggle? Should he whine? A little gasp escaped his lips as the front of his Pull-Up warmed and wet. He could just imagine the little paw prints on his Pull-Up fade away as the droplets of urine splashed on his privates seconds before being absorbed by the padding. He hadn’t felt that coming at all! He’d NEEDED the Pull-Ups. Katy took his silence for pouting. “Don’t worry, baby brother,” she said to him. She took a moment and threw a packet of wipes in the cart for good measure. Baby powder, too. “You can get back in your big boy pull-ups once we get home.” “Okay…” Tommy mumbled, as he was wheeled away to the checkout line. Just before they left the baby section, Katy stopped by a shelf filled with little nick nacks. Tommy thought he’d seen her grab something, but he didn’t see what. He was too distracted by the other boy in the neighboring cart. Passing by them on the way to the diaper aisle was a young mother and her baby. Except the mother wasn’t all that young, and the baby DEFINITELY wasn’t a baby. He was smaller that Tommy, maybe the size of a preschooler, and he was obviously wearing a diaper; the complete lack of pants proved that. But even though his face was as hairless as Tommy’s, he was at least double Tommy’s age. He wasn’t decrepit by any definition, but Tommy wouldn’t have been surprised to hear if he was in his thirties. The ‘baby’ made eye contact with Tommy and his face went pale. Tommy imagined it’s the face the Phantom of The Opera might make if someone ever peaked under the mask. He’d been recognized, and realized as much. “Hey,” Tommy called to his sister. “Did you see that guy?” Katy threw a glance over her shoulder. “Who? That baby going by?” “Yeah,” Tommy said. He wanted to bounce, but that would only make the mess in his pants worse. “Him! Except that’s not a baby! He looks more like me!” That only got a condescending pat from his so-called big sister. “Don’t worry, Tommy,” Katy promised. “You’re not really a baby. You’re a big boy.” As they turned the corner, Tommy caught a last look at the toddler with a man’s face. This time, his expression was more pitying than pitiable. The check out was quick. Less than twenty items. Tommy barely even noticed the banter between the cashier or the remark that “Someone needs a change.” Followed by, “Changing station is in the family bathroom to the left, dear.” He was too stunned by what he’d just seen for anything to register. What he did register was how Katy ripped open the pack of Huggies and took out a diaper. What did register was how she lifted Tommy out of the cart and carried him into the Family bathroom. What did register was the feeling of the hard plastic of the public changing surface. Tommy fit. Just like with the cart, it was a matter of ‘barely’, but he fit. Katy pulled the strap over his chest, as if he were some dumb infant that might roll off. “Just in case,” she promised. Tommy didn’t complain. She worked his pants down to his ankles, exposing the Pull-Up. Rubble had seen better days… A brief flash of disappointment and panic flared up inside him when Katy put the diaper on his chest. Some part of him was desperately afraid that he wasn’t going to wear it. “Hold this for me,” Katy said. “I gotta get ready.” Ready, in this instance, meant ripping the safety seal off the package of wipes. Ditto for the baby powder. It meant one other thing, too. Tommy gawked as his sister opened a double pack of pacifiers; one blue and one pink. “Here,” she said, shoving the blue one in Tommy’s mouth. “Suck on this. It’ll help.” Tommy tried...and it did Quite pleasant, really. He didn’t even think where the other one ended up. “Okay…” Katy said, more to herself than to him. “Here...we...go…” On ‘go’, she ripped open the sides of the Pull-Up. Slowly...far too slowly. The sides were flimsy, but unlike his Buzz Lightyear Pull-Ups, the Paw Patrol didn’t have sides that weren’t explicitly meant to be torn open. What took Mommy less than two seconds, took Katy closer to twelve. And twelve seconds is a long time to just wait laying in your own filth. Tommy couldn’t help but feel self conscious. That feeling only multiplied when the Pull-Up was finally torn open and folded away from him, leaving him exposed. Katy started immediately breathing her mouth in short staggering breaths. “What’d you eat?” she asked. Tommy couldn’t bring himself to say anything, instead choosing to just suck on the rubber nipple in his mouth. Katy wasn’t as good at changing him as Mommy or Nanny was. She had far less experience. Her wiping was more ginger; less decisive. And her eyes betrayed a feeling of being grossed out. Tommy knew she wasn’t talking to him, when she mumbled “It’s okay. It’s okay. Just a little poop. That’s all.” Clearly, in whatever way the world had altered itself, Katy had never been left in charge to babysit. (And then the thought of needing a babysitter caused him to suckle even harder.) The cleaning up process was long and uncomfortable (for both of them it seemed). But Tommy allowed himself a sigh of relief as the last of the messy not-diaper was slid out from beneath him and tossed into the garbage. His ass scraped a bit under the rough textured plastic. It was only then that the Huggies was taken from him, unfolded, and then slipped beneath him. From behind his pacifier, Tommy smiled. Somehow the cushioning felt even thicker! “Almost done,” Katy managed to coo as she sprinkled baby powder over his grown. Tommy allowed himself a giggle. Then, Katy drew up the diaper between his legs, and sealed him in with the tapes. Miracle of miracles, it fit! It shouldn’t have, Tommy realized, but it did. It was somehow even thicker than his Pull-Ups! His knees wouldn’t touch! Katy helped him down off the changing table. She bent over and was nice enough to pull up his shorts for him. “All done.” All done, maybe, but not all covered. Before, he might have to bend over to show off his Pull-Up. The diaper was so puffy and bulbous that shorts were just a formality. The moment, he left the bathroom, everyone would know exactly what he was wearing. “Thankyou,” Tommy gave his sister a hug. And he meant it. ******************************************************************************************************* That night, Katy fell back on her bed with a devious grin on her face. She’d done it! She’d actually done it! Mom was less than thrilled when Tommy came home in Huggies, of course, and told him as much after she’d changed him out and set him down to watch Thomas and Friends for the millionth time. “Katy! What were you thinking? Do you want to set back what little potty training he has?” “No,” Katy lied. “I just didn’t know how to change a poopy Pull-Up, is all. I’ve never had to.” Mom scoffed. “It’s just common sense, Katy! You rip off the Pull-Up. Clean him up, and then have him step into a new Pull-Up! It’s not rocket science. You can even get him in one without having to take his pants all the way off. You’d have to take one shoe off at most.” Katy loaded her silver bullet. “You never taught me that!” she said. “You hardly ever let me take care of him! It’s like just because we’re twins you treat us like we’ll both never grow up!” “That’s not true!” Mom said. And it wasn’t. But it didn’t have to be. Katy could see the look in Mary’s eyes that she was backpedaling. Backpedaling was good. “I’m sorry I screwed up,” she said. “He just pooped...and I panicked and...and...yeah. But I got rid of the diapers. This was just a one time thing. I’m sorry.” It worked like a charm. Mom left her alone and went back to babying Tommy like she always did, and Katy had the rest of the day to plan and fantasize about right now. Right now, Katy was laying on the spread out Huggies on her bed. She hadn’t lied. She had gotten rid of the diapers...right into her bedroom. And she’d dispose of them one diaper at a time. It would just be a matter of ditching them in Tommy’s pail. The diaper genie bags were pretty opaque, and Mom wouldn’t notice a handful of diapers among all of Tommy’s soiled ‘big boy pants’. Clumsily, she dusted herself with baby powder, making sure to inhale as the fragrant aroma wafted into her nostrils. So good. Putting the bottle aside and closed her eyes and reached forward, pretending that it wasn’t her own hands pulling the diaper up between her thighs. It was someone else who was taping up the Huggies. But who? Jefferson? Jefferson was cute, but he wasn’t...big enough….mature enough. He’d be in the nursery with her...not changing her. Then who? The strangest image flashed beyond her eyelids. Mr. Jordan? Her math teacher? Ugh...why him? And yet, when she thought of him, she suckled on the pink pacifier she’d smuggled away a little harder. “Don’t worry, baby girl,” imaginary Mr. Jordan whispered to her. “Daddy will take care of you.” Ew! Why was this turning her on? Yet as with so many things, in the heat of the moment, even the most rational brain doesn’t ask WHY its turned on. It just goes with it. “Good girl,” the phantom teacher cooed and whispered. “Now you’re all nice and safe. No leaks.” Katy opened her eyes and looked down at her handy work. Amazingly, it fit! The diaper fit! Katy suckled harder on her new paci. Katy knew she was small, but she hadn’t thought she was baby small! She sat up, shuddering at how the fresh padding crinkled beneath her and forced her legs out. Slowly, she crawled along her bed looking backwards at her ass. This was unexpected! Katy had hoped it would fit, but she had imagined that the diaper would be stretched to its absolute limit; with velcro tabs just barely holding it all together. One wrong move and the thing would rip apart. Not this though. The tabs almost touched the center of the landing zone, the material stretched and collapsed with her movement instead of being pulled to its limit. It was like it had been made for her! Katy wanted to cry, she was so happy! Instead, she peed herself. She relaxed her bladder, and let go of the applejuice she’d been holding in since dinner. It wasn’t the timid little trickle that she released bit by bit when she stole Tommy’s Pull-Ups. This was a complete flood. Looking down at her crotch, Amy held her breath, slightly afraid that the garment might leak after all. Nothing. No leaks. The Huggies held it all. And there was no wetness indicator, no fading designs or color changing lines down the middle of this one. If Amy hadn’t been already staring, she might not have noticed the slight discoloration of white to off-white in the spots where the diaper absorbed her release. “Uh-oh” she whisper-mumbled to herself. Baby just had an accident. Katy frowned at that thought and, she corrected herself. No. Not uh-oh. Babies didn’t have accidents. They were supposed to wet their diapers. And they didn’t say uh-oh, because nothing had gone wrong. Nothing short of leaking should merit an “Uh-oh.” Instead, she just suckled her pacifier and lightly bounced on her bed, enjoying the warm wet feeling as she squished in her baby pants. She laid back again, and grabbed her feet, enjoying the crinkle and squish as she tried unsuccessfully to make her knees touch. Magical! Just Magical! In the middle of her exhilaration, Katy looked over to the giant Teddy Bear in the corner of her bedroom. A leftover toy from some carnival or another...or maybe it was a birthday present... that had been relegated to decoration status. Looking at it, Katy had a naughty idea: Babies didn’t just crawl around and wet themselves. Babies played. Toddling over to the corner, Katy through the big stuffie down on the ground, and straddled the midsection. Good. Just like she remembered it. The core of the midsection was flexible, yet firm. Like a beanbag. Experimentally, Katy rocked her hips forward, and was rewarded when there was juuuust enough resistance for her to feel something through the thick padding. Closing her eyes, she picked up the bear’s soft stubby arms for balance, and started to grind her hips through the multiple layers of padding. But in her mind, Katy wasn’t grinding on a beanbag teddy. She was riding on Daddy’s knee, holding his hands. “Giddy up little cowgirl!” A far too familiar voice cheered in her ear. “Ride ‘em! Ride that pony!” The moan from behind her pacifier muffled any misgivings about who she was imagining ‘Daddy’ to be. “Looks like my little girl is wet,” Daddy chuckled, (which was an odd thing because she could never remember hearing Mr. Jordan laugh). “But not too wet. We’ll change you later, after we’re done playing.” Music to Katy’s ears. “Faster, Daddy!” she whispered out loud but shrieked in her mind’s eye. And of course, since Katy was actually in control, Daddy went faster. Faster. Bumpier. Katy grunted and groaned as she humped the stuffie, all while giggling at the nice wet tickly feelings down below. Faster. Bumpier. Rougher. “You’re such a good girl,” Daddy told her. “Such a happy little baby.” Faster. Bumpier. Rougher. Harder. “I hope you never grow up.” Those words; those imagined words; are what pushed Katy over the edge into climax. Now she’s really used her diaper. Just like a good baby. Panting and glistening with sweat, Katy collapsed on the floor, smiling stupidly as she sucked on her pink paci. Best. Day. Ever. She didn’t even care that she’d technically used her little brother as a diaper mule. “Wanna play again, baby?” the voice in her head asked. Silently, Katy nodded as her hands slid down her waist. The pulp had been moved around alot from all the grinding, but it still felt good. “Looks like you wet again,” Daddy teased. “We’ll definitely have to change you after we finish playing.” Imaginary Daddy lied, though. Katy didn’t get changed until the alarm on her phone woke her up for school the next morning.

Chapter 76: Playpen Kingpin Tommy had a very difficult next couple of days in Mrs. Beouf’s Maturosis and Developmental Plateau Class. As near as I could tell, Tommy spent the next couple of days completely red faced, trembling, growling under his breath, and fighting back tears. “Awwww, look at the baby! Did the baby go pee-pee in his widdle pants? I bet he did! I bet he did!” ‘How adorable! He’s sucking his thumb!” “I could just pinch those cheeks!’ “Is he gonna cwyy? Does the baby need an extra nap?” All of these damn near Amazonian remarks were coming out of much smaller mouths and said with a subtle underlying venom born not out of ignorance or societal brainwashing but with frustration and hate. It hurt me almost as much as it did him. On top of that came the pinches, the flicks, the pokes, and the back claps that were more than a little too hard. For some unfathomable reason, Tommy was attracting an inordinate amount of mosquitos, gnats, flies, and the like that just needed to be swatted and picked and slapped. Maybe it was because his breath smelled like sour breast milk, or because he kept spilling sweet sugary mush on himself at breakfast and lunch, or because he couldn’t keep his diaper clean for even an hour. It was for his own good, really. “Just missed it.” “You should have seen it!” “Spider!” Pile on how much help Tommy ‘needed’ and he had even more cause to be miserable. “Here, Tommy, let me help you color!” “Tommy! Pick this one! This is the matching picture!” “Let me break your cracker up for you so that you don’t choke. Just in case!” “Hey Tommy! Do you know what color this is? I can help you with the answer!” He was getting so much wonderful help that he barely got a chance to talk or do anything by himself without some kind of comment or intervention. The best part? I wasn’t even doing most of it. My treatment of Tommy had spread like a cancer. Rebelling and twisting Amazon rules so that they were exposed to their own pathetic hypocrisy was asking a lot of my so-called peers. Only Chaz, Billy and Annie had been trustworthy and foolhardy enough to make the attempt with me. Picking on someone as friendly and genuine and well meaning and weak as Tommy? Too easy. He must’ve been the runt of this particular litter before I got tossed in, or something. Beouf and Zoge hadn’t quite noticed yet; Tommy still hadn’t tried to tattle. But unlike with therapy sessions and centers, isolating me or putting me by my lonesome wouldn’t solve this for Beouf. Chaz and Billy were friends with Jesse and Annie still had a form of solidarity with the other girls. Little see. Little do. Razzing, teasing, tormenting, and otherwise reminding Tommy what a baby he was compared to everyone else was just another game. Was he objectively any more infantile, regressed, or generally mindfucked than the rest of us? Absolutely not. It was just part of the game. Speaking of games: “Alright guys!” I announced to the playground that afternoon. “Let’s play circus!” I used my best teacher voice with the same kind of cheery confidence that Zoge and Beouf used when they were presenting some asinine activity. No one opted out or ignored or objected. They’d been conditioned too well. The entire class waddled and toddled up around me. “Yay!” Ivy clapped her hands like an idiot. “I love the circus!” I bit my tongue. I had other people to lash out at. “Everybody gets a role to play,” I proclaimed. “I’ll be the ringmaster, and announce the acts. Our stuffies can be most of the audience so we don’t have to carry them.” I took a second and set Lion down leaning against the low balance beam. “Mandy and Shauna can be acrobats.” They high fived each other and copied me, plopping their cotton homunculi down next to Lion. Little see, Little do. I did a quick double take watching Mandy walk. ‘Walk’ was using the term generously. Her Mommy had switched her to a thicker brand of diaper and Winters had mentioned that Mandy was doing ‘very well’ in Physical Therapy. “Um…no offense, Mandy, but are you sure you can do cartwheels…as is…?” Mandy’s cheeks turned a shade rosier and she looked down at the padded bulge beneath her leggings. Annie salvaged the moment. “Let them be trained elephants,” she suggested. “It’s impressive when Elephants stand on their hind legs or piggy pack on each other.” “That’ll do.” The relief I saw on Mandy was a symphony. I took note of that in case I got bored with Tommy. “Billy’s the strongman.” “What’ll I lift?” Billy asked. “Everything that's cool to lift is bolted down. I jerked my head over to the seesaw. “See how many people you can boost up.” “Deal.” I kept passing out roles as if someone had died and left me in charge. “Jesse? Lion tamer, yeah? Annie? Clown. Slapstick or stand up. Billy can double as your volunteer.” “Maybe some of the dirt is still wet from when it rained late this morning,” Sandra Lynn piped up. “Maybe she could make a mud pie to throw in somebody’s face.” “Never mind,” I said. “Billy, focus on being strong. Annie and Sandra Lynn, clowns. Plural. I think you’ve got a routine in the works.” “That would ruin my pretty new dress,” Annie whispered. “Do it.” I spun around in a quick circle, pretending to be whimsical. Beouf and Zoge were still on their perch, looking at us tentatively. Clumped up like we were, their attention wasn’t split. They were tired however, and still naively wanting to give us a chance at something resembling free play. By my estimation we were at the very limit of their hearing so that they couldn’t quite make out what was being said as long as no one screamed or yelled. “You two are on last,” I told them. “Go pretend to play while you gather the ingredients. We’re only gonna get one chance at this.” “What about Mommy and Mrs. B.?” Ivy asked, innocently enough. I stepped in front of her. “They’re on the board of circus oversight. Have to make sure that everything is ethical. Ensure that we’re staying within guidelines for the boundaries and staying complicit and not breaking any cruelty laws or ADA regulations and that safety regulations are observed and certification is up to date to prevent any risk of disease. And that’s just Mrs. Zoge. Beouf is with the Circus Performer’s Union. Don’t get me started on Beouf and Union stop. They’re busy, guys.” “I know he’s bullshitting,” Chaz snickered underfoot, “but I’m loving it.” Tommy finally reached the point of curiosity and wanting to belong enough to speak up. “What about me?” “You’re a stooge” There was a collective inhalation as if I’d just cursed at him. “What?” “A stooge,” I said. “A shill. A plant. Your job is to sit among the audience and cheer for us. That way all the people in the audience know when to clap and cheer, too. But you can’t tell the audience members that you work for us.” Tommy’s face fell. “That just sounds like I have to watch and be part of the audience while you guys get to make jokes and do tricks.” “What?” I gasped. “Noooooo. No-no-no-no-no-no-no-noooo!” Yes. “Being a stooge is a super important job. Keeps the rubes entertained. Get it? You’re like a secret agent or…or…or…” “A Helper?” Ivy offered. Several pairs of lips sucked in in an attempt to stifle raucous laughter. “Yeah! That!” Tommy’s eyes were starting to water. Ivy might not have known what she’d said, but just about everyone else did. “Oh, I know, Ivy. How about you show Tommy how it’s done? You can be the audience plant, and to make your part more convincing, Tommy can be your baby!” Tommy’s disbelieving “What?!” came out as a hoarse whisper instead of a shout. Lucky me. “Why do I have to be the baby?” “It makes sense if you think about it.” Everyone nodded in agreement. “Chaz is the crawler. Why can’t he be the baby?” “Okay, first off, that’s pretty ableist. Not very mature of you. Second of all, I need Chaz to be the lion for the tamer. Duh.” Tommy started looking around nervously, clawing for a way out. “Why not have your lion be the lion?” “Are you asking because you think Lion is real and can actually roar, or are you just dead set on breaking the pre-agreed rules.” I got nothing but a stammering, stuttering, confused response. It’s all I’d wanted. “Stuffies are audience members. Ivy’s the circus secret agent, and you’re the baby providing her cover.” Tommy took a step out to walk around me. I closed my eyes and massaged my temples. “Ivy, take your baby to his seat.” Ivy’s hand struck out like a snake. Tommy froze and whimpered, but didn’t bother to struggle. Resignedly, he went with her and sat on the balance beam amongst all the other toys. With years of practice watching her Mommy, Ivy reached down and helped pop Tommy’s pacifier in for him. “There there, baby. You’ll love the circus along with all these other people.” My smile was grim that Tuesday afternoon. Playgrounds were a peculiar sort of torture chamber to me, though I couldn’t phrase why. But at least this playground was becoming my torture chamber. I inhaled and held my breath for moment. “Laaaaaaaaadies and gentlemen! Welcome to the Greatest Show in the World!” ************************************************************************************************** The Amazons had started to wise up by late morning Wednesday. That explained why Circle Time had an extra song about Friendship. Whole group after centers was a book about how we should be nice to our friends. Neat. Cool story. Good thing Tommy wasn’t my friend. “I’m sorry, Tommy,” I said. “I didn’t realize how sensitive you were.” I stood up and cut across the sitting circle over to him. “I’ll be more careful from now on.” I wrapped my arms around him and whispered, “Poor baby is getting picked on by all the grown-up Littles.” His arms went rigid. The rest of the class followed suit with equally backhanded apologies and hugs. Zoge looked half-way convinced. Beouf eyed me. It was a familiar look; the same I’d gotten from Brollish on multiple occasions. On the way to lunch, I spotted Jeremy Merriwether. He was full and tired and talking with his classmates. I’d blended back into the environment for him and most of the actual students. “Hey!” I shouted out. “Hey Jeremy!” His head snapped down and he looked me in the eye. I held up my plushie and proudly declared. “Lion says you can go fuck yourself!” “Clark!” Beouf barked at me. “We don’t use that kind of language.” “It’s not me,” I said, pointing to Lion. “Lion told me to say it.” “And if Lion told you to jump off a bridge, would you?” “Yes.” “Then maybe Lion shouldn’t be allowed in our classroom much longer if he’s going to give you bad ideas.” “So I can’t cuss anymore?” The threat meant nothing to me, but I wanted the others to hear it. Beouf didn’t answer right away. Maybe it was the overhead blast fan in the cafeteria, instead, but I could have sworn I heard her teeth grinding against each other. While we waited to be unclipped and seated at the communal highchairs, I turned around to my favorite bully boy, Billy. “Keep an eye on Tommy. Let him know if he does anything particularly babyish.” Billy nodded without thinking. “Deal.” A beat. “Wait. Why?” “Why not?” That was more than enough for Billy. Predictably I ended up at the exact opposite table as far away from Tommy as I could. Beouf and Zoge weren’t complete fools. Fortunately I didn’t need to be by him. I had the others. The friendship lesson before Lunch had only succeeded in adding a few new words to the rounds of passive aggressive teasing. For example, “Mrs. Zoge! Can you cut up my friend Tommy’s vegetables more? I'm worried that he’ll choke! Maybe he needs formula instead?” Or “Ew, Tommy! That’s so immature!” with just enough of a pause so that the follow up “Sorry! I didn’t mean to!” sounded sincere instead of pre-loaded. Our lunch period was halfway done and the bottles of milk were being passed out. Being last to lunch meant that the room was at a fever pitch when we entered and slowly got more quiet as classes of fourth and fifth graders shuffled out with no one coming to take their place. So it was perfect, just crowded enough, when Billy whispered something to Jesse and he shouted “Ew! Tommy pooped his pants again! Change him! Change him now! Hurry!” Billy pooped his pants sitting down enough times to where he knew exactly what to look for. I was so mesmerized by the ensuing fallout that Beouf had to swerve the plastic spork around so that the mashed potatoes would make it into my mouth. A wave of giggles rippled through the cafeteria. Very rarely did such outbursts happen. Littles in Beouf’s were usually too embarrassed to tell on themselves and the quiet camaraderie of being trapped together kept us from ratting each other out. That and until a short while ago, no one was getting changed until we got back to the classroom. It was more practical to suffer in silence. “There,” Billy ‘helped’ pointing to the bottom of the cafeteria cart. “There’s a fresh diaper there! Change him before I throw up!” Older kids giggled behind their hands. Tracy told the preschoolers at her table to hush and eat their food and to stop parroting us. Oddly enough she looked at me quizzically, even though I only opened my mouth for gobs of shepherd's pie. Did she really know me that well? “I got him,” Zoge said. Tommy was redder than a firetruck and was close to blubbering. His shoulders started heaving and he let out a low mournful groan when Zoge picked him up, pulled back his jeans and gave his lumpy bottom a pat. “Oh yeah,” she said. “Definitely.” The laughter from my old class redoubled and Tracy walked around and blocked their view of us. She was crossing her arms and widening her stance. She was just a Tweener but was more than big enough to sneer them into submission. I couldn’t hear whatever ultimatum she’d whispered to them, but it did the job. A few of my students reached behind them and adjusted their pants uncomfortably; kind of like how some people unconsciously scratch their heads the moment someone mentions lice. I couldn’t help but wonder… Zoge bent over and picked up the fresh diaper from the bottom of the cart. She started cooing at Tommy in Yamatoan. Tommy started huffing and puffing like he was fighting back tears, poor guy. We were almost done eating by the time Zoge came back with Tommy. Most of the other classes had shuffled out and Beouf was pulling double duty. He was almost in a ball like a cat that was scared to go to the vet, digging his finger into Zoge’s collarbone, and shivering like a hairless rat. Playfully, mockingly, I waved. “Hi Tommy! How was it breaking in the bathroom changing table?” Zoge stopped long enough to look right at me. Something lingered behind her eyes. It wasn’t anger. Zoge didn’t really do overt anger. Just disappointment. It took me just a second to realize that the change had gone longer than usual and it wasn’t because it had been particularly messy or that the strap on the changing station got stuck or something. Tommy had had a good long talk with Zoge in the privacy of the girl’s room. I had to sit between Beouf and Zoge instead of playing. Fine by me. Tommy got ignored on the playground. “What am I gonna do with you, Clark?” Janet asked after Beouf shared what she’d pieced together. Good question. ******************************************************************************************* “Leave me alone, Clark.” Tommy begged me Thursday. “Please.” “Okay.” I said. I kept following him around the playground. “I am.” He led me around the slide. Over the balance beam. Weaving in and out of the spring ponies. Through the tunnel. All at the leisurely pace of a horse that was made to sprint across the desert. “I just happen to be going to the exact same place you’re going to at the exact same time. What a coincidence, huh?” The others had given him a hell of a silent treatment all day. He didn’t want to be treated the way that Amazons treated Littles? Fine. He’d get treated the way I treated the giants. No talking unless absolutely necessary. Cold stares. The absolute scorn reserved for the enemy. Who would want to talk to a snitch? All it took was “Don’t talk to snitches” whispered in the bus loop that morning. By naptime, he was begging for someone, anyone to talk to him. I started humming Hush Little Baby and the others joined in. We clammed up when Beouf poked her head through the door, but the message had been well sent. He wasn’t ready to break, but not for me. “Hi Tommy, I heard you want to talk. Do you want to talk buddy? Come on! It’s me! It’s your pal! You wanted someone to talk to, well let’s talk.” Four days of gaslighting and social shunning is a lot longer off of paper. Memories are short when you’re happy. Even shorter when you’re miserable. “Clark…do you need to have a seat?” Beouf warned me. Tommy wasn’t complaining, but his body language said enough. “It’s fine,” Tommy yelled. “I’m fine!” He was a poor liar. “Come and keep me company, Clark.” I shrugged. “Fine by m-” “No! Wait!” Tommy called out. “I want to talk to Clark. Alone! Please!” Beouf looked dubious. There wasn’t much to be done if my plaything didn’t advocate for himself. “Alright…but you can come and keep me and Mrs. Zoge company too if you want, Tommy. We’re safe.” “No thanks.” I slung my arm over Tommy’s shoulders and flashed my biggest toothiest goofiest grin Beouf’s way. She knew what I was doing. I knew what I was doing. But what was she gonna do about it? That’s the problem with having beliefs and rules to follow, I guessed. You had to follow them. “Step into my office,” I told Tommy. The A.L.L. gave us the back of the tree. Annie, Billie, and Chaz coincidentally spit onto the ground right by Tommy’s feet on their way back into view. “What’s up?” I asked. “Why?” Tommy begged me. “Why are you doing this? Why me? Why now? Why are you hurting me?” A smirk played at the corner of my mouth. “Why not? What did you do to deserve this. Must’ve been something.” “Please stop. I just want to mind my own business and go to school and try and figure out a way to live my life and-” “Be a baby?” I offered. “Ye…No!” I was a tiger playing with his mouse. “You sure? Seems like it.” Tommy buried his hands in his face. I stood taller. “I just…I…I’m sorry, okay. I don’t know what I did to deserve it, but please stop picking on me.” He was close to tears. ‘I’m not like Ivy or…or…or even Sandra Lynn. I know I’m an adult.” “But you want to be like them?” He was doing everything he could not to explode. “No!” My pose was almost identical to Tracy’s in the cafeteria the day before. “Yes? I don’t know! I just want you sto..” He choked on his words lest he start weeping uncontrollably. I sat down and leaned against the tree. I was in control here. “Okay. So who should I pick on instead?” He could barely talk, but his expression showed the disbelief. “Who? Should I? Pick on? Instead? Who deserves it more?” He was prey looking for predators lurking in the tall grass. Unable to see anything, yet fearing a trap. “Sandra Lynn?” “Say it like you mean it.” “Sandra Lynn.” “Why?” “She’s been here the longest besides Ivy. She acts the most like a baby. Giggles when Beouf makes her voice go high and cutesy. Likes to show off.” If not for the Monkeez his knees would have been knocking. “This is definitely gonna be her last year at this rate.” I mimed thoughtfulness. “Hmmm…maybe. Maybe.” I looked him in the eyes and waited for him to look away. He did. I stood up and smiled. “Okay. Sure.” “Thank you!” He wrapped his arms around my waist. “Thank you!” “Sir.” “Thank you, sir! Thank you!” I called my crew back and told them the news. Tommy was okay. Maybe more adult than he seemed. Even said that Tommy might have potential, never mind that I had no idea what that meant. I didn’t tell them about Sandra Lynn. That could wait till next week. I finished that Thursday walking over to Beouf and Zoge on the playground’s bench and nestled myself confidently between them. Melony spared me a glance, wondering what I was up to. I smiled back, folded my hands behind my head and rested my eyes.