Babypants

I am still editing the next scene, as well as the Delta kegger scene in Aardvark. With both approaching 10,000 words in length, I need to cut them into more manageable chunks like I did with the Pig Sty scene. I hope to post the first part of each of these very long scenes in the next day or two. Please be patient.

Our experiences sound very much the same, except that I buzzed them to come and change the pull up before I leaked. It wasn't until my last three nights out of seventeen that they cleared me to wear my own diapers. What I really fought hard to end was the wellness checks at 23:30, 02:30 and 05:30. Poor sleep prevented me from maxing therapy during the daytime. Hospitals are the last place on earth to go if you need rest!

The stroke landed me in two emergency rooms, and three hospitals. In both emergency rooms they were too busy running tests to worry about my underwear, so I was wearing a Molicare when I was admitted and sent to a ward. The staff insisted that I wear the flimsiest pull ups imaginable, and they changed me during the wellness checks every three hours, and when I buzzed for them in between. It was not a big deal. The third unit was a stroke rehabilitation ward, and the same routine until the last three days. By then I could walk around unassisted, and had some use of my right hand (my right side was paralyzed in the beginning),so they stopped the wellness checks and let me wear my own diapers. At night I would spread out my Bambino Bellissimo, lay down and powder myself, then pull the diaper into place. Then a nurse would come in and do the tapes. They taught me a neat trick: inhale,then exhale and squeeze your abdominal muscles for a count of three. They apply the tapes one by one, and you get a very secure fit. Some of the staff were interested in the diaper, and so I ended up singing its praises. We all laughed about the cheap, shoddy pull ups they were using, but we all know how cheap hospitals are when it comes to patient care. Everybody who changed me, both male and female, was thoroughly professional, and the therapists worked hard to get me to bathe and change my diapers without assistance. When I left the hospital, I was self-reliant, and in no small part because I was working with real pros. So my advice would be to wear what you need, and rely on professionals to behave professionally. I have tried to convey a sense of this professionalism in the scene with Herb and Bernice.

It would be useful to have one prisoner attack a guard just to find out whether they have rubber bullets or real ammo. And it would be more realistic if at least one of the guards was corrupted. What I see as the weak point in the story is that you underestimate both the resources and ruthlessness of the cartels. Officials can be bribed, and they and their families can be murdered. In real life, both are daily occurrences.

Picked the wrong party. And when called out, he should have asked the girls for help. They would have been delighted to give him a proper makeover. Calling one of them a cow was stupid in the extreme.

I had this thought as well. Suicide by cop.

Quickie entertainment quiz: Playing in the background of this scene, the Delfonics' Didn't I is featured in what Quentin Tarantino film: A. Reservoir Dogs B. Jackie Brown C. Pulp Fiction

Herb's misery is taken from real life. Yesterday, my wife was driving in heavy rain in Missouri. She needed to pee, but not wanting to get drenched, she held on and kept driving. But the rain never let up, and when she finally gave in and stopped at a truck stop in Cameron, her bladder let go the moment she got out of the car and stood up. It's happened before, and at age 65 will probably happen again. It's a commonplace experience among the middle aged and elderly.

ANNOUNCEMENT: a nineteenth tranche, consisting of scenes 53-55, is now up and running on the STORIES page of the site. Once again, comments have been removed to enable readers to enjoy the story without interruption. The balance of season 2 will follow.

HOMECOMING I tried so many times and that's no lie, It seems to make you laugh each time I try. Didn't I blow your mind this time? Didn't I? Priscilla reached out to turn down the volume while simultaneously looking in the rear view mirror. She wanted to make sure that her Mom was still keeping up. Rita's townhome was out in the western suburbs, and the whole of Minneapolis separated it from the sorority house. “You okay, Babs?” Pris took another peek in the rear view mirror. Although Priscilla would never have called Babs Patterson a friend, she did know her well. For years, Babs had openly paraded her anger as if it was some kind of perverse badge of honor, but it was gone now. In its place, there was a haunted look on a face staring straight ahead, never flinching. “Babs?” “I need this, Pris.” Babs was speaking in a monotone, her voice as dead as the expression on her face. “Whatever happens, don't interfere.” Joyce reached out to clasp Babs' hand. The policewoman was her responsibility, but she was out of her depth and she knew it. The evening ahead held out nothing for Babs except humiliation and pain, and she seemed to welcome both. Joyce was having trouble breathing. There was an invisible presence in the car, an unseen monster that only Babs could exorcise. Her mind kept returning to the fence line in Forbidden Planet; the monsters were real, and every child knew it. It was the grownups who lived in a world of illusion. “What's up with Cindy's new hair style?” Priscilla had decided to change the subject, hoping to banish the monster back to its lair. “It was popular in the Roaring Twenties.” Tippi frowned as she turned the volume slightly higher. “Cindy and some of the other girls are going to dress up for the kegger in flapper dresses, and practice the shimmy and the Charleston. Disco seems to be on the way out, so the idea is to roll out a new dance routine at Moby's, and take the place by storm.” “No more waiting in line, freezing their well diapered butts off?” “That's the general idea,” Tippi conceded. “And then there's the Bandstand ...” . . . . Ten times or more, yes, I've walked out the door. Get this into your head, there'll be no more. Didn't I blow your mind this time? Didn't I? “I really like this song,” Amy murmured. “Don't know it.” Julia's eyes were glued to the road, and she was working hard to keep up with Pris. They were headed for an upscale part of the western suburbs that she did not know well. Doctors who cheated on their wives were a dime a dozen in this territory, but they did not bring their girlfriends home for a friendly chat with their soonto-be ex-wives. “The Delfonics,” Vickie commented. She and Suzie were in the back seat. “Voices like silk. Heard them a lot over the years in the airport hotel lounges. Really good for slow dancing.” “And for seduction,” Suzie added. In their scalp hunting days, Vic and Suzie had both favored groups like the Platters. You couldn't go wrong with Twilight Time. “I feel like I've driven halfway to South Dakota,” Julia complained. “and I'll have to do it again tomorrow morning. You should plan on tagging along, daughter of mine; we have to take your Dad shopping at the mall … visit a shop that you apparently know well.” Julia was being circumspect, but she could tell from the look on Vickie's face that she knew they were talking about the maternity shop. “And how's your diaper holding up?” She abruptly decided to drive the point home. “Okay for now … and Mom, thanks for switching rides. Priscilla wants to keep Babs close; she's really worried about her. And frankly, so am I.” “Do you know what it's all about?” Julia kept her voice neutral, but she had known Babs since she first joined the force, and she had barely recognized the young woman who had been sitting in the dining room. Something had sucked the life right out of her. “I think so … and no, I can't say anything. But I know what Ian's going to do, and unless I chicken out, I'm going to follow his lead. I'm just so tired of running away; I want it over.” Suzie reached out to grip Vickie's hand. “You won't be alone, Sis; whatever it takes, you won't be alone.” “Come the Spring, want to take Mom and Dad up on their offer, and learn how to ride a motorcycle?” Vickie was desperate to change the subject. “I'm thinking about it,” Suzie grinned, knowing exactly what Vic was doing. “After tonight, life on the Row may never be the same again. Just imagine. Police officers offering free lessons on their closed track out in Maple Grove, and all you have to do to qualify is get your house's collective GPA above a 3.0. What an incentive!” “Suzie's right,” Amy nodded; “at least, to judge from the way Bernice's wayward mob reacted to Sergeant Canon's offer. Maintain a B average, let the pros teach you how to ride responsibly, and you are a motorcycle away from joining the Easy Riders.” “And Sturgis here I come,” Suzie and Vic simultaneously tossed out, both of them remembering Cindy Carlson jumping to her feet and screaming “I'm in” before treating everyone present to the latest version of the Cindy Shuffle. “God, how I love my job,” Suzie declared as she gazed out into the darkness. They had come far enough west that the streetlights had given way to stop signs, the road twisting through a pine forest that sheltered some of the most expensive properties in the state. “It's an old house in the heart of the city … a bit run down, but there's so much life inside its walls.” “The exuberance of youth,” Julia quietly noted as she saw Priscilla signaling to make a turn to the left. The atmosphere inside the sorority's dining room had been electric, the girls becoming more and more visibly excited as the minutes ticked away, drawing them ever closer to that magical moment when it would be time to descend upon the Deltas in force. Cindy, Kim and Mel would lead the way in their flapper dresses, their hair coiffed in a style that had been waning just as Julia entered her teens. Nineteen at war's end, she had opted to mimic the regal pose of Ingrid Bergman as she undertook the search for a suitable husband. She had met Herb at a USO dance, a Corporal fresh home from the war, looking so dashing in his dress uniform. They had waited for his discharge, and had put off starting a family until Herb had graduated from the Academy. And Pris is now twenty-eight, and with any luck will be presenting us with a grandchild about the time Herb calls it quits. Two more left turns put them in a busy cul de sac, and following Pris into one of the driveways, Julia knew that they were home. . . . . I gave my heart and soul to you, girl. Didn't I do it, baby? Didn't I do it, baby? Gave you a love you never knew, girl, whoa. Didn't I do it, baby? Didn't I do it, baby? With the radio playing softly in the background, Ian was hard at work in the kitchen. Rita had assured him that his spanokopita would warm up quite nicely in the microwave without the crust drying out, but it was only when Sofia had arched her eyebrow that he had hastened to follow Rita's lead. Although skeptical of this new technology, he didn't want to cross his future mother-in-law, who was plainly eager to turn his upcoming maintenance spanking into the real deal. “So, what's the verdict?” Sarah was readying the bread plates, and like Ian, she was a skeptic. Rita's was the only microwave she had ever used, and the leftover pizza had come out with the texture of well worn shoe leather. She was not a fan of this increasingly popular kitchen toy. “I would prefer to use the oven warmer, but I can't turn the temperature down on the lamb. So, keep your fingers crossed.” Ian began carving the spanokopita in a crisscross pattern, trying to make the squares more or less equal. When he was finished, he delicately extracted one with his spatula, and slid it onto a plate. Not bothering with utensils, he picked it up and took a bite before offering it to Sarah. “Yum,” she whispered; “you are most definitely hired. This is sinfully good!” “Not bad,” Ian decreed after a second bite. “The crust is warm, but the center is a little too moist for my liking. Good flavor, though.” “Our guests aren't that picky,” Sarah laughed. “How's the tzatziki faring? Anybody catch on to the secret ingredient?” “Not yet,” Sarah said as she gleefully shook her head. “It pairs well with the kalamata olives, and as for the retsina? Ian, I swear, I expected this to be rotgut, but it's wonderful! It has more flavor than any white wine I've ever had, and yet it's so light. What a find!” “And we have a couple of cases,” he mused. “Although with this crowd ...” “I hear you,” Sarah agreed as Ian continued to fill plate after plate. “Harriet and Francine weren't feeling any pain when they got here, and it looks like Marge and Reiko may have stopped off at a bar on the way over. There are several places in Ridgedale Mall that are quite popular with the ladies on Saturday afternoons.” Ian had turned away to start piling plates on a serving tray when Sarah reached out to grip him by the shoulder. “Turn and face me,” she commanded. Puzzled, Ian did what she asked. Sarah's hand drifted down to attack his trousers, easing them down to his knees. “Time for a diaper check,” she murmured as she pulled his pink baby pants down and began probing inside his diaper. “So wet,” she went on, “but not enough to warrant changing you. We'll do that just before you take out the lamb.” Ian stood motionless as Sarah began fingering his cock. Without the cage, there was nothing to prevent him from getting hard, and in a matter of moments he was fully erect. “It looks like someone likes to have his Mommy play with his toy,” she whispered as she leaned forward to kiss him. “That's good, because Mommy loves her baby, and loves her toy.” “I love you, Mommy,” was all Ian could manage in return as Sarah pushed his cock down and pulled his baby pants back into place, followed by his slacks. He could smell the alcohol on her breath. Maybe the ouzo isn't such a good idea-- but he kept the thought to himself. “Now, let's serve our guests,” she finished. “You may share a glass of wine with me, and eat whatever you like, but above all I want you to circulate … make small talk. It will always be like this, Ian; now that Becky and Candy have arrived, there are ten of us, with more on the way. If everyone shows up, there will be twenty women here, and you the only man. Whether this is Paradise or Hell is strictly up to you … but it will always be this way.” “I understand, Mommy. And I welcome it.” And before the night is over, you'll understand why … And I need to talk to Rita, give her a head's up … it's possible that Babs will blow up the same way Don Phillips did … got to be prepared … With Sarah leading the way, Ian bypassed the dining room table and carried the tray into the living room. “More goodies,” Reiko called out as she jumped to her feet. She ran up to snatch a plate, with Francie and Harriet hot on her heels. Sarah offered each a fork, but they all declined. Reiko bit off a piece of the pastry, and began to chew. Then she rolled her eyes and moaned with pleasure. “Ian, you need your own TV program … 'The Samurai Chef'!” “And the wine is fantastic,” Francie agreed. “I've never had retsina before! To hell with overpriced, cocktail lounge Chardonnay! Never again!” Cheers rang out all around the room, and soon the tray was empty. Looking around, Ian spotted Sarah sitting on the floor. She had a glass in her hand, and a plate in her lap. She nodded for him to join her. Excusing himself, Ian scrambled back to the kitchen to grab another bottle of Kourtaki. He topped off a few glasses before sinking to the floor at Sarah's side. “Thought you were running on empty,” he said as he filled her glass almost to the brim. “Such a naughty baby,” Sarah mumbled as she began rubbing his crotch in full view of everyone in the room. “You go girl,” Harriet called out, earning a fresh round of cheers from the assembled throng. “Carlie, you're awfully quiet,” Rita noted. “When's the last time you had a girls' night out?” “It's been years,” she replied as she trolled through her memories. “Hong Kong, maybe? When I was in the military police? It was tough duty, and parties like this helped us get through it.” “Did you have a girlfriend out there?” Ian was genuinely curious. “Oh,” he added, “I should mention that Carlie is a Lesbian.” “Really?” Francie was suddenly all ears. “Well,” Carlie smiled, “there was this girl named Mei Ling. “She used to get me off with her toes.” “What,” Reiko yelled. “No way! You must be kidding!” “Nope. She was as good with her toes as she was with her tongue … and her tongue was exquisite.” “Unbelievable.” “Why,” Francine protested. “Just because we haven't done it doesn't mean it can't be done.” She hiccuped before taking another sip of wine. “Want to give it a try,” Ian asked. “Go for it,” Marge urged. Not one for sitting on the floor, she had dragged a chair in from the dining room, and was happily downing olives in between dainty sips of her retsina. “Won't work,” Francie scowled; my toenails are way too long.” “Mine aren't,” Carlie quietly rejoined. She was openly staring at Francie, daring her. “What? Right here?” “Typical Saturday night fare at one of our frolics.” Sarah's fingers were still idly exploring Ian's crotch, and he wasn't going anywhere. “Pretty tame stuff compared to Thursday night at The Pig Sty,” Rita dryly observed. She took another sip of retsina, which she concluded could become quite habit forming. “Think of it as light entertainment for the masses,” Becky put in. “A diversion from the usual male stripper that Rita books.” “Wow!” Harriet was wide-eyed. “You guys really know how to party!” “Who's getting spanked tonight?” Candy was a little vague about the program, and the retsina wasn't helping. She paused to take a healthy bite from a piece of pita bread, hoping that the creamy taste of the tzatziki would offset the retsina's kick. Watching Candy munching away, Ian couldn't help but grin. A breast milk cookbook was beginning to look like a real winner-- and he owed Rita and Sofia a big hug for keeping the secret ingredient to themselves. Ian caught Sofia's eye; she was also chewing away, and she offered him an ironic salute with the half eaten piece of bread in her hand, the tzatziki glistening in the firelight. Damn, but I'm starting to like this woman. Who'da thunk it? “Ian is down for his weekly maintenance spanking,” Sofia explained for Candy's benefit. "I would like to do the honors, but Victoria has drawn the assignment. It's a tutorial of sorts-- for two of the sorority girls.” “Then Vickie will be going over my knee,” Sarah went on. “Another maintenance spanking before we get to the main event-- a policewoman who made a bet with Ian on Thursday night, and lost. She behaved very badly, hence this will be a punishment spanking … a harsh one.” “Who … who is going to spank her?” Harriet was searching for words, and failing badly. She had heard of parties like this, heard about the kinky games that the wealthy and bored liked to play, but never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that she would be attending one. She had been raised in a traditional family, and she had graduated from a deeply conservative Catholic high school. She attended Mass regularly, and she wanted to marry a nice Catholic boy who would give her children and keep his many mistresses out of the public eye. Ian Grady was her fantasy come to life. And now he's going to be spanked! In front of all these women? And what is a maintenance spanking, anyway? “Vickie is our resident expert, so if her hand holds up, she'll make this a memorable evening.” “Leave Vickie out of it.” Ian's tone was so commanding that half a dozen heads turned as one. Rita and her colleagues in the Psych ward had never seen this side of his personality. It was as if Clark Kent had stepped into the telephone booth and, but a moment later, Superman had emerged. “Let Joyce do it; Babs trusts her.” Ian's tone again made it clear that this was an order, not a request. Watching him, Sofia nodded. Her future son-in-law was not one man but two, and instinct and experience alike told her that this was the genuine article. The submissive persona that he hid behind was like a suit of clothes that he could put on and take off at will. “Does this have something to do with what happened this morning?” Sarah pulled her hand away. “It does,” Ian confirmed, reaching out to pat Sarah's thigh in a gesture of reassurance. “Rita, I need to talk to you and Carlie in private. Vickie and Priscilla will be back soon, and we need to do this before they get here.” “Let's adjourn to the bedroom,” Rita suggested as she got up to lead the way. Carlie stared at Ian for a very long moment, seeking clues as to what this was all about, but he was stone faced. Shrugging, she followed Rita down the hall, leaving Ian to follow slowly in her wake. “I'm not sure how this is going to play out tonight,” he began as he shut the door behind them. “I'm not even sure of my facts, and in Babs' case it's all rooted in guesswork. But I want both of you to be prepared for things to go badly off the rails. Rita, this could be Don Phillips all over again.” “A patient in our Psych ward,” Rita elaborated, knowing that the name would mean nothing to Carlie. “Ian got inside his defenses, and he became violent. One of our orderlies had to take him down.” “And you think Babs might blow?” Carlie nodded to herself as she began to put the pieces together. “Yeah.” “Makes sense. Ian, I don't know what happened yesterday, but you shook Babs up really badly. When I tossed her underwear and locked her out of her apartment en route to the sorority? She didn't object; she just stood there, silent as a statue. There was no fight in her; it was like she was sleepwalking.” “She's hurting, Carlie. Damn it, she's hurting badly!” “You think I don't know it? She's been my partner for the last three years! Of course I know it … but what am I supposed to do? Tell her that she's a head case and needs to go see the Department shrink? It doesn't work that way, Ian. She has to seek help, or have a bad incident report serve as the trigger. It's all in the union contract.” “What are you going to do, Ian?” Rita kept her voice low, afraid that things in the room were beginning to spiral out of control “That wall I'm hiding behind, Rita? Well, guess what … there's a second wall behind the first, and I started building it when I was nine years old. And tonight, it's coming down. No more running away; I am going to take a fucking sledgehammer to that wall, and demolish it. And maybe, just maybe, Vickie and Babs will take sledgehammers to their walls as well. It's the only way any of us can get control of our lives … the only way.” “Does Vic know what you're going to do?” “Yes. She knows the whole of it. It's my breakthrough moment, Rita, and Vic's good with it.” “All right … all right. Here's what we're going to do … at least … Ian, I take it that we'll know when you're lighting the fuse?” “Oh, there won't be any doubt.” Ian's laugh was bitter. “No doubt whatsoever.” “Carlie, I want you seated in a chair, somewhere to Babs' right. I'll be sitting off to her left. If she explodes, we'll have to box her in. Then we take her down and keep her down until the hysterics pass and she begins to sob. That's when we let go. If this is what I think it is, Candy will take over. She's good, Carlie; believe me, she deals with this week in and week out, and she's good.” “Deals with what, Rita?” Carlie was pleading for enlightenment. “Abuse, Carlie … child abuse. That's her specialty.” . . . . I thought that heart of yours was true, girl. Didn't I think it, baby? Didn't I think it, baby? But this time I'm really leavin' you girl, whoa. I hope you know it, baby. I hope you know it, baby. “There's no alcohol in the house, and your wife told me that coffee's off limits until breakfast. So, Sergeant, it's juice, water, or a soft drink; you by any chance a Dr. Pepper man?” “I'll take a ginger ale if you've got one,” Herb decided. “Coming right up,” Bernice smiled. They were sitting in the kitchen, the radio playing in the background, and while she was busy with the soda Herb nudged the volume a bit higher. “Haven't heard this song in years,” he said, making conversation. “When Pris went off to college, Julia and I were at loose ends for the first time since she was born. We didn't know what else to do, so we went back to the beginning. Eating out, going dancing … I guess you could call it a second courtship. It was fun.” “Like renewing your marriage vows.” Bernice slowly poured the ginger ale into a tall glass, and slid it across the table. “And now you have a loving wife and two beautiful daughters who are going the extra mile to help you cope with an enlarged prostate. You're a lucky man, Sergeant.” “Please, call me Herb.” “And I'm Bernice. Now that we've got that out of the way, I suppose I should ask whether you'd actually be willing to help out with the Deltas. Things do tend to spin out of control whenever one of the houses hosts a kegger. Suzie wasn't exaggerating about the drunk and disorderlies.” “This is Walt Mischof's turf; how does the Chief like to handle it?” “The occasional drive-by early in the evening, but after eleven a cruiser comes by two or three times an hour. If the party looks like it's moving outside, the officer will stop and try and herd the animals back into the corral. What we're all trying to avoid is a public disturbance. Walt overlooks a lot, but that's where he draws the line.” “So, you and Suzie want me to stroll casually down the street, and drag the girls back to the house if they take it outside. But this is the dead of winter. Surely ...” “They'll be drunk, Herb; young and drunk. It's a dangerous combination.” “And this will go on until …?” “One … two at the latest. By then, everyone should have passed out.” “And as long as they're inside, just leave them where they lay. Okay … got it. Now, I guess we're down to the last item on the agenda, which is what I'm going to wear to bed.” “We both know why you're here, Herb, but it's your call. The guest bedroom has it's own facilities, but if you so choose, I can help you without getting embarrassed. I've changed so many diapers this week that I'm beginning to feel like Robby the Robot.” “One of my heroes,” Herb laughed as the memories came flooding back. “Pris was five, and resented being left with a babysitter. So, we took her with us when we went to the movies. This one scared her so badly that she came to bed with us that night … slept between us. She was convinced that the monster was hiding under the bed.” “You should be proud of your daughter. Oh, we tease her … call her the Batgirl, but the reality is that she has handled our shenanigans with real finesse. Walt hates losing her, although his respect for Ian is off the charts.” “Your adoptive son.” “My adopted son,” Bernice agreed. “Something else for us to work out-- where and when to conduct the adoptions.” “Julia wants us to get a handle on the guest list. I've got maybe seventy friends on the force to invite; I'll leave it to you to deal with this side of things. Any ideas about the hospital?” “I'll talk to Rita, but I'll be shocked if the number is less than two hundred. Vickie has a lot of friends and well wishers.” “So we need to think big … maybe something like a ballroom, or a hotel that handles large weddings. Speaking of which, we should try and get it done before the wedding.” “Works for me. Now, back to the matter at hand.” Bernice looked at him expectantly. “Right,” Herb sighed. “I'm dragging my feet, but there's no getting around this. I'm having problems at work, and my bladder is far more unpredictable in cold weather. We should do this before I start wandering the streets, but … uh … what are we going to do if I have an accident out there?” “Not to worry. Herb, I really love these girls, and I worry about them whenever they run off to do something stupid-- and that's a weekly event. I won't be going to bed until you tell me that they're okay, so if it comes to it, I'll change your diaper. We have plenty, so it's not a big deal.” “Then let's do it. I do not want to humiliate myself in public … let's do it.” . . . . “Reinforcements,” Reiko called out as Priscilla and Julia walked in together with their guests in tow. It was left for Vickie to perform the introductions, since she was the only person who knew everyone present. Ian slipped quietly back into the kitchen, but not before doing a quick head count. Eighteen women, I'm the only man, and I'm good with it. I should be freaking out, parading my insecurities like a runaway freight train, but I'm good with it. What a wake up call … “Pita bread's flying off the table, we're just about out of tzatziki, and Mom's playing bartender. At last count, we've already gone through seven bottles.” Sarah nuzzled Ian on the back of his neck, and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I love you,” she whispered into his ear. “You make me so happy.” “Back at you,” he said as he reached down to caress her hands. “Can you get Tippi something to drink while I warm up the next batch of spanokopita? Anything soft will do.” “Consider it done. Is the lamb almost ready?” “Twenty more in the oven, and five on the rack. Time to get the rice underway, and we'll get the salads rolled out in ten.” “Yes, Sir! And I'd salute if my hands weren't otherwise engaged! But first? The nursery! The chef needs his diaper changed!” . . . . “Okay, we have arrived at the moment of truth,” Bernice calmly observed. “In the immortal words of Elvis Presley, 'It's Now or Never'.” Herb and Bernice had moved to the guest room, where she had set out one of the Lullaby diapers and a pair of vinyl pants atop the bed. Bottles of baby powder and lotion leaned against one of the pillows, which harbored four diaper pins with locking heads. Bernice had learned the hard way that baby pants did not fare well when a diaper pin popped open. “You need to take off everything except your socks and undershirt,” she went on; “do you want me to give you some privacy? Maybe hide in the bathroom, with the door closed?” “Uh, yeah … yeah, I think that would probably be a good idea,” Herb blushed. Waiting until the door clicked shut, he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. Feeling like an over the hill male stripper, he hesitantly took it off and draped it over a nearby chair. Only thing missing is the music. For sure, Julia would have the stereo cranked to the max … Herb kicked off his shoes, and left them where they lay. Fuck, man, Julia's the only woman who's ever seen you completely naked. Even when I was in for the appendectomy … Getting a firm grip, he lowered his pants and underpants in one continuous, jerky motion. But he had to sit on the side of the bed to work them over his ankles … sit right there, next to the diaper. It was staring at him, reproaching him for the loss of his manhood. “I guess I'm ready,” he called out. “Let's get this over with.” Bernice walked out of the bathroom, trying to be casual. “Your pubic hair is a moisture trap,” she pointed out, hoping that a clinical approach would take the edge off what had to be the most humiliating moment in Herb Canon's life. “Some of the girls came down with a diaper rash in less than forty-eight hours. You should think about getting rid of it. If you don't have a razor in your bag, I can get you one.” “I … I think I'll pass, but thank you for asking. Besides, I wouldn't want Julia to miss out on all the fun.” “Point well taken,” Bernice smiled, still trying to put him at ease. “What I'd like you to do is lay down on the diaper, then roll over on your stomach. Do you use a skin moisturizer?” “On my hands, several times a day. Started a few years ago, when my knuckles started bleeding in mid-January.” “You and me both. Cold weather, dry skin ...” “Yeah … when I retire, I'm hoping that we can sit out January and February in Florida or Arizona. Graduate to suntan lotion ...” “You going to oil the caboose,” Herb asked as he rolled over. “A little lotion first, then some powder … still the best defense against diaper rash.” Bernice got to work, repeatedly telling herself that this was no different than readying a pork roast for the oven. She was thorough, yet kept her distance from Herb's anal opening. There were just some things she was not willing to do. “Now for the other side,” she announced, stepping back while he flipped over onto the diaper. “No point in using the lotion,” she concluded, “not with all this pubic hair. It would just cake, so we'll make do with the powder. I'll sprinkle it on, but I want you to spread it around. If you miss a spot, I'll guide you to it.” “Thanks, Bernice.” Herb looked up into her eyes, his relief and gratitude evident. “It's very considerate of you.” Nodding in approval when Herb finished up, she positioned the diaper, then explained why she was using the four pin method. When she was finished, Bernice handed him the vinyl pants. Still lying down, he pulled them into place, but she placed a hand on his chest to prevent him from getting up. “Let me check to make sure there's no cloth peeking out. That's a leak waiting to happen.” As Bernice ran her fingers around the thigh bands, Herb couldn't help but chuckle. “Ticklish,” she asked. “No. I remember Julia telling me the exact same thing the first time I changed Pris. It's funny the tricks that one's memory can play.” “Want to try walking around a bit before you put your pants on … get the feel of it?” “No time like the present.” Herb stood up, and walked back and forth across the room. “Feels strange, but not near as bad as that damned maxi pad Julia had me try last night.” “It's funny,” Bernice laughed, “but several of the girls made similar comments. Some of them plan to continue using diapers to manage their periods even when this is all over and done with.” “Makes sense. But you know what's weird? I'm actually glad that Julia got me to try the pad last night. It's really opened my eyes to what you ladies have to deal with. If I'd done this thirty years ago, I would have been a lot more supportive.” “What did you do? “Hid out in the garage.” Bernice laughed so hard that she had to dry her eyes. “Okay,” she finally managed to say, “pants and shoes next, then your shirt. Walk around the house, and use the stairs. Let your body and your new underwear get acquainted with one another.” Two more years, Herb kept telling himself as he followed Bernice's instructions. Two more years …

One off, or the start of an interesting tale?

A good read. How do the guards maintain their anonymity outside the prison? The gangs would have spies in place in surrounding communities to identify them, and then suborn their loyalty. Human guards are the weak link in this system, as they are in every prison.

Thanks for your well wishes. Therapy is physical on the one side, and occupational on the other. The most challenging occupational assignment is typing. Locate the word "point" on the keyboard, and then type the phrase "take point." It's hard, but I keep at it day after day. I am gradually getting the next chapter of this story (the kegger scene) ready while also writing ahead in the Homage story. Hopefully, sometime in July the next scene in this story will be shipshape.

Correct. Here's an example. A Chinese company manufactures a shirt for $10, which an American retail chain sells for $90. A 50% tariff increases the manufacturer's cost to $15. The manufacturer can offset the tariff or eat it, the American retailer can raise prices by $5 or eat it, or use the tariff as an excuse to do some serious price gouging. Now take a look at what retailers here are doing price wise with their Chinese manufactured adult diaper product line. Are we looking at a modest mark up for a case of diapers, or a big run up in their profit margin to take advantage of the typical consumer failure to understand how tariffs actually work?

Definitely reads like Hodgson or Lovecraft. Glad to see a new chapter.