Babypants

My thanks to Mushy Bottom for being my eyes and ears for this site while I was in hospital. Outpatient stroke rehab from this point on.

Thanks for commenting. Cindy's family history calls to mind the real life story of her idol, Gilda Gray. A talented singer, dancer and actress, Gilda Gray has her own star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame at 6620 Hollywood Blvd. Her place in American and Polish history is well documented. See, for example: https://sites.arizona.edu/vaudeville/gilda-gray-goddess-of-the-shimmy-by-david-soren/ And if you want to see what Cindy looks like as she sets out for the Delta kegger, check out this photograph: https://walkoffame.com/gilda-gray/

Quickie entertainment quiz: "What's Cookin', Doc" take us back a long way in time. Which dimensionally challenged celebrity got the line? A. Bugs Bunny B. Daffy Duck C. Speedy Gonzalez D. Foghorn Leghorn E. Pepe Le Pew

WHAT A GIRL WANTS “This is the last bus load,” Emily remarked as she and Bernice exchanged hugs. “I tried to space out the departures from the mall to buy you time. All these diaper changes ...” Looking around the dining room, she guessed that at least thirty of the girls were busily devouring a late lunch. While they hadn't actually shopped until they dropped, most had rushed from one store to the next, trying on one outfit after another at a pace that would have challenged a long distance runner. “Em, you did great.” Bernice was also surveying the room. “And I do have help. Tom and Geri, Jackknife and Slasher, Wendy and Cathy … all our new arrivals are pitching in, and they're making a big difference. And by the way, thank you for putting a pair on each van. There were quite a few messy bottoms to clean, and having extra hands from start to finish made things go a lot more smoothly.” “Glad to hear it, but you should thank Tippi. She set up a command center in the food court, got everything organized, and left it to the parents to get the girls onto the right vans. She was determined to make this as easy on you as possible.” “Our future Council President is a remarkable young woman, but at the moment, she's sailing in troubled waters.” “I know.” Emily nodded in Tippi's direction. Cindy, Kim and Melanie had charged into the dining room and were happily making the rounds, nipping a few bites of food off of plates hither and yon. But Tippi was still standing in the doorway, very much alone. “Cindy is worried about her … about the way things are going at home. She's welcome to spend the winter break with us, and we'll take in any other strays. At the mall, Ian rather forcefully reminded us of our obligations to our younger sisters, and he made it very clear that he regards Tippi as family.” “He was there?” “With his future mother-in-law,” Emily confirmed. “A Doctor Sophia Haikonnen. She's a formidable presence, as you would expect of a woman who administers one of the largest hospitals in the Upper Peninsula.” “Did it look like they were getting along?” “I think they were playing word games, but it was hard to tell. They both had their poker faces on. Bee, your adoptive son really impressed me. He's charming and affectionate, and he wears his feelings for the girls on his sleeves, but the soldier isn't very far beneath the surface. And the soldier has been hardened by combat. You can see it in his eyes; diapers or no diapers, he is not a man to be trifled with.” “Ian came into our lives at just the right moment, but I fear that Karen Walsh has conned him. You know what it's like, Em; the Faculty Advisor is Fraternity Row's link to the business community. Making the rounds begging for donations to the scholarship fund, being the odd man out at corporate cocktail parties … there's a reason why no one ever lasts more than a year or two.” “And I'm guilty of piling on,” Emily laughed. “Ian's on board with Cindy's idea to host a back to the twenties formal dress party at the end of term. He knows that the two of you will have to pitch the idea at a board meeting, and when I asked him to make the rounds of the frat houses and sell the guys on springing for tuxes, he didn't even blink. Bee, he's perfect for this job. Andrew's eager to meet him, and I daresay the business community will welcome him with open arms.” “And open checkbooks?” “War heroes make great salesmen-- and this war hero is apparently tight with the Mafia. I'm thinking of inviting Spats Belmondo to dinner sometime next week, ideally when we're hosting Ian's entire household … oh, and that includes Tippi. If Jerome Goldstein is to be taken seriously and Spats is ready to follow in Kid Cann's footsteps, I want to strike while the iron's hot.” “Em, there's just one thing. Ian has a cause of his own, and that's helping troubled vets. He's reaching out to law enforcement as well as the medical community, and the girls are keen to help. So, don't be surprised if he makes the corporate rounds with a begging bowl in each palm. Andrew should advise his associates to be prepared to dig deep into their pockets.” “Thanks for the head's up, Bee; now, if you will give me the keys, I will take the Fearsome Foursome upstairs and change their diapers. And if you happen to have a bottle of breast milk lying around ...” “Merlin Olsen is here?” Bernice pretended frantically to scan the dining room. “Where? Where? I'll change that big hunk myself!” “Nice try, Bee! But … sorry, but no. I'm referring to the notorious driver of the getaway car and her three equally felonious companions. I haven't changed a diaper in over a dozen years, but I'm looking forward to having my baby home over the break.” “Crib bound?” “Crib bound,” Emily agreed. “And she's getting the full baby treatment. No walking or talking for the duration, baby food and bottle feedings only. And if she's naughty, she gets spanked. Of course, I've warned her that the only way to get back into her sister's good graces is to be naughty on a fairly regular basis.” “Not much of a challenge for Cindy,” Bernice laughed in turn. “Now, let me get you the keys, and as for the breast milk ...” Bernice stole a look to make sure that Joyce and Babs were in the room. “Do you see Joyce and the woman sitting with her? Be casual!” “Don't recognize her; is she a sister?” “A policewoman with some serious emotional issues. She has been consigned to Joyce's less than tender care, and she's also been returned to infancy. The idea is to tear her down, get her to deal with her problems, and then build her back up again.” “Ah, so Joyce has a supply of breast milk! Got it! Bee, let's give my daughter a preview of what's in store for her. She won't be coming down to lunch; I'll bottle feed her however many bottles Joyce can spare.” “We might have to use regular milk. I can warm it up in the kitchen.” “Either way. I'm thinking six to eight bottles … really fill her tummy, and then put her down for a nap. I want her to flood that diaper of hers!” “Got time for lunch afterwards?” “Looking forward to it.” “Good. I'll try and answer any questions that you have about my adoptive son and his unusual household. But, if you can manage to get away, I urge you to go to a party that they are throwing tonight. I'm sure you'd be welcome.” “Sophia mentioned something about Ian cooking for twenty or so … Greek dishes.” “And he and Babs will both be spanked and put down for the night in one of those hospital cribs. Breast milk will probably be flowing freely, but I don't know about the baby food. Anyway, you might pick up a few tips, especially when it comes to delivering a good, old fashioned spanking. Vickie Robinson will be doing the honors, and I'm led to believe that Doctor Robinson is a world class expert on the subject!” . . . . “You're next, daughter of mine.” Emily pointed at the bed and its protective pad. “Give me a moment, Mom.” Cindy spread her legs and closed her eyes, her brow wrinkling as she concentrated on her bladder. “I still haven't got the hang of peeing when I'm standing up or lying down. It's just so weird.” “Practice makes perfect, Dear-- and you'll have plenty of chances to get it right.” “Ah … relief at last,” Cindy sighed as her sphincter relaxed and her pee began to flow. “I'm jealous of Kim. She can hold it forever, then let fly pretty much on command. So, wearing a diaper is no biggie for her.” “Give it time,” Emily commented. “By the time you graduate, all of you will be experiencing some loss of control, and your younger sisters will probably end up totally incontinent. Poor Tippi will probably spend the rest of her life in diapers.” “That's our real punishment, isn't it? I mean, needing diapers even after we graduate.” “Oh, I doubt if the judge thought it through in that much detail. No, he's probably hoping that the diapers will keep you out of trouble for the foreseeable future. Of course, his hopes will be dashed when he picks up the morning newspaper and reads about last night's antics. Have you thought about how you are going to explain this to your probation officer?” “No. Mom, do we really have to report to probation officers? Like, that's so lame!” “Cindy, you need to take all of this more seriously. You have been convicted of a serious crime. The judge could have put all of you in jail, and if you keep messing around and get on the wrong side of your probation officer, he might just decide that some time in the lockup is the tonic for what ails you. Believe me, you don't want to go to jail, and you don't want this on your permanent record. Until this is behind you, it's time to straighten up and fly right!” “But we were just having fun ...” “The only 'but' I'm interested in right now is your rear end. Move it!!” Cindy crawled onto her bed and stretched out on her back. Now that she had taken care of business, she was eager to have her diaper changed. After removing the lock, Emily gestured for Cindy to raise her hips so that she could remove the diaper cover and her baby pants. “You stink,” Emily declared when she had unpinned the diaper and let it fall open. “But that's to be expected; lotions and powder can only mask so much. When we get you home, Andy or I will give you a nice, warm bubble bath every day.” “I can bathe myself, Mom … and a shower … I haven't been in a tub in years ...” “Well, unless we're talking about a hot tub,” Cindy grinned. “Babies take baths, not showers,” Emily declared. “And an eight month old does not bathe herself. Do I need to remind you that you are going to spend an entire month being a naughty baby? No walking, no talking … bottles and baby food. Speaking of which …” Emily had slid one of the Lullaby diapers under her daughter, but she opened her bag and pulled out one of the warm bottles of milk that Bernice had supplied her. It wasn't breast milk-- Joyce didn't really have any to spare-- but it would do. Emily pushed the nipple into Cindy's mouth, grabbed her hands, and wrapped them firmly around the bottle. “I don't want to hear another word out of you,” she declared, “and if I do, I'm going to give you a spanking that's long overdue. Now, drink!” Seeing that her mom was serious, Cindy began earnestly to nurse on her bottle. She didn't mind the milk, and she thought that bottle feeding would actually be fun-- if she was drinking beer. Emily poured baby powder onto Cindy's skin, and began kneading it in. Cindy really did smell like a poopy pants, but while Emily didn't mind the odor, she was worried about her daughter getting a diaper rash. All of the girls, she realized, needed to be taking baths, but the house was only equipped with showers. The things Bernice and I have to talk about, Emily sighed. After Cindy was freshly diapered and everything was once again under lock and key, Emily laid down on the bed and drew her baby girl into her arms. She would let Cindy hold this bottle, but she was going to feed her the rest. Emily wanted a full tummy and a very wet diaper to be the only things in her daughter's immediate future. Wonder if there are any professional wet nurses available for hire in the Cities. Maybe Sarah or one of the others at the party will know … . . . . Bernice looked up when Emily walked into the kitchen. With the lunch rush over, Bernice and Cook were hard at work, planning the menu for the following week. The larder and the freezer were both full, but for years Bernice had dedicated her Saturday afternoons to shopping for the snacks that she laid out every night at ten. She always took two of the girls with her on these expeditions, and today the honor would fall to Jackknife and Slasher. Bernice was convinced that hands on was the best way for their new members to absorb the sorority's traditions. Emily headed straight for the coffee pot, but passed on the cups and saucers laid out on the countertop. Instead, she grabbed a mug from one of the cupboards overhead; she knew without even looking that cream and sugar were sitting on the table. The kitchen had changed little in the generation that had come and gone since Emily's sophomore year-- her first in the house. “So, how did it go?” “She's sleeping like a baby,” Emily replied as she opened her bag and pulled out five empty baby bottles. “I let her handle the first one while I changed her diaper, but after that I laid down beside her, cradled her in my arms, and nursed her. Bee, it was so peaceful. I could feel Cindy relaxing in my arms, and she was struggling to stay awake to finish her last bottle. It was wonderful … like stepping back in time. Until now, I never realized how much I lost when the girls started to grow up. And now I've got my baby back … for almost an entire month. A part of me wants to hold on, never let go … never let her grow up again. Cindy was such a beautiful baby!” “Go for it! Believe me, you'd be doing all of us a favor!” Bernice was grinning from ear to ear. “Our notorious driver of the getaway car is thinking about changing her major to premed, which means that I would have to put up with her for another year or two. So, please! When you get her home, put her down in that new crib of yours, and then lose the key!” “She stinks. Seriously, Bee … she stinks. When I unpinned her diaper, she wasn't wet and she wasn't dirty, but all I could smell was the pee and the poop. Showers aren't cutting it; these girls need to take baths, and they need to do so on a daily basis!” “Don't I know it.” Bernice threw her hands in the air in disgust. “Em, you just changed the Fearsome Foursome; I'm changing thirty overgrown babies at least twice a day. But what are we going to do? There are only two tubs in the house-- the one in my bathroom, and the one in the guest bedroom. Short of spending thousands on the plumbing … which we don't have, I might add … I just don't see what we can do.” Emily snapped her fingers as the answer hit her. “How about we rent … or better yet, buy ... a hot tub? One that's big enough to seat eight … more, if we can find one. We set it up on the patio alongside the barbecue pit; that way, it would only be a few feet away from the back door. We have our hard cases shower first, and then go for a soak. Problem solved, and as an added bonus, going forward we have another amenity to dangle in front of girls who are trying to figure out which house they want to rush.” “Same problem, Em.” Bernice was shaking her head. “It would cost money that we don't have, not to mention the fact that a lot of parents might not be too keen on the idea of their offspring hosting hot tub parties for the whole of Fraternity Row.” “Well, we have to call a board meeting anyway, so let's add it to the agenda. I'll ask Andrew to run it by one of his contractors, and get back to us with hard numbers. As for having a hot tub turn the house into party central ...” Emily took a sip of her coffee while she thought about it. “Bee, you've done a great job keeping liquor out of the house, and upstairs has always been off limits to boys, so it's not like we have to live down a reputation for hosting drunken parties or orgies. Again, let's run it by the board; I'll reach out to national, and see if they have any rules or regs that they would want us to follow.” “Talk to Suzie Marshall. I'll bet you dollars to donuts that she could give a seminar on the subject right off the top of her head. And do me a favor, will you? When you throw this dinner party for Ian's household, invite her as well. She's done a lot for Ian, so we owe her. Besides, Suzie's in a rut; scalping the male faculty has simply lost its pizzazz. She needs to get out more … tackle a new challenge-- and if you invite Spats Belmondo and he actually shows up, so much the better!” . . . . “I stink,” Babs flatly declared as she pushed the bottle aside. “I need to take a bath.” “True.” Joyce leaned over gently to kiss her new baby girl on the top of her head before drifting lower to kiss her on the lips. The kiss lingered, Babs responding as her mommy pinched a rock hard nipple. “I want to make love to you so much,” Babs moaned as Joyce drifted still lower, taking Babs' breast fully into her mouth. She sucked and sucked while her fingers continued blindly to tease the other nipple. “Babies don't have sex,” Joyce somehow murmured, “and you're just a baby.” “But babies nurse, and they explore the world around them with their fingers and their tongue. I want to pleasure you so bad ...” “In time, my little stink pot … in time.” Joyce picked up the bottle of breast milk, which was still half full, and pushed it back into Babs' mouth. “Now finish your ba ba,” she instructed, “or Mister Holeywood will be renewing his acquaintance with your wittle baby ass.” Joyce went back to nursing on Babs' firm breast, but her free hand drifted lower. Pushing Babs' legs apart, she began to tease the inside of her thighs with her nails. Babs moaned again, her body shivering from the waves of pleasure that Mommy's fingers and questing tongue were unleashing. But she held tight to the bottle and sucked harder on the nipple. She knew that Mommy wasn't joking about Mister Holeywood. Joyce reached up to pat the heavy canvas cover that kept Babs' diaper firmly in place. She idly tapped the lock that imprisoned Babs' loins, then suddenly began to knead the cover and the diaper hidden within. Babs and Joyce were both wearing Lullaby diapers, and unlike the bulky hospital brand, these were thin enough to allow her fingers to massage her baby girl where it counted. Babs' moans grew louder, but she kept sucking on the bottle. She didn't stop even when it was empty. “Oh, you're getting so much air into your wittle tummy,” Joyce observed; “Mommy will have to burp her baby girl … yes, she will.” She brought her hand up, found another bottle, and gestured for Babs to take it. “You're so, so hungry, and this will help settle your tummy.” Babs tossed the empty bottle aside, and promptly started nursing on its replacement. As soon as she found her rhythm, Joyce resumed stroking her diaper, condemning Babs to moan one moment and suck the next. As Joyce increased her pace, Babs' hips began to buck as she frantically tried to match Joyce's rhythm. Mommy had found her clit, and Babs felt like her whole body was on fire. She was so close! Without missing a beat, Joyce went back to nursing on Babs' breast, her fingers and her lips in perfect synchrony. Babs sucked harder and harder on the rubber nipple of her baby bottle, pulling the warm breast milk down into her throat. Nothing had ever tasted this good in her entire life! Joyce suddenly began to nip Babs' rock hard nipple with her teeth, and Babs exploded. The orgasm was so intense that it opened the flood gates, and Babs began helplessly to pee herself. Eyes closed, she groaned as the pleasurable sensation of her bladder emptying into her waiting diaper reinforced the thrusting of her hips and the spasms that rocked her clit. Joyce slowly eased off, giving her baby girl a chance to come down from her high. “Finish your ba ba,” Joyce whispered, “and Mommy will burp you … get all that nasty air out of your tummy.” “I wuv Mama; I wuv my ba ba.” Still nursing on the breast milk, Babs could only speak in baby talk. “After I burp you, we'll get you nice and clean. I want my baby girl to smell like a little princess when we go to the party tonight. Now, did you use your diapee like a good baby girl? Did you?” Babs' eyes sparkled with happiness. “Yeth, Mommy,” she managed somehow to get out as she continued to suck. “Wet diapee, Mommy! Wet diapee!” . . . . Not wanting to startle her daughter, Emily crept silently into Cindy's room. Still sleeping like a baby, she thought as she gazed down upon her eldest. And even in sleep, you are a study in grace. Taking Jackknife and Slasher in tow, Bernice had left for her Saturday afternoon outing to the supermarket, leaving Emily in charge of the household. She had methodically led the girls to the showers in groups of four, unlocked their diaper covers, and ordered them to get to it. She had watched while they soaped one another down, interfering only when she judged that they were not doing a good enough job on their diaper areas. When they were finished, she had taken each quartet back to one of their rooms, and one by one, put them into fresh diapers before pulling up their vinyl pants and canvas covers. With Wendy Stafford generously volunteering to help by taking notes, Emily had liberally applied baby lotion, oil or powder to dozens of rear ends, but she had been alarmed to discover that no less than eight of the girls were showing the first signs of diaper rash. These she had treated with generous applications of Desitin, but she wasn't about to kid herself. This was only the third day that the girls had been diapered, so it was screamingly obvious that they needed to be changed more frequently. But Bernice was already overwhelmed, so it also followed that she was going to need help-- more diapers, and more hands. Both would cost money, and there wasn't room for either in the current budget. Sighing, Emily knelt at the side of the bed and studied her sleeping beauty. With her sculpted features and hair done up in a style that had fallen out of fashion before Pearl Harbor, looking at Cindy was like turning the pages of the family photo album. She has Miriam's eyes-- that same incongruous combination of deep blue with just a hint of ancestors who long ago rode west across the steppes of Asia. She has Mom's nose and lips, but more than anything else, she has Mom's devil may care approach to life … Leaning forward, Emily breathed heavily on Cindy's nose, just enough to tickle her. “Time to wake up, sleepy head. Lots to do before you raise the curtain at the Delta house.” Groaning, Cindy attempted to roll over and bury her head beneath the pillow, but Emily wasn't having it. “You're going to miss the kegger,” she warned. “Thought that would do the trick,” she laughed as Cindy's eyes shot open, panic beginning to set in. “Just teasing,” Emily cooed, “but you do need to get a move on. First things first, though; I want to check your diaper.” With practiced ease, Emily unlocked the cover, and with Cindy's help, lowered it. Before tackling her vinyl pants, however, Emily took the precaution of poking around in her daughter's diaper. “My God, you're soaked! Cindy, what gives? You were dry when I put you down for your nap!” Cindy felt inside her diaper, and grimaced. She was wet, and worse yet, she smelled. “Oh, my God! Mom! Please … please tell me that I haven't crapped myself!” “Stand up, sweetheart, and I'll check.” Cindy gingerly climbed out of bed, and turned around. She began to blush as her mom pulled the rear of her vinyl pants back, and bent over to get a whiff. “Don't think so, but let's get you out of that diaper. Mel, Kim and Linda are waiting for you to join them in the shower. Some of the girls have the makings of a diaper rash, so I want the four of you to take your time and be thorough. I'll check you once you're clean, though just as a precaution I think that you are going to get the Desitin treatment.” Emily dropped Cindy's diaper into the pail, then picked up the discarded vinyl pants and examined them closely. “These need to be washed and air dried,” she declared. “Do you have another pair?” “Just one more. These are hospital issue, like the covers. Most of us wear the same size, so it sounds like we've really done a number on their inventory.” “Well, not to worry; I've got you covered. Your Dad's senior staff made the rounds, and put together an entire layette for you. They were only teasing the boss, but we can actually use a lot of the stuff they bought, including … ta, dah!” Emily rummaged around in her bag, and came up with a pair of pink baby pants. She shook them out, and held them up for Cindy to inspect. “At first blush, I thought that these would be too large, but your nighttime diaper is so thick that anything smaller won't cut it. Like the color?” “Like it? Mom, I love it! Thank you!!” “And they smell great.” Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Cindy held the pant up to her nose and ran it through her fingers. “Glad you like them. There's more waiting for you at home.” “Mom … Mom, without the diaper I would have wet the bed! How could this be happening?” “It's like I said, sweetie. Over time, you are going to lose some control. I'm guessing that your brain will tell your muscles to relax because there's no point holding it when you're wearing a diaper. But don't worry. When you graduate, we'll do potty training all over again.” “If I graduate,” Cindy murmured. “Sometimes, I feel like I'm a lost cause. And now, on top of everything else, I'm a bed wetter!” “Oh, honey, you're going to graduate, and on time.” Emily wrapped her arms around Cindy, and hugged her tight. “You've finished all the distribution requirements, and you have more than enough credits for two minors. Next term, declare a major in one of them, take the required courses, and you're out of here.” “That's the problem, Mom. You know how much Dad wants me to major in Business; I don't want to disappoint him, but it's just not who I am. Sorry.” “Don't be. Cindy, we both want you to be happy, so there's only one question that you need to answer: what is it that you want?” “That's easy, Mom. I want to be me.” Cindy stared at the poster of Gilda Gray, her eyes softening as she surrendered to her dreams. “I want to sing and dance and act. The dance floor and the stage … that's where I feel most at home.” “Just like your Gran; in so many ways, you are more her daughter than mine-- but then, I am definitely Daddy's little girl!” “Yeah, Gran's genes kinda skipped a generation. But I got them all! Andy is soooo serious, just like Gramps. She won't disappoint Dad 'cause she's another bank manager in the making!” “Hey, kiddo, don't sell your granddad short! He worked his way up from teller to loan officer, which was the hot seat to end all hot seats in the twenties. He was good at it, and the payoff was getting his own branch, in Saint Louis Park no less. But he was never robbed, and to his dying day he cursed his bad luck. Did you know that, when Mom and Dad were on their honeymoon up north, Dad was doing business in a bank in Brainerd the day before Baby Face Nelson stuck it up? Twenty percent of the bank robberies during the Depression occurred in Minnesota … twenty percent! Why, that robbery alone was planned in the Green Lantern Saloon in Saint Paul. Dillinger … Bonnie and Clyde … the Barker Gang … everybody who was anybody robbed a bank up here, but Dad never saw any of the action.” “Gran would have made a great gun moll! Machine Gun Miriam, they would have called her!” “Oh, I agree,” Emily laughed as she sat down and put her arm around Cindy's shoulders, hugging her affectionately. “But we Sieleckis don't rob banks.” “Nope. We let the banks rob us,” Cindy laughed. “Well, we Sieleckis have done all right for ourselves. Just think. My grandparents, Josef and Marianna, grew up in a Polish village that isn't even a flyspeck on the map. But they had big dreams that brought them across the ocean to make a new life for themselves in America. Josef wanted to become a master brewer, and after four years in Milwaukee, got his chance when they moved to Saint Paul, which is where your Gran and your Aunt Josephine were born.” “And all these years, later, Aunt Josie is still hanging on, as feisty as ever!” “Mother, grandmother, great grandmother … the matriarch of Cleveland!” Emily hugged her daughter anew. “And it appears that your sister has snatched up Aunt Josie's genes.” “Andy's so, soooo serious,” Cindy chuckled. “A beach blanket bimbo she definitely is not!” “Nope. Josie grows up to get married and raise a family, and your Gran grows up to shock her father by crossing the river to dance in a Minneapolis saloon before fleeing to Chicago to escape his wrath. And, as fate would have it, Harrison Fisher spots her, sings her praises to Flo Ziegfeld, and it's Broadway here we come!” “Until the Depression shuts everything down, and she comes home to get married and, at age thirty-seven, give birth to her only child … my Mom, the miracle baby.” “And here we are, getting ready to take a time machine back to the Roaring Twenties. Your Gran would be so proud of you, sweetie-- though all things considered, I would prefer that you not get arrested and sent to jail the way she did.” “But Mom, it's a great story, and Gran wanted to go to jail. Gran and Mae West … they're the original feminist revolutionaries. They broke the mold!” “'Corrupting the morals of youth' … in New York City, of all places. They could have paid the fine, but they refused and got ten days in the slammer.” “Times have changed, Mom. I can dance the shimmy in public, and nobody's gonna arrest me.” “Unless you start a riot, like you did last night.” Emily patted Cindy's knee, wanting her to know that her parents would always have her back. “Let's get you into the shower, and then get started on your makeup. One of these Lullaby diapers for now, and we'll change you and Kim and Tip into your Godzilla diapers just before you leave. Tonight, you are going to set the world on fire!”

Thanks for commenting. I see no problems with the dialog in the last segment, but losing track of what's going on is easy to do in any story that takes a serial form. A reader misses a key chapter, or forgets something that appeared earlier, and as a result a strand that now drives the narrative can cause a "say what" moment. Here we are picking up on the final segment of scene 76 (Quo Vadis), which appeared back on 16 January (page 30/34). This is where Ian confessed to Babs that he had been raped as a child, and she collapsed in his arms. Take a look if you have time, and see if that segment sheds light on this one. I'll have more to say about "seeding" a text, which is key to good mystery writing, but useful in any fiction setting as a means to introduce tension by planting a bomb that the author knows is later going to be exploded. Again, thanks for sticking with this story across more than two years. You were one of the first to comment, and I truly appreciate that you and a handful of others have stayed the course.

Many thanks for staying the course, and for taking the time to comment. Last Saturday was this story's second anniversary; heartfelt thanks to everyone who has stayed the course across more than 373,000 words!

Many thanks for making this much easier on the eyes. Please keep working on paragraphs. For example, your second paragraph is actually two paragraphs. Then we have: "Heard you're a strong chess player too, fancy a game?" Armann nodded. "I used to be rated well above 2000 back in the day," he said as he began to set up the pieces. They were near enough to a doorway had started faintly to hear someone's phone call from the outside hallway. He wished they'd shut up so he could play his game with a clear mind. he tried to ignore them but he knew he wouldn't be able. "The A5 guy? yeah, he's here now, I think", the voice outside was saying. "Cops picked him up this morning, from out in the middle of nowhere Nebraska. I gotta admit," he continued, "this program seemed like some kinda... out-of-season April Fools joke when it was announced. The psychology research supporting it seemed, like... shaky, at best. But, sometimes, I guess you're wrong!" Armann took his seat and helped set up the rest of the pieces, still listening. "It's already performing way above everyone's expectations. Yeah. Sure. I guess you can just... fucking... unlock higher planes of brainpower or whatever by putting people in diapers?! Shit is so weird. I don't understand how it works..." Believe it or not, the first is actually four paragraphs and the second is three. Should "had started" actually be "that Armann started?" Proof reading is tedious, but a vital part of the writing process. Overall, much improved over the first chapters. Looking forward to your next installment.

WHAT'S COOKIN', DOC? “God, it smells heavenly in here,” Vicki moaned, inhaling deeply as she walked into the kitchen, suitcase in hand. "What's cookin', Doc?” She gave Ian a peck on the cheek, then grabbed him by the nape of the neck. Eyes closed, she leaned forward to kiss him hard on the lips. “That's just a preview,” she murmured, “of what I have in store for you.” “Punishments and rewards,” Ian asked, “in the form of spankings and sex?” “Mommy's orders,” Vickie giggled as she sneaked a peek at Sarah. “Works for me,” he grinned. “This clinches it,” Sarah decreed, her eyes taking in the organized chaos that only hours before had been Rita's neat and tidy kitchen. There were pots and pans everywhere. “Ian, from now on, this is your domain. Everybody else? Keep out!” “Thanks, Mommy,” he managed to get out before kissing her in turn. Simply holding Sarah in his arms summoned warm memories of the night before … And the morning after … Sarah reached down to pat his diaper, her hand lingering over the chastity cage that lay beneath. “I like your new diaper,” she quietly noted as her hand continued to wander. “Do you like your new toy?” Vickie looked at her curiously. Neither Sarah nor Rita had brought up the subject of Ian's chastity cage when they were at the hospital. “Barely notice it,” he said in return. “What gives,” Vickie asked. Watching Sarah's fingers dancing across the surface of Ian's diaper, which was now identical to her own, she had her suspicions. She was certain that it would be easy for him to masturbate through the fabric, which was markedly thinner than his usual hospital diaper. “I locked him up this morning ...” “What? I thought we agreed that ...” “Vic, I'm good with this, and it's not like it's forever.” Ian was choosing his words carefully. He did not want Vickie to fly off the handle and start a fight in the kitchen. “We need to temper his libido in order to make Anna more comfortable with Carlie,” Sarah interrupted. She did not want Ian to defend her actions; she could take care of herself. “You know the drill,Vic; one of us will summon the Princess, then pass her on.” “I'm also worried about Tippi,” Ian confessed. “If she's going to change me several times a day, this will keep things from getting out of control … and I mean that quite literally.” “But here, in the house?” “No cage … no diaper cover. And yes,” Sarah smiled, “I'm well aware of the conflict between caging Ian to help Carlie on the one hand, and us making babies on the other. We'll have to play it by ear, and make adjustments as we go along.” “This is also about skin care,” Sofia added. She was slicing up cucumbers and tomatoes for the Greek salad that she was preparing. “I don't like these diaper covers because they make it awkward to do a diaper check, and they don't allow the skin to breathe. They're an open invitation to diaper rash.” Sofia turned away from the kitchen counter, and looked Vickie squarely in the eye. “The cage will prevent Ian from giving in to a moment of weakness, but what are we to do about you? Your lack of self-control is glaring.” Vickie blushed. Between them, Rita and Sarah had taken her wands away, but without the canvas cover locked over her diaper, she would have been happy to let her fingers do the walking. “So my cover really is a chastity belt, isn't it?” “It's like this, baby girl.” Sarah decided to pick up where her mother had left off. “Your skin also needs to breathe, so I've brought a pair of locking mittens home that has your name on it. We all know how creative you can be, and how impulsive. This will allow us to give you the run of the house without having to keep an eye on you at all times.” “Save all that pent up energy for me, Vic. Spankings and sex, remember?” Ian's eyes were alive with mischief; he was eager to find out just how crazy Vic could get in the bedroom. . . . . “I was expecting you a couple of hours ago,” Sofia commented as she continued slicing up the vegetables. Ian's instructions had been exact, and she was following them to the letter. “The movers were on time,” Sarah sighed, “but it was a slow process because Ian's couches had to go out the window. They had to use a winch ...” “Probably the same guys who moved me in back in August. They were obviously prepared.” Ian was busily dicing up the feta cheese that was a mainstay of any Greek salad. “And then I decided to stop by the office, and let them know that Ian's car is down for the count. They want it gone, so we have to decide what to do with it. There's no room for it here, so it comes down to junking it or putting it in storage.” “It's a good runner; all it needs is a new alternator.” Ian was pleading his case. “I'll let you know what I decide.” Sarah's tone was firm, and Ian got the message. This was her call, and if she wanted his opinion, she'd ask for it. “Mom, when's the last time you checked his diaper?” She wanted Ian to understand that she was his Mommy, and diaper checks were an efficient way to underscore the point. “He's overdue,” Sofia admitted. “We've been busy. You, or should we call Vickie?” “Turn around, Ian.” Sarah made it an order, and Ian knew better than to mouth off. He barely avoided snapping off a crisp salute. “Vickie needs time to put her things away in the nursery. With so many stacks of diapers eating up space in the drawers, she doesn't have a lot of room.” “You need to be changed,” she observed after checking both his front and rear. “You're wet, and you're poopy. Why didn't you say something?” “I didn't notice,” he confessed. “That's the breast milk in action,” Sofia gleefully noted. “From now on, every time you nurse him, he's going to dirty his diaper.” “Such a baby,” Sarah theatrically sighed. “Well, come on; I'll change you in the nursery, and then you can get back to work. It does smell good in here; what are we having?” “I'd like to start with saganaki, but it's flambeed, and I don't know much about smoke detectors. So, we'll play it safe and lead off with spanokopita. That's a spinach and feta cheese pastry.” Ian pointed at one of the large trays sitting on the counter. “Baklava for dessert. Kleftiko is in the oven, and won't be ready until around seven. It's roast lamb with roasted potatoes, onions and so forth. I'll whip up lemon rice to serve as a bed for it while everybody's working on the salad. Your Mom's got that under control.” “Not planning to eat with us?” “I'll steal a few bites in the kitchen. I've done this sort of thing before, Sarah, in Viet Nam. I always tried to put on a good spread for my command, so take my word for it: laying out a four course meal for twenty is time consuming.” “Are you afraid, Ian? The only man at a dinner party with some twenty women? Be honest.” “A bit. The last time we did this, the crowd was a lot smaller, and I was drunk. Dutch courage.” Sarah fingered one of the bottles of Kourtaki that Ian had opened and left out on the counter to breathe. Curious, she picked one up, and sniffed the contents. “Well,” she smiled as she eyed the stacks of glasses on the dining room table, “perhaps we'll lift the ban on alcohol, but just for tonight. Smashing glasses the way they did in Never On Sunday sounds like a lot of fun, and water would ruin the moment.” “Not to mention what it would do to the fire,” Sofia cheerfully warned. “Hmm, that's true.” Ian pretended to think about it. “It would get smoky in here, and the detector ...” “Can't have that,” Sarah murmured as she took him by the hand and headed for the bedroom. “It would definitely spoil the moment.” Vickie looked up when they walked into the nursery. She had finished unpacking the first suitcase, but there was one more out in the car, as well as a number of garment bags. She still had a lot of work ahead of her. “I have to change the baby's diaper; how's yours holding up?” “I need a change, Mommy, but it's not urgent.” “Then let's get to it. Ian, you first.” When he kicked off his shoes and dropped his pants, Vickie gasped. “Pink baby pants?” The look on her face was priceless. “Hey, I like pink, and hopefully Anna likes it too!” Ian pulled himself up onto the table and stretched out. In a matter of moments, Vickie found herself staring at the chastity cage that imprisoned his penis. It's so small, she thought, so impossibly small … To her surprise, Sarah took the key out of her pocket and unlocked the sheath. Using a fingernail to pry out the insert that prevented his cock from escaping, she slowly pulled the sheath down and set it aside. Ian was free. “Vic, this isn't some kind of kinky game. I meant what I said: at home, no cage … no cover. You and Ian wear the same diaper, and he can have a freebie with anyone in the household who's in the mood. Right now, my job is to clean the both of you up so that you can get back to work. But he goes back into the cage before leaving for campus on Monday morning. Am I getting through to you?” Vickie nodded. “I'm sorry, Sarah; I misunderstood. We all want you to give Ian some space. I … I guess it's an okay compromise.” . . . . “Long day?” Manny Cepeda teased the steaming cup of coffee with his spoon, and waited for Rita to get started. He visited the hospital on Saturdays only for special occasions and true emergencies, but a summons from the beautiful head of the Psych ward was always special. Rita looked around the cafeteria. It wasn't crowded, but she chose nonetheless to keep her voice low. “Very. Manny, we want to go ahead with the 'diaper your favorite nurse' auction,” she explained. “Ideally, we'd like to hold it on Tuesday afternoon, at the shift change. The winner will have to be upstairs to diaper Sarah at eleven on Wednesday night, and she should be back to change her when the first shift takes over at seven on Thursday. I'll take my turn in the trenches on Thursday night.” “And we're still limiting the auction to female members of staff, with all funds going to one of our charitable causes?” Manny wanted to make sure that nothing had changed since he and Rita had first discussed her proposal. “Exactly. There's a lot at stake here, Manny, and time is somewhat pressing. Can you reach out to all the departments on Monday?” “Not a problem. Tuesday at three, here in the cafeteria? Do you guys still want to mount one of the tables and display your wares?” “Absolutely. And you can invite the press, if you think it will gin up interest.” “Good idea. And I'll set up a bank of telephones so that third shifters can get in on the action. Fair is fair.” “Thanks, Manny; you're a peach.” “Who can resist the pleas of a beautiful woman,” Manny smiled, before reaching for Rita's hand and gallantly kissing it. . . . . “How's it coming,” Sarah smiled as Priscilla walked in the door. Like Vickie, she entered with a suitcase in hand. “So far, everything's going according to plan. Bob and Amos set Ian's bed up in my room. It's really too small for a king size, so we had to stick one of the dressers in the closet. Then they collected the stuff from Vickie's apartment and put it in the garage. Not sure Dad will be able to get his car in.” “How's your diaper holding up?” “Mom changed me just before I left, so I'm good.” Priscilla peeked over Ian's shoulder, and almost burst out laughing when she saw that he was actually using breast milk in his homemade tzatziki. “Where am I putting my stuff?” “My bedroom. I'm not a clothes horse like Vickie, so there's plenty of room in the closet and the dresser drawers. Help yourself.” “Great! Where am I sleeping?” “You can share a queen with me, a king with Rita, or I suppose you could squeeze into Vickie's crib.” “So I don't get a bed of my own?” “Nope … well, at least, not in this house. Not enough space. But you'll have a room of your own when we get our new digs.” “How about Carlie? Where is she going to sleep?” “Rita wants to partner with her, and I'm leaning in that direction. What about you, Pris? We would both welcome you, and I take it for granted that Carlie would as well. Are you willing to try?” “To be honest? I don't know. I mean, I've thought about it … it's been in the back of my mind ever since you welcomed me into your household. But I don't think I'll know until I'm actually doing it.” “That's fair. Again, you could also bed down with Vickie. You'd be locked into the crib for the night, so you'd have to use your diaper. You fine with that?” “Yep. I take it Sis has no interest in sleeping with you or Rita?” “None whatsoever,” Sarah laughed. She found the idea of Vic having sex with another woman infinitely amusing. “She's a man's woman through and through, and she's deeply in love with Ian. She won't stray, but she also needs a mother's love as well as a sister's. That's where you and I come in.” “Got it. Are you good with giving my Mom a key to Vickie's cover? Then she can change both of us.” “When the two of you are staying over at your parents? Sure. I'm glad to have your mother's help. That reminds me to ask her for the key to yours.” “Mom's a mind reader; she bringing you one tonight. I don't think this will work when I'm on the job-- we argued about it just before I came over. She wants me kept under lock and key, just like Sis. It's pretty obvious that she wants her baby back.” “Well, I'm bottle feeding Vic; I guess your Mom and I could nurse you as well. This would really help Vic with her therapy, but you should know that there's a downside ...” “Like I'll start pooping my diapers for real?” Priscilla had a huge grin on her face. “I'm okay with that, Sarah; after all, it's only temporary. All of this stops when I go to Quantico.” “Having you and Vic share a crib is beginning to make more sense. And what's another baby in the house? Two becomes three …” Sarah thought about it. Vic was the older sister that Pris badly needed to fill a gap in her life, which hinted at a lonely childhood. Treating them as baby sisters might do them both a world of good. “Big deal,” Sarah shrugged as she made up her mind. “Pris can share my crib,” Ian offered. “Only when the two of you are making love,” Sofia cut in. “That's going to be a hard and fast rule. You make love in your crib and only in your crib … nowhere else in the house. The beds are for grown ups; you're just a big baby.” “If we go down this path, Priscilla, the same rule will apply to you.” Sarah wanted to make sure the young policewoman knew what she was getting into. “Your cover stays locked on unless someone is changing you, bathing you, or you and Ian are making love. No exceptions to the rule.” “I understand; but wouldn't it be more convenient if Sis and I changed each other? We've talked about it, and we're both willing.” “I'm sure you are, but it isn't going to happen. As you pointed out, it is pretty obvious that your Mom wants to treat you like a baby, and I'm happy to oblige. But babies don't change one another; mommies and aunties, and only mommies and aunties, do the diaper changing in this family.” “But the added work ...” “That's Mommy's problem, Pris, not yours.” Ian sensed that Sarah was on the verge of losing her temper. Priscilla clearly wasn't seeing the connection between regressing and submitting. It was time to set her straight. “Pris,” he warned, “you are this close to getting a spanking … a real spanking.” “What?” Priscilla blinked; she had no idea where Ian was coming from. “You're a junior partner, Pris, and you're mouthing off to the boss. Personally, I think that she should spank you. Call it a reality check.” “And where does that leave us, Ian? You and me?” “It doesn't change anything. Pris, I'm the infant in this household, and you are one of my aunties. But you and Vic both act like whiny toddlers, Vic most of the time and you some of the time. You'd better believe that your two Moms are going to have a heart to heart talk about your future tonight. It wouldn't surprise me if Julia ends up putting you over her lap in front of everybody, including Babs and Carlie. You want that?” “No.” Suitably chastened, Priscilla stared down at the floor. “I'm sorry, Mommy,” she murmured. “I forgot my place. Please be patient with me.” “My patience is wearing thin,” Sarah replied in a tone that made it clear to Priscilla that she was on thin ice. Reaching out, Sarah grabbed the girl's wrist, and dragged her into the dining room. She stood Priscilla in the corner, and told her not to move. “We'll start with a time out so that you can think about your behavior, and what I will expect from you going forward. Don't move, and don't talk; if you do, you will go straight over my knee. You won't enjoy the experience because I spank very, very hard.” . . . . Herb jumped out of the car and ran into the house. The back of the garage had the usual clutter, but he had it well organized, with just enough room to get the car inside and lower the door. Only someone had stacked a row of boxes right in front of the space that his four door sedan called home. And with the rear end sticking out into the driveway, there was no way for the garage door to come down. Desperate, barely holding on, Herb dashed up the stairs, the bathroom door second on the right. It looked like he would make it. Standing in front of the toilet, Herb fumbled with his zipper, a few drops of urine beginning to dribble into his underpants. His sense of urgency increased tenfold. Zipper down, he was preparing to get down to business when the dam burst. A gusher of hot pee exploded, soaking his pants, warming his hand, and puddling the floor around his feet. He tried to clinch, but nothing happened. All he could do was stand there, bearing witness to his own humiliation as the puddle turned into a pool. His trousers, his socks, his shoes, the floor … He started to whimper. Julia had dashed up the stairs behind him. She had stood in the doorway, mutely observing her big, strong husband wet himself like a two year old still struggling to get to the potty on time. “I feel like such a baby,” he whispered, not turning his head, not wanting to see the look in her eyes. He could not bear the thought that she might pity him. “Take off your shoes and your clothes, and leave them where they lay,” she ordered. “I'll clean up out here while you take a shower. Then we'll run everything that got wet through the washer. Not sure what to do about your shoes, though.” “I didn't drink anything at work … not one single, solitary cup of coffee. Not one. Why is this happening to me? Why?” Herb was on the verge of tears. “You know why, Herb. The only question that matters is what we're going to do about it.” “Diapers,” Herb sighed. He knew what Julia was going to say. “Protection,” she corrected. “You did well today, Herb … cutting back on the caffeine. We'll tackle alcohol the same way … see if reducing stimulants will reduce the urgency … buy you more time to get to the toilet. Still, for the time being, you're going to have to wear protection. Changing our diet … exercise … we can get on top of this, Herb, but Rome wasn't built in a day. It's going to take time.” “I love you, Julia.” Julia hugged her husband, ignoring the fact that she was now standing in his pee. “We're lucky, you know,” she whispered into his ear. “All these years, and neither of us has ever had to fire a weapon except on the range. No accidents, no tragedies … just life taking its course. If you need to wear diapers to bed, I'll wear them too. Who knows, maybe a change of pace will add a little spice to our middle aged lives.” “Like adopting a daughter at our age isn't excitement enough?” Herb kissed her on the cheek. “Not adopting when Pris was small, when we found out that I couldn't have more children … that's my one regret in life.” “We were so busy, trying to get ahead so that we could give Pris the best of everything.” Herb sighed, his regrets running as deep as Julia's. “We missed the one thing she really wanted until it was too late to do anything about it.” “And then Victoria stumbles into our lives,” Julia laughed, shaking her head at the absurdity of it all. “Oh, I spoke with Tom Reynolds a couple of hours ago. He wants to administer the adoptions himself, but he'll leave the venues up to us. He encouraged me to think big, like a formal wedding, rather than a small ceremony in his chambers. I got the impression he's done this before!” “I'm looking forward to meeting Bernice. I've heard about her … Fraternity Row's Rock of Gibraltar … but I've never had the pleasure.” “You'll meet her tonight.” Herb leaned back so that he could study Julia's face. After thirty years of marriage, he knew his wife well. “Herb, you're going to be spending the night at the sorority. There's no alcohol in the house, so no need for you to resist temptation. I want the two of you to put your heads together and start sorting out the nuts and bolts of the adoptions. How many people do you want to invite from the Department? How many friends does Vickie have up and down the Row? We may need to rent an auditorium to hold everybody who's expecting an invitation.” “Uh huh,” Herb grinned. “And by an amazing coincidence, every girl in the house will be well and truly diapered when she climbs into bed. Is that what this is all about, Julia? Do you want Bernice to diaper me?” “Would you rather have one of the sorority girls do the honors?” Julia reached down and patted Herb's dick. “I'm pretty sure there would be quite a few volunteers, but no. Since it looks like Bernice will be changing Pris when she's at work, let's keep this in the family. Yes, Herb … no coffee, and no booze. Perhaps a nice cup of warm milk at bedtime instead. I'm hoping that you'll give diapers a try, and I thought it might be less awkward for you if Bernice diapered you rather than me, but it's still your call.” “Sort of like having it done by a nurse in the hospital.” Herb nodded; he could see the logic in what Julia was saying. “And what,” he added, “will you be doing while Bernice and I are hard at it?” “I'll be partying at Rita's house. It's a big to-do, so a chance for me to get acquainted with Vickie's friends outside the workplace. And since Ian will be there, we can go over both adoptions at once. Will we end up inviting everyone who works at the hospital? Ian's whole department? The whole of Fraternity Row?” “Ah, well, there goes that cruise to Hawaii. Or maybe we'll take out a second mortgage.” “We could sell the house … buy something close to wherever Pris and her menagerie settle, downsizing in the process. And no more stairs! I am sick and tired of lugging the laundry up and down two flights of stairs! Enough, already!” “Maybe one of those airplane sized bathrooms in the entryway? You know … for guests.” Julia glared at her husband. “All right, already; I'll wear the diapers. But I draw the line at pink baby pants!” . . . . “From now on, let's make it a rule,” Rita declared as she came into the kitchen. “First two to get home park in the garage, and the rest of us use the driveway. Since we all have to be at work by seven, it really doesn't matter who parks where.” “We could carpool,” Sarah suggested. “It would save a lot of wear and tear on my beater.” “Worth thinking about,” Rita agreed. Seeing Priscilla standing quietly in the corner, she looked curiously at Sarah. “She's in time out. She's been a little too mouthy for my liking, so it was either this or a spanking. We'll try a gentle punishment first, but she's going to be diapered for the duration, and share Vickie's crib. When Julia gets here, the two of us will sit down, discuss her behavior, and figure out her place in the household. It may turn out that we have still another baby on our hands.” “The nursery is going to be crowded. At this rate, we'll need a much bigger room in our next house.” “One room for all the babies, big and small?” There was something about the image of Ian and her daughter making love in one crib yet trying not to wake their firstborn just a few feet away that brought a smile to Sofia's lips. “Well, maybe two rooms,” Rita laughed, catching Sofia's point. “I'm done here,” Ian announced as he covered the bowl of tzatziki with Saran Wrap before slipping it into the icebox. “And I need to talk to Vickie … preferably before she throws my stuff out the window to make room for her stuff.” Sarah looked sharply at Ian. He was keeping it casual, but she caught the underlying tension in his voice. She remembered what he had said to Vic last night-- how he wanted to help Babs, but didn't know where to begin. And she desperately needs help. Thursday night, that girl put on a clinic … a graduate seminar in self-destructive behavior … Priscilla caught it too. Standing in the corner, nose pressed to the wall, her body stiffened. “Do you want me to start cleaning up?” Sarah blindly gestured at the pots, pans and utensils that littered the countertops. Her eyes never left Ian's. “No rush … and Vic's volunteered for KP, remember? Besides, this won't take long.” I love you, Ian mouthed, reaching out to clasp both of Sarah's hands. “One more soul to save,” she whispered, wanting to reassure him that she was good with this. “Habit forming,” he conceded in a resigned voice. Ian never spoke of his final mission and the terrible choice that had awaited him in a tiny hamlet deep inside North Viet Nam. Coming to terms with his own humanity had jeopardized the mission and put his command at risk, but he had always refused to second guess his decision. The French had honored him with the Croix de Guerre, which was gathering dust in a desk drawer in his office alongside the South Korean Order of Military Merit and Australia's Victoria Cross. It was harder to forget the children whose lives he had spared that day, harder yet not to wonder what had become of them. Some would now be Linh's age … North, South … what does it matter … they were all children, and they all deserved better of us … Sarah silently watched the play of emotions in Ian's eyes, knowing that it was not Babs but something in his past that had swept him away. “I love you,” she softly declared, wanting with all her heart for her feelings to cleanse his soul. She nodded in the direction of the nursery. Ian quietly left the room. . . . . “How's it coming,” he asked. Vickie looked up, and smiled. It had been a while since she and Ian had been alone. “Be it ever so humble,” she nervously stammered. She didn't quite know what to say. They were standing in a nursery, both in diapers, with hers locked on. Ian was the only man with whom she had ever fallen in love, and suddenly she felt very shy. Holding her close, he kissed her, tentatively and then with greater passion. Vickie melted into his arms. She was an intensely sexual being, but with Ian she had finally come to understand that lust and love were not one and the same. The single minded pursuit of one's own pleasure in the arms of another, she now realized, was selfishness in its purest form. “Ready to tackle the pots and pans?” “I guess … maybe ...” “Don't worry; I'll teach you the dos and don'ts. Show the kitchen some love, and it will reward you.” “And will you reward me? If I show you some love?” Vickie's voice was hushed, but her eyes were on fire. “I can't believe how much I love you … you and that ridiculous turkey drumstick of yours. Doctor Victoria Robinson … the only woman who's ever taken up arms to defend me.” Ian nuzzled Vickie's nose. If she had not been under lock and key, he would have taken her right then and there. “I need your help, Vic; I don't know what to do.” “Babs.” “Babs …” “And me,” he added after a very long moment. “It stops with me, Ian.” Vickie looked up into his eyes, wanting him to understand that she would never betray his trust. “In a lot of ways, my life began when I was nine years old … when I was raped.” Vickie screamed, and her face collapsed, the pain washing over her like water exploding from behind a shattered dam. Footsteps. Racing from the living room. Priscilla was the first. She had been dreading this moment. Sarah stood in the doorway, blocking her mother and Rita. She knew without asking that the demon that had tormented Ian for so long had finally been unleashed. Priscilla rushed to Vickie's side and threw her arms around her, wanting to protect her from something monstrous, even if it was invisible. She looked at Ian, her eyes imploring, helpless to fight back against a ghost summoned up from the depths of his memories. “It's okay, Sis,” Vickie stammered as she began to pull herself together. “Really, it's okay. Now, I need you to go, all right?” “But ...” Vickie sadly shook her head, her eyes mirroring the anguish that was overwhelming her being. But she was a physician and she had taken an oath; in this terrible moment, it was her salvation. “Priscilla, we need to give them some space.” Sarah was gentle, but she was also insistent. She held out her hand, and waited for Pris to take it. Leading her from the room, she closed the door and pushed everyone away. Time passed, moments measured in heartbeats. Eternity took the form of a ticking clock. The door opened. . . . . This concludes season two of An Homage to Vincent Vega.

Quickie entertainment quiz: The Mouse That Roared was a terrific novel that was turned into a darn good movie. What famous comic actor played the mouse that roared? A. John Cleese B. Jack Lemmon C. Jerry Lewis D. Peter Sellers E. Dick Van Dyke

Vielen Dank. Es geht viel Spass zu schreiben.

You are asking the right question, and in the case of tariffs, there is much for us to complain about. For example we tariff cars produced in the EU with internal combustion engines at 2.5%; the EU tariffs our cars at 10%, effectively locking them out of the market. But the President is addressing a broader range of issues, including currency manipulation, theft of intellectual property, patent infringement, discriminatory regulations, and state subsidization of production. The classic case is Airbus versus Boeing, but here's a personal example. In 1968, my father shut down his steel company because he could not compete against steel imported from South Korea and Sweden, where the cost of production in both instances was state subsidized. Again, look at the date. This abuse has been going on for a long, long time.

ANNOUNCEMENT: a fifteenth tranche, consisting of scenes 43-44, 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.

Nope There is a reason why one member of the Cabinet is always far away from DC during the President's State of the Union address.

Precisely. This is a superseding amendment.

The importer pays the tariff at the point of entry. In my personal experience, the tariff is assessed against the price on the bill of lading. This is actually where it gets interesting. The price that you pay, and the price on the bill of lading, may not be the same. I expect Chinese exporters to be creative-- playing games with the bill of lading, shipping through an intermediate country (Vietnam is their traditional choice), shipping through Canada or Mexico (the latter is especially favored to move drugs and automotive parts) to get inside the North American trade zone at a more favorable point of entry. Lots of variables in play here. So far, very little attention has been paid to the effective abolition of the de minimis exemption. Think Ali Baba, Temu, and the like. E-commerce, whether it be platforms like ebay or amazon, is going to take a massive hit because the Chinese cannot fight back given that there is no de minimis exemption for goods entering China. If you think the cost of diapers is going to increase, wait until you see what happens to pacifiers.

This is already underway. If you are a male, 21 years of age, your best shot at the gold ring is to become a plumber or HVAC repair specialist. No college loan debt, and here in Minnesota, a starting salary of 125K a year. Take a look at the growing divide between college educated females and males, and you will be catching up on a trend that has been underway for almost a decade. And this is producing fascinating social trends. If you are not familiar with the concept, spend some time reading up on hypogamy. It's been going on for a very long time, but for a generation now, in this county the shoe has been on the other foot. Have your read the amendment? There is nothing in it to preclude President Trump, President Obama, President Bush, or President Clinton from holding a third term. All it takes is for Trump to be the Vice-Presidential nominee in '28, and have the President resign. This has been done more than once at the state level. See, for example, George and Lurleen Wallace in Alabama. As we speak, the governor of Florida is testing the waters to see if he can pull this off with his wife.

I have worked in China, and I have seen poverty everywhere, from high rise apartment blocs in Shanghai where the only toilet is an outhouse in the center of the complex, to villages in Yunnan province where the only toilet is an open trench running down the middle of the muddy, unpaved road that constitutes the main street. What I have witnessed is slave labor working in appalling environmental conditions. And here at home, I have seen the destruction caused by the outsourcing of millions of jobs in places like Cairo, IL and Youngstown, OH. The time has come for all of us to choose: our own needs on the one hand, and the greater good on the other. At age 79, with a granddaughter only 6 months old, this is an easy choice for me to make. I do not envy those of you who are younger because your choice will not be so clear cut. But it will define you.

This is very good advice. I began my writing career more than 50 years ago with tape recorder in hand, and still use one (I have several). I listen to the whole text because I want it rhythmically to flow faster here and slower there, and it is a very good way to take command of your dialog. There are tools that a writer can use to give dialog a more natural feel. For example, don't use a string of commas to segment the elements in a sentence. Instead, use three dots with spacing both before and after. This conveys in print the momentary hesitation that your character is experiencing as he/she organizes their thoughts while speaking. If these programs cannot do this on their own, can the user train them?

Disposable: Attends, Prevail, Tranquility.

Mexico and Canada = NAFTA.

Let's apply this to the writing of fiction. For the vast majority of us, the way we think and speak is far removed from being grammatically correct, and dialog and introspection should reflect this reality. Frankly, the vast majority of stories that appear here fail this test, yielding dialog that is stilted and artificial. Having one of these programs correct poor grammar would therefore be a positive in the narrative, but make a bad situation worse in the dialog. Do you always think in complete sentences? In sum, there is at present no substitute for doing the hard work of learning how to write. You have to master the fundamentals, and deploy them in one paragraph only to junk them in the next. AI may get there at some point in the future, but it is certainly not there now.

China has been using Mexico and Canada from the beginning to get product into the US. Look into fentanyl for a recent and deadly example.

At this point, you are looking at a work that should be credited to AI. To use an analogy, Robert Parker created the Boston private eye Spenser, but after his death the series was continued by Ace Atkins. Atkins is acknowledged as the author despite the fact that he did not create the character.

Just for the record, the Democrats had the White House and both houses of Congress during Clinton's first 2 years in office. And they made such a mess of the economy that the Republicans gained and kept control of both houses for the ensuing 6 years. Remember Newt Gingrich's Contract With America? The architect of the good times was Jack Kemp; Clinton's enduring legacy is NAFTA, and the Chinese have exploited its loopholes brilliantly.