Babypants

CHEEP ... CHEEP ... CHEEP ... CHEEP “Ah, 24 Hours from Tulsa, a true classic from the country and western graveyard known as the nineteen sixties! Welcome back to KSAD, everyone! The final resting place of deceased disc jockeys who've followed the one way road all the way to International Falls, Minnesota! And Stephen King's dead on … we do have a hell of a band here, and five hundred kilowatts of bone crunching power crushing the airwaves from Murmansk to Tierra del Fuego! Jaynie, we got any advertisers in Tierra del Fuego?” “Not that I know of, James.” “Remind me to tell station management to get us some advertisers in Tierra del Fuego!” “Made a note of it, James.” “Thank you, lovely Jaynie. Now what's it like outside as we approach the end of the hour and the end of our shift here at AM 540, the veritable bottom of the dial, where you can check out but never leave?” “It's currently thirty seven below zero out there, James, with a wind chill taking it down to seventy two below.” “A perfect night for ice fishing! Gonna go catch me some walleye! Park the old pick up out on the lake, leave the radio on, blasting out KSAD all the way to Mars! We get any fan mail this week from purple Martian centipedes?” “Seven letters so far, all with postage due.” “No matter. I'll tell management to take it out of your paycheck! This is James Dean signing off with a trio of requests from Sarah down in the Twin Cities, who appears to have a serious boyfriend problem. We got Hank Williams, Senior's Your Cheatin' Heart, Linda Ronstadt's When Will I Be Loved … but first … here's Dolly Parton, and Jolene.” Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene I'm begging of you please don't take my man Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene Please don't take him just because you can … . . . . “You scared the shit out of me,” Ian said affectionately. “Literally!” “Literally?” Priscilla gently tapped the seat of his pants, but there was no way to feel the mess through his thick diaper and canvas cover. Nor could she detect the telltale odor of a dirty diaper, for which she was thankful. “And your diaper bag's in the car,” she observed. “I guess we should hoof it.” “Or we could head upstairs and see if Sarah's back from her shopping trip, maybe take a peek at the latest instruments of torture that she's lined up for me.” “Not sure that's a good idea. After all, we didn't fool Marilyn Marsden, and the damsel who keeps you in perpetual distress may have an equally keen eye. She scares me, and I'm a tough, hard nosed police officer who doesn't scare easily. For the time being, I think we ought to keep our distance.” “Your wish is my command ...” “I like that,” Priscilla giggled. “I like that a lot!” “Oh, dear,” Ian sighed dramatically. “I do have a thing for bossy women, don't I? You're the fourth one I've fallen for this month.” “Just a baby who's crying out for his mommy, but a very naughty baby. Vickie and I indulge you far too much, and Sarah doesn't indulge you enough. How are we ever to find the middle ground … let you be a little naughty, but not too much?” “Maybe I should fly off to Athens and leave the four of you to sort out my fate.” “Oh no you don't!” Priscilla waved a lone finger in Ian's face as a warning, not realizing that the gesture was exactly what an exasperated mother would do with a small child. “I like Irina, but I'm not about to run the risk that you'll fall for her as well. Nope, no way. I take my bodyguard duties very seriously, so if you're going to Athens, then I'm going to Athens. And if the two of us are going to Athens, what are the odds that Sarah's going to Athens? And if Sarah's going to Athens, what are the odds that Rita and Vickie are going to Athens? So, the only thing left to decide is when the five of us are going to Athens.” Priscilla's tone made it clear that the matter was no longer under discussion. “Right now,” Ian groaned, “you're going to change my diaper. So, tell me, Officer Canon: where are we going?” “Across the street. We have a very nice restroom on the second floor. So come, your diaper changing station awaits!” . . . . Rita headed straight home, arriving a few minutes before the work crew that would set up Vickie's crib in the makeshift nursery. It took additional minutes to dismantle Ian's crib and move it from the alcove. Following Sarah's lead, Rita had the two cribs placed side by side in the center of the room, leaving space for the changing table in one corner, and for Vickie's dresser and chest of drawers to be housed along the opposite wall. The nursery would be cramped but fully functional, with multiple diaper pails guaranteeing that in a very short space of time the chamber would smell like a true nursery. Poop, pee, and baby powder! Rita couldn't wait to get her babies home. . . . . As soon as Vickie walked in the door, she tossed her coat on the floor, kicked off her shoes, and headed for the bedroom. Leaving her clothing scattered across the bed, she moved on to the bathroom. She promptly unlocked and discarded the diaper cover, with her pink baby pants and heavy diaper quickly following, the latter finding a temporary home in the trash can alongside the toilet. Returning to the bedroom completely nude, she collected her wand, and once settled comfortably in a sea of plush pillows atop the comforter, closed her eyes and began to massage her breasts. They were sensitive, but she knew that they would become far more so once she began using the breast pump on a regular basis. In her imagination, her breasts were larger now, the nipples more pronounced, everything incredibly sensitive. She could feel the milk leaking out, could feel Ian eagerly pouncing, lapping it up, then settling in her arms, latching on, feeding on her teats. Pinching and playing with now hardened nipples, eyes tightly shut, Vickie could feel molten lava erupting from her breasts and flowing in a smooth stream to her vagina. She used her fingers, imagining that it was Ian's tongue working its magic, licking and nibbling on the inside of her thighs, bringing her to full arousal before even venturing to explore her nub, even before invading her. Vickie's breath shortened, giving way to soft moans as she used her fingers on all of her most sensitive spots, the ones that she would train Ian to give his full, devoted attention. Finally reaching for the wand, she activated it at the lowest setting, and began running it back and forth across the secret places that Ian in time would know so well. She came, but she was hungry for more. Imagining Ian beneath her, riding him, enslaving him with her taut muscles while his knowing hands wandered all over her body. She changed the setting, and almost instantly climaxed again, her moans giving way to a muted but insistent scream. Finally exhausted, Vickie set the wand aside, and decided to luxuriate in a nice, warm bubble bath. But first she would visit the kitchen and mix a Cuba Libre, the rum and coke drowning the ice cubes. She didn't have a lime, but when it came to alcohol, in truth Vickie wasn't very picky. Returning to the bathroom, she put the radio on low, soft rock playing in the background as she settled into the tub for a nice, long soak, occasionally interrupted with a sip of her drink. This was how Rita found her, Vickie being sensible enough to have given her best friend a spare key long, long ago. . . . . You've come to tell me something you say I ought to know Sarah's tears gradually slowed to a trickle, and then ceased altogether. That he don't love me anymore and I'll have to let him go The heaving sobs that had left her gasping for air faded away. She did not need to look in a mirror to know that she was a mess, but fumbling in her purse for her makeup mirror, she checked the damage anyway. You say you're gonna take him, oh, but I don't think you can A wry smile creased her lips. Bloodshot eyes … makeup smudged and streaked … I look just like Vickie did when we walked out of Rita's office this morning. Time to get a grip, girl! But the real damage was emotional, and it was massive. She had been so casually betrayed, and the pain that Ian's betrayal had triggered was bad … unimaginably so. 'Cause you ain't woman enough to take my man But the pain had merged with anger. She had trusted Ian, and her trust had been misplaced. She had trusted Amy, and raised no objection when she handed Ian off to the policewoman. Her trust had been displaced. She had trusted others, and that had been her mistake. She was angry with them, but she was no less angry with herself. Her mother had warned her to keep Ian under her firm control, urged her to deploy the ultimate weapon of complete orgasm denial. She had ignored the warning, ignored her mother's advice, and now she was paying the price. The chastity cage nestled inside her purse was a practical solution, but she had not sensed the need for urgency. She had taken her damned, sweet time ... And now she was paying the price. The bottom line? What was she going to do next? No mysteries here, she mused. Without trust, it always comes down to the same two choices. Do you dump the bastard, or do you try to find some way to salvage the relationship? Sarah impatiently drummed her fingers on the desk top while idly staring at the box containing the breast pump. In the back of her mind, she already knew what choice she would make. The breast pump, and all that it symbolized, had left her with but the one option. Time to stop feeling sorry for yourself, girl. Now, get to work, and clean up this mess … starting with your face! Diving back into her purse, Sarah pulled out her lipstick and cosmetics, and set about repairing the damage. When she was finished, she opened the door, then returned to her desk. There were always reports to process, and the pile stacked in front of her would serve to hide her away from the world. Women like you they're a dime a dozen, you can buy 'em anywhere She opened the patient file on top of the stack, and used it to make herself look busy. But she was deep in thought, her mind running over the weapons at her disposal, and the tactics that would best serve her purpose. For you to get to him I'd have to move over And I'm gonna stand right here Looking down, Sarah belatedly realized that she had been doodling on a scratchpad. The same two words, over and over again. Trust Guilt Ian had demonstrated that he could not be trusted, but he was clearly capable of feeling guilt. His entire treatment plan pivoted around the presumption that he was hiding from something that had gone badly wrong in Viet Nam, something that he had brought back to the States, something which had haunted him ever since. Guilt was something that she could manipulate, something that could give her the upper hand in a contest of wills. But how to make use of it? Gradually, a plan formed in Sarah's mind. She would tell him what she had witnessed, and ask him point blank if he had made love to Priscilla. Whatever his answer, truth or lie, instead of blowing up and verbally abusing him, she would be understanding, forgiving, even magnanimous. Falling in love with so many women so quickly, she would stress, was a classic symptom of what was known as Borderline Personality Disorder. He couldn't help himself, hence could not be held responsible for his actions, although they were terribly hurtful. Still, they needed to come to terms with the fact that she could not personally care for him twenty-four hours a day, but would always have to rely on others to assist. Since she had been ceded the responsibility for managing their household, and his glaring lack of self-control threatened to make the already delicate matter of balancing their sexual lives infinitely more difficult, it was time for him to wear a chastity device for which she alone would have the key-- a device that was comfortable and unobtrusive, but guaranteed to spare the three of them the humiliation of further indiscretions on his part. She would stress that this was not intended as a punishment, and that it would in any event be impossible for her to deny him sex, since Rita and Vickie would never agree to it. She would hold one trump card in reserve. If Priscilla turned out to be more than a passing fancy, she was prepared to welcome her into the household so long as she accepted the same terms that she had worked out with Rita and Vickie. This amounted to demanding that Priscilla acknowledge Sarah as head of household, and agree to follow her diktats. It'll be over my dead body, so get out while you can Satisfied that this plan would give her a chance to redeem Ian and put their household on a firmer foundation, Sarah left her office for her daily hands-on assessment of the ward. If she was a little rushed, it was only because she wanted to buy a few extra minutes for her first outing with the breast pump. 'Cause you ain't woman enough to take my man . . . . Julia hated stakeouts. Especially in the winter time. You could stay anonymous by freezing your ass off, or you could paint a big bullseye on your vehicle by keeping the engine running, the exhaust fumes telling everybody for miles around that there was a doofus sitting in a parked car with the heater going full blast. To make matters worse, students had been pulling out of the parking lot in a steady stream every since she arrived. She had already fired up the engine four times to move into the steadily diminishing cover. Making the best of the situation, she kept reminding herself that each time she moved, she was able to run the heater full bore for a few precious minutes. Julia hated stakeouts. Ian's apartment building featured a large parking lot-- large enough to have two separate entrances, like the building itself. Julia was parked across the street to the east, which gave her a clear view of the south entrance. She was acutely aware, however, that there were northern entrances to both the lot and the building, and she could not monitor either of them from her vantage point in the high school parking lot. So, there was a fifty-fifty chance that she was watching the wrong approach. If Ian's high-tech gadgetry turned out to be a bust, she could easily end up with egg all over her puss, and a very unhappy client clamoring for answers. No one wanted to make Spats Belmondo unhappy. That was the problem with having gangsters for clients. “Sorry”didn't feed that particular bulldog. Julia's spirits picked up when the gaudy Lullaby Diaper Service truck lumbered into view. She turned on the monitor for the tracking device, and breathed a deep sigh of relief when it began contentedly to go CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP. She was even more delighted to discover that she was so close to the target that she could actually hear the signal change direction, the CHEEP giving way to a more muted CH..E..EP as the driver carried Ian's fresh load of diapers up to the second floor. A couple of minutes later, he reemerged with a bag of dirty diapers, which he heaved into the rear of the truck. Firing up the engine, he pulled out of the lot, turned right onto the side street to the north, then right again to pass her as he drove off in the direction of the Minnesota River. Just another routine delivery. Sitting in her car, Julia listened to the monitor. The monotonous, endlessly repetitive CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP threatening her sanity. She desperately wanted someone … anyone … to abscond with Ian's diapers, and put her out of her misery. . . . . “Well, this is a first.” Lying on the floor, Ian was slowly shaking his head in disbelief. Priscilla paused in the middle of changing his poopy diaper, tilting her head slightly as she looked down at her charge. “Having my butt wiped by a beautiful young woman in a public restroom above a delicatessen just down the hall from a lawyer's office.” He was proud of the fact that he was learning how to interpret Priscilla's facial expressions so quickly. The depth of his feelings for his bodyguard cum nanny had taken him completely by surprise. “We've got time for a quickie,” she grinned impishly. “No.” Ian reached up to caress her cheek, but he was shaking his head emphatically. “Pris, I don't know what the hell is wrong with me, but I do know this: quickies are not in our future. I want to make love to you … I'm seeing Kerr and Lancaster in the surf in From Here to Eternity.” “Hmm. If we catch up with Irina in Athens, how about somewhere in the Greek isles? I could be Aphrodite rising from the sea.” “She was nude, you know? No bathing suit.” “I can do that, although we might scandalize the rest of your harem … well, not Vickie.” “True,” Ian laughed; “not Vickie.” “I think of her as my sister, you know? My slightly older sister.” “That's good. I've been trying to figure out a way to make this work, and like with you trying to explain our relationship to your parents, I've been drawing blanks. Pris, what the hell are we going to do? Hell, for that matter, what the hell is wrong with you? My life is such a mess, you should get away from me; run as fast and as far away as you can get!” “Nope, sorry, isn't going to happen. No getting around the fact that you're stuck with me.” “I can't figure it out ...” “You don't have to,” she interrupted. “Ian, in the very near future I am going to have a pretty awkward conversation with my parents. I've spent much of the day trying to sort out how to explain what's happened to them, and it's not easy. Quantico will help, and in time Mom will get it … how I've fallen for this man who brings out the animal in me, but at the same time is tapping into my need to nurture and protect. But Dad's gonna be a hard sell; maternal, he most definitely is not.” “Not into changing diapers, I take it?” “Nope … strictly women's work.” “Definitely not a closet feminist!” “Nope. How about you? Have you signed on for the revolution?” “Charter member. Or at least Princess Poopy Pants is.” “Oh, yes … the little girl that's keeping her head down somewhere inside your subconscious. One of these days, I'd like to meet her!” “Take it up with your big sister. Vickie's planted something like a hypnotic command inside my head to shove me aside and let the Princess take over. Would you like to have a play date with the widdle baby girl?” Ian batted his eyelids mischievously. “I'm looking forward to babysitting her. Right this moment, though, I'm going to finish diapering you, then it's time to check in with Mom and see how the stakeout is going.” . . . . CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP … CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP … CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP … CHE …. EEP, CHE …. EEP, CHE … EEP … CHE …. EEP, CHE …. EEP, CHE … EEP … Julia was half asleep, all but hypnotized by the calming repetition of the signal emanating from the tracking device, but she came fully awake when the pattern suddenly changed. CH …... EEP, CH …... EEP, CH …... EEP … They've taken the bait! Julia was exultant, but bit down hard on her lip to get herself under control. Professor Grady had taught her how to read the signal. If you're stationary and the signal changes, it means that the target is in motion. If the beep shortens, it's getting closer … if it becomes more drawn out, it's moving away from you. Your receiver will hold onto the signal across a range of three miles, but don't panic if you lose it. Extend your search pattern, and it will reacquire the signal when you are once again less than three miles away … Julia fired up the engine and pulled out of the lot, debating whether to go right or left, north or south … Can't be south or east … the beep would have become stronger, not weaker, as the diapers went past me … Julia turned right, and headed north toward the beltway, beyond which lay Richfield and, ultimately, Minneapolis. If the signal continued to weaken, she would turn west, into the wealthy suburbs that graced the southwestern corner of the Twin Cities. It had to be one or the other. CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP … CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP … Closer! Julia triumphantly pounded the steering wheel with her fist. The broad boulevard was passing through a residential district with large homes set back on big lots, so there was little traffic. There were no stop signs, and the lights were spaced every six to eight blocks. CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP … I'm right on top of it! Grady, you son of a bitch! I owe you big time, my daughter thinks you walk on water, and the Department wants me to investigate your ass. What the hell! CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP … CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP … Julia was sitting at a red light, three cars in the lane ahead of her. It's one of these three vehicles … the thieves are in one of these three vehicles!!! . . . . “Uh, Pris … um … should we really just waltz into their office like this? I mean, you're acting like you own the place!” After finishing Ian's diaper change and helping him to redress, Priscilla had led him back downstairs to the delicatessen. Casually waving to the guys behind the counter, she had opened the door without knocking, and ushered him inside. “Not to worry. Mom does own the building … well, technically, only a third of it, but that's enough to buy me a few privileges around here. Like using the telephone when I don't want my uncles upstairs to know what's going on. Where I draw the line is changing your dirty diapers in somebody else's office. That would be gross.” “Glad to hear it, especially since we didn't bother to lock the door.” Priscilla favored Ian with her most sultry smile while dialing her mother's car phone. Julia picked up on the first ring. . . . . “Hey, Mom! Just calling to see how the stakeout is coming. You staying awake?” Priscilla knew how much her mother hated stakeouts. “Northbound on Nicollet, approaching the interstate. They took the bait, Pris; I'm fourth car in line at a red light, and the tracking device is in one of the three cars ahead of me. Have a listen.” Julia held the phone up to the receiver. CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP … CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP … “Julia, you're too close! Way too close!” Ian had snatched the phone out of Priscilla's hand, and he was shouting to make himself heard over the racket in Julia's car. “Back off a quarter of a mile before they spot you in their mirrors!” “Ian? What are you ...? Never mind ... It's a left turn, and I'll lose them on the interstate if I miss the light!” “No, you won't. If they're heading for the junction and you take the wrong highway, the signal will change dramatically. Remember, with both vehicles on the move, it is far more sensitive than it was with you stationary in that parking lot.” “But the rate of separation … I'll lose the signal in a matter of seconds ...” “Doesn't matter. Reverse course at the first off ramp, and give it the gas. You'll reacquire it when you close in. Worst comes to worst, you set up a search pattern using city streets. Trust me about this, Julia … it's not my first rodeo.” “Hold on! Light's changed … got to go!!” Julia dropped the phone, and held her breath as the vehicles ahead of her crawled slowly through the slush and started down the on ramp. Hers was the last car to make the turn, and she got a good look at the three vehicles ahead of her. Her mouth fell open in astonishment. Driving with one hand and keeping her eyes on the road, Julia felt around for the phone … “Pris … Honey, are you still there?” “Still here, Mom. Just giving my Secret Agent Man a hug and a kiss for a job well done.” “Young lady, I will talk with you about Professor Grady later. Right now, I need you to call your father. It's unbelievable. I ran into two girls yesterday when traipsing around town in the wake of the Lullaby van. Well, guess what! They're driving a different car, but it's them! They're the diaper thieves! Call Dad, and tell him that I need a local address for the girl he ran through the DMV yesterday-- Tippi Anne Bjornsen of New Ulm!” “No need to bother Dad.” Priscilla was laughing so hard that she could barely get the words out. Listening in on the call, Ian was madly whispering into her ear, reminding her that he had entertained a Tippi Bjornsen during his office hour yesterday afternoon. It had to be the same person! “Ian … um … Professor Grady … is pretty sure that he knows the young lady in question. She's a student, Mom-- and a sorority girl! So, congratulations! You've cracked the case, and now you get to inform Spats Belmondo that he's the victim of a typical sorority stunt pulled off by a bunch of enterprising juvenile delinquents!” “Julia, head for sorority row,” Ian advised; “we'll meet you there. Pris can read them their rights, maybe place them under arrest. I'm thinking that a night in the slammer would probably do this crew some good!” As soon as Julia hung up, Priscilla dialed her own headquarters. Her boss was still in his office, and Priscilla quickly brought him up to date on the latest bit of craziness occurring on the Row. When he finally finished laughing, the Chief looked up Tippi Anne Bjornsen, and quickly ascertained that she was a member in good standing of Zeta Alpha Pi, perhaps the most academically challenged of all the houses. For his part, he promised to await her call, then descend with enough squad cars, lights flashing and sirens blaring, to make the late night local news. He would personally be dumping the whole mess on the Dean's desk come the morning. Still battling to keep a reasonably straight face, Priscilla called her mom and gave her the address for a sorority that she had officially visited on more than one occasion. They would meet her there, but first things first: she had to go back upstairs and change her embarrassed professor's wet and dirty diaper one more time. Julia gripped the steering wheel hard. Sitting in Rita's office only hours earlier, Sarah had told her in no uncertain terms that her daughter was not only changing Ian's diapers but also bottle feeding him … treating him like a baby. And now Priscilla had just admitted in passing that she was changing his diaper-- said it as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Was she kinky? Were there signs that she and Herb had missed? And where is this relationship headed? Where...? Driving north on the interstate, approaching downtown, Julia resolved to have a very serious conversation with her daughter, the sole subject of said conversation being one Professor Ian Grady. CH …... EEP, CH …... EEP, CH …... EEP … CH …... EEP, CH …... EEP, CH …... EEP … CH …... EEP, CH …... EEP, CH …... EEP … Screaming, pounding the steering wheel in frustration, Julia paid no attention to the car in the lane to her left. But the driver was definitely paying attention to her, and Herb Kinnison did exactly what any sensible driver would do when finding himself going fifty-five miles an hour next to a rust bucket driven by a middle aged woman clearly in the throes of a nervous breakdown. He floored it.

Sarah will still be tuned in at the start of the next scene, so we shall find out in due course! Thanks for playing.

Quickie Country & Western quiz: Down in the dumps, Sarah called the request line at KSAD, the 500 megawatt blowtorch in International Falls, MN. Which of the following do you think the Dee Jay led off with in response? A. Jolene (Dolly Parton) B. When Will I Be Loved (Linda Ronstadt) C. You're No Good (Linda Ronstadt) D. Your Cheatin' Heart (Hank Williams, Sr.)

We were drinking Patron Silver, which is a very smooth tequila. We are traditionalists: do the shot, lick salt off your wrist (we opt for Himalayan sea salt), then hammer the taste buds with a slice of lime. These were on the house at our favorite Mexican restaurant, a family owned affair that we patronize three or four times a month. Yep, a great episode. And never shall fish stain the Bundy grill! Let's see if she still inspires sympathy in the next scene.

Sorry about the vague wording. I meant to thank Mike for setting up the site in such a way as to promote interaction between author and reader. This was something my wife and I picked up in Tokyo at a sex shop in Akihabara in the summer of 1975. I haven't kept up with chastity devices in recent years, but this one was pretty simple. We may find out how well, or poorly, it works at the Saturday night meeting of the Circle. We also picked up another toy in Akihabara that, by an amazing coincidence, Rita was able to purchase while Sarah was changing Vickie's diaper in the storeroom. This one is a lot of fun, and will have the ladies clamoring for a go on Saturday night.

Today, I'm celebrating my 78th birthday. and I'd like to think my wife and I did it in style: two jumbo margaritas, countless tequila shots, and a bottle of champagne to finish off a fine dinner and obscenely decadent birthday cake. It's hard to believe that I cashed my first pay check from a publishing house all the way back in 1972, yet somehow still possess the energy to turn out 48 scenes in a story here that has now surpassed the 200,000 word mark (and the end is not yet in sight). I wanted to take this opportunity to express my thanks to the individuals who have taken the time here not only to read Homage but also to comment. One of the odd things about publishing in the real world is that you get to know your critics, but rarely interact with your fans. Not so on this site. Thanks, Mike.

Well, you still can't compete with Al Bundy when he got on the phone to order a part for the Dodge ("Proud to Be Your Bud" is one of my favorite episodes of my favorite TV series of all time)!

24 HOURS FROM TULSA Oh, I was only twenty four hours from Tulsa Ah, only one day away from your arms I hate to do this to you but I love somebody new, what can I do? Gene Pitney (1963), Dusty Springfield (1964) . . . . Ian leaned back, closed his eyes, and allowed his taste buds to take control of his senses. A pastrami sandwich with all the trimmings was a treat at the best of times, but coming on top of a steady diet of breast milk, it was nirvana. “Real food,” he sighed contentedly, “real food!” When he opened his eyes, he saw that Priscilla was staring at him strangely. “What?” “The look on your face. Ian, your resilience ...” Priscilla shook her head, trying to come to terms with it. “A half hour ago, you were in so much pain that I was fighting to hold back the tears, and there were a couple of times when it took everything I had not to throw up in your trash can. And now?” She continued to shake her head. “Now, here we are, eating a late lunch in my favorite deli, acting as if nothing terrible had ever happened to either one of us. I'm sitting here trying to process the strangest day in my whole life, and I'm not having much luck.” After changing Ian's diaper, she had led him out to her cruiser and driven directly to the deli, parking in the slot reserved for her mother at the rear of the building. Sitting at the small table, sandwiches, chips and beverages spread out in front of them, the only thing that seemed out of place was Priscilla's uniform. In every other respect, they appeared to be a young couple who had taken advantage of a late winter afternoon lull to duck in out of the cold and enjoy each other's company. “I'm afraid it's about to get stranger still,” Ian grimaced. He took a sip of his coffee, and was surprised to see that his hand wasn't shaking. “How so?” Priscilla leaned across the table, drawing closer to him. The intimacy of the gesture warmed her. Ian's smile, she now realized, had always been tinged with sorrow, with regret, the sometimes visible face of a broken heart. She longed to take him in her arms, to hold him close, and somehow to make all the pain go away. “I made love to you without thinking about the consequences. And they're real. Seriously, Priscilla, what I laid out for you wasn't theoretical; it's going to happen.” “No regrets, Ian … for either of us. One of the things I'm trying to process is my feelings for you. I'm nor ashamed of them, and I'm not going to apologize-- to Sarah, or anyone else.” “Good, because I don't want you to. And if anyone asks you straight out, just say da.” Priscilla's laugh was heartfelt. “I'm glad you feel that way because I don't think either one of us could deny it with a straight face!” “My thoughts exactly,” Ian grinned. “So, here's what I'm thinking.” He leaned forward, further closing the distance between them. “The security team will be organized into outer and inner perimeters, and when there are women and small children involved, the standard procedure is to have an all-female team on the inside, led by someone local with police experience. I'm pretty sure that Donnie would agree to make you the principal agent, but it would mean living on site … after completing the standard training course at Quantico, with a bit of supplemental training tossed in to fit the specific situation. The basic course is thirty-three days, and the supplemental would probably occur on site. Think you can live without me for a month?” “How on site is on site?” The twinkle in Priscilla's eyes told Ian that she was already sold, if only for the fringe benefits. “In the bedroom next to the target, which initially will be Sarah. By the way, I expect to be comfortably situated in one of the cribs that I occupied in the psych ward. The odds are good that a bedroom will be converted into a nursery, with me the sole occupant. Could get lonely in there.” The twinkle in Ian's eyes told Priscilla that Ian was not about to end their relationship. “And would this nursery of yours have a changing table, where I could look after you properly?” The twinkle in Priscilla's eyes had turned positively devilish. “Count on it … and perhaps one of those miniature refrigerators to house my ba bas.” His cock was straining to get hard inside its diapered prison. “Well, free room and board … and a course at Quantico would look awfully good on my resume ...” “But can I survive without you for a whole month? You've already made it clear that nobody else on the force would be willing to change my shitty diaper.” Ian was rather glad that the deli was all but deserted this late in the afternoon. “Suzie Marshall might be willing ...” “Can't see Sarah giving her the key. Besides, she probably isn't pistol trained. City girls just don't know their guns.” “Well, I could ask Mom; she doesn't have much to do in December, knows a good pistol when she sees one, and has definitely changed the odd diaper.” “Might make your dad jealous ...” Ian snapped his fingers. “How about one of those cute coeds camping out at the office? Maybe for extra credit.” “Hmm … nope … too late in the term. Sorry.” “Know any nannies packing heat?” “Not really … wait … Harriet's a possibility. She definitely wants to get in your pants, and her uncle is a notorious gangster. She may know what to do with a loaded gun.” “In my current state, make it a double action.” “Cocked and loaded, are you? Ready to fire?” “Not sure about the pin … might need some tender, loving care.” Just needs a little oil … a bit of pampering.” “Pampering is always good ...” Priscilla reached out to clasp the back of Ian's neck, and pulled him forward. “Such a baby,” she murmured, as she kissed him full on the lips, holding him tightly in her grasp. “But don't worry. A month at Quantico will go by fast, and then Mommy will always be here to change your shitty diaper. Da?” “Da.” . . . . “One more stop and we can call it a day,” Sarah announced. She turned around in her seat, and double checked to make sure that Vickie's seat belt was properly fastened. “Where to?” Rita was making her way slowly down the aisle. The accident rate in snow bound mall parking lots was staggering. “Mom says that we need to visit a shop in the northern suburbs. They apparently have a nice array of spanking implements that will encourage our babies to be more obedient.” “Works for me,” Rita shrugged as she glanced in the rear view mirror to see how Vickie was reacting. She wasn't particularly surprised to see that their colleague was staring aimlessly out the window, and paying no attention whatsoever to the frank discussion of corporal punishment underway in the front seat. When it came to paddling the rear end, Rita suspected that there was precious little to be left to Vickie's imagination. “Did you think that she was a bit too cruel,” Rita continued. “Who?” Sarah wasn't sure who they were talking about. “The lady running the store. It's one thing to leave that boy in the storeroom in a diaper and baby pants, sucking on a pacifier, while she rang up our purchase. But taking his trousers with her, and calling his mother to come pick him up? I don't know about that.” “Well, if the mother sent him to the store in the first place, obviously there's no harm done. But if he lied about that … if he's acting out some kind of baby fetish behind her back, it's better for her to find out now rather than later. Rita, you of all people know that reality rarely measures up to fantasy, especially adolescent fantasy. If she indulges him … starts sending him to school in diapers and treating him like a baby at home, he might decide that his fantasy isn't all that he thought it would be, and he'll move on. But if this is what he really wants, either she takes her new baby home and helps him come to terms with his infantile desires, or they end up in counseling. Either way, Tommy comes out ahead.” “I suppose so,” Rita reluctantly conceded, “but I hope that his diaper holds up. When his mother walks through the door, that poor kid is going to pee up a storm!” “They'll probably have to pry his pacifier loose with a crowbar,” Sarah laughed. “And I can't wait to slip Ian's pacifier into his mouth when we get home. It will get a real workout when I'm spanking his baby butt! How about you, baby girl?” Sarah twisted around in her seat, and licked her lips as she thought about what she had in store for Vickie. “You're so naughty that I'm not even going to bother spanking you. Nope. I'm going straight to the paddle, or perhaps I'll graduate to the cane that I'm going to buy at our next stop. Mom says that it might be the only thing that will get your attention. We'll see, baby girl; we'll see. But don't worry! You'll have your binkie to calm your tears!” . . . . Priscilla peeked at her watch, then stood up. “Be right back,” she said; “I'm going to call Mom, and see how things are going on her end.” Waving at the guys behind the counter, Priscilla opened a door marked MANAGER, and disappeared inside, leaving Ian to salivate over the next bite of his pastrami sandwich. While he ate, he was also thinking about his next talk with Donnie Freeman. Ian well understood that it was not in the Agency's best interest to find his daughter, for the simple reason that he would cease working for Langley the moment Linh arrived on his doorstep. When he had refused the latest Polish mission, he had in effect cast a formal vote of no confidence in a community that he had distrusted since adolescence. He was pinning his hopes on the Russians, but he wasn't quite ready to write the DC crowd off completely. Rita, Vickie and Sarah gave him three cards to play in this convoluted game, and Priscilla's admission that they were lovers had just added a fourth. As long as the Agency could keep control, Donnie would have been perfectly happy to learn that he was sleeping with every woman who crossed his path. Sex was merely a means, children the end. Ian concluded that pitching Priscilla to the Agency would be like tossing bloody meat into shark infested waters. The outcome was a foregone conclusion. . . . . “Fantasy Island?” Rita did a double take as she pulled into the lot. It was obviously a shop selling “marital aids,” but with a hardware store on one side and an Asian supermarket on the other, it looked distinctly out of place. “Yep. Mom says that this is the place to shop in the Twin Cities when you're looking for adult toys. Baby girl, have you been here?” Sarah would have bet a healthy sum that Vickie had an account here. After all, her wands had to come from someplace, and if her mom was right, this was the most likely source. “Uh huh,” Vickie muttered. She left it at that. “Well,” Sarah smiled brightly, “let's get you unbuckled, and then you and Auntie Rita can come inside with me, and we'll see what they have to offer!” Vickie waited for Sarah to unfasten her seat belt, and then slid out of the car. She needed a diaper change, and she knew that the shop had a restroom, but she was hoping to avoid the humiliation of being changed in public. She fervently hoped that she wasn't leaking. Vickie's heart sank the moment they walked through the door. She had done business with the young lady behind the counter on more than one occasion. “Victoria! It's good to see you again! And you've brought friends. Welcome!” “Hi, Jessica. Uh, these are two of my friends from work, Sarah and Rita.” Vickie nodded to left and right. “Sarah's in the market for an upscale paddle and a cane. Last time I checked, you had a really good selection.” “Right this way,” Jessica beamed. “Tell me how much you want it to hurt, and I guarantee you that we've got what you need. On a scale of one to ten, think two for an over the knee spanking, four for a ping pong paddle, five for a paddle with holes, and eight for a birch cane.” “Well,” Sarah laughed, “neither spankings nor paddling seems to have got my boyfriend's attention, so I want to move up. I'll need both the paddle with holes, and a cane.” “Good choices! I'd also like to sell you a whip, which comes in at ten, and I'll toss in a mannequin free of charge. If you haven't used a whip before, you really want to practice before turning it loose on your boyfriend. Whips and chains are not for amateurs, but once you master the whip, it will always be your first choice. Does he need a chastity cage?” “Do you sell them?” Sarah was getting really excited. “We have everything from cheap stuff that's good only for a bit of role playing to state of the art, stainless steel devices that can't be defeated, and with locks that can't be picked. Absolute control is guaranteed, or your money back!” “Fantastic! Show me … show me … show me! The best that you've got!” Jessica opened a case near the cash register, and brought out a life size replica of the male genitalia, and a small but brightly colored cardboard box. Opening it, she placed a ring and sheath on the counter, with a key that was already attached to an odd shaped lock. Reaching back into the case, she hauled out a small plastic piece whose purpose was anything but obvious. “Here's how it works,” she explained. “You squeeze the guy's balls inside the ring, and ratchet it closed, just like a handcuff. You want it tight, but not so tight that it cuts off circulation. Then, you slide his penis into this sheath; the best way to go about it is to tie a piece of string behind the head with a slip knot, and ease it into place. Next, slide this plastic cover into place on top of the penis; it will prevent pull out, which is the only thing that can defeat the device. Line up these two holes and these two pins like so, insert the lock, which is housed inside the ring, turn the key, and pull it out. That's all there is to it. Just ice his penis down first; the maximum length the cage will take is one inch. Oh, and for permanent chastity, just fill the lock with solder. Give him a choice between permanent chastity and a whipping, and I guarantee that he will beg you for the whip.” “Wonderful! I mean, really … wow! Thank you so much for your help; you've really got everything that I need. Now, could you do me a favor? My baby girl probably needs her diaper changed. If I get her diaper bag out of the car, do you have someplace I can change her?” Jessica looked around, not catching on to what Sarah was talking about. Then she stole a glance at Vickie's bottom, and broke out into a big smile. “Oh, yes, Sarah, changing your baby's dirty diaper won't be a problem. You can use the storeroom; there's a work bench in there that will nicely serve as a changing table. By the way, I'm Jessica!” “It's nice to meet you, Jessica … and again, thank you for all your help. Dealing with two naughty babies is really stressing me out, but with your help I'll finally have a fighting chance of bring them to heel.” “It's my pleasure, and if you ever need a babysitter, just give me a call.” Jessica handed Sarah a card with both her home and work telephone numbers. "And if you ever want to have a weekend free, I'd love to look after both of them. This one is such a cutie!” Jessica reached out to tickle Vickie's cheek. Sarah reached into her bag, brought out Vickie's pacifier, and slipped it into her mouth. “Baby girl just loves her binkie,” Sarah declared; “she finds it very soothing.” “Why don't you take her to the storeroom and get her undressed,” Rita suggested. “I'll fetch her diaper bag, and join you in a minute.” “Good idea,” Sarah crowed. “Come on, baby girl, let's go change your diapee!” . . . . When Priscilla returned to the table, she beat Ian to the punch. “Mom's sitting in the school parking lot across the street from your building. She's got a clear view of the entrance to your lot, but she says that the snow is piled so high on one old beater with California plates that she can't see all the way to the end of it. Somebody needs to get out there and clean that rust bucket off!” “I'll mention it to the owner the next time I run into him,” Ian said in his best deadpan voice. “If his girlfriend is the outdoors type, maybe he can con her into doing it for him.” “Might take a bribe.” “Rumor has it that the guy's just a big baby. He might get by with nursing on Mommy's titties.” “Be a step up from the bottles of breast milk that are his daily lot. I know for a fact that he's a tit man.” “The real question is whether he can keep his end up.” “You would have to ask his girlfriend about that.” “The last time I saw her, she had this big shit-eating grin on her face. If I had to guess, I'd say that the guy's got the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval.” “I want to make love to you ...” “We could go to your apartment … no … wait … bad idea. Mom's got your place under surveillance. Really bad idea.” “Yeah.” Ian let out a deep, regretful sigh, and slipped out of Priscilla's grasp. “We should be prepared to back her play. You're a cop, and I'm a secret agent who needs to get his toy back. Who else is in on this gig?” “My boss, Chief Mischof … and he's big on dramatic entrances. Trust me … he'll show up with lights flashing, siren blaring … it's quite a show.” . . . . “Rita, I have to get back to work; remember, through Tuesday next, I'm covering the first half of Heidi's shift.” Sarah was thinking about the tasks ahead. “So, on Friday, the two of you will have to deal with Ian's apartment without me. Can you manage?” “We'll manage.” In her usual thorough way, Rita had already gathered enough boxes to pack up Ian's kitchen, bathroom and closets. She would find out on Thursday whether he had the original boxes for his stereo and TV, or needed replacements. Amos would load whatever she and Vickie left behind Friday night on his truck late Saturday morning, and dump it in her garage to be sorted out later. She would deal with Ian's artwork, far the most valuable of his few possessions, personally. “And will you help, baby girl, or are you just going to get in the way?” “We'll get it done,” Vickie shrugged. “Providing that disaster doesn't strike on Saturday night, are we still planning to tackle my apartment on Sunday?” “Absolutely.” Sarah couldn't wait to see the look on Vickie's face when she discovered that her bed was gone, and realized that she would be sleeping in one of their hospital cribs forevermore. She planned to put the cribs back to back, so that Vickie and Ian could touch and even kiss, but nothing more. With his cock safely locked inside the chastity device, her baby husband would experience a level of frustration that she would alleviate only in exchange for his obedience. She was going to enforce the D/s contract that he had signed-- enforce every word of it. “Jessica's offer reminds me that we do have to think about babysitters for our little ones,” Sarah noted. She was talking to Rita, and making a point of ignoring Vickie completely. “After all, they'll be times when we want to do grown-up things by ourselves. Do you think that Jessica would make a good babysitter?” “It depends on her schedule, but if she's free when we need her, I would certainly try her out. I've been worrying about babysitters because I would expect Ian to try and charm them right out of their panties. Once we have him locked in that chastity cage, a lot of my worries are going to disappear.” “So, you agree with my plan to keep him under lock and key?” “Absolutely. If we're going to have babies, I don't want him touching himself, and I certainly don't want him having sex with other women. We're going to keep him very busy, so he will need to conserve his energy to satisfy us.” “Ian is still my patient,” Vickie growled from the back seat, “and I fully intend to complete his treatment successfully. Both of you have a role to play here, or have you forgotten?” “Not at all,” Rita smoothly countered. “Manny and I will get together sometime on Friday and set dates for the 'diaper your favorite nurse' auction. If the sessions take hold, all three of us will be able to summon Princess Poopy Pants at will. Working together, Vic, the three of us should be able to trigger a breakthrough with less risk than if you try it alone. Once he's stable, we can keep the Princess in reserve to help him through future crises.” “At least once I'd like to repress the Major and allow the Princess to enjoy life for a while,” Sarah added. “Who knows? We might discover that we like the Princess better, and want to spend more time with her!” . . . . “Let's sneak across the road,” Ian suggested. “There's a bank of pay phones off the hospital's main lobby. I'll ring Donnie, and if you want, you can track Amos down in the ER and confirm that everything's ready for tomorrow night.” “Sounds like a plan; let's do it.” What Priscilla really wanted to do was find a vacant hospital room. Making love with Ian had left her horny as hell. Rip his clothes off, ditch the canvas chastity belt, pray that his diaper was poop free, and then make mad, passionate love to the first man to excite her since her brief but torrid affair with her eleventh grade biology teacher. Not for the first time, Priscilla asked herself what the hell was wrong with Sarah. She had somehow latched on to a great guy, and yet she treated him like crap. Did she think that he could be taken for granted because of his diapers? Given that she was sharing him with two of her friends, that seemed unlikely in the extreme. Whatever her motive, Suzie Marshall wanted Ian badly, and Vickie wasn't having it. Their rivalry was common knowledge. Ian had had a brief fling with his department secretary, and neither of them was treating it like some deep, dark secret. The lady running his diaper service was clearly in the market for a husband, and just as clearly believed that Ian would fit the bill quite nicely. Ian was wounded in body and spirit, but he was gentle and loving-- a combination so potent that it amounted to an aphrodisiac. And Sarah hadn't simply spanked him … she had paddled him! What the hell is wrong with this woman? In the lobby, Priscilla assured Ian that she could find the ER without difficulty-- in fact, it had been only two weeks since her last visit, when she and another officer had transported a professor who had collapsed in his office from a kidney stone attack. Amos welcomed her with open arms, and assured her that he had already cached the supplies that they would need for the upcoming drinking contest. He was raring to go, and no, he would not agree to man up and wear a diaper. He wanted to give the other team a fighting chance, or at least the illusion of one. Male pride, Priscilla sighed, stubborn male pride. Still shaking her head, she headed back to the lobby. . . . . “I recognize the area code, but not the number. That you, Street?” “In the flesh, Donnie. Calling from a pay phone in the hospital where Sarah works. Everybody having fun back there?” “At your expense, you mean? Sure. Setting aside the worrisome fact that one of our most senior agents can pick up the phone and call Irina Orlov whenever he feels like it, your love life is the talk of the building. If you're taking pills, the Director wants the prescription. Seriously, Street. Four women? Where do you find the time, never mind the energy?” “No pills, Donnie. Sorry, but it's simply a matter of self-discipline.” “Yeah, right. Cook up something a bit more convincing, and the Director will cover the cost of your honeymoon out of petty cash. By all means, take all four of the lovely ladies with you to Athens, have a heart to heart with Irina, and then move on to that quaint little hotel you told me about on Santorini. Get Irina to give us a bit of raw meat, and it's a legit expense. Gotta keep the bean counters happy, know what I mean?” “Helps to have something to offer in trade.” “How about we loosen the travel restriction for their embassy personnel a bit? Say another fifty miles?” “I'll make the offer, but it would be nice to have some leeway. Say … oh … a hundred?” “We can live with that, but we'd have to have something meaningful in return. And I'm not talking about bathtub vodka.” “About Priscilla … Julia's daughter ...” “Listening.” “Not to get too far ahead of the curve, but we may need a security officer in house. She's the logical choice, and she's receptive to the idea of visiting Quantico.” “Sweet. You sure you can survive without your nanny for a month, plus?” “Not really. She treats me like royalty. Diaper changes are a real treat.” “It's hard to tell on the recording, Street. How did she handle the truth?” “A couple of bad moments, but she hung in there. She gives me hope.” “You got a plan for the encore?” “Saturday night. Priscilla is urging me to do a bit of editing, but otherwise to give the same account.” “Ian, they have to know. There's no getting around this … they have to know.” “Yeah. And one of these days, I need to apologize to Emily.” Ian was badly startled when he felt an arm drape across his shoulders. Mushy poop was exploding into his diaper as he looked to his right. Seeing Priscilla, he grinned with relief, and turned to kiss her lightly on the lips. Priscilla's arm dropped, to wrap around his waist. It felt so good simply to hold him tight. “Got to go,” Ian said as his attention shifted back to the telephone. “I'll call you at home on Sunday, and share the highlights.” . . . . “Am I the only one who thinks that Sarah could use some professional help?” From the back seat, Vickie was watching her colleague exit the parking garage, holding the box containing one of the breast pumps to her chest. “I mean, really, what's she going to say when someone yells out 'hey Sarah, need help? What's in the box'?” “Considering that we're all going to add a full cup size to our bras,” Rita replied defensively, “there's not a lot to be gained by keeping this a secret.” “So, you want us to follow her over hill and dale, all the way to the seventh floor? I can see it now … 'yeah, folks, that's right. We don't have babies. We're not pregnant. But gee, we thought it would be so much fun to breast feed the boy friend that we're all sharing, so the three of us are going into the milk production business'. Think that might get our Director's attention?” “You have a point. Maybe we should come back around … say … 2 AM?” “And in the meantime, have you noticed that I'm sharing the backseat with a friggin' mannequin? A MANNEQUIN? That crazy bitch wants to lock our boyfriend in a chastity cage, keep the key, and graduate from spankings and paddling to caning and … ta da … a whip. Rita, this is nuts! Please … pretty please … tell me that you are not good with this!!!” “Of course not! For God's sake, Vic, calm down! Do I have to remind you that yesterday Sarah had all the keys to your diaper cover, and today I've got one in my purse? Here!” Rita reached into her bag, grabbed the key, and handed it over. “I'll get your diaper bag out of the trunk. Go home. Take a shower. Have something to drink. I'll give you sixty to ninety minutes, then I'll drop by to lock you in a fresh diaper and send you on your way. You are going to Sarah's tonight, right?” “Right. The game plan seems to call for spankings all around, and I've already got a diaper rash. My usual kinky fun this ain't gonna be.” “Not much I can do about the rash. My advice is to keep going with your bratty toddler routine. Sarah seems to be lapping it up, and you've got me convinced that this is the real you!” “Well, of course it's the real me! I am a brat, and I need my mommy. What I don't need is a sadistic bitch ruining my life, or Ian's. This D/s crap has to be shelved until after we've managed his breakthrough. Until then, it's counterproductive.” “I wholeheartedly agree!” “Then prove it.” “How?” “Tomorrow night. Amos and Ian want to tie one on, and Priscilla has set up a drinking contest with a bunch of cops in a bar up northeast. It's pretty much drink until you pass out, and whoever pisses his or her pants first has to buy the next round. The four of us are challenging the best the cops can put up, and Priscilla is going to wear a diaper to give us the edge. But my diaper will be soaked before we begin … unless you come along and change me just before we get started.” “Are you suicidal? Sarah will skin both of you alive!” “Rita, I think Ian is having second thoughts about his relationship with Sarah … serious second thoughts. He's signed on to become her baby husband, not an abused slave. She's changing the rules after the game's begun, and he's not having it. Look, I want the man, not the baby; you can have the baby all to yourself. Push comes to shove, we don't need Sarah. Between the two of us, we can see to all of Ian's needs. So, are you in or out?” “In,” Rita sadly admitted. “But you have to buy me some time to try and sort this out. I'll stop by the bar and change your diaper, but then I'm going to lock you up for the duration. Take your punishment, even if it's extreme. If Sarah does overreact, I can use that to play the honest broker. I don't want to lose a friend, but she's letting her fantasies run wild, and it has to stop. If she doesn't come to her senses and Ian asks for our help, I'll do what I think is in his best interest.” . . . . Sarah was crossing the lobby, heading for the corridor and the elevator that would whisk her up to the third floor. She was planning to activate the breast pump, and make sure that the mechanical beast actually worked. A twenty minute break, which she would take in another hour or so, would give her a chance to try it out. Glancing to her right, she saw a man talking on one of the bank of public telephones beyond the receptionist's desk. Her pace slowed as she looked him over. He was facing away from her, but she would have sworn that it was Ian, although she couldn't imagine what would have brought him to the hospital. Moments later, a young policewoman came into view, her face lighting up with a smile as she drew near the pay phone. Priscilla, Sarah said to herself, remembering yesterday's events. Her name is Priscilla. She watched as Priscilla's arm reached out to grasp the man's shoulders. The man turned, his face startled at first but then settling into a welcoming smile. He kissed her lightly on the lips. It was Ian. Priscilla's arm dropped, to wrap around Ian's waist. Possession. Sarah's world collapsed around her. Blindly, fighting to hold back the tears, the breast pump mocking her every step, she stumbled on across the lobby and down the corridor to await the elevator. Mercifully, it was otherwise empty as she made the brief journey to the third floor, and took refuge behind the closed door of her office. Turning on the radio, which was always tuned to her favorite country and western station, Sarah collapsed into her chair. The breast pump now forgotten, she crossed her arms and lowered her head to the desk. Quietly, she began to sob. Perversely, almost as if a demon was taunting her, a tune began to play softly in the background, a song about love lost, sudden and unexpected … The jukebox started to play And night time turned into day As we were dancing, closely, All of a sudden I lost control as I held her charms And I caressed her, kissed her, Told her I'd die before I would let her out of my arms Oh, I was only twenty four hours from Tulsa ... Soon, Sarah's tears began to flow.

How about a compromise. In the Diaper Dimension or the universe of Amazons, instead of breast milk, is it too much to ask for a story in which the blonds are pumping out champagne, the phony blonds beer, the brunettes Scotch, and the redheads Irish whiskey?

I remember that smell. It permeated my wife's clothes, and she called it her revenge for the urine/poopy smell that seemed forever trapped in my skin. The danger with breast milk is that the lactose content is fully 20% higher than cow's milk, so some people who can tolerate the latter cannot process the former. I'm lactose intolerant, but different levels hit me in different ways. Cow's milk and ice cream trigger projectile vomiting, but breast milk runs right through me in the form of the runny poop that I've condemned Ian to experience. Here the danger is dehydration. I used to tolerate yogurt, but now it doubles me over with severe abdominal pain. Happily, I love feta, so cheese is not a problem. Here's an interesting little tidbit. I have slept with many Asian women over the decades, and have been told more than once that all western men exude a body odor that is heavy on dairy. They do not find it pleasant.

Robin's letter of 12/06/23 says that the site has zero tolerance for the sexualization of children and teenagers. Taken literally, this means ages 18 and 19 would be off limits, whereas on this site they are considered adults. Does anyone know what Patreon means by "teenagers?" Has anyone here put up a story over there involving 18 and 19 year old characters in sexual situations?

The Smithsonian Magazine has a wonderful piece on the history of breast pumping. We didn't have access to a pump when my wife was breast feeding, so I had to step up and take one for the cause when my son, at 7 months, suddenly decided that breast milk sucked (pardon the pun). The stuff tastes incredibly foul.

Quickie historical quiz The breast pump that Rita, Sarah and Vickie are buying is the Egnell pump, invented in 1942 by the Swedish engineer Einar Egnell. In 1979, the first breast pump designed by a woman was still in the future. In what year did it come out? A. 1984 B. 1988 C. 1992 D. 1996 E. 2000

Thanks, Rusty. A great post! I encourage everyone to be considerate of hotel housekeeping staff. I bag up my soiled diaper/s in the morning, and drop them in the trash can outside the hotel entrance. I do not leave them for staff to empty out because a soiled diaper sitting in a cart for hours is going to leave a nasty smell in the corridor. A great feature of the big truck stops and their shower complexes is that drivers are coming and going all day and night with backpacks and large duffel bags. Your bag is just one more in the crowd. Finally, as Rusty says, treat the furnishings in hotel rooms kindly. Put a hospital grade pad underneath you in bed at night, and if you are not already wearing vinyl or PUL pants over your diaper when you're on the road, please get in the habit.

Interesting observation. The Diaper Dimension should appeal strongly to Harry Potter fans. And I must say that riding around on a broomstick looks like great fun ... right up to the moment when you fall off!

Good post, Rusty. I try and use the dark plastic bags instead of the transparent ones for disposal. Walmart's are thin, but two of them do the trick. I posted a practical guide to diapering on the road entitled "Another Day Out On the Diaper Highway" (currently on page 14 of the Stories forum). If you have the time, please take a look and add your own thoughts. This is a down to earth topic that warrants more discussion here than it has received.

Looking back on it, this is my sense of what happened as well. She asked me what I was shopping for, and when I said "diapers," her next question was whether they were for me or a younger brother or sister. With that sorted out, she led me to the adult diapers while asking whether I needed them for bed wetting, or for daytime use as well. She did take my measurements in the storeroom, but she was very professional. I was glad that she was taking the time to get the best product for me, both in terms of size and thickness. Looking back on it, I now regard it as telling that she never asked me about how I got my diapers changed in school. This certainly suggests that this was indeed all old hat to her. By the way, I saw the school nurse during nutrition break, and just before the end of lunch break. I also reported to my gym teacher (my one special ed type class), who occasionally had to change me as well. Quite a few kids had other problems that brought them to the school nurse's office. She was a busy lady!

It's possible that I've forgotten, but I don't recall being embarrassed that day. Before disposables, you couldn't hide diapers drying on the line from the neighborhood bullies, and of course a diaper service truck stopping by weekly was an even bigger tell. Being shot in the 4th grade, raped in the 5th, and knifed in the 6th toughened me up. I mashed a kid's jaw in the 6th, and used a knife to fight off another bully in the 7th. After that, I had no problems with the guys, and proved reasonably popular with girls outside the cheer leading set, especially after I got my learner's permit at 15 1/2. Because I skipped 4B and 5A, the girls in my class were all older than me. In sum, they had licenses but no cars, and I had two cars but no license. Hallelujah, and to hell with the diapers!

Would it help if he wrapped his phone in tin foil, put it in a faraday cage, and left it in the trunk?

The next is on board scanning that will monitor your eye movements, and give you a warning if they look away for more than a few seconds. This is to protect you from having an accident while peeking at your cell phone. Big Brother is watching you.

Oddly enough, sixty odd years later what I remember most clearly is that it was raining when mom dropped me off in front of the maternity and infants wear shop (we're talking Los Angeles). There was no one in the shop but the lady running it, and it only took her a couple of questions to sort out that I needed adult diapers. Oh, I could still wear the 27x27 Birdseye, but 4 to 6 at a time was generating a lot of laundry. I did end up in the storeroom, stripped down for a fitting, and did walk out with a dozen diapers that came to over $40. At the time, this was the largest amount of money I had ever held in my hands (mom sent me in with $60), and that's the second thing that I remember. One needs to keep in mind that, at 16, my first job paid 75 cents an hour. It wasn't until I started to get interested in girls a year later that I figured out that mom couldn't cope with my erections. Sending me off to buy my own adult diapers was a cute way of telling me that I was no longer a child-- and if I wanted money, it was time to think about getting a job! I found a few of these sixty year old diapers in a box, and while I could not find any of my beloved Playtex baby pants, will wonders never cease ... I did find a pair of unused Comco snap on vinyl pants packed away with the diapers. Behold!

NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART Author's note. There are only two parts to this scene, and the second one is a tricked out version of something that happened to me in March of 1960, shortly after my 14th birthday. I didn't connect the dots when my mom told me that it was time for me to start changing my own diapers, and in the process to move up from baby to adult. My attitude was “yeah, sure, whatever.” I was too busy pondering how to sync the dual carbs on my Triumph Spitfire (my first race car, which I was running on closed tracks). I wrote this scene as a thank you to Guilend, Littlebopeeper, Cdfm, CCApril, Kerry-- indeed to everyone who has taken the time to read and comment on this story. Hope everyone continues to enjoy the tale. . . . . “I … I'm sorry, but I'm having a hard time coming to grips with this.” Priscilla felt dizzy, incoherent thoughts swirling around in her brain with the force of a category five hurricane. “Aren't you two enemies? How … how is this possible?” Irina laughed, and it was heartfelt. She had had this conversation many times, and in more than one language. “My Dear, we are professionals, and as such we try not to make life too difficult for one another. But Ian and I are also friends. A long time ago, he saved my life, and for a Russian, this is a very big deal. We believe that, if you save someone's life, you are forever responsible for them. But it also means that my family has a life debt … what we call 'a debt of honor'. When Ian comes east, he is under my family's protection, but he is careful never to abuse our friendship. Do not think of him as a spy, for he is not. No. He is the one honorable man in a dishonorable profession. Now, I ask again: who is trying to harm my Ian?” “Calling her my bodyguard? Sorry, Irina; it was a figure of speech. There are many refugees here, and the hospitals all need someone who speaks Khmer, Lao, and Vietnamese. I'm it. I have been helping one hospital, and the others have found out. Now, there are recruiters offering me a lot of money to quit the university and work for somebody else. Priscilla is here to keep order.” “They are offering you money?” Irina snorted derisively. “Milyy, you care less about money than the people in my government, and they are good Communists! Ridiculous!” “Milyy,” Priscilla mouthed. “Sweetheart,” Ian mouthed. “Oh.” Priscilla didn't quite know what to make of that! “And now she is your nanny? Milyy, you never called me 'nanny' when I was changing your diapers!” “You changed his diapers,” Priscilla screeched. “But you're a general,” she managed to add before her voice trailed off. “A general who knows how to change a diaper,” Irina chuckled. “And changing my Ian was great fun” “Did you sleep with him?” Priscilla blurted out what she really wanted to know. “Uh … Pris,” Ian cautioned, “this call is being recorded; half the world is probably listening in.” “The question stands,” Priscilla hissed. “Did you sleep with him?” “No,” Irina lamented; “both governments would have been embarrassed if an American agent and a Russian general became lovers … and I am not a honey trap!” “Honey pot,” Ian corrected; “you are not a honey pot, and you do not set honey traps.” Priscilla looked at him for an explanation. "Using sex to set someone up for blackmail,” he whispered. She nodded. That, at least, was easy to understand. “Da … thank you. But when it comes to women,” she added coquettishly, “my Ian always comes to me for advice.” “An older woman ...” “We are the same age,” Irina laughed. “Milyy, ona zaviduyet. Ty tozhe spish's ney?” “Ian?” “She thinks that you are jealous, and she is very politely asking if we are lovers.” Ian said this loud enough for Irina to overhear. “Da,” Priscilla cut in before Ian had a chance to answer. “I do not understand. Ian, Donald told me that you are to marry … a nurse named Sarah. But he also said that you will be living with Rita and Victoria, and sleeping with them too. And now I discover that you are sleeping with your nanny. Is this an American custom, or did it only start with this feminist revolution of yours?” “American women are very liberated,” Ian conceded, “although few drive tractors.” This was an old Soviet joke, which he was sure would pass right over Priscilla's head. “But they are very bossy. I am the mule who plows their fields.” “And do you like pulling the plow?” “Yes, but the harness is uncomfortable. I want Sarah to make a harness just for me, not buy one in the store that fits poorly.” “I understand. You should not marry until the harness fits well. An unhappy mule will not plow deep, and the seed will fail. The angry farmer will sell the mule, and an animal twice sold may not find a buyer.” “The mule is stubborn by nature. The farmer must find its limits, and respect them.” “This mule will not lack for buyers.” Priscilla had caught on to what they were talking about. “There are many interested parties, but the owner will not sell. It will take time, but they will become a team.” “I see.” There was a pronounced pause while Irina thought it through. “Then we come to the heart of the matter-- marriage, and children. Your diapers do not drive the women who care for you away, and your injuries are less than they see in their work. No, it is as Donald said to me when he called: have you come to terms with the past, or does Nguyen still haunt your thoughts?” “I have let go,” Ian thoughtfully admitted. He had given an enormous amount of time to this very question. “And you were right. I was not honest with Emily, and not honest with myself. I treated her terribly. It was too soon.” “And children? Have you discussed this?” “Not yet … tomorrow with Rita, and on Saturday with everyone.” “And are you ready, Ian? Ready to have another child?” “Yes.” He let it go at that. “Wait … what? Ian? Ian, what … what are you saying?” Priscilla was suddenly struggling to breathe. It felt as if an invisible hand had taken hold of her heart, and was squeezing the life out of her. Whatever she had been expecting, this was not it. “She does not know?” Irina's voice was sharp, her tone openly accusing. “I've told no one.” Ian's tone was just as understandably defensive; he was acutely aware that they were entering the minefield, and that the world as he knew it was about to blow up. “Ty ne smohesh' eto sdelat'! Ty dolzhen skazat' im! Anyone who would bear you a child must know the cost!” “I know.” He was bone weary, his thoughts bankrupt. He had no idea how to begin. “Ian, listen to me. Talk to Priscilla. Talk to her directly. You cannot hide from this, and she is a police officer. She has seen tragedy, and can help you. But have faith in your loves. They too have seen much tragedy.” Irina was right, Ian thought; it was somewhere to begin. Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, he took the plunge. “Pris, do you remember what I told you this morning about Studies and Operations Group … how we were not in the chain of command?” “Yes,” she responded tentatively. Priscilla felt as if she was mired in quicksand. “And how I had Vietnamese soldiers in my unit?” She nodded. “We did not operate out of a military base. Instead, we used a village that was home to two brothers in my unit … Minh and Quy. They were experienced noncoms, and very good soldiers. They spoke little English, so we communicated in Vietnamese. Over time, we became close friends-- so close that Minh and Anh asked me to be present at their daughter's baptism, and to become Thu's godfather. It helped that we were all Catholics, and took Mass together. A parish priest visited us regularly.” Ian reached into his pocket, and pulled out his wallet. He laid it on the desk, but did not open it. He caressed the worn leather with his thumb. “I was all of twenty-two years old and far from a home that, with my parents gone, seemed not only distant but unreal. Viet Nam felt much more like where I belonged, and Minh and Quy had a sister a year younger than me. Nguyen was beautiful, but there was a grace about her that is hard to put into words, and her smile warmed a place in my heart that I did not know was there. She was my first love, and with her family's permission, I courted and in due course married her-- a Catholic wedding, with our parish priest presiding. The army put up a lot of roadblocks to keep young guys from marrying Vietnamese girls, so I was lucky that I was no longer in the chain of command.” Opening the wallet, Ian removed his driver's license to reveal the photograph concealed beneath. He handled it lovingly. Priscilla's eyes grew large and luminous as she realized what Ian was holding. Her breath caught in her throat. “About a year later, my daughter was born. This is my family, Pris … Nguyen and Linh.” Ian handed her the photograph. Priscilla silently accepted it, but her eyes never left Ian's face. His eyes were soft and filled with love, but then another thought slipped into place, and she could register his pain. She did not need to hear him say it to know that she was holding tragedy in her hands. Finally, she looked down. Ian was sitting atop a brick wall, holding the baby in his arms, with his wife standing beside him, her arm casually draped over his shoulders. They were both smiling at the camera. Nguyen, with her silken black hair falling below her waist, was exquisitely beautiful, and Ian was young and happy. So young, she thought, so very young. “I was wounded again late in sixty nine … my third Purple Heart. Not a threat to life and limb, but enough to earn down time for both me and the unit. R&R, maintenance, resupply-- and a chance to be a husband and father in real time, not just stolen moments. But it didn't last: it couldn't, not with the war expanding deeper into Laos and Cambodia.” “Go on,” Priscilla encouraged. Lost in his memories, Ian had gone silent for several seconds. “In March of seventy, we shot down a Soviet helicopter over Laos, and captured the pilots unharmed-- Irina, and Sergei Federov. They weren't supposed to be there … we weren't supposed to be there … and there was nothing in the manual telling me what to do.” “He interrogated us,” Irina put in, “in Russian. But we were pilots, not engineers. It was easy to play dumb because we were.” “Anyway, in the end I hoisted Irina onto Toby's back, told Sergei to tag along, and off into the jungle we went. I left them outside a Laotian village under Communist control, and returned to the war. Just another day at the office.” “Sergei and I were debriefed in Moskva, and we told everyone about this young officer commanding a unit in the jungle-- a young officer who spoke Vietnamese and Lao, Khmer … and fluent Russian. No one would have believed us except for Toby because everyone knows that Americans cannot speak any language but their own. Ah, but there were stories being told, stories about an American who rode into battle on an elephant, with a huge snake around his shoulders. This was our confirmation, and our intelligence services opened files on the soldier code named Dvarapala … you would say 'demon warrior'. But I knew him as Ian Grady, and for years I watched for him, hoping that he would come east. And when he did, I went to him, only to find him wearing a diaper and depending on a cane. At first, I pitied him, but he would not allow it. Instead, he asked for my help, telling me the terrible story that you have yet to hear-- a story that I brought back to Moskva and told to others. And so began the operation we call Velikyi Poisk-- 'The Great Search'.” “Searching for what?” Priscilla flinched, knowing in her heart that she had asked the wrong question. “For my daughter.” Oh God, no!!! “About three months after Irina and I said our goodbyes, we were in the field at the tail end of a high risk mission. We pulled it off, despite being in intermittent contact with an enemy force that had us heavily outnumbered, but we missed our extraction window because of bad weather. We were on our own for the next forty eight hours, and when the choppers and gunships finally did show up, we were caught out in the open in an intense fire fight. We took casualties …” Ian took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “I lost both of my brothers in law. I spent the next nine months in hospital, afraid for my family, trying to get better so that I could go home. I knew that our unit had been disbanded, but other than that … nothing.” “Not knowing,” he whispered; “waking up every day, not knowing … that was hard. How trivial the diapers seemed in comparison.” Priscilla reached across the desk to grip Ian's hand. She wanted to comfort him, but well knew how pointless words were at moments like this. She could only hope that her touch would somehow reassure him that he was not alone. “When I left Hawaii, my first stop was DC, where I learned that after finally getting back on my feet I had been relegated to a desk … condemned to become just another Pentagon pencil pusher. I resigned my commission on the spot, and made my way out to Saigon on my own. Getting home was easy, but the village was empty … a literal ghost town-- well, except for Pete and Toby. They were still there, growing fat on rats and rice grass. I moved them to a rubber plantation that belonged to a friend, and then I went looking for answers. First stop, Saigon.” Ian let out a deep, frustrated sigh. “I expected to find that the village had been relocated to somewhere in the Delta; they'd done it before. But when I made the rounds, all I got was blank looks. Nobody knew what had happened, or so they claimed. So, I chased down some of the guys … the ones who had written to me in hospital. They all swore that everything seemed normal when they left for reassignment. That's when I started to panic, or as Donnie so eloquently puts it, that's when I lost it. I braced the members of a very well informed club, and believe me, I pushed them really hard.” “Nothing.” Ian was speaking in a dull monotone, and Priscilla was struggling to hold back her tears. She sensed how this terrible story was going to end. “At some point, I lost hope. I figured that the VC had massacred everyone in the village to send a message, or maybe the Buddhists were starting another round of Christian persecution.” “But Buddhists are supposed to be non-violent!” Priscilla was utterly shocked by what she was hearing, her emotions becoming more tangled by the moment. “Tell that to the hundred and eighteen martyrs who have been beatified by the Church.” Ian's anger flared for a fleeting second, then died away. “It came down to closure. I couldn't leave until I had hard, tangible evidence that my family was dead. With nowhere else to turn, and knowing that Donnie was still in country, I tracked him down, only to end up back where it all began-- in Hue, at the Huong Giang hotel. He … he had photos. Nothing disturbed, the bodies still on the ground. Some were hard to identify … the rats ...” “Oh God,” Priscilla moaned. Far away, Irina flinched. This was the story she had told to her father and to her colleagues-- the inconceivable horror of war known only to those who had been there. “I found Nguyen, Anh, my parents-in-law, but not my daughter, and that's when we stumbled upon the truth. Donnie was emphatic: there had been no infants or small children among the dead. They had vanished, the youngest victim being maybe five years old. But Donnie didn't know that I had married … had a daughter. That changed everything. Until that moment, he thought that the children had been taken to be adopted out or trafficked, which is still a possibility …” “Sergei is using his connections in the arms trade to penetrate the trafficking networks,” Irina interrupted. “Often, the same people are involved in both operations. But this becomes much more difficult when the children mature. Prostitution across borders is a vast industry, and in many countries it is protected by the police and the politicians.” “But for the first time, Donnie and I had seriously to consider the possibility that we were dealing with a state actor.” “I don't understand,” Priscilla hesitantly admitted. “Priscilla, there is no one in my country with Ian's gift. No one. Do you understand?” “No. I'm sorry, but I don't get it.” “He may well be the only person in your country with this talent as well. What if his children inherit this ability? Their value would be beyond measure, yes?” “So … so you think that someone knew that Ian had a child, and murdered an entire village to steal her? Only they didn't know which child, so they took them all? Is that what you're saying?” “Da.” Irina firmly believed that this was the answer to the mystery. What she could never say over the telephone was that she had developed a theory that fit all the facts, although she had no hard evidence to support it. Ian nodded in agreement. “Donnie understood the implications, Pris; in the wrong hands, with time and training Linh could be forged into a very dangerous weapon. So, we cut the obvious trade: I placed my language skills at Langley's disposal, and in turn the Agency uses its resources to search for her. This has been going on for eight years now.” “And Irina helps you because you saved her life, and she owes you this 'debt of honor'. It was a statement, not a question. “Correct.” Well, I know who I want to find your daughter, and it damned well isn't my government! Besides, damn it, I like Irina! “And now you're caught up in this as well. I'm sorry.” “Caught up how?” Priscilla was once more lost in the depths. “You just admitted that we have slept together, on a call that's being recorded and will be reviewed by some very powerful people. Priscilla, any woman of child-bearing age who sleeps with me is going to have a security net thrown over her. This is what Sarah, Rita and Vickie have to think about-- the consequences of sharing their lives with a guy who has been under Agency scrutiny since age eleven. At first, the net will be light, but the net will tighten if one of them becomes pregnant, and a very tight net will protect the baby from birth. The Agency will not permit another child to slip through its fingers.” “I haven't met Rita, but Vickie loves you, Ian, and for sure she's not going anywhere. Remember, this is a woman who fought for you with a turkey drumstick.” “I do not know this story,” Irina laughed; “is it good?” “Oh, yes! A patient attacked Ian at Thanksgiving dinner, and Vickie leapt across the table to defend him. She was holding a drumstick, and used it like a cudgel to beat him off!” “Wonderful,” Irina clapped; “wonderful!” “And again, Sarah strikes me as a very tough cookie. No one is going to intimidate her.” “Milyy, it is after midnight, and I must go. I think that you are ready, both for marriage and children. If you need my help on Saturday night, I will be home. Call anytime after your ten o'clock. But I want to meet with you soon … Athens would be best. We have much to discuss. Do svidaniya, Priscilla!” “Do svidaniya, Irina!” Ian disconnected, but he was looking at her curiously. “I remember it from some movie or other; that and da are the only Russian I know. Now, you're overdue for a diaper change, and the deli awaits, if you're still up for it.” Priscilla was making an effort to keep it light, but she was worried about Ian's state of mind. What he had just suffered was a level of trauma that police rarely encountered outside the morgue. Ian walked around his desk, and reached out to clasp her hands. He had his game face on. “Thank you for being here, and for keeping it together. I know this wasn't easy for you. And the deli sounds great … real food at last!” He mustered a grin, but it didn't fool Priscilla for a second. She squeezed his fingers a bit harder. “You did well, Ian, and if you think of it as a dress rehearsal for Saturday night … yes, it will be hard, but do not underestimate the strength and resolve of the people you love. There are a few details that would be best omitted, but otherwise, tell the story as you just told it to me. I promise you that it will end well.” . . . . “Are we, uh, are we really going to do this?” Wide-eyed, Vickie was staring at the breast pump, trying to imagine her body hooked up to this ridiculous Rube Goldberg device. At the moment, it was cheerfully chugging away, the store owner having activated a floor model to demonstrate how it worked. The middle-aged lady, whose gray hair and ample bosom screamed Meemaw, had assured them that the experience would be pleasurable because, rather than constantly suctioning, the machine perfectly mimicked the rhythm of a hungry infant at the breast. She had then excused herself to attend to a nervous looking teenage boy who had come in by himself, and appeared on the edge of a nervous breakdown in the diaper aisle. “I mean, really, this monster weighs over twenty pounds. We're not exactly going to haul it around the living room while we get on with the vacuuming.” “It would be a good time to catch up on our reading, maybe watch a little TV” Rita commented. She was trying to look on the bright side, but like Vickie, she was having a hard time imagining her body being tethered to this monstrosity for weeks at a time. 'It's just not practical,” Vickie lamented. “I mean really. No break between sessions to last more than five hours for the first two months? Doing it for fifteen minutes every two hours for a seventy two hour stretch? And pumping both breasts simultaneously? Are you kidding me? How are we supposed to work, never mind sleep?” “I'm going to do it,” Sarah countered, her expression a study in grim determination. “And I agree with her ...” Sarah nodded in the direction of the store owner. They could hear her asking the boy his name and age. Tommy was fourteen. “And do you need diapers for bedwetting, or wear them both day and night?” In the quiet of the store, they could all hear the conversation unfolding two aisles away as if it were taking place within arm's reach. “... that we each need our own machine, or rather, machines-- one for home, and one for the office.” “Expensive,” Vickie observed. “We can afford it,” Sarah sneered. She was letting Vickie rattle on, but she had already decided that they would be leaving the store with six breast pumps and associated appliances, and that they would be attending one of the upcoming night classes teaching how to keep the pumps germ free and the milk that they would express safe and sanitary. Tommy was nervously explaining to the lady that he was a bed wetter, but he confessed that he still had daytime accidents as well, and that his parents insisted he be diapered for car trips, the movies, church, and family gatherings. “Poor kid,” Vickie whispered. “I didn't get out of nighttime diapers until I was nine.” “I think that at your age we should be looking at adult diapers,” the lady observed. “And are you using rubber pants, or baby pants?” “Baby pants,” he said in a subdued voice. “I see,” she mused. “Do you know what brand you wear?” “I have them on,” he cringed. “Mom made me wear a diaper to make it easier for you to help me.” “That was smart. I tell you what. Let's go into the storeroom; you can undress, and I'll take your measurements. Adult diapers come in different sizes, and you will probably need baby pants with a wider crotch to protect against leaks. Your new diapers will be much bulkier than your old ones, but they will protect you a lot better. Won't that be wonderful?” “Thank you,” he said politely. He meekly followed the Meemaw into the storeroom. About a minute later, she returned to check on her three female customers. She was curious about their interest in breast pumps, since it was obvious that their pregnancies could not be far advanced. “So, what have you decided,” she asked cheerfully. “We'll need a half dozen pumps total,” Sarah indicated. “Plus all of the accessories … and we'll need to sign up for a class sometime in the next couple of weeks.” “Wonderful. And I'm sorry that I had to wander off. Two or three boys like Tommy there come into the store every week. Entering puberty, they need to make the transition to adult diapers, but the poor dears are always so embarrassed. And their baby pants are never big enough to cope with the extra bulk.” The keen eyed store owner shrewdly appraised Vickie's rear; the bulk of the woman's obvious diaper put anything in her store to shame! “I cannot help but notice your diaper, Dear; it must be very absorbent, but is it comfortable?” Vickie instantly turned crimson with embarrassment, much to Sarah's delight. Even Rita was amused. “She's wearing one of our hospital diapers,” Sarah hastily cut in, “along with baby pants and a canvas diaper cover. This is what she uses away from work, but at the office I keep her in a thinner adult diaper from a local diaper service.” “Lullaby?” “Yes! Do you know it?” “I do, indeed. You should have a peek at our adult diaper line. I guarantee you that our diaper is superior, both in terms of absorbency and wear. And it would only be slightly more visible to the naked eye. Reducing the number of times you have to change her at work is a good trade off.” “Do you hear that, baby girl? Would you like to look at some new diapees?” Sarah was cooing in the singsong way that mothers worldwide adopted when addressing their babies. “She's your baby,” the lady asked. This was getting more and more interesting. “She is,” Sarah confirmed. “And what do you call me, baby girl?” “Mommy,” Vickie whispered. “I'm sorry, sweetheart,” the lady snickered, “but I didn't hear you.” “Mommy,” Vickie repeated in a much louder voice. “And who is this nice lady,” Sarah asked as she pointed at Rita. “Auntie Rita,” Vickie said, making sure that her voice was loud enough that she wouldn't have to repeat herself. “She's very well behaved,” the lady commented. “You have done a good job raising your baby girl.” “Oh, she's often a brat, I assure you. I wish I could find a pacifier for her, but she's such a big baby that I've had no luck so far.” “Well, then, this is your lucky day. I keep a stock of pacifiers for older children, including teenagers. I was just about to get one for Tommy before I change him; would you like to check them out?” “Absolutely! Sometimes she's so cranky … a nice pacifier is just what this baby girl needs!” “My pleasure. Here, let me direct you to our adult diaper line. The stock is below the counter at the end of this aisle, but I always keep one on the counter for customers to examine. Why don't you look them over while I fetch the pacifiers. Then, you'll have to excuse me for a few minutes while I take Tommy's measurements and select the right diaper for him.” The lady pointed at the display, but kept walking to the back of the sales counter. She was back a moment later, with several pacifiers in different colors. Sarah instantly picked out a large pink one, and waved it in front of Vickie's face. “Open up, baby girl; here's your new binkie!” Vickie opened wide, and began instantly to suck contentedly on her new paci. It was so easy to make Sarah happy, and to her surprise she discovered that she was really enjoying the attention. The pacifier was actually quite soothing. The lady reached under the counter, and took three adult diapers in different sizes off the various stacks. She then excused herself to go diaper her customer, but not before inviting Sarah to bring Vickie back to the storeroom once she was finished with Tommy. As long as the diaper on display did not touch the baby's skin, she explained, Sarah was free to try the various sizes to get the best fit. Sarah was delighted to accept the lady's kind offer, and she asked in return whether they could help with the boy's diaper change. “That would be very embarrassing, but what would really help is to let him see your baby's diaper. If he knew that there were even bigger babies wearing diapers, it would make the transition to adult diapers a lot easier for him.” “We'd be delighted to help, wouldn't we baby girl?” Vickie nodded while she kept sucking on her new binkie. “Then give me a moment to lock up the shop, and the four of us can all retreat to the storeroom.” The lady stormed off to the front, locked the door, and turned the OPEN sign to CLOSED. “Now,” she said when she returned, “let's go see how Tommy is getting along.” First knocking on the door and opening it just enough to check that Tommy was still wearing his baby diaper and baby pants while being otherwise undressed, she flung the door open and led her three female customers into the room. Tommy's eyes widened in shock when he saw the pretty lady, whom he guessed was a bit younger than his mother, happily sucking on a big pacifier. He turned to the store owner, his look more confused than concerned. “These ladies have offered to help us sort out your new diapers,” she explained. “And this nice lady wants to show you her diaper, which is much, much thicker than the one you will be wearing. We all thought that you would find your new diapers less threatening if you saw what a really thick diaper looks like. And here ...” She reached into one of the pockets on her dress, and brought out another pacifier, this one in baby blue. “I thought that this might help you as well.” Like Sarah, she waved it in front of Tommy's eyes, and like Vickie, he opened his mouth to accept the gift. He began sucking without conscious thought. Sarah unfastened and lowered Vickie's pants, revealing the canvas diaper cover underneath. She took the key out of her pocket, and unlocked the cover, but left it in place. “My baby girl sometimes tries to take her diaper off without permission, so I keep this locking cover in place at all times to keep her from doing so. I hope that you don't give your mommy a hard time about your diapers, Tommy, because if you do ...” Sarah paused to lower Vickie's cover, exposing the pink baby pants hiding beneath. Tommy's eyes widened when he saw the pink vinyl covering, and he began sucking madly on his pacifier when he grasped how thick this big baby's diapers really were. “... if you do,” Sarah continued, “your mother can put you in a much thicker diaper like this one, and get one of these covers to keep it locked in place. Then all of your friends would know what a big baby you really are. You wouldn't like that, would you?” The boy nodded vigorously, and then blushed when he realized that he was wetting his baby diaper. “So, are you going to be a good boy for your mommy, and wear your diapers like she wants you to?” Sarah's voice was syrupy. The teenager again nodded vigorously in agreement, as his pee continued to flow unabated. It was a good thing that his mommy had folded a couple of baby diapers up, and inserted them to act as soaker pads. The lady took note of the boy's discomfort, and guessed correctly that he was having an “accident.” “You didn't bring a diaper bag with you, did you?” The young teen shook his head, and looked down in shame. “That's all right,” she soothed; “I have a diaper pail here that we can use. Give me your number, and I'll call your mother to come pick you up. If you need to poop, go ahead and use your diaper; I'll clean you up, and spare your mother the trouble. It must be very hard on her, having a boy your age still in diapers.” Tommy's head hung in shame, and he started to cry. Sarah stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the big baby, hugging him close. “It's all right,” she said consolingly as she patted his back. “You can't help it, and I'm sure that your mother doesn't mind caring for you. Now, give your Auntie Sarah a big hug.” The boy did so, burying his head in Sarah's shoulder, his tears flowing freely. Vickie was sucking frantically on her pacifier, overcome with jealousy. Mommy Sarah had never hugged her this way! When they were leaving the shop, with new diapers for Vickie and the half dozen breast pumps, Sarah's baby girl refused to let go of her pacifier until mommy threatened her with a public spanking.

The occupancy tax in Missouri is 4.225%. What you have to be careful of when traveling is the additional taxes that some states allow municipalities and other entities to tack on. St. Louis county hits you with two additional tourism taxes, one for 3.5% and the other for 3.75%. Doing mail order business in Minnesota is a nightmare because you have to calculate the sales tax for every single municipality in the state.

Actually, it has a steep sales tax, which is selectively imposed in the same way that many other states do it. The tax on hotel rooms, alcoholic beverages, and restaurant dining is 8.5%. This generates large sums, because NH is deservedly a tourism mecca virtually year around.

Very well said. For a down and dirty answer to these and other questions, I recommend reading the following https://theconservativetreehouse.com/blog/2024/02/16/mike-benz-gives-background-context-on-internet-censorship-programs/