Babypants

April 19

Quickie entertainment quiz:

Toothpick Charlie, who is a running joke in both this story and AARDVARK, is one of the most celebrated bit players in movie history. You can even buy Toothpick Charlie toothpick dispensers, if you can find one for sale! He gets mowed down in which of the following films?

A. Dillinger

B. Some Like It Hot

C. The Sting

D. The Untouchables

April 19

4 hours ago, littlebopeeper said:

Like thedman, I have a problem with this. As I write, Mike has received only $111 of his monthly $400 request. A contribution on your part would be a thoughtful gesture.

I have two of Nanny Chloe's stories sitting in my Kindle file. She's a good writer, but I have to agree that what she has done here is in bad taste. She has not been on this site since May of 2019. At least the other authors who promote the paid versions of their stories are active members of the community, and even if it's time delayed, do put their stories here for free. Become an active member of this community, and you are much less likely to get negative feedback for this sort of thing.

April 17

AN OFFER HE CAN'T REFUSE

“Please rise.”

The bailiff scanned the courtroom, making sure that everyone had got the message. “This court is now in session,” he intoned; “the Honorable Judge Thomas Reynolds presiding."

“Be seated,” the judge commanded as he spread his black robe and took his seat. Looking around the courtroom, he took the measure of the five defendants, and then shifted his gaze to the District Attorney. “Mister Ballstrom, I'm surprised to see you here this morning. What have we got?”

“Solicitation, Your Honor,” the DA said in a conversational tone. “The Public Defender has agreed to a pleading on behalf of all five of the defendants.”

“I see … or rather, I don't. Mister Ballstrom, in the immortal words of the Rolling Stones, The Under Assistant West Coast Promotion Man could have adjudicated this matter. So, I ask again: what brings you to my little corner of the world?”

“It's the next matter on the docket, Your Honor. It's rather unusual.”

The judge looked down at the paperwork in front of him, then looked back up. “I see what you mean. Forty one defendants … multiple acts of related and unrelated theft … conspiracy … aiding and abetting … what did they steal?”

“Diapers, Your Honor.”

“Diapers?” Judge Reynolds gave Q-Ball one of those looks that suggested his sanity was in question. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, Your Honor. We have one count involving theft from a local hospital, but the other victims were clients of a local business, the Lullaby Diaper Service. Unbeknownst to the thieves, Your Honor, the owner of this establishment is a local businessman of some renown-- one Vincent Belmondo.”

The judge leaned back in his chair and let out a deep sigh as he began looking over the spectators. A few were familiar faces, elderly citizens seeking live entertainment in lieu of the televised sort, but he spotted Spats in the back row. The gangster was attended by his attorney, a slimeball of the first order whose name the judge could not recall, and an equally slimy flunky who bore an amazing resemblance to the late Toothpick Charlie. Spats appeared to be studying the back of Julia Canon's head, spearing her with one of those sinister looks that suggested a man trying to figure out where to park the ice pick. It was anybody's guess what the Canons were doing in his courtroom-- the Canons and Chief Mischof.

Adding to the mystery, the Chief was flanked by a nicely dressed, middle aged woman on his left, and a well dressed young man on his right.

And Priscilla Canon has her left hand firmly planted on the young man's thigh. Interesting …

“Will Hercule Poirot be testifying for the prosecution?”

“No, Your Honor. There are witnesses, but I do not believe that it will be necessary to call them.”

“I see,” Reynolds said, although in reality he didn't see at all. “Well, then, let's get this show on the road. Miss Kaplan, how do your clients plead to a single count of solicitation each?”

“Guilty, Your Honor,” the Public Defender declared.

Reynolds sadly shook his head. “Ruby, I'm surprised at you. By now, I should have thought that you knew every officer and sheriff's deputy in the five country area. Are you losing your touch?”

“No, Your Honor; they brought in a bunch of ringers. State troopers.”

“Fair enough,” he smiled. “Mister Ballstrom, what have the two of you worked out?”

“A five hundred dollar fine, Your Honor, and forty-five days in County, which will keep them out of our hair over the holidays.”

“So ordered,” the Judge declared as he brought his gavel down with a commendable thump. “Next case!”

Leaning still farther back in his chair, he began gently swiveling to left and right while while waiting for Ruby Montpelier and her friends to exit, and a gaggle of forty one new defendants to take their place.

Forty one defendants in one courtroom … this has got to be one for the Guiness Book of Records ...

He stopped swiveling when it dawned on him that the defendants were all college girls, none of them likely to be over twenty-one years of age.

“Mister Ballstrom,” he barked, “can you assure me that there are no minors in this group?”

“I can, Your Honor; the youngest is eighteen.”

“And who is their legal counsel?”

“Your Honor, we are waiving our right to counsel.”

“And you are?”

“My name is Tippi Anne Bjornsen, Your Honor. We are all members of the Zeta Alpha Pi sorority, and my sisters have asked me to represent us in this matter.”

“Stealing diapers, you mean. What on earth possessed you to do something this stupid?”

“It was a sorority stunt, Your Honor, but it got out of hand-- and we do have someone to speak for us.”

“And who would that be?”

“Professor Grady, Your Honor.”

“C'est moi,” Ian announced as he climbed smoothly to his feet. Without waiting for an invitation, he walked through the gate and crossed the courtroom to stand at Tippi's side.

“Professor Ian Grady, Your Honor … and no, I'm not on the Law School faculty. My beat is East Asian Languages, and to make this affair a bit odder still, I am a customer of Mister Belmondo's diaper service-- in fact, the last one to have his diapers stolen, Miss Bjornsen here having done the honors.”

“You're wearing a diaper,” the Judge declared, not quite believing what he was hearing.

“Fully incontinent, Your Honor, courtesy of an AK-47 round, a piece of which is still lodged in my spine. And I apologize in advance if I … uh …”

“I quite understand,” the Judge interjected. “Viet Nam?”

“Special Forces, Fifth Airborne. Nha Trang. Ended up a Major.”

“Judge Advocate,” Reynolds replied; “Marines … Da Nang. I was fortunate enough to get out in one piece. Welcome to my courtroom, Major; it's an honor.”

“Now,” he continued, “what have the two of you masterminds worked out?” The Judge nodded at the District Attorney.

“For the most part, Your Honor, it's pretty standard. Each of the forty one defendants will do six hours a week of community service at local hospitals, and will do so until they graduate. Professor Grady will see to their placement. Each will be fined in the amount of twenty-five hundred dollars, and they will remain on probation until graduation. The most unusual feature here, and one that we all agree is in the best interest of these young women, is that their collective grade point average must reach or exceed three point one throughout, or they will be in violation of their parole and making a return trip to court.”

“I can live with that. Miss Bjornsen, do I need to poll each of you, or can you agree to these terms on behalf of your sorority house?”

“We all agree, Your Honor … to these, and the additional term that has yet to be mentioned.”

“Mr. Ballstrom?”

“There is one additional element, Your Honor, and it is … unprecedented. However, before introducing it, I would like to request a recess so that Professor Grady can discuss the matter in private with Mister Belmondo. Rather than clear the courtroom, Your Honor, in the interests of time I would suggest that you allow them the use of your chambers.”

Judge Reynolds stared hard at Q-Ball before coming to an abrupt decision. “Mister Ballstrom … Professor … Miss Bjornsen … in my quarters, now!”

The Judge stormed out of the room, leaving a flabbergasted bailiff belatedly to announce that court was now in recess.

Priscilla dashed through the gate, and followed in Ian's wake. She had smelling salts in her purse, and was prepared to intercede if this meeting went completely off the rails.

. . . .

“Knock, knock,” Vickie announced as she waltzed into Rita's office and dropped into her accustomed chair. “I only have one of Ian's diapers left in my bag. You got any?”

“No, but not to panic. I washed and dried all the diapers that Sarah bought you when I got home last night, and I brought a dozen in with me. So, if we can get by with changing you three times a shift, we're good until early next week. Are you still continent?”

“Hard to say. I'm peeing like a race horse, and my bowel control is shot. The breast milk is running right through me the same way it does Ian. I shit myself before bed, but Mommy changed me, and she was sweet about it. Same thing this morning. My diaper was absolutely soaked, and I messed at least once during the night. At the rate I'm going, I figure that in the near future I'll be going through about a dozen diapers a day.”

“And you just walked in here without your winter coat while wearing your hospital diaper. Vickie, it is pretty obvious; are you becoming more comfortable with your diapers? With incontinence?”

“Yes, definitely, and as odd as it might sound, I'm enjoying this.”

Vickie frowned, sensing that she had misspoken.

“That's not quite right. It's more like I'm benefiting from this … like it's therapy.”

Rita leaned forward in her chair. She had occasionally wondered about the wellspring of Vickie's madcap lifestyle, but she had never questioned her. The wall of silence that surrounded her parents had always hinted at underlying emotional trauma.

“When she was cleaning me up this morning, Sarah apologized for not paying attention to the warning signs … how I never talk about my family. She hugged me, and told me that I now had a mommy who loved her … cherished her … and that I would always be her little baby girl. And I started crying … bawling, really … and I couldn't stop. I was screaming that my parents had never loved me, and she was hugging me, telling me how much she loved me, and it felt so good to be loved … to be her baby girl. I need this, Rita; I really do!”

“I'm glad, Vic … really glad, because if things go according to plan, on Saturday night you will be sleeping in your bed for the last time. It's going into storage. It's a tight fit, but yesterday I had another crib delivered and set up in the nursery-- your crib. You and Ian will both be our babies, and receive the love and the discipline that we think you deserve. You can be grown-ups with one another, but babies for us. Giving you a place in both worlds will allow you to heal, even as you express your love for one another.”

“But … but … Auntie Rita, does this mean that you and Mommy aren't going to sleep with Ian?”

“Oh, no, baby girl, far from it. Look, maybe it's the conversation we had last night, or maybe it's the one I'm having with Ian this afternoon, but I've been giving this a lot of thought. The way it looks is that you love Ian, and want children to be the outcome of that love. You want this so badly that I can easily see you throwing over your career to become a stay at home mom, and that's fine. But Sarah and I have careers that we're not giving up, only to have discovered at the eleventh hour that we also want to have children. We have both chosen Ian to be the father, and if that sounds calculating … well, it is. Oh, we do love him, but not in the way you see in the movies or read about in romance novels. He's a wonderful man, Vic, warm and giving, but also wounded and vulnerable and very complex. Passion is wonderful, but he also needs comforting-- a wife's love, and a mother's. So it's good that I'm a bit more comfortable with the baby than the man, and Sarah much prefers the baby to the man. I don't know where her control issues are coming from, but ultimately it doesn't matter because we need her. The bottom line, Vic? I don't want to run the household, and … sorry, but it's just not your thing. We can't do this without Sarah, so all of us are going to have to compromise. It looks like you will get to have the man to yourself most of the time; I'll settle for a piece of your action, and Sarah, I suspect, won't even be a disturbance in the Force!”

“It all seems so cold … a household devoid of warmth ...”

“Like an arranged marriage, you mean?” Rita softly laughed. “Well, it is an arranged marriage-- Sarah is arranging it! But they endure, Vic, and they tend to become more and more loving with the passage of time. And as for warmth?”

Rita clapped her hands with delight, her eyes alive with good humor. “With two naughty babies in perpetual need of yet another spanking, you'll find that there's plenty of warmth in our household!”

. . . .

“Right,” Judge Reynolds snorted, “which one of you wants to tell me what's going on.”

“Professor Grady will take it from here,” the DA quickly responded. He wanted to put as much distance between himself and this fiasco as possible.

The judge simply looked at Ian.

“Have you ever heard of Tony Accardo,” Ian asked.

Reynolds shook his head.

Uh, oh, Ballstrom thought. He was well acquainted with the Big Tuna, if only by reputation.

“Tony heads up the Chicago Outfit-- a euphemism for the Mafia. He worked his way up through the ranks the old fashioned, Chicago way. His nickname, Joe Batters, doesn't leave much to the imagination. He mentored Belmondo, who seems to get a hard on around wood chippers. In short, Tippi here and her friends out there are in a lot of trouble. With your cooperation, I can make it go away.”

Welcome to the real world, Tom ...

Ballstrom had his head down. He was studying a speck of something on the carpet, wishing that he could make himself equally small.

“Go on,” the Judge instructed.

“We're going to make the punishment fit the crime, at least as Spats will see it. The girls are going to become his customers … diapers 24/7 for the whole of their probation. He'll get off on humiliating them, and turn a tidy profit in the process.”

“And you think this lunacy will be enough to buy him off??”

Ian nodded. “I've got some serious leverage that I can bring to bear, both carrots and sticks. But none of it is for public consumption. Give me ten minutes alone with him, and I'll seal the deal.”

“Gareth, are you good with this?” Reynolds was done dancing around.

“Yeah,” Ballstrom conceded. “Belmondo can't risk the consequences of a public humiliation, and I won't be reelected if he's going around bumping off sorority girls.”

“And you think this man can make the pitch work?” The Judge was pointing at Ian.

“I do.”

“And how about you, Priscilla?”

The Canons and the Reynolds lived on the same block, a mere four properties separating the two households. Reynolds considered himself lucky to have a grizzled veteran like Herb Canon living just down the street.

“You can take anything Ian tells you to the bank.” Short and sweet.

“And you are here … because?”

“Part bodyguard, part nurse,” she replied. “Ian is a hot commodity that the university doesn't want to lose, so I've been assigned to keep the corporate headhunters at bay. But he also brought Viet Nam home with him in the form of flashbacks that can put him on the ground. So, I'm also here to get him back on his feet.”

“All right. Professor, I don't know who you are, and from the looks of Gareth's body language, I'm content to leave it that way. You've got your ten minutes-- and help yourself to coffee. My clerk brews a mean pot!”

. . . .

“Be right back,” Julia said.

Patting Herb's knee to reassure him, Julia headed toward the rear of the courtroom. Prudence dictated that she confront Belmondo on neutral ground.

Herb followed her with his eyes, and so did Walt Mischof. “Not to worry, Herb,” the Chief muttered. “Spats is too smart to make his play in a crowded courtroom.”

“How's business, Jerome? Ambulance chasing still paying the bills?”

Julia had taken a seat directly in front of Jerome Goldstein, the white-haired attorney who had been running interference for Spats Belmondo for almost thirty years.

“Making ends meet,” Goldstein laconically replied. He wasn't in the mood to play games with Julia Canon.

Julia opened her purse, and pulled out a copy of her billing. She turned to face Spats, and thrust it in his face. “Tuesday's expenses came to nine hundred, fifty seven dollars and twenty-six cents. I haven't had a chance to work up yesterday's, but they'll be in the same neighborhood. A thousand up front would be nice.”

“Pay da lady, Pauly,” Spats said to his Consigliere, who leaned forward to drop an envelope on the chair next to Julia's.

She opened it, and quickly thumbed the ten C notes inside. “Do you want a receipt?”

“What I want is an explanation for hows I ended up on da local news. Yous was supposed ta do this real quiet like.”

“Take it up with Jerome. He apparently missed the lecture on setting up dummy corporations to hide the assets of clients who value their privacy.”

“Dat right, Jerry?” Spats was glaring at his mouthpiece.

“Your businesses are all legitimate, Vincent; you don't need fronts.” Jerome's tone was world weary.

“Dats right, Twinkster; everytings legit. Only now, every two bit hood in da Cities knows that I deal in diapers, and dat I been ripped off by a bunch a college floozies. Dis ain't good … not good at all.”

“Not to worry, Spats. Professor Grady-- one of your customers, by the way-- is selling it to the judge as we speak.”

“Selling what?”

“A plan that will make you a tidy profit if you play along. And you get to stick a fire hose up their asses in the process.” Julia nodded in the general direction of the young defendants.

“I like da sound a dat.” Spats was licking his lips; after all, he was in business to make a profit. There was no such thing as too much cash on hand.

“Then follow the Professor's lead.”

Dropping the envelope into her purse, Julia walked across the courtroom to rejoin her husband.

. . . .

“Diapers aren't all that bad, Tippi-- especially when you've got the right person changing you.” Ian playfully winked at her.

“Maybe we can change each other,” Tippi fired back, staring him down.

After the judge had sneaked out of his chambers to pay a lengthy visit to the Men's Room with the District Attorney hot on his heels, Ian had escorted Tippi back to her friends while nudging Priscilla in the direction of her parents. There could be no witnesses to his conversation with Spats Belmondo.

Sauntering to the rear of the courtroom, Ian sat down in the same seat that Julia had occupied a few minutes earlier. He took Goldstein's measure in one casual glance, but did a double take when he shifted his attention to the Consigliere.

I swear to God! It's Toothpick Charlie, risen from the dead! Ah, well … time to get down to business …

“Mister Belmondo, I'm Professor Ian Grady, one of Lullaby's adult customers. I'm happy with the product, and with the way your niece sees to my needs, but there are alternatives in the marketplace that offer superior protection. I'm wearing one right now.”

Ian stood up, and turned around to give the trio a good look at his well padded rear.

“Your business is about to expand, so if you'll give me your number, I'll set you up with a purchasing agent at the hospital who can point you in the right direction.”

“Mister Belmondo's number is unlisted,” Goldstein interrupted, “but I'm in the phone book.”

“Don't have a copy. Why don't you and Toothpick Charlie here go out and find me one? Spats and I have pressing matters to discuss, and the judge has been kind enough to offer us his chambers. He's even willing to share his coffee!”

Ian looked down at the gangster with a pleasant smile on his lips, but his eyes were cold. Spats recognized the look. He was being measured for his coffin.

“So you're da war hero dat I keep hearin' about.” Spats decided to bluff it out. “How many guys you clipped?”

“The official count is eleven hundred, plus. The real number is north of twenty three hundred.”

Ian's look did not change.

“The judge is giving us the use of his chambers for ten minutes. Shall we?” Ian vaguely gestured at the door behind the bench.

“Yeah. Let's get to it.” Spats climbed to his feet, double checked the shine on his shoes, and then followed Ian out of the courtroom.

. . . .

Priscilla was watching the girls milling around in the well of the court. Most of them looked totally lost.

“Do you think any of them have made their phone call,” she asked Bernice.

“I thought that was just on TV,” the house mom replied. “You mean it's for real?”

Priscilla nodded. “An attorney … a loved one … the really crazy ones will call out for pizza.”

“No.” Bernice sadly shook her head. “I don't think anyone's called; they're way too ashamed.”

“Some of their parents must have seen the news last night. They'll be frantic. Did any of them call the house before you left?”

“I don't know. The last thing I did after getting Ian settled was go around the public areas and unplug all the phones. I don't want to speak with the press, and I definitely don't want them upsetting the few girls left in the house.”

“We should talk to them. They may not even know that they have the right to contact their families. Come on; let's go find out.”

Priscilla led Bernice inside the railing, and together they approached Tippi, who was clearly the leader of the group and not just its spokesperson.

“How are you holding up,” Bernice asked.

“Oh, it's been great fun so far!” Tippi's reply was as vicious as it was sarcastic, and she was aiming daggers at Priscilla. “Comfortable beds … first class food … and we've made some new friends. Ruby is a real hoot!”

“You are all entitled to make phone calls.” Priscilla decided to ignore the sarcasm. “Did anyone call your parents? Your arrests were all over the ten PM news; they must be worried sick.”

“Anyone,” Bernice asked in a softer tone of voice.

The girls were looking at one another, and shaking their heads.

“We'll wait until we have something tangible to report.”

Priscilla dearly wanted to slap Tippi Bjornsen hard enough to knock her down, then beat some sense into the self-absorbed brat. Instead, she spun away, looked up at the ceiling, took a deep breath, and tried to calm down.

God, give me strength!!!

“I'm disappointed in all of you,” Bernice continued, her voice still soft. “There's a man in there giving you life lessons in the meaning of compassion. He's one of your victims, and yet he's in there trying to shield you from the consequences of your actions. And none of you seem to get it … none of you.”

“We're all afraid,” Janis sobbed.

“I understand that Janis. And how do you think your parents feel right now? You know what's going on … they don't. I doubt if they got any sleep last night, and now their imaginations must be running riot. They love you, and they need to hear you say that you're safe. The rest will sort itself out in time.”

. . . .

“Vinnie, I need to make a quick call. Why don't you pour us a couple of cups of coffee?”

Without waiting for a response, Ian pulled Marilyn Marsden's card out of his wallet, and dialed her home number. It seemed highly unlikely that either of the Marsdens would have gone to work this morning.

“Hello?” Marilyn picked up on the first ring.

“Ian Grady here, Marilyn … and by here, I mean in the chambers of the judge who got stuck handling this case. Has Janis called you?”

“No! Oh, God, Ian, what's going on? We've been up all night, waiting for the phone to ring … praying ...”

“Marilyn, your daughter is safe … confused, scared, probably afraid that you're going to disown her, but safe. It was your typical fraternity row stunt, only it got out of hand. Right now, I'm putting the finishing pieces on an agreement that the District Attorney and Judge Reynolds have already signed off on, so with luck, Janis will be out of here in another half hour or so. Now, can you do me a favor?”

“Yes! Of course, Ian; thank you!” Ian could hear Marilyn telling her husband that Janis was okay.

“I'm guessing,” Ian explained when Marilyn got back on the line, “that there are a lot of worried parents who've had rough nights. Do you know how to get a hold of them?”

“Yes. Bernice gives every parent a sheet with the home addresses and phone numbers of all the girls. It's for emergencies.”

“Understood. I'd like you to call everyone on the list, and let them know that their daughters are safe. They should also take a peek at their check books. I don't know who's who here, but there are forty one girls who are going to be fined twenty-five hundred dollars each as part of their punishment. I'll lay out the rest of it once the judge enters his decree.”

“Are you taking the girls back to the house?”

“I'd like to take them to the hospital, but first I have to see about transport. Give me time to sort it out, and I'll get back to you.”

“Ian, I don't know how or why you're mixed up in this, but thank you. From the bottom of my heart … thank you.”

“Touching,” Spats grunted when Ian hung up; “very, very touching.”

Spats handed Ian a cup, and took a sip of his own. The gangster curled his lips in satisfaction. “Not too shabby,” he nodded; “in fact, not bad at all.”

“First things, first.” Ian took a sip, and nodded his approval. “I've checked out your dad, and I know that Tomasso emigrated from Naples, but that's where the trail goes cold. What can you tell me about your grandparents?”

“Wat da hell? Whys you int ... er ... rested in my family?”

“Vinnie, cut it out. As bootleggers go, your dad was a good soldier, able to work with both Capone and the Purple Gang. However, Tomasso did not want his sons to follow him into the rackets, so he scrimped and saved to provide you with a high quality, private school education. And you did so well that you ended up a Brown Phi Beta Kappa, class of forty eight … next stop, a Princeton MBA. Which reminds me: my source is also a Princeton man, and he wants to know whether you still remember the fight song.”

Here comes that Tiger, wow!

He's running wild,

They'll never stop him now!

"There are several fight songs,” Spats grinned as he settled back in one of the judge's plush chairs, “but Here Comes That Tiger is my favorite. And I'm impressed Grady … really impressed. I've put a lot of time and effort into the Spats Belmondo persona, and you're the first person to crack it in all the years I've been in the Cities. What gives?”

“I'm interested in your grandfathers … whether the family's roots are in Naples, or Sicily.”

“Sicily. We hail from Catania … still got family there.”

“Antonio?”

“WHAT?” Spats was so surprised that he almost shot out of his chair. “You know my cousin?”

“I've employed his services,” Ian acknowledged. “Good man to know when you need to get in and out of Libya without the authorities being any the wiser.”

“Holy shit, if you'll pardon my French. How is the old reprobate?”

“Prospering. A wife who cooks up a storm, and a discreet mistress. Life is good.”

“And do I want to know how a disabled vet teaching out here in flyover country happens to be chummy with a Mafia don in Sicily?”

Ian curled his lips thinking about it. “I do favors for friends with a wide range of international interests. That good enough?”

“It'll do,” Spats shrugged. The Professor had CIA written all over him. DA's and judges didn't bow and scrape before every Tom, Dick and Harry.

“Okay, here's the deal. First, the girls out there are all off limits. No repercussions of any kind. If that causes you any problems with the Big Tuna, let me know, and I'll make them go away. In return for this favor, as I said, I'm going to help you grow your diaper business. The forty one girls out there are going to become customers, and they don't get out of diaper prison until they graduate. You'll make a few bucks, and have a good laugh over your cigars and sambuca.”

“Second, you're going to get a letter next week from the IRS. You've been selected for a seven year audit of your personal and business filings-- a comprehensive audit, the kind where they want proof that you actually tossed those nickels and dimes into the Salvation Army kettle. If you can't support every claim on every line of every form, they're going to crucify you.”

“Let me guess. I agree to leave the girls alone, and this all turns out to be a great, big mistake.”

“Yep. They'll be a handwritten telephone number at the bottom, left corner of the cover letter. Pick up the phone, and you'll be treated to abject apologies for a filing error. We got a deal?”

“We got a deal,” Spats agreed.

“Good.” Ian settled back in his chair. “Now let's get down to business.”

“Huh? I thought we were talking business!”

“Just preliminaries. My sources tell me that you would like to visit the old country, but are afraid that if you leave, you'll be denied reentry. Well, I want you to do me a little favor, and in return it's bon voyage, happy trails, however you want to put it.”

“How little?”

“The families still taking an interest in the food services industry?”

“Are you kidding,” Spats laughed. “I'm the union rep for the SEIU in this burg!”

“Well, I'm in the market for a rather odd piece of information, and I want the search to be nationwide. What I'm after is an unusual delivery, probably scheduled monthly or twice a month, to someplace remote and easy to defend. Security will probably be heavy, but it may be well concealed. The tell that there's something wrong will be in the cereals.”

Utterly mystified, Spats simply shook his head. “You've lost me completely.”

“The order will include kids' cereals … quite a large quantity of them.”

“Shit.” Spats saw it instantly. “Kids are off limits, Professor. I want you to know that … inside the families, kids are off limits.”

“It's the same with us. We've all got families, and we're all exposed. So, it's a hard, red line. You cross it, and the entire intelligence community sanctions you … nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. It's open season, and an agent whose family has been targeted gets first crack.”

Spats nodded his head. It was beginning to sound like the Families had a lot in common with the CIA.

“Your friends should also be on the lookout for a second tell-- a sudden increase in supplies on regular order. Now that I've surfaced, I'm expecting security at this facility to be reinforced.”

Ian leaned forward in his chair, his cup of coffee forgotten. “Nine years ago, while I was laid up in a hospital figuring out how to cope with wearing diapers for the rest of my life? Back in Viet Nam, someone murdered my wife and massacred an entire village in order to run off with my daughter, all in the hope that she's inherited my gift for languages. I want her back, Vincent, and then I'm going to sanction everyone of the bastards involved. If you want a piece of the action, I'll deal you in, and I'll make it worth your while.”

“I'm in.”

Spats got up and walked over to the desk. He grabbed a pen and pad, and hastily wrote a number.

“My personal number,” he said as he handed Ian the scrap of paper. “Anything you need? You got it.”

Ian took a business card out of his wallet, and handed it over.

“A pizza joint out in Bloomington, and it's a legit business. If you come up with the information I'm looking for, call this number and order a large pie. If the info is rock solid, make it a thick crust; if it's sketchy, a thin. When you're asked what type of cheese you want, say Gorgonzola. The response will be 'sorry, we're all out, but if you leave me a phone number, I'll make one for you free of charge'. The call back will set up a rendezvous; I'm thinking Julia Canon's office, which is right across the street from the hospital. I take it you've been there?”

“Works for me,” Spats agreed.

“One last thing. Is it true that you've got a cabin somewhere near Ely?”

“Yeah … some of the boys like to go hunting.”

“Got a wood chipper up there?”

“In good working order.” The gangster's smile was cruel.

“I might need to use it one of these days.”

Ian wasn't smiling at all.

April 17

On 4/15/2024 at 5:38 PM, CDfm said:

I was actually surprised that Susie fed him the two bottles and didn’t make any attempt to scalp him. If fact it was just the opposite for her. Learning someone’s weaknesses can have a profound effect on them.

Thanks again. I'm glad that you were surprised, because you were supposed to be! The Suzie in Homage is the scalp hunter, and you see her in competition with Vickie. But the Suzie here in Aardvark does not have a rival, and so we see a softer side of her personality-- the compassionate side. Such is human nature.

April 17

2 hours ago, CDfm said:

I am just not sure what story I should be reading first to keep a better flow. I would actually appreciate it if you could drop a hint as to which one should be read first.

Thanks for commenting. When it's important, I do insert an advisory. For example, at the start of scene 3 in Aardvark, you are advised to read scene 37 (Deep Doo-Doo) in Homage first. You can't go wrong if you read them in the order in which they are posted here (posting date sits atop each new chapter), but as a general rule it's not critical. The two stories are designed to overlap in the same way that Quentin Tarantino set up Kill Bill 1 and 2.

The great benefit of writing a scene common to two stories is that you can show different sides of a character's personality with a simple shift in point of view. The Suzie Marshall that you are now seeing in Aardvark is very different from the character to whom you have been introduced in Homage.

April 13

I'm incontinent, and that puts a different spin on things. In the ordinary course of things, I put on my own diapers, but there are times when I need help. The most obvious is when I have a rash, and need to apply Desitin as well as powder. My wife does the honors, getting into all those places that I can't see or easily reach. On the flip side, I frequently rub a heating cream into the areas of her back that she can't reach. As you get older? Such is married life.

April 12

2 hours ago, Rachael-Little said:

So it’s ok to pause and try and figure it out but don’t beat yourself up over it

Rachael has gone to the heart of it. As a lifelong incontinent, I used to be frequently asked what it was like to wear diapers. My standard reply came to be asking in return how they would describe the color red to someone blind from birth. It was a polite way of pointing out that, to me, their question was meaningless. I have had four long-term relationships, and many of shorter duration. Diapers have never been an issue, and I have always been up front about them. So, I have concluded that the problem a lot of AB/DL guys have to confront is their guilt, shame, and overall anxiety. Just about everybody has problems of their own, and it's understandable that they would not want to take someone on with these issues. So, as Rachael says, "don't beat yourself up over it." If you are comfortable in your own skin, you make it a lot easier for others to be comfortable with you.

April 11

9 hours ago, littlebopeeper said:

A

We have a winner!

April 11

On 4/10/2024 at 12:53 PM, littlebopeeper said:

It would make a great story line-- dealing with girls who are still wetting the bed at 18 and above. A sorority that actively recruited bed wetters, maybe a fraternity house doing the same. The possibilities are endless. Are you planning on writing something like this?

You're right, this would make for a great story. I have been searching for a plot to link Ian to Bernice, Julia or Sofia in a way that would connect the two generations without settling for the usual mommy/baby boy motif. With Ian soon to be acknowledged as a surrogate dad for the sorority, your suggestion raises some interesting possibilities. I'll play around with this, and perhaps use Homage and Aardvark as a sounding board up ahead. Bene grazie!

April 11

19 hours ago, BabyGirlSJ said:

There’s more coming

I like stories that begin in the middle, inviting the reader to imagine who the characters are, and how the situation that we see at the opening came about. I'll follow this one with interest.

April 11

10 hours ago, Elfy said:

The "no personal ads" rule is for people trying to look for a partner in this forum. Feel free to post a link to the app.

In fact, PLEASE post a link to the app, it looks very cute!

I second this. And welcome!

April 11

Quickie entertainment quiz:

Hold That Tiger, the famous Princeton fight song, is featured in a well regarded movie about professional football. This film is:

A. Leatherheads

B. North Dallas Forty

C. Semi-Tough

D. The Longest Yard

April 10

littlebopeeper has left a comment on Katari's TEQUILA INDUCED CHAOS to the effect that tequila shots use high end reposado and not the low end stuff that typically goes into margaritas. In my HOMAGE TO VINCENT VEGA, there is a running joke (explained at the beginning of the story) that Ian's drinking bouts play out in accordance with "Hong Kong Rules." In short, when you don't have much money, cheaper is better. In the "cop bar" scene that will unfold on Thursday night (we are now at Thursday morning), Ian, Vickie, Priscilla and Amos will be challenging the Fifth Precinct's reigning champions on behalf of the Third.

The revision now has Vickie, nose in the air, declaring that she's a tequila snob, and will only drink reposado. But Ian still insists on drinking rotgut in the time honored manner of any American serviceman on leave in Hong Kong during the Vietnam war. Their difference of opinion will play out in the bar, where I'll set it up as a Marx Brothers skit, with all the cops weighing in on one side or the other. Either way, a good time will be had by all, although it's a foregone conclusion that Priscilla's team will win because only Amos will not be wearing a diaper, while the cops will make the mistake of relying on stakeout trained bladders, not diapers, to see them through to victory (first team visibly to piss itself loses). And this plays into another joke that runs through AARDVARK, namely that Julia Canon hates stakeouts because she doesn't have a cast iron bladder.

Comments from readers have also impacted how Tippi Bjornsen is going to be punished for her part in the diaper heist, to give a second example of reader input. Bouncing ideas off of readers who take a real interest in one's story can pay rich dividends.

April 10

24 minutes ago, Diapered Dave said:

Yeah, the way to do that is order two cases of diapers, get the discount, then check out and finalize the order. THEN go back in, and order 1 case of boosters, (or two cases of boosters, to get a discount..) as a separate order.

Dave has it exactly right. I do a lot of business with Bambino, and have learned how to use ACCOUNT to avoid dealing with Shop. Roughly a third of the time, the discount fails to come up, so I cancel the order and start from scratch. Works every time. Now, I wish I knew how to use the coded coupons they send me with each order, and the points that I've been accumulating over time. Like every other company out there, Bambino assumes a level of tech awareness on the part of its customers that I cannot meet.

April 10

When I was growing up in Los Angeles (50s and 60s), there were no less than three different diaper services delivering weekly in my neighborhood, and all had pin on, cloth adult diapers. They were also readily available for purchase at infant's wear and medical supply stores. Vinyl baby pants in adult sizes (and dramatically different quality) were easy to find.

I began using an adult service when I was 17, and continued to do so when I moved to Toronto, then back to LA, and ultimately to Minneapolis. Here I was a customer of Crib Diaper Service until they finally shut their doors. Paired with Comco's wonderful vinyl pants, their diapers (delivered in a gaudily decorated diaper service truck) provided excellent daytime coverage, but needed to be reinforced with baby diaper stuffers at night (this was common to my diaper experience from all these services).

There are excellent cloth diapers available for purchase as we speak. I have never had to use stuffers with the Baby Pants product at night, and there are many quality products in the marketplace for daytime wear. However, unless you are a stay at home, disposable are a more practical answer for daytime use.

April 9

Duran Duran, Ordinary World

April 8

One of the fun things about posting stories on this site is the chance to interact with readers. More than once,I have revised the content of future chapters in response to a reader's comment-- and not just in comments on my own work. Last night, reading a comment on another story that I'm following, inspiration hit. I immediately pulled up a finished scene and edited it to make use of the reader's observation. A planned but still unwritten scene still farther out will also be influenced by this observation.

It should also be noted that, around here, lack of comments does not equate to lack of interest. Only a very small percentage of the people coming here to read our work ever leave a comment. So, let me finish by saying yet again what many here have said before me: write for your own enjoyment, and because you have a story to tell. If you are a halfway decent writer, at some point you will hit the sweet spot, and the comments will come.

April 8

On 4/6/2024 at 1:54 PM, littlebopeeper said:

The more I see of Suzie, the more I like her

Thanks for the like. Like Vickie in Homage, Suzie is more complex than she seemed when first you met her. Bernice is also worth keeping an eye on. Her relationship with Ian will prove special for them both.

April 8

A NEW DAY

“Good morning, baby girl,” Sarah whispered in Vickie's ear as she rubbed her shoulder. “Time to rise and shine, and drink your ba bas!”

Sarah had awakened to find Vickie's head still nestled up against her chest, the rhythmic beating of her heart soothing her baby as once, long ago, the beating of a mother's heart had perhaps comforted her in the womb. Sarah had taken her time getting out of bed, choosing to let Vickie sleep since there was only room for one in her bathroom. She had showered and dressed, and fixed her hair and makeup before retreating to the kitchen to warm the last two bottles of breast milk in the frig. There was still one clean diaper left in Vickie's diaper bag, which would have to do until they got to work. Sarah wanted Vickie to become functionally incontinent as quickly as possible, which meant a steady diet of breast milk laced with diuretics and laxatives. Her target was six to eight diaper changes a day, and for all of them to be poopy. From Sarah's point of view, the diaper pails that she had at home, and in both her office and Rita's, couldn't fill up fast enough.

“Did you sleep well, Sweetie?”

“Yes, Mommy! Like a baby,” Vickie cleverly replied.

“Aw, you're so cute, and Mommy loves you sooo much! Now, let me crawl into bed, sit up, and cradle you in my lap. It's time for breakfast!”

Vickie obliged, and a few moments later was sucking on the nipple of her pink baby bottle. As she nursed, she felt completely at peace.

Looking down on her new baby, Sarah was silently cursing herself. She had known Vickie for almost ten years, and in all that time had paid no attention to the warning signs. Living life on the high wire was a self-destructive cry for help, and she had ignored it-- she and Rita, both.

No more. We're a family, and it took having Ian come along to drive the point home … drive it into our very thick skulls. We're a family, and what do families do when one of us is hurting? We pitch in, and we help. Vickie needs her mother … needs to experience love at first hand. That's where Rita and I come in, so that … Please,God, please let Vickie and Ian have children!

“Diapee, Mommy! Diapee!”

“Oh, you finished your ba ba already?? Such a good baby girl! Yes, you are; yes, you are!”

Sarah fished the key to Vickie's diaper cover out of her pocket, and unlocked it. Vickie raised her hips, and Sarah quickly removed the cover and baby pants, setting them aside. They were clean enough to be reused, but would soon need to be replaced. On both, the smell from Vickie's poop was unmistakable.

Sarah ran her hand over Vickie's diaper, and was delighted to discover that it was soaked. Her baby girl had wet heavily during the night, and perhaps more than once. Her control was rapidly slipping away.

Leaning down, Sarah took a deep breath, and instantly recoiled. “Baby girl, did you make a poopies in your sleep for your mommy?” Sarah found it remarkably easy to speak to Vickie as if she were an infant.

“Poopy, Mommy … poopy!”

“Well, let's get you out of that dirty diaper, get you into the tub, and get that cute, little bottom of yours nice and clean! Does that sound good, baby girl?”

“Yes, Mommy! Clean!”

Taking Vickie by the hand, Sarah led her into the bathroom, but did not attack her diaper until she was safely in the tub. When she unpinned the heavy, wet fabric, it was full of mushy poop, which was also coating the whole of her nether region. During the night, the laxatives had done their work.

“I'm sorry, Mommy; I'm such a baby.”

“Don't be sorry, baby girl.”

Sarah was using a damp washrag to clean off as much of the mess as possible, but suddenly she paused. “I'm sorry, Vickie. I love you … you and Rita, both … my sisters. And I am so ashamed that I never saw how much you were hurting.”

“She never loved me,” Vickie wailed. “I was … was such an inconvenience … a … a blemish on her country club standing. She never loved me!”

Vickie broke down completely, holding onto Sarah for dear life, Sarah hugging her close in return.

“The past is the past, over and done.” Sarah was whispering into Vickie's ear, trying to give her hope, trying to connect with whatever vestige of faith in others that Vickie could still muster. “I love you, baby girl, now and forever. And Ian loves you … God, how that man loves you! Both of you will always be my babies, long after yours have grown up and run off to make lives of their own. And you will, you know? You and Ian? My crystal ball tells me that you will have at least two daughters, maybe more!”

Sarah hugged Vickie, willing her to let go, willing her tears to flow. For both of them, the morning had brought a new day.

. . . .

Opening the door just a crack, Bernice peeked into the guest room. In the last hour before dawn, it was still pitch black outside, and the only light entering the room came from the hallway behind her. In the darkness, she could not tell if Ian was still asleep.

Entering the room but leaving the door partially open, Bernice approached the bed. Looking down, she saw that he was still sleeping peacefully, still holding tight to the pacifier that Suzie had offered him the night before.

What a contradiction in terms you are. Truly, an enigma.

In the semi darkness, standing beside the bed, Bernice was studying him, trying to get all the disparate pieces of the puzzle that was Professor Ian Grady to come together in a meaningful pattern.

I'm glad that Suzie came over, and offered to help get you settled in for the night. And it was so nice of you to let her feed you the bottles of breast milk that Sarah insists you drink at bedtime, though what that's all about I have absolutely no idea. And as for the pacifier …

Bernice shook her head, still baffled by what she had seen and learned about this young man.

Suzie told me how you helped Wendy Stafford, and something about volunteering to help vets at the hospital. And last night you helped my girls, kept most of them from making a terrible mistake that would tear this house apart and saddle them with lifelong guilt …

What you told them about Viet Nam … lifting the veil on all the hurt you carry around inside you … collapsing into Priscilla's arms with another seizure … how can you do this to yourself? Does retreating into infancy like this somehow balance the scale? Allow you to function?

Bernice set the two bottles of warm breast milk on the nightstand, where they would be within easy reach of the couch. She would wake him, feed him, change his diaper during the course of his morning routine, and offer him a decent breakfast. The Chief would swing by to pick them both up, delivering Ian to his morning class and her to a meeting with the Dean that was bound to be awkward and humiliating in the extreme. Later, the three of them would go downtown, to the courthouse, where Ian and the District Attorney would do their best to sell a settlement to the court that would spare the girls public exposure yet satisfy the wrath of the gangster who owned the diaper service.

Bernice desperately wanted her girls back. There were only eleven in the house, and it felt as empty as a tomb. These would be gone by term's end, leaving her with forty-one charges with a criminal record hanging over their heads-- forty-one charges who would be wearing and using diapers 24/7 for the rest of their university careers.

If Tippi and Cindy agree to Ian's plan … if the DA doesn't have a change of heart when he gets up this morning … if the judge will go along with this absurd plan to keep Spats Belmondo at bay … Truly, an enigma.

. . . .

It was a morning ritual that dated back to Priscilla's mid-teens. Her dad got up first, and headed downstairs to start the percolator. When the paper landed on the front porch, he went out to collect it. Then, cup of scalding black coffee in hand, he sat down, took out the sports pages, and settled back to read about the latest misadventure suffered by the Twins or the Vikings, the North Stars or the Gophers. Forever doomed to be teased but disappointed, only a masochist could love sports in Minnesota.

This Thursday morning started out like all the others. In due course, Julia staggered down the stairs-- a person best avoided until she had drowned her displeasure with the world in general and Minnesotans in particular in a cup of joe, no cream or sugar added, thank you very much.

Julia hated mornings almost as much as she hated stakeouts. When she arrived on scene, like Pavlov's dog Herb put down his cup, opened the paper wide, and hid behind the thin but hopefully impenetrable barrier of the Star Tribune. They both understood that Julia could violate the truce, but only if she was having a particularly bad morning.

The twenty ninth of November, in the year known as 1979 in some circles and 2522 in others, was a particularly bad morning.

Invariably, Priscilla was the last to put in an appearance. She had discovered early on that hiding behind a cup of coffee didn't work if you were the third and last to arrive, so she had developed an ongoing love affair with the toaster. It was so positioned in a corner of the kitchen that anyone bowing down in worship before it would have their back turned to the dining room table. On good days, Priscilla would have her slice of white bread lightly toasted; on bad days, it would come out burnt to a crisp. This was an especially bad day.

Priscilla had given careful thought to the confrontation-- in fact, had been thinking about it for years. No man would ever be good enough for Herb and Julia Canon's little girl, although it had become glaringly obvious in recent years that her lack of matrimonial prospects was worrying them both.

Parents, she thought as she sat down directly opposite her mother and began doling out the butter and the apricot jam; they always want to have their cake and eat it too.

She had come to the table this morning prepared for combat. Parents could be dragons, but she was a dragon slayer. And she had in her possession the one weapon before which the most fiery of dragons were helpless.

Grandchildren. The ultimate weapon in the eternal war between the generations.

She had seen it in Ian's eyes. When he first spoke of his daughter, his expression had softened, his eyes filled with tenderness and love. And then had come the moment when he acknowledged her loss, and his eyes had filled with pain, hot and searing. Priscilla did not know whether the search for Linh and Thu would ever bear fruit, but she knew that she wanted to start a family, and for Ian to be the one who gave her children. If anything could heal a wound cutting this deep into the soul, even diminish its pain, it was to have more children.

And time would be on her side. She might suffer their wrath today, but her parents would never take out their displeasure on her children. In time, all would be forgiven.

“About Quantico,” she decided to begin.

And sure enough …

Herb lowered his newspaper, and looked at her quizzically.

“Dad, you were right about Ian … well, both right and wrong. He does work for the CIA, but he's not on the payroll. It's more like he does them the occasional favor, and in return they search ...”

Priscilla visibly choked on what she had to say next. She didn't need to see photographs to imagine what rats and the tropical sun had done to Ian's family. The rats had visited her in her sleep.

“Search?” Herb had set the newspaper aside.

“For his daughter, Dad. The Agency is searching for his daughter. He married in Viet Nam, but when he was in hospital, someone came to the village. They slaughtered everyone except the little children. Ian … the whole intelligence community suspects that someone knew he had a child, and took the children because they didn't know which one was his. It's his gift for languages, Dad; you don't know how rare it is. If his daughter has inherited it, her value would be incalculable.”

Herb glanced at his wife. “Did you know about this?”

“I found out last night, at the sorority house. He bared his soul to keep those girls from making a terrible mistake. It worked, but the cost to him personally was high. And this morning he and Q-Ball are going into court to try and sell the judge on a plan that they cobbled together on the fly … a plan to buy off Spats Belmondo.”

Herb let out a deep sigh. He was almost afraid to ask the next question. “And what does Quantico have to do with this?”

"Ian called a friend at Langley … a Deputy Director. They want me to do the embassy security course so that ...”

Priscilla paused, not sure which parent to address. Neither of them was likely to take what was coming next very well.

“The Agency expects Ian to have more children, and they don't want a repeat of what happened in Viet Nam. So, a security net will be dropped over any woman he sleeps with. The net will become more visible if someone gets pregnant, and very tight once the baby is born. Ian wants me to take charge of the inner security ring-- the one inside the house, and on the surrounding grounds. I'm the logical choice because ...”

Priscilla took a deep breath, hoping that her parents could guess what she was about to confess. “... because I'm already inside the net.”

“You're sleeping with him.” Julia made it a statement, not a question. “Were either of you using protection?”

Priscilla shook her head. “No, and we won't be in the future.”

“You want to have a baby … with a man you've known for what … three days? Priscilla, this is insane!”

Herb wondered whether his daughter had actually taken leave of her senses.

“And where,” he pressed, “does this leave Rita … and Vickie … and, and … what's the name of the one he's going to marry?” Herb was looking at his wife, desperately in need of answers not only to the question he was asking but also to the ones he wasn't.

“Sarah,” Julia prompted.

“Right,” Herb said, “Sarah. Where does this leave Sarah?”

“On Saturday night, when they hear the truth, the three of them will have to decide whether they want to pay the price that loving Ian demands. The loss of privacy … the price is high, Dad, so we're going to wait to hear what they have to say.”

“And if the three of them want to go ahead with this bizarre plan of theirs?”

“Then the three of us will become the four of us,” Priscilla shrugged. “It's that simple.”

“So you propose to have a baby out of wedlock ...”

“Oh, Dad, really? Ozzie and Harriet, Dad? Donna Reed? In case you haven't noticed, the nineteen fifties have come and gone. Welcome to the seventies! Even Three's Company is passé! With inflation and all? Five's company sounds about right!”

“Pris, I have never been so proud of you in my whole life as I was last night.” Julia opted to try a different approach. “Ian is a remarkable person, and he's hurting in ways that I can't even begin to fathom. And you were there for him, embracing his pain, giving him the strength to do something that had to be done despite the cost. You love him, and he loves you. That's so plain to see that I expect the whole campus to be talking about little else today. I'm happy for you, but I would like you to tone it down until Saturday night rolls around. Be gentle. Give Sarah … give all three of them some time to come to terms with this.”

“Julia ...”

“No, Herb. We have to respect our daughter's wishes. Besides, you're two years away from retirement, and I'm sick of stakeouts. We can take the money we'd blow on a big wedding and finally take that cruise we've been talking about all these years. Then I'll be ready to become a grandma, and spoil my grandson or daughter rotten.”

“Okay … okay.” Herb threw his hands in the air in surrender. “I know when I'm beaten.”

“Good,” Priscilla declared. “Now that that's out of the way, it will be okay for you to tag along tonight.”

“Tonight? Where?”

“To the bar, of course. Ian, Vickie, an orderly named Amos Waring, and yours truly are challenging the reigning champs to a drinking contest, with Hong Kong Rules. Ian thinks you're too old to hold your own, but I told him you were good for it. We'll see.”

“And what exactly are Hong Kong Rules,” Herb smiled.

“Tequila shots until someone pisses their pants. The loser has to buy the next round for the whole bar. We play until one team is all pissed out-- and it won't be us because Vickie and I will be wearing the same diaper Ian wears … that big, thick hospital monstrosity. We'll be able to piss ourselves with merry abandon, and no one will be the wiser! We win, and become the new champs, much to the delight of the Third, which is strongly of the opinion that Amos will still be standing when everyone else passes out.”

“We'll see.” Herb's smile was getting bigger by the second. “Starting time?”

“Around eight. I promised Ian a gourmet meal of home made onion rings, a juicy lucy, and house cut fries. Since I'm the world's worst cook, I need to lower his expectations.”

“Now, that sounds more like the daughter I know and love,” Julia laughed. “I think I'll tag along, if only to pick up the pieces and figure out who's going to be sleeping where!”

. . . .

Ian picked up the phone on the first ring.

“That you, Street?”

“In the flesh.”

“You'll be happy to know that I've got you on speed dial,” Donnie laughed. “I gather you made the local news last night; don't let being a celebrity go to your head!”

“They mentioned me by name?” Ian was pretty sure that Donnie was pulling his leg.

“Nah … just a global reference to somebody ripping off diapers from a badly wounded war hero. Anybody say anything in class just now?”

“Nary a word.”

“Well, then, as you have been known to say: 'no harm done'. Now about Vincent Belmondo ...”

Ian could hear Donnie shuffling papers on his desk.

“Street, you have a talent for unearthing interesting people, and this guy is definitely interesting. Let's start with his father, Tommaso. Got off the boat from Naples in twenty four, blew a kiss to the Statue of Liberty, and immediately headed west … destination, Chicago. Grandfather was definitely Neapolitan, so if there's a Sicilian connection, it won't show up on our end. Capiche?”

“Got it. I'll pursue it from this end. Maybe Antonio will have a better sense of the family history.”

“Going to call him?”

“Yeah, but it would help if you could come up with something to add spice to the conversation.”

“Consider it done. Your Libyan pal has let it be known that there's not enough grease on his palms.”

“That works. Antonio is getting on in years, but he still likes to keep his hand in. Let him run with the ball.”

“Don't fancy a desert outing, I take it.”

“Camels make me seasick. I learned my lesson in that Algerian fiasco. One hundred and forty five degrees Fahrenheit in the shade, only there was no shade. And the gold embossing on my passport melted! The immigration officer gave me a really funny look when I landed at LAX.”

“Okay, so back to the American branch of clan Belmondo. Tommaso quickly hooks up with Al Capone, and starts running trucks over to Lake Huron. With a little help from the Purple Gang, Tommaso is soon making regular runs with Seagram's finest, and he gets rewarded for his loyalty and reliability. In short, for a Wop fresh off the boat, after a couple of years spent proving his worth, he's living the American dream, complete with wife and child. Only, he doesn't want his first-born son to get caught up in the family business, so he scrimps and saves to put his boy through private schools with a penchant for sending their prodigies to the Ivies.”

“You have got to be kidding me!” Ian was laughing so hard that he doubled over.

“Nope!” Donnie was laughing just as loud. “Brown, class of forty eight … a Phi Beta Kappa, no less! And then … then … Vincent takes an MBA at Princeton-- my alma mater! Ian, no matter what … please … I'm begging you … find out if he remembers the fight song!”

“It'll be high on my list, Donnie … high on my list!”

Ian could feel mushy poop pouring into his diaper, which seemed only fitting given the way this conversation was going.

“So, after he gets his degree, he goes back to Chicago, at a moment when Minneapolis is wide open because Humphrey's run the mob out of town. Seizing the opportunity, Vincent migrates north to fill the void, but he's smart enough to realize that no one is going to take an Ivy League hood seriously, so he comes up with Spats Belmondo, and sells the product with the help of Tony Accardo, who by then is running the Chicago Outfit.”

“Oh, this just gets better and better,” Ian guffawed; “no wonder he has a hard on for wood chippers … he was tutored by Joe Batters, no less!”

“Yep, the Big Tuna himself!”

“Okay,” Ian decided, “here's what we're going to do. Call our friends at the IRS, and have them send a certified letter to Spats informing him that he's won the grand prize-- a comprehensive audit of the last seven years of his personal and business returns.”

“That will certainly get his attention,” Donnie chuckled.

“But have our guy add a phone number and extension at the bottom of the letter, and do it by hand. I'll tell Spats that, if he plays ball, he's one phone call away from getting a reprieve. And to sweeten the deal, an ironclad guarantee that he can visit the old country without worrying about being denied reentry when he comes home.”

“Okay, so after you recruit him, what the hell are you going to do with him?”

“Put him to work, of course. In fact, if they're still juicing the food service industry, I'm going to put the whole, damned Mafia to work!”

. . . .

“This is gross,” Melanie complained. “I mean seriously. What's the point of getting us up at six? Hello? We're in jail, already! It's not like we have to dash off to class or something … and that shower! The last time anybody cleaned the floor in this dump was when dinosaurs were walking the earth!”

“And the food,” Joyce added; “don't forget the food! A two week old Danish? And corn flakes? I didn't know that anyone even made corn flakes anymore!”

“And you call this milk?” Cindy had her own litany of complaints. “Poor Blofeld would starve to death in here!”

“Good riddance,” Janis muttered to herself.

“Sweetie, you gonna eat that Danish?” Ruby was eyeing Tippi's pastry the way a shark eyed its next meal.

“Help yourself,” Tippi said.

Ruby did just that.

The twelve cellmates were having breakfast at a long trestle table in the dining hall.

“You count yourself lucky you locked up in Hennepin County,” Ruby smugly declared. “You know what you get for dinner out in Dakota? Turkey sandwiches! Seven days a week, you get turkey sandwiches, with this thimbleful of fruit cocktail. At least, I think it's fruit cocktail, though it's a bit hard to tell. Turkey sandwiches!”

“Gross,” Melanie reiterated. “Worse than the house, worse than the dorms … gross!”

“I want to go home,” Janis whined. “My mom's gonna kill me, but so what? I want to go home!”

“She ain't gonna kill you, beeech. Nope, no way, no how. She gonna be diapering you, and taking her damned sweet time changing you. You gonna stink to high heaven. Even the cops down in the Third ain't gonna touch you, and they got no taste whatsoever! Yep, I can see it now-- you gonna be dumping your breakfast in the seat of your pants.”

“The corn flakes' revenge,” one of the other hookers cackled. “The corn flakes' revenge!”

Janis folded her arms, and lowered her head to the tabletop. “I want to go home,” she repeated. “I want to go home ...”

“Oh, for God's sake!” Tippi had had it. Pounding the table with both palms, she got to her feet, and glared at her sisters. “Just listen to you! They got us up too early … the shower's dirty … the food sucks … what the hell did you expect? For crying out loud, this is a jail! We'll be out of here in a few hours, so suck it up! We screwed up a simple heist, but we're getting off easy. We wear diapers for a few semesters, but so what? Professor Grady has been wearing diapers for years! And the fine? Big deal! It's our parents who'll be picking up the tab. And what are they gonna do … spank us? Yeah, like that's gonna hurt when we're wearing diapers. Jeesh!!!”

“Tip's right,” Kimberly declared as she climbed to her feet. “No one's locking up these babies ...”

Kimberly was running her hands back and forth across her very well endowed chest.

“... and my blow jobs are second to none! I'll survive!”

“You go, girl,” Ruby clapped. “You and me? Maybe we can show the rest of these pussies how it's done!”

Ruby stuck her thumb in her mouth, wiggled it around a bit, and began moaning as she sucked (or perhaps, Dear Reader, she was sucking as she moaned; we'll leave it up to your imagination).

. . . .

“Hail, hail, the gang's all here,” Chief Mischof gleefully remarked as he walked into the courtroom behind Bernice and Ian.

With a sincere grin lighting up his features, Walt walked over to shake hands with Herb Canon. He settled for nodding to Julia and Priscilla, glad to see that both had showed up to testify if it should prove necessary.

“You okay?”

Ignoring everyone else, Priscilla had walked straight to Ian, and reached out to clasp both his hands. Her concern for his well-being was obvious to all.

“Bernice gave me the five star treatment,” Ian smiled; “Bernice and Suzie Marshall both.”

“Suzie? What was she doing there?”

Ian could hear the alarm in Priscilla's voice. “Pris, she came over to see if Bernice needed any help. And she was nice … more than nice. She was kind. This morning, Bernice told me that Suzie is going to declare me off limits to the scalp hunters, and apparently she has enough clout to make it stick. Apparently I said something to Suzie last night that had a real impact, and I don't even know what it was. Bernice knows, but she refuses to say.”

Ian briefly looked her way.

Walt stared at the floor, trying hard not to let Julia and Herb see what he was thinking. He knew, because Bernice had told him. Barely twenty-four, and yet Ian had been ready to die. He had lost far more than a wife and daughter in Viet Nam.

“I think … I think it has something to do with her husband, who died at the very end of the Korean War … on hill 255 … what we kill Pork Chop Hill.”

Ian's voice had grown very soft. “Have you noticed, Pris? Bernice still wears her wedding ring.”

“Oh, Ian,” Priscilla sobbed. “God, how I love you!”

She reached out to clutch him in her arms, her head resting upon his shoulder. A part of her, a big part, wanted never to let go.

April 6

I'm 78, and have been incontinent since birth due to a spinal cord birth defect. I have been counselling people in my community about incontinence for more than fifteen years, both informally and through outreach programs. ADHB has gone to the heart of it. On this site, threads over and over again discuss the definition of incontinence, and the variations (overflow, stress, urge, etc.), but there are more fundamental issues. When dealing with the incontinent community, people on sites like this who are not incontinent need to be aware of the DABDA imperative. We associate this with cancer (Denial / Anger / Bargaining / Depression / Acceptance), but it applies in a very direct way to those rendered incontinent by injury or illness. I'm lucky, in the sense that being a lifelong incontinent I do not have to "unlearn" the continence lifestyle. But this is exactly what happens to people who progress from diapers to pull-ups to underpants/panties. Suddenly, everything that has applied to your daily life since early childhood is swept away, and you have to "unlearn" to clear the decks for "learning" to live with a disability that may be with you 24/7/365 until death. The emotional toll on one's self-esteem can be as devastating as the physical.

So, when you go on a site devoted to incontinence, you should expect that individuals at different points on the DABDA scale on going to react to your comments differently. Someone who has been in diapers for ten years has probably run the whole scale, but someone who has been at it for six months has not. So, be patient, and above all don't be too quick to draw conclusions from the feedback your comments receive.

April 5

THE LONELY NIGHTS OF LONG AGO

“Good evening, Chief Mischof.”

As Suzie watched, two more of the girls were brought out of the house, locked into the back of a squad car, and driven downtown.

“What, no need for a SWAT team? How disappointing for you.”

Like so many in the surrounding houses, Suzie had drifted over to find out what was going on.

“Good evening, Miss Marshall,” the Chief calmly replied. “And yes, everything's under control. Just another sorority stunt, although particularly well planned and executed … a gang running around town stealing diapers off of people's front porches. Alas, the diaper service in question is a Mafia operation, and the mobster in charge is a rather nasty piece of work. Thankfully, Professor Grady is confident that he can make Spats Belmondo an offer that he can't refuse, so there are forty-one girls here that hopefully will be living to see another day.”

“Forty-one? Chief, that's virtually the whole sorority!”

“All but eleven, and the fact that five of the girls are pleading guilty to a crime of which they had no knowledge is a testament to the Professor's persuasiveness.”

“This is surreal! How did Ian get involved?”

“His was the last batch of diapers stolen. But there was a tracking device in the bag, and it led us straight here. As the saying goes, we caught them with their hands in the cookie jar.”

“I should speak with Bernice. How's she taking it?”

“All but frothing at the mouth. You know the drill: a meeting with the Dean at eight for the ceremonial dressing down, and then the three of us will be heading downtown for the court hearing.”

“The three … who?” Suzie was more than a little confused.

“Bernice, Professor Grady, and yours truly. I'm looking forward to seeing the Professor in action; this guy's got some serious chops.”

“He's … he's still here? He hasn't gone home?”

“Bernice is offering to put him up for the night. Hope he accepts 'cause at the moment I haven't got anyone who can drive him back to his place.”

“If he needs a ride, I'll take care of it.”

"Thanks, Suzie.”

The Chief looked her over shrewdly. He was good at reading people, and the more the Pi Iota Sigma house mom danced around the subject of Professor Ian Grady, the more obvious her feelings for him became.

“And thanks for helping us fend off the headhunters. Now that Grady has come to an agreement with Marilyn Marsden, I'm hoping that next week things will get back to normal around here.”

“He's hired an agent?” The news took Suzie completely by surprise. “Does … does that mean that we're going to lose him?”

“I hope not, because if he goes, Officer Canon will be going with him.”

“WHAT,” Suzie squealed; “what does the Batgirl have to do with this?”

“The Batgirl?” Walt had a huge grin on his face.

“Sorry. That's … uh … that's her nickname.”

“Pretty good one,” he conceded. “Anyway, Grady had one of the seizures that Professor Lessing warned me about. He was pleading with the girls to come together as a family, not tear each other apart, and he pulled back the curtain and let them see the mistakes that he made in Viet Nam, and how much they've cost him. And in the midst of it all, down he went. Priscilla knew what to do, so he wasn't out for very long-- but long enough for it to be obvious to anyone with half a brain that she's deeply in love.”

“But he's engaged,” Suzie protested, “and the Batgirl knows it! What is she doing?”

“Don't have a clue how it's all going to turn out,” the Chief shrugged. “But for now, why don't you go up to the house, tackle Bernice, and find out where we stand.”

. . . .

Suzie paused in the entrance and scanned the dining room. There were less than two dozen girls sitting around, most with dejected looks on their faces. A few officers were also present to maintain order, but in fact they were simply standing around: there was nothing for them to do.

“Does anyone know where Bernice is?”

“I think she's in the kitchen,” one of the girls replied in a dead voice.

“Thanks,” Suzie said as she turned away. She had been in the house many times over the years because Bernice Miller was Fraternity Row's doyenne. The house moms and dads came to her for advice, and when they had to assemble for a group meeting, it was in her dining room. Suzie had long thought it bitterly ironic that the Row's most seasoned and pragmatic parent presided over a house that was forever on the edge of academic disqualification.

“Knock, knock.”

Bernice looked back over her shoulder, and smiled when she saw Suzie. She well remembered the undergraduate who had so boldly carved a path through the male faculty during her senior year, setting a scalp hunting record that still stood twelve years later. And Bernice admired the passion with which Suzie defended the houses against all comers, her never ending crusade to compel a self-interested administration and faculty to concede that a critical part of the education preparing the child for adulthood occurred outside the classroom.

“I'll give them full marks for creativity,” Suzie giggled. “Running around town stealing diapers ranks right up there with that time the Deltas nabbed a billy goat and smuggled it into the Dean's office.”

“Or that time the Gammas released all those fireflies in the chemistry lab, then set off the fire alarm,” Bernice laughed. “I don't think the fire department has ever forgiven us.”

Bernice removed one of the baby bottles from the pot of boiling water, and tested the temperature on her wrist.

“Is there a baby in the house?” Suzie was wide eyed with curiosity.

“In a manner of speaking,” Bernice coyly replied, as she removed the second bottle.

“Oh, come on! Don't keep me in suspense! Give!”

“Professor Grady. He's staying the night in our guest room, and his girlfriend instructed me in no uncertain terms to change his diaper, feed him his bottles … breast milk, no less … and give him a good, hard spanking if he gives me any lip. Much to my disappointment, he has behaved like an angel.”

“Unbelievable!”

“Believe it. And believe this, too: inside that diaper lurks a beautifully firm, shapely ass that just cries out for a spanking. You have no idea how badly I want to put him over my knee, but for now I'll have to settle for cradling him in my arms and giving him his ba bas.”

“Unless … Suzie, would you like to nurse him? There's no one holding down the fort in the dining room, and at the very least the girls deserve my moral support.”

“I'd love to! But I don't want to surprise him; you should ask.”

“I will. But if he agrees … Suzie, I was getting him ready for bed, so right now all he's wearing is an undershirt to go with the diaper, baby pants and canvas cover. I have to warn you … there's a lot of scarring, and some of it is pretty bad. But in some ways it's the scarring you can't see that's much worse … the emotional scarring. He's had a very rough night, so he needs to be comforted.”

“Walt said that he had a seizure … that he was begging the girls to stick together, not turn on one another. It looks like he really got to them.”

“He did.”

“And yet you want to spank him?”

“Very much so.”

“I don't get it, Bernice. You say that you want to spank him, and in the next breath, that he needs comforting.”

“It looks like his girlfriend took a paddle to him last night. Bad move, that, because it instills fear. But a spanking, properly administered, absolves guilt-- and this poor guy is awash in it. He'll sleep better tonight if we can take some of it away from him.”

“Ah … so that's why you have handed out so many spankings over the years! A girl does something bad, gets caught, and you spank her not just to punish her but also to get the guilt out of her system before it takes root. That's clever!”

“It doesn't work on every girl, but it works often enough to make it worth doing. Now, stay here, and I'll check on the Professor, and see how he feels about all this.”

. . . .

“Check out the hunk,” Cindy whistled as she nudged Melanie in the ribs. “Man o' man, gimme some of that!”

The hunk was striding purposefully down the corridor, a tall, well tanned specimen with chiseled features and incredible hair. His suit was tailored, both his tie and his shoes imported.

“Forget it,” Melanie warned; “that's Hamilton Burger in disguise.”

“Oh,” Cindy groaned, her enthusiasm already deflated.

The hunk walked up to their cell, and curled his lip in a well practiced sneer. “I'm District Attorney Ballstrom; which one of you is Bjornsen?”

Tippi wearily raised her hand.

“Miss Bjornsen, we're still processing your cellmates, but the consensus of opinion is that you're the brains of this outfit. Tomorrow morning, I have the unenviable task of parading the forty-one of you before a judge, but I need one of you to speak for the others. You've been nominated, and considering that you're the only one with a rap sheet, you'd be my choice as well. You staying off the booze, or do I need to report you to your parole officer?”

The others stared openly at Tippi. Even Ruby was paying attention.

“A DWI,” she confessed. “And yes, I was well and truly smashed. I learned my lesson.”

“And you're about to learn another one. Here's the deal; it's got the standard elements: community service, which Professor Grady will set up for you at local hospitals. A fine large enough to make your parents pay attention; twenty-five hundred each has a nice ring to it. Probation until you graduate, with an interesting twist. Professor Grady is big on the idea of family, so he wants me to make all of you jointly responsible for getting the house GPA up to three point one, or you'll all be going before the judge a second time.”

Melanie audibly gasped, and Cindy turned pale. The District Attorney glared at them.

“You good with that, Bjornsen,” he barked.

Tippi nodded her head. “We can't salvage this term, but I'll commit the house to a three one starting next term”

“Works for me. Now, we get to the bit that could break this whole deal unless we work together and sell it to the judge, because he ain't gonna like it. All of you are going to become good, paying customers of Lullaby Diaper Service. You'll wear 'em, and you'll use 'em, until you graduate. The Professor and your house mom will work out the details, like who's going to wipe your fannies, where and when. Not my problem, nor the judge's. The Professor's confident that he can keep Spats Belmondo out of your hair if you agree, so are you in or out?”

“In,” Tippi acknowledged.

“Good. You will note that I am not at all curious about what motivated you to pull this cockamamie stunt, but the judge may have a question or two. I suggest that you ladies put your heads together and come up with something plausible. See you in court.”

“Shit,” Tippi muttered when the DA took his leave, “diapers.”

“A three one GPA,” Cindy moaned. “A three point one! The Titanic had better odds after it hit the iceberg!”

. . . .

Ian looked up when Bernice returned, her hands empty.

“Suzie's here, Ian. She's in the kitchen, tending to your baby bottles.”

“Well, I guess that cat's out of the bag.”

Ian could only shake his head in disbelief: how could all the women in his life treat his bottle feedings so casually?

“Look, I can't be two places at once, and the girls need me. I asked Suzie to feed you, and she's willing, but not if it will make you uncomfortable.”

“Seriously, Bernice? Seriously? I like Suzie, but I doubt if she knows one end of a baby bottle from the other. Maybe I should just go to bed.”

“After you've had your ba bas, not before. The question remains: Suzie wants to help, but will you be gracious enough to accept her offer?”

“Why not?” Ian was already resigned to his fate; if Suzie was going to tell the whole campus that he was dining on bottle fed breast milk, there was nothing that he could do about it.

“Sure. By all means. Show her in.”

Bernice turned to walk away, but then paused. “Ian, she doesn't know. Walt and I are dancing around what happened to your wife and daughter, and I'll do my best to have the girls respect your privacy, but there are no guarantees. 'Minnesota nice' is not an empty slogan, so be prepared. If the word gets out, an awful lot of women are going to offer you a shoulder to cry on.”

Bernice quietly exited the room.

“Some Secret Agent Man,” Ian said to himself, thinking about the nickname that Pris had given him. “There's not an intelligence agency on the planet that doesn't have a file on me about as thick as the Manhattan Yellow Pages, so why should the people I care about be kept out of the loop? Who am I fooling, anyway?”

Ian slammed his fist into a throw pillow, but it refused to fight back. He ached to find out who had slaughtered Nguyen, and taken Linh and Thu. All the talk about wood chippers was giving him ideas.

“Hi.” Suzie's voice was soft and tentative. She was standing in the doorway, oddly unsure of herself, clutching a baby bottle in each hand. The room was in semi-darkness.

“If you want me to leave ...”

“No.” Ian stood up, and crossed the room to give her a brief hug. “Thank you for coming. It's been one of those nights.” He led her back to the couch.

Fully dressed, Suzie was acutely aware that Ian was only wearing his t shirt and diaper. She had fantasized about this moment, but reality and fantasy were two very different things.

Setting one of the bottles aside, Suzie hesitated, then lowered her hand to Ian's thigh. Bernice was right about the scarring.

“Oddly enough, I never felt it. Oh, the round knocked me down, but I never felt it.”

Ian gently pressed his hand on top of Suzie's, and patted it with his fingers.

“Somehow, I managed to get back on my feet. One of my men was down, and I had to get to him. It seemed like a good day to die.”

In that moment, like spun glass dropped from on high, Suzie's heart shattered. Never again would she think of him as Diaper Butt, and the idea of scalping him suddenly nauseated her.

“I want you to lay with your head in my lap,” she whispered. “I'm going to feed you, then put you to bed. The Chief says that you're going to have a long day tomorrow.”

“Yeah, a long day and a long night.”

Ian stretched out on the couch as best he could, waiting for Suzie to cradle him in her arms. She slipped the nipple into his mouth, and he began instantly to nurse. The breast milk was still too sweet, but the taste no longer disgusted him. He closed his eyes, the tension beginning to drain from his limbs.

Suzie watched him, and felt his body go limp in her arms. Cradling him felt incredibly similar to cradling an infant. She wanted to ask him what it was all about, wanted him to explain how he could allow himself to be treated this way, but she didn't want to spoil the moment.

Ian fell into a light sleep, the warm milk working its magic, but he continued to nurse, gradually finishing first one bottle and then the other. Suzie knew that she should burp him, but she didn't know how to go about it, so instead she chose quietly to sit there, occasionally running her fingers through his hair.

When she spotted the pacifier, she touched it to his lips. He opened his mouth, and welcomed it as if he was embracing a long, lost friend.

Suzie did not know how much time had passed when Bernice finally returned. Together, the two women managed to get him up from the couch, and taking his weight between them, put him to bed. He was still suckling on his pacifier when Bernice turned out the lamp, and quietly shut the door to allow him to rest.

. . . .

One by one, the girls gave up the fight, and dropped to the filthy floors of their various cells. Kimberly fell asleep with her back against the wall, her head drooping. Janis Marsden fell asleep with her head cradled in Kimberly's lap, her arm lightly clutching her legs. For her part, Kimberly's arm rested lightly on Janis' back. As she slept, and without any awareness of her actions, Kimberly occasionally patted her younger sister, calming troubled dreams, and offering a measure of comfort.

April 4

On 4/1/2024 at 7:43 AM, Bluebird67 said:

Good also to see at least some of the sorority showing an appreciation of genuine sisterhood too.

Thank you. At bottom, these two stories are an exploration of family. What is a family, and what is it that ties its members to each other?

April 4

On 3/29/2024 at 6:20 PM, CDfm said:

I honestly don’t know how you could have inserted that information into the story in a different manner either so I will accept it and move forward.

As a general rule, a fiction writer should try to avoid info dumps. The better approach is to fill out a character's backstory in dialog. The character her/himself can be one of the participants, or the subject of a conversation between others. There's a crisp example of the latter coming up in a future scene (The Curtain Rises), when Becky braces Rita in her office and lays out what she has learned about Ian's past.

April 2

13 hours ago, Bluebird67 said:

I wonder whether anyone or anything can get Spats to follow a less antisocial path? I suppose he’s riding a tiger that’s hard to get down from, but you never know.

Spats will loom large as we dive deeper into the story unfolding in HOMAGE and AARDVARK. Indeed, in the next two scenes of HOMAGE, you will meet him up close and personal. And in the process, readers may begin to question just who Ian is, and what he is up to. Hope so.

April 2

Quickie historical quiz:

While the massacre of Ian's village is fictional, there were other alleged war crimes in Viet Nam (Operation Speedy Express, for one), but the slaughter of civilians in only one community resulted in the prosecution and conviction of an American officer. This community was:

A. Da Nang

B. Khe Sanh

C. Le Drang

D. My Lai

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