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Babypants
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Posts posted by Babypants
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57 minutes ago, absorbance irrigator said:
Now you are governed by unelected faceless corporations
Ah, haven't you noticed that those who do govern us here in America are owned lock, stock and barrel by faceless corporations? Eisenhower warned us about this in his farewell address in January of 1961.
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Adult Baby Nursery Bangkok, Thailand
This was up and running when I left Bangkok in 2016. If anyone pursues this, please update. -
This is not behind a paywall. The application was denied as a nonconforming C-1 entity not suitable for an R-1 district. It is revealing that the applicant apparently did not know that you need a permit to operate an in-home business open to the public.
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On 2/14/2024 at 11:14 PM, littlebopeeper said:
Vickie is taking to diapers like a duck to water. Does she have a diaper fetish? Is she the kind of person who is willing to try anything once? We know she's into spankings big time, but what else? Can't wait to see where this goes.
There are only two segments in the next scene, but Vickie's diapered state will figure largely in the second one, which is a fantasized version of what happened to me in real life shortly after my 14th birthday, all the way back in March of 1960.
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If the whole story is only 5 thousand words, I would generally recommend doing it as a one-off. Short chapters work best in longer stories (60 thousand words, plus) where the narrative is moving quickly in scenes where the physical location of the action is also moving about.
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On 2/10/2024 at 7:04 AM, Les Lea said:
Yes, a new story but I'm not sure it will be all that popular as the subject matter isn't particularly joyful.
There's a bit of humour, a few nappies but mostly it's an old man pondering.
Anyway, it will be interesting to see any comments folk might have.
I will follow this with keen interest because I have wondered for quite some time whether a story can gain traction if it doesn't center on children, adolescents, or young adults. By the way, I actually participated in a program similar to what seems to be unfolding here-- all the way back in 1982!
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9 hours ago, Diapered Dave said:
if a guy is sitting down in a certain way, the urethra is squeezed shut until he stands up. Then what ever urine has collected in his bladder while sitting, just gushes out.
As an incontinent, where this is most obvious to me is in the car on long trips. The sitting position does put the brakes on, but when I get out of the car, within seconds my bladder drains into my diaper. Not a big deal in the summertime, but when pumping gas on a mid-January night on the cold, wind swept plains of northern Iowa? Yeah, it's a big deal, in the sense that this is all a logistical exercise. In the summer, on a one day hop from Texas to Minnesota, I'd wear Molicare throughout, and change after a heavy wetting. But in the wintertime, I switch over to a Bambino product on my next to last stop in Missouri so that I can make it home without a change, no matter how much gushes out of me in Iowa.
Incontinent people have to think about things that people with bladder and bowel control pretty much take for granted. Think about them, and plan for them. I'll say it again: dealing with incontinence is above all else a logistical exercise.
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Quickie historical quiz:
The reference to Joe Friday in this scene takes us back to the golden years of weekly police shows on television. Did Joe Friday appear in:
A. Adam-12
B. Dragnet
C. M Squad
D. Police Squad
E. Streets of San Francisco
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13 minutes ago, ValentinesStuff said:
can you work in hints during the lead up? The antagonist imagining diapering the protagonist, or something similar, so the reader know what's coming up?
The element of foreshadowing is key. In film, the director uses the musical score to hint at what lies just ahead, but we don't have the audio tool, just the visual in the form of the written word. The written word has to carry all of the weight, so you have to use it to hint at what lies ahead to engage the fetish reader, or you risk losing said reader early on.
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27 minutes ago, Guilend said:
My best advice is let everyone know from the start and keep posting chapters and eventually your audience will find you.
Patience is indeed the key. If you go against the grain, not just here but on any fetish site featuring stories, you have to have faith that good writing will slowly attract an audience. Build characters that are memorable because you give them depth. Insert them in a plot that is credible, and make a real effort to get the details right. The ultimate challenge on a site like this is to construct a story that doesn't need to lean on the fetish to pass muster.
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23 minutes ago, Guilend said:
While BabySofia is right, those two stories she mentioned was also set in the diaper dimension sandbox which included diapers and had high expectations of the protagonist ending up in diapers from the get go.
A very good point. If you situate your story in something like the diaper dimension, everybody knows what's coming. In this kind of setting, a good writer can probably tease the readership a bit and get away with it.
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8 hours ago, CCApril said:
As a fun note. Whenever I read Tippi's name in the story my mind always comes up with "TippeCanoe and Tyler Too". I hope that campaign writer got well paid for that!
Actually, this was a song composed by a jeweler named Alexander Ross, with twelve verses and the chorus, the latter positively skewering the incumbent President, Martin Van Buren. The expression "keep the ball rolling" comes from this minstrel tune, which probably won the 1840 election for Harrison.
On a side note, did you know that John Tyler had 15 children, 8 with his first wife and 7 with his second? How he had found the time to campaign for the presidency in 1836 is beyond me.
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Fiction is normally centered on character first, plot second, and devices a far distant third. Thus, James Bond slays the man with the golden gun with his Walther PPK. Doesn't work too well if we center the story on the gun, kill the villain with it, and only find out as a mere aside that Bond pulled the trigger. Ah, but this is a fetish porn site, and Spark is quite right: for a lot of the people who come here to read stories, it is the diaper that trumps the other structural elements, so you have to get to it pretty fast. I'd say in the first chapter if this is going to run several thousand words.
To stretch this out, a lot would depend on the theme. For example, one of the most popular here revolves around having a parental figure use diapers to humiliate a child. In this instance, you could reach beyond the first chapter by inserting a bed wetting episode at the opening. Foreshadowing can buy you some time, but not to the tune of "tens of thousands of words."
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Turn about, fair play! We are all waiting with bated breath for the party that Mistress Trinity is hosting out in the desert for her newest playmate. And this one won't set us back $30,000 for a new toilet seat!
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FROM RUSSIA, WITH LOVE
“You need to open the window and air this place out,” Priscilla giggled. “Believe me, any coed who walks in here when I open the door is going to know exactly what we were doing!”
After refastening his diaper and standing up, Priscilla had helped Ian to his feet, his ankles still trapped in his baby pants, diaper cover and trousers. She had hastily pulled up the pants and cover, checking only to make sure that there was no fabric peeking out before locking everything back in place. Leaving him to finish dressing, she had stowed his changing pad, then poked around in his diaper bag until she found the wet wipes. She folded a couple into a makeshift tampon, and pushed it into her vagina. When she was satisfied that the plug would hold, she quickly redressed.
“Turn around first,” he said.
When she did so, Ian held up a mirror that he kept in one of the desk drawers. “First time it's come in handy,” he laughed.
Priscilla got to work on her lipstick before doing battle with her hair. “Do I look halfway presentable,” she finally asked.
“You're glowing … absolutely glowing. And every coed out in the corridor is going to take one look at you and know exactly what we were doing.”
Ian turned around and opened the window. Cold, winter air streamed into his office, instantly chilling it.
“You look pretty happy yourself,” Priscilla grinned; “it's good to see.” Then she turned serious. “Ian, I want you to know that this wasn't planned, and I'm not going to make any demands. You are a very, very special person, and you've made me very happy.”
Ian circled the desk, clasped her hands, and pulled Priscilla close. He kissed her affectionately on the cheek before hugging her.
“I have to be the luckiest guy on the planet,” he whispered into her ear before kissing her again. “Now, Sarah has said something about hiring a full-time nanny to shepherd me around campus. If Marilyn can finagle that big pay raise she's talking about, how would you like the job, complete with room and board? The fringe benefits would be competitive.”
“Hmm … I wonder what my Chief would come up with as a counteroffer; he would have to get really creative to match your fringe benefits!”
Priscilla's fingers were lightly dancing across the top of Ian's heavily diapered crotch. “After your office hour ends, let's explore the matter over a late lunch.”
She was stroking the front of his diaper with much greater force. “There's a deli right across the street from the hospital … right below Mom's office, that does a mean pastrami. Think you might be hungry?”
“Starved.” Ian grinned as he took her hand and pressed the fingers to his lips. “But there might be a slight delay. “I'm expecting an important call about that time.”
. . . .
Janis Marsden stood stock still just inside the giant double doors, her mind grappling with the vastness of the space in front of her. The placard on the outside had been innocent enough, but MEDICAL SUPPLY STORAGE ROOM didn't begin to describe what she was seeing. For all intents and purposes, she was standing inside a warehouse; she guessed that it took up fully a third of the basement level.
Pushing the empty cart ahead of her, she tentatively approached the long counter directly ahead. Her supervisor had assured her that any of the hospital's inventory specialists would be happy to assist her.
After her last class, Janis had dashed back to the house, but only to collect her car. Candy stripers might have been at or near the bottom of the hospital's professional hierarchy, but she was still an employee and she took pride in having a hospital parking sticker affixed to her windshield. She had come in early, and after changing into her uniform, had immediately reported to her shift supervisor. She had devised a plan to track adult diapers to their source, but it was a plan born out of her curiosity as to how the hospital actually functioned. Accustomed to the organized chaos of a sorority house, Janis was fascinated by the precision with which the various wards operated. When she opened a drawer or a cabinet door, every supply that she was tasked to collect was waiting, and as if by magic, everything that she took would be resupplied overnight.
She had asked her supervisor how it all worked, and as she had hoped, she was soon wheeling an empty supply cart to the freight elevator, shopping list in hand. The best way to learn, she had been told, was to jump through the hoops. But her boss had been considerate; mindful of the distance that Janis would have to wheel the cart, and knowing just how heavy some supplies could be, she had limited the list to linens. First time out, she would be retrieving sheets, pillow cases, washcloths, hand towels … and adult diapers.
. . . .
Priscilla didn't know what to expect when she flung the door wide open, but she was not at all surprised to find Marilyn Marsden waiting for Ian to get his afternoon office hours under way. She made note of the slender briefcase in her hand, and then did a double take when she realized that Marilyn was idly chatting with a couple of the coeds once again camping out in the corridor.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” she announced, “and thank you all for coming. Missus Marsden, do you bear good tidings?”
“I do,” she said, although she was frowning. The normally taciturn officer was in a very good mood; indeed, Marilyn would have called her bubbly. And then she took note of Priscilla's slightly disheveled appearance, and smiled knowingly. She expected to find the professor equally unkempt-- two young people who had just acted upon their feelings for one another.
“I have a document for him to sign, and it requires a witness. If you will?”
“Certainly.”
Marilyn entered Ian's office, with Priscilla hard on her heels. She shut the door firmly behind them. Marilyn shivered, took note of the open window, and started to laugh. She sat down, and placed her briefcase atop the desk. “Ian, you can close the window now, and for future reference … have you heard of air fresheners?”
Ian took her suggestion, plopped down in his chair, and winked at Priscilla. “I told you that we wouldn't fool anyone,” he crowed.
“Are we that obvious,” Priscilla sighed.
“Well, it would help if you both took a minute or two to tidy up your appearance … and coming down off Cloud Nine would also help.”
“Do you know those two girls,” Priscilla asked in an obvious attempt to change the subject.
“I do,” Marilyn repeated. “They are in Zeta Alpha Pi, along with my daughter Janis. Joyce Wiggins is a legacy; her mother and I waited tables together in a burger joint in the Village when we were students here. Melanie Wilson's father is one of my clients; he runs a company that leases printers and copiers out in the western suburbs.”
“ZAP is forever poised on the edge of academic disqualification,” Priscilla amplified for Ian's benefit.
“And my daughter isn't helping,” Marilyn lamented. “She's far more keen on collecting scalps than hitting the books.”
“She has lots of company,” Priscilla noted, shaking her head in wonder.
“It would be more interesting if the student newspaper published a weekly scorecard,” Ian suggested. “We could probably find a bookie to organize a pool; the paper could update the odds in each issue.”
Priscilla rolled her eyes. “Ian please … pretty please … keep that idea to yourself!”
“Your wish is my command,” he replied as he licked his lips.
“Down to business,” Marilyn said in her, best businesslike tone. “I've drawn up an agreement. Per your wishes, I ran it by Sarah first.”
Marilyn opened her briefcase, pulled out the file, and laid it in front of Ian.
“It won't take you long to read.”
Ian opened the folder, glanced at Sarah's note, and snorted. He silently passed the memo to Priscilla.
Ian
Sign this.
Sarah
“A woman of few words,” Priscilla giggled.
“She has him well trained,” Marilyn observed. “Ian, this makes me your agent. I'll draw up a standard contract and run it by Sarah on Friday. The two of you should take the weekend to read it over. Wait to sign until your office hours on Monday so that Priscilla can witness it, and then we're off and running. I flat out guarantee you that by Friday of next week you will have from three to seven firm corporate offers in hand.”
Ian signed the document without further ado, and Priscilla witnessed it.
“They will also need to hire Priscilla; I'm not going anywhere without my nanny … er, I mean … caretaker.”
Ian and Priscilla both laughed.
“Hopefully, you won't be going anywhere,” Marilyn said emphatically. “And we can always try and have Priscilla permanently assigned to you as part of any retention agreement. Now, let me ask Amy to make copies of the Memorandum, and we can get the ball rolling!”
Marilyn took her leave, but she was considerate enough gently to close the door behind her.
“Down to business, Officer Canon; down to business.” Ian lightly rapped his knuckles on the desktop. “Please show the first scalp hunter in!”
. . . .
It turned out to be easy. The clerk at the desk handed Janis a xeroxed copy of the floor plan, and then checked off the aisles and bin numbers that she would need to visit to collect the supplies on her list. She gave him a copy, which he compared with her original, running his finger down the column of figures item by item. He recommended that she start with the pillow cases because they were the lightest, and save the towels and diapers for last because they were the heaviest. This would ease the strain on her arms as she pushed the increasingly heavy cart from aisle to aisle.
Janis asked whether he would be going over the cart to make sure that she had the count right, and he just laughed. It turned out that it was rare for the count to be exactly right because sheets and pillow cases were difficult to separate, and it didn't really matter anyway: everything would eventually end up in the laundry, and after being folded, back in the appropriate bin.
It never occurred to the clerk that anyone would steal something like adult diapers.
Janis gaped when she saw the bin. It was wide and deep and high, and filled with the huge, thick diapers that Tippi had described. There were dozens of them … scores … no, hundreds. It was just like the other bins that she tackled. Patient care dictated that the hospital stock everything in superabundance, never risk a shortage.
Janis had worn a dress to work, and left a backpack in her locker with four diaper pins in the smallest pocket. Her plan was simple: smuggle a dozen extra diapers out of the warehouse and stash them in her locker. When her shift ended, she would stuff two of the diapers into her backpack, and wear a third under her dress. Dumping them in her trunk, she would hurry back upstairs to make a second run. If anyone stopped her, she would claim to have forgotten something in her rush to get back to the sorority house in time for dinner.
Studying the map with care, she finally located an item that was not on her list, but vital to her mission. Leaving the cart in front of the bin where she finished up by loading the hand towels, she hurried across the floor in search of the vinyl pants that their pigeons would be wearing over their diapers 24/7. She grabbed a dozen in various sizes, and stuffed them into the deep pockets of her pinafore.
Janis' plan went off without a hitch. When she got back to her car after her second run, she decided not only to wear the diaper back to the house but to don a pair of the baby pants as well. She was curious to find out what the infantile garb felt like against her skin, and whether the bulge would be visible through her dress.
The bulkiness of the diaper surprised and delighted her. It forced her legs so far apart that she could only waddle like a toddler. Driving back to the house, she fantasized about seducing one of the pencil pushers in the math department, getting him into one of these giant diapers, and turning him into her slave-- her diaper slave.
. . . .
Ian was happily conversing with his fourth coed when the telephone rang. Instinctively wary of recording devices, he stared at the phone for a long moment, the look of a man gazing down upon a deadly serpent. Reluctantly, he picked up the receiver.
“Street, it's Donnie. I'm ready whenever you are.”
“Give me a moment.”
Cradling the phone against his chest, Ian apologized to the young lady for the interruption, but asked her to wait outside. When she left, he called out to Priscilla to shut the door.
She did so, but her curiosity was apparent. She had never seen Ian take a call in private.
“Go.”
“Your bride to be is a solid citizen, but I'd take care around her mother. She has used her credit cards to make some purchases from pretty kinky outfits.”
“Makes sense. Sarah has some toys of her own.”
“Let's not go there. Not much in Robinson's file, but Lessing praises her to the skies … says she has a remarkably intuitive feel for human behavior. We've got quite a bit on Stevenson, from various sources … good at her work … real gravitas in the courtroom … reliable. Pretty much the same thing with Marsden … professional, with first class negotiating skills. You've picked a winner there.”
“What about Amos”
“Interesting guy. A good soldier who really maxed out his R&R's. Solid team player at the hospital, but terrorizes pinball machines all over south Minneapolis. The cops down there hold him in high regard, and seem to spend a lot of time looking the other way. In short, a head case, but good to have on your side."
” “My sentiments exactly. I'm good with any guy who'll play by Hong Kong Rules.”
“Drink 'em under the table, Street … which brings us to Sergeant Canon. Usual career for a guy with twenty plus in the ranks. Not a genius but methodical … think Joe Friday. The wife's the one to watch out for. Julia's a digger, with an irritating habit of hitting ground zero. We do not want her looking into your recent history. Am I making myself clear?”
“Copy.”
“Got a plan?”
“Priscilla. As if my life isn't complicated enough, there's a strong mutual attraction. Trust me … if Julia starts pushing, Priscilla will push back.”
“Wonderful. Geesh, Ian, are there any other women crawling around the premises that we should know about?”
“Well, there's Suzie Marshall, who's Vickie's arch rival, and Harriet Belmondo, who runs the diaper service ...”
“Enough, already! I swear to God, if you ever turn up with a knife in your back, it's gonna be Murder on the Orient Express all over again. Honestly, Ian, how do you do it?”
“Puppy dog with a limp and big, sad eyes?”
“Must be the case. And keep in mind that there's still another lady out there who turns into a puddle of goo at the mere mention of your name.”
“Irina?”
“Your office hours end at three. Clear the decks, and close the door; she'll give you two minutes grace.”
. . . .
“So, who's changing me?” Vickie had casually strolled into Rita's office, and she was deliberately nonchalant.
“Sarah's letting me do the honors,” Rita said as she looked up from the patient file that she had been reviewing. “Don Phillips,” she indicated as her hand swept across the open page. “Marge is making progress, slow but steady. He's fully verbal, and she estimates that he's processing at the level of a six year old. In another couple of weeks, he should be ready to start talking about his wartime experiences.”
“Are you planning to play Ian's tape for him?”
“John will make the call, so we'll discuss it at Lessing's Folly on Saturday. You'll be happy to hear that this should be a short session.”
“Good. We may need some time to finish up in Ian's apartment. Still expecting the movers around one?”
“Between one and two. We should have plenty of time to finish up and get home to prepare for the Circle.”
“Speaking of the tape … plan on staying late next Wednesday. I called Mark, and he's driving over around five to listen to it and give us his opinion. He wants to meet Ian and Amos as well.”
“And Mark is ...”
“My lawyer friend … you know, the one who specializes in patents? He thinks this is actually a copyright issue, and since we're dealing with obscenity, we have to prove that the recording has scientific value.”
“Shouldn't be a problem,” Rita shrugged as she closed the file and stood up to retrieve Vickie's changing mat and diaper bag. “Want to get the door,” she suggested.
Vickie stifled a laugh as she eased it shut. “This should be fun; auntie Rita is going to change my diapee for the first time!”
“Two babies.” Rita let out a theatrical sigh. “Well, you can undress yourself. I want everything off except the bra."
Vickie kicked off her shoes, tossed her blouse onto Rita's chair, and slowly dropped her trousers; she pushed them out of the way with her toes.
Rita unlocked Vickie's diaper cover, and ordered her to remove both it and her baby pants. When she was ready, Rita patted the back of the diaper, and then peeked inside to make sure that Vickie hadn't messed herself. She was relieved to find that she was clean, but she was struck by how wet the fabric was.
“Vickie, this diaper is pretty wet, and you were just changed a couple of hours ago. Are you losing control already?”
“Come on, Rita, there's not much point in holding it, is there? Not when I'm going to be diapered 24/7.”
“True. Is it … um … uncomfortable?”
"Not really … kind of like a damp bathing suit. Once you get past the fear of telltale leaks, it's not bad at all. Plus, it's convenient … no more running to the bathroom half a dozen times a shift.”
“Right. Down on the mat.”
Vickie dropped to the floor, and made herself comfortable. Rita collected the four pins, and the diaper fell open. For the first time, she saw the set of baby diapers that Sarah had inserted as stuffers to give Vickie's diaper greater absorbency.
“You're supposed to unpin the baby diapers, then drop them into the pail with the adult diaper,” Vickie advised.
“Lift up, then.”
Vickie raised her hips, and Rita slid the pee soaked diaper out from under her. She separated the various cloths, and tossed them into the diaper pail. Then she ordered Vickie to pull her knees up to her chest so that she could clean her diaper area with baby wipes.
“Nothing to it,” Rita noted as she vigorously wiped Vickie's ass. She wanted to make sure that there was no poop in the folds of her skin. “But you do have a bit of a diaper rash; we need to change you more often.”
“Baby powder, please-- and lots of it!”
Rita slid a fresh hospital diaper under Vickie's bottom, and applied the baby powder generously. The four pins tightly secured the thick fabric around her waist, then Rita muscled Vickie's baby pants into place, and finished up with the heavy canvas diaper cover. She slid the lock partway home, waiting for Vickie to object, but she remained silent. Shrugging, Rita firmly pushed the lock home, and heard it click into place.
“Okay. Get dressed, and we'll rendezvous with Sarah in the parking ramp. You'll need another diaper change before you go home, but that one will have to last until you come in tomorrow morning. If you're poopy, visit Sarah; if you're just wet, see me. Who knows? If I'm in a good mood, I might just let you sneak off to the potty to go poo-poos before I get you dressed for the day.”
“And if mommy Sarah checks to see if my diapeee is dirty?”
Rita sighed heavily. “You're right. A change of plans … from now on, you'll be using your diapers for everything.”
. . . .
Ian ushered the last of his students out the door with a couple of minutes to spare. There were only half a dozen coeds still camped out. Priscilla handed Ian an envelope with a copy of the memorandum that Marilyn had passed her before leaving for her own office.
“No unwanted visitors in the last hour,” she reported. “It looks like things will get back to normal by the end of the week.”
“Pity, that,” Ian grinned; “I've really enjoyed the attention.”
He smiled warmly at the young women, knowing that they had all chosen to stay until the end of his office hour, lest some devious poacher bushwhack him at the last possible moment.
“One more phone call,” he said, “a quick diaper change, and then we can take off.”
As he reentered his office, Ian started to shut the door, but he paused with his hand on the jamb. He looked at Priscilla-- really looked at her-- thinking about what lay just ahead, thinking about a conversation with Rita now just twenty-four hours away, thinking about the gathering of the Circle on Saturday night. He was walking through a minefield of secrets, some of which must remain hidden and some of which could be shared.
But the difference between 'could be' and 'should be' is immense. I need help …
“Ian? Are you okay? You look like you've just seen a ghost.” Priscilla reached out to grasp his arm and give it an encouraging squeeze.
“In a manner of speaking.”
He smiled weakly, and he felt so lost. It was one thing to know what to do, another to know how to go about it.
“Priscilla, I don't know how this phone call is going to go, but I would trust Irina with my life. In fact, I've done so … more times than I can count. She has my best interests at heart, and I expect her to ask some pointed questions that will take us back to Viet Nam-- to the worst moments of my life … painful, ugly moments. I need to share some of this with Sarah … with all three of them, because if we go ahead with this crazy plan of ours, my past will feed into their future. The thing is, I'm not sure how much to tell them, nor how to go about it. I need help, so I'd like you in on this conversation, and afterwards to give me some advice. But I've got to tell you that some of this will be really, really hard to hear. Don't do this unless you've got a strong stomach.”
Priscilla smiled encouragingly, and squeezed his arm a bit harder. “Ian, you've already said the three magic words. Of course I'm going to help you.”
. . . .
Shortly after three, Julia pulled into the high school parking lot. It was directly across the street from Ian's apartment complex; in fact, the school driveway was directly opposite the row of cars in front of his building. She found a slot in the second row that gave her an unobstructed view, but her beater blended in well with the assortment of aging vehicles that surrounded her. Now, it was just a matter of waiting.
Julia hated stakeouts.
. . . .
“So, where are we headed,” Vickie inquired. The three of them had piled into Rita's car, which was the largest, newest, and most comfortable of the three cars at their disposal.
“The mall.” Sarah had let her fingers do the walking. “It's anonymous, and the maternity shop has a variety of breast pumps to choose among. We should be able to get in and out without anyone at work being the wiser.”
. . . .
The phone rang, and Ian answered it cautiously.
“Privet, Tovarishch! Kak pozhivayet moy lyubimyy ne takoy uzh I sekretnyy Sekretnyy Agent?”
“Starshe,” Ian laughed; “vozmozhno nemnogo mudreye. Moy lyubimyy General nu?”
“Khorosho. Spasibo. But we must speak English, Ian; your Russian is kulturnyy, whereas I am but a peasant from the steppes.”
“I did not know that Moskva is so far to the east,” he teased. “Irina, I have someone with me, so let me put us on speaker phone.”
“Irina, allow me to introduce Officer Priscilla Canon of our university police department. She started out as my bodyguard, but now that she changes my diapers, I think of her as my nanny. Priscilla, this is Lieutenant-General Irina Orlov of Soviet military intelligence. Over the years, we have shared some interesting times.”
“You ...you … you speak Russian?” Priscilla was dumbfounded.
“Better than I do,” Irina laughed, “and I am Moskva born and raised. Now, tell me Priscilla: who is trying to kill my beloved Ian?”
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Quickie quiz time:
At 14, Ian had a serious crush on Kathy Young, of A Thousand Stars fame. At 17, it was Lesley Gore's turn (he got both their autographs at his neighborhood record store). So, he's delighted to share Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows with Priscilla. But considering how things are going with Sarah, which Lesley Gore hit would he be humming at this point in the story?
A. Fools Rush In
B. I Don't Wanna Be a Loser
C. She's a Fool
D. You Don't Own Me
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6 hours ago, littlebopeeper said:
One of the things I love about this story is that things keep going off the rails just like they do in real life.
Thanks, guys! Ian is no saint, but whether he's a sinner depends on your POV. I made him a bit of both because it's easier to make a story twist and turn if the characters are complex and unpredictable. So, let's make this a contest: who should Ian marry?
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Picking up speed as it goes along. Have to wonder what was in the pill that he swallowed.
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One heck of a party. Now, how about breast milk with a beer chaser?
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Thank you, Kerry. This is very well thought out. Sarah and Rita are very much as you have described them. while the relationship between Vickie and Ian is intensely sexual. But is it love? As Vickie's personal history comes more into focus, we'll be better positioned to answer the question. In Priscilla's case, there can be no doubt. She has no agenda; she loves Ian for who he is, and as we shall see over the next several scenes, her faith in him is absolute.
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44 minutes ago, Guilend said:
My first guess is Nanny Becky or Nanny Veronica.
Let's have some fun with this. Hypothetically, let's have Vickie become pregnant on the honeymoon at a charming little hotel on Santorini , whose owner owes Ian a favor. Their first born daughter arrives in October of '80-- 43 years before the events at BB's are playing out. As I recall, Veronica is 19, so born in 2004. An easy fit. My impression is that Becky is a bit older, but not by much, so a date in 2001 or 2002 would work for her.
Maybe we can persuade CC to drop a few hints at the party!
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40 minutes ago, CCApril said:
Ahh. Probably not as big a clue as you think. Lord knows how many grandchildren and grandmas there was with Ian's unique marital status and the number of lusty women that hunted him!
Thanks. You just reminded me that I needed to update the tags. Let's ask Guilend to tell us who it is!
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13 hours ago, Guilend said:
Once Sarah figures out what happened she'll need thicker diapers then Iin just to sit comfortably lol.
Well, Priscilla will be wearing a diaper throughout the drinking contest on Thursday night,and it will be interesting to see how Julia reacts on Friday morning. For Sarah and Julia, the road ahead is going to get very bumpy.
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13 hours ago, Guilend said:
You just did 🤣
On reflection? You're right. In retrospect, it does seem obvious which one of the BB's staff is her grandmother through and through.
New Hampshire town said NO to the so-called Diaper Spa
in Diapers in the News
Posted
This woman could be in some legal trouble. Her application to the State for a business permit and tax ID number was rejected, and yet she appears to have started the business anyway. Well, New Hampshire has a quirky income tax-- it is only dividend and interest income that is personally taxed, not wages. So, she has no way to pay taxes on her earnings next year!
NH's revenue stream is heavily dependent on sales and property taxes, both being among the highest in the country. The moment the City fathers saw that permitting this business to run in an R-1 district would cause surrounding property values to take a hit, it was doomed. Between 2008 and 2011, property values in my community collapsed (my home went from being appraised at $235K to $141K), and we had to lay off municipal staff and cut community services, including closing the community center. The school district took a comparable hit to its budget. Before it was all over, we had to merge our fire department with two others whose communities were in similar financial trouble.
There's a reason why people hire attorneys and accountants. She was from Maine, and would have been well advised to do so.