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Real Age

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  1. This is a light sequel to The Baby Bet - New protagonists, same world, set shortly after the end of that book. If you haven't read The Baby Bet, this story should stand alone just fine on its own, but if you want to read things in order, you can find the complete, fully edited, 100% done version on my Ream! (Where it can be read for free without a subscription!) https://reamstories.com/page/loqrfhtkkv/story/lpist7becw Melody’s chest moved slowly, and Skip could feel her warm breath puffing against their skin. They locked eyes with her, jaw set in determination. “Are you comfortable?” Melody’s question felt like a joke, or an insult. Skip’s arms were pulled behind their back, wrists bound together, pulling on their shoulders. Their ankles were no better, thin white cuffs keeping them in place. Of course they weren’t comfortable. “Yes,” Skip promised, nodding. “I’m fine.” Melody’s delicate fingers traced over Skip’s shoulder, idly taunting them with her freedom of movement. They were paralyzed, barely able to shift their wrists or adjust their stance. A smile spread across Melody’s lips. “Good. Remember, you can end this at any time.” Skip nodded, though their breath was shallow and quick. Burying their nerves, they shook their head. “I’m not stupid.” “Alright.” Melody smirked, letting the moment of anticipation build. Only after several seconds of dominant eye contact did she reach down down and pick up the toy they’d chosen, holding it up so that Skip could clearly see when she clicked it on. “Then let’s begin.” … Three days earlier Skip stood at their workbench, frowning in concentration as they worked at their task. They held a sheet of transfer paper in hand, printed with the logo of a local bank, and carefully aligned the image with a plain white mug. Each mug cost a quarter, and the ink and transfer paper couldn’t have been more than five cents. By combining the two, they’d be left with a product they were being paid eleven dollars for. Some might call it the transformative power of labor, or an example of modern day alchemy. Skip thought of it as an illustration, demonstrating how stupid people could be when it came to labels. With the label properly aligned, they lifted the mug, sliding it into a sleeve on the applicator machine. With the pull of a lever, the machine tightened around the label, pressing it down and applying heat. In five minutes, they’d have a printed mug. It was the last mug of the batch–they needed one hundred done, and they’d completed ninety nine. A few other printing machines sat idle, but they wouldn’t overproduce–it only cost the company thirty cents, practically nothing, but they wouldn’t give away an eleven dollar mug for free. While they had a moment, they meandered to the break room, nodding along to the podcast playing in their ear; a summary of a video game cheating scandal. Their job provided little in the way of intellectual stimulation, but it paid the bills, and they couldn’t complain about the difficulty. Nabbing a coke from the vending machine, they checked their messages, using every minute of the five they had to spare. As they returned to the printing room, however, they bumped into their boss. Frederick was about their height, though that’s where their similarities ended; he kept a full beard and a clean-shaven head, and his crisp polo shirts always contrasted with Skip’s loose work hoodies. “What’re you working on right now?” he asked, glancing between Skip and the coke in their hand. They had to tune out the podcast a bit to listen to him, but they could multitask. “Finishing up the mugs for Freedom Banking,” they replied. “Just waiting on the printers right now.” He nodded. “Once you’ve got that done, you can go ahead and clock out–there’s not much left to do tonight.” Skip nodded, doing a little mental math. “Sure thing.” Returning to the print room, they pulled the lever back to its starting position and took the final mug out. It was warm to the touch, but they held it by the handle and lifted it into the light, inspecting the print. They’d aligned the decal perfectly, and there hadn’t been any print defects. Checking over their shoulder, Skip chucked the mug into the garbage bin, smiling slightly as it shattered. Reaching for another blank, they began the process again. Finishing up the last mug of the set, they stacked it with the order, then began cleaning their workstation. After checking in with Frederick one more time, they hit the bathroom, taking their time with handwashing and navel-gazing before taking their satchel from their locker and clocking out. Their car was a piece of junk, but it had been a sweet deal. The hot pink paint had deep key scratches along both sides, a relic left by the previous owner’s girlfriend that had saved Skip a huge sum off the total. It ran fine, which was the important thing, and they’d never had to worry about anyone trying to break in. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon as they started her up, but they’d have the sunrise to their back most of the way as they drove home. The rest of the world came to life as their day came to an end, and that’s how they liked it. The early signs of rush hour traffic were already building on the northbound side of the highway, stifled drivers crammed in slow moving lanes, but Skip was driving south, heading home, cruising freely while society ground to a halt. At home, they parked in the back. The house shared by their friend group had two garage bays, and Skip chipped in extra towards the mortgage for the privilege of parking there. Shouldering their satchel, they wandered in through the back door. Grace was preparing coffee in the kitchen, and looked up with a smile. “Morning, Skip.” She was–as expected–still in her pajamas, a footed kitten sleeper with crotch snaps to access her diaper. She wasn’t incontinent, but if there was one rule their friend circle agreed to above all else, it was that they’d never judge. At least, not out loud. “Morning,” Skip replied, doffing their hoodie and nodding to the coffee pot. “Is there extra?” “Before bed?” Grace asked, raising an eyebrow as she poured coffee into an oversized baby bottle. That bottle had been designated as the one for coffee, and it was rare to see Grace in the morning without it anymore. “Sure, help yourself.” “I’m staying up late,” Skip replied, moving to take the brew. “Do you know if Melody’s up yet?” “I heard movement a minute ago, she’ll probably be down here sooner or later.” Screwing on the lid, Grace began suckling her coffee. “How was work?” “Not easy, but we got it done,” Skip lied, topping off their own mug. It had nothing on it, just a plain white mug, but it was theirs nonetheless–they’d smuggled it home after their first day at work. The two of them moved around each other in comfortable silence while Grace made breakfast and Skip made dinner, one still waking up and the other tired from work. By the time Melody made her eventual trek down the stairs, Skip was halfway through a dinner of frozen pizza and Grace had finished her eggs. “You up to talk about the book?” Skip asked, sliding a mug of coffee across the table. Melody didn’t have her own special mug: She used whichever one was available, including, occasionally, Skip’s–though never Grace’s. “I’ve thought about it. I still want to see how it goes at first, but I’m willing to give it a shot.” Draining half the cup in one gulp, Melody nodded. “Give me a minute, then yeah.” “Book?” Grace asked, rinsing her plate off in the sink. “A sex book,” Melody clarified. “Sort of a ‘Here’s how you don’t suck on a first date’ primer.” Raising an eyebrow, Grace’s gaze fell on Skip, and they felt it as their willingness to talk retreated. Grace didn’t pry, she knew the score and knew Skip well enough not to press. For Melody, though, Grace had no such reservations. “What happened to ‘They make new college boys every year’?” “Well that’s the thing, they tend to kinda suck,” Melody replied. “Best case, they know how to put on a condom, but if I wanted fifteen seconds of enthusiastic hip thrusting, I’d watch a Tiktok dance reel.” While they spoke, the front door opened. At that time of day, it was odd enough for everyone to pause, and Grace even stepped to the side of the kitchen, glancing across the length of the house to see who’d come in. “Good morning, Brains,” she called. “Did you sleep over at Connor’s?” “Mmm,” he replied, shuffling in and nodding at the empty coffee pot. His eyes were a little red from lack of sleep, deep bags under them, and Skip got the sense that while he might have spent the night, there hadn’t been much sleeping. “I’ll start a fresh pot, I finished it off,” Skip offered, knowing Brains would shoot them down. “I’ve got it,” Brains replied, leaning in over the coffee grinder to adjust it to his exacting specifications. He’d drink anyone’s coffee, but if it was time to make a new pot, he’d do it ‘correctly’. “Well, good luck with the project,” Grace said, resuming the conversation. “Be sure to collect lots of field data.” “That’s why Skip’s helping,” Melody explained, gulping down the rest of the coffee, her expression brightening. That got a positively perplexed glance from Grace, who could no longer keep her curiosity at bay. “Change your mind about being on the sex train?” Grace asked, trying to keep it casual. Even Brains glanced over his shoulder, though his expression suggested he was trying to mentally catch up with the conversation more than anything. “Oh yeah, one hundred percent,” Skip deadpanned, pushing the conversation as far away from sincerity as possible. “That’s everything I’m about now, just a bunch of dicks and vaginas, all the time. I just love jamming cylinders into orifices.” Coffee shot from Grace’s nose and she stepped to the sink, wiping her face with a washcloth. “Okay,” she snorted, dabbing away coffee from her mouth. “But seriously–how’s that work?” “Melody needed an unbiased perspective,” Skip explained, perfectly hiding their discomfort with a casual smile. They’d already been so-so about the book project, and this was only cementing their gut instinct that agreeing to help had been a bad idea. Still, for now, they’d play the part–they could always back out later. “Someone who’s out of the loop and can provide the input of someone who’s not already familiar with the stuff we’re writing about. The plan is, she’ll write the stuff, then I’ll go through and read it and point out where I’m having trouble following, or where it needs more context, which parts make sense, all that.” “Right, okay, sure.” Up to speed, Brains chimed in. “Sex book?” “Sex book,” Melody confirmed. “Okay, why a book?” Brains asked. “How much stuff are you covering? ‘Book’ implies it’ll be pretty long.” “We’re going to start and see how far it takes us,” Melody summarized, “But I at least want to cover BDSM One Oh One. Safe words, how to tie people up without cutting off their circulation, making sure your partner is enthusiastically consenting with whatever you want to do that night. Probably a basic rundown of toys, too–you would not believe how many cis guys are surprised you can use a vibrator on their dicks.” Brains raised his eyebrows in shock. “You can use a vibrator on a dick?” Grace blushed sympathetically, and Melody made an exasperated sound. “Brains–yes, you can–” A grin spread across his face before she could finish, and Skip smirked. Brains could be oblivious, but he wasn’t that naive. He’d been yanking their chains. “You’re the worst,” Melody said, shaking her head, though she smiled. “I swear, sometimes I think you’re awful at lying, then you drop something like that.” “I try,” he said, smiling with satisfaction as he returned to his percolation quest. Stretching, Grace put her dishes in the dishwasher and straightened. “Are you two sure this is a good idea?” Skip’s slight smile faded. “What do you mean?” “Well, a book’s a lot of work,” Grace began, speaking slowly with a tone that suggested she was picking her words carefully. “Publishing is hard. I’ve made a few websites for authors, and–most of them don’t really go anywhere.” “I know what I’m doing,” Melody said. “I’m not just going to toss it on Amazon and cross my fingers, I’ve got a plan.” “Okay, but…” Grace began, pursing her lips. “Skip. Come on–you make faces during kissy scenes in movies.” “No I don’t,” Skip shot back automatically, brow furrowing in annoyance. Brains didn’t quite smirk, but he did add, “You do, it’s like when Pearce feeds Grace broccoli.” “He doesn’t know how to cook it–Whatever. My point is,” Grace continued, shaking off the tangent. “It seems like a bad fit. You shouldn’t do a ton of work that’s going to make you really uncomfortable, just to try and make money with…well, self publishing.” “It’s not going to make me uncomfortable,” Skip insisted. “Skip, come on.” Grace leaned over the table, making eye contact with them. “I know you.” Skip returned her earnest gaze with a thin smile. “I’ll keep your advice in mind.” The idea of backing out suddenly seemed a lot less desirable–it was one thing to walk away, but another to give up. How bad could it be? ... The Kickstarter for The Baby Bet AUDIOBOOK only has four days to go! I'd *love* to hit the stretch goal to adapt Gamer Pants into audio, and it's also a great opportunity to nab your copy at the cheapest price it'll ever be available for! https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/peculiarchangeling/the-baby-bet-coming-to-audio
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