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Every story and fortune ever told is just a window into the multiverse by way of kaleidoscope and funhouse mirror. Crossing the great interplanar divide, the signals and actions reverberate until they are recognizable, but just barely. The where might be right, but the when is years or decades or centuries off. The players are seen clearly, but their circumstances misunderstood or misinterpreted and thus things get decidedly…muddled. It’s all left to the receiver of these visions - be they writer or seer - to figure it out and everyone ultimately leaves their own fingerprints on the retelling. That being said this is either a true story that a certain writer and director with the initials J.H. completely misinterpreted, or my own mind has warped events that have happened or will happen across the multiverse even further. You be the judge -P.A. December 24th. The Chicago Suburbs. 671 Lincoln Avenue, to be specific. Eight fifty-five P.M. The sun had gone down and the streetlights had come on hours ago. Everyone who wasn’t on third shift working was partying, already passed out early from too much eggnog, or out of town for the holidays. Nobody was around and if they were they wouldn’t see or hear jack. “And while the cats are away,” Marv said, “the Wet Bandits will play!” There in the van, Harry cast a disgusted look sideways at Marv. “Who the hell says that?” Though shorter and stouter than his literal partner in crime, Harry was infinitely more intimidating. It might have been the Napoleonic complex. “Who the hell are you talkin’ to, huh? Me? I know what we’re doin’, and it sure as hell ain’t playin’!” As tall and hairy and wild as Marv looked- he could easily be a knife wielding maniac on any given subway car, the kind of stranger that children were warned about, the kind that left hook hands dangling from car doors- he was really just a big kid who hadn’t bothered to properly groom himself. He slumped down and said. “Sorry, Harry, I’m just trying to build the mood, ya know? It’s Christmas!” “Yeah,” Harry grumbled. “But we ain’t no Santy Claus.” “That’s right! We’re the Wet Bandits.” Marv pumped the brakes and stared at his companion. “What is it with you, huh? Wet Bandits? Is this a joke to you or somethin’?” “What?” Harry replied, confused. “Everybody’s gotta have a gimmick these days. It’s our calling cards.” Marv shook his head. “You are sick, you know that?” Harry just smiled and hissed laughter. Marv pointed to the house, tonight’s target. “Alright. You ready?” “Yeah. Let’s do this.” Harry cut the engine and the pair opened the doors of their van. Marv shut it less than a second later. “I mean, are you sure about this Harry?” Harry paused. “Yeah. I’m sure I’m sure. This house is the whole reason I started casing this neighborhood. I want that house!” “But there’s a little kid in there, Harry,” Marv said. “And he’s all alone. And it’s Christmas.” He was quickly losing his nerve now that it was go time. “So we’ll gift wrap him and then rob the place!” Harry tried to go but Marv’s hand on his shoulder gave him pause. “Come on, Harry. He’s eight. And he’s home alone…do we really wanna do this?” Harry shirked off Marv’s hand. “He’s eight friggin’ years old and still in diapers. He’s a spoiled little rich kid whose Mommy and Daddy couldn’t even be bothered to toilet train him. What was your life like when you was eight?” Marv wobbled his head to the side, seeing the logic in Harry’s statement. They’d done their research and tailed the kid, from a far enough distance so he didn’t suspect, keeping him just on the horizon. No one else was coming in or out of that house, and every other house in that culdesac they’d already scouted and hit. That was a fact. Having spent so much of their life in and out of prison, the two ne’er do wells were still novices at social media, but had struck lucky when they found a twitter account with shots of the house. No pics of the family, no pics of anyone, but lots of talk about diapers, video games, scout meetings, Mommy, and the like. Kids’ stuff mostly. Something about con for bottle cap collectors or something. The kind of stuff that kids who got beat up were into. They didn’t know what terms like ABDL and AD and NSFW meant. Who did anyways? Kids these days were always shortening things. And what was “Ageplay Age?” Was that like a playgroup thing or something like 7 and up? The kid definitely wasn’t doing himself any favors by saying “8 but still in diapers”. Sheesh! What they did know is that this Kevin kid was frequently alone, and that he had no. Scouting and his social feed. “What I don’t get is why hasn’t anybody called the cops,” Marv wondered aloud. “That’s child neglect.” Harry adjusted his ski cap over his nearly bald head. “Who knows? Maybe he’s got like a roomba babysitter, or his parents ‘zoom’ or whatever. Rich folks are friggin’ strange and can get away with just about anything.” On that, Harry had no idea just how right he was about to be proved. Clad in trenchcoats and with crowbars in hand, the pair of thieves finally climbed out of the van, just outside the targeted house. “So how do you wanna go in?” Marv asked the brains of the operations. Harry spoke quietly and confidently. “We’ll go to the back door. Maybe he’ll let us in. You’ll never know.” “Yeah,” Marv agreed. “He’s a kid. Kids are stupid.” Inside the house a grandfather clock toned the hour, and both Harry and Marv salivated with greed and anticipation. Fancy clocks meant fancy furniture. Fancy furniture meant so much more. This was going to be such a great score. From the outside, their silhouette’s loomed large and intimidating. Good thing that brat already wore diapers. He’d need them tonight. Harry rapped on the outside of the window. “Merry Christmas little fella…” he sang. Even he didn’t think he sounded sincere. He continued anyway, cupping his hand to the back kitchen window while Marv grinned quietly to himself. “We know that you’re in there…and that you’re alllllll alone.” “Yeah kid,” Marv added. “C’mon, open up. It’s Santy Claus…” he looked to Harry. “And his elf!” That made the shorter of the two chuckle lightly. Trouble is they were both envisioning themselves as St. Nick and the other as the little helper. “We’re not gonna hurt you,” Harry lied in the same sing-song cadence. Harry kept piling it on. “No, no. We’ve got some real nice presents for you.” “Be a good little fella now, and open the door!” Harry was smiling, to be sure, but not because of the Christmas spirit in his heart. The smile didn’t last long. Shink! Pain! Sharp! Stinging! Pain! Like a mosquito made love to a dentist drill and the bastard love child played left tackle for the Bears. All concentrated right in the short man’s dick. “Mother! Fffu…raggan maggan ruzza! It hurt so much he couldn’t even properly curse, and Harry knew how to cuss in two different languages. Waddled and wobbled out into the backyard, hoping on some instinctive level that the snow would numb the incredible burning pain he was being subjected to. Marv bumbled after his compatriot, trying to parse out Harry’s hoarse, mumbling, whispering non-curses. “What?” he asked. “What? What happened?” “Get that little-!” Harry managed to grunt out and thumb in the direction of the back door, before continuing to tend to his privates. Why was it hurting so much? Marv turned from his friend back to the rear entrance, trying to puzzle things out. Where had the attack come from? Aha! They hadn’t paid the doggy door any mind, but it was so obvious that even a Marv could figure out the logical course of events that had transpired. As Marv ‘smartly’ got down on his hands and knees, Harry grabbed a hold of something sharp and pointy. He’d thought he’d been shot downstairs with a b.b. but the tiny cylinder he pulled out of the front of his pants said otherwise. A needle? Like from a tranq gun? Who the hell gave a kid a tranq gun? Meanwhile, Marv stuck his head through the flap of the doggy door and got his first good view. Straight down the barrel of a gun. “Hello,” a new voice said. Shink! Pain! Literally blinding pain! Like somebody loaded a tattoo gun with a railroad spike and drove it right between Marv’s eyes! Marv flopped backwards and started writing on the ground, screaming in agony, gripping at the needle that had embedded itself in his forehead. It might have been the excruciating stabbing sensation, something inside the needle’s payload or just Marv’s natural lack of mental acuity, but in that moment, Marv completely forgot everything about the previous two seconds beyond the barrel of that gun and the excruciating pain. It didn’t occur to him that the “hello” he’d heard didn’t sound like it was coming from an eight year old or that the person holding the gun, even at a glance, was much much too big to be in diapers. What Marv did realize was redundant and stated too late. “The little jerk is armed!” “That’s it! That’s it!” Harry shrieked. “I’m goin’ around the front! You go down to the basement!” ******************************************************************************************************* It was a rough trip for both of them. Literally. SSSSK-THUNK! Harry found out that the walkway up to the front door had been iced over the hard way. He didn’t stumble as much as completely fall flat on his back, spread eagle, resembling a certain cartoon coyote. It was like those bad comedians who slipped on banana peels. Nobody slipped like that! Evidently they did. Harry was in no mood to do bad pratfalls, yet here he was on the icy pavement… Ka-THUNK, Ka-THUNK, Ka-THUNK, Ka-THUNK! Marv likewise discovered that the steps to the basement had been tampered with to similar results. He skidded down them, his ass and then the back of his head meeting each and every step on the way down. KLUNK! The closed basement door stopped his slide, and for a sweet second he was only semi-conscious on the ground, curled up in the fetal position. The impact with the door caused a light smattering of snow to dust itself onto Marv’s still frame. If they had chosen at that moment to leave, they might have been able to lick their wounds, cut their losses and burgle another day. It was a potent mixture of pride, greed, anger, and perhaps something in those needles that made them press on. ********************************************************************************************** On wobbling, newborn deer legs, Marv climbed to his feet at the bottom of the icy stairwell leading to the basement; using his crowbar to grab ahold of the indentation on a window pane and pull himself up. Grunting and groaning, he struggled up until the soles of his feet were touching the ground instead of the door. Any relief he felt was incredibly short lived. He barely had time to peer through the less than paper thin curtains and get a lay of the inside before his feet slipped again and he plummeted back down. CHHHHHHHUN! His face got a minor case of road rash, skidding down door and scraping against the cement at the bottom. A low moan leaked from his lips. This was going to be one of those nights…except he’d never had to go through a night like this in his life. He felt like a one-year-old trying to learn to walk. At least the first time around he didn’t have so far to fall… Also he basically had a pillow in his pants to cushion his fall back then. ********************************************************************** Harry whipped around to all fours, growling and grasping at the iron hand railing. “That smart alek!” he hissed to himself. His hands were sure but his feet were doubly the opposite, making his top and bottom halves at war with each other, scrambling and skidding around. It might have been easier to just tromp through the grass and snow up to the front door. Such a thought didn’t have time to register to Harry, however, as like his compatriot he was sent slipping backwards, ass over tea kettle and legs to the sky onto the back of his noggin. Folded like a book, it’s a good thing the wind was knocked out of Harry’s lungs. The words that would have come out of him would have been something that no child should hear. As his kneecaps came away from his chest and he laid there spread-eagle on the street, Harry resolved right then and there that he was gonna get the little so-and-so for putting him through this. ************************************************************************************************** The doorknob! Marv used his crowbar to pull himself up by the door knob! Success! Struggling and slipping, he regained his standing position, and as he had done nearly a hundred times before, he leaned in and tried to force open the door with his crowbar. No locks or hinges snapped.The wood cracked and splintered but barely creaked, as if the door wasn’t putting up any resistance. It wasn’t putting up any resistance. At all. That’s when Marv remembered to check the doorknob. And found it unlocked and the door to the basement open… It was dark inside, but to Marv’s eyes it looked like your average suburban basement: Ladders and gardening supplies, and power tools, and such. Even in the dim light, Marv could make out the large blocky shapes of either old or half done projects. He saw highchairs and crib railings leaned against the far wall. Was that an unfinished rocking horse? Kids’ parents must be trying really hard for another baby or else they were just hoarders. Quiet as a cat he slid through the darkness until he found a lightbulb. He pulled the cord gently and was more than a little befuddled when the entire light fixture hit the floor. Weird. He hadn’t pulled it that hard. A length of cord was falling down right behind it, coiling up like a snake. The bulb hadn’t been in the ceiling but dangling from the cord instead. What was on the other end? Marv looked up into the old laundry chute directly above him. WHAM! PFFFFFFFF! THUNK! The flour sack that rammed into his skull hit him like a clothes iron, exploding and bursting all over him while sending him sprawling back to the floor. It wasn’t particularly hard, but anything dropping from the height of two stories with that kind of mass was going to be a piledriver. A man relying on more of his brain to function would have been killed. But not Marv. Bruised as he was, the powder in the sack masked it nicely. It wasn’t flour though. It was sweeter smelling, of flowers and lilacs. And for some reason, it reminded him of a baby's bottom. Through his throbbing headache, the thief felt like he’d had thick sunscreen overdone all over his head and face. He opened his eyes and coughed out a mushroom cloud of the stuff. Disgusting! At least he smelled good. The raw chafing marks from where his cheeks had dragged across the doorframe felt better too. ************************************************************************************************************* Harry had not yet given up on sieging the front of this suburban castle. His likely concussion only emboldened him. “All right! That’s it you little…you little…son of a-...” Wow, it was hard to even think of a swear world. Harry must’ve hit his head harder than he thought. “Little brat.” The shorter of the two burglars was no more graceful in his second attempt, but much more determined and stubborn besides. He leaned hard to the left on the railing while his legs splayed hard to the right. It was hard work but he eventually got all the way to the door, growling and panting for breath. It’s amazing what determination, a low center of gravity, and good upper body strength can accomplish. Forgetting his tool of choice, Harry went for the doorknob and instantly regretted it. Though to be fair to him, who would have thought that a car battery would have been hooked up to the other end. ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ! Sparks leapt out from the metal knob and lines of lighting arced up and down Harry’s arm causing his entire body to seize and quake like an old time preacher channeling spirits. For some reason, his arm refused to let go and the electrified smell of burning, charred flesh embedded itself into Harry’s nostrils. “Hugg-ag-ag-ag-ag-ag-ag-ag-ag-ag-ag-ag-ag-uuuuh!” A final bit of voltage trailed from Harry’s fingertips when he finally managed to let go, still vibrating on the ground like a cheap windup toy. “Uguguguguguugugugug!” Drool started to leak out of the corners of his mouth and drip down. As he lay there on the cold pavement convulsing, and shaking, unable to control any part of his body, he knew right there that he would murder the child tonight. The first bit of control he regained allowed his hand to spasm up to his lips. The only thing shaking worse than his limbs was his mind and Harry was afraid he might swallow or bite off his tongue and was trying to make anything as a barrier. Better to lose a thumb than his tongue. He popped his thumb in just as the shaking stopped, and sucked on it for a moment, trying to get control of himself. Thuk-thuk-thuk-thuk. The old, infantile gesture was oddly comforting right then and there, even though Harry was grateful that no one could see him like this. Out of context he looked like some kind of bozo instead of a poor mook who’d had his circuits fried. Thuk-thuk-thuk-thuk Ssssssssssssssssss…… Speaking of comfort, a comfortable warm sensation began to spill out over the front of Harry’s winter pants. He allowed himself a silly smile before he realized that warm wet stuff coming out of a body usually wasn’t good. “Mmmph!” he exclaimed over his thumb. Blood? Was it blood? He’d been shot in the dick? Was he bleeding out there, too? He dashed to his feet and started pressing his hands against his pants trying to stem the tide of blood. What a terrible way to go! His cousin Louie had gotten his throat stabbed in prison and Harry was gonna bleed out through his dick! He held up the palms of his hands and saw the wet glisten they held, yet no trace of crimson presented itself anywhere on his person. Gingerly he sniffed his fingers. “Piss!” In reality, it was nothing to be frightened or upset about. Just a muscle spasm. He’d been electrocuted and all his limbs were flapping and his heart was jackhammering. Why wouldn’t his bladder get in on the act? Of course he’d pissed his pants. Who wouldn’t? He’d still tell Marv that it was melted snow or something. ************************************************************************************************************ Schwiiiiiick-Schwiiiiiiick-Schwiiiiiiick-Schwiiiiiick. The first step up the basement had taken Marv’s left shoe. The second had taken his right. The third had taken his left sock. The fourth, his right. Schwiiiiiick. Tar. Gross, thick, sludgy, disgusting, sticky tar! The little brat had coated the stairs with the stuff, and each step up claimed another piece of foot adornment from him. Schwiiiiiick. Marv wasn’t going to let that stop him. Even as he winced with every successive step, the black morass clinging to his bare feet. It was almost like wallowing in pig shit. Schwiiiick. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Marv was really good at not thinking about things. Harry told him that kind of stuff all the time. Just don’t think about it. Just keep going. One step at a time. One. Icky Sticky. Gooey. Gross. Disgusting. Mucky. Careful step at a time. Left foot. Right Foot. Left Foot. Right Foot. Left Foot. Right- CLACK! “Huh?” The metallic snapping sound of something like a bear trap closed in around Marv’s left foot. It didn’t hurt, but it sure as heck got his attention. His problem was, it didn’t close until he’d already planted it and picked up his right foot, which he also promptly set down on the next step. CLACK! “Whuh?” Stuck! Trapped! Booted! He couldn’t move. He leaned forward and gritted his teeth straining to take that next step up the stairs, but the box clapped around his ankles was some combination of too heavy or too stuck to the tar. “Hrrrrrrn!” He struggled against his new bonds, looking like a two bit mime fighting against the wind, but his feet stayed frozen in place. Stubborn as always, Marv leaned forward and grabbed the underside of his right knee. If he couldn’t step out of these beartrap box shoes, he’d yank himself out. When his arms failed, he started throwing his whole back into it, wrenching his head back like an old school rocker….if only he looked so cool. “Gotta! Get!” Schwiiii-EEEEEE! “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Rrrrack-ack-acka-ack. Things came loose and gravity kicked in. Momentum did the rest. Marv tumbled through the air, screams bouncing off brick as he jackknifed off the stairs and onto the back top of his skull. The impact had been so hard that several crib railing clattered from their spots leaning against the wall. The unfinished rocking horse across the room seemed to whinny and mock him, judging and staring at him, even though no one had painted on its eyes yet. At least the trap boxes had broken off in the fall. What kind of psycho doomsday prepper did that kind of thing? Wouldn’t just using a really sharp nail have been easier? Free though he might have been, fresh air did not lap gently at Marv’s ankles. Something yet remained. Something that had been inside the trap boxes and were now stuck to his feet. “Socks?” Marv wondered aloud. But based on the gentle pink and blue colors and the duckies stitched in, ‘booties’ would have been a more apt descriptor. The lanky, bearded thief tried to peel the new garments off of his feet, but his soles were too heavily coated in tar to get them off. Whatever. Marv got his feet underneath him and stood up….for approximately three seconds. They weren’t just booties. Something was sewn into the bottom of them; something round and spherical, like tennis balls. Marv’s knees shook and his arms splayed out trying to keep balance while he weebled and wobbled on his own two feet. “AAAAAH!” OOOF! He tried again, this time grabbing onto a nearby shelf. It was easier…but not good. Experimentally he let go and automatically reverted to the same awkward, barely standing stance. “Heh!” He laughed to himself. “Heh-heh!” He had this. He totally had this. Marv lifted up his foot to try and take a step. He didn’t have this! His body titled violently to one side like a boppo doll, only there was nothing automatically popping him back up. Desperately, he flailed and tried to latch onto the tool case to catch himself. EEEEEEEEEEEK! BONG! The heavy wooden case avalanched down on top of him with a cling, clang, and a clung. Marv found the tool case the hard way. With no choice left to him, Marv dug himself out and crawled on hands and knees back the way he came. There was no way he was getting up those awful tar covered steps and he didn’t want to see what other surprises lay that way. What if his hands got stuck in more booties? Hobbling around on all fours, he looked and felt ridiculous “Harry!” He cried out. “Harreeee!” He sounded like a baby calling for his Mommy. ***************************************************************************************************** “Rasanfrasanmasan…friggin…rasan…muther…cruthathat…!” Feeling like he was still sparking like a firework and smoking like a cigar, Harry abandoned the front door assault and doubled back shaking as he walked. The cursing made him feel better about the state of his pants, but only a little. “I’ll rip his head off!” Swiftly, smartly, Harry kicked at the doggy door at the back entrance, standing to the side lest another volley of darts whiz through. He exhaled when nothing happened. “Ptew!” He spit on his hand and reached for the doorknob. He stopped himself and instead tapped it quickly and gently. He jerked his hand all the way back to his chest, fearing a shock and another round of horizontal break dancing. When he felt nothing he tried it again, a little braver this time. “Heheh!” Alright! This door wasn’t booby trapped. That must have been why the kid was posting guard there. Now he’d run out of ammo or gotten scared or both and ran away. Harry did a few more taps on the door knob just in case and was pretty much rattling the brass knob before he was confident enough to give it a full grip. “You’re dead, kid.” Confidently, he turned the knob and stepped inside. SQUUUELSHHHHH Jumping Jesus on a pogo stick! Christ on a cracker! Burning hot wax squirted out of seemingly nowhere right on top of Harry’s noggin. The ski cap offered minimal protection, it’s fibers singing, sizzling and dissolving with close to a bucket of scalding hot goop poured on top of it. He was a fresh candle put under a blow torch! He was an action figure getting put under a magnifying glass and his head was starting to melt! Most people believe in a thing called a “Fight or Flight” response, and that when presented with danger, a person will either get aggressive or run away. Harry found out the hard way that there was at least one additional option: Freeze. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” He stood there in the threshold face contorted in agony, screaming while more and more of the clear white lava sprayed on his head. The scene was something out of a B-Movie when he was a kid: “The Wax Museum of Corpses”. Harry didn’t think it was so impressive watching back then. Now he knew why the people in it screamed. Adrenaline and something resembling bravery finally kicked in and Harry pushed his way forward and was rewarded with the sound of mounted knick knacks coming loose and hitting against the kitchen floor. BRONG-ong-ong-ong-ong-ong-ong! The world went dark and gray. A bucket of wax had been sprayed onto his dome, so it only made sense that a literal bucket had been perched to fall on his head as soon as he’d pushed past the door. Oldest trick in the book, right out of the funnies, no less. Harry should have seen it coming… He didn’t see much of anything at the moment, what with the bucket on his head. His curses and muttering only echoed back at him while he stumbled around blindly, spinning like a drunken tornado and bumping into kitchen cabinets. “Ooof!” He folded himself over what must have been the kitchen table. “GRRRRR…”Finally, he was able to pry the bucket off his head and send it clanging across the room. “Grah!” He looked around at the kitchen and the havoc that had been wrought. Some messed up cross between a super soaker and a hot glue gun lay on the floor, still attached to white ropes and a pulley system meant to go off as soon as anyone was unlucky enough to burst through the kitchen door. No more traps though. Not in here, anyways. The burning sensation had stopped. The wax had cooled. Gently, Harry patted the top of his head to inspect the damage that had been done. He was gonna use this kid’s baby teeth as a chisel to get this stuff out. “Hm?” He’d been expecting a hard outer shell, still dripping, or the remains of his cheap knit cap, or even parts of his own scalp. Imagine his surprise then, when instead of any of that, he touched upon something rather soft, with frills on it. “Wha?” Angry and confused, he slammed the door and caught a glimpse at his reflection in the window. There hadn’t been nothing in that bucket…. Hot glued, practically fused to Harry’s head, was a big, frilly, adorable, teal baby bonnet. He looked kind of cute, too. Harry roared! “Where are you, you little creep?!” ************************************************************************************************** Marv clambered back up the stairs on all fours, his crowbar in his mouth like a dog with its bone. Foolishly, he tried to stand back up once he reached the top of the stairs, and that only resulted in the same manic flailing and futile spasms moments before he was plopped back down on his butt. Dejected and frustrated he crawled on hands and knees through the snow, past decorative trees and ferns. Briefly, the thought occurred to him that he may be able to get in through the doggy door, even though realistically there was no way he’d fit more than his head through. The glint of festive lights caught Marv’s eye and he looked up. A Christmas tree lit up inside the house! By an open window! A first floor window, no less. Something low enough to the ground where even a crawler might be able to shimmy his way up and over with relative ease. “Harry!” Marv called from his knees. “I’m coming in!” *************************************************************************************************** Harry tromped through the house looking for the damn kid. Huffing and puffing, he closed in on a closed panel door. “Oh no, I’m really scared!” A voice called from behind the kitchen door. Odd. It sounded high…ish. Falsetto almost. Like it was an affection or something. Maybe the kid was on puberty hormones or whatever… “It’s too late for you, kid,” Harry sneered. “We’re already in the house. We’re gonna getcha!” “Okay,” the voice taunted back. “Come and get me!” “Why you-!” Fortune favors the bold, or so Harry believed. He’d already been dinged by being cautious and slowly opening the last door. It made sense to charge forward. Harry flung open the door and dashed straight into-! THWICKSHHHHH The world went blurry. Hands and face went sticky. It didn’t stop Harry, but it made him slow down to peel the massive sheet of fly paper off of his upper body.. “Ptew! Ugh! Now you’re dead!” It also distracted him from the trip wire until his shins had already tripped things. VRRRRRR! A mechanical whirring. A hot wind and then… SPLOOSH! The trip wire had led to a high powered fan posted right outside the dining room door. The tray of pea green gloop directly in front of the fan sailed through the air, finding a home by splattering all over Harry’s face, hands, and part of his chest. Add wet and sticky the amount of textures that Harry was being forcibly exposed to tonight. He licked his lips, and tasted hints of actual vegetables. This was literally baby food! And now it was dribbling down his chin, with no easy way to wipe the stuff off. Harry looked like a tot that had gone a couple rounds in a highchair with a jar of gerbers and either lost or won depending on whether or not eating it had been the objective. He looked like he didn’t even know how to feed himself. The only thing missing was a bib. ******************************************************************************************** Peeling back the curtain with his crowbar, Marv peeked in to make sure the coast was clear. No kid in sight. No Harry, either, but one thing at a time. He coughed up a little more of what he’d decided was baby powder, and pulled himself up over the ledge, being careful not to put too much weight on his now useless feet. Leaning forward, he tipped over the ledge towards his next painful mistake. Marv had seen the tree. He’d seen the window. He saw no kid, or Harry. He also didn’t see the small mountain of tiny legs perched just beneath the window sill. Anyone with a child will tell you that those tiny bricks are suburban caltrops and hurt like all get out when coming into contact with unsuspecting feet. As it turns out, they’re not that much better on the palms of one's hands or the knee caps. CRUNCH. CRUNCH. CRUNCH CRUNCH Blonted pins held up by square beds burrowed into Marv’s cold and weary skin, and the lanky intruder’s mind bubbled over with rage at the grave injustice that was being done to him. “GAH!” He screamed. “I”M GONNA KILL THAT KID!” He shuffled over to the carpet to pick yellow, red, blue, and green miniature mines out of him. ****************************************************************************************** Harry was swatting and the bits of mashed pees, wiping away the bits that hadn’t been completely smeared in. If he hadn’t been looking down at himself and trying not to fall for any more tripwire traps, he might not have noticed his best friend whimpering, drenched in white powder and crawling on the floor. “Marv?” Marv looked up, surprised. “Harry?” “Why the hell are you crawling around on the floor for?” “Why the hell are you dressed like a toddler?” He noticed the stain running down the middle of Harry’s pants.. “Did you pee yourself?” All the cold got chased out of Harry’s body and any part of his skin that wasn’t peppered with baby food was very obviously blushingly pink. The third voice broke in from the stairs. “I’m up here you morons! Come and get me!” Instinct preceded thought. The two thugs rushed to meet each other in the middle and get to the stairs. Harry did another banana peel slip worthy of the great Vaudeville legends. It wasn’t ice this time; just those little toy cars that are in every toy aisle across America. Of course the brat had toy cars. Marv? Marv couldn’t walk and just forgot. Standing, rushing, and then toppling like a shoddy block tower that had been stacked too high. The toy cars might as well have been more lego bricks crunching underneath his frame. Nevertheless, they thudded in stereo, the bass of their falling forms adding to the soundtrack of an otherwise silent night. “You guys give up? Or are you thirsty for more?” Room was spinning. Vision blurry. Head throbbing. Harry and Marv followed the taunting voice up the red carpeted stairs. The kid was sitting there at the top, smiling cockily down on their prone forms. He wore red footie pajamas with a Santa Claus logo on them, and his blonde hair was cut in a dorky bowl. Between his legs, the bulge of a likely wet diaper gave a rounded shape to the lower portion of the jammies. The only thing that was even slightly intimidating was the tranq rifle slung over his back. And he looked damn near thirty. They let that sink in while he waddled just out of sight at the top of the stairs, his crinkle still giving away his position. They’d screwed up. They’d really screwed up! How had they gotten this so wrong? This wasn’t a kid at all! Just some…some…some weirdo that liked dressing up as one and playing pretend! This was supposed to be child’s play, but it was somebody else who’d been playing child with them! Harry and Marv looked at each other. Their pride had been wounded and it demanded vindication. There was no turning back now! This padded prick was really going to get it. Harry was the first to his feet. He shambled over Marv, forcing out popping farts when he stepped on the taller man’s gut. Marv was doing his best to crawl up after Harry, quickly getting used to skittering on his knees. “Duck!” Harry called out. “Huh?” WUMPH! After everything they’d already been through, the pair shouldn’t have been surprised that this madman whose home they’d invaded had more than a few packs of adult diapers in his possession. Neither should they have been surprised that the diapers weren’t just plain old medical Depends like what old people wore and had colorful cartoonish designs. Neither one was surprised by that. What had surprised them, equally, that several of said packs had been bound together and swung down on a rope from above like a plastic backed wrecking ball. They’d both been surprised. But Harry had been quicker to duck. THUD. Harry looked back to see Marv moaning and groaning back on the floor, his legs and bootied feet raised slightly off the hardwood floor. “Don’t worry Marv, I’ll get him for you!” Marv looked further up the stairs, and pointed, “Harreeeeeeee!” That’s when Harry got nailed with the second load. WUMPH! THUD! BLORT! The shorter thug spun through the air and landed face first, belly flopping straight onto Marv’s prone body. Marv’s intestines groaned with the sudden added pressure and gave out without a fight. It was as if a bomb exploded inside Marv’s belly, and the resulting shock waves were making themselves known. Without warning his bowels violently emptied themselves into the seat of his pants, spreading wet much everywhere dripping down his boxers and clinging to his thighs, all while Harry lay uncomfortably atop him. It was over before he could so much as inhale. Marv let out a pained, pathetic whimper. The fact that he couldn’t so much as stand to get his damned pants off extra salt in the wound. One thief with wet pants, the other with a full load in the back. Now both of them were decidedly and definitively in need of those diapers. “He’s not a kid, Harry,” Marv quietly pleaded. “I don’t think we can take him.” Harry was still chest to chest with his cohort. “Aw, shut up, will you?” “Ooooh…” “What?” Marv winced. “You’re missing some teeth.” “Where?” Harry started feeling around his mouth with his hands, and ignored the taste of baby food that he was adding to his palette. He found the gap. “It’s my gold tooth! My gold tooth” He clambered off of Marv. “I’ll kill him!” he bellowed. “I’ll kill him!” Insensate with fury, Harry limped up the stairs with Marv crawling after him, wincing with every jiggle in his hindquarters. He was still wary enough to hold his hands out in front of him lest another nasty surprise swing down from the rafters. He couldn’t see it, but the gesture only added to the guise of a baby who hadn’t quite mastered the art of the stroll yet. “If you bean me one more time, you freak, I’m gonna snap off your cajones and boil them in motor oil!” Marv looked around for imminent threats. To the right of the stairs, the pair caught a bit of red and a crinkling sound. “There he is!” Harry shouted, charing after their prey. Another trip wire, this one more sturdy and not connected to any gadget or gizmo, lived up to its name. With all the grace of a pregnant giraffe Harry tripped and somersaulted through the air crashing once again on his back. By this point, both criminals had spent more time prone than upright. Marv had learned from his time closer to the carpet, though, and easily outmaneuvered the trap. Getting good at moving on all fours, it was relatively simple to push off the balls of his feet and leap forward and tackle the so-called kid at the knees. “I’ve got him, Harry!” Marv yelled. “I’ve got him! Get up!” Marv closed his eyes and braced himself for a flurry of panicked blows to the head. Nothing he couldn’t take. No fists came raining down, though. Instead their adversary was reaching for something. “I got him!” Harry barely stirred, the events of the evening more than taking their toll on his mind and body. The ‘something’ was just out of sight. “Come on, Harry! Give me a hand!” Something up on the attic stairs. “Harry! Help me! Get up!” PLUNK! “Hmmm?” THHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Something got wedged in between Marv’s lips. Something big, round, and rubbery, with a plastic guard on it so that he couldn’t swallow it. The little ring from the middle flopped slightly. A pacifier? Except not! Marv would have just spit it out, but the bulb inside was inflating somehow, expanding to take up most of the room in his mouth, turning a children’s soother into a ball gag with no key! “MMMMMMMPH!” All of Marv’s panicked screams as he wrenched and yanked at the pacifier failed. “MMMMMPH! MMMPH! MMMPH!” Their victim forgotten, Marv tried his best to revive Harry, who seemed to be dozing peacefully, a baby taking a nap after a big Christmas Dinner. Marv shook Harry’s shoulders, but the shorter man only ragdolled. He started patting Harry’s cheeks. “MMMMPH! MMMPH!” Which was supposed to mean “Harry wake up.” He gave a tap. Slp. Some more taps. Slp-slp-slp Nothing changed. THWACK! Harry rose like Frankenstein from the slab. “OWWWW!” He shouted. “What gives?” Marv did his best to try and explain, but only muffled mumblings made their way past the plastic shield guard. THWACK THWACK THWACK! Harry repaid the pain triple fold onto Marv. “See? How do you like getting slapped in the face? You like it? Eh? No?” He blinked and finally noticed the gag lodged into Marv’s mouth. “What do you got that for?” Marv pointed to the pacifier and tried to explain. “Mmmmph! Mmmph mmph mmph!” “So spit it out!” THWACK! Harry shook his head in disgust and tears started to form in Marv’s eyes. “Ugh. You’re just as bad as he is.” He climbed to his feet and hustled up the attic stairs; a weeping, pathetic Marv crawling up behind him. “Oh crap. Will you look at this?” When the two climbed to the attack, they came upon it: The thing that must have existed considering all the crazy, yet they never expected. A giant nursery, painted baby blue with cutesy animal drawings stenciled along the ceiling’s edge. A giant crib. A giant rocking chair. An adult sized walker. With everything to scale as it was, both grown men felt decidedly smaller than they really were. “Check the closet,” Harry barked out. He went over to a large wooden chest painted in primary colors; a toy box of some kind. Marv sighed behind his paci-gag and started trudging on hands and knees to the wide open closet. The freak probably wasn’t in there anyways. Everything was on hangers and there wasn’t anything long enough to hide a pair of feet. Just a bunch of onesies and too-short overalls. He stopped by the giant changing table and looked longingly at the stacks of diapers. It might be nice to slip into one of those. It’d be embarrassing but a lot more comfy than what he was stuck in now. Harry slammed the lid down on the toybox. “Where the hell did he go?” he wondered. “MMMPH MMMPH MMMPH MMMPH MMMPH” said Marv which was supposed to mean. “Maybe he committed suicide.” From outside came that same taunting voice. “Down here, you horse’s ass!” The two followed the sound to the window. Sitting in a tree house (because of course he was) was the padded maniac who had been tormenting them this whole time. Between the real house and the tree one, was a thick line of rope. Diaper boy had obviously ziplined it down to the tree house. “Come and get me before I call the police!” “MMMPH MMMPH! MMMPH!” Marv started to crawl away, but Harry grabbed him by the belt. “Wait. Wait.” He peered out the window, staring down at the not-so-little boy. “That’s just what he wants us to do. To go back downstairs through his funhouse so we get all tore up.” He took out a couple of handkerchiefs that he used to wipe fingerprints and started wrapping them around his hands to prevent blistering. He looked oddly wise, and awfully dangerous, despite the frilly bonnet, goop covered face, and missing teeth. “MMMMPH MMMMPH! MMMMPH!” Harry waved the objection off. “He’s not calling the cops. Do you know how much we could sue for with all these booby traps? This is a game to him.” He stepped out the attic window and onto the roof, using the rope as a balance. “So I say, let’s play!” Marv was protesting all the way, even as he crawl-climbed out of the window and followed Harry, even has his partner taunted him. Funny that the taller of the two was scared of heights. Slowly, inch by inch, the two went out on the rope, more than a story up above the snow covered ground. Marv couldn’t stop whimpering or looking down. His whimpers became a groan when something leaked out of his right trouser leg. So gross! Then the thought of how far it fell made him grip on tighter. “Keep going!” Harry urged. “Keep going!” When they were about half way, the duo heard another catcall that made them look up. “Hey guys!” In his hands, the maniac in the red jammies now held a pair of hedge clippers. Like a psychotic Tweety Bird he opened them, positioned them just beneath the rope at his end and smiled wickedly. “Go back!” Harry yelled! “Go back!” SCHNIKT! The rope went slack and the pair went free falling, this time, they knew, to their deaths. They land and break their necks, and only one of them was so much as physically able to scream. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” “MMMMMMMMMMMPH!” Except. Something broke their fall. Something round, and plastic, and click-clack-cluttery. For split-moment, each one had thought they’d died, and that Heaven (or the other place) was rainbow colored. When their heads breached the surface and the world made sense in terms of up down left and right again, they realized what had happened. “A baww pit?” Harry lisped. “Why awe we inna baww pit?” “Mmmph? Mmmph?” Through the snow, their adversary approached, seeming so much bigger and more confident than they were. Brushing his bowl cut back, he smirked and said. “Aaaaand I think that’s about enough time. That was fun though. Thanks.” “Huh?” Harry mumbled. “Wha?” Getting harder to focus. Words were making less and less sense. Maybe it was the balls, but everything seemed to be spinning. Spinning…. Spinning… Spinning… “Did you already forget the little darts I stuck you guys with?” the child said. Holy crap, how did he suddenly turn eight? “Fun little cocktail. Tranquilizers, muscle relaxants, a taaaaad of LSD.” “Bluh bluh bluh bluh?” Marv just sucked silently on his pacifier, looking at birds made out of stardust. “Oh yeah. It’s hitting you guys good. Really good. Not surprising. Get your heart rate going and that stuff spreads like crazy.” “Yeah. I remember the first time I hit on that stuff. Wooof. Really good headspace, though.” Both of the “Wet Bandits” were now living up to their namesake and not caring. The words that the “kid” was saying weren’t even registering. “So I’ve got some good news and some bad news for you guys. The good news is you get to spend Christmas with me and some friends. They love taking care of big dumb babies with no thoughts in their heads. It’s good practice.” He dug into a pocket hidden in the jammies. “The bad news is, by the time you two sober up, you’ll be in jail and there will be some very embarrassing pictures of you online.” With that, he took out his cell phone and clicked the first of what would be many, many pictures. (The End)

“Kyyyyyyyle!” Mommy called from across the playground. “Come heeeere.” She sounded happy. Whimsical even. This made Kyle feel the opposite. He’d just started getting into a rhythm, climbing up the low winding stairs of the jungle gym and then sliding down safely into the rubber mulch. “Damphiff” He mumbled behind his pacifier. He was just getting brave enough to consider going down the slide a different way besides butt seated and feet splayed out. The slide ramp went straight to the ground so no freefall, and it was wide enough that two littles could go down at the same time…or one Little to roll sideways down it. Such as his life was, things like which way to go down a slide was one of the few actual choices Kyle got to make. “Kyyyyyyle!” Kyle hiked up his green shorts and pulled down his green shirt so that the minimum amount of his diaper would show, even though he knew that the shirt would ride up and the shorts would inch down as soon as he started walking. He spared a glance at the cartoon dog on his shirt. Mint’s Hints. Weird that a show from his childhood-his first childhood- was still on the air. He wanted to think that it was weird that he was still watching it, but for a Little, it really wasn’t. “Kyle!” Mommy was losing patience. The sandy blonde Little boy waddled and shuffled through the park’s playground. Other Littles in their twenties, thirties, and forties played games meant for children aged two, three and four, all under the watchful eyes of their giant adoptive parents. Not thirty feet from the bench where Mommy and some other Amazons were sitting a really intense game of duck-duck-goose was under way. “Yesh, Mommy?” Mommy had the exact same color hair as him. It’s probably why she adopted him in the first place. Next to Mommy another giant woman was breastfeeding a Little girl in a pink jumper dresser. Kyle gulped. He hoped Mommy wasn’t about to the same same. “Kyle, there you are! Could you not hear Mommy?” “Shorry Mommy…” He looked down at his light up sneakers and crinkled lightly in place. It was hard enunciating around the pacifier, but Kyle had gotten good at it over the years. “It’s okay baby,” Mommy said. She grabbed him by the shoulders and maneuvered him closer. “Let’s check your diaper.” A weary sigh made its way out over the pacifier bulb. Kyle readied himself. Mommy squeezed at his crotch and snaked two fingers up his shorts and inside the leg gathers of his diaper. “Kyle! Is your diaper wet?” Mommy asked. “Yesh, Mommy…” “Do big boys go pee-pee in their pants?” “No Mommy…” “Did you know you went pee-pee in your pants?” “Yesh, Mommy…” “Why didn’t you come tell Mommy that you had an accident?” “I wush pwayin’...” “That doesn’t sound very mature, does it?” “No Mommy.” All of this was just a script that played out time and time again, especially when Mommy thought he was acting a little too big for his britches. Kyle knew his diaper was wet. He couldn’t help it. Conditioning-hypnotic and otherwise-had made him functionally incontinent. The second his bladder was full enough to register to his conscious mind, it emptied itself right into his pants. Trying to hold it in only gave him anxiety. Same with telling on himself or asking someone to change him; it made his fear response go through the roof. He knew it was complete bullshit, but his unconscious brain had been given the connection that bothering Grown-Ups about one’s diaper is not something good boys did. So anytime he even considered whining or crying about the state of his pants, he felt incredibly anxious, akin to stepping out onto a twentieth story ledge. Trying to take off his diaper was on the same emotional level as being trapped under water and needing to inhale. But as far as Mommy and her conditioning was concerned, this was all just reinforcing how immature he was and how he needed his baby pants. “Turn around,” Mommy said. Kyle did and drooped his head, readying himself for the next phase of the ritual, feeling the air rush into the back of his diaper while Mommy pulled the waistband back and looked down. “Kyle! Is your diaper messy?” “Yesh,Mommy…” “Do big boys go poopy in their pants?” “No, Mommy…” “Did you know you went poopy in your pants?” “Yesh, Mommy…” “Why didn’t you come tell Mommy that you had an accident?” “I wush pwayin’...” “That doesn’t sound very mature, does it?” “No, Mommy.” Mommy turned Kyle around so that he could see the knowing look to her peers. “Littles. What would they do without us.” That got some knowing nods from the assembled giants. The one breastfeeding switched the Little over to her other breast. “What happens to big boys who go pee-pee and poopy in their pants?” Mommy asked. More of the script. “They get shpankt” Kyle mumbled. “What happens to babies who go pee-pee and poopy in their pants?’ Kyle bit down into the pacifier to spare his tongue. Then said, “They gesh a diapher chahshe.” “Why?” “Cush dere Mommiesh wuf dem.” A chorus of ‘Awwws’ accompanied Mommy grabbing the Mints Hints diaper bag and picking Kyle up by the waist. It wasn’t a long trip. Just enough to be on the grass away from the bench. Kyle realized what was happening and spit out his pacifier. “Mommy! No! Bathroom please!” They were close enough to the circle of Littles that Kyle could make out when someone enthusiastically yelled ‘Goose’! Mommy kept laying out the changing mat in the grass. “Your diaper was clean when we got out of the stroller,” she said. Kyle’s pants were down around his ankles and he was laid down. His shirt was yanked up above his belly button. “You said it yourself. You pee-peed and poopied in your pants and you were too busy playing with all your Little friends to stop. That means you shouldn’t mind getting changed in front of them.” She stuck the pacifier back in Kyle’s mouth. The answer was final. Kyle huffed and crossed his arms as his diaper was untapped and his legs were lifted into the air, broadcasting his messy bottom for all. He’d be embarrassed, but he’d already been through so much worse. It was more annoying than anything at this point. “Good baby,” Mommy cooed, wiping him up. That gave him a rush of endorphins. The programming he’d been subjected to worked both ways. Being called ‘cute’ and ‘good’ made all of his happy brain chemicals lurch into sudden overdrive. “Nooooooo….” Kyle looked up and over to the benches. The Little girl in the pink jumper dress was off her Mommy’s tit and was being burped. She was moaning pitfully and lightly squirming while her Mommy patted her back “Nnnnn…ugh…Nooooo!” Kyle saw the back of her diaper expand and sag. Her Mommy contentedly patted the back of her diaper and the girl’s shoulders started shaking. She must be new to this. “All done,” Mommy said She’d finished changing him while he’d been distracted watching somebody else’s ‘Year One’. “Go play.” She gave him a pat on his back seat to send him off. At least she didn’t want to breastfeed him right now. The Little boy toddled away, sucking on his pacifier. He joined in the Duck-Duck-Goose Game just so he’d have an excuse to sit and brood without looking like he was pouting. That and the jungle gym was so far away as to wind him. Between the thick diapers and the lack of coordination forced onto him with subsonic treatments to his inner ear, things like balance took a lot more stamina than they used to. Playing a game of Duck-Duck-Goose might qualify as quality cardio now. “Duck-Duck-Duck-Duck” .He shouldn’t have to be dealing with this nonsense at his age. Just because he was almost numb to the daily condescensions and humiliations didn’t make them right. He’d done his fair share of screaming and crying and denying and more crying early on, but all that did in the eyes of the Amazons was justify his treatment and his diagnosis of ‘Maturosis’. Leave it to the baby crazy titans to make up a disease that they didn’t catch and the only ‘cure’ was treating people with it the exact way Amazons wanted to treat Littles. “Duck-Duck-Duck” If Maturosis was really a health condition, and something Amazons could catch or develop, there’d be a worldwide panic. There’d be vaccines and hospitals and charities all rushing for a real cure. And clothing that didn’t have cartoon characters on it for people suffering from it. Or even better, what if they stuck to her own rules? Mommy lost her marbles when a Tweener misspelled her name on her coffee. Imagine her getting told that she was too immature to go to wipe her own ass or drink from something without a spill proof lid. Imagine Mommy getting fired from her job and slammed into a daycare. As traumatizing, embarrassing and humiliating as Kyle’s first year of this had been, Mommy’s first day would be hundreds of times worse…for her. “Goose!” ******************************************************************************************************** “Open up!” Mommy said. The spoon full of…eggs? Was it eggs? Whatever it was it was coming in low and slow towards Kyle’s mouth. Like a good baby, Kyle opened wide and let the yellow stuff be spooned in. Yup. It was eggs. Not salted or seasoned and somehow both dry and runny, but it was eggs. Maybe egg substitute? Regardless, the Little closed his mouth and swallowed the bland tasteless stuff. At least it wasn’t strained beets. “Do you wanna try feeding yourself?” A suppressed sigh. “Yes, Mommy.” Another ritual. Another bit of conditioning to just reinforce how absolutely helpless he was. Kyle didn’t have the fine motor skills or hand eye coordination to use a spoon anymore. She just wanted to get good use out of the bib tied around his neck and the ever present packet of wipes just out of reach. She loaded the plastic spoon and slipped it into his hand. Like a hungry predator she watched the spoon trembling in his grasp. If he just gave up and spilled it, he’d be punished. He had to embarrass himself and prove that he was an immature baby and not just an adult that had given up. Suport a lie to cover the truth. “We interrupt Helen in the Morning for this breaking news!” The mindless talk show that featured Middle Aged celebrities doing Click-Clack Dances and Rappers doing at home cooking segments was cut off. Two news anchors, a man and a woman, sat at their desk staring straight out to the camera. “Growing unease continues to spread around the world as more and more Amazons start to exhibit behaviors normally associated with Littles and Tweeners afflicted with the genetic condition commonly called Maturosis.” The lady anchor’s hair was bigger than her face and so pale as to be white. “That’s right Diane,” the dark haired anchor jumped in. “Maturosis, which is considered an inherited condition common in people with Little ancestry, is marked by symptoms that reduce them mentally and emotionally to small children, often requiring full time care and adoption.” “Best thing for them, really, Chuck” the lady anchor chimed in. “Right you are, Diane.” The male anchor continued. “Common symptoms of Maturosis often include emotional volatility, decreased balance, fine and gross motor skills, language impairment and decreased vocabulary, dyslexia, dysgraphia and of course a near complete inability to go to the potty like a big boy or girl.” The lady anchor arched an eyebrow and looked over to her cohort. “You mean incontinence, right Chuck?” There wasn’t enough makeup to hide the rising blush in the Amazon man’s. cheeks “Right you are, Diane.” The woman took over. “While this is considered a normal and adorable part of everyday life for most Littles, Tweeners and their parents, reports are starting to come in that such behaviors are starting to manifest in Amazons and in relatively large numbers.” “That’s impossible!” Mommy scoffed, completely absorbed in the T.V. Yeah, Kyle thought. Mostly because Maturosis didn’t actually exist. Just a set of ‘therapies’, ‘medicines’, ‘products’, and ‘treatments’ that caused and later exacerbated the symptoms. He put the spoon in his mouth and swallowed the eggs. ??? He put the spoon in his mouth and swallowed the eggs! “Mommy!” he screeched. “Mommy I did it! Look!” The Amazon waved it off. She was too busy staring at the screen. “Mommy! Look!” “Not now baby.” Kyle shut his mouth, feeling the dread rise up at him. If he argued or disobeyed her, he’d be being purposefully naughty. “As we all know, Amazons, Littles, and Tweeners have a shared ancestry,” The lady anchor said. “However, only Littles and Tweeners tend to exhibit Maturosis with Amazons requiring the same level of care being only a percent of a percent of the total population.” “But all of a sudden,” the male anchor took back over, “Amazons everywhere are beginning to show similar levels of immaturity across the board. Scientists always knew it was possible, but why now? Why so widespread and across the board? Is it the government doing something to the drinking water? Are foreigners to blame? Or is this some kind of terrorist attack?” “I personally think it’s a prank,” the lady anchor said, “that people are taking too far. Just like crop circles, or the Lockness Monster.” Mommy tilted her head sideways. “Huh?” Kyle’s brain took a moment to process her confusion. Two out of three friends from daycare had such extreme oral fixations that Kyle’s ear had trained itself to understand it when people were mumbling over pacifiers or around their thumbs. What the Amazon lady on the news had really said was. “Uh pershony fink isha pank phat peefle aw tayghin too fah. Chus wike cawf firkuhs.” “Diane, take your fingers out of your mouth…” The feed cut immediately. Mommy stood up and turned the television off. She did not sit back down, however. “That’s ridiculous,” she said to herself. “Some kind of joke or deep fake or whatever.” She was pacing the kitchen floor. Kyle stared at his forced caregiver’s feet and narrowed his eyes. Something was off about her, but he couldn’t quite figure it out. “Mommy?” Mommy stopped pacing and doubled back to the highchair. She grabbed a wet wipe. “Yes, baby? Are you finished trying to eat your eggies?” She looked at him. There was disappointment in her hazel eyes when she saw that the plate was clean and there was no mess on Kyle’s bib or face. She looked down at the floor to see if he’d spilled it. “Nothing?” Kyle didn’t take his eyes off her feet. “Mommy? Are your shoes on backwards?” Mommy bent over and inspected her flats. She let out a surprised gasp. “Oh gosh! How did that happen?” She hurriedly tried to correct the mistake, tripping all over herself and stumbling like a newborn foal. She finally remembered to sit down in the kitchen chair. Intensely curious, Kyle leaned forward in his highchair and almost fell over when the tray slipped out of place. Mommy had forgotten to click it all the way in. He had to catch it with both hands to prevent it from banging and clattering on the floor. Mommy was still muttering to herself, wondering how she’d gotten something as simple as her left and right shoes mixed up. She was having trouble getting the shoes back on, too. Cautiously, Kyle leaned out and placed the tray on the side of the breakfast table. Mommy had also forgotten to buckle him in, so there was no fighting against Amazon strength buckles. He still had to do his best not to look down, shimmying from the highchair to the floor. He felt the ache in his bladder and gritted his teeth. Holding it in until his feet safely touched the floor. “Got it!” Mommy said, and then looked up. Hunched over in her chair he was at about eye level with her Little baby. “Huh?” “I did it!” Kyle threw his arms up in the air. Some part of his training was still reinforcing desires to impress the woman who’d conditioned him back to toddlerhood. Mommy beamed. “Oh! You got out of your highchair!” she said. She sounded happy and surprised. Like a parent witnessing their child’s first steps. “You got town out of the highchair?” she repeated. “All? By? Yourself?” The color drained from both of their faces for completely different reasons. Kyle just consciously realized that he’d been holding his bladder all the way down the highchair and even now barefoot on the kitchen floor. He was so excited that he accidentally released it, flooding his Koddles. Mommy looked relieved when she saw the wetness indicator change color. That added wetness dampened his mood just a tad. “Mommy,” Kyle whimpered. “Can you change me?” The smile bloomed back on Mommy’s face, the shoe incident forgotten. “Of course, baby boy. Let’s go get you changed.” The change went the same as the countless changes beforehand and the same as the countless number that would follow. Except for one thing…. “Wipes…ball it up…pail…new diaper…powder…aaaaaand….done…” Mommy loved narrating so many of the humiliating events in Kyle’s life. Meals. Baths. Bedtime. Diaper changes. She Zon-splained everything as if Kyle was too stupid to understand that he’d spilt something or was bewildered about being carried around on her hip. Sometimes she got so into it that she would do it for everything that happened to him until bedtime and Kyle could hear her voice in his dreams. Right now was different. Her voice was quieter. She wasn’t narrating what she was doing to Kyle. She was talking to herself. And there was the slightest hint of doubt in her voice, like she wasn’t sure what the next step was. Was she…was she struggling to remember how to change a diaper? “All done!” Mommy chirped. “Let’s go on with our morning routine.” The pace picked back up to normal as Mommy carried Kyle out to the garage and grabbed the diaper bag off the hook by the door. Just like every morning, Kyle was buckled and strapped into his car seat-this time quietly- and Mommy walked around to the driver’s seat. She closed the door, clutched the black leather steering wheel and sat ready to drive. Except that she didn’t drive. Mommy just sat there, white knuckled, trying to will the car to life. “Mommy?” Kyle called. “Is everything okay?” “Everything fine, Kyle.” Mommy said. “Mommy’s just having a little car trouble.” The Little looked at his captor turned caregiver in the rearview mirror. “Don’t you need keys to turn the car on?” Mommy gasped. “Right right!” She slapped her forehead. “Silly Mommy! Mommy definitely needs her coffee. Ha-ha!” She scrambled around in her purse for the keys and the ridges on her forehead became more pronounced with every passing second. The closest she got were a rainbow colored plastic set. Her eyes lit up and she eventually found the actual car keys in the bottom of Kyle’s diaper bag. “Wow! How did those get there? Mommy really needs her morning coffee.” She fidgeted trying to find the right key, but eventually got the engine started on the third try. “Mommy…” Kyle called from the back. “What?” She was beginning to sound flustered. “Shouldn’t you put your seatbelt on?” Kyle said. “You always put your seatbelt on first before driving.” The car shut off. “On second thought, Mommy said. “Let’s go for a walk. The weather is wonderful this morning and your daycare isn’t very far away.” True enough but…”Won’t you be late for work?” “Let me worry about that, baby boy,” Mommy cooed. “That’s a Grown-Up problem, not a Little problem.” He supposed that was true. It was still weird to be unbuckled from his car seat without having actually gone anywhere. The transfer from car to umbrella stroller was a quick one, and Mommy was speed walking (speed strolling?), ill at ease down the street and out of the neighborhood proper as if something was chasing her. Kyle leaned back and just took in the sights, sucking on a bottle of juice that Mommy had shoved in his mouth after buckling him in. Being in his stroller gave him a certain level of protection. He was socially invisible, he could people watch, and his face was obscured most of the time. “What’s the matter, honey?” A voice caught Kyle’s attention. “Are you lost?” It sounded feminine, but also very, very small. Little. Yet the confidence and power it oozed was only regularly spouted by the giants. “She looks lost.” A second voice said. The words sounded concerned enough, but there was an underlying poison in the tone. “Do you need help sweetey? Where’s your Mommy and Daddy?” Kyle had seen this happen so many times before. Some poor Little would be surrounded by Amazons and if they didn’t play their cards right, there’d be a Monkeez or a Koddles on their butt by lunch. “I’m…I’m fine. Thank you very much.” The voice was deep and masculine and near booming…and…timid? “You don’t look fine.” The first said. “You look lost. Where’s your Mommy and Daddy?” “I…I…I don’t have one.” Cringing, with the same type of morbid curiosity of watching a flaming car crash in real time, Kyle turned his head to witness the scene playing out at a city bus stop. “Of course you do,” the second stranger said. “Everyone has a Mommy and Daddy. Don’t fib. Unless you still think the stork is real?” The two strangers, both women, put their hands to their lips and stifled giggles as if the idea that a grown man might believe in the stork was both natural and condescendingly precious. The boy, a man, actually looked decidedly uncomfortable. “I’m a Grown-Up. I don’t live with them anymore.” Despite his button up shirt, pleated pants, and loafers, he had the aura of a child who just happened to be dressed up to match Daddy. The fidgeting he was doing could be written off as being very uncomfortable at having his space invaded, or… “Do they know you’re out here all by yourself?” The first lady asked. “No…?” “I don’t think they let babies get on the bus without a guardian.” The second stranger said. The poor man was getting flustered, clenching his fists and fidgeting. “No…no…I don’t need...” “Do you want us to leave you alone?” The first one asked. Right on the heels of the first question, a second one came. “Do you need to go potty?” She addressed her friend. “I don’t think he has any protection on under those pants.” “One tiny tinkle and those pants will be ruined,” the first stranger agreed. “No snaps, either. Makes it more difficult to change. We should help him with that. Wouldn’t want his nice big boy pants to get all yucky because someone had an accident. This bus doesn’t stop for potty breaks.” The poor man finally lost it, overwhelmed, and stamped no foot. “No!” he said. “No! No! No!” “Awwww!” The first stranger said. “Poor thing doesn’t want us to leave him alone all by himself.” The two bullies were pretending that he was answering the first question about leaving him alone and not the full volley of taunts that had followed. “Come on, sugar,” the pair reached out and grabbed his hand, leading him away trembling but powerless to stop them. “We’ll catch the next bus. Let’s make sure you don’t have an accident, first.” The man turned around and flashed a frightened, overwhelmed, frustrated, and yet hopeful gaze behind him as the two strangers led him away, most likely to the closest shop that sold diapers in his size. It was the look of the damned searching for respite. Kyle had seen variations on this scene play out so many times that he’d become practically numb to it. It’s why he enjoyed playgrounds and daycares as much as he did because the worst of the trauma; adoption, had already happened to everyone. Kyle had seen something like this happen at least a hundred times since his own adoption. But never like this. Never with an Amazon man being the target. And never with two Littles being the ones setting him up for failure. That silent look of desperation and commiseration wasn’t directed at Kyle, but at the giant woman pushing his stroller behind him. “Poor thing thinks that just because he’s big means he’s a big boy.” The strangers threw Kyle a knowing conspiratorial wink. “We’ll help teach him the difference. Being an adult and being mature aren’t the same thing.” Kyle popped his thumb out of his mouth and wiped it on his shirt. “What the fuck?” he mouthed.. “Let’s get some coffee,” Mommy said loud enough so that Kyle could hear. The stroller swung wide and to the right, crossing the street so that they wouldn’t come across the giant who was about to be helplessly babied by people that were barely knee high to her. The bell above the coffee shop door jangled when they entered. It was actually very busy here, with people of all sizes side by side, many of them nervously sipping coffee and staring at a large flat screen T.V. Kyle hadn’t seen so many non-diapered Littles in one place since getting snatched up. Smart Littles tended to avoid Amazon spaces unless they absolutely had to. But here they were making coffee, mopping floors, and cleaning tables. More importantly, they had the strong, cheerful demeanor of someone who felt strong and secure in their work; and not at all intimidated. It was something like a herd of confident antelope trotting around a pride of hungry but oddly out of sorts lions. Kyle blinked and did a double take. Was the only adopted Little in the building? “Hello cutie!” The Tweener behind the counter said. “What can I get for you?” The presence of the black haired Tweener seemed to put Mommy at ease. Amazons liked Tweeners; people that they could boss around and be terrible to without feeling like they had to take care of them. Mommy regained a bit of pep in her step on their way up to the counter. “I’ll have a red eye.” “Say please.” Kyle looked up to see his Mommy flinch. “What?” The Tweener smiled. “I said, ‘say pleeeeease’!” “Please?” “Please what?” Mommy stiffened. “Please, I’d like to order a red eye…?” The woman behind the counter feigned thoughtfulness. “That’s an awful lot of caffeine,” she said. “You’re gonna be bouncing all over the place!” “I know.” Mommy’s tone was turning annoyed. She was struck temporarily mute when the Tweener leaned over the counter and made eye contact with Kyle in his stroller. “Is that okay with you, sir? Can she have a red eye?” Kyle felt his Mommy’s confusion. He was “Uh…yeah. Sure?” “Kay kay.” The cashier punched the order in. “Sorry about that.” Mommy found her voice. “It’s quite alri-” “I should have asked you first on whether she could have that much caffeine, but when she forgot to say please I saw it as a teachable moment.” The Tweener shuddered and gulped. “Not that you don’t teach her manners,” she quickly added. “It’s just that some people need a lot of help in learning. It takes a village, right?” Beads of nervous, confused sweat were forming on Kyle’s forehead. “Um…okay.” “What’s your name?” “Kyle.” “Thank you, Mister Kyle. The red eye will be ready in a minute.” Mommy wheeled him away to a clear table close to the Cafe’s flat screen television. “The nerve of some Tweeners,” she muttered to herself. “Some of them get too big for their britches. I oughta…I oughta…” But Mommy had no more threats. Even idle ones. “We’re back with Helen in the Morning,” the T.V. broadcast. Standing in front of the camera was an Amazon lady in a blue pantsuit with bleached teeth and an artificial tan. Weird that Amazons had perfected nanites that could simulate or relieve diaper rash but hadn’t figured out how to make a convincing tanning bed. “In light of recent news, we’ve rushed in a guest specialist to ask her what’s her opinion on so called current events.” The camera panned over to the big, eggshell white, overly cushy couch, the kind that only seemed to exist on morning talk shows. On it was an Amazon woman “With me today,” Helen prattled on, “is renowned Child and Little psychologist, Dr. Margaret Jameson. The so-called psychologist wore a yellow turtleneck sweater and jeans. She looked more like a Kindergarten teacher than a doctor. Amazons, however, sometimes had the privilege of being underdressed. “Dr. Jameson, what do you think of the current panic that’s being reported on?” The psychologist shrugged with practiced ease. “Well Helen, as we all know, Littles make up for their innate lack of maturity and reason with overactive imaginations. So it’s no surprise to me that Littles,” she paused for a drink of water from one of the show’s coffee mugs, “Littles who either have or are on the verge of full blown Maturosis but have yet to find Adoption are concocting these overly elaborate stories.” “So you think this is, what?” the talk show host asked, “Little propaganda?” The psychologist fake laughed. “I wouldn’t go that far, Helen. Propaganda is such a malicious word. Such a mean spirited one. It’s too…too…” “Grown-Up?” “Precisely,” the psychologist said. “This is all just a very silly joke that some very clever Littles with more creativity than sense cooked up.” “Excuse me!” A voice chirped in from the crowd. “I’ve got something to say!” The camera panned around to a Little boy standing on an audience chair. He was waving his hand and hopping up and down to be seen since the middle aged Amazon women in front of him were still taller than him despite being seated. This Little wasn’t one that was allowed to live as an adult, either. Unadopted Littles didn’t wear dalmatian spotted overalls that stopped at the knees. Nor did they tend to have such perfectly formed freckles on their cheeks. The boy could have been someone that Kyle had met on the playground. Heads turned and a collective. “Awwwwww!” reverberated through the studio audience. “It looks like we’ve got someone who wants to share with us,” Helen said. “Come on down, kiddo!” The invitation was met with thunderous applause and Helen got herself a photo op by climbing the stairs and carrying him down after the halfway point. When things had settled down, the Little boy stood in front of the couch, and the talk show host squatted down to hold a microphone to his mouth. “Well hello there!” The psychologist beamed like she was talking to a toddler. “What’s your name?” “My name is Maxwell MaGee, but my Mommy and Daddy call me Maxie and their last name is Sanders.” “Well, Maxie Sanders,” the psychologist said, “what would you like to say?” “I just wanted to let you know that Mommy and Daddy agree with everything you just said. They tell me that Littles are just babies that don’t grow up no matter how old we get.” “And are they right, Maxie?” “No,” the Little boy said sweetly. “They’re not. Amazons are the real babies. They’re just big babies who treat people smaller than them like baby dolls.” No scoffs came, just tittering laughter aimed at a child who didn’t know what he was talking about. Back in the cafe, Kyle looked down at himself. He fit that mold perfectly. For the first time in a long time he felt emotionally invested enough to feel ashamed of himself, for his state of dress. Carefully, Kyle unclipped the pacifier from his shirt and lowered it to the ground… “Really?” the psychologist said. “Do they change your diapers for you?” “Not any more!” Maxie said proudly. “I got to use the big boy potty! All by myself!” A third wave of ‘Awwwws’ bubbled up. “Your Mommy and Daddy let you go potty all by yourself?” Helen asked. Maxie paused and smiled deviously. “No.” Helen leaned in. “Where are your Mommy and Daddy, sweety pie?” “I dropped them off at daycare,” Maxie said with complete and utter seriousness. “They’re the ones in diapers now.” Kyle was beginning to think that this Little boy wasn’t a ‘Maxie’ as much as a ‘Maxwell’. Come to think of it, he looked a little thinner in the middle. It was hard to tell on camera, but he didn’t have that certain roundness between his legs that most Littles had. The psychologist crossed her legs, casually. “It sounds like someone has a very active imagination! Aren’t Littles the best? So cute! So precious! Always pretending to be more mature than they really are!” The laughter this time was more nervous than delighted or charmed. “It’s not pretend, Doctor.” the Little on T.V. said, snatching the microphone away from the talk show host. “It’s the truth. You’ve all been fibbing this whole time. We’ve all just finally figured out the truth.” “What truth?” the psychologist scoffed. “That Littles can’t be independent? That they need Amazons to take care of them? That they do this all for free and at no cost to the Littles?” The grin on the Little’s face became positively devilish. Like he knew a secret no one else did. “Oh really? Is that the truth as you see it? My, my, what a fantastic imagination!” Rumbles and grumbles were moving through the studio audience. Something was happening. “I think you were naughty and ran away from your Mommy and Daddy,” the psychologist said. “I think you’re telling fibs to make yourself feel bigger and more mature than you really are. Maybe we should call some real adults to get you back home where you belong.” She sniffed and smiled, “and get you changed. Someone had an accident.” No condescending laughter rang out this time. “Oh, I’m not the one who’s having an accident,” the Little on T.V. replied curtly. “Well of course you’d think that,” the Amazon replied. “Littles can never tell when they need changing. That’s kind of the point.” Kyle looked down at himself and gave himself a pat and a squeeze. Still dry. That was weird. He’d have half expected himself to be at least a little wet by now. The unsupervised Little on television closed his eyes and exhaled. When he opened them again, they narrowed, suspiciously. “Who’s checked you, Doctor Jameson?” he asked. “Why aren’t you wearing your diaper like a good girl?” “I don’t need them,” the woman who’d shown up for a T.V. interview in jeans, laughed. “Amazons don’t experience Maturosis, silly boy. Only Littles and the occasional Tweener.” There was a mean smile on the Little’s face. “Are you sure about that, cupcake? Uncross your legs.” “Hm?” The woman spread her legs out and looked down aghast at the spreading wet patch on the front of her denim pants. “Wha-? No!” The only thing the big woman had the presence of mind to do was stand up and let the puddle continue to stream down her thighs, dripping onto the studio floor. She was so humiliated she didn’t even have the presence of mind to cup her hands over her crotch or otherwise hide the sight of the very real, very public accident. Kyle could relate to that. That had been his face to a tee way back before his pants were padded full time. “Awwww,” the Little man cooed. “Is the big girl having a potty accident? You better have diapers in a bigger size than that, Helen.” “Th-th-th-” she stuttered. “This is not happening!” “Babies,” Maxwell crowed. “Such big imaginations they have. I hope you have some pretty big diapers backstage, Helen. You’re gonna need them.” The talk show host nearly dropped her mic. “Huh?” she grunted. “No! No-no-no! I’m not gonna…hnnng…I’m not changing her!” “I know,” the LIttle said. “But someone is going to need to change you. It wasn’t me your baby friend was sniffing” The camera switched angles to catch the lump forming in the back of Helen’s pantsuit skirt.. “You’re pooping, Helen. Right here. Right now. In front of everyone. You’re pooping.” Shocked screams exploded out from the Amazons in the studio. The host started to panic. “Uhh! Hrrnnn! We’re gonna take another commercial break but we’ll be right back! And in our next segment we’re gonna show you how to change a really big…baby’s…diaper..?” She blanched, not at what was going on in her pants, but at what she’d just said. “Hey! Why’s that on the teleprompter!? And who are you? You're not my producer!” The signal went black and the station switched over to an advertisement for Monkeez diapers, featuring a diapered Little pretending to play football with real Amazon toddlers… “This is ridiculous,” an Amazon woman said. Kyle looked back over to the counter. Two giantesses were pointing to their coffee cups, specifically the lids. “What’s the meaning of this?” “Those are safety lids,” the Tweener behind the counter smiled, courteously. “Coffee is very hot. You wouldn’t want it to spill all over you or it could burn and give you an owie.” The second Amazon at the counter scoffed. “We can’t remove the lids!” “It wouldn’t be very safe if you could, would it?” The Tweener made a shooing gesture and turned her back. “Drink your bean water, hun. Go on'' She looked at the next cup of coffee. “Kyle? Red eye for Kyle?” The two oversized Karens didn’t walk away. “They look like sippy cups!” The Tweener glanced at the lids and puckered her lips. “Huh. They kinda do.” She thought better of it right away. “I mean, no they don’t. Those are safety lids. And they’re only for special big girls just like you. Isn’t that neat?” A beat. “Kyle? I’ve got a red eye for Kyle!” “Mommy!” Kyle hissed. “That’s you.” Mommy rattled her head, breaking out of some kind of trance. Her eyes hadn’t left the television set since before it cut to commercial. ‘Huh? What?” She rubbed her eyes the way that people do when they’ve just woken up from a dream. “Oh yeah!” “Red eye? Kyle?” “Actually,” Mommy said. “That’s mine. Kyle’s my Little.” The Tweener brushed her hair back. “Oh yeah. Right. Just a sec.” She slapped a white plastic lid over the cup, same as with the other two ladies in front of her. Kyle did a quick, baffled scan of the room. Only the Amazons had the white plastic sippy lids on their cups. Everyone else drank their coffee like adults. Again, she leaned over the table. “Sorry about that sir.” “Uh..no problem?” Mommy started sipping her coffee through the lid without complaint. The two giantesses before her were also drinking from their definitely-not-sippy cups, just not without complaint. “Can you bewieve that mean ol’ Tweenuh?” “I know! We should tawk to the bossy boss!” “Yeah! Tell ‘em she’s bein’ a big ol’ meanie doo-doo head!” Something clicked upstairs in both Amazons at the same time. “Why awe you tawkin’ wike dat?” Her companion growled. “You duh one tawkin wike a baby!” “Nuh-uh!” “Uh-huh!” “Nuh-uh!” “Uh-...” Both stopped talking and gasped. Two puddles of warm pee were trickling down at their feet. One of them had more than just a puddle, with a solid lump sagging from the pack of her slacks. “Clean up!” The Tweener called. “Big babies had an accident in their pants!” She sighed in disgust. “Again!” A crew of Littles with mops zipped in and started wiping up the mess. Two more took each of them by the wrist and with impossible strength started to lead them towards the restroom. “Come on, baby girl,” the Little coffee shop worker cooed. “Let’s get you changed.” “Noooooo!” the Amzaon who had only wet her pants shrieked. “No baby! No baby! Nooooo baby!” “Let’s just get you taken care of, dear.” The two giants dug their heels in. It did nothing to slow their progress to the restrooms marked with helpful plaques indicating Baby/Little changing stations inside. Someone had put a strip of masking tape and written “Amazon” over the “Little” section in black marker. Pulling against the Littles, the one of them, the one who had done more than just pee her pants fell onto her backside. Her lip trembled for a second and then she started screaming, “NOOOOO! NO! NO BABY! NO BOOM BOOM! NO GOO GOO GA GA! NO BABY DIAPEE BOOM BOOM!” Her cohort couldn’t even say that much, her speech regressing to nothing more than repeated babbling syllables. “Gooo-goo-ag-ga-ag-ag-ag-gaaaa!” And the first wasn’t far behind. Within seconds, ‘Diapee’ and ‘boom boom’ would be too complex for their mouths to form. The Little employee patted the blubbering giant on the top of her hand as she dropped to her knees. “Of course you didn’t go boom boom in your diaper, sweet pea. You’re not wearing one. Let’s go fix that. Then you can finish your coffee.” The women crawled on three limbs the rest of the way to the lady’s room to be changed, her hand still being held. The Tweener behind the counter shook her head and Kyle heard her mutter. “Amazons. Seriously. Why can’t they just accept that they need help?” Mommy hurried herself and Kyle out of the store. Her red eye was dumped into the nearest potted plant. “This is not happening,” Mommy said. “This is not happening. This is just a dream. Only a dream.” Kyle felt her pat him on the top of his head. “Right baby?” Kyle didn’t answer. “Oh right. Babies don’t talk. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” The world whipped by at nearly breakneck speed. The “stroller” was now effectively a “sprinter”. Kyle turned his head this way and that. All around him he caught familiar scenes cast with different players. “I’m not a baby!” “Uh oh. Big girl isn’t so big!” “Come here honey. You’re going to look so adorable with a shave and a sailor suit.” “Why do Amazons even bother trying to grow up? They’re just going to fail anyway. Much easier for everyone involved if they just find a nice Little Mommy or Daddy to take care of their mush tushes.” Every line, every condescending taunt, every cooing syllable, had the sweet acidity of someone delivering the world’s cruelest joke. The pounding of Mommy’s shoes sputtered and then changed to the slapping of her bare feet. “Gotta get to the daycare! Gotta get to the daycare!” Poor thing had lost her shoes. “We’ll just get you to daycare, and I’ll go to work and everything will be okay!” A devilish grin flashed across Kyle’s mug. “Mommy? Did you lose your shoes? Maybe you should switch to velcro!” “Baby!” Mommy barked. “Not now!” Kyle tittered with laughter anyways, suddenly much less afraid. Mommy was panting when they ran up to the daycare. She shuffled around to the front of the stroller, diaper bag slung over her shoulder, and unbuckled Kyle from his restraints. “Come on, Kyle,” she panted, “Let’s get you settled in and Mommy will-” The front door to the daycare burst open. “Don’t! A daycare worker screamed out. Run! Save yourself!” Mommy froze. Kyle gawked. Mrs. Abernathy wasn’t just an employee, but the proprietor of the daycare itself. Neither Kyle nor Mommy recognized her at first glance. How could they? Her graying hair was up in pigtails. Her face was covered in stickers. Her arms were scribbled on in markers. A giant, obviously wet diaper, was taped to her hips and hung between her thighs. She was missing her glasses too. If not for the daycare’s signature polo shirt uniform that she always wore she might have been completely unrecognizable. “Leave!” The woman screamed. “Before it’s too late!” Behind her, more crying and protests of ‘I’m not the baby! I’m your Mommy!” bled out into the open air. Kyle looked around the daycare’s parking lot. There weren’t usually that many cars here at one time. Amazons would just drop off their Littles and leave. “I’m an adult! A grown-up! A big girl! A biiiiiiig girrrrl!” They weren’t leaving… “They’re making us finger paint!” Mrs. Abernathy cried, her tears wetting the sunshine smiley stickers on her cheeks. “Finger paint!” “There you are, Michelle!” A Little woman, dressed like an employee came out and grabbed Mrs. Abernathy by the hand. “I can’t take my eyes off of you for a second, can I missy?” “Please…” Mrs. Abernathy sniffled. “Don’t do this to me.” “You’ll feel much better after a change. Then we’ll film you playing with all of your Amazon friends and you’ll be so cute you’ll get Adopted into a good Little home in no time.” Mrs. Abernathy started bawling beyond words. The Little finally seemed to notice Kyle and Mommy. “Oh sorry about that. You know how it is.” She was talking to Kyle and only to Kyle. “Are you checking her in?” Mommy let out a wordless scream and ran away with Kyle in her arms, cackling with abandon! Normally, if he laughed this hard he’d expect his pants to be wet but his diaper was still as dry as a bone. The juice wasn’t going through him. “Careful, baby!” Random passerby called after Mommy. “Uh oh.” “Someone needs a timeout.” “She is going to get such a spanking when this is over…” “Don’t you be like that one, Pamela. You suck your binkie like a good big baby.” In the distance, a billboard was being papered over. It was still a diaper ad, but the drooling, toothless models were no longer Littles. Traffic was at a standstill; Amazons were being strapped into newly enlarged car seats, gagged with pacifiers and diapers splaying their legs apart. Littles were busily installing booster pedals and seats so that they could drive. Amazons moaned and cried out from top of the line remote controlled carriages, piloted by Mommies and Daddies much much smaller than them. “Why?” Mommy panted. “Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?” She tripped over something. Only soft grass broke her and Kyle’s fall. “Whyyyyyy?!” “Because you deserve it.” Kyle answered. He stood up and brushed the freshly mowed grass clipping off of his thighs. Mommy had managed to make it all the way back to the park before breaking down. “Because you deserve it.” Repeating his damning accusation with a cold relishing” He toddled over to the diaper bag and dug out a pair of shorts. Deftly, he slid them up over his hips, covering the diaper. Then, he reached into his pants and pulled the sticky tabs loose, ripping the diaper off of him while keeping his modesty intact. “No!” Mommy slammed her fist into the ground. “No! This isn’t supposed to happen this way! I’m the adult! I’m the Mommy! I’m the big girl!” She stood up. “Susan!” Kyle exclaimed. It felt amazing calling her by her first name. “Are your pants wet?” There was no puddle beneath her. She looked down at herself and her face melted. “Yes, Kyle…” “Do big girls go pee-pee in their pants?” “No, Kyle…” “Did you know you went pee-pee in your pants?” “N…” she stopped herself. “Yes, Kyle.” “Why didn’t you stop and tell Daddy that you had an accident?” He felt himself stand a bit taller, a bit stronger calling himself ‘Daddy.’ Susan looked ashamed. “I was busy…running.” “Playing you mean?” “Yes, Kyle…” “What?” “Yes…Daddy.” “That doesn’t sound very mature, does it?” “No, Daddy.” Kyle walked around her and inspected the back of her pants. Goodness it felt amazing to be able to take a step without hearing the soft plastic crinkle coming from behind him. A quick breeze carried the fetid scent of what Susan had done to herself. “Susie! Are your pants messy” “Yes, Daddy.” “What?” Susie stuck her thumb in her mouth. “Yesh, Daddy.” “Do big girls go poopy in their pants?” “No, Daddy.” “Did you know you’d had an accident.” “Yesh, Daddy.” “Then why didn’t you tell Daddy you had an accident? “I wush pwayin’...” “That doesn’t sound very mature, does it?” Susie, formerly Mommy, was quivering. “No, Daddy.” He walked back around and bid her come closer to the ground so that she could look him in the eyes. “Amazons,” he said once she was crawling on all fours. “What would you do without us?” Susie just softly cried. “What happens to big girls who go pee-pee and poopy in their pants?” Kyle asked. Time to finish her programing. “They get shpankt” Susie mumbled. “What happens to babies who go pee-pee and poopy in their pants?’ Susie winced like she’d just been slapped in the face, or more likely, just bitten her thumb. Then said, “They gesh a diapher chahshe.” “Why?” “Cush dere Daddiesh wuf dem.” Kyle patted her on the head and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “That’s right.” He went back over to the diaper bag and pulled out the changing mat. It was big enough to fit even an Amazon. Kyle thought nothing of it. “Lay down.” Susie popped her thumb out of her mouth “Here? Now” “Your panties were clean when we left the house, young lady.” Kyle said. “That means you had your accident out here in public in front of all your Amazon friends. If you can go in your pants, in public you can get cleaned up in public.” Weeping, Susie crawled over to the changing mat and layed down. Kyle reached his hand into the bag and pulled out the perfect diaper. Just like what he used to wear, but sized for a very, very, big baby. “Ooops!” he said. “Daddy almost forgot!” He slapped his forehead. “Silly Daddy!” He took out the pack of baby wipes. “Before I put you all nice and cozy in your diaper I’ve gotta clean up your accident.” That got a mumbled moan of despair from around the Amazon’s thumb. Kyle put the wipes down by Susie’s knees and bent over Susie’s waist, deftly unbuttoning her pants for her. She didn’t have any snaps, so it was nothing at all for his tiny fingers to unfasten the big buttons and unzip her pants for her. In the near future, he’d make sure to get her a proper onesie; one with strong little sized buttons that big clumsy baby Amazon fingers wouldn’t be able to manipulate. It wouldn’t do to have a baby try to go streaking, or worse yet, dress like a big girl. Using leverage and just a tiny bit of effort, Kyle pushed her knees up to her stomach. “Hold it for me,” he instructed. Obediently, his former Mommy did. “Good girl.” He yanked the pants off her hips, followed by her soiled, filthy panties. Susie’s mewling cries doubled over as she felt the sick mess pull away from her delicate skin. “I know, I know.” Kyle shushed. “It doesn’t feel good to have an accident in your big girl undies. That’s why you shouldn’t be wearing them.” Without him having to tell her, she lowered her legs and outstretched them so that he could take her shoes and socks off followed by her soiled pants and undergarments. They were left in a pile in the grass. He’d pick them up later after he got Susie sorted out. “You’ll feel much better in a nice clean diaper,” he promised. It was a lie, of course, or rather a half truth. Clean diapers only felt good in comparison because dirty diapers happened, and one inevitably led to another. More importantly, diapering her made clean up easier when he wouldn’t have to slide the soiled padding all the way off Susie’s ankles. One step at a time, though… “Okay. Lift one more time for Daddy.” He instructed. “Good girl.” Wipe after wipe, Tommy started cleaning her bottom. Taking extra care to wipe the laminated mat that had become stained with her feces. A diaper would definitely help this in the future. “Gotta wipe the baby nice and clean,” he told her. “And get rid of her mess.” Susie was taking it rather well. She was only quietly crying now, resigned to her fate. Just as he had been once upon a time. Time for the piece de resistance. With both hands he unfolded the giant diaper. Had it been on him, it would have dwarfed him, coming up to his armpits and being too baggy. On her though, it would be just right. Not wanting to make a rookie mistake, he eyed the tapes and slid the diaper the right way under his new charge’s elevated bottom. “Okay…” he said. Susie lowered her hips. A second round of wipes was taken to Susie’s front side. He wasn’t going to let her get a rash because he was more focused on the solid waste and forget about the glistening droplets of urine clinging to her pubic area. “We’re going to have to get rid of all this big girl hair later,” he tutted. “Mo…” Susie mumbled. “Non’t” “Are you a big girl?” Kyle asked. Susie remained silent, sucking her thumb. “Exactly. Don’t worry though. We’ll take care of that later tonight using the special shampoos you keep under the sink.” Susie sometimes threatened to make Kyle a bald baby if he misbehaved. Now the bootie was on the other foot. Oh she’d look adorable in just a diaper, bonnet, and booties! A note for later! Leaving her waiting on the open diaper, Kyle backtracked to the diaper bag one last time. “Let’s help the baby smell nice and clean.” He said. The cloud of powder he dusted her with was enormous. “Will definitely need to get rid of that big girl hair though…” Finally, enjoying it, saving the moment, he pulled the diaper up between Susie’s spread thighs, making sure to center the front and pull it taut so it tucked neatly into the back as he taped the first side. A quick scramble over to the other side so he could tape it nice and snug, completing her well deserved and much needed reduction of status. He panted lighty and proclaimed her “Done!” He wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead. Taking care of big babies really was hard work, but it certainly was rewarding. Susie tried to sit up, but the sheer mass of the plastic backed padding gave her difficulty. Kyle’s firm and steady hand touched her shoulder and guided her back down to the grass. “Not yet, Susie,” he told her. “Not yet.” One final trip to the diaper bag yielded a very big baby bottle, filled with nice cold milk. Confident and satisfied, Kyle strode over to the Amazon’s head and made her lift it so that he could position his legs underneath them. “Here you go,” he offered her the bottle. “Drink up.” She did, her lips puckering and suckling on the rubber teat. “Good girl,” he said. “Drink up. Make it all gone.” The stuff in that bottle, he knew, would make her a very good girl and ensure that she didn’t need those pesky big girl panties for as long as the stuff was in her system. She’d get used to sitting and nursing and playing in a wet diaper soon enough. Messy diapers would follow. Kyle was just helping things along. Content at last, Kyle closed his eyes and breathed in his moment of victory. “I get it, now.” He said to himself. “I really get it.” There in the darkness behind his closed eyes, Kyle sighed luxuriously as his new big baby suckled on her bottle, (the first of many) and shifted and crinkled in her diaper (the first of many). Slowly, the darkness swirled into mist, as darkness does between dreams, and the scene faded from Kyle’s mind’s eye if not his memory. The sound of Susie sucking on her ba-ba yet lingered. Slowly, very slowly, his brain wishing for sleep that his body no longer required, Kyle’s eyes opened. Just past the Little boy’s nose was his balled up fist. The sound of sucking that had stuck with him had been him suckling on his own thumb. Just a dream. But, oh, what a dream! A slight creaking of floorboards and hinges, and the door to Kyle’s nursery opened and Mommy’s voice sang out. “Wakey wakey!” She said, “Did my baby boy enjoy his afternoon nap?” A petite yawn later, and Kyle slowly sat back up in his crib. The afternoon sun shone past the thin pastel blue curtains of his babified bedroom. The feeling of his soaked diaper squishing beneath his weight was a gentle reminder that he was back in the real world. His mouth hadn’t quite caught up to his brain, however. “Huh? Wha? Susie?” Mommy cocked an eyebrow. He hadn’t even thought of her as anything other than ‘Mommy’ for a long time. She’d broken him of that habit a long long time ago; or so they both had thought. “What was that?” Kyle’s mind went into overdrive as unconscious and conscious thoughts traded places and memory of the real world kicked into high gear. The soaking wet diaper between his legs helped. He’d been laid down clean and dry. “Sorry Mommy. I was having a dream.” Mommy approached the crib and picked him up. “About what?” “A girl at my daycare,” he lied. Kyle was soon plopped on the changing table, which was a much better place than over Mommy’s knee. “Oh.” Mommy said. “That makes sense.” She undid the tapes on his diaper and started wiping him. “Don’t worry. You’ll get to see all your Little friends and Mrs. Abernathy at daycare tomorrow.” Kyle started sucking his thumb. “Yesh, Mommy.” He couldn’t help but smile. Wow! What a dream. It was just a dream, but it was a really nice dream. One that made the Little boy both a tiny bit sad, and very very happy. “I love you, baby boy.” “Yesh, Mommy.” Kyle lied through his teeth and over his thumb. “I love you too.” He’d be holding onto the image of Susie crying and laying down to get her diaper changed like a big dumb baby for as long as he lived. Even as a dream, it was better than nothing. If he could, he’d tell all the other kids at daycare tomorrow… (The End)

Heaven sucked. There was no doubt about it. Anika couldn’t stand it. Everyone wanted to go to Heaven, sure, but did they really? In her present circumstance, Anika was having post salvation regrets. “Remember my lovelies,” the angel said. “Make sure to color in the lines.” “Yes Miss Lucille…” The chorus came from a dozen adults of varying ages, though looking at the surroundings, it would have been more appropriate to guess that this was a preschool for people with that Benjamin Button disease. The girls all wore big floppy bows in their hair and socks that were longer than the hems of their skirts. The boys all wore shorts that came up above their knees and button up shirts with slip on bowties. Marcus, another relatively new arrival, had started making jokes about an old rock band where the guitarist wore something similar but it just didn’t land. It didn’t stop him from trying. “The lines are like tiny little commandments and guides so that we can make our prettiest picture. Just like how the Bible gives us all guides on how we live our best lives.” “Yes Miss Lucille…” Everyday. This. Again and again and again. Random parables. Bible study. Videos. Lessons. Before she was old enough to stay home, her parents took her to church every Sunday where she languished in first the nursery and then the “Little Learners” Room. The nursery hadn’t been so bad. That had been just like daycare but with a few extra Jesus decorations. There were far worse ways to whittle away an hour or so while Mom and Dad sang hymns to the sky man. Heaven, this level anyways, was like the Little Learners room. Lots of forced stories and songs and talks about how great God was and how this day was the day that the Lord had made. Everyday was Sunday in Heaven. At present they were sitting at circular tables…because God’s children were all equal or something something something Anika had zoned out half way through the Angel Teacher Lady’s explanation. Anika would never say this outloud, but she was beginning to wish she’d been a little worse in life. “Can you pass me the blue?” Anika asked her seatmate. The kid…girl…woman dressed like a toddler… looked up from her coloring sheet. “Yeah. Are you coloring Jonah and the Whale?’ Anika made the mistake of telling the truth. “Nope.” She brushed her light brown bangs out of the way. “Doing Noah’s Ark…I think.” The other girl squinted her eyes and moved her lips at the squiggles on top of the coloring sheet. “I think so, too.” Nothing here was written in English, or any Earthly language. The angels had promised they’d learn to read Celestial Script in time, but at present they only got lap read to. Anika took the blue crayon from her neighbor and started coloring the pair of birds on the tippy top of the boat. Coloring was in five dimensions here so it was particularly difficult to capture the range of color that a bird would get throughout its entire life and through every space and angle of light, but that’s what the lines were supposed to be for. If only she could see in five dimensions… “I need a drink,” Anika muttered. She reached forward and grabbed a juice box from the center of the table. There was a cluster of juice boxes in the middle of every table, straw unwrapped and ready to be sipped from and it never went out. One benefit of Heaven: unlimited apple juice. The angel teachers promised that they’d get wine too when they’d ascended enough. “Miss Lucille! Miss Lucille!” Anika’s neighbor shot her hand up in the air. One of the angels, all named Lucille, glided up. “Yes, Hannah?” The other girl leveled an accusing finger right at Anika’s temple. “Anika’s doing it wrong! She said she was coloring Noah’s arc but everybody knows that the birds holding the branch are supposed to be doves!” The hair on the back of Anika’s neck stood up. So annoying! The first level of Heaven might have been Sunday School but every level of Hell was definitely other people, she decided. The angel peered over her. “You’re right, Hannah. Good job for noticing!” Anika felt her skin start to prickle as Hannah got patted on the head. The brat could have just stopped her and told her she was about to make a mistake. “Sorry,” Anika apologized but didn’t mean it. “I thought they’d look pretty as bluebirds.” The angel teacher suppressed a light chuckle. “It’s pronounced ‘birds’, honey. ‘Bluebirds’. Not ‘boobirbs’.” Anika felt taken aback. “That’s what I said…bluebirds.” The angel enunciated the words back. “Blue. Birds.” Her treacherous neighbors on either side of her started giggling behind their hands. Whispers of ‘baby’ made their way to Anika’s ears. “Blue. Birds.” “I know what you mean, honey.” The angel ruffled Anika’s hair. “Well even if they are boobirbs in your picture, I think they’re very pretty.” That made her spirits rise a bit. “Though you accidentally scribbled over here where it hatches and colored it like an adult in the sunlight, when this particular one was born at dusk and hatchlings tend to be closer to gray.” Right back down again. “See your mistake?” A sigh. “Yeah,” Anika lied. To her stupid, human, babyish three dimensional eyes it looked to her like the angel was just jamming her finger up and down on the same spot of paper again and again, but she was too embarrassed to admit it. It had been weeks and everyone else seemed to be getting the hang of this. She thought that if she just looked at it from the right angle she might see something. No such luck. “Don’t worry. You’ll get it. Just use the lines.” “Yes Miss Lucille…” “Miss Lucille! Miss Lucille!” That brat Hannah said. “Are there any coloring pages with ephalants! I love ephalants!” “It’s elephants, dear. But I think I can get some for you. Maybe something from Garden of Eden” “I said ephalants,” Hannah said, seeming offended. The blonde bimbo was getting a taste of her own medicine. But wait…if she couldn’t hear the difference between ‘elephant’ and ‘ephalant’, what did that mean for Anika’s ‘boobirbs’. The angel started to walk away to another table but she doubled back seeming to remember something. “Hannah. Anika. Do either of you need to go potty?” “No…” the girls said in unison. Anika didn’t need a mirror to see how much she was blushing. She had Hannah for that. “Are you sure?” Both girls faltered. “Stand up. Let’s check.” Both of them stood up, fidgeting while the Angel lifted up the hems of the skirt and inspected their disposable training pants. That was another part of Heaven that Anika hadn’t rightly anticipated: Everyone in her class was in giant adult versions of Pull-Ups. Every boy had a bit of blue poking out above their waistbands and every girl had a bit of pink just barely noticeable beneath their skirts. Eventually, they’d been promised, they’d learn to not have to use the toilet at all but until they’d mastered themselves to that point, everyone had to wear Pull-Ups ‘just in case’. It was hard to object to an angel’s demands. Even harder was the fact that she’d woken up in Heaven covered in her own excrement. People peed and pooped when they died. That evidently carried over with souls into the hereafter. Training pants had seemed reasonable at the time. “Oh dear,” Miss Lucille said. “You lost your rainbow, Hannah.” Anika smirked, feeling smugged. Her fade when wet designs were gone. Appropriate considering she’d tattled about Noah’s Ark. Hannah didn’t seem too keen on it… Good. “And Anika…all dry.” The angel said. Anika beamed triumphantly. “Good girl. Now go try going potty for me.” Anika balked. “I don’t…” she stuttered. “How am I going to learn to… you know…if I keep going?” They were about the same height, but the air of authority and wisdom that the celestial being carried about her made Anika feel much much smaller. “Please, Anika? Try? For me?” With a huff, Anika whirled around towards the class bathroom, a single toilet and sink with no door for privacy, again, ‘just in case’. “Fine…” She might have been embarrassed how her skirt flared out when she twirled, or how everyone would hear her tinkling and see her Mary Janes through the archway. These days, the only thing that was at risk of being more dead than her was her modesty. “Come on, Hannah. Let’s get you cleaned up.” “Noooooo….” Hannah whined. Being a big girl on the verge of true Sainthood, Anika got to use the potty. Being a little girl who had an accident, Hannah was being guided over to the cubbies to get a fresh Pull-Up. The only difference between her and a full on baby was that Hannah was allowed to get changed standing up. Anika did her business, pondering the absurdity of the afterlife. She didn’t actually feel much bigger or that she was closer to enlightenment or whatever. She just felt like she was being potty trained again. Everyone binged on apple juice so that they’d have full bladders and try to hold it in for eternity, but all that seemed to accomplish was having to go to the bathroom more often or having an accident. “Okay,” she called. “I’m done.” Another, nearly identical angel teacher came up. She looked down into the training pants around Anika’s ankles and smiled condescendingly “Good girl! You’ll be ready in no time!” An errant thought made its way out of Anika’s mouth. “For what?” More cheerful chuckling. “Okay, let’s wipe and wash our hands.” Anika stood still and held up the hem of her skirt so that literally immaculate hands could wipe between her legs. She really wasn’t that different from Hannah in this way. Hannah didn’t have to wash her hands while an Angel puppeted her wrists in and out of the stream singing: “And Adam lived an hundred and thirty years, and begat a son in his own likeness, after his image; and called his name Seth And the days of Adam after he had begotten Seth were eight hundred years: and he begat sons and daughters And Seth lived an hundred and five years, and begat Enos…” The girl tried to mumble along but found herself missing the words and melody every step of the way. She’d lost count of how many times this song had been sung to her and she still couldn’t get past the first or second ‘begat’. “All done,” the angel said, which is good because Anika had absolutely no clue otherwise. Whatever happened to the ABG’s? She walked back to the table, hoping to see an embarrassed Hannah being humiliated having to step into a fresh Pull-Up and be encouraged about her lack of improvement like a baby. She got more than she could have hoped for. The Pull-Up and leaked all over the girl’s skirt. It was now balled up next to the used training pant by her feet and she was doing her best to keep her loud bawl a quiet one. “Don’t worry,” the angel said. “We just have to wash it. Nobody’s mad at you. You’re doing your best.” Heaven had infinite juice boxes and infinite Pull-Ups that could fit over full grown adults, but had to wash their preschool uniforms? Anika didn’t care to question that since it was working out in her favor. She might not be able to color in five dimensions but she could still make it to the toilet. The Lucille pulled Hannah into her arms and then boosted the girl up like a toddler. Angels like the Lucilles had impossible strength and stamina. Hannah might as well be an actual child. She certainly looked like one. Now, everyone would know that stupid Hannah had messed up so badly that she’d lost her bottoms. That brat was crying like a two year old. And getting her back rubbed. And having a pretty lady tell her it was okay. And getting hugged. And carried. And getting offered toys to make her feel better. Why was Anika feeling so envious of this? And how could she get that kind of attention for herself? She reached out and grabbed another juicebox… *************************************************************************** Yup. Jessica had it figured out. Hell definitely was the place of cruel and unusual punishments. She’d expected fire and little guys with hot pokers. This was somehow worse… “Awwww!” Another inmate mocked her. “Wood at duh baby! Such a widdle cutie walkin’ awound in huh Pampuhs.” Dude was no better off, truth be told. He was in training pants, same as hers. He just had shorts on over them. Jessica had peed herself so many times that the guards just took away her skirt. “Yeah yeah,” Jessica rolled her eyes. “Tell me another one I haven’t heard before.” The new fish were the quickest pots to call the kettle black. They’d learn the hard way. “Wussa mattuh. Did I huwt yuh feewings?” This guy was beyond oblivious. Jessica turned and squared up to the idiot. “Do you even hear yourself?” “Heah wut?” “Are you talking like that on purpose or…? “Tawking wike how?” That answered that. One of the guards appeared right behind the idiot. “Jeffrey,” the demon said. “Are you making fun of Jessica?” New fish’s eyes went wide with terror. “No ma’am.” “Don’t fib.” She looked over to Jessica. Weird that a demon could be so oddly attractive. Jessica might have guessed the demoness was a succubus or something but ‘visually pleasing’ and ‘sexually arousing’ didn’t overlap in this instance. “Jessica?” Jessica decided to play dumb. “Jeffey wasn’t bein’ mean at all, ma’am.” The slight babyish lisp wasn’t as pronounced as her would-be tormentor’s, but it was coming more naturally every day. “He was just tellin’ me I was wearin’ a diapee…I mean diaper.” Jeffrey’s face fell just in time for it to contort in pain when the demon yanked him over by the ear and gave him a loud pop in the rear. “We. Don’t. Make. Fun. Of. Our. Friends.” Jeffrey went limp after the first swat. They all did. Something about the spankings here made a body go all ragdoll. It didn’t stop the pain or the embarrassment. Jessica released her bladder again into the already soaking Pull-Up. Just watching the man-child get spanked was giving her immense satisfaction. Squeezing her legs together and feeling a bit of residue linger on her thighs did, too. More work for the faux caretakers of this place was a good thing. Passive resistance for the win. She’d grown up a preacher’s daughter. In part that’s why she ended up dying an athiest. No book describing the afterlife, religious or otherwise mentioned this. Who’d have thought that Hell was a daycare? A near identical demon tapped Jessica on the shoulder. “Come on, Jessica,” she sighed. “Let’s get you changed. I can see you sagging from here you soggy thing.” Bow legged, Jessica took the monster’s hand and was led over to the cubbies to be wiped and given a fresh pair of training pants that she had absolutely no intention of keeping dry. “Yes, Miss Judy.” ***************************************************************************************************** “Here you go, sweetie,” the angel said to Anika, handing her a block, “Why don’t you play with these?” From out of the bottomless plastic bin, blocks made of solid light tumbled out. They were the stackable kind, but were still too big to swallow. “They’re only in three dimensions. I hope that’s okay.” It was very okay. “Thank you Miss Lucille.” “You’re welcome, Anika.” the Angel said. “Do you need to go potty?” “No,” the woman lied. “Not even a little?” “Not even a lil bit.” Anika’s bladder was close to bursting, but she’d wait until after she had some privacy to wet herself. It wouldn’t be long after that. Average response time for the grand celestial educators to notice that Anika’s rainbow had gone away was six minutes. A few times she’d stopped and counted…though maybe the fact that she was stopping and counting was doing it. She was in just a t-shirt and a Pull-Up now. Much more comfortable and only slightly more embarrassing. Far less embarrassing than it should have been, in truth. The dimensions of Heaven had shifted. Or perhaps a more apt explanation would be that her senses had expanded to notice more than the art tables and the playgrounds. She was off in a corner with the other pantsless peeps; other people that were going backwards in their potty training instead of forwards. She got to play with blocks and finger paint while everyone else was doing more organized activity. And every time she had an accident, she got changed and fawned over and reassured that it would be okay. No Hannah either. Hannah had started asking for potty reminders, little goodie two shoes that she was, and was now sitting on a bowl every thirty minutes. Anika had made the better choice. “Can I have some juice?” “Of course you can have a cup-cup.” The angel said. She handed a sippy cup filled with apple juice. “Anything else?” “No Miss Lucille.” “Okay, you be good.” Depending on your standards, Anika was good. She felt it was rather polite of her to relax things downstairs right as she glugged down her apple juice. Efficient too. Coldness inside and warmth directly outside, Anika shifted to her knees and went for the first block. “Have you tried it?” A new voice asked. Anika looked over her shoulder. “Tried what?” The woman-child who’d spoken crawled up right next to her. She had olive skin and mediterranean features.. “Eating the blocks.” The girl wasn’t wearing a t-shirt and Pull-Ups. She wasn’t wearing a prissy school uniform eithers. Her legs were just as bare as Anika’s, but her t-shirt wrapped all the way around her torso. Something white and puffy shown out through the too small leg holes. Anika didn’t need three guesses to know what it was. A baby woman? Not a toddler or preschooler? Anika took this all in and tried not to stare. “I can’t eat them. They’re plastic,” “They’re light.” “I can’t eat them.” “You can eat anything.” The new girl paused. She looked like her mind was in two places “What’s gonna…happen…? Do you think you’re gonna get…sick? From eating…light? In…” she let out a long, relieved sighed. “Heaven?” Anika’s nose wrinkled. She’d gotten used to certain smells, but she still didn’t do that in her training pants. “Are you okay?” The newcomer shifted from all fours and sat down on the flour. “Yeah. Why?” Anika wanted to gag and barf just thinking about it. She tried to distract herself instead. “Where did you come from?” The diapered woman motioned behind her. “From over there, with the other babies.” Babies? Sure enough, in yet another area of the massive preschool was a completely different area, one with bright colors and toys, and every person there was crawling and giggling chaotically. Nowhere was the orderly diligence of the preschool art tables or even the quiet preoccupation of her toddler section. Just grown people acting like drooling idiots and loving every minute of it. A disturbing thought: How long had Anika been dead? Had she once been in a big beautiful nursery like that with all of her needs cared for and loved unconditionally with no expectations…and forgotten about it? “Are you new here…or something?” She asked the other woman. The new girl wagged her head. “Nuh-uh. I’ve been here for a long time. Ever since Mr. Levi was running this place and we worshiped Zeus. “Who’s Mr. Levi?” “Andromeda!” One of the Lucille angels called out. “There you are. What are you doing here you little stinker?” She looked slightly different than the other angelic teachers, mostly in her outfit. The others wore conservative but functional dresses and pants. They looked like archetypical teachers; elementary school to be specific. This one, besides the bleached blonde hair, had scrubs decorated with rattles and bottles and safety pins. There was no doubt what relative age group she worked with. “You let this big girl play with her blocks in peace.” Up into the Angel’s arms the crawler went. “Yes, Mama Lucy.” “Now let’s get you back over to all your little friends.” The angel sniffed audibly. “Let’s you get changed first.” “Yes Mama Lucy.” Tunnel vision overtook Anika. The entire baby section of Heaven zoomed into focus. Everything else blurred and muted out by comparison. They were all having fun over there. Together. Even here in just her Pull-Ups with the other kids who weren’t quite getting the swing of potty training (some of them might even be faking it like Anika) everyone was alone. Competition on one end. Isolation on the other. And friendship and camaraderie right in front of her. And Mama…the angels over there were called ‘Mama’. A well timed cramp snapped Anika back out of her head. She stood up, feeling the Pull-Up sag from the gravity and its weight. She’d just raise her hand and find a teacher angel. Tell them she had to go potty. Then she’d be sat on the toilet and changed out of her wet Pull-Up and…and…and… “Excuse me…” Anika said to the angel in the nursery scrubs. She hadn’t even consciously realized that she’d toddled over to the nursery area. It really was like the church nursery back home. Just…bigger. The angel turned around. Andromeda was already laying peacefully down on a changing table, her hands shooting up to mobile above her head, her unbuttoned onesie revealed a diaper that was badly in need of sorting out. The line in the middle had turned completely blue and there was the smell of something stronger wafting up too. “Yes ba-?” The angel stopped and adjusted her gaze to eye level. “Oh hello Anika! Do you want to be a big girl and help me change Andromeda’s diaper?” Andromeda made no move or blush at the mention of a stranger seeing her in this state. “Um…can I play?” Anika asked. “With the babies?” “Sorry,” the angel said sweetly. “But big girls like you can’t play with the babies. You might accidentally hurt one of them. Go play with your blocks by yourself.” She spared a glance at Anika’s sodden training pant. “I’ll get one of the others to change you into a dry Pull-Up.” Sulking, Anika turned away, and froze when she felt the waistband of her disposable panties get pulled back. “Huh?” “Just checking. Yup. Still a big girl. Go play.” Anika’s feet did not move. But her knees bent. Her thumb drifted in between her lips. She closed her eyes and did her best not to think about what she was doing. “Could you…check me… again?” She asked. She was checked. Mama Lucy told her to sit down on the floor while she finished changing Andromeda. She did. She went back first onto the changing table. The garment that was slipped underneath her after she was cleaned up was not a Pull-Up. Mama Lucy didn’t make her go back to the bigger kids. It felt like a win. ************************************************************************************************** Jessica was the hustle queen of Hell. They were trying to break her and failing more and more every day. Pull-ups to diapers? Pfft. Kiddie toys? As if. Story time? She literally knew every story by heart and could correct the Judy demons where they got it wrong. She could do any and all of this standing on her head. It was easy. All around her, the screams of the anguish filled her ears. “No, I’m not a baby! Waaaaah! Stop it! Staaaaahp!” People who got too many rain clouds on their potty training charts ended up plopped back into nappies. The charts went away after that, and for Jessica, away went the shame. They weren’t keeping track of it so why should she? None of this phased her. She was harder than all of that. And through her efforts, she was working on adding the demons’ screams to the damned. “No no, baby. Careful baby!” Hell was a daycare. Hell was a prison. Prisons had rules. Rules could be exploited. As long as she pretended to not know what she was doing, she wouldn’t get spanked. Jessica leaned back in the giant highchair and craned her neck away from the goop in the spoon. “Spinach yucky!” “Here comes the airplane!” The demon sang with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Spincahe! Yucky!” She swatted the spoon out of the Judy’s grasp and it splatted all over Jeffrey’s face in the next highchair. Jeffrey had followed her back into diapers soon after her own ‘failure’. Depending on one’s outlook, he was either adapting very well or not at all. Jeffrey looked bewildered for a second and then burst out into tears, blubbering till the snot on his upper lip dripped down to the baby food on his chin. “Sowwy, Jeffy.” Jessica didn’t mean it. It was an affectation, just like all the baby talk she was doing. She couldn't remember when the last time she’d said a full sentence like an adult (probably the last time she did number two’s outside of her clothes) but all of her thoughts were suitably mature. Good enough. “Sorry, Judy,” One of the demon’s said to the other. “I think Jessica is a little fussy today.” “When isn’t she a fussy baby?” the other one rolled her eyes. “Seriously.” Jeffy was taken out of the highchair by his chief tormentor and cooed and fussed over like an idiot. “I’m gonna go get him cleaned up. Try and cheer him up with a pop up book or something.” The demons talked to each other more than to their prisoners, like they couldn’t understand or something. It was more of the gaslighting that was such a common one in this circle of hell. “I’ll catch up in a second.” Jessica’s Judy said to the first. “I gotta get something in this cutie’s tum-tum.” There was a time when being called a ‘cutie’ would have flattered Jessica. The demon tapped her chin and regarded her most difficult victim. “What am I gonna feed you?” Jessica didn’t know but she was sure it was going to end up on the demon’s clothes. Too bad all of their clothes were literally stain proof. It was the thought that counted. The demon daycare worker picked Jessica up out of the highchair and carried her out of the kitchen. “Maybe you’re not ready for solid foods yet,” she moved them out of the afterlife daycare’s kitchen. “Spoons can be scary if you’re too little.” Jessica found herself in a rocking chair sitting in the monster’s lap. “Hungeeeeee…” she moaned. “Baby hungeee…” She groped at the uncanny valley caretaker’s breasts, hoping to get a rise out of her. She got a much different response than she suspected. “Oh? You’re hungry for this?” She lifted her shirt to reveal a nursing bra, quickly opened to show off a dripping, milky teat. “Does baby wanna breastfeed?” She did. Jessica really did. The thought of breast milk mixed with blood after she bit down was so spiteful as to be arousing. Innocently, baby Jessica nodded her head. “Uh-huh! Uh-huh!” “Okie dokie. Let’s get baby some milk!” Jessica’s head was guided towards the woman-thing’s breast. She never did bite down… She was too caught up in the sheer ecstasy of it. The world started to make less and less sense. Only the heartbeat of the Mommy and the taste of the milk mattered to her. Faintly, she heard Mommy talking to one of the other grown-ups. “You know I heard Madison crying in her crib the other day. She was so upset, bawling that she was in Hell and being punished.” Mommy laughed. “Punishment? They think this is a punishment? Silly babies.” “Yeah. Who said this was Hell?” ********************************************************************************************** “Okay Anika,” Mama Lucy said. “Give me burpies.” The angel started patting, thundering on Jessica’s back. Contentedly, Anika let out a series of massive belches, the pressure in her tum tum lowering, as her eyes drooped. Mama Lucy’s milk always tasted like strawberries or pomegranates for some reason. It didn’t make sense, but it didn’t have to. It was Heaven. She’d figured out Heaven’s secret. The classroom and the promises of ascension? The work? The potty training? That was a test. And only by failing and accepting what a silly little infant she was and abandoning all that pride could she truly be happy. Anika was happy. Happier than she could remember. She didn’t have to worry about a thing. She didn’t even have to burp herself. And Mama Lucy cared for her and all the other babies that had figured it out. The others were coming around too. Even Hannah had realized that it was better to be a baby in Heaven and that anything less was Hell. They were good friends now. Them and Andromeda. After her nap; milkies always made her sleepy; maybe she’d go crawl over and play with them. Or maybe she’d just stare at herself in the mirror and let herself forget that the cute reflection wasn’t another baby. That could be fun too. A quick trip to the changing table was the only way that Anika knew she was wet or messy. It wasn’t her problem anymore. Nothing was. Babies like her didn’t have problems. Problems were for big people and angels. Instead of a crib, Anika was laid down on a playmat, with beautiful dangling shineys that she could bat at and kick with her hands and feet. The toes of her footed sleeper tasted like cotton candy… “You can lay here,” Mama Lucy said. “And play until you fall fast asleep.” Oh wow. What a wonderful way to drift off! She smiled and giggled, stifling a yawn just as Mama Lucy gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead. “Night night, baby.” “This is the life, isn’t it?” Andromeda asked. The two baby friends were laid down side by side on their own playmats. “No worries. No cares. No thoughts. It’s better than what I imagined the Elysian Fields to be.” “Yeah.” Anika said. “Yup yup yup.” She closed her eyes, knowing full well that she wouldn’t open them until after nap time. “Andromeda.” “Yeah?” “Fanks for tewwing me the secwet.” “What secret?” “Of Heaven.” Andromeda giggled. “Who said this was Heaven?” **************************************************************************************************** From the Journal of Professor Bumble: Heaven and Hell, though locked in a perpetual cold war until some form of Armageddon or another, are not innovators. That’s what humans are for. Their short life and unique experience causes them to innovate where cosmic beings would be content to stagnate. Lucifer might be a master of betrayal, lying and murder, but Adam and his spawn invented the sport to be certain. Innocence is also highly valued on both sides. Cleanliness may be next to Godliness but innocence- a word here meaning non-malicious ignorance- might be close to cosmic uranium. There are dozens of spells from on High and Below that value innocence either as a pure form of the human spirit, the very thing which Heaven might be constructed of, or its reaction with the environment of Hell in pure contradiction as a powersource. Side Note: I remember coming across a coven in the 1800’s that believed that Original Sin was Heaven purposefully tainting the well to prevent Hell from utilizing fallen souls that had done nothing wrong yet not achieved salvation. Shame it never caught on. Likewise, the longstanding rules of Limbo were seen as a form of non-aggression and pseudo neutrality. Even if fostered by Heaven, Limbo was staying well out of things and all of those cleansed minds and souls were not being put to use beyond giving a few angels very specific and matronly jobs. In more recent events, sources tell me that since what has been dubbed “The Dante Incident”, the neutrality of Limbo is being reconsidered at best. More to the point, both sides are experimenting ways to manufacture innocence, the result being that a fraction (still a rather large number) of the arriving population is put into a Limbo substitute, gaslit, and mentally regressed until something akin to innocence is achieved. It’s not nearly as potent as the real stuff, and it’s unpredictable, but each is taking the philosophy of quantity over quality. The sad but tragic part is that as far as my sources indicate, neither side knows what the other is doing and they have no clue just how similar they’ve become. Surprising perhaps, but not shocking.

Slowly, deliberately, Serena took a sip of coffee, savoring the flavor: Two creams. Three sugars. Extra, extra caramel. Truly, it was perfect. It was a shame, almost, that she wouldn’t be swallowing this batch. She counted backwards in her head, three…two…one… and spit out the delicious beverage all over the office carpet. “Did you…?” She stopped and glared at the intern, some barely twenty-two year old Amazon whose mother and father were rich enough so that she could afford to go unpaid for six months in the name of experience. “Did you put something in my coffee?” The girl looked like she’d been sucker punched by a professional boxer. “What?” “Did you…” Serena spoke slowly and deliberately, “put something…in my coffee?” Serena craned her neck upward and put her hands on her hips. Visually, it might remind an onlooker of a chihuahua yapping at a Dire Dane with neither dog realizing the vast size difference. More accurately, to the giants’ brains, it was closer to a toddler scolding an adult and the grown-up being terrified. “Only what you asked me to put in Miss Hudson,” the intern insisted. “Mrs…” Serena flashed her fake wedding ring. Amazons had the tiniest bit more fear of married women, and Serena had learned to weaponize that. The intern corrected herself. “Mrs. Hudson.” “Then why do I taste mocha?” Serena lied. Dramatically she dumped the rest of the coffee on the floor. A more eagle eyed witness might have noticed that there was still a carpet stain from the last time this happened. “Mocha? I ordered caramel-!” “Training chocolate?” Serena scolded. “Really? Did you really think I wouldn’t notice the taste of laxative in my coffee? I’m not some poor dumb Little freshman your Sorority sister adopted just before graduation as a present to herself because she didn’t want to have it all without ruining their figure.” Based on the intern’s facial expression Serena had just sprouted a second head. “I…I…I didn’t…I swear. I’d never…I’d never think that. You’re very mature for your…” If Serena hadn’t already planned this next bit out in advance, the ‘m-word’ would have sealed the deal. “For the sake of time I hope you didn’t unpack or personalize your desk,” Serena spat. “You’re fired.” The girl ran off crying, hands buried in her face. The twenty-five year old Little walked off, the sound of her heels clicking sounded more like goat hooves to the latest crop of terrified interns. Breaking in the newbies at her family advertising firm was a favorite hobby of Serena’s. For every new batch of interns, she’d make sure to hire one more than was needed just so that she could dramatically fire them in front of everyone else; and it was always an Amazon. “Somebody clean that up.” It was a trick she’d learned from her mother. Tweeners were prepared to be fired at the drop of a hat. Littles, if they were mature enough to handle a job, were more worried about being plunked in a crib. Amazons were always shocked when things didn’t go their way; it’s why Serena did it. A Little with authority and she wielded it like a sledgehammer. It was a wonder Serena Hudson hadn’t been adopted yet by some high and mighty Amazon who thought the Little might need a diapered attitude adjustment. Except that she’d already been adopted. “Phone call on line one Mrs. Hudson,” Serena’s Tweener secretary notified her. Petite, even for a Little, Serena still didn’t come up to her secretary’s chest while wearing high heels. “I’ve got a video conference call in forty five minutes.” Serena didn’t so much as turn her head or slow her stride. “It’s your mother, ma’am.” Serena stopped. “Put it in my office.” She clicked into her office and climbed the footstool into her mother’s old office chair. She’d lost count of how many hours she’d sat in Mommy’s lap, learning the tricks and tools of successful management. Mommy was gone now; retired rather; though she still had a seat on the board of directors of various philanthropic endeavors. The custom made leather booster that perfectly matched the original upholstery had to suffice. “Mommy?” she asked, her voice unconsciously raising a half-octave. Little or not, everyone becomes who they were circa age twelve when they’re around their parents. The fact that Serena had already known her Amazon parent when she was twelve only exacerbated the habit. Like so many Littles, Serena had been adopted. Unlike her late twenties and early thirties peers, Serena had actually been adopted, not abducted. She’d been put back in diapers at age three and was allowed out of them by age five; not bad, all things considered. The idea that Littles had Maturosis had been almost a decade away from getting deep roots or firmly codified, and Littles were just adopted for being “immature”. Maturosis or not, Serena getting trapped so early had helped her. Conventional wisdom said that Littles past a certain age were beyond all hope of truly growing up. If they couldn’t hack the real world in their teens and twenties, why bother giving them a chance in their thirties and forties? “Re-raising” Littles just meant keeping them as babies. Being close to an actual baby at the time, Serena had been given the benefit of the doubt and had flourished under a system of private tutors, genuine parental affection, and learning from her Mommy’s and Daddy’s example. Who wouldn’t flourish? “Hello, Siri,” Mommy said on the phone, her voice sounding pleasant, but forced. “How are you?” “I’m well, Mommy.” Serena said. “Yourself?” “I’m fine, dear. How are you minding the shop?” Serena shrugged, unconsciously. “Oh, you know,” she said. “I just fired an intern.” “Good girl,” Mommy’s voice sounded with genuine pride. “Just like we taught you. Did the old botched coffee order?” “Yes, ma’am.” Serena leaned back in her leather booster chair, feeling proud of herself. “I still use that one from time to time at the hospital.” The hospital was one of the places where she sat on the aforementioned board. “Accused the girl of slipping in training chocolates, I’m guessing?” “I technically don’t need a justification to fire her,” Serena said. She shrugged again. “But yes.” “I’m not sure whether I should discourage you from leaning into such dreadful stereotypes or be proud of you for leveraging them to your advantage.” The Little smirked. “The latter, please.” Mommy gave no laugh or other comment. Small talk had officially ended, but Mommy wasn’t going to bring up the reason for her call. Serena had to make the first move. “I’ve got a meeting today that I need to prepare for.” She cushioned the statement by adding, ‘What can I do for you?” It was slightly rude, but power moves had to be made when talking to powerful people. Growing up as she had, Serena didn’t know if it was a rich person thing or an Amazon thing, and frankly it didn’t matter much either way. Hurrying things along was Serena’s way of saying ‘Spit it out, Mom. What do you want? Why did you call?’. “I just got the latest fertility results back.” She hadn’t realized it, but Serena had forgotten to breathe. For as long as she could remember, Serena’s parents had been trying to conceive and have a biological child; an Amazon child. At twenty-five, things had improved on the anxiety front; Serena had aged out of worrying about being replaced and having to share her parents’ love and was firmly in the ‘Will this affect my inheritance’ stage. Still, she genuinely cared about her Mommy and Daddy and wanted them to be happy. There was no good answer to the question she was about to ask. “Okay. What were they?” “Not good,” Mommy sighed audibly. Serena’s face fell. “I”m starting…my body is…” She stopped, not even wanting to say menopause. “I just feel…old, dear.” There was a pause. Growing up as she had, empathy was not one of Serena’s strengths. “I just wanted the chance to hold a baby in my arms again.” “You could always be a grandmother,” Serena offered, and instantly regretted it. Bringing up being a grandmother to a woman who’d just said she felt old was a bad idea. That, and Serena wasn’t exactly lighting the dating world on fire. The physical mechanics of intimacy with an Amazon were… complicated; the social even moreso. She scared off most Tweeners and Littles who might have been interested. They just weren’t on her level. Also, it was hard to get emotionally invested in anyone who could miss a second date because they screwed up and got sent to daycare. That gave her an idea. “Why not adopt again?” she broke the silence that had followed her misstep. “It worked with me. You could even get an immature Little if you wanted. Have a forever baby.” If Serena was supposed to feel guilty, about suggesting another Little get thrown under the stroller, she didn’t. The part she’d yelled to her intern about freshmen Littles getting adopted wasn’t exactly manufactured. Some Littles really couldn’t cut it in the big bad world of Amazons. They were lucky in a way that the only penalty for failure was a life without responsibility. It was compassionate after a fashion. More to Serena’s benefit, a sibling that didn’t grow-up would not inherit any stock portfolio down the line. Knowing Mommy and Daddy, they’d be given a trust to pay for caregivers, diapers, formula and the like, but that would be all. “I suppose, Siri,” Mommy said. “I suppose.” Predictably, she started brightening a tad at the idea. “It might be nice, actually. I wouldn’t have to redecorate her nursery, or worry about tutors. Never needed daycare when I was working with you. Wouldn’t need one now that I’m retired. Wouldn’t have to pay for private teachers…” The Little executive stared at the time on her computer calculating when the best time would be to end the conversation so she could get back to work “See? You’re still a mother, and you can be a mother again.” Mommy’s expression turned sour. ‘Oh, but there’s that law.” “Which one?” “That families can only adopt one Little.” Serena imagined her mother curling her lip in disgust as she did. “Stupid goddamn beauracrats.” “Mother!” “Sorry, Siri. Mommy lost her temper for a second.” As an already adopted Little, Serena was only vaguely aware of the relatively new law. The cold harsh reality was that Littles were a kind of commodity and the government had realized that if Littles were over-babied, there wouldn’t be actual baby Littles being made for future generations of giants to pamper and infantilize. So gone were the days where parents would walk around with Littles in double strollers, or have a gaggle of diapered thirty and forty year olds on toddler leashes. There was a time when the well to do would have an entire nursery all to themselves. But if an Amazon had so much love in their heart that they’d have to find an immature Little to baby and cosset forever, they’d have to give all of that parental affection to just one. There were already positive results, sociologically speaking, Serena had had to admit. Littles were less afraid to approach an Amazon with a bouncing ‘baby’ Little on their lap, provided they didn’t have a particularly cossetting best friend right next to them. Of course, with her peculiar background Serena had never had to worry about getting adopted. Amazons didn’t steal children away from other Amazons. Serena could be spanked, mouthsoaped, and put in a naughty corner, but never adopted by someone else. As soon as they found out she had a ‘proper’ Mommy and Daddy that option was off the table. As soon as they found out who her Mommy and Daddy were those other options were swept up in a flash, too. “We’ll think of something,” Serena promised. “Exceptions can always be made. It’s not what you know but who you know.” She could practically hear her mother nodding along. “True, true. True, true. Your father is already meeting with a lawyer. We’d like you to take part in the discussion, too. You might have some insight that could help us.” “Would love to. I’ve got a meeting in a few minutes, however. Tonight?” “Tomorrow would be better. Mommy said. “At the hospital.” “Tomorrow then.” The Little executive hung up the phone and prepped for her meeting. Filing away going to the hospital in the back of her brain. Mrs. Hudson, the real Mrs. Hudson, wanted a baby and what Mrs. Hudson wanted she generally got. It’s just what Hudsons in general did. What Serna had failed to entertain, even for a second, was that she might end up as the baby. ************************************************************************************************************ It was quite the motley crew that gathered the next day. One might have thought they were going to a funeral, considering how everyone was dressed in black. Perfect strangers, too. The light blonde hair Serena had been born with had turned dark brown enough to be almost black, while Daddy’s had aged to a snowy white. Mommy was still blonde, but that was thanks to her stylist, not nature. Still, among the Hudsons, there was the familial familiarity in how they addressed and looked at each other. It was strange. Normally one didn’t see that kind of closeness between Littles and Amazons unless the Littles needed a pacifier to keep quiet and had a steady cartoon diet to keep them compliant. Looking in the plain, but pristine business office, one might not have guessed that life saving medical decisions were being made in above, below, and around them, but even hospitals need such places: Someone had to keep the lights on, negotiate settlements for malpractice, and negotiate the budget for the coming year. In a way that’s what the Hudsons were doing: Negotiating. “What are our options?” Daddy started the meeting in earnest once initial introductions were made; (fat lot of good that did since Serena had already forgotten the lawyer’s name). They sat around a large rectangular meeting table with far more seats than attendees: just Serena, Mr. and Mrs. Hudson, and the lawyer. He was a Tweener, so his chair was something of a modified stool. Serena’s seat was once a highchair that now lacked the restraints and tray and was given the once over so that it had something besides pastel fabric and hard plastic. It wouldn’t do as well with stains, but the Littles who used it didn’t need to worry about diaper leaks or spilling strained peas…probably. “I’ve had some of my people look into it,” Serena volunteered. This earned her curious glances from her parents on either side. “What? My team is normally more into finance and tax loops, but that doesn’t mean they don’t know a thing or two about a thing or two.” Mommy and Daddy exchanged looks. “What are your ideas, Siri?” Mommy asked. “Based on the precedent of the law,” Serena said, “it’s under the premise that one full time Little baby needs so much attention that it would be unethical to have more than one in any given family.” That wasn’t the real reason the law had been passed, obviously. The art of politics was saying one thing and everyone in power knowing its a lie but going along with it anyways. “Couldn’t the argument be that because I’m not a dependent, that my parents have more than enough resources to foster another Little?” The bigger people’s heads were already shaking by the time she’d finished talking. “While that is the official opinion that lead to the policy,” the Tweener lawyer said, “that’s not how the law is worded. One adopted Little per family. Full stop.” “What if I adopted a Little from an orphanage and then signed away custody to you?” “Siri,” Daddy said, “orphanages are closing left and right. Too many empty cribs.” “From overseas then?” Serena offered. “Even if we were able to get away with something like that,” Mommy explained, “what would happen to you? A Little that tried to adopt and gave up? That’s not very mature, is it?” Damn. That was a good point. Even if she couldn’t be re-adopted, that perception of her could really hurt the business. “A Tweener?” “Legally speaking, we’re close enough to Littles that the law protects us as well.” Despite the confidence in his tone, there was a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. Unlike Serena he’d clearly not been adopted and there wasn’t anything protecting him. “What about just adopting a regular Amazon baby?” Mommy and Daddy stared at each other over Serena’s head, and then slowly shook theirs. “They would grow up,” Mommy said. “Once was enough.” Serena’s adoptive mother didn’t want a child, she wanted a baby. And babies eventually turned into children unless they were Littles. “And I don’t want to adopt again. Did that too.” Mommy gave her a glowing look. “And I have no regrets doing that. You’ve been a wonderful daughter, Siri. I just want to…I want to nurture and carry life inside me. I want to be pregnant.” “Invitro?” Serena suggested. More slow headshakes.A fine layer of mist was building up in Mommy’s eyes. “No offense, Mommy, but it seems you want to have your cake and eat it too. You can’t get pregnant and have a baby that won’t grow up.” In what could only have been stupefied shame, Mommy broke eye contact and looked away. Serena quietly hoped she didn’t get that crazy when her body started changing again. As if in reply the door cracked open. In slid an Amazon man about Serena’s parents’ age; early to mid fifties, possibly late forties, with wispy silver hair. “Am I too early?” the man asked with a quiet shyness. She was about to tell him that he was; this needed’t concern him, when the lawyer cut her off“No, Doctor,” the Tweener said. “You’re right on time.” Serena raised her brow in question. What was a doctor doing here? Was this the one that had delivered the bad news concerning her mother’s declining fertility? Her concerns lessened dramatically as the man leaned over and shook every member of the family’s hand before taking the chair next to the lawyer. “Dr. Maddox, good to see you,” Daddy said. “So…?” “As I told you and your wife over the phone,” the doctor said, “I think we have an option regarding your wife getting pregnant.” “Go on, Doctor.” “Are you familiar with the work of Dr. Matilda Devereux?” Maddox asked, his gaze wandering over to the LIttle. Of course she wasn’t, and of course her parents had been given at least the elevator pitch. This was for the younger Hudson’s benefit. Politely, Serena shook her head. “No, Doctor. What can you tell me?” “I’ll spare you the finer details, but she’s had some remarkable success in…let’s call it ‘unbirthing’.” “Oh no…” the gasp came up out of Serena’s throat almost involuntary. It didn’t take a..a…whatever degree this doctor had to figure out what that meant given the context. Her stomach started to turn. “Yes,” the doctor said, not at all perturbed by Serena’s reaction. “It was invented as a way to kick start a woman’s reproductive system, but there are other implications. There have already been over a dozen recorded successes so far overseas. It doesn’t help with menopause, but pregnancy is pregnancy as far as the body is concerned. The successful implantation of a Little into an Amazon womb is no longer a dream.” “And as far as we can find,” the Tweener lawyer chimed in, “there’s nothing illegal about it.” “Who would dream that?” Mere moments before, Serena was talking about abducting and adopting fully grown Littles, but this was crossing an ethical line that Serena hadn’t known she’d had. Her question went unanswered; at least directly. The doctor’s gaze moved to Mommy. “You’ll have to be on a strict regimen of specialized medication after the implantation procedure. Even as the operation slows the baby’s metabolism, you’ll still have to feed her.” “Of course,” Mommy said. “Shouldn’t be hard.” “Where are you even going to find a Little to do this on?” All eyes honed in on Serena. Her mouth became as dry and coarse as desert sand. “What? No. No, no, no.” She turned in her seat and looked at her mother. “Mommy. I love you, and you’ve been great to me, but I'm not getting shoved into your body so that you can be pretend pregnant.” Daddy’s heavy hand landed on her shoulder. “We don’t have a choice, Siri. We don’t have any other Littles and can’t adopt any more.” She tried to shrug her father’s hand off. She failed. “No! Don’t be ridiculous. I won’t be a part of it. I don’t consent.” She glared at the doctor and repeated herself. “I. Do. Not. Consent.” The lawyer who Serena still couldn’t remember, “Your consent, technically speaking, isn’t needed.” “I’m an adult!” Serena shouted. “No, Siri,” Mommy said, “You’re a Little.” Behind her sad, guilty smile, there was a hunger that Serena hadn’t seen before. It had been hidden by the looming tears. “Your adoption papers from when you were three,” the lawyer explained, “are no different than the papers of a Little who gets adopted at twenty-five. Your Mommy and Daddy are well within their rights to revoke your adulthood from you.” Serena’s brain barely registered when she was lifted out of the chair and pinned face first to the meeting table. “But Mommy! Daddy!” she shrieked and begged. “I proved that I’m an adult! I potty trained! I got straight A’s all through college! Stocks have risen since I took over the family business!” “I know,” she heard Mommy say. “And this isn’t a reflection on you, dear. It’s just…it’s not personal.” “Fuck you!” Serena shouted. “You’re going to be so happy when all of this is over,” Daddy promised. “Your mother and I always regretted that we never got to know the real you when you were a newborn. This is our chance.” This couldn’t be happening! It wasn’t! It just wasn’t! While Daddy pinned her face down against the mahogany meeting table, Mommy started pulling Serena’s pants down. Jarringly, her brain registered the rest of the stillness in the room. Her body thrashed for all its worth but after a certain point she was just helping Mommy get her panties down. Meanwhile the plain white wall of the meeting room was the only thing she could take in. One sense felt everything that was wrong and another saw absolutely nothing. “You can’t do this!” She heard the smug condescension in the Tweener’s voice. “Legally speaking, this is no different than if your parents had tried to potty train you and then go back to diapers. They just gave you a trial run of a couple of decades instead of a couple of weeks.” “What about the company?” “We’re retired,” Daddy said. “There are some things more important than business. Like family. Could have sworn we taught you that.” She’d done everything right! Her entire life she’d been an Amazon in miniature and she was about to be indistinguishable from any other Little she’d crossed paths with. They all struggled and cried and begged in the end. Even her. It must be inborn; reflexive. “Please!” she pleaded. “I don’t want to go back to diapers!” “Don’t worry,” the doctor said from behind her. He must have walked the other way around. “You won’t be. Not for at least seven months.” Serena felt a pinch on her left butt cheek as the syringe plunged into her. The world went away. *************************************************************************************************** “How are we doing, anesthetic?” “Mother is under, Little should be coming up.” Serena’s brain clicked on. Anesthesia was like that. It wasn’t sleep as much as it was flipping the person’s brain on and off. No dreams. Not even the vague awareness of the passage of time. If there was such a thing as a soul, it was probably the closest someone could get to death and still be on this side of the coffin. She opened her eyes, groaning into the bright lights of the operating room. Reflexively she tried to struggle but her limbs were tied down to the slab she was on.. She could just barely lift her head and look around. Amazon doctors were everywhere scurrying about like ants right after the mound had been kicked. Tubing and needles were inserted into her arms, seeming to criss-cross and snake everywhere. The slight tickle in the back of her throat and clogged sensation in her nose told her that she had a feeding tube shoved down her throat. The only dignity she was allowed was a petite operating gown covering her tiny fragile form. The catheter tubes broadcasted that she at least wasn’t wearing a diaper. “Welcome back,” an Amazon in surgical scrubs said, looming over her. It was hard to tell if it was the man who had stuck the needle in her ambush. In the big scheme of things it didn’t much matter. Serena didn’t need to know who it was to let out an absolutely blood curdling scream. The surgeon smiled with his eyes. “No need for that, little girl. “If you can understand me, blink twice.” “Phughoo!” Serena said. Her eyes shot open. Her teeth! What had happened to her teeth? Her entire mouth sang out in unbearable pain. She’d gotten her wisdom teeth removed and had needed to subside on a diet of over the counter pain pills and frozen yogurt just to get through the rest of the week. This was like that but a million times worse. She ran her tongue along her barren mouth and tasted nothing but bloody gums and the tickling ends of stitches. “If you can understand me,” the doctor repeated. “Blink twice.” She did. “Good. We need to get the anesthesia more or less out of your system before we implant you into your new home.” He chuckled dryly. “More of a timeshare, really. A rental?” The former executive let out mewling whine, asking for explanation, or pity. The doctor only gave one. “You may notice that your belly is slightly distended.” She hadn’t, but now that he’d pointed it out. “Don’t worry, you’re not gaining any weight, we just loaded you up via enema and feeding tube; kind of like a bear before hibernation. Took care of your hair too.” Serena was beyond tears as a gloved Amazon hand brushed against her freshly shaved scalp. “Don’t worry,” she heard, “This part will grow back, but not as thick. Babies as Little as you don’t need thick heads of hair anyways. It’ll grow in lighter too. You’ll look even more like your Mommy.” That was no comfort. “In just a few minutes” the surgeon told her, “we’re going to be draining your blood through your femoral artery while we transfer some of your Mommy’s blood into you. Because of the stuff we’ve already given her, you’ll get very drowsy, but it won’t feel like anesthetic. It’ll be just like slipping into a warm bath. As we insert you, we’ll unhook you from the machines and hook you up into your Mommy. Then it’ll be her job to take care of you.” Serena tried saying something else, but the combination of drugs still in her system, tubes in most every orifice, exhaustion from medical abuse, and lack of teeth made everything come out as just more babbling gibberish. The entire staff just ignored her as they wheeled her closer and closer to her mother’s prone, unconscious form. “Maaaaa! Maaaaaaa!” “She can’t hear you,” the doctor told her. “You’ll have to try again later, on your new birthday.” She started feeling light headed, watching as the blood drained out of her. Her skin started buzzing when more blood drained into her. Serena closed her eyes. They fluttered open when one of the needles was removed. “It’s okay baby. Go back to sleep.” It really was like slipping into a warm bath. ****************************************************************************************************** A blur of time. Less a surgery anesthetic and more of a coma. Serena was aware, but only in short bursts, like waking up from a dream in the middle of the night before plunging back to sleep. It was the reflexive kick and startle from a falling dream. It was rolling over when a limb started to tingle or a shoulder ached too much. It was screaming and startling from a night terror, only to be claimed by darkness. There were brief moments of lucidity where the Little woman knew how doomed she was, but those were few and far between. The rest of the time that passed, she’d be half-conscious just long enough to wonder what time it was, where the alarm clock was, and what she was going to do to scare the life out of that unlucky intern she’d inevitably fire, before rolling over and going back to sleep. It never quite occurred to her that the thick heavy bed sheets draped over her head were actually made of artificial amniotic fluid. Occasionally she’d be aware of the thump thumping in the air. It was a passing train, definitely not another heartbeat. Or she’d hear muffled voices. The walls in these overpriced apartments were too thin, and the neighbors must be throwing a party. Stupid college kids… Then… Light! Air! Serena came out gasping for breath and dripping. She’d just started trying to blink away the confusion when an Amazon sized hand turned her upside down and slapped her as hard as she could. “AAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Serena bellowed in shock and pain. She was still too weak and disoriented to do or say anything more coherent. Huge Amazon hands laid her down on a table and started toweling the viscous stuff out of her. “Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Hudson. It’s a girl!” She’d barely inhaled through her mouth when a nozzle practically shoved itself up her nose. A bit of suction and mucous and more viscous fluid jolted out of her clogged nostril. Without actively thinking about it she puffed air out of her right nostril trying to chase away discomforting sensation. The action was premature, she found, as the same tube alternated to the other nostril. Someone was literally picking her nose for her! Her protests and cries of stop simply came out as more incoherent mumbling. Serena was disoriented by everything that was happening to her but once the baby blue nozzle stopped sucking the fluid from her nose she realized that she had been laid onto something cold as an icy chill consumed her bare naked thighs, bottom and back. Whatever she was laying on had slowly lowered itself due to her weight. She tried to lift her arms and legs to get away the cold plastic, but she couldn't even lift her limbs! “Weight,: one-hundred pounds.” Her arms and legs felt like they were weighted down and made of clay. She willed them to move but nothing happened. Someone stretched her legs for her and straightened her spine. “Height, five foot two.” Serena's limbs weren’t asleep, either; with the Little being acutely aware of her legs being lifted up and something being inserted into her rear end. Her shrieks took on an even higher pitch with that action; the rod was smooth and cold and violating. She wanted to thrash and kick at the almost casual intrusion, but she lacked the strength to so much as roll over, let alone fend for herself. “Temperature: Ninety-eight point eight.” Something finally clicked. She was being weighed, measured and having her temperature taken. Just like a newborn. The giant manipulating her body lifted her unresponsive legs up and she felt something soft and cushioned slid under her bottom. She felt as much as heard the soft plastic crinkle over her own incoherent wailing. A diaper! She was being diapered! “WAAAAAAH!” Months old memories came flooding back. No kicking, only screaming for the Little girl. Her arms and legs from months of stillness had become all but useless. She couldn't even sit up or turn away as the fresh diaper was taped on. Serena felt an ankle bracelet snap around her left leg. “Last name: Hudson.” The nurse called out. “First name?” “Serena.” It was Daddy’s voice. “We’re not changing a thing about her name. She’s always been our bundle of joy.” More crying as it was easier than ever for her to be mummified in a clean blanket and swaddled like a newborn. She was trapped. She’d grown into a butterfly, spent over half a year trapped inside the cocoon of her adoptive mother’s womb and had come out a caterpillar. Less than a caterpillar! A maggot! “My baby!” Mommy cried out. “Give me my baby girl!” The room flew by and the open air felt frigid against Serena’s face while she was passed from giant to giant. “That’s right,” Mommy whispered. “Come to Mommy. Come on. You can do it.” She felt something stiff and fleshy brush against her cheek. With near exhausting effort Serena turned her head and felt Mommy’s erect nipple enter her mouth. “That’s right. Go on and latch. Go on.” Toothless, cold, and hungry, the girl sucked and sucked and sucked. The first few pulls reminded her of college dating, until the first bits of colostrum flooded her mouth. Something between forgotten instinct and desperation took the wheel from there. “Latch.” Mommy said. “That’s right.” Serena had no choice. She suckled and suckled while her now birth mother petted the thin wisps of light blonde hair that had grown over the last few months. Were she an adult, she might look like she was just going through chemo. She was a Little, though, and so just seemed all the more newborn. “Take your first meal.” It would be the first of many. There wouldn’t even be a highchair necessary to feed her. The meal didn’t last long. Her stomach was just as weak as her arms from disuse. The new newborn woman lasted no more than a few mouthfuls before she felt like she might vomit. Mommy didn’t force it. Too weak to talk. Too weak to open her eyes, Serena could only listen and breathe. “How long before she can crawl again?” “Unless you put her through extensive surgery and therapies,” a voice said. “Probably never.” “What about tummy time?” Mommy asked. “As long as she’s awake and supervised, you can start in a few days when you get home.” “Good,” Mommy said, sounding satisfied. “I don't want her laying in her bassinet all day. Solid foods?” “Keep her on a liquid diet. Your body will provide for her if you stay on the pill regimen and your milk will come with enough calories. However, there are high calorie baby formulas that can imitate breast milk if you stop taking the medication. Either way, she’ll probably gain a bit of a tummy. Twenty to thirty pounds. Some real baby fat.” Twenty to thirty pounds? A lifetime of diet and exercise being poured down the drain and squirted directly into her mouth! Serena felt her diaper warm slightly, pulling her away from her silently lamenting. Was that her imagination or had she just peed a little bit? Her bladder was so weak she couldn’t tell. It didn’t fill up as much as just constantly dripped out of her. “So she’ll be my little newborn,” Mommy said, sounding tired and happy. “Forever.” “She’s a Little. They stay at whatever age you put them in, but with her it would take a lot of work if you wanted to treat her even a few months older than a newborn.” “I talked with a lawyer,” Daddy’s voice made Serena’s ears twitch. “Because you’re now Siri’s birth mother, we can technically adopt again if we want to give her a bigger sibling. Maybe a Little boy this time. Or a girl if we want to still use all those frilly dresses we’ve got leftover from the first time.” “One thing at a time,” the doctor said. “In the meantime, I think both mother and baby need their rest. It’s been a big day.” Serena was ripped away from her mother’s arms and carried out just as she started silently hyperventilating. The quiet of the delivery room was replaced with the crying of newborns in the maternity ward. Other newborns. The Little opened her eyes just in time to see glass walls surround her. An aquarium of a crib-an incubator- rose up around her and Amazon nurses unwrapped her from her blankets, leaving her naked save for the not-quite-fresh diaper she’d just been put in and her identifying anklet. All around her newborn children screamed and bawled, scrunching up their faces, confronted by the shock of a confusing and frightening world. A newborn in all but mind, Serena related. What would other Littles think of her when they saw her. Probably what she thought of most before all this. “Good thing I’m not her.” She was in diapers and definitely needed them. But she couldn’t walk or crawl or eat solid foods. She’d spend the rest of her life being carried around and breastfed. She might get the quiet dignity of a footed onesie, but it was just as likely that being swaddled in a blanket and knit cap would suffice to cover her diaper and keep her warm, if anything at all. Painfully, aching and exhausted, Serena lifted her head up and did her best to look around. Huge familiar faces stared at her, both young and old. Children coming to see their new baby brothers and sisters. Grandparents meeting their first grandchild. It was supposed to be heartwarming but it was closer to how a zoo animal must feel. It might have been delirium, but Serena could have sworn she saw an Amazon woman sipping a cup of coffee and smiling smugly down at her. How many interns had she done that coffee trick to? Even hospitals needed someone to fetch the coffee and file the paperwork. They had to go somewhere. That’s when Serena messed herself. It wasn’t a big poop. Newborns’ first bowel movements never were. It still felt disgusting to Serena’s formerly adult sensibilities. With her bowels and bladder as broken as they were, it was very likely that she’d spend most of the rest of her life, such as it was, wet or messy. Wearing clean clothing around her bottom would be the exception and not the rule. “I did everything right,” Serena thought to herself. “I was the perfect daughter, I grew up getting straight A's, ran a business and I’m still here, lower than the lowest pants messer. I don’t even have pants anymore…” As the nurses walked away to check on other crying babies, she joined them and lent her impotent screams to theirs. The only difference was most of them would get to grow up.

Hello Guys, I'm back with some one shots I've been writing. This story has been written in less than an hour, so it will be far from perfect, but I hope you'll enjoy it nonetheless. I have another one shot almost ready that needs some proofreading, just like this one, it's less than three pages long. If somebody wants to help me make some corrections or modify it, send me a message, it will be appreciated. Thank you, and Enjoy! Backed-Up Lily-Anne was running. Or at least she was trying to. Her apparel wasn’t really ideal for that. The huge crinkling diaper taped around her hips spread her legs apart, forcing her to gyrate her lower section with each step and reducing what was supposed to be a full-speed rush to an awkward waddling. The diabolical thing reached way past up her bellybutton and had a someway rigid outer shell encapsulating the inner crinkling padding that prevented her from balancing her torso forward to gain a better running – or at least waddling – position. The fluttering yellow sundress didn’t exactly help either, it barely reached her upper thighs, leaving the pristine white diaper completely visible as it reached down between her legs, making an ample curve, almost reaching her mid-thighs before ending with a flowering crinkling mass of padding that covered her bottom. “Lily-Anne!” a booming female voice came from the kitchen “Come here this instant! I’m not going to repeat twice!” The girl winced at the sound of that voice, but didn’t stop her desperate waddle. She was in the living room right now, tottering beneath the giant-scaled table and between the huge chair legs. She could do it, past the living room was the kitchen and sometimes Ethel forgot to close the door. She could easily get to the garden if that was the case. She gained speed, her target was getting closer and closer. She had almost crossed the doorway that led to the kitchen when the entire door frame was suddenly occupied by an enormous figure. Lily-Anne’s smile turned into a desperate grimace as she tried to stop herself from running towards the Giantess, but, despite herself, she had already picked too much speed. She tried pinning her legs forward to stop her pace, but she ended up slipping on the freshly washed floor. She let out a little “Owie!” as she hit her padded rump on the marble tiles, keeping on sliding forward until her diapered crotch came in contact with one of the Giantess’s feet with a loud crinkle. The fallen, spread-legged Little girl looked up, her eyes already moistening with tears. Two giant tone legs that to her looked like the columns of a temple, a plump body with wide hips, two enormous breasts, each one much bigger than the Little girl’s head, all topped off by a oval creamy white face with high cheekbones, all crowned by golden hair pulled in a tight bun. Mommy had found her. “there you are you naughty little!” She said leaning down “You know when mommy calls you have to stop playing and come to mommy quick smart!” Lily-Anne sighed as she felt being lifted up by her armpits with unconceivable ease. With a quick spin of her head she found herself looking down into the ground, which now was more than 10 meters away. Still sobbing, she clung for dear life to mommy’s neck, as the Amazon picked her up and threw her on her shoulder. She had never endured heights. Playing… she thought while her giant owner carried her across the corridor and up the stairs. Mommy thought she was playing. Her best escape attempt in months hadn’t even been worthy of being recognized as such… then again where would she ran off to? Mommy was faster than her in her normal clothes, with her thick diaper on there was no doubt mommy would catch her the second she spotted her waddling away. And mommy had a car…there was no way to gain a long-distance advantage with the giant. But it wasn’t just mommy… Mrs Stevenson and Mrs marple – their neighbours – they kept littles too, as did the whole fucking neighbourhood apparently. She would never go unnoticed cruising the streets I her frilly dresses and thick diaper. “here we are baby, now be good for Mommy…” Lily-Ann heard her warden whisper in her ear. She was brutally torn away from her thoughts when she saw Mommy had carried her all the way upstairs to her nursery. That was strange…Mommy usually didn’t let her stay in the nursery aside for naps and diaper changes. She preferred keeping her confined in her playpen or waddling around the house where she could easily keep an eye on her. The little girl sobbed, her stay in that world had significantly weakened all her muscles, she dind’t know if this was an effect of crossing one of the portals or was caused by her relative lack of actual exercise (she would defy anybody in trying to jog to keep fit while you were wearing a fucking diaper) mixed with the food Mommy fed her. As a matter of fact, she found that her weakened muscles and thick diaper made extremely difficult for her to get past the mesh walls of her playpen; she had lost count of all the times she had huffed and puffed, grabbing the padded border trying to hoist herself up, falling on her back before she had managed to get even a single leg past the babyish fence. But if escaping the playpen was very difficult, getting out of the crib was practically impossible. After Mommy had surprised her once in the attempt of getting out during nighttime, she had purchased a model with lower bars and a upper lid that turned it basically into a wooden cage, not leaving her enough space to even stand upright and forcing her to crouch under the wooden bars. Lily-Anne hated the crib. But despite that, she regretted not being put down for an early nap when she saw where Mommy was carrying her. The giant woman was headed straight towards the pink-padded changing table, and Lily Anne’s muscles clenched when she saw a huge enema waiting on it, the nozzle already dripping. “Noooooooo! Mommy please I don’t wanna!” she screamed terrorized, squirming in a futile attempt to escape the giant grasp. All she earned for her troubles were a few bounces and a couple of swats administered on her back thighs, just below her diapered area. “Don’t be silly darling. How long has it been yet? Two days? And your diapers are just wet. We can’t let you stay this backed up for long. All that poop has to get out, it’s not healthy” said Mommy, unfazed as she lowered her face down on the padded surface of the changing table. “I’ll try Mommy!” the little girl desperately pleaded, trying to get up struggling against the giant hand on her back that kept her down “I’ll poop without the medicine! Please let me try! I know I can do it!” “No chance dear” Lily anne heard Mommy saying from above her, as she heard the familiar sound of tapes being ripped, followed by a cumbersome weight leaving her bottom, replaced by the sensation of chill air on her buttocks. “And we’ll have to go ahead and keep changing your diet. I can’t believe you’re still this constipated after all the fibers I feed you. We might need to consider a full liquid diet…” At this point Lily anne wasn’t listening anymore, she had entered a frenzy, kicking screaming and trying to escape Mommy’s hold to avoid the enema that was surely approaching her. “Oh quit fussing, baby! It’s just some medicine” said Mommy reaching back with her free hand, grabbing the dreaded enema from outside the Little girl’s sight. “Nooooo! Mommy please! Pleaseeeeee!” lily anne kept screaming, now feeling the tip of the enema scratching against her buttocks. The little girl let out a outraged grunt as Mommy with impeccable aim inserted the nozzle right up her butt. She arched her back, feeling the burning sensation caused by the plastic intruder. She wanted to squirm some more, but she felt herself going limp as she experienced the hot liquid being emptied inside her. Mommy loosened her grip, and took advantage of her diminished stamina to better adjust her. She bent her legs and lifted her lower half, leaving her naked with her bottom sticking up in the air, the ignominious enema still inside. For a few minutes all Lily anne felt were the soft strokes followed by pats and squeezes Mommy administered to her butt and to the enema. Making sure it slowly but completely emptied inside her. Her head was spinning when she was picked up, still naked by Mommy’s strong hands and brought up at eye level with the domineering giant. “See, it wasn’t that bad” the amazon said giving her a soft kiss on the forehead, before lowering her down, on her back this time, and started working the huge diaper back under and around her. Lily anne grimaced as she saw the amazon reaching for another diaper, and lifting her legs once more taping it over the one she was already wearing; leaving her legs locked in a ninety degree angle. Her sight was obscured when mommy took the flimsy sundress off her, leaving her in just her humongous double diaper. Soon, she found herself once more against Mommy’s shoulder, the giant woman carrying her towards the crib. This time she barely had the to look at her giant warden with pleading eyes, knowing what was coming. Mommy lowered in the crib on her back. She felt the padded mattress scratching her skin as she struggled to get on her feet, but with the huge mass around her hips and between her thighs she had the same agility of an overturned turtle. Mommy smiled down at her, taking advantage of her position to close the lid of the crib above her, locking it with the usual pink heart-shaped padlock. “Baby needs time to do her business and think about how naughty she has been” she said reaching through the wooden bars and patting the front of her diaper. “Mommy will be back in a few hours, but that diapee stays on until tomorrow at least. We need to make sure the medicine does the trick so all the poop is out of you, don’t we? See you in a bit” Lily-anne managed to get on all fours just in time to see the Amazon woman leave the room. Desperate, she sobbed, clutching the wooden bars of her prison. She cried, feeling a squelchy fart already escaping her. That was going to be a long day.

Humans today, as a general rule, are an intelligent, complicated, wonderfully messy and diverse species with a sociological defect of thinking things should be simple. This can lead to them pushing themselves and the world around them into unhealthy extremes: Fire or Flood. Weal or Woe. Starvation or Gluttony. Chaste or Slutty. Is or Isn’t. Column A or Column B. The list goes on. This also results in massive amounts of low key unhappiness. People who live otherwise pleasant lives often feel unfulfilled and unhappy and they have trouble articulating why. While not simple, the reason for this discontent can be put down to a feeling of something being “off” or “missing the mark”. Things are never simple in real life, but to put it simply, the discontent in so many people’s experience comes from a place of expectation not lining up with experience. It’s the feeling of wanting barbecue sauce on your burger but only having ketchup or mustard. It’s the sensation of wanting to paint in vibrant colors but your palette seems limited to black and white. There’s nothing wrong with said condiments or colors, but when your palette isn’t completely satisfied, there’s a feeling of fullness but not satiety. In other words, sometimes life feels like settling. A bit of settling every now and then is just good old fashioned compromise. But when you feel like your entire life is settling, it’s not really settling; just losing. And when you keep getting spares and the person to your right rolls a strike, it’s easy to get down in the dumps; even if the person to your left is getting gutter balls. Speaking of settling, Sydney found herself on the boardwalk just after lunch that weekend. No particular reason that she could explain; she just didn’t have anything better to do and she preferred to be alone outside amongst strangers than alone at home. There was nothing inherently bad about the boardwalk, but if “settling” was the sensation of not quite getting what you wanted without getting completely punched in the face, the boardwalk was “settling” incarnate. Where else could one get the experience of going to a traveling carnival that never left but still wasn’t as good as real theme parks? Where but the boardwalk could you go shopping and people watching but with non-brand name stores? Where else could you feel like you were doing something patently nostalgic and interacting with history while being so obviously stuck in the bleakest parts of the present? The boardwalk gave all of that and threw in the smell of low tide and seagull crap for free! The boardwalk was great as long as you were under five or a tourist. Sydney was neither, but being out with the crisp and ever blowing ocean wind gave her an excuse to dress comfortably in clothes that would otherwise be called “dumpy” by folks like her parents. That reminded her; she’d probably have to put on that stupid dress when visiting her family, the one she only wore when visiting. She could already hear her father’s voice. “Is that the only dress you own or something?” It was, but she’d respond with “It’s my favorite”. ‘Only’ and ‘favorite’ meant the same thing. Then there’d be some comment- probably from her mother- about people mistaking her for a boy and how she didn’t want that, did she? And then the subject would get changed and Uncle Pete would ask somebody to pass the mashed potatoes. Sydney didn’t want to be a boy, that was true, but she wasn’t exactly hung up about being ‘girly’ either. It was one of the things she really liked about her name. While there were many more girls these days with the name, there were many men throughout history with the name, too. In her mind at least, it prevented people from making too many snap judgements. It wasn’t quite a girl’s name, and it wasn’t quite a boy’s name, just a name. Sydney would then get to fill in the details and values herself. The cotton candy vendor gave Sydney her change and pink sugar on a stick. “You go little lady.” Beneath her grey hoodie and jeans Sydney rolled her eyes and walked away, taking a bite and letting the cotton candy dissolve on her tongue. She found an empty bench right across from the (falsely advertised) Penny Arcade. She suspected it had just had a makeover when she first went as a kid. All of the video games and pinball machines had been cutting edge at the time; the best entertainment technology the year 1992 had to offer. Besides the Dance Dance Revolution game and swapping out one generic racing title for another, not much had changed. Somehow, the place had stayed in business- Sydney suspected it was a front for something- and things were picking up due to nostalgia. Everything old was new again. She nommed down on the cloud on a cone, listening to the sounds of skee balls rolling and Homer Simpson fighting nameless goons mingling with the waves crashing and seagulls squawking behind her. About halfway through, something conked her in the head. “Ow!” Her candy went to the ground and she rubbed at her temple. It didn’t hurt, really, it was more of the unexpected jolt of it all. Rattling a few feet away from her, the bright orange frisby that had ricocheted off jiggled on the planks before finally settling. A kid, about eight, trotted up sheepishly. “Sorry, Mister!” they said. “I wasn’t trying to hit you. I was trying to pass it but the wind took it away and…and..and…” “Yeah,” Sydney huffed. “That's fine. Accidents happen.” The kid gasped when he heard Sydney’s voice. “Oh! You’re a girl! I’m sorry ma’am! I didn’t mean to call you wrong or anything. It’s just with the baggy clothes and your hoodie pulled up I didn’t…” It was an honest mistake, Sydney knew. No one would have called her ‘Mister’ if her hair and hoodie had been let down, or if her jeans hadn’t been so baggie. Being seen as conventionally feminine came second to comfort with the biting winds coming off the ocean. More vexingly, Sydney felt herself annoyed, not because she’d been misgendered, but because she’d been gendered at all. Why did anything that wasn’t froo-froo and girly or show off her cleavage and curves automatically become masculine? Why did she have to be ‘sir’, or ‘ma’am’ when she just wanted to be Sydney? “I don’t care,” Sydney sighed. “I really don’t. Just go.” She added, “And if you’re gonna throw things, do it on the beach. Less chance you’ll hit somebody.” “Yes sir! Ma’am! Uh…bye!” Sydney bent over and picked up her ruined junk food. “Just as well,” she supposed. If she ate too much her one dress might not fit, and then what would she do? She looked at the retreating form of the kid, their boney legs stretching and carrying them farther into the distance, their encounter already forgotten. She couldn’t quite articulate why- like so many things in life, something just wasn’t quite hitting the mark- but for some reason Sydney felt a twinge of jealousy at the child. Oh to be that carefree and awkward and just have to worry about being yourself. The garbage can next to the bench was overfull to the point that any bit of trash thrown in might cause an avalanche, so Sydney forced herself to cross over and toss her ruined cotton candy into the garbage next to the Arcade. With a sigh she lobbed it in. That was good money wasted and plenty of time left to spend. ‘Now what?” “Fortunes told! Wishes granted!” Sydney heard the recording coming from the outside of the Arcade’s corner. “Step right up and know your future! Have your wildest dreams come true! Madam Xanatos knows allllll! Only one dollaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” Parked outside the arcade, next to the change dispenser, a big metal box with a glass case was positioned, calling out like an old timey carnival barker. The cabinet had been painted to look like old wood, and a mannequin’s form slouched over like a puppet with its strings cut. “Bend the cosmos to your will. Get your fortune told and your fate sealed!” Sydney stepped closer, arching her eyebrow. “This is new.” Actually, it wasn’t. The hokey machine was anything but new, but Sydney had never seen it here before; another not quite accurate statement that her brain had tricked itself into making. It was in good enough condition; but fortune telling machines were out of style back when Mario was 8-bit and more of a scam than claw machines. There was still the slightest chance that Sydney might get the coveted stuffed animal out of a claw machine. The fortune teller dummy hovered over the crystal ball was equally problematic these days; a nasty caricature of a Roma lady with a scarf on her head and too much makeup to “hide” a hooked nose while poised over a crystal ball. It was a small and terrible wonder that these depictions hadn’t gone out of style with minstrel shows. On closer inspection, the fortune teller dummy wasn’t that bad. She’d been made up with long silvery hair and a purple cowl instead of puffy sleeves and beads. A rather petite nose, too. It might have been a store display model before some engineer retrofitted it. It was still hokey and dimestore fake, but ‘generic magic woman’ was a better look than ‘gypsy’. “Make all your dreams come truuuuuue!” Wherever this thing had come from, the speakers sounded a few hours away from total breakdown. Sydney had heard less garbled speech coming from the drive-thru window. “Fulfill your deepest desires and fantazzzzzzz!” Who knows exactly what was going through Sydney’s head? Time, boredom and a general malaise can make people do pointless silly things; like throwing pennies into a fountain. The boardwalk didn’t have a fountain, however, and she still had a dollar left over from buying the candy. Digging into her pocket, she shrugged to herself. “Might as well.” She flattened out the remaining dollar and fed it into the machine. Haunting faux organ music played as the dummy lurched to life. The dummy held its hands over the crystal ball, now lighting up with all the power of five watts could manage. “Choose,” A lady’s voice, faded with time and neglect played on the speaker. “Fortune? Or wish?” Two buttons lit up on the cabinet’s panel. Sydney chose the one she figured would be the least waste of her time. “What do you wish for?” Above the fortune teller a countdown clock started ticking down from ten. What was she supposed to do? 10…9… Say it out loud? Press another button? 8…7…. What should she wish for? She wasn’t getting it either way, but if she wished too big she’d ruin the fantasy of it, but if she wished too small what would the point be? 6…5…4…. The clock was really adding to the anxiety. What if she was vague? Too vague? Too specific? 3…2… Her voice was a whisper, so that even passerby couldn’t hear her over the muzak coming out of the machine. From her lips came something oddly revealing and perhaps profound. “I wish I could just be myself.” It was stupid too, but it was the perfect wish; one that she might someday be able to control. Better than wishing for gold bullion or world peace. That might happen someday, even if it wasn’t through magical intervention. The placebo effect was better than nothing. 1… There was a pause and the music stopped. Then… “Granted!” The doll powered down. The ball stopped glowing, and a tiny card flitted out the side. Not unlike that old Tom Hanks Movie, Sydney expected to flip it over and read something about how her wish had been granted.That would have made her even more annoyed; a dollar for a cheap piece of thin cardboard. “Huh,” she mused reading it over. “One free ride at Comey Island.” Comey Island (not to be confused with the much more famous amusement park) was the local carnival ride section of the boardwalk. Merry Go Rounds. Ferris Wheels. A roller coaster that only went in a circle. Real kids’ stuff; at least half of the rides catered to kids too young to worry about bathroom breaks, but a free ride was still something of a prize. She gave a passing look to the fortune telling machine. “So it’s a coupon dispenser,” she said out loud. Odds are it was randomized, too. Some cards might be duds, others might be good for a free soda at one of the stands; the boardwalk equivalent of the McDonald’s Monopoly game. “Neat.” Coupon in hand, Sydney wasted little time in stolling over to the kids’ section. “Might as well not make it a total waste,” she said to herself. “It’s not like I’ve got anything better going on.” Walking up to the ticket booth, Sydney flashed the card that Madam Xanatos had just dropped out. “Excuse me, is this legit? I got this from a machine next to the arcade” She slid it under the glass. The old wrinkled woman on the other side adjusted her spectacles and squinted? “Yup. Sure looks that way. Didn’t know we were doing this promotion yet, but it checks out.” She slid the card back. “Do you want any more tickets, honey?” Sydney fought back a blush. “No thank you. I’m just going to try the one,” then out of politeness she threw in the little white lie of, “I’ll come back to get more later.” “Sure sure, go ahead.” Sydney walked past the booth, past the kiddie rides where infants rode in their parents laps as train cars decorated to honor Barney and Clifford and the Berenstain Bears gently chugged along oval tracks. She felt that same buzzing jealousy as she had with the kid who’d hit her with a frisbee, but like a swarm of bees Sydney couldn't single out any one reason why she felt that way. Further down, the rides got a little more complicated. Kids screamed and squealed in what were effectively giant car seats being jerkily picked up and dropped again and again. It was hardly extreme. Chances are any of the watching parents could have gone right up and still grabbed onto a child’s dangling ankle even at the ride’s apex, but it worked on the same principle as bigger thrill rides. Some of the rides looked fun and/or relaxing, but she passed on them on the basis that they were mostly for little kids and she wasn’t anybody’s parent. The last thing she needed was a bunch of parents staring at her like she’d grown a second head just because she’d gotten on a rinky-dink carousel. Sydney finally stopped when the sweet music of rubber slamming into rubber at moderate speeds alerted her senses. “Bumper cars!” She jogged over to the rink. One was never too old to simulate a demolition derby! “Last call!” the man at the ride’s entrance barked. “Going once! Going twice!” Sydney’s walk broke out into a jog. Bumper cars were one of those things where it was better with more people and she didn’t want to wait for another group to build up. “Ticket please.” The man said. He looked at Sydney suspiciously when she offered up the card. He twisted his mouth a little, but pocketed it anyway. “Okay. Good enough for me. Go on in.” Sydney trotted out into the rink amongst a sea of impatient elementary schoolers and climbed into a mint green model. As comically low to the ground as the cars were, her head still poked up higher than most. “Hey!” A recently familiar voice called out. “It’s that girl I hit with my frisbee!” Sydney finished buckling herself in (which was really more of a formality than a safety measure) and followed the voice. Not twenty feet away there was a yellow pod with a certain eight year old in it. “Sorry about that, miss!” A mischievous smile overtook Sydney’s face. “Don’t worry about it. I’m about to get you back kid!” The kid returned Sydney’s smirk. “Who are you calling kid, kid? I’m way better at this than you.” “You don’t even have a driver’s license!” Sydney called back. “Don’t need one here! I’m still better than you!” “Oh yeah?” “Yeah!” A buzzing clapped out and the power was switched on sending the bumper cars to life. Sydney floored it, twisting and turning the unwieldy wheel. The kid in the other cab reciprocated. BONK! The two collided hard enough to bounce back a foot. Their second collision ground them to a halt with each car pushing equally against the other. “Hahahaha!” They both laughed, throwing their heads back. It came to the point that the struggle became tiresome. “You go this way,” Sydney called out and jerked her head to the left. “I’ll go that way!” “Sure! See ya!” They split and Sydney started puttering around looking for the next victim. BONK! The kid had other ideas, it seemed, and circled back so that they could rear end the mint green car. Much to Sydney’s disappointment, bumper cars didn’t have a reverse gear. “Oh you little!” “Haaaaaa! Gotcha!” The play continued for what felt like a long time, and demolition derby mutated into a kind of demolition tag. The shrieks of delight and laughter didn’t stop the whole time. Come to think of it, the time might have been longer. It wasn’t like it was particularly busy and the cars probably didn’t run on a timer. Still, it wasn’t long enough for Sydney’s tastes. She easily could have spent a whole half hour playing stupid kid games. But the man threw the switch and there was a collective whining “Awwwww!” as the cars powered down. Sydney’s newfound rival came up and offered their hand. “Good game, kid. That was fun.” Kid? Funnily, Sydney liked the moniker despite the fact that she was at least three times older than her competitor. “Same,” she said. “Same.” “Morgan!” A woman called. “Time to go!” “Oh,” the kid said. “That’s my mom. Nice meeting you!” That was all the pretense needed for them to run back off. Morgan. Oddly enough, Sydney really liked that name too. Morgan seemed like a good kid. “Hey kiddo,” the man running the bumper cars tapped Sydney on the shoulder. “Here’s your pass back. He handed Sydney the bit of cardboard “Don’t forget it, or get your Mom or Dad to hold it for you.” Something rang off to Sydney and it didn’t have anything to do with being called ‘kiddo’ or talks of her Mom and Dad. “I thought that was only good for one ride…?” Her voice trailed off in a question. “At a time, kid, at a time.” He showed her the card with one hand and took a drag off of a cigarette with another. “See?” Sydney stared in disbelief. She was certain it hadn’t had that clause before. “It’s so you can’t get all of your little friends from Kindy-garten in or whatever; they have to pay for tickets. Sydney scoffed. “I’m not a Kindergarten-” “First grade, whatever.” He shoved the card back into the palm of her hand. “You hit the jackpot, kid. Live with it.” He turned his back and waved in some more kids straggling in (some of them had literally just circled back from their last ride), and considered the matter settled. Sydney glared at the card as if a fast one had been pulled; even if it didn’t make any sense. Head bent over, a new wrinkle entered Sydney’s day. “Huh?” She pulled the front of her hoodie straight down to get a better look at it. She was wearing a completely different shirt than the one she remembered putting on that morning. It had gone from a dull grey to a bright white. More than a trick of the light, Sydney knew something was off. Her shirt was supposed to be plain gray. Besides being cotton ball cloud white, this one had Dragon Talescharacters on it. Maybe that’s why people had been calling her a kid. Who else but a kindergartener, a first grader at best, would be wearing a sweatshirt with flying cartoon lizards emblazoned on it? For just a second, Sydney snapped her head up. She had the distinct feeling that someone was watching her. No one amongst the scattered amusement seekers moved or reacted in any suspicious way, but Sydney could have sworn she’d seen a familiar flash of silvery hair. Against all the better judgment in the world, Sydney looked down at her hoodie and allowed herself a shrug. At least it wasn’t overly girly. Nothing light pink or flowery. It had Ord and Cassie on it, too, so no one would be calling her ‘Mister’. By Sydney’s possibly impaired logic it was something of a win-win: She had a cute shirt that could oddly mesh with her preferred aesthetic, and a card allowing her access to the eighth best amusement rides in the state. It was a good way to kill time so might as well murder some minutes. A series of squeals brought her attention back to the lift and drop ride she’d seen before. “Why not?” she said to herself. “Might as well get the bad rides out of the way before the good rides.” The lines for dark ride through the year long haunted house and the two story roller looked a little long anyways. It was awkward standing in line, though, even if it was ironically. The only people whose height didn’t stop at Sydney’s belly button were the ones who were holding their hands. Sydney’s hands twitched feeling nervous, and wanting someone to hold onto, but all they had was the stupid free ride card. While the load before Sydney’s jerked up and down, Sydney jutted slightly from side to side, feeling antsy all of a sudden, but they couldn’t articulate why. Sydney stopped and looked down at their velcro fastened shoes. Something was off. Bunched up. Experimentally, Sydney hopped from the left food to the right. Their underwear -Sydney hated calling them ‘panties’- felt thicker; bunched up even. “Excuse me,” a woman’s voice brought Sydney out of their head. “Do you need to go potty?” Sydney wasn’t a big fan of the color pink, but you would have been hard pressed to guess that based on the flushing of their cheeks. The lady, holding a toddler’s hand, smiled kindly at Sydney. “Maybe you should go find your Mommy or Daddy and ask them to take you before you hop on just in case.” She slightly turned her head and looked to Sydney’s left. “Where are your parents?” Completely irrational nearly drunken panic overtook Sydney in a flash. This lady thought Sydney was a child? Oh gods, why? It was the hoodie, it had to be the hoodie! In normal circumstances, Sydney might have come up with two options: Explain that they were an adult who was just slumming it for poops and giggles and that the lady should mind her own business, or quietly back out of the line in shame. Sydney found a third way. Among the casual boardwalkers, some walking and others just loafing around was a woman in a dark purple coat, her hair an almost eerie silver color that contrasted with an otherwise grown-up but not elderly appearance. “That’s her over there,” Sydney pointed. “That’s my mommy. She’s letting me be a big kid and seeing if I can stand in line all by myself.” The stranger in front of Sydney hemmed and hawed for half a second before finally backing off. “Okay,” she said. “I was just worried, sweetie.” She pivoted and waved towards Sydney’s ‘Mom’. Luckily enough, the random stranger smiled awkwardly and waved back. Sydney just hoped that the lady stuck around long until the next ride loaded up. “Mommy! I want to be a big kid!” The child in front of Sydney said. “Awww,” the nosey mother said, patting her child on the head. “You are a big girl, but Mommy likes holding hands with you.” Sydney saw her nose twitch right before she revealed herself to be a hypocrite. Big kids didn’t get the waistband of their sweatpants pulled back in public. “Just checking.” She pulled the pants back up over the girl’s pink Pull-Up. Blue for boys and pink for girls. Color coding started young, right down to the underwear. Even younger. Diapers were unisex, but anything older than six months was all but guaranteed to be frilly and lacy or blue and rough depending on what equipment was hidden under the Huggies. The ride stopped and unloaded quickly, with the parents who opted not to ride being allowed to walk up and help the kids out of the giant safety harnesses. Sydney showed the attendant at the platform their wish card, waddled up and took the farthest seat so that all the other little kids could sit with their parents if needed. They reached up and tried to yank down the lap bar and the safety harness, but the damnable thing wouldn’t move. “Here you go, little one,” an attendant working the ride helped secure everything. Sydney flashed a sheepish smile; slightly embarrassed. “Dumb old ride,” they said to themself. “Stupid things getting stuck.” They put the thought out of their head and leaned back in the seat while the ride cranked up. Up, up, up, up to the top; a not so dizzying seven or eight feet in the air; but seven or eight feet seems like a long way when you’re sitting down. Sydney’s breath paused, waiting for the inevitable. DOOOOOOOOOOOWN! The entire ride squeaked and shrieked with the first drop, even though it was only a few feet. Sydney joined the little kids letting out a delightful squeal with that first drop, and then shut their mouth while opening their eyes in surprise. More than a shriek of delight had come out of their body. It had been a long time since Sydney had an accident in their pants, but some things were instantly recognizable: The warm wetness spreading down there, and the sudden feeling of bladder muscles relaxing and releasing. They really had been doing a potty dance and had just been distracted by that busybody’s prodding. The sensation was oddly localized. Sydney had expected to feel the damp puddle spread to underneath their thighs but the puddle stayed confined to the very middle of their underwear, pooling for a second and then…vanishing? What was up with that? Unable to enjoy the rest of the ride due to sheer humiliation, Sydney did their best to examine themself as the kiddie ride continued to jerk up and down, half expecting bits of urine to be dripping off their sneakers. Something was dripping, but it wasn’t pee-pee. The bright happy whiteness from the hoodie was spreading like an oil slick across the rest of their clothes. Sydney felt another jet of pee spurt into their pants just by watching the canvas of their clothes change from a muted denim to the same bright white material as the Dragon Tales hoodie. If anyone noticed the shocking transformation, nobody gave any indication; no one pointed or gasped along. If Sydney screamed they wrote it off as the happy excited shouts of a child on a ride. They practically leaped out of the seat when the ride came to a stop and frantically looked around; first to the ride, then to themself. Nothing remained on the seat. No puddle. No paint. Nothing but the standard hard and smooth reinforced plastic of a carnival ride built by the lowest bidder. Sydney’s clothes were another matter. Feeling themself up and down it quickly became evident that they were no longer wearing pants. The seam between pants and hoodie had miraculously melded together making it a kind of brisk weather romper. Beneath the romper, was a noticeable lump around Sydney’s waist and between their legs. Sight unseen but very much feeling felt, their underwear had transformed to contain the weight of their little accident and sagged ever so slightly. Strictly speaking, their underwear wasn’t exactly underwear. “A diaper?” they whispered to themself. A hand gently grabbed Sydney’s wrist and pulled them away from the ride platform. “You were such a brave baby,” the woman with the silver hair and purple coat said. “Mommy’s so proud of you.” “Mommy?” Sydney echoed. “You’re not my…” But Sydney remembered what they’d said in the line. One part of Sydney didn’t want to be a fibber. Another part wanted the fib to be true. Taller than Sydney, mysterious, and pretty to boot, the little one felt drawn in and safe. “Thank you.” “Now that you proved how big you can be, do you want to go on the train ride with Mommy?” Sydney turned their head and saw the hokey kiddie ride, so simple and unexciting. No dips or twists of even one of the kiddie coasters; just a toy train that went around in an oval. Yet the cars looked pretty and Sydney recognized most of the cartoon characters. “Can I ride in the Daniel Tiger car?” The Mommy with the pretty silver hair playfully pinched Sydney’s cheeks. “If baby wants to ride in the Daniel train I’ll be happy to grant that wish.” Hand in hand, they walked to the baby ride. Sydney’s walk was less refined, rather like a penguin’s but it got the job done. The Daniel Tiger painted train- red with hints of yellow and an artist’s rendering of the cartoon feline- was only third from the front, but it remained unclaimed until the silver haired stranger flashed Sydney’s ride card and together they took their seats. The train cars weren’t meant for two adults. Thankfully Mommy pulled Sydney into her lap without hesitation. Sydney fell onto the mysterious lady’s knee, and felt the pulpy padding under their pants squish in reply. Oh no! They hadn’t forgotten the accident, but had disregarded it completely when something else more interesting had come up. It felt completely babyish, oddly comfortable, and totally right somehow. Just like the comfortable, neutral, non-revealing outfit. Just like the wet diaper itself. Just like going with this compelling and somehow familiar stranger. “Do you want your pacifier?” Mommy asked. She offered a yellow binky up to Sydney’s mouth. They opened up and accepted it. “Awww, baby needs to self-soothe.” Sydney suckled on the pacifier thoughtfully as the train went into motion. They leaned into Mommy’s shoulder as Mommy stroked their hoodies head. What was so gosh darn familiar about this woman, Sydney wondered. They didn’t know, but there was something comforting about it all. It was only then that Sydney realized they’d stopped thinking of themself as ‘her’. As if looking into the crystal ball of their mind, Mommy said. “That’s right. You’re just a baby. A cute, cuddly baby sitting in their Mommy’s lap, just like all the other babies. Wish granted and fortune favored.” That’s when a light clicked on through the fog of Sydney’s regressing mind. Fortune? Wish? Silver hair? Purple? This was the lady mannequin from the fortune telling machine. The coupon dispenser that Sydney had idly wished to. Only she wasn’t a mannequin anymore, and the magic was more than just a card that said they could ride dinky carnival rides for free. The rational part of Sydney’s mind urged them to scream out, to call for help. A quick but gentle hug from their silver haired Mommy corrected that: It wasn’t their rational mind urging them to get loose, but their ‘conventional’ mind. The mind that cared what everyone else thought; the mind that never felt quite right with the world and Sydney’s place in it. The mind that carried around the nagging voice and expectations of Mother and Father. “Shhhhh,” Mommy said in Sydney’s ear. “Let the magic happen, baby. Let it all go. Let the wish come true.” For three arduous loops, Sydney looked around the boardwalk, their pulse pounding in their chest. For three laps, Sydney felt like a deer in a clearing, just waiting for a wolf to pounce out or a hunter’s gun to report. Then on the fourth lap, they felt safe, and they sank down a little bit in this magical Mommy’s arms. “That’s right. Enjoy it. Let it happen.” She gave the baby a kiss, and Sydney began to have something of a sinking sensation. By the end of the loop, Sydney only came up to the mannequin lady’s chest. Lap five made Sydney suck on their pacifier even harder as their tied up hair started to itch and recede into soft, fine, baby locks. “Just say stop,” Mommy whispered sweetly. “If you’re having second thoughts, we can pretend this whole thing never happened and you can go back to riding by yourself.” The sixth go about, and Sydney could feel their breasts melting back into their chest and their hips reshaping. Their romper became less and less baggy as a layer of baby fat filled itself in over the course of a few seconds. It wasn’t painful. “Last chance, little one,” Mommy cooed. Sydney couldn’t say stop; or rather wouldn’t. They had all of the ability, but none of the desire. The taste and the texture of the rubber bulb in the baby’s lips became all the richer and more vibrant as teeth painlessly slid into gums on the seventh and final lap. “Gah-gah-gah!” Sydney squealed and babbled in delight. “That doesn’t sound like a ‘stop’ to me” Sydney’s new Mommy chuckled. “I’m glad.” When the train came to a stop, Mommy stood up, a chubby, and perfectly happy baby in her lap. Indistinguishable from all the other six-month olds only in that no trace of clothing or accessory gave away what gender had been assigned to the child; (and anyone who got hung up one what gender a stranger’s baby was likely had much much bigger problems going on upstairs). “Someone needs a change,” Mommy said, pushing her hair off to the side so that Sydney could lay their head. “Don’t think I didn’t feel that little squish. Mommy knows these things.” The baby just sighed, but not out of frustration, while Mommy did the walking for both of them. “You wished to just be yourself,” Mommy said on the way to the family bathroom. “But so few people are just themself. They all start as themself but along the way they become what the world around them molds them to become. Sometimes that works out. Other times it’s….” the magic woman paused. “Maw?” Sydney ventured. Mommy opened the bathroom door and laid the tiny tot on the changing table. The boardwalk had a full - though unstocked- changing table instead of a wall mounted unit. Quaint. “Yes,” Mommy said. “Quite off. More off than a simple snap of the fingers can undo.” Her giant hands popped open the snaps along the romper’s inseams and tore open the wet Pampers beneath. “This was the closest I could manage. This is the oldest you were yourself before something else started to mold and shape you into someone other than you were. I suspect it had something to do with a pair of tights and a festive baby dress as the cold creeped in.” Sydney smiled and babbled. They didn’t ask where Mommy got the wipes or the fresh diaper being slid under them. Far more miraculous things had already happened than a lack of a proper diaper bag. “In lieu of an undo,” Mommy said, taping the diaper up and refastening the snaps, “I’m giving you a redo. How does that sound?” “Goo!” “Than it’s settled then. I’ll be Mommy, you’ll be baby, and we won’t need any more labels than that.” “Dee-dee-dee-dee-dee-dee-dee-daaaah!” “Deal.” The cold air smacked in the face, but it no longer carried the bitter ocean wind, but sweet sweet relief and the promise of a kind of freedom Sydney had long craved but never felt. Diapers and baby clothes were an easy price to pay. “Excuse me,” a pimply pizza faced boy said on their way out of the boardwalk. “Do you know what happened to this thing?” He pointed to a metal cabinet painted to look like it was wood positioned just outside the Penny Arcade. “I could have sworn there was a mannequin in here earlier.” “Someone must have just made a wish that was too good not to grant,” Mommy told him. “Huh?” “I said it was out of order.” The boy noticed the baby in the woman’s arms. “Awwww,” he said. “What a cute baby! What’s their name?” Their. Not ‘her’, or ‘his’, but ‘their’. How oddly fulfilling! Talk about something Sydney never knew they needed to hear until they did. “Sydney,” Mommy answered truthfully. “My baby’s name is Sydney.” The boy frowned, puzzled. “Um…is that a boy’s name or a girl’s name?” The stranger winced at his own impoliteness. So many people got hung up on that sort of thing. “It’s a baby’s name,” Mommy said simply enough. “Baby girl? Baby boy? What’s the difference at this age? They’re just a baby. My baby. That’s all that matters.” “Huh,” Pizza Face rubbed his chin. “Good point. My bad.” “Quite alright.” And that was how Sydney got their wish. (The End).

Somewhere on the “UsBox Now”, a stream went live. Simultaneous updates on both public and supposedly private social media sites alerted subscribers to the feed. Anyone tuning in would have seen a pastel blue blur filling up the camera for an awkward few seconds before the figure in front of it slowly and carefully backed away, a plastic crinkling sound punctuating each step. To Amazon eyes, it was an adorable baby girl, barely a toddler despite her curly strawberry blonde ringlets. Surely, she wasn’t big or mature enough for potty training. Her blue pinafore dress had undersea decorations patterned on it, and no diaper was immediately visible, but the pacifier clipped onto her collar was a hint. Toddlers and preschoolers ready for potty training didn’t tend to get the suckles. Common wisdom dictated that the matching ‘panties’ in view were poofed out for a reason. Someone must have gotten a hold of their Mommy or Daddy’s phone and was trying to play silly baby games like Veggie Samurai. Precious! Tweeners would see what they often saw: A Little who hadn’t managed to keep up with the Amazons. The smallest folk often stumbled and bigger arms were always there to catch them and lower them even further into a crib. Based on the tall wooden bars in the background, this analysis was more than mere metaphor. It was a fifty-fifty split on whether this was a call for help or they were putting on a show for their new parents to delight in. It was so hard to tell or predict with Littles. They often took so well to their second go-round at childhood that it was easy to forget that chronologically they were adults. Those who had Amazon relatives or friends might quietly agree that even if it wasn’t something Littles wanted, and that Maturosis was a lie, such accommodations might just be what was best for them. To Littles, this was a preview of a nightmare. Full stop. No further notes. Watching Littles act like babies online was tantamount to watching a snuff film. And to a select cross-section of the internet, it was Grade-A thrilling entertainment. “Hey,” the Little girl said, waving to the camera. “Hope this is going live.” Her neck craned forward. “Yeah. I think so. Light is on. Signal is going strong. Good. So..uh…” she cleared her throat. “Hi. Alexi here, and in case you haven’t guessed, my Alexicons-yeah I gotta get a better name for my fans- but in case you haven’t guessed, I’ve been adopted. No, no, no, this isn’t me signing off, do not hit that unsubscribe button! I’m doing the Amazon Escape Challenge.” Awkwardly, she flashed two thumbs up to the camera. Anyone who had viewed Alexi Live and any of her numerous Little-centric film, television, and book reviews, not to mention her Let’s Plays before would recognize that the Little was clearly off her game and uncomfortable. First timers who just stumbled onto the channel thanks to the algorithm might think she was a rookie at this sort of thing. The next thirty seconds, however, showed a bit of professionalism on her part. “So um...for those of you who haven’t been watching for the last three weeks, watching me prep, or who haven’t heard of it before, I’m doing the Amazon Escape Challenge. You get caught. You get adopted. Aaaaand you escape and tell everybody out there what it was like on the other side of the playpen. I didn’t start this challenge. That credit goes to Mini-Mimi and Tweener Tom, but just because I’m not the first doesn’t mean I can’t be the best.” Her monologue done, Alexi’s hands flopped to her side and she started gesturing and looking around in the crib. “So yeah. I let myself get caught at a local park. I was sucking my thumb and clutching onto a teddy bear, and that apparently was enough for somebody to want to adopt me. Antiope Argyros plucked me up, adopted me, and within the day had this whole nursery set up. Here, let me show you.” The camera’s view radically shifted as Alexi grabbed it and panned around the room. Through the wooden slats of the crib, viewers were treated to what could be called either a horror show or something so mundane as to be somewhat boring depending on the height of the viewer. “There’s the rocking chair where I sit in her lap and she reads stories while I drink from a bottle. Those shelves with the bins have toys; I haven’t played with them very much so they’re still quite organized. And of course, over there in the corner is the changing table.” The camera stayed in and zoomed in on the changing table, with stacks and stacks of diapers folded underneath with wipes, cream, and baby powder within easy reach up top. “Speaking personally,” Alexi narrated, “My family never had a changing table. Littles tend to potty train and grow up quick, so for my brothers and sisters and me my parents were like ‘Why buy something that they’re gonna grow out of in like two years?’. But I guess for Amazons it makes more sense, cuz...you know...they want babies who are never going to grow up.” The phone whipped around to show Alexi’s face. “Also I know it’s kind of hard to see from where we’re at, but there’s lots of different diapers stacked under there. Miss Argyros bought something like a variety pack of diapers, so there’s lots of different brands and designs and styles.” A hint of a blush rose in the girl’s cheeks. “She’s having me try a lot of different ones to figure out which ones work best for me...or her...or...oh you know.” Audio picked up another exhalation while she gave a final slow pan around the nursery. “The creepiest part is this room was an empty guest room until about five hours after I got caught. A bunch of men came in, Tweeners mostly with an Amazon boss, and they set it all up after just one phone call. How weird is that? Like, I don’t know which would have been weirder: For her to have a nursery all set up, or to just have an empty room and a service on speed dial to turn it into a nursery in less than a day. They even added in those sheep stencils and painted everything pink.” Back to her face, viewers saw Alexi’s eyes narrowed as she read comments trickling in. “How did I get my phone in? Oh yeah.” The camera whirled around to show a large pink fluffy teddy bear, head slouched and button black eyes dead to the world. “So this teddy had a zipper back and had enough stuffing in it, so I was able to hide my phone and charger in it ahead of time.” The camera showed Alexi’s hand pressing the bear’s stomach. “You’re my beeeeeest friend.” A deep goofy pre-recorded voice mumbled out. “I just had to stick my phone right next to the bear’s voice box and nobody noticed. Right now, I’m kind of using him as a camera stand. Which reminds me.” Viewers were treated to more shaking and rustling as Alexi readjusted the camera on top of the bear.. “So yeah. It’s been about two days since I got caught. I’m filming this now because I’ve learned that Miss Argyros likes to take a shower during what she thinks is my naptime. The walls here are pretty thick, but you can still hear the shower turning on and water moving through the pipes. So I’m pretty safe.” The streamer’s eyes darted on the screen, reading more questions and comments. “Okay. Sure.” The bloomer-like baby panties slowly went down to her knees and the blue of her baby dress contrasted more with the increasing scarlet of her flesh. “As you can see, I’m currently diapered. These are Monkeez, which is really weird, since that’s what I used to wear as a kid, just not as big.” The camera caught a decent shot of her trying unsuccessfully to peel the tapes away. “Also as you can see, the tapes are Amazon strength; so there’s no way I’m getting out of this without a box cutter or something sharp to cut through.” Her blush lessened as she yanked the faux panties back up over her hips, the very tip of the waistband still on display until she yanked the hem of her dress back down. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, I have wet. Yeah. It’s super gross. Fortunately, as uh...Amazon-y as the lady who took me is, she’s at least very good about changing me when I say I need it.” Her blush doubled down as her eyes unfocused. “Not that I wanted to be changed and have another adult see me naked and wipe my butt for me, but she’s much better than the people at the daycare. You’d think that they were the ones paying for the diapers or something. They won’t change you if you’re not ‘wet enough’ or some junk.” A new light showed in the streamer’s eyes as the candle of thought and memory lit for her. “Oh yeah. I’ve already been put in daycare. I’m not gonna risk trying to smuggle my phone in that place. Too many eyes, and not just the people who work there.” She took a deep breath. “Lemme tell you guys, if you think it’s weird walking down the street and seeing a Little in a stroller, it’s even weirder when there’s two dozen of them, they’re all in diapers, and they’re all clearly loving it. Some barely talk, and the ones that do have totally bought into the lie; insisting that they’re babies. It’s bizarre. I’m pretty sure that at least one of them is old enough to be my dad or something.” Dramatically she rubbed her temples. “It’s really weird and frustrating, and on one hand I can’t imagine the kind of trauma those people have endured, and on the other hand it’s really gross when people start pooping their pants right next to everyone and won’t say anything about it because they want to finish watching cartoons.” Alexi tilted her head. “Oh yeah. That’s another thing. The cartoons. First off, they’re not hypnotic, not the ones at this daycare anyway, and they’re pretty good. Still, I’m kind of mixed feelings on this. Like, there’s almost an entire hour of ‘cartoon time’ at the daycare, it’s on their schedule and everything. And like...on one hand I’m glad not to have a giant hand poking it’s finger in my pants or someone trying to blow raspberries into my tummy or whatever, but it’s like...if these Amazons actually believed that we were babies, just plopping us down in front of a screen and walking out of the room…? How messed up is that?” Like a kid with her hand about to be caught in the cookie jar, Alexi’s head jerked around. “The water just shut off. Okay. Looks like shower time’s over. That means I gotta go, turn this off, and smuggle this back into my teddy bear!” She blushed and squeezed her legs together slightly. “Also...I kinda gotta pee, so I’m gonna have to do that real quick and then get changed.” Waving to the camera, she signed off. “Okay. Bye for now, Alexicons! Hopefully when you see me next, I’ll be back home safe and sound and in my big girl panties!” The view was blocked by the palm of her hand before the screen went black and the feed cut. ************************************************************************* The next stream a few days later was even more adorable and/or horrifying than the first. For starters, it didn’t take an eagle eye for viewers to spot the bottom of the diaper peeking out from underneath Alexi’s purple polka dotted sundress. “Hey there, Alexicons!” the second stream began. “It’s your girl, Alexi!” She let out an almost weary sigh. “So I’ve been like this for about a week, and I’m still here. Mommy’s got the house pretty much Little proofed, so I gotta think that if I’m gonna win the challenge, it’s going to have to be by getting out of the daycare. I told her that I was feeling sleepy so she plopped me back here in my crib. I’m not too worried about her catching me, though. She can’t resist her shows first thing after getting home from daycare. Who knew there was an Adoption Court reality show every weekday at four-thirty?” Alexi visibly shuttered. Without preamble, Alexi sat down, splay legged so that her subscribers got a good look at the bottoms of her black patent leather shoes and her diaper. The girl made no move to cover it up or adjust the hem of her dress. “I wasn’t quite lying. Daycare is...well..it’s work. The Grown-Ups are super condescending, calling all Littles babies, and treating us like we’re children. This one volunteer who fed me lunch in a highchair today came over from the local highschool. Kept trying to get me to eat mush by telling me it would help me grow up big and strong.” Dramatically, the streamer rolled her eyes. “I’m done growing, girl. I’m as big and strong as I’m gonna get and telling me otherwise isn’t gonna make me want to eat that jar of strained beets.” She huffed. “Amazons. Amiright?” Leaning in, her eyes focused and narrowed, reading the comments. “Guys. Guys, I’m sorry. Something must be wrong with my phone. I think it’s glitching. Unless a bunch of people are just smashing their keyboard, it’s getting hard to read what you guys are typing. Something weird must be going on.” Her eyes lit up with recognition before clouding over with dread. “Oh. One word is still coming loud and clear. ‘Diapers’.” With a weary sigh, Alexi started to talk about her uncovered underpants. “Yes. I’m still wearing diapers.” She lifted up the hem of her dress all the way to her bellybutton. As you can see, today’s model from the jumbo variety pack is a Koddles. It has Helga Hogg decorations. That’s the flat looking piggy on the landing strip. Personally, I prefer Jasper and Jinx, it’s one of the ones they show at daycare, and I think there’s something artistic about wordless storytelling. I don’t think they have Jasper and Jinx diapers, though.” Alexi paused and shook her head like trying to get cobwebs out of her noggin. “Anyways a feature of Koddles is a lot of them have this pee line going down the middle,” she indicated the yellow strip running between her legs. “That means anyone can tell when I’ve gone pee-pee because the color changes from this light yellow to a bright blue. As you can see, I’m very, very dry.” There was a bit too much pride in that statement. She let go of the hem of her dress, but the bulk of her diaper kept the Koddles well in sight and the hem bunched up in front. “I’ve had to get used to it of course. Daycare has scheduled changing times, so depending on the time I’ve had to go pee-pee and just learn to play and watch cartoons in a wet diaper. And well..” she wiggled uncomfortably in her seat. “It’s not that bad. The other thing though…” her face paled. “I’ve done it twice and didn’t like either time. I’m gonna have to get out before it happens too many more times, I think.” Still wiggling, the girl leaned back and kept talking to the camera in her crib. “I think my best chance to escape, like I said, is gonna be at daycare. Probably on the playground. Pretty sure that I can figure out a way to climb the fence. It’s chainli-” “Oh! That reminds me!” Alexi interrupted herself. “Weirdest thing happened on the playground today. We got a new kid...I mean a new Little checked into the daycare today, and for a second I thought it was Linked Up Lily! If you’re not subscribed to her channel, you should be, she’s totally an inspiration of mine, and I think she said she was going to do the Amazon Escape Challenge too.” A moment of screen reading and struggling to decipher and Alexi replied, “Um...no. I don’t think this was actually Lily. The Grown-Ups at daycare called her Liliana, which is close, but no cigar. She had a different haircut, too. Like her hair was waaaaaay shorter than Lily’s, and plainer too; Lily is super famous for her long and wild colored hair.” A beat.. “And more importantly, this Lily was totally mindf...you know, I can’t use the preferred term because I don’t want to get demonetized, but the people who know know.” Nervously, Alexi began biting at her nails. “You should have seen this poor girl. They got her bad. She was having a hard time walking, and it wasn’t just cause of the diaper; super uncoordinated. Needed help getting up the slide and such. And then right in the middle of everything, she was like running to the swingset, and she stopped, just froze, and um…” For the first time that stream, Alexi blushed. “She messed herself. Said it loud enough while she was doing it too.” A shudder served as transition between Alexi telling her story and idly biting her nails to full on sucking her thumb. Her unconscious squirming stopped and a relieved smile spread across her lips while they suckled on her thumb. Anyone staring at Alexi’s crotch would notice the wetness indicator on her diaper turning bright blue, leaving nothing in doubt about what was going on in the girl’s baby pants. A second later, Alexi’s eyes brightened and she seemed to come back to herself. “Anyways, I don’t think that was Linked Up Lily. Pretty sure anyways. I’m finding a lot of the cartoons here pretty neat though! I’m gonna have to get a subscription or something to watch them after I finish the challenge! The toys aren’t bad either! I’ve got this four option pop up jack-in-the-box type toy, with different animals, and they say different things depending on the order that you pop them up in, so there’s like...a whole bunch of things you can do with them. Really cool! I kind of wish I had had something like that when I was a baby the first time. I mean...” Alexi froze. “Uh oh! I don’t know if you can hear that stream, but footsteps are coming.” The stream was treated to her teddy bear’s pink underside while Alexi hurriedly hid her only link to the outside world. “Hello, Lexi!” a much deeper, matronly voice could be heard. “Oh. Hi Mommy!” “I heard a certain someone talking instead of taking a nap. Are you not tired anymore? You weren’t fibbing were you?” Viewers could hear a note of panic in Alexi’s voice. “No Mommy! Not at all. I’m not a fibber! I was just telling Pinky all about my day at daycare and all the new friends I’m making.” “Awwww,” the Amazon could be heard cooing. “How about you and Pinky come and watch cartoons in the living room for a bit?” “Okay!” The joy was spontaneous and genuine. Alexi wasn’t that good of an actor. The pink plush curtain was removed and the stream kept going for another two hours, with just a view of the mobile dangling above the crib. Those still tuning in finally got some new developments to the sound of a door squeaking open, and the faint sound of crinkling and humming. Then a gasp. “Oh no!” came Alexi’s whispers. Her face came back into full view as crib bars slipped by. “Uhhh...sorry guys. My Mommy came in and me and Pinky and her watched cartoons for a while. I was so good at watching them that Mommy sent me ahead of her so I could pick out my next diaper.” Just how infantile and bizarre that must have seemed was evidently lost on the girl. “Good-bye for now!” ******************************************************************************************** Two days later a new video was uploaded to Alexi’s UsBox channel. “Hey guys!” she waved to the imagined audience. “Just giving you an update! It’s the weekend and Mommy is talking to a friend of hers, setting up a playdate with one of her friends and their kid!” The camera panned around the nursery, this time without wooden bars. “As you can see, Mommy trusts me enough now that she’s leaving me in my room and letting me play as much as I want, though she leaves the baby gate up just in case.” She giggled uncharacteristically and stuck out her tongue. “Pinky is still in my crib. He’s my bedtime buddy, so I’m having to hold my phone all by myself like a big girl! On the bright side I found a good spot to recharge my phone right behind the diaper pail.” “Oh oh oh! I almost forgot! Have you seen my new diapers?!” She didn’t need to hold the camera back as far as she did for future viewers to get a good hard look at the plastic backed nappy taped around her hips. The (mostly) white decorated diaper was the only thing she was wearing beneath her light yellow t-shirt. Just in case, the video included what some might consider a less-than-tasteful shot of what was going on between her legs. “These are called You-Ni-Corns,” Alex said. “Cuz they have these pretty unicorn horse thingies all over them and they’re super comfy and pretty and Mommy says they’re made just for Little babies like me!” Experienced caregivers would also note that the diaper, while not overly discolored, did swell and sag a bit with bits of the sap bunching up and clumping together where they’d done the most work. Wet. But not in dire need of a change...yet. “I think I’m going to ask Mommy to get more of these cause they're super comfy and none of the other girls at daycare wear anything like them. Whether you’re a baby or a big girl or a Grown-Up, sometimes you don’t want someone wearing the same thing as you.” A silly smile spread on her lips. “At least you don’t have to go all the way home to change.” Gayly, she laughed at her own joke. “I won’t be reacting to the comments on this video,” she said, more seriously. “Something’s going on with my phone where I can’t read any of the words. I gotta get it fixed.” She tilted her head in thought. “Actually, I think it’s more than just my phone. The words in the books that Mommy reads to me every night are looking funnier and funnier.” She shrugged. “No big deal though. It’s more funnerer to listen to her read. She does all these silly voices for all the different characters and stuff.” From the camera’s point of view the room started bouncing with the girl. “Like there’s this one voice she does that sounds juuuuust like Momma Kangaroo in this one cartoon I just found called pocket pals where all the critters are marsupi-...marsh...they all have pockets that their babies get to ride in!, I gotta get her to watch it with me but they say it’s a special one that only good girls and boys at daycare can watch!” The next several words that came out of her mouth were so speedy and incoherent that it was nearly indecipherable over the loud crinkling that came with her constant jumping. Fans of the show who were still able to talk might recognize that she was describing the entire first season in all but one breath (albeit very much out of order). “And then Mr. O. Possum was like…like…” Alexi stopped. With her free hand, she grabbed the pacifier clipped onto her shirt and stuck it in her mouth. “Goffa..” she said. “Goffa go…” Her eyes stared into the distance, unfocused, and her cheeks puffed out like a bullfrog. With a long, heavy exhale, she groaned, and let out a soft smile. “Poofff” The girl’s eyes came back into focus with a blink and the color drained away from her face as the spark of recognition lit a fire beneath her. “I gotta go! Bye!” Comments would speculate that this was a deep fake. Others would guess that poor Alexi remembered how to upload videos through muscle memory and icon recognition; a pre-reading skill, they’d insist. Unfortunately for the Little girl, she hadn’t quite re-figured out how to edit out the part where she openly and flagrantly messed herself before posting. ************************************************************** “Hi everybody out there in internet land! It’s me! Lexi!” Canny recent viewers would notice that the Little streamer had her hands free and wasn’t in her crib. Even cannier voyeurs would realize based on the nursery’s geography that her phone was likely propped up on a lower shelf of the changing table, possibly leaning against a stack of diapers. Speaking of diapers, it could be argued on whether or not a purple t-shirt with frilly sleeves and a stiff rainbow colored tutu counted as a dress; it was indisputable that they did nothing to conceal the babyish undergarment. The knee high socks and velcro sneakers didn’t contribute anything to the girl’s modesty; that was for certain. “I just got back from daycare and they taught us this really neat dance that I wanted to show you! It’s called the tipsy wipsy dance! I’ll show you!” “First you take your hips and you get a little tips...eeeeeeee! Then you take your bowl and you stir it and stir it...one-two-three! And you flap your arms just like you’re a flying bird...eeeeeee! And you kick your feet and you sing a little song...do-ray-me!” Alexi’s dance might have been cute to the digital onlookers...if it had been anything remotely resembling a dance. The Little sang the song acapella, and amelodically. If there were steps to this “dance” they didn’t match the lyrics. They mostly consisted of Alexi jumping up and down and spinning in circles and shaking her rump for the cameras. “One more time!” “First you take your hips and you get a little…” she froze. She bent her knees. She clenched her fists up tight and stared at a point on the wall off camera. Alexi never was quite certain how big or small her viewers were; how many Littles, how many Tweeners, how many Amazons. Whoever they were, they got a good view of what came next: Brief popping, tooting sounds made their way to the camera’s microphone. What came next was evident to all who could see. Alexi had planted her feet so that her profile was in perfect view, and whether they were cooing, gasping, or cringing, every one of Alexi’s viewing audience got a front row seat of the back of her unicorn diaper expanding and drooping while red faced. Alexi huffed and grunted until at last… “Poopy!” It sounded almost celebratory. Shamelessly, Alexi started singing and dancing again, such as it was, her diaper bobbing along with every movement and gyrating motion she made. “And you flap your amrs just like you’re a flying bird...eeeee!” A giant figure came into focus in the background. “Is that someone singing the tipsy wipsy song?” her Mommy said from the other side of the room’s baby gate. Alexi threw up her hands. “Yeah! Mommy! Wanna do it with me?” Mommy carefully stepped over the babygate, her black hair and olive skin a contrast to the Little’s fair complexion and fairer hair. “Oh I don’t think so, baby girl. That’s a dance that’s best done by Littles. I’ll watch, though!” She sniffed. “Uh oh.” “Uh oh?” Alexi looked genuinely worried. “I think I’ve got a Little Lady Lexi who filled her diaper right up!” Mommy said. “Let me check.” She knelt down to one knee, taking her massive palm and cupping it to the Little’s bulging backside. “Uh oh. Yup! I definitely feel some poopy in there!” Rather than blushing, the Little girl giggled into her palm. “I’ve got a stinky baby on my hands! Let’s get you changed!” The ‘baby’ girl only gave more delighted giggles in reply. Mommy glanced over at the camera. A dark cloud gathered. “Lexi? What’s that?” “It’s my phone, Mommy!” Lexi said, cheerily. “I’m showing all my friends on the internet the dance I learned at daycare!” And just like that the sun came out. “Oooooh!” Mommy said. “Is my Little baby girl a streamer?” Theatrically, Lexi threw her hands into the air “Yesh!” “Awwwww! Isn’t that cute! Your friend Liliana from daycare used to have her own UsBox channel, too.” “Really?” Lexi squealed in delight. “Really, really! That’s what her Daddy told me. Now the only streaming she does are the pee-pees in her pants.” “Oh wow! That’s so cool!” Mommy chuckled. “Let’s get that stinky bum cleaned up, and later you can show me all the cute videos and streams you’ve recorded.” Lexi’s legs went out of view as her Mommy stood up and moved her on top of the changing table. “Really?!” she squeaked. “Really, really,” the Amazon cooed. “Hold on just a second.” The view blurred as it was whipped around and held over Lexi’s prone form. Not blushing at all, the girl waved from her spot on the changing table. “Hiiiii!” “That’s right,” the Amazon lady said. “Wave bye-bye to all your friends!” “Byyyyyyye!” The last thing the broadcast recorded was the sound of diaper tapes being ripped off. ********************************************************************************* “Hey everyone, Antiope Argryros here,” the Amazon waved at the camera. “Or as this precious Little one calls me, ‘Mommy’.” The camera panned over to a Little girl, her hair in blond ringlets laying on a forest green park bench. Bashfully, the girl smiled past the rubber teat of her baby bottle, waving to the camera. “Now I don’t know if you can tell just by looking, fam, but I’ve got a young lady who definitely needs a diaper change. Oh my goodness, you are so soaked! Aren’t you?” Lexi giggled. “Uh-huh!” She punctuated her sentence with a loud burp and finished downing the bottle full of juice. “All gone, Mommy!” “Good job!” the Amazon told her. “Now can you be Mommy’s special helper and hold her phone and talk to the people watching at home while Mommy changes your diaper?” “Sure!” the girl peeped. “I’m super good at this!” “I know you are!” The camera moved wildly to a close up of Lexi’s face. “Hi everybody!” she said over the sounds of her diaper coming undone. “It’s Lexi again! Mommy said that I’m too Little to be doing my own channel so she’s gonna be taking it over so I can do more ‘portant stuff.” No trace of irony, agony, dread, or disgust could be detected. “That way I got lots of extra time to play and cuddle and watch cartoons and play and figure out what flavor crayons are and learn new dances and play and watch cartoons and- Mommy! Cold!” “Don’t be naughty,” Mommy’s voice could be heard off screen. “I’m not gonna let you get a rash. The sooner I get you cleaned up the sooner you can go play. Keep talking.” “Yes ma’am!” Lexi adjusted her view to the camera. “So Mommy is getting me a bunch of new play outfits, and that’s really neat, but she also wants to get a bunch of different diapers for me, so like if I’m wearing a monkey outfit, I can wear Monkeez, and there’s these pink Hippo diapers for if I’m wearing pink- I mean the girl diapers are pink, boys have blue that’s super important- or if I’m gonna be her Little Piggy she’ll get me the Koddles with Helga Hogg. I still wish they had the Jasper and Jinx diapers, those’d be neat. But anyway, I really like my You-Ni-Corns, and as I was tryin’ to tell her, unicorns go with everything but she wouldn’t listen. Mommy’s, amiright?” “All done,” Mommy said, taking the phone away. “You can go play.” “Yay!” Wearing nothing but a teal t-shirt that stopped at her belly button, velcro light up sneakers, and a freshly taped diaper, Lexi waddled off the park bench and started for the playground where four or five other babies at or around her age were already at playing. “”I told her she wouldn’t get to go play until she finished her ba-ba,” Antiope winked at the camera. “Parenting hack.” Before she’d properly stepped onto the playground, the Little stopped. “Lexi? Are you okay?” her Mommy called out. As if in reply the tiny form bent her knees and clenched her fists. “Uh-oh. I know what this means.” With huge Amazonian steps, the camera whirled around to see a blank faced Lexi starting to puff her cheeks out. “Yup. Thought so.” The cell phone camera, this one Amazon made and designed, picked up the quiet grunting and moaning leaking out of Lexi’s lips. “Lexi, honey,” Mommy asked, not quite taunting. “I thought you wanted to go play on the playground with all of your Little friends.” The first reply came not out of the Little girl’s mouth but from her bottom as several rude noises reported out from behind her. Tiny toots and farts rang out so fast and clear that no one would mistake what she was doing. It was almost cute. “Lexi? Lexi, baby? What’s my baby doing out here on the sidewalk in front of everybody and the whole internet?” Another grunt. Another groan. Another muffled toot made to smell sweeter thanks to a fresh layer of baby powder. And finally a word from the Little chatterbox. “...Poopin’.” Viewers got the ‘treat’ of seeing the whole thing live as Lexi’s Mommy stepped around and got the perfect shot of the fresh diaper ballooning out. The effect was even more pronounced because of how fresh the diaper was. The camera caught as each and every crease was pressed and smoothed from the inside out. “Never fails,” Mommy clucked. “Put them in a clean diaper and they go and mush in it.” “All done!” “What was that?” Mommy asked. She stepped back around. “Can you say that one more time for all the people watching on Mommy’s phone?” The girl grinned, seemingly proud of herself. “All done!” Antiope let out a good natured laugh. “Awww, okay sweetie. You can go play, now.” The camera was treated to the sight of the Little waddling onto the playground, the lump in her backseat obvious even as she climbed up to the tiny slide. “She’s so precious.” After Lexi slid down, not even flinching at the spreading muck in her pants, her Mommy stepped in front of the camera, so that both her and her new baby could be seen. “So before we begin, I’d officially like to thank the creators of the Amazon Escape Challenge. I think it’s a really good way for Littles in need to find their Mommies and Daddies without feeling too scared or overwhelmed about the whole thing. I would encourage all Littles who think they’re independent and mature to test it out as either way I think you’ll be satisfied with the results and maybe even learn something about yourself.” Little viewers, assuming there were any, likely recoiled at the idea paired with the image of Lexi jumping on a teeter totter to play with another diapered and adopted Little. “For those of you worried about the change in format, don’t worry. This channel might be under new management, but you’ll still get to see lots and lots of Lexi. I might be the host but she’ll definitely be the star. Being a Little, she just doesn’t have the attention span to update this channel enough to make it really successful.” As if proving her point for her, the Little was already off the teeter totter, leaving her playmate whining and crying without her. She fell backwards onto her butt, but otherwise seemed unbothered as she picked herself up and toddled to the merry go round. “I’m gonna have to work on that…” She addressed the audience. “But see? Lexi isn’t going away. If anything you’re going to be seeing a lot more of her, while we show you fun games and songs and tricks for bath time and nap time to make everybody else’s life a lot easier. You’ll just see her as her true self, and not the Grown-Up she was pretending to be before I met her.” “We’ll have something for everyone,” Antiope continued. “If you’re a Little that doesn’t have a Mommy or a Daddy, you’ll see what you're missing out on. Or if you do, you can watch this with them and get ideas for play time and snuggles! If you’re a Tweener, I’m sure this will help convince you on how you can best help your Little friends or land that babysitting job you were hoping to get from the parents across the street.” The narration continued as the giantess strode onto the playground. “In fact, the only thing I think my lovely Little Lexi won’t be able to help you viewers at home on is potty training.” To herself she added. “Oh, we can do product reviews too. She was pretty good at that…” The aside ended at the top of Lexi’s head came into frame. “Okay, Lexi. I need to change your diaper again!” Like a kettle on boiling, giggles shrieked out from the Little’s throat and she waddled away. “Noooooooooo!” Any Amazon parent would infer that the adorable child didn’t really mean it. She just wanted to be chased. “Thanks for watching!” Antiope said. “Now if you excuse me, I’ve got a Little in a full diaper trying to escape!”

Mischief Night: The night before Halloween. October 31st was when all the kiddies went trick or treating with their mommies and daddies in their cute little costumes. The day after was either about going to church or recovering from a sugar hangover, depending on how religious you were. The night before, though? That’s when the big kids came out to play. That’s when the teenagers got to do their thing Mischief night was the night of pranks, ding-dong ditch, eggs, flaming bags of dog shit, and toilet paper. And the only costume one needed was something dark enough to blend in with the night. October 31st half the costumes were spooky and the other half were sexy. On October 30th everybody who was anybody cosplayed as a burglar. It was a night of pubescent purging before that slasher series made it a thing. When Kelly had been growing up, Halloween was a night of fanciful and fun pretend, and later it was a chance for her to pretend to be someone else. It was like the internet but in person and with candy. Halloween had become too commercialized though. That dark, terrible part of the human soul still required an outlet. Grudges had to be solved in the dark. Scores settled with a sheath of plausible deniability. Deadly sins had to be expressed. Mardi Gras was for Gluttony Black Friday was for Greed Oddly Enough, Halloween was very likely a center for Lust these nights. And Mischief Night was when Wrath was at its peak just before bursting into candy corn colored confetti. At least, so Kelly had rationalized to herself. At thirteen she put away her dollies and outgrown trick or treating. After graduation she’d decided to leave Mischief Night to kids still living with their parents. Now, in college, October 30th was just the day before Halloween and an opportunity to scout the Kappa Delta Psi clubhouse for last looks. Kelly had chaired her sorority’s committee on running the Annual Halloween Party. The decorations weren’t in place yet, that would be for tomorrow, but all the major hardware had been moved in and set up. Everything was swept and vacuumed. The stage was ready for the DJ with lighting and sound systems already hooked up. The refreshment table was set up across from the clubhouse’s open bar. All that was needed were the refreshments, decorations, and oh yeah, the people. If everything went according to plan, this would be a real banger. Kelly hummed quietly to herself. Maybe not the best choice of words; banger. She brushed back a wave of blonde hair to keep from touching herself. Or maybe “banger” was the perfect word for it. Danny said he was coming by late tonight. He said that he had something he wanted to show her. Kelly wasn’t expecting an engagement ring, but when a boy talked like that to her, it meant he had something special on his mind. What better night than Mischief Night to try something freaky? As long as it wasn’t another dude- been there, done that, too clingy, no thanks- she’d be excited about it. Naughtily she looked at the stage and imagined her and her boyfriend christening it with her heels kicked off and her panties down to her ankles, and both of them in the spotlight. Would turning the speakers on and playing some music cover the screams of delight, she wondered, or would it just attract attention? Would it be so bad if she invited an audience? There was a fantasy she’d save for later. Her panties got a little wetter with the heavy, desperate thudding on the clubhouse door. “Comiiiiing,” Kelly called out, her heels clicking. She licked her lips in anticipation. Danny really wanted this. She opened the door and braced herself, expecting him to burst through the door and throw her up against the nearest wall. She shuddered with delight just thinking about it. It wasn’t Danny who fell through the doorway. In place of Danny’s short brown hair and athletic build and tight t-shirts and jeans meant to accentuate his physique and...other things... was a lanky mess of a girl with stringy black hair who did no favors for herself in the frumpy constantly wrinkled clothes she wore. It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. It is a lesser known, but no less valid truth, that nothing kills one’s libido like the sight of a childhood friend sobbing on the floor. “Marsha?” The two had been fast friends since before they were in kindergarteners. Yet, as so often happens they’d grown apart over the years. When Kelly had put away childish things, she’d put away her oldest friendship with it. It was nothing intentionally malicious, not at first. Just two paths in life diverging slowly but in radically different directions. Kelly cared more about making social connections and how such friendships might benefit her, and Marsha mostly cared about her story books and fascination stuff that- to be charitable- could be best described as ‘weird’ and ‘nerdy’. It was nothing personal. What was a missed birthday party between friends? What was several between just classmates? By the time they’d both happened to reach college, they were more or less barely acquainted strangers who made eye contact in passing every now and then. They’d never so much had an argument about it or a formal breaking things off. They’d just stopped knowing each other. Marsha looked up from her spot on the floor, in frumpy baggy jeans and a sweatshirt that masked what little breasts she had even though it was barely chilly. “Kelly?” She jumped up to her feet and dragged Kelly into a swift embrace. “Oh my god! I’m so glad I found someone! I’m so glad it’s you!” Kelly did not return the hug. “Hey...Marsha. What are you doing here?” For Marsha’s sake it was probably best that she couldn’t see the disgusted expression on Kelly’s face. “The party isn’t…” she hesitated. “Isn’t till tomorrow night.” What Kelly had wanted to say was, ‘The party isn’t for people like you.’ It was for Greeks only. Not even pledges could attend, and no way had Marsha found a Sorority to accept her. There was just no way. She wasn’t even interested in those kinds of things. “What party?” Marsha asked, and pulled herself back. “Oh who cares?! That’s not important!” A party? Not important? “Marsha. What the fuck are you talking about?” She sniffed. Marsha smelled nice, despite looking like she’d been crawling around in somebody’s attic all night. The baby powder scent was a little basic, but it was doing its job of masking unpleasant odors. Almost. Kelly couldn’t tell. “Kelly,” Marsha sniffled, holding back sobs. “I...I found it. I found the Thirteenth House!” She was both excited and utterly terrified. “The Thirteenth Hou..?” Kelly away from the taller girl. “Marsha,” she said. “Marsha, Marsha, Marsha. How did you fall for that?” Marsha ran around to meet Kelly’s gaze. “I didn’t fall for anything, Kelly! I discovered it! Me and my new friend-!” “My new friend and I-” Kelly corrected. She wasn’t a stickler for grammar, but she wasn’t putting up with this nonsense. Not tonight. “My new friend and I,” Marsha repeated, “we found the Thirteenth House!” “No you didn’t,” Kelly said. “Thirteenth House doesn’t exist.” The Thirteenth House of Old Sorority Row was part myth, part urban legend. Just a bunch of bullshit about a wannabe Sorority House that was also a bunch of wannabe witches that all went crazy and killed themselves or were killed by an axe murderer or something. Or it was a fire. Or it was a cover up by the University. Different people told the story differently, but it basically amounted to a spooky haunted house that witches used to live in before they all died for some reason and nobody knew where the haunted house was anymore. Every town had its own ghost story. College towns were no different. Kelly just didn’t think Marsha would be one to buy into all the hype. Not at this age. Did she think she was two or something? “You gotta believe me, Marsha insisted. “We found the books!” “That’s nice,” Kelly sighed. She turned again and started walking back to the door. Time to show the nutter out. Her lip curled in disgust. She was becoming annoyed to the point where any chance of horniness had faded. Maybe Danny could bring that back if he got here in time, but if Marsha was still here when he got there there’d be no chance whatsoever. “The night buses are still running, right? You’ll be able to make it back to your dorm.” “I can’t go back to my dorm!” Marsha screeched. “It has a crib in it!” Kelly stopped and her childhood friend took the time to circle back around and re-establish eye contact, this time with tears flowing down her cheeks. Kelly heard more than just the stomping flopping footsteps as Marsha maneuvered back and fell to her knees. The crinkling, rustling sound coming from the stringy haired bitch’s pockets also caught Kelly’s attention. “Are you fucking high or something?” Kelly asked. “Is that it? Did some weirdo get you to try shrooms or acid for the first time?” If that were the case Kelly didn’t know whether to respect the girl’s courage and doing something halfway normal for a college girl or to spit on her for expecting Kelly to tripsit at the drop of a hat.. Marsha was so hysterical that she didn’t seem to hear Kelly’s question. “We found the books! We found the books that lead to the house! Then we got past the guard cat and did the ritual and signed the contract. Except...” “Except what?” Kelly had no idea what Marsha was talking about. Girl was definitely tripping. “Except I got scared and didn’t finish the ritual!” “What ritual? What are you talking about? You sound like a little kid trying to explain their favorite fucking cartoon! You sound like a friggin... baby!” A crack of lightning. Strange. It hadn’t been cloudy out a few minutes ago. Marsha got off her knees and scooted backwards into a corner like a dog trying to avoid a bath. “A baby? Why would you call me that?! Why would you say that?” Kelly snorted. There were far worse things she’d wanted to call Marsha. “Is the magic starting to affect you, too?” For some reason, Kelly’s eyes noticed that Mary’s pants looked...bulkier...puffier, like she had several extra layers of underwear, or she’d tied a sweater around her butt and then hiked up jeans. “Magic? What magic?” she scoffed. Another crack of lightning followed by a roar of thunder. “My magic,” a new voice said. Both girls whipped their heads around to the suddenly open doorway. The girl standing in the doorway was more conventionally attractive than Marsha. Straight brown hair drifted to her shoulders, crowned by a black pointy hat. The orange and black striped knee high socks went into fierce looking black heels. It was a day early, but the girl was definitely pulling off the ‘sexy witch’ look. The little black slip of a dress hugged her curves and highlighted her breasts. If Kelly were still ‘experimenting’ she’d have been tempted. The only thing off was the bit of black and white padding coming out from beneath the dress’s hem. What was that? The intruder practically sashayed right past Kelly like she wasn’t even there, and Kelly’s ears twitched hearing the exact same crinkle she’d heard before coming from Marsha’s pants. This was the drug dealer. Strangely enough, she also smelled like baby powder. Even more odd, the dress didn’t look like it had any pockets on it. Where was that light rustling noise coming from? “Hello, Marsha. Did you really think you’d get away?” She leaned over and pinched Marsha on the cheek, flashing Kelly her white panties with black cat silhouettes in the process. Getting a full look at the girl’s underwear made Kelly realize that those weren’t panites she was wearing. “Is that a diaper?!” Kelly didn’t know whether to laugh in delight or scream in mockery. The witch girl stood up. “Yes,” she said. “Yes it is.” She looked down at herself. “Kind of hard to tell, though, now that you mention it.” With a flick of her wrist, the hem of her dress flared up and outward, putting even more of the diaper in plain sight. There was no doubting what she was wearing now. Just like that, Kelly’s temptation evaporated. “How about now?” “Cute trick,” Kelly said, “but you need to leave.” “My name’s Zora, by the way.” Kelly rolled her eyes. “Don’t care, Zora. You need to leave. This is Kappa Delta Psi property. Get out.” Even though she was waddling and smelled like a toddler, the witch girl displayed boundless confidence. “And you are?” “Don’t-!” Marsha cried out. Too late. “Kelly. And I’m in charge.” A twinkle- a literal twinkle, a spark of light- came to the witch girl’s eyes. “Oh, I like you. Are you also a friend of Marsha’s?” No. Not really. Not anymore. “Yes. We grew up together. I don’t know what you’ve got her on, but you’re ge-” The stranger interrupted by clapping her hands and bouncing on her toes. “Oh my goodness! That’s great! Now Marsha’s got two friends who have known her since she was in diapers!” Kelly cocked her head over to the side. “Excuse me?” The intruder snapped her fingers and pointed like a gun at Marsha. To Kelly’s amazement and Marsha’s utter horror, a sparkling trail of gold zipped its way from the witch’s forefinger onto Marsha. Marsha stood up from the corner, rising shoulders first like she was a puppet being dangled from its strings. Just as her head popped up, her pants went in the opposite direction. Kelly felt too confused to be afraid. “Why is she wearing a diaper?” Zora stepped out of the way, a magician revealing the prestige of her trick. “Because she’s a big baby. Like me. Like you.” Kelly ignored being included in the statement. She was almost mesmerized by the big puffy diaper hanging from her old friend’s hips, decorated with childish pictures of frogs eating flies. “Why is it...” she stopped and frowned. “Why is it drooping?” “Because it’s wet.” Kelly’s hand shot up to her lips, trying, and failing to suppress the laugh. Marsha was wearing a wet diaper? That was both sad and hilarious! “Don’t feel bad, I got changed before I followed the tracking spell I put on you.” “Okay,” Kelly finally said. “What’s really going on?” It was easier for Kelly to believe that Marsha had found someone who was into Chris Angel bullshit and that Marsha had gotten into pantomime than it was to believe she’d witnessed even a hint of ‘real’ magic. Marsha was totally the kind of kid who would have fallen in with the theater nerds. “Weird old magic with weird old catches.” Zora said the same way someone might explain something completely mundane like local news or the weather. “Stuff like ‘Magic is for babies’ was a warning it turns out. I’m already an infantilist, so it doesn’t bother me. Marsha chickened out at the last moment. Lessened the cost for me, but got none of the good stuff.” Kelly’s brain immediately latched onto the weird ‘i-word’ that this stranger had said. Where had she heard that before? “Excuse me? You’re an in-what?” Was that a sex thing? It sounded kinda like a sex thing. “An adult baby. Literally now.” Zora’s voice drifted off near the end, smiling to herself. The term ‘adult baby’ rang a bell. Kelly knew enough about it to know that it totally grossed her out. Great. More kinky bullshit. Thank god Danny wasn’t into this. “Okay, Marsha. I’m done. Bye bye. You and your new buddy can go away. Forever if you’d like.” “We will,” Zorra smiled. “But you’re coming with us.” Marsha was already blubbering in the corner, apologizing profusely. Meanwhile, Kelly inhaled deeply so that she could release a string of expletives to properly cuss out both Marsha and this new brown haired bimbo in one long winded tirade: Really tell them where they could shove their wet adult diapers but good. The witch’s pointer finger was faster than Kelly’s insults. She hadn’t even decided whether she’d call Marsha and Zora the ‘b-word’ or the ‘c-word’ when a flash of golden light shot out of Zora’s finger and straight into Kelly’s face. Kelly felt herself falling, collapsing to the floor as Marsha screamed. Just before she lost consciousness, she could have sworn she heard a cat’s purring, and felt her panties somehow getting thicker. “Time for a nap-nap. Playtime after.” **************************************************************** Zora drew a tiny white card off the top of the deck. “Oooo!” She smiled. “Double blues! Lucky me!” She moved her red gingerbread man token along the Candyland board. She clapped her hands together excitedly, and bounced on her knees, making a crinkling sound every time the back of her diaper touched her bare heels. Shoes were left at the door. “I’m so good at this game!” Marsha didn’t comment. From the looks of it, it was all she could do to stop from hyperventilating as she drew the next card and revealed it. “Yellow.” “Awww,” too bad, the witch said. “The next yellow space has a piece of licorice on it. That means you lose your next turn.” “Yeah…” Marsha knew. Of course she did. Candyland was so easy, even a baby could play it. That’s why they were allowed to do it. Through hypnotic suggestion, or drugs, or whatever weird ass mind tricks Zora was using - Kelly still didn’t believe it to be magic- the two ex-friends were limited to things that a baby or toddler might be able to do. It’s why, Marsha was now dressed in a snap-crotch green onesie with a frog hoodie; none of the girls could dress or undress themselves. It’s why after she moved her game piece and sat back down Marsha winced at a squelching sound. Marsha couldn’t keep her panties dry either. “Why are you doing this?” Kelly demanded. “The fudge did we do to you?” Swearing was out too, evidently. Despite her inability to say cuss, Kelly still spoke with far more authority and intensity than her position warranted. Real I-want-to-speak-to-your-manager energy. She’d been stuffed into a white t-shirt and pink shortalls with the same kind of baby snaps as Marsha’s onesie. Directly beneath those shortalls was a diaper with cute little carrot prints. The bunny eared head dress tucked behind her ears matched the sewn on cotton ball tail. Overall, Kelly felt ridiculous, was trying to read as confident, and was more likely coming off as whiny. “It’s your turn,” Zora said, ignoring the question. Kelly wanted to smack the pieces off the board. Instead, her hand went and picked up the card from the top of the pile. “Double red.” She moved her gingerbread token. “That’s a shortcut,” Marsha sighed. “You can travel up to big rock candy mountain.” Marsha seemed like she was more or less defeated and resigned. Was it that first blast of hypnosis that had been used on her, or was she even more of a pushover than Kelly recalled? “Oh yeah,” Zora frowned at the board. “It is.” On its own the, the token dragged itself up the special shortcut and much much closer to the finish line. “Why are you doing this?” Kelly repeated herself. Zora ignored Kelly and picked up a card. “Orange…” she said and sulked a bit, moving her piece one measly space. “Your turn, Kelly. Marsha lost her turn.” Kelly drew the top card off the deck. “Ice cream?” “That means you get to skip over to the ice cream mountain.” Marsha said, dully. “Now you’re way in the lead.” Kelly moved her piece and shifted uncomfortably in her crinkling seat on the floor, growing more frustrated. “Why did you take us?” The brown haired witch wrinkled her nose when she drew. “Green.” Her token moved forward only a single space. “Double purple,” Marsha moved up on her turn. “Me too,” Kelly said. Then she nagged, “Why did you hypnotize us?” Zora drew her card. “Peppermint,” she growled. “That sends me back to the peppermint forest.” “Why did you dress us up like this?” Kelly was trying to keep her voice level and calm but was failing. More than a little hysteria was creeping up out of her throat. The diapered witch looked confused. “I didn’t dress you up,” she said. The smile that broke out showed that she wasn’t exactly innocent. A fourth figure entered the room and Kelly’s attention was pulled away from the children’s game and yanked back into her immediate surroundings. Across the creaking wooden boards of the old sorority house, the woman with the cat ears walked across holding a silver platter of steaming Rice Krispie treats. She wasn’t unattractive, but was at least twenty years older than the college co-eds, old enough to be their mother. The wide hips and large breasts added to the matronly effect. What was strange- or stranger-, about the woman amidst the peeling nursery print wallpaper and the dusty victorian style toy boxes was her yellow eyes with the vertical pupils, and the mottled reddish, brownish, blackish pattern in her hair. High end contacts and a fancy wig. Technically, Zora had been telling the truth: the witch- Kelly wanted to call her something else- hadn’t been the one to dress them up. Her henchwoman had. Kelly had regained consciousness in the bizarre haunted looking nursery, naked on an oversized changing table. Her eyes opened just in time for the mute woman to finish ripping off Kelly’s panties and slide the fresh diaper beneath her and fastening it on around her hips. The baby clothes that followed were almost as humiliating. Almost. Kelly wanted to scream or say something, when Marsha pointed to the collar of Kelly’s shirt. “Careful,” Marsha hissed. Kelly glanced down and saw the pacifier clipped there. Unsurprisingly it had a carrot emblem on it. The one on Marsha’s had a fly. She hadn’t noticed either of the soothers before. Had they appeared or had she just been so overwhelmed or drugged or whatever that she only now realized. Kelly picked up the pacifier and inched it closer to her lips, feeling like she was playing a game of chicken. Would she be able to stop? Would she be able to spit it out? “My favorite!” Zora reached up to the lowered tray and took the first bit cereal brick held together with marshmallow glue. “Do you guys want some?” The hostages shook their heads. “Why not? Babies love sweets.” The gangly frog girl and the shorter bunny girl felt their stomachs growl and their mouths salivate. She’d said it, and instantly, they knew it was true. Darn. Now Kelly really wanted something sweet. They each reached out and grabbed a brick from the tray. Rather than the petite, gentle bites she might normally do, Kelly’s mouth practically unhinged itself wolfing down the rice and sugar glue square. Likewise, Marsha’s body had forgotten whatever manners her body had managed to pick up past pre-school. “Thank you, Sousa,” the witch said. “That’s good for now.” Hypnotism went right out the window after that. A sickening crunch rang out with the breaking of bones and the warping of cartilage. The cat lady shriveled like a raisin and howled in pain as her knees bent backwards and clothing melted into skin just so that fur could grow. Human howling became feline yowling and when it was all said and done, where once a motherly cat lady stood, a lady cat now padded over to the witch. If Kelly’s diaper was dry before, it certainly wasn’t now. “You’re...you’re really a witch.” This was real. This was all real. This was more than a prank or illusion, or subliminal conditioning. This. Was. Magic. And Zora was more than just a diaper fetishist with an extra layer of costuming. Zora ignored Kelly and the thing that now looked like a cat crawled into her lap and started to purr. “Who's a good demonic familiar? Sousa is. Yes she is! Such a pretty kitty and dommy mommy too!” Kelly looked at Marsha. “Lady Sousa of the Second Circle.. Viscountess of Temptation and Ecstasy.” “This is not my ecstasy,” Kelly said. “No,” Zora said, cuddling the thing that looked like a cat. “It’s mine. It’ll be yours soon enough when the magic finishes settling in. Then we’ll have lots of fun!” The head of Kappa Delta Psi’s upcoming Halloween party started quivering, and it was from anything but delight. “Why?” Kelly asked. “Why do this to us? You wanna be a big baby, fine. But why do this to us?” “Why would I want to be the only baby?” Zora asked. “It’s more fun with friends.” “Don’t you have other people like...you?” “I might have,” Zora said. “I will. But the vectors work best when they flow naturally and Marsha was here when the final incantations were cast.” If the wet diaper and the childish costume clothes hadn’t made Kelly feel like an incompetent child, that sentence had. “Magic is sympathetic,” Marsha explained, hands hidden in her face. “It spreads from person to person. It’s a virus that spreads through minds, memories and lives. Witches just control the symptoms.” Zora stood up, cradling her cat-thing “It started with the room. Did you really think this used to be a daycare or something? And when we completed the ritual, my good little assistant Marsha was still in the room, so I was able to share the magic with her. Then she went and infected you.” “In..infected…?” Kelly felt hot and cold at the same time. Angry and afraid. She turned on her spot on the floor and stared Marsha down. “I thought..” Marsha stammered. “I thought you’d turn into a grown-up. Take care of me.” “Probably would have too,” Zora agreed. “If I hadn’t caught up, you’d probably remember Marsha as a kid you used to babysit or something. But I got there just in time.” “She’s not my best friend.” Kelly spat. If Zora. “Hey. Do you guys wanna color, or play with blocks or something?” Kelly looked back down to the game board on the floor. “I thought we were playing Candyland?” She’d been close to winning, too. Zora walked over it, lightly kicking the game pieces away and toppling the deck of color cards. “It was a dumb game anyhow. Coloring and playing with blocks is more funner, especially for little babies like us.” Dang it! Now Kelly really did want to play with blocks and color. She couldn’t help it! Her fear and anger were overridden by excitement and relief when Zora tipped over a box filled with alphabet blocks. “Don’t worry,” Zora said. “Sousa will clean it up when we’re done.” “Mreow?” That little bit of permission spurred the girls to crawl over on their hands and knees and start building. Three blocks in, a terrible thought occurred to Kelly. Slowly, like testing the temperature of a pool, she got to her feet and stood up. The tension in her brain eased considerably. She could still stand. She took two or three steps and found that she could still walk normally; or as normally as the big diaper would allow her. Crawling had been born out of excitement, not necessity. Kelly’s vision started to wander over to the front door. “Don’t bother,” Zora said without looking up from the castle of blocks she was building. “Babies don’t know how to undo locks.” Kelly tromped over to a stack of coloring books that may or may not have been by the box of blocks a minute ago and grabbed something with Hello Kitty on the front. All of the crayons were in a disorganized bucket, so she had to settle with taking a random fistful. “Kelly,” Marsha said. “I’m s-” “Not now,” Kelly said. “I’m coloring.” “Oh...okay…” The volume shifted to almost silent. The demon cat purred. The diapered witch hummed tunelessly to herself. Marsha sighed and stacked blocks one on top of the other. Somewhere within earshot, a clock ticked. Kelly heard the quiet wooshing of cars driving by, meaning they weren’t too far from the road (and the insulation in this place sucked). Kelly pretended to color. Or was it coloring, since she was still scribbling crayons on the paper? Kelly didn’t know. Such nuance was beyond babies like her. Babies like her. She was starting to think of herself as a baby and impose limits without prompting. She turned the page and started scribbling. Red this time, like her mood. In her mind, she wasn’t going to college. School was big and scary. She’d rather be at daycare with all of her little friends. Next page. Her dorm room, she somehow knew, now had a crib in it just like it always had, filled with stuffies. Her Nanny the RA would come in and change her diaper and change her into jammies just before beddie bye. A quiet blue and a soft pink meshed well on this page. All her boyfriends throughout the years weren’t her boyfriends anymore; they never would be again and maybe never were to begin with. They were just super nice babysitters that played silly games with her; held and cuddled her when she was getting lonely without her friends at daycare. Blurple was a good color for this. Blurple was a color, right? Fists clenched tight, Kelly felt the crayons snap in her hands. Something else snapped too.. “This is all your fault!” She screamed. She hadn’t been looking at Zora. “Me?” Marsha asked. “Why me?” Kelly stood up and impotently tossed the handful of broken crayons in Marsha’s direction. “I was gonna get to see my babysit...I mean boyfriend tonight! Now, I’m stuck here, with a literal witch and being forced to act like a snot nosed little brat!” Zora snickered to herself. Marsha stood up, too. “I’m sorry, Kelly!” she tried to explain. “I did all the research on how to find this place. I didn’t really understand the magic until it was too late.” “You could have run to the cops,” Kelly said. “Or a hospital.” Her volume was rising with her rage. “Babies um…” Zora said. “Babies shouldn’t…” Now it was Zora’s turn to be ignored. “Or literally anywhere else in the whole fudgin’ world! And you come to my sorority’s clubhouse! Why?! Didn’t you get the hint back in middle school?!” “I didn’t know what else to do!” Marsha started vibrating. “Babies don’t…” “You should have left me the fudge alone and just taken your gosh darn magical punishment by yourself!” “Babies-!” “I thought you could help me!” Kelly would help her all right. Help her right into a concussion! The wooden block went zooming through the air, not unlike the shimmering gold line of magic that Zora had used. It spiked into Marsha’s head, connecting corner-first right above the eyebrow. Marsha made no reply after the block struck her. No verbal one, at least. Instead she charged head first and tackled Kelly, drilling her into the ground. Had there been a women’s football league, Marsha would have attracted scouts with that move. Ask any two public school teachers or police officers and they will tell you they would much rather break up a fight between two guys over two gals. Stereotypically speaking, two girls fighting is much worse than two boys fighting. Men will fight for just about anything: Ego. Pride. Respect. There’s escalation and de-escalation and retreating and parrying. Men will start a fight and almost immediately look for an excuse not to. When women fight, it’s for blood. Everytime. Girls fight to kill. Every. Time. Marsha rammed the back of Kelly’s head into the floorboards. Kelly started clawing at Marsha’s eyes. “Babies shouldn’t fiiiiiight!” Zora screamed. Nothing happened. Shouldn’t and don’t are two different things. Babies broke rules all the time. “Stupid! Fudging! Ca-ca!” “Selfish! Little! Brat!” For a moment each girl, completely caught up with their own bloodlust, thought that they’d broken the bones of the other. That illusion was dispelled when sparkling gold paralyzed them and the large woman with cat ears stood over their prone forms. “STAAAAAAAHP! Zora cried. “No! No! No! No fighting!” She pounded the floor. “Stop! This is supposed to be happy! We get to play games! And dress up! And be little! Forever!” Kelly’s limbs felt like they were made of putty, but she could still move her head and eyes. Was Zora crying? Panicking even? “JUST STAAAAAHP!” Kelly and Marsha were draped over the matronly cat woman’s shoulders. “Time out!” Zora sobbed. “Time! Out!” And so they were. They were taken to a room deeper inside the house. No pastel decorations or otherwise infantilized undertones lurked around the corners. Maybe the magic hadn’t transformed this section of the old house, and that’s what kept the derelict beds and chests of drawers looking like antiques. Maybe making every room of the house suited to a baby aesthetic would have ruined the witch’s peculiar sense of immersion, or perhaps she thought time out would be less terrible if there were toys and soft happy colors around. Kelly didn’t know. What both girls did know, instinctively, is that they were able to move their limbs after the cat-woman-demon thing plopped down in plain wooden chairs located in adjacent corners of the room. Neither girl said anything until after Zora's familiar left. It wasn’t immediate, either. Both sat in silence, staring at their respective corners and thinking about what they’d done. Marsha was the first to break the silence. “Sorry I did that.” Kelly didn’t reply. That didn’t stop Marsha. “Both for attacking you and for dragging you into this. I was trying to get home, but I panicked when I started ‘membering that I slept in a crib and didn’t know what a potty was for.” Crud! Now that she thought of it, Kelly couldn’t remember what potties were for, either. “I wasn’t looking for you specifically, if that helps.” “Fudge you.” Kelly looked down at her lap. “I want you back out of my life.” When this thing spread to whatever trippy mind warped altered reality scenario so that Kelly would be sitting in a playpen the rest of her life, she would do everything she could to make sure that she and Marsha were on opposite sides of the mesh. “It’s true. This was all a big accident.” “Don’t care.” They were quiet again for some time. Once again, Marsha was the one to break it. “You were a bad friend.” This seemingly unrelated comment shook Kelly out of her own bitter fog and made her look up. “Excuse me?” The gangly girl in the frog onesie had already pivoted in her chair. “You were a bad friend,” she stated plainly. “One day we were best friends, and then the next you just ghosted me and started hanging out with the popular girls. What did I do to deserve that?” “Nothing, I guess.” “Then why did you leave me? Do you know how hard it was for me to make friends? I was so desperate to be appreciated, to be liked that I started hanging around people like…” she stopped and gestured to the door. Kelly didn’t have an answer. “I don’t know why I did it. I guess I just kind of…grew out of you?” “Do you have any idea how sociopathic that sounds?” Yeah. It did. It really did. “Yeah. That was a really poopy thing of me to do,” Kelly admitted. “I’m sorry. If we ever get out of this, let’s start over. Okay?” “Oka-” Before Marsha could agree, the muted tones of Florida Georgia Line’s ‘Cruise’ started playing. It was muffled by space and separation, but Kelly would know it anywhere. She heard it at least three times a day. “Danny?” Kelly said. She stood up and followed the sound over to the chest of drawers. “Danny?” Marsha said. “My boyfriend! That’s his ringtone! My big girl stuff must be in this room.” Marsha gasped. “That means your phone is on! We can call the cops!” They couldn’t, though. The door flung open, and a brownish blackish blur cut them off. The top drawer was open, and the phone was in the familiar’s hands. “Hello?” Kelly wanted to scream! That thing was answering her phone using her voice. “Danny! He-!” Kelly was cut off when a pacifier magically jumped into her mouth. As predicted, she couldn’t spit it out. “Oh, hey baby!” The woman-cat said in Kelly’s voice. “Yeah. I’m fine! Noooo! Oh? That was tonight?” Kelly stood up and made to run and try to grab the phone. Zora’s familiar didn’t even need to turn its head to point her fingers down and send Kelly plopping back on her bottom. “MMMMPH!” A quick inspection of Marsha’s mouth found a fly themed pacifier lodged between her lips as well. “Oh? Oh really?” The demon said. Despite never hearing it, she somehow replicated Kelly’s flirty laugh. “That does sound exciting. Too bad I can’t be there. I’m busy babysitting.” A small trickle of hope. Kelly hated kids. Her boyfriend knew that. “Yes, silly, that does mean I’m babysitting. It’s not a metaphor.” “MMMMPH!” “Oh, looks like the baby needs me. Byyyyyye!” She turned off Kelly’s phone and pocketed it, giving Kelly a sly cheshire smile beneath feline eyes. Kelly used her diaper again. At least the pacifier came out. Shame she had nothing to say. The two ex-friends found themselves back over the demonesses shoulders and back in what must have been the dilapidated common area before Zora’s perverse wishes turned it into a baby playroom. Zorra stood there, not contrite as much as a crude pantomime of contrition. “I’m sorry I got upset.” she said. “Really, really sorry. I want to be friends with you, but you needed a time out.” She breathed and looked at her prisoners. “Do you want to be friends with me, too?” The two didn’t even need to make eye contact. “Yes,” they lied in unison. “Yay!” the witch bounced. “Let’s keep playin’!” The block building and page scribbling went on like it had never stopped. The prisoners quickly adapted. While building their towers and stacking and saying such drivel, like, “That’s a great tower, Zora!” and “Mine is gonna be a horsey ranch!”, a second conversation ensued in private. “Maybe he’ll call the police?” Kelly wrote in crayon on the coloring book and slid it over to Marsha. Marsha scribbled it out and wrote in. “Maybe…” “He’s smart and we had plans 2nite ” Kelly wrote. Marsha frowned and wrote in. “Danny? Danny H? Smart?” Kelly turned her huff into a sigh, and scribbled out evidence. She’d heard stuff about Danny before she started dating him. Controlling. Problematic. Kinda douchey. “Trust me.” Sousa the familiar was standing over them before she could pass the book back. Kelly belly flopped onto it like she thought she might hide it. Thankfully, the cat-eyed lady wasn’t paying attention to them; not their coloring at least. Marsha squeaked when the demon nanny bent over and carefully patted her backside. “Uh-oh. Somebody needs changies!” Zora giggled. Marsha blushed. The worst part was that it was true. The off white, almost yellow of Marsha’s soaked diaper was swelling through the seams of her frog onesie. “It’s okay,” Zora said. “Babies don’t need to be embarrassed. It’s natural. Sousa will change you.” Just like that the blush vanished. The look of disgust on Marsha’s face didn’t. She wasn’t bothered about sitting in her own piss, or even being called out on it. Like Kelly, it likely bothered her that her emotions and thoughts could be so easily manipulated. Kelly watched from her spot on the floor as Marsha was taken over to a changing table big enough to comfortably hold a grown woman. She winced while she watched the snaps on Marsha’s onesies pop off one at a time, and bulky soaked diaper ooze forward out of its shell. The onesie really had just been barely containing everything with all the swelling and pressure. Again, she grimaced at the sound of each tape being ripped off the landing zone, going off like a gunshot. Marsha lulled her head to the side, and shot Kelly a confused look. Intuitively, Kelly knew her oldest friend was staring at her and it wasn’t because Kelly was staring back. It didn’t matter to either one that Marsha was having baby wipes dragged across her from front to back. The shorter girl still on the floor looked down on herself. She hadn’t realized it, but she’d shifted her body weight up off her knees and back onto the balls of her feet. She kept her balance by leaning on her outstretched fingertips, rather like a catcher. “Oh no,” Kelly whispered. Those grimaces were subconscious reactions to building stomach cramps. Her body was preparing to do something a little more strenuous than relaxing its bladder. Another cramp sent Kelly into a standing position, her back ramrod straight and her cheeks clenched. There was no way in any circle of hell that Kelly was going to do that to herself. It wasn’t just babyish, it was completely fudging gross. “Whatcha doin’?” Zora asked. An entire wave of cramping cascaded over Kelly from the inside out. “Nothing….” Her eyes were almost as clenched as her teeth. As long as the other end didn’t unclench, she’d be okay. “That doesn’t look like nothin’,” Zora giggled. Under her breath, Kelly heard the witch say “Lucky…” Her fingers wriggling like spiders, Kelly’s hands danced all over her body. Clutching her stomach didn’t help. She couldn’t realistically hold her backside shut, not through all the soaked padding. Clumsily, she checked herself, accidentally feeling and appreciating just how full the diaper was. When had she peed that much? Had she ever stopped peeing since Candyland? She was literally no better off than Marsha. Speaking of Marsha, her diaper change had gone off uninterrupted, and now freshly padded, the big baby frog was put back down where the demon cat had picked her up from. Reeking of baby powder, she stuttered and talked to herself. “I...I...I just got my diaper changed,” she said. “I should feel gross...v-v-violated. But I don’t. I just...just feel...good. Refreshed...like I just took a quick shower or something...and...and I...I…” Of her own free will-such as it was-Marsha stopped herself from talking by reinserting her own pacifier. Zora’s hand went up. “Me next Sousa! Me next!” She grinned over to a still straining Kelly. “I don’t think Kelly is done quite yet.” Kelly had resorted to closing her eyes, and trying to both focus on the pain she was feeling and do anything she possibly could to resist giving into it. “Hey Kelly? Hey Kelly! Kelly? Kelly! Kelleeeeeeeee!” The blonde bunny baby’s eyes opened. “What?!” “Babies like us aren’t potty trained. We don’t hold it in. At all. And we don’t care if anyone’s watching.” Kelly opened her eyes and watched the cat Mommy and the witch baby’s retreating forms head over to the other side of the common room nursery. Zora was getting her diaper changed and already starting to giggle. She only managed to mouth a single word when the magical suggestion kicked in. “No.” Kelly expected her first major accident to be accompanied by rude noises. Lots of wet farts. Or her own pained groans. Probably both; a lot of both. That’s what happened in gross out comedies. Like everything else tonight, Kelly did not get what she was expecting, but neither did she get any form of true mercy, either. The last bit of her diaper’s crinkle rank out as it ballooned from a massive, newly added weight. Her body adjusted, with her lightly spreading her legs and then bending her knees. Her hands automatically found a comfortable spot resting on her thighs. Then came the pop, pop, popping as the snaps all along her inseam and the fully loaded diaper sagged and pulled itself free from the confines of her other clothes, dangling off her hips. The heat and the weight around her hips grew, the pain inside her diminished. What had started as an unconscious body reaction, ballooned into a choice with the rest of her oversaturated padding. She wanted it out. She needed it out. She needed the pain to stop, and this was the only way to do it. Her skin itched all over as the last of her dignity settled into her backseat. She’d have been lying to herself if she thought the sigh that accompanied was anything but pure relief. At least she was next up to get changied. A painful voice brought her out of her own stupor. And like a drowning victim being brought up for air, the sudden gasp only made what followed more agonizing. “Kelly?” Kelly felt the weight of her padding swing around with her. Her jaw threatened to go lower than even her diaper. “Danny?!” Her boyfriend stood in the doorway, completely aghast, looking around the giant nursery. He looked out of place with his short brown hair, athletic build, and frankly normal adult clothes. She should have told him to run. She should have told him to take her with him. What came out of her mouth was, “How?” “I thought you were cheating on me,” Danny said. He stepped farther into the old house and closed the door behind him. “So I followed you on the tracker app I installed on your phone. But this? Wow.” Under normal circumstances, Kelly would have been shocked and more than a little annoyed that her boyfriend was violating her privacy. More important things were at hand “Danny, I can explain, it’s just-” “How did you know?” Kelly did a double take. “Know what?” “That I’m into ABDL.” Danny’s statement was punctuated by the sound of more tapes ripping open. “I just love seeing cute little girls in diapers acting all innocent and shit.” He pulled her into his arms and she melted a little bit, forgetting how she was dressed and what was happening in her disposable underwear. He took her and planted a wet sloppy kiss. “Is this what you meant by babysitting? Looks like you’re the one who needs a babysitter.” For a moment, Kelly completely forgot where she was and felt tingly in the best way possible “I...I...I…” He whispered the worst possible words he could have into her ear. “I’ll be your Daddy little girl.” That. That word. The D-word. That’s what doomed Kelly. “D-D-Daddy?” Kelly shuddered. “You’re...my Daddy?” A perverted, almost wolfish grin spread. “You know it, baby girl.” Kelly leaned into him. Daddy was here to keep her safe and watch her and her best friend Marsha and her new friend Zora play together. He’d cuddle her and hold her and everytime she said ‘Daddy! Daddy! Look! Look at me!” he’d look. She fell to the floor, not because she lost balance, but because it was more comfy down there. She frowned, but only briefly, when she felt the solid smoosh beneath her. That was different, but familiar enough. Why did her pants smell bad? She’d already forgotten. Babies didn’t worry about what happened in their pants, and Kelly was now, always, and forever, a baby. “Uh oh, looks like somebody needs a-” Zora chimed in, and stopped. “Who are you?” “Hey there little girl,” Daddy said. He smiled and made finger guns at Zora, now freshly changed. No magic sparks came out. “Do you have a Daddy?” He noticed Sousa “Oh, that must be your Mommy. Hey. Nice costume by the way. Those contacts are killer.” Zora’s nose wrinkled like a bit of swamp gas had just zoomed up her nostrils. “What did you say your name was again?” “Oh, sorry. I’m Danny, Kelly’s Daddy.” Kelly saw the lump forming in the front of her Daddy’s pants as he introduced himself. But you can call me-” “Dani,” Zora said. It was weird. Even though it was pronounced exactly the same, she could hear the ‘i’ over the ‘y’; even imagined it with a little pink heart over it instead of a dot. “Got it,” Zora said. “You don’t look like Dani.” Hadn’t Zora asked Kelly’s name before? “Boys are too icky. We can fix that.” “Daddy! NO!” Another bolt shot out of Zora’s finger; she had the real guns. Danny’s pupils dilated and his shoulders sagged. “Sousa, take Dani here to the changing table. Extra changing.” “NOOOOOOOO!” Kelly screamed so loud that her uvula rattled. Unphased, the cat Mommy took Dani’s unresisting form back over to the changing table. Her ex-Daddy wouldn’t wake up in time to avoid being taped into something nice and soft and thick and crinkly. Her ex-Daddy wouldn’t wake up at all, in truth. With every step taken, clothes became baggie as muscle melted off of bone and facial feature softened. An unconscious sigh, or maybe it was a moan, escaped from Danny’s lips as bits of fat reallocated themselves to his chest and other things...rearrange themselves. Danny was ceasing to exist. Dani was taking shape before her old grown-up pants had even slithered down her ankles. The cause of the bulge was gone, too. “I’m thinking…” Zora tapped her chin, “pink princess?” Marsha nodded her head, enthusiastically, before noticing that Kelly was absolutely sobbing, burying her face into the floor as though the old wood would soak up her tears. “Kewwy,” she mumbled over her pacifier. “Wus wong?” “I. Want. My. Daddeeeee!” Completely gone and victim to the spell, Kelly wasn’t miserable because her boyfriend was getting stripped down and transformed not twenty feet in front of her. She was upset that she just lost her Daddy. “I’m sowwy, fwiend,” Marsha said. She started gently rubbing Kelly’s back, and that did make the shorter girl feel a little better. Her distress was more akin to losing a puppy fresh from the pet store or a toy just out of the box. It was something she’d wanted to play with and never got the chance more than something she actively loved. As if reading her mind, Zora said. “Don’t worry. We’ll get to play with Dani as soon as she wakes up for her nap. We’re all gonna be best friends.” That didn’t stop Kelly’s bawling. “And you’re gonna get changed next. You’ll feel better after that.” Kelly stopped her crying just enough to talk. “Really?” “Really really?” ******************************************************************************************* October 31st. Halloween. Four little diapered girls who weren’t so little at all were getting their last looks done for Trick-or-Treating, or as they called it “tricker treating”. It took less than a whole day for the changes to work themselves indelibly into reality. The little girl in the froggy onesie had always been best friends with the bunny girl, though the bunny girl still had a special place in her heart for her sister who was going out as a princess; with a golden tiara on her head and on her pink diapers to match. All three had a fanatical, almost cult-like reverence for their leader, the witch. “Are you sure we’re big enough to go tricker treating, Zora?” Marsha asked the head of their play group. “We’re definitely big enough,” Zora winked at her cat mommy. “And we’re not too big either.” Anyone who hinted otherwise, might very well be joining them. The magic had grown stronger, and it wouldn’t take long to take effect. Thanks to the magic, the old Sorority House was now daycare and it always had been. The legends of the haunted daycare had already worked themselves across the town’s gossip history. “Let’s go get some candy,” Kelly said, practicing her best bunny hop. “Let’s go make some friends!” Dani added, giving a delightful curtsey. The others couldn’t remember their old life, but they knew with a distinctive certainty, that they wouldn’t be the only residents of the daycare, come morning… (The End)

Adam and Freddie weren’t twins. Not really. They were born a little over a year apart though and both had inherited the same basic looks. Irish Twins it was called. Though neither Little had any idea who the Irish were, or how big they were compared to Amazons, both had the same light brown hair and square chin as their father, and a near total inability to grow a proper beard. Not quite identical, they could easily be mistaken for one another from a distance. When you got closer to them or examined them side by side, you could pick out the finer details. Adam had his mother’s green eyes while Freddie took after Dad with a dark brown. Adam had slightly leaner and slightly more muscular, muscular features. Freddie was softer and more rounded. Adam’s chest was a little bigger and so his voice was a bit deeper, too. Not much deeper; just enough that either brother would have to purposefully heighten or lower their pitch to an impression of the other. The final major difference between the brothers post puberty went unnoticed until they ended up having their diapers changed side by side and sharing a bathtub again. Freddie had gotten the good deal on that one. A night of drinking to celebrate Adam’s twenty-first birthday had gone upside down. They’d been caught together. Adopted together. The Amazon bartender had become their ‘Daddy’. He’d been right. Little boys really shouldn’t ought to have been drinking in bars. Neither had been able to figure out how the Amazon had managed to slip something into their bottles of beer. Since last week the only bottles they were getting had rubber nipples at the end of them. They were sitting in their playpen, each wearing navy blue sailor tops and matching hats, complete with cute black tassels. Other than that, they were naked with only thick white disposable diapers covering their bottoms and nothing on their feet. This was every Littles worst nightmare, even if it was a statistical probability. According to reports on ‘Maturosis’ almost every Little family had someone in their tree with Maturosis expressing itself. If you had a sibling, chances are one of you would end up back in diapers sometime after puberty but long before senility. The Amazons used such statistics to prove the validity of their pseudo-science. Littles in the know saw it for what it was: A flex. Don’t try to avoid being pushed back into the nursery; it was inevitable. Back when they were growing up and shared a bunk bed, the brothers had fantasized about what they’d do if one of them ever got caught; usually with the fantasy ending with the free one being the hero and busting his brother out of there through cunning and guile. Neither had imagined that they’d both get scooped up, held down and depantsed. Such fantasies were for kids anyways. Both of them were all done growing up, now. “Ugh,” Freddie groaned, clutching his stomach. “Not again…!” He put his bottle to the mat, and shifted from his bottom onto all fours. Adam put his down, too, but remained seated. “Aw, come one Freddie.” “Can’t...help...it…” Freddie’s words turned into low mumbling groans as the back seat of his diaper ballooned out and Freddie filled up his non-existent pants. Adam looked away, and pretended the world outside the white mesh of the playpen was more interesting than it was. He kept drinking the white sloshy milk, hoping that the sound of his own suckling would mask Freddie’s groans, or crinkling of his diaper, or the bodily noises coming out of his older brother’s backside. He looked back over at Freddie when the noises stopped and his breathing came out as tired puppy-like panting. The boys had been potty trained at about the same time. Their parents had wanted to get rid of diapers altogether in one stroke. Adam used to think that that meant he was potty trained early. Now, he thought it meant that Freddie had been trained too late. Only one of them had any memories of pooping their pants, and Freddie was picking the habit back up like riding a bike. That wasn’t fair, Adam told himself. It wasn’t his big brother’s fault. Nor did Adam have much room to brag. His diaper was just as wet as Freddie’s, bulging out from the pressure of the pulp expanding so much. The Little-Ade their Daddy kept giving them in the mornings somehow overhydrated them; made them feel like they needed to pee constantly and holding it for more than a few minutes at a time was nearly unbearable. It was like what being sloshed did to your bladder, but without the fun part of being drunk. “Here you go my Little waterspouts,” Daddy would say as soon as they were changed first thing in the morning. The diapers didn’t stay dry for long. Whatever was in the ‘milk’ Daddy gave them wreaked similar havoc on their guts. It filled them up enough to where come lunchtime they could feel full with just a jar of baby food, but it also made them gassy as anything; and it was hard to get out of their system. “Two babies need burping,” Daddy would proclaim. It seemed to affect Freddie much harder. Adam’s guts were grumbling too, but he had enough control, pain tolerance, and stubbornness to hold back. At least he wouldn’t ‘assume the position’ right away. The sound of his big brother suffering drew their new Daddy’s attention. “Uh oh. Did my baby boys make a present for me?” He reached down and patted Freddie on the behin. “Yup. There’s a nice present.” He repositioned Freddie back into a sitting position. He stuck the half-finished bottle back in Freddie’s mouth. Freddie had no choice but to grab hold of both hands and keep suckling. “That’s my good boy.” He walked around the perimeter of the playpen and pulled back the waistband of Adam’s diaper. “Nope, not yet.” He patted Adam on the top of his head. “We’ll get there.” Adam shuddered at that. “Finish your ba-bas boys. Then Daddy will burp you and change you if you need it.” ‘If you need it’: Translation, they’d only get their diapers changed if both of them had pooped. Dude had a twin fetish or something. There wasn’t a better word for it. They had to be identical, or at least close enough, to get any kind of relief. They weren’t ‘finished’ unless both of them drained their bottles. They didn’t ‘need’ their diapers changed unless both were soiled or close to leaking. “Come on, Adam,” Freddie whispered when the Amazon walked away. “I don’t wanna get a rash. Daddy might not even use cream unless you need it too.” Adam clenched his teeth. “I hate that you call him ‘Daddy’.” “What else am I supposed to call him?” Freddie had a point. The bald headed bartender hadn’t worn a nametag or told them any other name to call him except for ‘Daddy’. Adam had tried several other choice names for him, but Daddy doubled up on spankings too, resulting in both brothers getting rosy red cheeks even though only one of them had opened their mouth. “Okay,” Adam sighed. “Fine. Just...gimme a second.” He finished downing the milk and then pulled himself up to a standing position. If he was going to shit himself, he wasn’t going to do it on his knees. There was some dignity in that, or so he rationalized. The mounting cramps made it easy to grunt and work through. His body wanted the release, even if his mind trembled at the realization. Adam bent his knees, closed his eyes and grabbed onto the top of the railing. He let out a strained grunt as he pushed the first mess of the day into his seat.. He felt his cheeks widening and spreading, as the first turtle head poked out. Another push and gravity combined with bodily inertia did the mess. His diaper was sagging enough that he didn’t really feel the first bit; it almost didn’t touch him, instead dropping to the very bottom of his plastic backed prison. It was almost like going in a toiled. The second and third pushes were harder on him. There was no getting around what he was doing then. Adam had no memories of potty training. No younger cousins either, the sensation of pooping in his clothes was utterly alien to him. Finally done, Adam sat down, squishing the lumpy mess. He hadn’t even opened his eyes when he asked. “How do real babies do it?” “We are real babies,” Freddie said. “That’s why we’re going potty in our pants. Adam didn’t need to open his eyes to know that Daddy had doubled back. That’s the only reason Freddie would be talking like that. Sure enough, the Amazon had been keeping close tabs on them. “Looks like I’ve got two widdle sailor babies who need their poop decks swabbed,” he chuckled. Again, he reached down and peeked down the back of their underwear. “Let daddy check! Yup! Good Little sailors. Let’s get you changed.” “Yes, Daddy,” they said. The giant had a thing for them talking in unison. His arms were big and strong enough that he could pick them both up at the same time and carry them over to the changing mat he’d laid on the floor. The wipes and two identical diapers sat stacked, waiting for them. “Hi diddly dee, a sailor’s life for me,” he sang. If he could have pulled the adhesive tapes off of their diapers at the exact same time, he likely would have. He settled for one right after the other. “Swabbin’ the poop deck. Swabbin’ the poop deck.” He finished balling up their ruined diapers and slid the replacements under them before he said anything that wan’t complete nonsense to them. “I hope you two are ready for a big day tomorrow,” Daddy said while powdering Adam’s bottom. “Because one of you is going to daycare tomorrow.” The brothers looked at each other. One of them? He shifted and did the same to Freddie’s backside. “I wanted to enroll both of you in public daycare,” he said, “but when I told them I had twins, they offered to pay me money to just send one of you.” “Why?” Freddie asked. Daddy looked at Freddie’s crotch and then pulled the fresh diaper up. “Oh it’s not because you’re bad, Freddie. You’ve both been very good boys this week. Very good.” Adam was next. “But twin Littles with the same Mommy or Daddy? That’s super rare. So they wanted to do a study.” “We’re not twins!” Adam yelped. For crying out loud! The guy had checked both their ID’s and seen the different birthdates. The boys’ ability to speak lasted only as long as it took Daddy to finish pressing on the tapes of Adam’s diaper. Then they both got pacifiers shoved into their mouths. With a click and a turn of a knob, the rubber teats ballooned out, gagging both Littles and making it impossible for them to spit out. “Close enough,” the giant replied. “So one of you gets to stay with Daddy, and the other gets to go to New Beginnings. Isn’t that neat?” Gagged by their pacifiers and still laying down, both brothers looked at each other, afraid they’d be the one to go to. The next day it was settled by a coin flip. Freddie lost. ************************************************** Adam’s first day of infancy without his big brother was good; as good as perpetual infancy could be: Peeing and pooping in his pants, being bottle fed and burped, and pretending to be interested in bead mazes were quickly becoming par for the course. If there was a downside it was that he was the sole focus of Daddy’s attention for close to eight hours; a downside that was quickly negated by the fact that he didn’t have to wait for Freddie to be in a similar state or express similar needs in order to get fed or changed. It was the closest thing to independence that the Little had gotten to experience since being adopted. “How was my Little guy today?” Daddy asked the lady who brought Freddie up to the car. “Freddie was positively an angel,” She said, buckling Freddie into his carseat. “We did mostly diagnostics today, but I think we’ll find his developmental plateau very shortly. Isn’t that right Freddie.” Adam’s brother mutely nodded, even though no pacifier gagged him. Satisfied, Daddy turned on the Ruffy playlist loud enough so that the two Littles could converse without being understood. “How was it?” Adam asked. “What happened in there?” Freddie looked thoughtful. “Goo-goo-ga-ga,” he said. Adam blanched. “What?” “I said it was goo-goo-ga-ga.” Freddie repeated. Adam felt a tinge of relief. Freddie could still talk. “What the…” he saw Daddy’s ears prick up and lowered his voice. “What does that mean?” Freddie looked annoyed. “What do you mean ‘what does that mean?’ I said it was goo-goo-ga-ga.” “Bro. Say what you said again. Slowly.” With deliberate slowness, Freddie repeated himself. “It. Was. Goo. Goo. Ga. Ga.” Freddie’s eyes opened with realization. He clearly hadn’t been hearing himself before. “What the…? ! What did I just say?” Adam’s mind started racing. “What did you do today?” Freddie started to babble incoherently. “Blaga-mak-tak-urgle.” The poor boy looked down his noise as if his mouth had betrayed him. The look of panic was growing in his face. “Ug-ug-goo-goo!” “Quick,” Adam said. “What’s your name?” “Freddie.” The tension was palpable. “How old are you?” “Twenty-two.” “What’s my name?” “Adam.” “What’s three times four?” “Twelve.” “What’s the name of the daycare you went to today.” “Marma-goo.” Freddie gasped. A full chorus of ‘Wheels on the Bus’ passed before either one spoke again. “I can’t do it,” Freddie said. “I can’t talk about Fafafafafa-murg.” So they didn’t… Whatever was going on in that place was bad enough that the first thing they did was silence the Littles who went there. ******************************************************************* The topic of New Beginnings was easy enough to avoid. Neither one wanted to particularly talk about their day. Not much point in catching each other up if it was one sided and unpleasant on both ends. So, Freddie would be dropped off. Adam would spend the day with Daddy. And in the afternoons and evenings, they’d try to find something to talk about when Daddy wasn’t listening. Old Movies. T.V. shows. Girls they used to beat off to. Anything. Despite their attempts to remain sane, cracks were starting to form for Freddie though. The third day he was brought back, the lady gave Freddie a tickle, a light one. His eyes looked panicked and scared, but the rest of his face smiled and giggled as though he were delighted. “My baby boy sure loves making friends with all the other babies!” Freddie tried to disagree. At least that’s what Adam hoped he was doing when he started sputtering babble the first two minutes of the car ride. ****************************************************************************** Things got worse at “dinner” the next night. “Heeeere coooomes the birdy! Tweetie tweetie tweet-tweet!” The spoonful of green mush darted into Adam’s mouth. His mouth contorted into a frown. Bits of the slime accidentally dribbled out from his lips and down his chin as he did his best not to gag. There was more than just bland vegetables in that spoon. “Mmmmm-mm-mmm-mmm!” Freddie’s face was likewise contorting, but his lips went up instead of down. Daddy reached over and dabbed Adam’s face. “Swallow, baby boy.” Freddie’s eyes clouded over for a second, and he swallowed.. “Good baby!” When his eyes unclouded the two brothers looked at each other from their highchairs. Adam made himself swallow, too. ************************************************************************* “What happened to you in the highchair?” Adam asked that night in the stillness of their nursery. In the pale of the night light, Adam saw his brother frown. “What are you talking about?” “Daddy was feeding us that mush and you swallowed it.” “So did you.” Freddie sounded more than a bit defensive. “Yeah, but like...you didn’t spill a drop.” “I had to.” “Why?” “Cuz Daddy said so.” This was said with such certainty, that Adam thought Freddie hadn’t heard himself again; another programmed response, like the panicked laughter or the babbling. Adam wasn’t sure where to go with that. When it had been so quiet that Adam worried if his brother had fallen asleep, Freddie said. “I’m glad that it was me going to murka durk.” The younger brother’s blood ran cold. “You like it there?!” Freddie started to babble and then stopped. He spoke with more deliberate slowness. “What I mean is...better me than you.” Adam’s heart jumped up into his throat. “Why would you say that?” “Because I’m your big brother, stupid.” Freddie whispered. “I’m supposed to take care of you. So if that means I go…” he stopped. “Better me than you is all.” Tears not born of diaper rash or a broken toy, started to form in Adam’s eyes. “Thanks bro. I appreciate it.” Silence again. Then. “Adam?” Adam picked his head up off the pillow. He’d finally been about to drift off into oblivion. “Yeah?” “I am the big brother...right?” “Of course, dude.” “Good.” Adam didn’t feel like the younger brother when he looked over. Freddie had drifted right off to sleep… He was sucking his thumb. *********************************************************************** When they were both in Daddy’s living room, he’d often change them side by side. First thing in the morning, though, he’d clean them up on the changing table in their shared nursery. “Such a heavy wetter, my baby boy Adam is!” Daddy proclaimed. Adam laid still on the changing table, allowing the giant to casually violate him. “You really need your diapers, don’t you?” Adam made no reply. For all intents and purposes he was a corpse as he was stripped, wiped, powdered, rediapered, and then shoved into a romper. Plopped back in his crib, he had an almost front row seat for Freddie’s change. Freddie did not lay still. Nor was he silent. Instead of thrashing and kicking and screaming like they both had at first, he lightly kicked his legs and wiggled and cooed. “Someone’s a squirmy wormy.” “Yes Daddy.” “Good baby!” he said, untaping Freddy’s soiled diaper. Freddie lightly kicked his legs and reached for and batted at the mobile above the changing table. He giggled and cooed while he was wiped. If Adam hadn’t known any better, he’d have sworn that his big brother was an actual baby. “Thank you very much for the present,” Daddy beamed, balling up the mess and tossing it in the nearby pail. “Daddy loves it when you make him presents.” “Do it cause Daddy said so!” It came out half panicked and almost robotically, but it made the Amazon smile. “Thaaaaat’s right.”Freddie sucked his thumb and gurgled around it through the rest of his change. Overcome with anxiety, Adam started to bite his fingernails. Daddy turned his head and saw. “Looks like I've got two Little boys just munching on their hands! It’s gonna be a good day!” ************************************************************************* One afternoon, while Daddy was watching TV, Adam smelled one of the rankest stenches he could yet remember. He looked up from the toy xylophone Daddy had put in, debating on whether or not to try it and saw Freddie on his back, his legs lifted up to his stomach. “Freddie?” “I like to poop my pants.” The wrinkle in Adam’s nose turned into a full blown snarl. “What did you just say?!” Freddie strained briefly. “I like to poop my pants.” He gave a final, tired sigh and then lowered his legs. Not a hint of blush or embarrassment was on Freddie’s face. They were both in footed one-pieces, but Adam didn’t need to see the back of Freddie’s pants to know he’d filled it. The smell alone was enough. “I’m sorry, bro,” Adam said. “I...don’t have to go right now.” He was breathing short gasps through his mouth. “That’s okay.” Freddie said. He up, no doubt spreading the foul smelling mush even further. “I like it.” “Do you have any idea what you’re saying?” Adam asked. “I like to poop my pants.” The younger brother had no idea if Adam was telling the truth or just echoing a conditioned response. “Maybe if you cry loud enough?” Thumb already in his mouth, Freddie used his free hand to pick a plastic mallet off the playpen floor. “Good babies don’t bother Daddy. He decides when we need our diapees changed. We should just play with our toys like good babies.” The infantile vocabulary. The simplicity and certainty; like reading from a script. It was almost too much for Adam. Through gritted teeth and locked jaw, he leaned over and hissed, “You’re. Not. A. Baby.” Freddie’s eyes clouded over. “Daddy says so.” He whacked the xylophone with all his might. The resultant shockwave sent both of them into rolling giggle fits. It was one of those toys! DING! DING! DING! DING! DING! DING! “DO! IT! CUZ! DADDY! SAID! SO! Freddie was spasming on the floor rolling, yet managed to keep striking the toy. Adam rolled on the floor, cackling. It wasn’t a happy feeling, precisely. He felt the surge of adrenaline and excitement; along with an almost drunken giddiness, but the surge of chemicals flooding his brain at that moment was something like a tickle. Adam shoved his fingers in his mouth, doing his best to muffle the manic laughter flowing out of him. Too Little, too late, it seemed: Daddy stood over them looking down in the playpen. “Oh! There’s my favorite hand munchers! Eating their fingy sammiches! Giggly boys too!” He reached down and dug his fingers into Adam’s sides. “Gigg-i-ly, gigg-i-ly, gigg-i-ly! The younger of the two called out, begged even. “Daddy! No!” Too late. Adam’s face contracted in that same rictus grin- the one that didn’t come close to reaching his fearful eyes- that was on Freddie’s face almost every day after daycare. It was uncomfortable to the point of pain, but he laughed all that same. Tickling. They were tickling his brother’s brain. Speaking of tickling, the involuntary spasms extended deep inside of Adam. As it turned out, he had a present for Daddy. It just needed more teasing out. “Let’s get you two rascals changed.” Both lied there on the changing mat as snaps came unpopped and diapers were exposed. Freddie wiggled and stuck his fingers in his mouth, gurgling idly, stimming while Daddy undid his diaper and wiped his privates for him. Exhausted and feeling traumatized, Adam did the same. Except he jammed his fingers into his mouth to stop from screaming, and his wiggling was more twitching due to a sudden surge in adrenaline that dropped into exhaustion. Daddy didn’t seem to care. ************************************************************* “Okay boys,” Daddy said. “Are you ready to be potty trained?” A gleeful, malevolent grin, Daddy placed the plastic potty down on the floor. Both boys were naked save for their diapers. “What?” Adam said. “Are you serious?” If he hadn’t peed fifteen minutes ago, he might have wet himself in surprise. “Of course.” Daddy replied. “If you’re ready.” Adam looked to Freddie, wondering if this was some kind of trap. Freddie didn’t seem to see his brother, though. His eyes weren’t glazed over this time, just somewhere else. There was fear in those eyes., real, heart pounding breathtaking fear. “All you have to do is go potty.” The younger brother heard the older brother’s gasp. It wasn’t a happy one. Freddie was breaking out into a sweat. “Both of us?” He asked. “Nope.” Daddy shook his head. “No twinning this time. If either one of you shows me you know how to go potty, that’ll let me know you’re ready to grow up.” Adam saw Freddie. He was shaking. “If your Maturosis isn’t severe enough, you can wear big boy pants...” Freddie lowered down to his knees. “...grow up...” Freddie lowered further and moved to all fours. “...go to big boy school...” Freddie stuck his bum in the air and scrunched up his face. Adam watched, expecting the back to balloon out, but nothing was coming. Freddie was empty. “...maybe even drink one day!” “I like to poop my pants!” Daddy tilted his head. “Are you sure, Freddie? Don’t you want to try to go potty? Even a tiny bit?” The older brother shook his head. “No! I like to poop my pants!” It looked like Freddie was saying a magic word that wasn’t working. “I like to poop my pants!” “Pleeeeease?” Daddy smirked.“Won’t you at least try? For me? For Daddy?!” One slow limb at a time, Freddie crawled to the plastic potty chair there in the middle of the living room floor. His head jerked backwards away from the bowl and his breathing became fast enough to be audible. Two incompatible commands had been put into Freddie’s brain and they were fighting over control of his body. To Adam it seemed like an invisible dog leash had been roped around his brother’s neck and he was slowly but surely being dragged towards the object. “Nnnn…I….nnn….like...nnnn...to poop….my...nnnn….pants!” As he got closer to it, the frightening giggles that he broke out into failed to disguise the waves of pure terror he was feeling. “Haaaahaaahahaha!” “Here,” Daddy said. He picked Freddie up. “Let me help you.” Freddie thrashed and screamed harder than even the night they were taken by Daddy. “NOOOOO! Bagaagagagagagwwaaaaa!” “All you have to do is sit on the potty. You don’t even have to use it. Just sit!” That only made the older sibling bawl harder. He wasn’t on the rim for even a second before springing up and dropping back down to all fours. He screamed as if the potty had been made of red hot iron. “I LIKE TO POOP MY PAAAAAANTS!” The rest was incoherent babble. Daddy picked Freddie back up and soothingly rubbed his back. “There there, baby boy.” He said. “You’re not ready for the potty, and that’s okay. And at twenty-two if you’re not ready now, you’ll never be ready. Isn’t that right.” Freddie nodded his head. “Buh-buh-buh-buh-muuuuuuuuh!” From his spot on the floor, Adam saw Daddy give Freddie a pacifier. Freddie mumbled and sucked on it. No inflating bulb was required. “There there,” Daddy said. “There there.” Adam looked up and started to push the waiting mass in his diaper. It was weird doing it on his hands and knees, but he was quickly getting used to it. Daddy noticed. “Adam?” He asked. “Are you going poopy?” Adam felt like sobbing. “Uh-huh.” “Do you want to try sitting on the potty?” The world was getting blurry. “No…” Not if it meant leaving Freddie behind. Not if it meant outpacing his brother. He was self sabotaging and he knew it. Adam didn’t know if he could live with the guilt. He could live like this though. The last few weeks had proven that. “That’s fine, kiddo. It’s okay to not be ready, either.” Adam was given a condescending pat on the head and a pacifier. This was all a sham, Adam told himself. Daddy would never actually want them to sit on the potty. He’d never let them potty train again. He was just checking on how far Freddie’s brainwashing had progressed. His poor brother was more than eager to defecate himself and seemed absolutely terrified of so much as sitting on a toddler’s toilet, even with the diaper on. Point of fact, though, Daddy was checking on both of their progress. One cried loudly and needed the pacifier to calm himself. The other wept softly, but used the pacifier for much the same reason, even if the emotions involved for either were infinitely more complex than just a child’s need to self soothe. Neither one expressed an interest in potty training or put up much of a fight in getting changed or being fed. ************************************************************************* “Come on, Adam!” Daddy stood on his knees, gesturing for Adam to come closer. “Come to Daddy. That’s it! That’s it!” Adam crawled- hand, knee, hand, knee- all the way over to Daddy. He didn’t even try to walk. Freddie had lost the ability to walk almost two weeks back. At most, he could pull himself to a standing position, but the moment he let go he’d lose balance and fall back down. Adam followed suit. The xylophone had made it easier. Whatever frequency it was on did something to fuck up his inner ear but good. Now Adam was almost as helpless in that department as Freddie. He’d made sure to do it plenty of times during his mornings alone with Daddy. He didn’t want Freddie beating him to tummy time. He could have walked, he supposed, but Freddie became visibly upset seeing his brother walk without him. The masking laughter only applied to what happened with the Amazons, it seemed. Freddie was allowed to cry when Adam did something upsetting. Adam could have just walked when Freddy wasn’t home, but he wasn’t going to have anything ‘special’ or ‘secret’ with Daddy. So he crawled. “There’s my little crawler! Good thing I’ve got the whole place baby proofed, huh! Dejectedly, Adam nodded. “Buh-buh-ugh.” Neither of the boys were talking much these days. Whatever they were doing in that hellhole was expanding to more and more topics than just the daycare. Freddie could reliably say a few words, like a ‘pee-pee’ or ‘poopy’ (he was starting to announce when he was doing it now), and of course ‘Daddy’, but everything else was touch and go to the point of Freddie being incoherent. Adam had stopped talking, too. In his head he had developed a warped kind of game. It wasn’t a game he’d consciously decided on, or one where he understood the rules, but at three weeks out, it was a game that was slowly building up inertia. To actually use his words would feel like a failure. It was getting easier and easier not to talk, but to just babble. Laugh when he was scared. Cry when he was angry or sad or wanted something. Say nonsense syllables when he wanted to remember what his own voice sounded like. Eventually, he imagined, he might forget that using actual words is an option for him. Daddy seemed happy enough with the arrangement. “You and your brother are doing so good, Adam!” Daddy beamed. “After the experiment is over, you can go to daycare with him! Won’t that be nice? You can spend all day together!” He added, “And I can get back to my job…” Adam giggled at that. Finally! An end to this pain would be coming. No more guilt “Wanna know a secret?” Daddy cooed. “Bad people are saying that Littles only turn into babies because of how places like New Beginnings treat them. They think we turn you into babies. But that’s not true! Is it?” Adam couldn’t disagree more. His cynicism came out as excited laughter, just like his brother. “There are people who thought you two would have extremely different developmental plateaus! Thought that you might start to grow up if you didn’t go to daycare with your brother. But you’re never growing up! That’s just not what Littles do! And you and your brother are proof of it! Isn’t that wonderful?” The boy laughed because he was too emotionally drained to cry.“Buh-buh-buh.” “I think someone has earned a diaper change and a nice nap. Then when you wake up, we’ll go pick up your twin!” “Uh-uh-muuuuuh.” “Close enough.”

To the layman, Dr. Ella Sinclair looked like she was wearing an astronaut costume. It wasn’t as bulky, and the material was a shiny silver instead of a muted white, but the general vibe of a baggy full body suit and helmet remained. Diedre, her assistant, had commented early on that the suit looked like a costume from a B-Movie about space travel. If only space travel is what Dr. Sinclair had been aiming for. Space travel was so much simpler. “Remember,” Diedre told her as the final checks were being made to the chrono-capsule. “If this works-” “When this works,” the doctor interrupted. “Confidence, Diedre. Confidence.” “Right,” the intern corrected herself. “When this works, and you go back in time, you’ll still see yourself as you are now, more or less. Your present mind will overlap its own residual self image over your past body, but everyone in the past will see you as you were back then.” “I know, Diedre,” Dr. Sinclair said. “I literally wrote the book on all of this.” “Yes Doctor, I know. You told me to tell you, though.” That was true, too. She had told Diedre to remind her. There was a statistical probability, that in sending her essence back along her own personal timeline, Dr. Sinclair might get caught up in the temporal wave and not so much forget things as much as forget that she was time travelling. It wouldn’t do to be the world’s first chrononaut, forget about it, and then end up reliving her whole life over. Having an outside voice remind her of such a possibility drastically reduced that likelihood; a verbal string around her brain’s index finger. Dr. Sinclair had all but proved her own pet variant of string theory. Theorizing that each person’s lifespan left a trail of chronotons indelibly in the fabric of existence, Ella realized that it might be possible to follow that string back and ride it like a soundwave traveling down a taut string, and thus witness and perhaps even change the past. Today, theory was about to be put into practice. She’d travel back, observe the past through her own eyes, and then come back to the present. The biggest risk, assuming all her calculations were right, was being overwhelmed in the temporal wave, and then losing herself in the process. In short, her mind and very essence was about to travel back to a younger version of herself. She was about to try and cram close to thirty years of time and experience into the mind and body of a much younger version of her. Whether those memories, skills, and personality traits would be shoved deep down into a coma-like state or just blend with her present self wasn’t immediately clear. The problem with being a trailblazer in any field was there was no such thing as hindsight. It wouldn’t do to go back in time to middle school and have to relive her crush on David Bowie, (rather to have it feel fresh...she’d never gotten over Jareth the Goblin King but who did?). It’s why she was going back even further than middle school. Much farther back. If she inhabited the body of herself at age one, it’d be both a radical leap back in time as well as a fairly safe state for her in terms of psychological health and minimum risk of damage to the timestream. Chrono-physically, going back to her time as an infant would give her minimal agency to disrupt her past, but more than enough opportunity to test her theory. Going so far back would also help rule out the possibility of her just having a particularly good memory. Chrono-psychologically, her baby-self made the most sense too for a maiden outing. A McDonald’s McFlurry had most of the same ingredients as a Betty Crocker cake, but less so. It just hadn’t been given heat or baking powder. If Dr. Sinclair’s adult essence mixed with her baby self’s essence, there was nothing she couldn’t likely handle. At worst, she’d have a child’s moodiness that she could more than temper with her adult mind and patience. She’d gone through being one year's old before. This would be just mixing a little extra “one-ness” in with all the other years she had. Conversely, if instead riding the wave and vibrating along her timeline resulted in her shoving her infant self deep down into a back room of her own mind palace, then it wouldn’t be so bad for either her or her past self. Who cared about missing time when they were a baby? If her baby self existed separate and simultaneously from her present self this would just be another nap for the kid. Middle-school her would be justifiably freaked out about missing out on half an hour of her life. Suddenly going under the mental temporal displacement equivalent of anesthesia might traumatize the poor girl and send unforeseen consequences into the present. Damn, it was weird thinking of her and her own past selves as distinct and separate individuals. It literally gave the phrase “I’m not that person anymore” a much more literal meaning. Dr. Sinclair placed the helmet over her head. It was a pain to tie her long light brown hair back enough so that it would fit inside, but she’d refused to cut it for this. 'I shaved my head for a failed attempt at time travel' was not a story she wanted to tell. “Because your body in the here and now will be in a set of stasis inside the chrono-capsule, but you’ll need to be conscious, we’re only going to try for a short ride,” Diedre said. “Half an hour at most.” “Right,” Sinclair said. “So only half as long as it takes Australians to lose a war against flightless birds.” Diedre cupped her hand to hear. “What?” Darn it! A perfectly good joke ruined by the muffled acoustics of a helmet. Sinclair would have to try and work in that line when she got back. It was no ‘One small step for man,’ but darn it, she wanted this! Nervously biting her lip, Dr. Sinclair climbed into the pod and ran a final systems check. Damn, she needed a cigarette. “Three...two...one…” Before the world turned upside down and she was blinded with the electric blue and neon green hues of time itself, Dr. Sinclair briefly wondered if she could stop herself from developing a smoking habit if she just abstained from sucking her thumb for the next thirty minutes or so. “Ha-ppy birth-day dear El-la! Ha-ppy birth-day toooooooo yoooooooou!” The flash dimmed and Ella rubbed her eyes while a place and time far removed from her plain sterile laboratory rushed into her missing senses. “D’awwwwww!” She heard a familiar, almost forgotten scratchy voice. “Looks like somebody’s all tuckered out already.” “What did you expect?” Ella’s grandmother said. “She just turned one. All this attention is a lot at this age.” “Her? I was talking about me,” Ella’s grandfather joked. Grammy?! Grampy?! Her mother’s parents- Grammy and Grampy- had been dead for years relative to Ella’s experience. First Grammy over a decade ago when Ella was still in high school. Grampy died a few years later, fallen to pieces and unable to take care of himself without his wife’s gentle reminders. She’d just been finishing her doctoral thesis when the news reached her. Here they were, literally right in front of her eyes, sitting on the loveseat and eating rainbow frosted chocolate cake. Across from them were her father’s parents, Nana and Pop-Pop. They weren’t dead yet, but they were younger than Ella could ever remember seeing them. Imagining Pop Pop with hair or Nana with dark locks had been more of a thought experiment growing up. This more than anything else, proved her right. It’d worked! It’d really worked! She’d gone back in time! Ella started bouncing up and down in her highchair, a giant beaming smile spreading on her face as her bottom crinkled beneath and bare feet kicked out in exhilaration. “Looks like you spoke too soon, Frank.” Pop Pop said between bites of cake. “Birthday girl just got her second wind.” Second wind didn’t begin to describe the amount of exhilaration flooding little Ella’s system. The baby girl was so excited she could…! She could…! She did. The big birthday girl barely noticed how her diaper went from dry to damp. It was just that absorbent, but clever girl that she was, she did know that it had something to do with how excited she was, and how her muscles between her legs relaxed. That’s how it had always been. She was such a clever girl! The light squishy feeling when she bounced made her giggle even more and she clapped her hands with glee. “Here’s cake for the birthday girl!” A younger, fitter version of her mother said, sliding an entire plate of rainbow frosted cake onto the tray. It wasn’t sliced, but instead it’s own miniaturized cake. Smash cake. No silverware provided. Ella was going to have to eat it with her bare hands. When she got back, Ella promised herself to shove her mother’s physique in her face. She had totally lost the baby weight by Ella’s first birthday, and now Ella had the memories to prove it! Bare feet swung back and forth, and the time traveling scientist wriggled in her highchair. With both hands she plunged wrist deep into the cake. The first mouthful was for sustenance and enjoyment. The second one was for sensory and for show. Her diaper got a little bit wetter. The cake was so delicious and moist that she was now delightfully squishing from her top to her bottom. Another delayed twitch beneath her added an exclamation point to the thought. “I wish I could get that excited by cake,” Daddy said, taking a bite of his own. “Cake’s not why she’s smiling,” Nana said, “She just peed.” Mommy reached under the tray, and slipped two fingers past the leg cuffs of Ella’s diaper. “Wow,” she laughed. “You’re right! Just a little wet, but yeah. How’d you know?” “Body language,” Nana said. “You change five sets of diapers, two of ‘em twins, you start to notice things.” Ella’s laughter sent crumbs sailing through the air. She looked down past her naked breasts towards what was left of the smash cake and went in even though she hadn’t finished swallowing the first two handfuls. Her…? Naked…? Breasts…? Dr. Ella Sinclair hesitated as she came back to herself. “Don’t tell me she’s pooping now,” her father groaned. “Nope,” Nana answered. “That ain’t it. She’s just thinkin’.” Slowly, she chewed and swallowed the cake and blocked out the conversations and comments going on about what she was doing in her pants. Mouth closed, Ella finished chewing and swallowing, using it as an opportunity to exhale and take stock of the situation. The sheer exhilaration of success; it had been overwhelming! The sensory input, so vivid! The complete lack of embarrassment or shame on any level whatsoever! She had felt infinitely herself, not at all babyish...but babies didn’t feel babyish either. They just were. Dr. Sinclair had been a cake, ingredients carefully measured and prepped and baked with the heat of the passage of time. Baby Ella had been ice cream with mostly the same ingredients, just prepped differently. Now, Dr. Ella Sinclair was experiencing both truths at the same time. She wasn’t experiencing cake ala mode, but instead was a kind of ice cream cake with all the bits and pieces smashed in and mixed together. A cake McFlurry Theory confirmed. Probably still a good thing that one-year-old her wouldn’t remember this. It had been the sight of her own breasts and the reminder from Diedre that had settled her back into place. Her present day mind, unable or unwilling to fully comprehend riding the temporal wave back along her own personal timeline, was modifying her perception of herself. The highchair in the middle of her old living room wasn’t actually oversized. Nor was the wet diaper she was sitting in big enough to fit around her hips. More accurately, her hips weren’t actually all that big. Nor did her one year old body actually have breasts. But her present day mind was pushing certain preconceptions through; like an injured athlete dreaming about playing and waking up sore. What did that mean for her hair? “Oh oh oh!” her mother darted with near super human speed. “Not in your hair, baby, not in your hair!” Ella sat in her highchair, stunned, while Mommy...er...her mother, started taking a baby wipe to her fingers. She’d barely been thinking about touching her head when her body started doing it on its own. Even with her adult mind, her one year old body didn’t have much in the way of a filter or impulse control. She waited until her hands were clean before feeling the Pebbles Flintstone top knot in her hair. “If cake’s the worst thing that ends up in our little girl’s hair, I think we’ve done a pretty okay job,” her father said. That got a dry perverted chuckle from Grampy. “See? Frank knows how boys can be.” “Phil!” Nana said. “This is a one-year old’s birthday party! Why would you even say that?” “What?” her father said. “Better now when she won’t remember it!” “Wow!” Ella said. “Rude!” Her assembled relatives from yesteryear all stopped and stared directly out of her. “Did she just say, ‘rude?” Grammy asked. Too late, Ella realized she might have made a mistake in speaking up. Dad just threw back his head and slapped his knee. “That’s my girl!” he laughed. “Smart as a whip!” “Well she didn’t get it from you, then.” Mom said. More wipes found their way to Ella’s face and chest. “You may want to be careful from now on, Phil.” Miraculously, she boosted up Ella onto her hip, needing only one hand to support her bottom. “This might mean she’s advanced for her age. No more swearing around the B-A-B-Y.” “Fine fine,” Dad crossed his arms. “From now on I’ll only spell the curse words, not say them out loud.” Both sets of grandparents were glaring disapprovingly at him. “Fine, no more swearing.” Then he added, “We should probably start saving for a college fund while we’re at it.” “I think for now,” Mom said. “The only thing we need to worry about is dry Pampers and a nap.” Ella let out a yawn. Whether or not she had the mind of an adult or not, she still had the limitations and needs of a baby’s body. A little bit of sugar and excitement went a long way towards a crash. “Damnit…” she whispered, her eyes beginning to droop even as she was toted around her old house. How was she going to convincingly prove she time traveled instead of just hallucinated all this? She’d have to do that next time, she supposed. She hadn't whispered as quietly as she'd thought. “That was NOT me!” Dad said. “We’ll talk later,” Mom said. She wasted no further time in taking the one-year-old back to her nursery. ******************************************************************************************* “Dr. Sinclair,” Diedre whispered. “Dr. Sinclair? Ella? Wake up, sweety. It’s time to come back to the present.” No longer in the chrono-capsule, Ella woke up on a gurney, staring up at bright lights. “Hmm?” “There she is,” Diedre chirped. “There’s my big smart science girl! You gave me quite a scare, there!” “Sorry,” Ella yawned. “I was having a nap in the past. My past body gave out on me.” She sat up, hearing the crinkle of her chrononaut suit. “I’m just glad you’re back, hunny bunny.” Diedre cooed. She offered her hand to the doctor. “Here. Let’s get you sorted out.” Ella took it and sat up. “Steady now. Steady. Easy does it. That’s a good girl!” Bowlegged, Ella stood with her feet more than shoulder width apart. “Oops. Somebody’s a wobble butt!” Diedre laughed. “Come on! This way!” Following her assistant out of the lab, Ella took in her surroundings. She had the strangest feeling of not-quite deja vu. She didn’t feel like she was waking up from a nap or any other kind of natural sleep. It was closer to the feeling of regaining consciousness after anesthesia. Except that didn’t quite fit the bill, either. Emotionally, and intellectually, the closest parallel Ella could draw was turning on a video game that she hadn’t played in a long time, loading up a save file, and refamiliarizing herself with the saved game’s objectives. It wasn’t shock and revelation. Nor was it a proper memory. More like one giant, ‘Oh yeah’. The walls just outside her lab were painted murals of grassy hills and rainbows instead of sterile white. Ella had always liked pleasant colors and happy pictures. Oh yeah. Diedre opened the door to Ella’s quarters. Like always, it was plastered with her findings, theories, and fifth dimensional calculations. In place of holograms, desktop monitors, or just white boards, every bit of data was on pristine white printer paper, and drawn on with crayons. It was disorganized in a way so that no one but Ella knew what was actually useful information and what was toddlerish gibberish scribbled down. Some people thought the doodles of snakes and kitty cats on the back of some might indicate special importance. That was true, Ella remembered, but the important part was that those particular papers looked better with crayon drawings on them, nothing related to time travel. Oh yeah. “Hold still,” her assistant said. “We’ll get you into something more comfortable in just a second.” She unzipped the suit and slid the chrono-suit off of Ella’s shoulders. Gravity did the rest, sending the shell around her body crumbling to the floor like jammies on Christmas morning. “Step out,” Diedre Instructed. With a little help (the material always clung to her ankles for some reason) Ella did and got praised for it. “Good girl! So big!” As she did with most genuine praise, Ella fairly melted inside and gave her assistant a big warm hug even though she was almost naked. Diedre took the closeness as an opportunity to check the doctor’s diaper. “My, my!” she said. “Someone’s wet!” Ella had never been potty trained. Never went to school. She hadn’t needed it. She’d been a genius, walking, talking, and writing complex theorems since she was at least one year old. Oh yeah. “Up we go.” Like always Ella allowed her assistant to boost her up onto the changing table in Ella’s nursery. Bartholomew Ignacius Capernicus Smith - her stuffed ocelot- joined her and she held her buddy in her arms while her big person assistant worked at changing her diaper. Diedre took care of Ella now. Had for years. They were about the same age, but Ella had never grown up. Never needed to. She’d gotten older, and with it had come certain physical changes, but in terms of her lifestyle, she never really got much older than one. Oh yeah. “Somebody’s thinkin’ real hard.” her assistant teased. She worked quickly. The swollen sagging diaper had already been balled up with the used wipes and replaced with fresh padding and sweet smelling baby powder. Ella had never really learned anything in her entire life; she just always knew stuff for some reason. The results were incredibly lopsided, but they’d worked in her favor. “Yeah,” Ella sighed, putting Bartholomew Ignacius Capernicus Smith aside. “Just thinkin’ about stuff.” Her new diaper fastened on, she sat up as Diedre got out a nice, comfy lavender onesie and pulled it over Ella’s head. “Ya know.” She gingerly and thoughtfully sucked her fingers while Diedre snapped the two halves of her onesie over. She used her other hand to give the stuffed ocelot a cuddle. “Like time travel?” Diedre asked. Ella slid off the changing table. “Hmmm? Not really. Well...yeah...kinda.” On some level she was always thinking about time travel, about riding the temporal waves, going back and changing not only history, but herself, even if she never did. The only thing that changed about Ella ended up in the bottom of a pail when she was done with them. Unconsciously, she wiggled her hips, enjoying the simple and fresh contrast between her new underwear and comfy clothes as compared to what she’d just been stripped out of. She sat down on the floor and crawled. Today was probably going to be a crawling day. Sometimes, waddling around and walking was just too much trouble for Ella’s big preoccupied brain. “When did you go this time?” Diedre asked. On top of things, as always, the tow headed girl brought a cold baby bottle of apple juice. “Do you want me to do your hair up?” Ella took the bottle and sucked it down with both hands, getting so into the experience that she laid back and stared at the glow in the dark star stickers on the ceiling while she suckled. She’d almost forgotten that anyone was there in her nursery with her. “No thank you,” she said, a few moments later. “I’ll keep my hair down today. Was her hair down? She could have sworn that her hair was up in a pig-tail, except that was in the past. Oh yeah. Her caregiver had asked her another question. “Hmmm?” Ella said to no one in particular. “I went back to the beginning.” She finished draining the bottle. No sooner had she finished, than Diedre had swapped her bottle out for another one. “Gotta keep hydrated,” Diedre said. She started to walk away. Rubber nipple still in her mouth, Ella started whining and mewling. “Oh oh oh! Sorry, baby! Sorry!” Diedre went back and hunkered down next to her. She started patting and rubbing Ella’s back, half massaging Ella’s tensed up muscles, half stirring up the contents of her stomach. Within thirty seconds, Ella had let out a healthy belch. “Good girl!” She sat all the way down, and let the time traveler’s head rest in her lap. Ella moaned as Diedre started gently stroking her hair. “Better?” “Mmmhmmm.” “You really like going back to your first birthday, don’t you?” Diedre asked in that way that the big dumb people always used to indicate that they didn’t really want or expect an answer. Ella loved that tone. It made her feel so safe and smart and taken care of. Nothing expected of her and she just had to be her magnificent self. If she hadn’t just woken up from a nap, she would have been content to drift back off in the woman’s lap. “Kind of where it all began?” “Hmmm?” Ella cocked an eyebrow and looked up at the wonderful woman who took care of her between trips through the fifth dimension. “That’s when you had the idea for time travel, right? At your first birthday party?” Oh yeah. It had been. “Yeah,” Ella said. “I never thought of it that way, but yeah.” “What’s time travel, like?” Diedre asked. Like a lazy tiger after a full meal, Ella rolled off her caregiver’s lap and crawled for some paper. “I thought I already explained it to you,” Ella said. “Or maybe I went back and changed that.” Still on all fours, she shrugged. Big people were so weird, sometimes. “Maybe you did,” Diedre conceded. “But maybe it went over my head. My job is to keep you happy and dry. Everything else is just coincidence and osmosis.” “Fair enough.” Ella reached for some crayons. “Where’s the teal ones?” “I took them all away,” Diedre reminded the doctor. “You tried to eat them all last week, remember?” Oh yeah. Ella was feeling particularly mischievous. Mischief and science went hand in hand she found. “Well, I’m gonna need teal if I’m going to explain this properly. And some marbles….” “Ella…” her caregiver warned. “No ma’am, little miss. You may be my boss, but I can still put you in the corner if you’re getting fussy or acting up.” The babied time traveler sighed “Fine.” She settled for green, though green wasn’t nearly as good. Tasted too much like vegetable wax. “So how does this work, again?” “Tickles.” Ella harumphed. “Fine, fine,” Diedre laughed. “I’ll give you plenty of tickles. But first show me your big girl science brain.” Ella started doodling on her paper. “So I travel back along my own personal timeline,” she explained for what might literally be the umpteenth bajillion time- being a super genius she might actually be one of the few people who could actually count that high. “And when I jump back, who I am now mixes with who I was then, while my conscious mind in the present kind of pilots and takes over my past body and lets me fix things or warn people.” The diagram was starting to look less and less like a linear graph and more and more like a green wiener dog. Green was a neat color for a wiener dog. “Then when time is up in the present, I ride the temporal wave back here, you change me out of my work clothes, and we get to play the rest of the day.” “Didn’t you say something about seeing yourself different in the past or something?” Aha! She had explained this to Diedre before! “Kinda. My residual self image imprints on my mind and I see myself as I do now instead of how I was then.” From the look on Diedre’s face, she wasn’t getting it. “So like, if you went back to yourself in Kindergarten, you’d see your big people body, but you’d be dressed like a Kindergartener.” “But you’ve always been in diapers and onesies and stuff,” Diedre said. “So how can you tell when you’re in the past?” Ella finished coloring in the doggy and started chewing on her hair. Maybe she did want it up, now… “I don’t know. I just do. It’s like I’m made of cake and my past self is made of ice cream, and I go and mix it in.” Positively charmed, Diedre covered her mouth as she laughed. Ella thought it kind of sounded like a guinea pig’s happy squeak. “So my boss, who has prevented at least three national disasters, is just walking-talking ice cream cake?” “Technically,” Ella said, “I corrected the disasters, but I can see how from your point of view it was prevention.” When you could travel through time and warn the right people, hindsight was a literal super power. “Good thing you’ve been able to do all this stuff since you were super little,” Diedre said. Playfully she laid on her stomach so she could maintain eye contact with Ella. “If you just started showing everyone how smart you were today, my little ice cream cake, people might not listen to you.” “Yup.” Ella said. “So speaking of ice cream cake,” Diedre asked, “what happens when you come back to the present?” “It’s happening right now,” Ella said. She felt both right and wrong in saying that in the most profound of ways. Maybe it was gas. Diedre frowned, but didn’t seem particularly mad about it. “I guess what I mean to say is, you mix your present self with your past self when you ride the temporal wave. What happens when you ride it back? Do you get all the cake out of the ice cream? Or does some get left behind? Do you only bring back cake, or does some of the ice cream of who you used to be come back with you?” Ella stopped blinking. She had never thought of that before. Had she caused a causality loop of some sort? She’d been a genius the likes of which had never been seen ever since she was a baby. She’d skipped all forms of formal schooling and had advanced the progress of mankind to unprecedented heights. She also never grew out of diapers. Or stopped watching children’s cartoons. Or snuggling. Or eating crayons. Or playing pretend games that made no sense to anyone but her and the caregivers who humored her. She’d used the ice cream cake metaphor all her life to describe it to people who were just not otherwise imaginative enough to understand what the experience was like, but it had never felt that way to her. If ice cream was ‘baby’ and cake was ‘adult’, then all of Ella’s personal timeline from age one to present day was one big Baskin Robbins special. It was just how she was made. Or had she made it herself? What if Dr. Ella Sinclair had once been a brilliant but relatively normal person, and when she’d traveled back in time to when she was an infant a piece of that experience had been left behind in the past, and a piece of the past filled in the gaps? What if she created a self fulfilling prophecy, and had somehow meddled with her own personal timeline so that she invented time travel, but also never got a chance at a normal adult life? Ella felt a deep rumbling inside her, one made of doubt and existential crisis. All these years of never growing up and being pulled between the two extremes of giving the middle finger while having these infantile habits and needs...had she accidentally done this to herself? Finally, she let out a final belch and felt better. Nope. Not an existential crisis brought on by a causation paradox. It was just gas. “Ella?” Diedre said. “Baby, are you okay?” Before Ella could respond her caregiver got up and patted Ella’s bottom. “You’re fine; there…” she said. “Just thinkin’ hard,” Ella said. “Thinking of new ideas and possibilities.” “Like how to use temporal waves to travel to your own personal future?” “More like how to fit as many marbles as possible into my mouth without swallowing.” Being a time traveler, Ella already had had several decades worth of being not surprised. Why would she want to double that on herself? She knew enough of the past to be more than happy here. “You are not getting marbles, baby girl!” Diedre corrected her. “What you are getting…” she paused dramatically, “is…” the fingers of her hand went stiff and crooked, resembling.a dragon’s claw or a spider’s legs. “TICKLES!” “NOOOOOOO!” Ella shrieked while the big person descended on her, tickling her mercilessly. Ella laughed and writhed on the ground, kicking uselessly in the air, enjoying herself but not wanting to hurt her sweet sitter. “No, no, no, no! NOOOO!” What Ella had really meant, though, was ‘yes!’. Oh yeah. (The End)

Did she really just do that!? She looked down at the ill-gotten gains she had stuffed into her coat. Sure enough, it was still there. She looked back at the old store she had pilfered moments ago. There was no one chasing after her. Be it police officers or angry store clerks. It was looking like a clean getaway. “Oh, Lisa, you are so bad!” Lisa picked up the pace, her brisk walk turning into a brisk jog. It was risky, stealing from a place she lived so close to. Then again, this wasn’t something she had planned to happen. Lisa was no cat burglar. It was a spur of the moment job. She finally made it back to her apartment room. Home base. She hurried into her bedroom, excited giggles escaping between bated breaths. She made her way back to the bedroom, locked the door behind her, and dropped her stolen goods on the desk. It was such a lovely looking sketchbook, too. The deep pink cover, the way the pages felt. Something about them was refined, and yet so familiar. Quality, it must have been. The feeling of quality. It wasn’t stealing, really. When she had more disposable income, Lisa would gladly pay it back. She already had the perfect apology planned: “Excuse me, sir. When I was here a few days ago, I had left your store without paying for something. I’m terribly sorry. Here is the money for the sketchbook. I hope you can forgive me.” The only question now, was what to draw. That’s what sketchbooks are for, after all. There was one idea in her head that kept jumping the queue. Heaven knows why. Maybe she was feeling extra naughty today and had to ride out her hot streak. Her doors were locked. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Lisa bit her lip. Now was the time to indulge her fantasy. She started drawing the background first—location was everything. What color should the wallpaper be? Baby blue? Cute, but too boyish. Bubblegum pink! Perfect. Even in her wildest fantasies, Lisa would never want to be stuck in a room like that. Now for the extra details. A few stripes along the walls there. And let’s draw a window here, with clear blue skies outside. Right here, this wall should have… Lisa bit her lip. “A potty chart.” Lisa thought, feeling oh-so mischievous. This was clearly not a room designed for an adult. No reason not to make that fact even more obvious. While we’re at it, why not fill it up? Lisa wanted to give this place a lived-in look, and a blank chart simply would not do. No, this chart would be filled out, and decked out with rain clouds. It was an easy way of adding personality to her unknown guest. Can’t forget the flooring. Make the carpet soft, fluffy, and white. Make it look extra comfy, good enough to take a nap on. More options were good, however, and there should be another, more traditional spot for naptime. A big wooden crib fit snugly in the corners of the room. Wooden spiral bars stood tall above ground level. Have to make sure our unnamed resident stays extra safe during bedtime. A changing table was the next logical step. Wooden, sturdy, and with a smooth pink varnish. The table should also stand high above the ground, dizzyingly so. If regular changing tables were high up for babies, this one should be high for the standards of, say, an adult woman? Speaking purely hypothetically. The undercarriage should be well stocked with changing supplies. Of course, that meant diapers. Have you seen the woman’s potty chart? Not a dry day in sight. She had done a great job at earning them. Lisa giggled to herself, “Looking good so far.” She truly was losing herself in the fun. Each pencil stroke drew a more gripping picture. She should have felt bad, staying locked in her room on such a beautiful day. But the art bug had bitten her, and Lisa needed to scratch that itch. “I still think I’m missing something.” It was true. The basics were there, but the room still looked quite bare. A room was more than a place for an endless cycle of naps and diaper changes. “How about we add something fun?” A toy chest should liven things up. While we’re at it, why not add some toys in the mix? Some more, age-appropriate fun. Let’s throw some dolls here and there. Not the plastic kind. The felt, raggedy kind, with round faces and button eyes. Anything else was clearly outside of her age-range. A few teddy bears too. Now there were more than enough plush peoples for tea parties and playtime. Some foam blocks would be good. Although, Lisa sincerely doubted that the person who lived here could spell words with more than four letters. With the toys done, next came the toy chest. Lisa liked the idea of the chest being very big. Big enough that she—or anyone else her size, really, might fall inside if they were not careful. The big, wooded chest sat there, with no one’s name assigned to it. “Hmm,” Lisa began to wonder aloud, “Should I?” Typically, toy chests had names on them to declare ownership. Given that this space was clearly lived in, the chest must belong to someone. As uncreative as it sounds, only one name came to her mind. In puffy, colorful, font she wrote down four familiar letters. “LISA” Lisa smiled. “A little self-insertion never hurt anyone.” She paused to admire her handiwork. The giant crib designed to keep big babies safe and secure. The tell-all potty chart with a miserable score. The changing table, which no-doubt had countless embarrassing stories to tell. Infantile toys strewed about the carpeted floor. She had created the perfect nursery. Such a pretty picture, she almost wished she could jump inside for an afternoon of fun. Almost. Lisa was still an adult. She knew fantasy and reality were separate for a reason. She felt bad, however, leaving such a place empty. Lisa then realized that it didn’t have to stay that way. If she couldn’t jump inside, this was the next best thing. “It’s been a while since I’ve done a self-portrait.” Lisa mused. She had already come this far. Put her own name on the toy chest, filled it with relics from her childhood, making it her own. She was only cementing the idea as fact. Linework was done. Lisa had already known well what her figure looked like. She even knew what outfit she wanted to wear. Funny how picking clothes came easier when drawing them. Maybe there was less pressure. If she drew herself wearing something embarrassing, there was comfort in knowing that no one had to see her wearing it. Thoughts like that were what made art so tempting, so special. Lisa could put herself in as many suggestive situations as she wanted, and never had to worry about feeling any real anxiety. Humiliation without the drawbacks. It was the perfect escape. Soon, another piece of the drawing was complete. Call it narcissism, but Lisa loved how she looked. Hair in pigtails, tied together by sparkly ribbons. A bright blue shirt with star patterns. She always struggled drawing stars, noting a few on her sleeves were misshaped. It didn’t matter too much, since most of them would be obscured by the pink overall dress she wore. Peeking out under her skirt, for all to see, was the most iconic piece of babyish attire. Lisa could almost hear the diaper crinkling now. It looked almost cartoonishly thick, with the way her legs widely splayed out. She drew a few prancing ponies on the front, making sure no one would confuse it for a regular adult diaper. This was no incontinence brief. This was a real diaper, plain and simple, designed specifically for big babies. Big babies who gleefully played with toys in oversized nurseries, like Lisa’s likeness was doing now. “I make this fit look good…” Lisa said in a low voice, immediately stifling a laugh afterwards. The nursery was full furnished. The resident was all dolled up. There was still one thing left to add. One final piece. The last step before her fantasy became fully realized, became its own reality. Long, firm legs, like tree trunks planted behind her. A pair of bright blue high heels gave them an extra boost in height. The legs were mostly concealed by a powder blue blouse, decorated with polka dots. Even if Lisa couldn’t see the woman’s upper half, she already had a perfect mental image of all her features. Soft, warm features. Chubby cheeks and a bright smile. Was she a red head? Possibly. That possibility felt the most right. The important piece was that her drawn counterpart knew her quite well, even if they couldn’t understand one-another. Someone sweet and caring to hold her tight. Someone big and imposing to put Lisa right where she belonged. A caretaker—no, a nanny—no, a mommy. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath, only noticing now how fast her heart was pumping. This naughty streak had gripped her hard, now making the young woman all hot and bothered. The best thing to do now was to finish up and go about her day. Her mood died instantly when she felt the smooth, crinkly plastic below. Her eyes shot open, and she looked down at herself in horror. From the blue shirt to the adorable pink overalls, it was all there. Lisa had become the spitting image of her drawn persona. She tugged on one of her sleeves and counted all the different misshapen stars. She ran her hands through her hair, subconsciously unsurprised to find ribbons on each side. Lisa leapt from her desk chair and turned around. Her feet sunk into the soft white carpet. It was all there. It was all real. The changing table that towered above the ground. The crib with bars far too tall to climb. The wooden chest with her name on it, in puffy lettering. This was Lisa’s room, exactly as she imagined it. She screamed, a gut-wrenching fear shaking in her. Fear of this strange, impossible scenario. She fumbled over her bootie-covered feet and landed on her backside. The diaper crinkled loudly as it broke her fall, still not drowning out the panicked screams. The large, wood door of the nursery creaked open, and everything slid into place. There she stood, the final piece of the puzzle. She was a skyscraper of a woman. Lisa’s eyes traveled up and up, taking in each detail of the woman’s outfit. She had thought that the housewife style dress was overkill when drawing it. Now, Lisa didn’t know what to feel with it making the leap to reality. Fashion sense was in the farthest corner of her mind right now. Lisa struggled to make out the upper half of her. Something about it was disorienting, headache inducing. There had to be something up there, but Lisa couldn’t see it. Should there be? She hadn’t drawn that part, and yet… “Baby? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” The giant had kneeled down to be at eye-level with Lisa. A redhead with plain curls. Chubby cheeks and a bright smile. The woman looked just as she had imagined her. Lisa scooted backwards on her padded bum. The shock was all too much for her, and she soon felt a wet warmth rush into her diaper. She sat in stunned silence as the diaper filled with urine. The padding soaked up every drop, and Lisa whimpered as the waterworks began to dry up—dry, perhaps, not being the operative word. Lisa couldn’t remember the last time she had a genuine accident. Yet, the feeling of a soggy pamper taped to her waste was not a new sensation. It felt familiar, in fact, on the same level as eating breakfast or brushing her teeth. Lisa had never indulged in her… desires in that way before. She didn’t even know how to tape a diaper, on herself or anyone else. But this felt natural. “Buh?” Lisa tried to explain her case. She immediately ran into a critical error. She could no longer speak. There was nothing wrong with her physically. Her tongue was not numbed. All her teeth were present and accounted for. The issue was her mind. Words connected as thoughts clearly in her brain, but they remained as thoughts. The art of talking was something unlearned by her. Unlearned. Something that was once known and did not stay that way. Just as one sensation enter her mind, another feeling left it. She thought again about mundane tasks. Eating breakfast, brushing her teeth. Had those always been done alone? That didn’t sound right? Was someone of her stature fit for such tasks? More awkward babble escaped her mouth. She pointed and waved her arms frantically, trying her hardest to figure out the communication barrier in play. “Aww, I see what’s wrong.” The woman smiled and looked at a clock in the corner of the room. “It’s already lunchtime. Come here.” She lifted the young artist with ease and walked over to a large chair in the corner of the room. Another detail Lisa hadn’t drawn. Did the magic of the sketchbook fill in the blanks for her? Was its goal to recreate a practical version of the nursery, not a mirror image? It was certainly a faithful adaptation, for better or worse. Lisa babbled senselessly as they approached the room’s corner. More failed sentences. Other thoughts lost in translation. “Momma’s coming, sweetie.” The giant cooed, interpreting Lisa’s cries as impatience. She took her seat and began to unbutton her blouse. Lisa pupils shrank, as she laid on the biggest nursing bra she had ever seen. “Open wide!” The busty giant sang, prompting more incoherent babble from the girl. Lisa tried to pull her head away but was no match for the gentle force of the large woman’s palm. Surely enough, she latched onto the nipple without another complaint. Once the first drop of milk hit her tongue, it was all over. The milk was too sweet, too rich for her to pull back. A primal, long forgotten urge had reawakened inside her. The simple need for Momma’s milk. She lapped up every single drop that the woman had to offer. When Lisa felt the well dry up, she patted the giant’s chest for more, mewling desperately. The giant didn’t say a word. She simply readjusted, allowed the baby to latch the other nipple. It was all routine to her. Lisa was more than ready for seconds. Lisa was losing herself in infantile bliss and didn’t care one bit. She already had a flow worked out. She wasn’t going to let something as small as shame con her out of a free meal. She greedily lapped up more of the milk, like a starved kitten. Truthfully There was no need to rush. She had countless days to perfect her technique. Another teat drained; the giant tugged the little one off with a quiet ‘pop’. Another quick reposition, this time over the woman’s shoulder. Lisa felt herself being hiked up before a few rhythmic pats hit her back. Lisa knew what this was! She was being— “Urp!” She was paying her compliments to the chef. “Excuse you!” Said the giant in a sing-song voice. “That was a big one. I bet your tummy feels much better now, huh? Better out than in, as they say.” Lisa blushed, the line reminding her of her diaper’s sodden state. The woman descended Lisa back to the carpet below. “Now, I’m going to go back to my cleaning. You stay here and be good, okay?” The giant smiled down at her, before leaving and closing the door behind her. Lisa stood alone again in the giant nursery. Her gut was full, her diaper was wet, and her adult mind was in grave danger. She had to destroy the sketchbook. It was the logical next step. She shambled across the room, diaper crinkling and squelching with every awkwardly wide step. Lisa silently prayed to herself that it hadn’t remained on the other side, leaving her stranded. After a short search, Lisa spotted the book by its familiar pink cover. It was a coloring book. The white pages were no longer blank. Now, they were filled with outlines of cutesy imagery. Puppies playing in a field of flowers. Kittens batting balls of yarn. Fish blowing bubbles underwater. A mother bird feeding her young. A familiar picture that made her stomach turn, it was fully colored in. This had to be the sketchbook. She could tell by how the pages and cover felt. The feeling of quality. Pages after pages were ripped to shreds. One of them had to be the right one. It didn’t matter how long it took to find it. As long as Lisa ripped the right page, she would be sent home. Her body grew tense as she heard the giant’s footsteps from behind her. Thundering, imposing. She was getting closer, coming back to check on her little one. Why, why wasn’t it working!? If Lisa didn’t act now, she could be stuck here forever. Lisa’s frenzy slowed to a frighten stop. Every single page had been pulled off the spine. She looked up, and Lisa was still sitting in her nursery. Her heart sank. “Lisa! What has gotten into you!” The giant had return sooner than expected, now with a much colder expression on display. “I thought this naughty phase was behind you, but I guess I was wrong. You still need discipline.” Lisa was hoisted up and carried back to the familiar chair, this time feeling much worse. Guilt or despair; she couldn’t decide. Neither one was getting her home. “I’m sorry, sweetie. But you must learn that what you did is not okay. This hurts me more than it hurts you.” Lisa’s toes curled as the first spank came down on her ass. It was so much louder, so much harder than she had fantasized. Her reaction didn’t stop Mommy’s onslaught, and another spank soon followed. Only two spanks in, and tears were already welling up. Three spanks crashing down, and the tears were pouring. Four more spanks and the wailing started. Five extra spanks, and Lisa had truly caved. She deserved this. For taking what didn’t belong to her. For ripping up the coloring book, which wasn’t even hers. For being such a naughty little girl. Mommy paused for a second. Lisa thought the worst was over, and that she would be blessed with a moment to rub her sore bum. That wasn’t the case. She was only making a readjustment, fixing her posture. Mommy raised her hand up high, and another sharp spanking soon came down. Then another. And another. And another. And another. And another… Mommy had run fresh out of spanks. Lisa had run fresh out of tears. “I know how much it hurts,” Mommy began, her tone softening, “But I need you to understand that what you did was not okay.” Lisa did not say anything. She only nodded her head while trying to stifle back hiccups and sniffles. With her butt now a striking shade of red, the large woman had some sense into Lisa, as well knocking a few adult thoughts out of her mind as well. “I’m sending you to bed early. Don’t think you’re off the hook yet. You’ll still have to clean up all those papers when you wake up.” Mommy descended the girl into the large wooden crib. Lisa did not put up her fight. The one comfort of this ordeal was that the crib’s mattress was as soft as it looked from the other side. The tall bars made sure she wasn’t going anywhere. Certainly not home. This was her home now, for better or worse. Lisa’s new mother figure clicked off the lights, leaving the artist with her thoughts. A startling new idea entered Lisa’s mind. What if she wasn’t supposed to destroy the book? What if she was supposed to return it? Was an “I’m sorry” all it took to send her home? It stood out as a possibility. Now she would never know. Lisa was all too eager to escape and ended up shredding her return ticket in the process. Lisa felt an ominous rumble in her gut, informing her that the worst part of her punishment was yet to come. There was a saying that came to mind. About how truth was stranger than fiction. Because of one misdeed, Lisa had made them become one and the same. This was her deepest fantasy, true to form. From the giant overbearing mother figure to the impossibly thick diaper on her waist. A yawn escaped her, and Lisa knew she would not be able to stay awake for long. How much of her past life would she remember when she woke up? How many new, babyish feelings would become common knowledge to her? She didn’t know. She had no way of knowing the answer to that question. One thing was crystal clear. Lisa couldn’t have ever picture herself in a place like this. Epilogue The familiar chime of the front door’s bell sounded off in the small art supplies store. “Good morning, Mr. Martins!” greeted the bubbly redhead. “Howdy, Martha.” Replied the gray-haired shopkeeper. “I didn’t expect to be seeing you again so soon. Weren’t you here a few days ago?” “Yes, yes. That’s actually why I wanted to talk to you today,” Martha followed-up, her tone becoming more serious, “When I was here the other day, my baby grabbed one of your coloring books, and I left without paying for it.” Martha took out a few bills from her clasp and placed them on the counter. “Here’s the money for it. I hope you can forgive us.” Mr. Martins rubbed the back of his head bashfully. “Aw shucks. Don’t worry about it. Those books were only for the kiddies anyway. Is there anything else I can get you today?” Martha thought about giving her girl a new book to replace the old one. She felt like she had been too hard on her the other day. However, she still wanted to make her statement stand firm. Such dilemmas were one of the many trials of motherhood. Suddenly, a bright idea popped in her head. “Do you have one of those big crayon packs? The ones that have about twenty or so colors?” The shopkeeper nodded, crouching down behind the desk. He quickly reemerged, placing a twenty-four-set box of crayons on the counter. “Like mother, like daughter. The art bug must have bit her too.” “Maybe. It’s good to know that I’m rubbing off on her, in some way.” Martha smiled, paid for the goods, and waved the shopkeeper good day. She leisurely strolled out, feeling much better as she left. Martha looked down at the crayons, a small part of her feeling jealous of her daughter. Lisa didn’t know how lucky she truly was. She had all the time in the world to make as many drawings as she wanted. Even if they would never be as engaging, and inviting, as she hoped.

It’s impossible for someone to know what they’ll do in a crisis. Some people train for months to years just so that muscle memory and practice will kick into place; let the body take over when all the mind wants to do is fight, flee, or freeze. No amount of practice can ever truly prepare a body for reacting to trauma. When blood enters the air, bones crack, or shots ring out; when death looms large and reminds you of its eternal presence: That’s when people find out which instincts in them are strongest, and no amount of training is going to be able to stop that instinct. It was a kind of bizarre, if infinitely small mercy that Kelly had no such training to fall back on. There was no lie that she could tell herself about what she should have done or already knew how to do; therefore she’d be able to lie to herself about what she could have done if only she had had the proper training. It’s funny in a sad way how the mind finds ways to compensate for disaster. When Roxy got hit by that car in the middle of the cross walk. She hadn’t braced for impact. The college sophomore had been looking at her phone, checking her Twitter feed and looking at Instagram photos of the latest goth-punk trends. No one expects to die, bored, hungry for lunch, and on their way to the bus stop after a lecture on the lifecycle of the cicada. Ironically enough, the frat boy who’d been too busy to notice the red light was probably doing something similar. The sickening thud as Kelly’s best friend was hit dead on, going heels over head over the roof and then landing with a splat on the concrete was accompanied by Kelly’s own panicked shrieks and the squealing of brakes. Outside of the natural kinetic slapping of flesh to steel to asphalt and of bones breaking and limbs being bent in ways that nature had never intended them to go, Roxy didn’t make a sound. The frat boy douche with the baby blue striped polo and the gelled up hair cut was out of his car and still clutching his phone, looking aghast like he literally couldn’t believe what he’d just done. Kelly couldn’t believe it either. If she hadn’t developed the habit of power walking through crosswalks and keeping her head on a swivel, even in their sleepy college town, she might have been laying there beside Roxy. What a pair of corpses that would have made. Kelly in her light blue t-shirt, jeans and sneakers, streaks of rainbow in her blonde hair. Roxy, her best friend with enough makeup to make the already pale girl seem like a silent movie corpse in black shorts, fishnets, and knee high boots. They’d met each other freshman year and had been oddly drawn into their differences in aesthetic rather than repelled. “Little Mary Sunshine” tinged with anger and her “Debbie Downer Goth” friend who still slept with a teddy bear. Yin and Yang. Roxy looked like even more of a corpse now. The blood pooling out from the back of her head added an ironic splash of color. Already, Kelly was imagining herself having to find something black for a funeral. It’s funny what the mind thinks about when it’s panicked; the bizarre and surreal thoughts that chemicals induce to try and manage heart rate and adrenaline and ward off oncoming grief. Overcome, Kelly cast aside an inevitable future and rushed to her friend’s side. “Roxy?!” Kelly shouted. “Roxy?! ROXY!” Her friend was unresponsive. Barely knowing CPR. Kelly shook Kelly’s shoulders, hoping for a response. Her best friend was stiff as the old CPR dummies from high school. Warmer though...for now. “Roxy! Say something!” she begged. Roxy didn’t move. Her eyes remained closed and Kelly’s mind flashed back to that morning back in fifth grade when she’d found her hamster was doing more than sleeping at the bottom of its cage. She couldn’t tell if Roxy was breathing. It’s very likely that she wasn’t... “HELP!” Kelly called out. “HEEEELP!” Why was no saying anything?! Why was no one else screaming or rushing over or getting on their phones to call 9-1-1? The hospital was just a few blocks away! There was still time to save Roxy! Still time to revive her! Still time... Still… Time… It’s altogether impossible to describe exactly what sensation Kelly felt in that moment. Humanity as long and often fantasized about sixth senses; often comparing them to the five most common to our fragile and temporary condition. ‘Hearing’ thoughts, ‘seeing’ the future, ‘smelling’ death on the wind. In actuality, such descriptions do a disservice to the experience of awakening. Comparing an uncommon sixth sense with the common five inherently limits the experience. It is not like a blind man gaining sight or a deaf one being able to hear. Those are experiences that are in the minority gaining something and joining the majority. The blind and deaf are constantly told what they are missing out on and so the narrative -as problematic as it may be- becomes one of completion. What Kelly experienced while her broken friend bled out on the street was more akin to an earthworm gaining sight. It was something that was never expected or reasonably predicted within the human experience. It wasn’t a feeling of completion but a feeling of addition. Growing. Cancerous almost. To compare it to the other five senses, if a comparison had to be made, was most like the feeling of a sleeping limb finally getting blood flow to it; something painful and slow as the brain connects itself to something that had been previously caught off; something that despite the hurt one can’t help but push through over cutting off the blood flow. A more apt emotional description might be comparing the sensation to passing gas through a newly installed colostomy: Most people aren’t born knowing what it feels like to essentially fart and shit right next to their navel but damn it all if it doesn’t feel like it. Can’t be prevented or controlled either once you wake up in the hospital with that bag sticky taped to your side and inflating as the whole next to your belly button starts farting for you. Kelly felt this part of her come alive, screaming as she was on her knees next to what used to be her friend. The sound of her screams echoed unnaturally into the air, her own grief making the world seem stiller. Threatening tears, her eyes looked up and caught sight of a bird. She stared long and hard at the bird. It was frozen in the air, suspended in the sky without so much as flapping its wings. Not gliding. Not hovering. Just hanging in the air like a bad background prop. “W-h-a-t t-h-e-?” Her own words started to burble out disconnectedly, almost like she was underwater. The light from the morning sun refracted unnaturally, almost like it had slowed down. “h-e-l-l?” And everyone and everything around her- from the squirrels running up trees, to panicked onlookers getting out their phones to the douche who had just murdered Roxy with his car- was frozen in place. There are no words that can fully describe what Kelly did next; least of all how she did it and how she thought to try. It felt as undeniably alien as farting through her belly button, but as relieving and involuntary as wiggling her fingers once the feeling had returned or gasping for air after dunking her head in the ocean. In her grief and panic, Kelly reached out to Roxy’s body with more than just her hands, and took Roxy’s limp hand into her own. Be safe. Please. Like a vinyl record on reverse, a cacophony of panicked sounds- screams, screeches, and sickening thuds of skin on asphalt, then steel- rang out in the air. Kelly’s other five senses went haywire. The scent of exhaust and blood in the air, the feeling of gravel on her knees and the breeze on her skin, the taste of vomit and bile looming in the back of her throat, her weight crashing down on her. The refracted light and sight of her classmate dead on the ground. It didn’t transition as much as it completely ceased to be. A blip. A stroke. Gone. “Asshole!” Someone else’s voice called out from beside them. “Did you see that guy?” A young man wearing school colors flipped a bird. “Douche bag is gonna kill somebody!” From their spot on the other end of the crosswalk, Kelly and Roxy watched as the car slammed on the brakes, narrowly missing a campus jaywalker. “PUT! YOUR PHONE! DOWN!” Kelly felt a light squeeze on her hand. “Good thing, we looked both ways and crossed as fast as we could, huh?” Roxy said. “Yeah,” Kelly replied before shrieking. There beside her on the opposite end of the crosswalk, not at all dead or injured, holding her hand was Roxy! “OH MY GOD!” She pulled Roxy in for an embrace so strong she threatened to kill the girl a second time. “Easy, Kelly!” Roxy giggled. “You’ll smear my makeup if you cling that tight.” Gently, she pushed away, and smiled, clearly flattered by the sudden unexpected affection. “I saved you!” Kelly blurted out. “I saved you! You got hit by that car and were dying or dead on the pavement and I- Roxy smiled, goofily, like she thought this was all a rather amusing joke. “Kel? What are you talking about? There was no way that car was going to hit us. We held hands, looked both ways and crossed the street. Safety buddies!” Kelly wiped away the tears that had already begun flowing previous to...to...whatever this was. “I’m sorry.” she said. “I love you.” Roxy leaned in for a second hug, this one softer, more tender. “I love you too, bud.” “No,” Kelly tried to explain. “You don’t understand. You got hit and maybe died and I rewound time and…” Kelly stopped her sentence in its tracks and it had absolutely nothing to do with how bonkers Kelly knew she must have sounded. Kelly had done more than rewound time. Roxy’s entire outfit had changed. Boots melted away into black velcro sneakers. The fishnets were completely gone, and the only thing on Roxy’s legs below her thighs was a band-aid on a skinned knee. Her Goth friend now sported black denim shortalls that stopped an inch above her knees and a The Crow T-Shirt could barely be seen over the denim bib. She still had the dark eye shadow with black nails, but before she’d slammed her head into the concrete, her hair hadn’t been put up in pom-pom pigtails. She was still unmistakably an adult. Her breasts hadn’t vanished and her voice hadn’t changed. Roxy’s fashion sense could still just as easily be sorted into the ‘Goth’ niche. But now she looked like a Goth...kindergartener? A Goth Kindergartener Tomboy? No one else around them noticed or cared that the girl who’d been hit by the car had been unhit. There was no chance they’d notice what amounted to a wardrobe change. College students just kept strolling right past them on sidewalks on the way to class. Douchebag had kept on driving after his near miss. “Why are you so worried?” Roxy prodded. “There was no chance that thing was going to hit us.” “You were looking at your phone,” Kelly whispered. Black lips twisted and an eyebrow arched. “Phone? I don’t have a phone. I’m too little to have a phone.” “Too...little?” The words tasted like batteries on Kelly’s lips. Kelly immediately questioned why, but she wondered if she’d somehow damaged her friend’s brain. “How old are you, Roxy?” “Nineteen,” Roxy said. “Same as you. Why?” “No reason,” Kelly lied. “Why wouldn’t you have gotten hit?” Roxy smirked. “Is this a test?” she asked. “Like making sure I pay attention?” “Sure,” another lie. “Let’s go with that.” Amnesia if not brain damage was looking like a mighty high probability just then. Roxy flopped her arms by her side and rolled her eyes as if she were an annoyed child having to recite her lessons. “We always cross the street together. I hold your hand and we look both ways and we cross as fast as we can without running. Right?.” The brighter, happier girl went pale. The information was wrong, Roxy couldn’t be hurried for anything when she didn’t want to be, same went with her attention to her phone. The delivery of said information, the eye roll, the unconscious click of her tongue, the ragdoll flopping of her arms and the craning of her neck. That was very Roxy! “And we always cross the street like that?” “When we’re together,” Roxy replied. “If not you, then my Mom or Dad.” For limited three-dimensional beings such as humans there is no such thing as intuition regarding sixth dimensional quasi-temporal reality altering mechanics. It’s a fish trying to figure out how to breathe air.. Nevertheless the thought occurred to her: Kelly had done more than simply rewind time. She’d also fundamentally changed Roxy, too; changed her into the type of person least likely to get struck by a motor vehicle unawares. She’d reached back into her friend’s own personal timeline and altered something so that she had never quite outgrown the kind of basic safety stuff that had so longingly and wholesomely been ingrained in Kelly her entire life. Roxy was still nineteen, it was just as if a small part of her was still back in Kindergarten. “Can we go now?” she whined. “I wanna get home. I’m hungry.” “Sure,” Kelly said. “Sure. Let’s go home.” ************************************************************************* “I’m telling you,” Kelly said for what felt like the millionth time. “I rewound time.” “Uh-huh,” Roxy said, clearly not believing her. “Tell me another one.” She scraped the dark purple plastic bowl and got the last bit of beanie weenies in her mouth. Roxy’s palette had gone back to kindergarten too. Kelly struggled to find the right words: The words that had eluded her over on the bus ride back to Roxy’s house. “Seriously. I...I...rewound time. You got hit by that car!” She motioned to the almost toddler outfit her best friend was wearing. “I rewound you. You were wearing boots and fishnets before. Not...that.” Roxy blushed hard enough for a bit of rosy pink to shine through her makeup. “What’s wrong with what I wear?” “Nothing!” Kelly said. “It’s just...different. Less…” the wrong word slipped out. “...mature.” “No it’s not,” Roxy stomped her sneakered foot a tad. “I’ve always worn this kind of stuff. You’re the one with rainbow highlights and sparkles and stuff!”” “That’s not the point,” Kelly verbally pivoted. “I like the way you look now. You just don’t normally look like this.” Roxy looked down at herself as if in deep contemplation or trying to remember something that just wasn’t there. “I’ve always dressed like this.” “No you haven’t” Kelly insisted. “Yes I have.” “No you…” Kelly stopped herself. As weird as this day had been, there was no way she was going to get into that back and forth argument. “How can I prove it to you?” A big toothy grin framed Roxy’s face, accompanied gleefully clenched fists. “Do it again! Rewind something!” “You don’t remember this time,” Kelly said. “Why would you remember next time?” Roxy slapped her forehead in exasperation. “Not me! Something else. You said you changed my clothes! Change some more! One’s I’m not wearing” Considering that Roxy was the one with a hairstyle no older than second grade, Kelly felt particularly foolish. “Okay…” she said, looking around. What clothing or furniture could she alter that would prove to Roxy that she was telling the truth? Technically, Roxy didn’t look out of place in her current get up. ‘Goth Kindergartener’ was still a viable look for her. One that if she hadn’t witnessed the change herself, she wouldn’t have been all that surprised to see Roxy rocking. What was younger than Kinder-? “I got it!” Kelly whirled around and opened the top dresser and took out a pair of white cotton panties with black skull and crossbones printed on them. Kelly had never seen her friend’s underwear before. If she had taken just a moment to ponder whether Roxy would have worn that kind of underwear before today, what happened next might have been avoided. She didn’t, though. “My panties?” Roxy asked. “Not for long,” Kelly grinned. “W-a-t-c-h a-n-d l-e-a-r-n!” It wasn’t hard for Kelly to reach out and rewind the cotton panties in her hands. To parallel the human experience, it was something like scratching a spot that didn’t itch. The light still refracted and moved in strange unnatural ways and speeds. Her sound still distorted like someone was playing a Youtube clip at half speed. Spatial awareness along with the other five senses blipped out for a moment. Exactly like before. It just wasn’t as satisfying. “One of my diapers?” Roxy asked. “What about them?” Kelly looked at the giant diaper that was now in her hand. Just like the panties, it was now white, but with a black skull and crossbones patterned all over. Goth panties had turned into a Goth diaper. “These were panties just a second go.” “No they weren’t,” Roxy said. “I don’t wear panties. I was never potty trained.” “Never potty trained?” Kelly echoed. She opened the underwear drawer wider. “Then why do you have…?” It wasn’t an underwear drawer anymore. “...diapers?” Roxy unhooked the fasteners on her shortalls. The black denim plopped to the floor. In the few seconds where Kelly’s senses were readjusting to the part of reality she’d just scratched she hadn’t yet noticed the swollen, drooping diaper sagging inside Roxy’s shortalls. She noticed it now. Roxy was also quite well endowed. Kelly wasn’t sure if her friend had been wearing a bra a second go thanks to denim bib. It was easier to see that she wasn’t wearing one anymore. “Yeah,” Roxy said, pointing to the pulpy puffy pampers sagging between her thighs. “You’ve changed them enough times.” She poked at her padding. “Huh. Do I need a change yet? I can never tell.” Kelly felt like her heart was about to stop. “I’ve changed them?” “Duh-doy!” Roxy said. “You’re my best friend and babysitter!” She waddled over to her dresser and opened the drawer next to the diaper filled one. “You’re so weird today.” She opened up the drawer and took out a pack of cigarettes. “Is this a new pretend game or something?” “You still smoke?” Kelly asked her mouth agape. Roxy reached for a lighter. “Don’t tell Mommy.” She got a lighter. The weight and absurdity of everything that had tumbled out of her friend’s mouth finally hit home. “I’m your b-a-b-y-s-i-t-t-e-r?” There’s a peculiar thing about scratching. Sometimes when you scratch a spot that doesn’t itch, you trick your brain and suddenly the itch not only appears, but moves around and drives you crazy until you have to scratch. It’s very likely that Kelly didn’t even know what she was doing as the world slowed down till even the flame from the lighter was static. She very likely didn’t consciously know she was doing it until it was too late to stop it; the metaphysical equivalent of someone with poison ivy unconsciously rubbing the back of their arms a little too rough until it progressed to picking and full on gouging at sores. When time and reality had picked up its normal pace, every trace of her friend’s room had completely warped. The bannisters on Roxy’s bed had spread to become a crib. She was no longer leaning on her dresser drawer; it had become a changing table with the adult sized diapers stacked and within easy reach next to wipes and powder. Roxy now sucked on a pacifier and clipped it to the collar of her Lolita dress instead of trying to light a cigarette. The t-shirt and shortalls had either disappeared, or had been rearranged to become the dress in the same way that everything else had been rearranged. Whether she knew it or not anymore, Roxy certainly didn’t wake up in diapers this morning. “I really do need to try and quit these,” Roxy commented casually. “It just feels so good to suck on ‘em, though. Sometimes it’s better than cummies, y’know?” The color palette hadn’t shifted at all. No pastelles. No pinks and blues to be seen. Everything was still in shades of gray, black, and white, with the brightest color being a midnight purple. Roxy’s room had shifted into an overgrown Goth Nursery, and in a matter of seconds she had been transformed from a giant Goth Kindergartener to a Goth Toddler to a Goth Baby. “Knock knock.” Roxy’s mother came in, as bright and shiny a woman in her early forties as Kelly had ever met. The fact that she looked and acted more like Kelly most times lent into the joke of ‘Adopted Daughter’ during the rare times when all three came out. “Mommy!” the Goth Baby ran up and flung her arms around her mother. Kelly’s blood ran cold. How was she supposed to explain this? There was no way in the world that she could explain this to Roxy’s mom. No way she wasn’t going to notice! Roxy’s mom did notice. Just not in the way Kelly had anticipated. “Hey baby girl! How was class?” She returned the hug, holding it long enough to lift up the back of Roxy’s dress and give the back of her diaper a squeeze. “You need a change! You’re soaked all the way to the back!” She started nudging a giggling Roxy back over to the changing table. Roxy boosted herself up and laid down. “Mrs. Klein!” Kelly blurted. “I’m so sorry! I can explain.” Roxy’s Mom nudged Kelly out of the way. “I’m not mad about the pacifier, Kelly.” She lifted up the front of the skirt and picked out a fresh diaper from the stack beneath her daughter. “Some habits are hard to break, even though some little girls know they’re only supposed to use their pacifiers at bed and naptime!” She playfully waggled her finger at Roxy, sending her into giggle fits. “No,” Kelly stumbled over her own words. “I meant the diapers. And..and..” Mrs. Klein started untaping the wet diaper. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this one. You only have to change the little sprinkler when I’m busy or you’re at class together.” A side effect with not knowing how one has changed reality is that new and counterintuitive revelations tend to turn one into a parrot. “Class?” Mrs. Klein finished wiping, balled up the used diaper and tossed it into the pail that hadn’t existed moments before. She unfolded the fresh diaper and slid it under her daughter’s bottom. Neither flinched nor blushed, although Kelly was making up the difference for both of them. It was like this was routine and normal for both of them. ”You’re her babysitter, yes? That’s what I pay you for. It’s not like she needs a tutor.” “Phraight Aysh!” Roxy slurred behind her enormous pacifier. “That’s right,” Mrs. Klein tweaked the Goth Baby’s nose. “My baby girl is getting straight A’s and gold stars all semester! All her teachers tell me so!” She reached a hand out. “Now if only she’d outgrow this dark and dreary phase!” That?! That’s the part that she wished Roxy would outgrow?! “MOMMEEEEEE!” Roxy whined. “I know, I know,” her mother sighed. “This is who you are and I accept you expressing yourself.” She stuck her hand out towards Kelly. “Pass me the rash cream.” Without thinking Kelly did. While her mother spread white rash cream over Roxy’s butt and then dusted scented cornstarch over her privates, Kelly’s mind raced and put together all the context clues she could pick up. Roxy was still in college. Still friends with her, even though Kelly was something of a babysitter. She was still smart and still took most of the same classes as her. But she was also a giggling baby getting her diaper changed by her mother with no sense of modesty whatsoever. Just like before, her mother insisted that the Goth aesthetic was a phase, but had no problem with little girl dresses that covered the top of skull and crossbones diapers. A nineteen year old baby instead of a regressed or brain damaged woman. A literal Adult Baby. “That’s better.” Mrs. Klein finished taping up the diaper- all four tapes, so it wasn’t like this was a giant Huggies or something- and helped Roxy off the changing table. “All done.” Roxy gave her mother a hug. “Thanks, Mommy.” “You’re welcome, sweetie.” Kelly simply stood there trying to take everything in and feeling extremely uncomfortable. The adult pivoted and addressed Kelly. “I just came in to ask you a favor. Normally I drive Roxy to class in the afternoon, but I have a Zoom meeting.” This was news to Kelly. Earlier that day, they’d been discussing Kelly bumming a ride with Roxy. Even with parking being a bitch, the afternoon bus was almost never on time. “Do you mind taking her in my car?” “Um...no…?” “Great! Thanks!” She turned and grabbed Roxy’s hand. “I’ll help you get her strapped in.” Kelly was about to parrot the phrase, but her mind was able to beat her mouth to the punch. Roxy might have been an adult in intellect but not in societal privileges and responsibilities. It made sense in a way; as much as anything today made sense. “Thanks,” Kelly said. “Car seats can be such a pain.” “It’s just like with the diapers. You get used to them. You build a rhythm.” Silently, Kelly followed mother and daughter out of the bedroom, taking quick note about what else had changed since she’d scratched this new itch of hers. She’d noted and taken for granted the various family and school portraits hanging from the walls; Roxy through the ages. Her own parents had a similar set up back home. Now, every picture of Roxy seemed to be a baby picture, even if the girl in the photos wasn’t at all a baby. “Ugh,” Roxy sighed as the trio made their way into the kitchen. “Do we really have to take that?” She pointed to a light pink diaper bag hanging on a hook. Mrs. Klein handed it over to Kelly and the college sophomore shouldered it like it was second nature. “Kelly just fed you an entire bowl of beanie weenies,” her mother lectured. “And your morning ba-ba of coffee hasn’t kicked in. I’m not going to have you sit in a poopy diaper all through class!” Kelly turned her head and saw the giant high chair. Apparently she had just spoon fed her best friend franks and beans. The thought of soiling herself in front of her peers didn’t seem to bother Roxy. “Yeah, but it’s pink! I hate pink.” Yeah. Same Roxy. “Can we get a new one soon?” The argument didn’t slow their transition or travel speed. The infrequent, often playful arguments between Roxy and either of her parents rarely did. Her mother opened the sleek red car's back door. Given everything else, she wasn’t surprised to see the adult sized baby seat. “But you loved Hello Kitty! Roxy plopped down. “I was twelve!” That must have meant that Roxy had gone through a Hello Kitty phase when she was twelve. In a weird way, Kelly felt like she’d just learned something new about her friend. Mrs. Klein didn’t lose a step. She guided Roxy’s arms through the five point harness. “It’s still a perfectly good diaper bag. I’m not replacing it and I’m not going to have you go without it after you’ve just loaded up.” She finished buckling the nineteen year old baby in; the final buckle between the legs caused the skirt to ride up even more. No one cared. So this is what a mother-daughter relationship might look like if the daughter didn’t quite grow up. It was kind of normal looking. It could be normal… Mrs. Klein closed the back door and handed Kelly the keys. “Don’t worry about the gas. Just come straight home after class. I’ll have this weeks’ payment ready for you when you get back.” “Uh..yeah. Sure.” Kelly said. Getting paid to hang out with her best friend and drive her mother’s car to boot? Maybe this was an itch worth scratching... ******************************************************************* Getting Roxy to their Anthropology 102 class had been one thing. After unbuckling Roxy from the giant car seat, they held hands (and looked both ways before crossing the street) to class, talking as they always did. If it weren’t for the crinkle every step of the way or that she kept staring at Roxy’s black dress and pigtails, it might have been any other Tuesday on campus: Morning lecture, break for lunch, travel back for an afternoon block. The sidewalks, walkways, and hallways were just sparse enough to where Kelly didn’t feel embarrassed for her friend. Also, this was college; a Goth Girl in a diaper (in the Humanities and History Building no less) was hardly the strangest thing seen in the University’s history. It got harder to feel like she wasn’t getting away with something when class started. “Can I have my crayons?” Roxy had asked, pointing to her diaper bag. “I like using the red ones and pretending they're blood.” A side pocket had a pack of crayons and a notebook filled with college level academia entirely in crayon. The other students filed in and all said hello, too, but without further comment. Correction: Almost further comment. Kelly turned almost as pink as Roxy’s diaper bag every time a classmate called the big baby “cutie”, or “sweetie” or “hun” or any other number of sucrose infused nicknames. Roxy giggled, but continued doodling in her notes. The fact that it was so normalized was giving Kelly second hand embarrassment. Closest parallel Kelly could draw was a recurring dream about being naked and no one noticing. It was embarrassing and anxiety inducing because no one saw anything wrong with the state of things. No one made a comment about Roxy’s dress or diaper or bows or anything. Why would they, though? As far as anyone could remember, Roxy was always like this. No one cared if a baby was dressed like a baby; that was expected. Speaking of expected, Kelly should have expected it when Mrs. Klein’s predictions came true. In the middle of the lecture, still taking notes in crayon and sucking on her pacifier, Roxy stood up from her desk. From the side, Kelly thought her friend was just concentrating. To be fair, Roxy was. The girl had been concentrating so hard that she didn’t seem to notice as the back of her diaper ballooned out slightly, quietly grunting behind her binky. “Kelly,” the professor said. “Word to the wise; You might want to see to Roxy before she-”Roxy sat back down in her seat, not even lifting her head at the mention of her name. “Never mind…” Kelly lifted a single eyebrow in confusion. “Hmm?” “You are her sitter, after all.” “What does…?” Kelly sniffed and the absolutely vile smell of human waste invaded her nose. That wasn’t just passing gas. Her best friend had gotten up, pooped her disposable pants, and then sat back down, spreading the mess. No one seemed embarrassed for her, especially not Roxy. The boy behind Roxy waved his hand lightly in front of his face, but the level of discomfort was minimal. “Oh.” Shouldering the pink Hello Kitty bag, Kelly got up from her seat and took Roxy’s hand one more time. “Come on, babe.” This was too weird. “Let’s go change your…” she gulped. “...diaper.” Too weird. Too fucking werid. “I got y’all for notes!” A classmate called out after them. “Uh...thanks?” Way too weird. Mentally, Kelly braced herself for having to wipe her best friend’s ass. The worst part of it was that she wasn’t nearly as weirded out or uncomfortable as she thought she’d be. If anything, Kelly was only uncomfortable in how oddly comfortable she was becoming with the idea too. Scratch an itch long enough and it gets incredibly hard to stop. “You’re not embarrassed by this?” Kelly asked as they walked to the Ladies’ room. She hadn’t even considered how or where she was going to change Roxy. The handicapped stall, maybe? Roxy shrugged. “Why? It’s just a diaper change. Babies like me get them all the time.” “That’s the thing,” Kelly tried to explain. “There aren’t any other babies like-” “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO WE ARE?” A voice rang out. Three preppy co-eds- a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead, all wearing color coordinated skirts like something out of an 80’s movie- glowered over a meeker, slightly heavier girl. The heavier girl was actually shaking while the trio stared her down. “The exams aren’t inherently f-f-final,” she stuttered horsley. “There will be opportunities for extra credit…?” She held up a briefcase like it was shield. “Let us clue you in to who you’re talking to.” the brunette spat. “Morrison, Trembly, Hogart.” She pointed to herself and her clique in turn. “There are buildings in this dump named after our families. We’re legacy.” “Y-y-yeah…” the teaching assistant shivered. “I know. I know.” “This class isn’t even for our major,” the redhead said “Total crib class.” The blonde added. “B-b-b-ut.” The brunette looked at her friends. “I don’t recall giving her permission to speak, do you?” That shut the poor Teaching assistant up. “Let’s make this easy, honey. You give us our A’s and we don’t phone our parents so you don’t end up losing whatever scholarship landed your hand-me-down ass here.” Kelly felt her face getting hot. Bullies were something she just couldn’t stand. Baby Roxy, either. “Bunch spoiled brats. Super immature for grown-ups.” They were, weren’t they. Kelly felt the itch again. “One of them did say they wanted it to be a c-r-i-b c-l-a-s-s.” This third time was even easier than the first two times. Kelly both knew what she was about to do and wanted to do it. When reality blinked back into place, the three girls had changed their tune. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that their sweater vests and matching skirts had all been replaced with color coordinated onesies and matching bows and booties. “That is not the way to get what you want,” the T.A. said. The postures had been reversed and now the babified legacies cowered in the presence of the hardworking graduate student just trying to teach a class. “W-w-w-we’re sorry, Miss Gertrude.” The redhead mumbled. “Sorry isn’t going to save you from timeout, young lady,” the chubbier girl said. With a newly found (or installed) air of authority she pointed back into the classroom. “I’ve got four corners and your noses are going to be occupying three of them for the next twenty minutes.” One minute of time-out for every year. Standard procedure. “Are you going to tell our Daddies on us?” The blonde asked, trudging back in. “I will if you don’t get your tush back in the class.” “I need a chaaaaange!” The ringleader whined. “Oh no, Heather. I’m not falling for that again. You can wait.” “Can we at least get our animal crackers?” “Not till after.” Kelly smiled, feeling satisfied and strangely intoxicated by the whole thing. “Serves them right,” Roxy said. Inwardly, Kelly agreed, even if she knew that deep down Roxy and her were agreeing about two different things. “Some babies never learn.” “Come on, Roxy,” the reality warping girl said. “Let’s get you changed.” She had a funny feeling that there would be an adult sized changing station in the Girls’ room now. And if not, there would be. She gave one last look over to the classroom the three bullies turned brats had just waddled into. Just before the door shut, Kelly couldn’t help but think that the inside looked a little bit more ‘kid friendly’ than the average stuffy college lecture room. She hadn’t stopped at Roxy, so why stop at the bathroom? If certain people could be both babies and college students, why couldn’t a college also be a daycare? From now on, Kelly knew that her life was going to be very strange. But was strange really all that bad?

The world of scientific progress is a fickle mistress. Many different people jump into the world of research for many different reasons. Some do it for family, to carry the torch of their and their forefathers’ forefathers. Some people start young, wanting to turn the spark kindling during childhood into a flame of progress. And some people, like Bruno Bear, only do it for money. “When do I get paid?” The gruff grizzly asked. “You’re promising a whole heap of cash, and I still haven’t seen one cent yet.” “Well, Mr. Bear,” the persnickety poodle began, flipping through notes on her clipboard. “You still have not started the testing phase yet. Now, I feel the need to remind you that these tests are still highly experimental. We don’t know what effects they may have on your psyche.” “…Powder, was it?” The bear asked, an annoyed grin showing on his face, “Listen, I already signed all your papers and contracts and whatever. I just want to go in, get paid, and get out. Can you make that happen, huh?” Powder thought back to all the paperwork that Bruno had to sign. Procedures like this were barely legal, and the whole stack of documents was a foot thick. When Bruno started to breeze through each piece of paper in seconds, carelessly signing away, Powder started to worry. “This? I’m a speed reader,” Bruno had said. Powder didn’t believe him. If he had read even one paragraph of those papers, he would have run for the hills like countless others before him. Bruno didn’t carry himself like a man with a death wish either. He carried himself like one who only saw dollars signs, no matter the cost. Powder let out a heavy sigh, “I suppose scientist can’t be choosers. Very well then. Follow me.” Powder turned and began to lead the subject through the halls of the research building. After some time, the pair finally arrived at their destination. It was a giant white room. There were no desks, no furniture. Anyone who stayed here for too long was bound to get disoriented. When Powder saw visible confusion on the subject’s face, she figured now was the time to begin explaining. “This area is a top-of-the-line testing facility. There’s a console in another room that allows me to manipulate the contents of this room.” Powder fished around in her lab coat pocket and pulled out a remote controller. She clicked a button, revealing a door and a one-way mirror on one of the walls. “I will be monitoring from that room,” She accentuated with a point of her finger, “And the test will begin shortly. Now, I’m asking you one final time. Are you sure you want to go through with this?” Bruno was nodding, still playing catch up in his mind. Finally, he waved a paw and said, “Yeah, I got it. After you taps some buttons, I get paid, right?” Some people couldn’t be saved. Powder’s gaze had now shifted towards the door. “Yes Bruno. I’ll go press my buttons, and then we’ll pay you.” She made way for the exit, leaving the bear alone with his decision. Bruno stood in the test room for a moment, twiddling his fingers. Soon the room began to change as various devices slid from behind the wall panels. A large TV monitor hung from the ceiling and displayed static. Below the screen was a plain-looking set of earbuds. An intercom speaker had popped out from the corner of the ceiling. The speaker buzzed to life, and the familiar voice of a certain poodle came through. “Bruno, can you hear me? The program will start shortly. I need you to put on the earbuds and look at the screen. Once you’ve started, do not look away. Understood?” Bruno shrugged and made the ok gesture with his paws. He picked up the earbuds and inspected them for a moment. After he got paid, maybe he should buy a pair of these for himself. Concerns for later. He popped the buds into his ears, took a seat, and waited for the show to start. Powder watched intensely from the one-way mirror as the program began. Without the audio, the video was safe to watch. Right now, however, she was more interested in watching Bruno’s reaction than anything else. The tape had only been running for a few seconds, and he was as stiff as a statue. He probably couldn’t stop watching now even if he wanted to. The hypnosis had a way of coiling around the patient’s attention early, trapping it like a snake and its prey. Just the thought of being forced to watch it made her shudder. Still, the bear had made his choice, as ill-informed as it may be. All she could do now was sit back and reap the benefits. Powder pulled out her clipboard and began her work. “At the twenty second mark, the pupils begin to dilate…” *** A door slid open, and Powder walked through. “Alright, Bruno. The video portion is over. How do you feel?” Bruno fumbled to his feet and stretched his arms. “Me? I feel super.” “No headaches, or any nausea?” “Nope,” Bruno shook his head. “Ah-hah…” Powder made note of this on her clipboard. “Do you recall what happened earlier?” Bruno scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah? I came in, watched some flashy cartoons, then you came back. Easy peas.” Bruno looked around the room, still feeling more disoriented than he liked to admit. “Hey, doc. Can I ask you something?” “Yes?” Powder replied, still jotting down notes. “Where’s my diaper?” Powder stopped, a look of knowing on her face. “Your diaper? Bruno, what do you need a diaper for?” The question made Bruno double take. “Because? I’m a big baby. If I don’t have one on, I might make a boom-boom in my pants?” Bruno whined, shaking his not-padded rump. “Are you sure you feel okay doc? Maybe all this scientific mumbo jumbo is making you screwy.” “My apologies. I have to make sure all your thoughts are in order.” Powder continued to scribble down more notes as she turned back towards the door. “But I’m happy to say that everything is as it should be. I’ll go and get that nice, big diaper for you now, okay?” Just like the first time, she disappeared behind the white door and got to work on her console. With nothing better to do, Bruno sat back down and suckled on his paw. What was that science-lady’s problem? Didn’t she know Bruno was basically an overgrown cub? He certainly wasn’t ready for the potty, let alone big boy undies. It was a good thing those silly cartoons didn’t influence him. That would make getting his money all the sweeter. Moments later, metal coils with white gloved hands appeared from behind the wall panels. Soon the hands found their target and slithered towards Bruno. The hands got to work fast and began undressing the big baby bear. His jacket was taken. His shirt came clean off. His belt was unbuckled, and his pants? Hit the road. It was all no issue. Those grown-up clothes looked silly on him anyway. The hands laid Bruno onto his back as the pair of briefs he was wearing came off. The second they came off; he began to feel more like himself. As the hands whisked the briefs away, Bruno waved with his free paw. “Bye-bye undies.” “Okay Bruno. It’s time for that diaper you requested. In addition, I’ve picked out some new clothes that should be more to your liking.” More hands entered from the walls, this time, carrying a set of items that should have been familiar to the colossal cub. One extra-large shaker of baby powder. One ultra-thick diaper. A plain white classic. Just what the doctor order. Despite their goofy appearance, the hands were very coordinated. A pair of hands lifted his legs and slid the hefty pamper underneath. A bear-sized portion of powder was sprinkled on his groin. Two hands worked together to carefully press down the tapes, making sure the subject was nice and snug in his padding. One hand gave Bruno’s new diaper a few pats on the front and finished with a thumbs-up. Bruno was lifted by the armpits as more hands appeared, carrying a much more fitting set of attire. The hands lifted Bruno up once more and got to work. This all still felt natural. Bruno was still much too young to dress himself. Whether an adult dressed him, or a swarm of mechanical hands did it, made no difference to him. When one hand carried down a large full-body mirror, Bruno finally got a chance to see himself. He now wore a baby blue t-shirt with a pair of red shorts. The shorts did a decent job at covering his diaper…but the bulk made its presence oh-so obvious. The bear was also wearing half-socks and a pair of sneakers. After a few curious stomps, he found the sneakers lit up when he moved. Cool! The intercom came on once more. “Well, don’t you look charming. I’m going to change the scenery now. Wait one moment. The entire room’s structure began to shift and shuffle. The bear could hardly keep track of the organized chaos. Bruno’s mouth gaped opened when everything was finally in place. There was colorful wallpaper all around. The floor was littered with various playmats. There were toys strewn about the floor, giving the place a lived-in feel. Multiple cribs of many sizes lined the walls. A few changing tables also lined the walls, their compartments fully stocked. It didn’t take long for the bear to realize where he was. Bruno was in a giant nursery! A small desk rose from the ground under Bruno. The hands descended him into it, forcing him to take a seat. From the front door of the classroom entered Powder, now holding a strange looking tablet. “Alright Bruno. Now is the time for the Q&A portion. I’m going to ask you some more questions. This will help me get a better understanding of your mental state. While we do that…” Powder tapped on the tablet, and soon another pair of hands appeared from the walls. They stopped at Bruno’s desk, dropping a stack of papers and a packet of crayons, then quickly left. “…you can draw me a pretty picture. How does that sound?” Bruno crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at the scientist. “Alright, But I’ve got one strip-you, um…” “Stipulation?” “Yeah, one of those. If you get to ask questions, so do I. We clear?” Powder blinked, not expecting that response. Honestly, she was expecting Bruno to speed through the questions, like he had with all those contracts and wavers. Even while dressed as a big baby, this bear still believed himself to be in charge. While the hypnosis impacted his mental age, it did nothing to change Bruno’s unruly personality. “Scientists can’t be choosers. All right, I accept. You have no issue with a lady going first, right?” “Floor is yours, doc.” Bruno plucked a crayon out of the box and began to scribble away. “Very good. Now Bruno, how old are you?” The bear shrugged, not even bothering to look up from his coloring. “Dunno.” Powder tilted her head in confusion. “You aren’t sure? You can’t even guess?” “I said I don’t know. I signed it on one of those papers, right? Just look at one of those.” “I am asking, Bruno, because I want to know what you believe your age to be. I’m not trying to see what Bruno wrote. I’m trying to see what Bruno knows.” “Well, Bruno doesn’t know. And besides, isn’t it my turn to ask a question?” “I…fine. Bruno, what is your question for me?” “Why did you become a scientist?” “Oh? Oh! Well, I wanted to make a change in the world. I wanted to help maintain the fight for greater progress and help make a difference.” Before Powder’s speech could continue, Bruno’s hand shot up, as if to ask another question. “Yes, Bruno?” “I thought we weren’t supposed to lie with these questions.” “Excuse me?” A frown grew on the poodle’s face when she realized what he meant, “Bruno, I am not lying. I want to be here.” The bear simply rolled his eyes. “Riiight. Listen lady. Just because I’m a baby doesn’t mean I was born yesterday. I know that grown-ups tell white lies like that because the truth doesn’t sound as sweet.” Bruno tapped the butt of a crayon under his chin in a thoughtful gesture. “I don’t think this was your first choice. That’s all I’m saying.” “And why do you think that?” A cocky smirk rose on the bear’s face. “Because. You are too pretty. Besides the lab coat, you don’t seem like the nerdy type to me. Just look at your perfect fur. Your perfect makeup. It’s in the way you carry yourself. You seem more like a show dog than anything else.” Powder couldn’t stop the blush from rising to her face. But it was there, and Bruno had no doubt spotted it. This was why she always hated working with children. They always found a way to spin the conversation around and make her feel foolish. She shouldn’t have to take this third degree. Especially not from a diaper-wearing dunce. The worst part was that she knew, on some level, he was right. Powder stopped to take a sharp inhale. “Fine. I hadn’t always planned on this. But that doesn’t mean I do not enjoy my work. You know, you could stand to be more polite. It will make this interview go a lot smoother and faster.” “Hmm.” Bruno smug expression had turned into a bored one. He crumpled up the paper he was scribbling on, tossing the first sketch aside, and started on a fresh one. “Now then. Bruno, do you—” “It’s my turn,” The bear interjected. “What? No, it isn’t.” “Yes, it is. You asked why I thought you were fake, and I told you. Now it’s my turn, and I’m still thinking.” Thinking back, Powder realized that Bruno was right. She had spoken too soon and was now paying the price. The gruff bear was now looking more like a clever fox. Another sharp inhale, this time a few seconds longer. “Okay Bruno. What is your next question?” “…How did you land this gig? When I said you weren’t the nerdy type, you didn’t even try to deny it. On the other paw, this isn’t the type of job they give to interns. So, you must have done something to land a job like this. How did ya do it?” Why did her subject have to be so annoyingly curt? “Bruno, that’s something of a personal question.” “So, give me something of a personal answer. Or are you the only one allowed to ask invasive questions? If you don’t plan on pulling punches, I shouldn’t have too neither. That’s only fair, doc.” He was right, in his only childish way. Powder knew it to be true. Moreover, she knew she couldn’t proceed unless she told him the truth. This was one of the reasons she hated working alone. Then again, she couldn’t tell her lab partner, Gus, about this experiment. Not before she had her results. It wouldn’t be fair to drop that on him, not after everything he had done for her. Her response was swift, “A friend helped me out. He pulled some strings and let me work in the lab with him.” Powder knew she had to choose her words carefully with this one. “I’m going to proceed now.” “Oooooh, a guy helped you. What’s lover boy’s name?” Bruno had shot a smug look at her earlier. Powder shot him one right back. “It’s my turn to ask a question now, Bruno.” She shouldn’t have gotten a rush from the line, but she just couldn’t help herself. “…Feh.” Bruno mumbled. He returned to his drawing, his face now featuring a look of concentration. “Bruno. What do you remember about the cartoons you watched?” It was a tense and volatile question. But it was also the most important one. “I don’t.” When Bruno saw the poodle stare at him with anticipation, he grumbled and said, “I don’t remember it. It’s a blank page. I can’t even remember one word of it.” That was unexpected. On paper, he should have remembered every single second of it. Had they made some severe miscalculation? If only Gus was here to help sort this out. “What’s your favorite toy here?” The reply was instant, as if he had already settled on his question before this conversation started. Moreover, it blocked Powder from asking any follow-up questions. “Out of all the stuff here, which one would you play with.” Another surprising question, one which sounded quite innocent. Powder still couldn’t tell which parts of Bruno’s mind were pacified and which were still grown. “Bruno, Adults don’t have time to play with toys. I’m too big for such things.” She was annoyed at what the baby bear was insinuating. But she was also annoyed at how fast he had changed the subject, and some of that heat bled through. “Too big,” He scoffed, “Well, I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m much bigger than you.” Bruno craned his neck and looked around the room. “And a whole lot of stuff here looks like fun to me. Especially those blocks over there.” The bear pointed to one corner of the room, where a bucket of toy blocks had spilled over. It was obvious to Powder that she was getting nowhere fast. Her best bet was to play along. Maybe then Bruno would start being more cooperative. Powder took a quick walk around the room, looking over all the toys. Finally, after some consideration, she had her answer. “The dollhouse.” She said, “If I was your age, that’s what I would pick.” “Ooooh, I gotcha.” No question was complete without a dose of attitude. Regardless, she still needed to pick her words carefully if she hoped to get any real work done. “I am under the impression that you do not believe me.” “Oh, I believe you. In fact, I would have bet money on you picking that.” “Don’t say why or what.” She thought. “Don’t phrase it like a question.” “I need you to elaborate on that statement.” Bruno paused, as if he were impressed by how well Powder was able to dodge question marks. “Control freak.” He replied bluntly, “When you tell those dollies what to do, they won’t talk back. I say something, and you get all hot and bothered.” Was that the issue? Was the way Powder conducted today’s experiment bothering him? No, she thought. Powder was simply doing her job. It was Bruno who was not doing his. “Bruno. I need you to understand that we are not equals. I am the adult, and you are the child. Your negative attitude isn’t going to change that.” “You really think that you are so much better than me?” A sharp hiss cut through Powder’s train of thought. Her ears immediately identified the sound, as it came from behind Bruno’s shorts. Her snout was next, picking up the scent of fresh urine mixed with baby powder. She could see the padding subtly swell behind the shorts, Bruno’s gait spreading automatically. Bruno still looked at her expectedly, as he finished peeing his pampers. Maybe he didn’t notice. Maybe he didn’t care. If he was a baby, flooding his diaper was as normal as taking a breath. “I…I think there is a certain divide in our status that you seem to be ignoring.” “Hmm, that’s interesting. By the way,” Bruno turned his paper over and held it up to the scientist, “Here’s that pretty picture you asked for.” This was an art piece Powder wished to forget. The crude doodle displayed Powder, sucking on a pacifier, wearing a fully loaded diaper. It was unflattering, to say the least, but at least it gave her an idea of how Bruno really felt. Powder certainly wasn’t looking forward to submitting this piece to records later. “See, those are stink lines.” “I see that, Bruno.” “Because you made a stinky.” “I understand the implications, Bruno!” She couldn’t let this experiment get any more out of control. She expected the interview to be the easy part. There had to be another way about this. Something she was missing. “Okay, I’m done.” Without hesitation, Bruno wiggled free from his desk and began to waddle to another play area. The pee-soaked state of the diaper forced him to take wide, duck-like steps. “W-wait!” Powder called, but the bear waved her off. After a moment of consideration, Bruno sat down with a wet squish, and landed in front of a bucket of blocks. “Bruno! We aren’t finished here!” “I know. It’s your turn, right? Ask away.” Despite being so many questions in, Bruno sounded so bored of it all. From his perspective, the colorful blocks were much more fun, and much less fussy, than the angry poodle lady. “I will!” Powder wanted nothing more than for this interview to be over. But her research forced her to put up with this overgrown child for a while longer. The only comfort in all of this was that after today, he wouldn’t be her problem. She would let the boys in the lab play babysitter and see how much they liked it. “What do you plan to do after you receive payment!?” “Huh, that’s a good one.” Bruno replied. He hadn’t made eye-contact with Powder and was steadily building a large tower of rainbow-colored blocks. “I don’t know yet. Probably take a nap. Maybe have a snack. What about you? Finally, a painless answer. This was how the procedure was supposed to go. Not this sass-filled back and forth. Powder was happy to get things back on track. “I am going to compile the data from the test and send it over to my superior. Now then—” “Sorry, maybe I wasn’t clear. What I mean is, what are you going to do after work? Like washing your hair or playing with dollies.” Ah. Powder should have known things would not be that easy. “Bruno, I do not play with dolls.” “Dollies,” The bear corrected, “And there’s nothing wrong with you if you do. Lots of grown-ups still keep dollies and plushies around when they get older.” “I am aware of that Bruno. But I am not one of them.” Powder shook her head and blurted back, “And they are called dolls.” “Okay? You still didn’t answer my question. And when you’re my age, you call them dollies. Right?” Playing along was not going to get any easier this way. Powder knew that, but still hadn’t accepted it yet. She thought back to when she was still in school, still just a puppy. Her favorite teachers were always the ones that talked to her on the same level, not above her. Maybe she needed to try that approach. And that is just what she did. Powder found a comfortable spot next to Bruno, sat down, and told the truth. “You probably won’t believe me if I tell you.” “Try me.” And she did. “Don’t tell anyone, but when I get home, I like to sit on my couch and watch old cartoons.” Bruno had stopped working on his tower and turned to face Powder. “Really?” The look of surprise on his face was plain to see. “Yeah,” She continued, feeling bashful. “It keeps me calm. Takes me back to a time when things were easier. Hey, maybe after this is over, we can watch some together?” Bruno didn’t say anything. All he did was smile at Powder, for the first time this session. This was good. This was what she wanted. Sure, the smell of stale urine was off-putting, but scientist can’t be choosers. “Ms. Powder? Could you do me a big favor?” “What is it?” “I’m trying to stick my flag on this tower, but I’m worried it’s going to fall. Could you hold her steady for me?” Bruno must be really invested in his game. A result of the hypnosis? It was too early to say. Either way, Powder was happy that Bruno was starting to warm up to her. Maybe today didn’t have to be such a struggle. “Sure thing,” Powder said, returning his smile with one of her own. She set the tablet down, only for a second, and held the building block tower with both hands. “Like this?” “Perfect.” Bruno wobbled to his feet. He had his eyes on the prize now. He steadied himself, made one quick motion with his paw… And swiped the tablet clean off the ground. “There we go.” The petrified poodle gulped. Powder’s heart had stopped. Her eyes were as wide as dinner plates. An awful feeling was writhing in her gut. One that was screaming at her, saying she had just made the biggest mistake of her life. It wasn’t until the tower of blocks came crashing down that she broke free from her daze. “Bruno, h-hold on! Let’s not do anything hasty!” The poodle scrambled to her feet, rushing towards the bear without thinking. She tried to take the tablet back, but there was no hope. Regardless of his mental state, the burly beast still towered over her. Bruno was an expert at playing keep away, which meant that it was game over for Powder. “Come on! How about we go back to playing!? I won’t even ask you anymore questions, okay!?” The bear was unmoved. “Sorry, doc. I found something that’s more fun to play with.” The tablet’s interface was quite easy to understand. Child’s play, really. The screen displayed various icons for various functions. The hand icon seemed as good a place as any to start. Within seconds, the familiar white hands shot out from the walls. Their aim was set to Powder, and they hit their target dead on. Two arms lifted her by the armpits, and she was soon kicking for dear life. “P-please! I’ll give you anything you want! I’ll double your pay! I’ll call the whole experiment off! Anything!” Desperate promises. Ones she had no way of fulfilling. What other choice did she have than to make them? The soundproof walls of the testing grounds made sure nobody would hear her cries. Nobody except for the person whose life she ruined. Despite everything, she was still responsible for turning his brain into a shallow husk. While Bruno was the one who agreed, it was ultimately Powder’s decision to go forth with the testing. She could have told him about the risks. She could have called the whole thing off. She could have done a million things different, to avoid this fate. But it was much too late for that. Somewhere, deep inside Powder knew it to be true. Such a simple fact, yet it scared her so much. “Now that you mention it, there is something I want.” “Yes!?” All her hopes were packed into that one three letter word. “A playmate.” All her hopes were crushed in three seconds flat. In a flash, the hands ripped all the clothes off Powder’s body, and she was a bare as a newborn babe. Bruno didn’t even look interested. Simply happy to see Powder humiliated. The only comfort was that the hands didn’t harm a single fur on her body. And yet, that deadly precision only served to fuel her fear. “N-no!” Powder screamed, one final time. New hands shot at her mouth, turning her pleas into muffled suckles. The culprit? A pacifier-gag strapped snuggly into her maw. That wasn’t the end of her worries. Despite only having the tablet for two minutes, Bruno was a fast learner, and quickly found an interesting new feature. Her heart stopped for the second time today, as a wicked new tool dangled before her. A giant wooden paddle came into view and began to circle behind her. Powder continued to kick helplessly. The fact that the paddle was now out of view was even more terrifying. Bruno was only bluffing, right? This was all an act to intimidate her. There was no way he hated her that much. There had to be some mercy in— *WHAP* *WHAP* *WHAP* With each swing of the wooden paddle, a thunderous crack sounded off. Each swat resulting in a muffled yelp from the bound hound, each one an unanswered cry for help. The bear led a truly grizzly assault on the poodle’s poor posterior. Twenty swats. Forty? Sixty? Both parties soon lost count. The only certainty was that Powder had been reduced to a crying mess. “Aww, the baby got a boo-boo. Don’t worry, I’ll get you something soft to sit in.” Bruno was like a kid in a candy store. Bringing the arrogant poodle down a peg was the sweetest treat he could ask for. Powder didn’t need to look up. She already knew what he was alluding to. Yet, through tear-stained eyes, she saw it all the same. In one hand, held a large bottle of baby powder. In another, an oversized baby diaper. While not as wide, the size of the diaper was still comparable to that of Bruno’s. The diaper was a garish shade of pink and was decorated cover to cover with prancing white unicorns. When she saw it, the cheeks on Powder’s face became as red as the ones on her backside. All the fight had been drained out of her, as the hands forced her onto the changing table with ease. She winced every time her sore bottom made contact with the mat below. The powder came first, dosing the dog’s white nether region with a torrent of lavender scented snow. The talcum blended in with her white fur, but it was there all the same.” “Look at that,” Bruno cooed, “Now you smell just like your namesake.” Powder just let the comment hang. All her bark was gone, and her bite was equally useless. She had been stripped, spanked, and gagged in a matter of minutes. She had lost this battle the second she let go of the tablet. Her opponent was simply taking a victory lap. The diaper was slid under Powder, and her bottom landed on the cushy surface below. The hands taped up the padding and gave her diaper a few pats. Just like the bear, Powder was trapped in a padded prison she had no hope of escaping from. Every nervous squirm and wiggle rewarded her with a chorus of crinkles. Powder could not deny her feelings now, her back on a changing table while taped to a giant diaper. She truly felt like a big baby, an overgrown puppy, much like the overgrown bear cub who was now in control. “Wow, Powder. Pink is your color. Let me see here…” More icons were being tapped by her captor, and Powder was still completely in the dark. Her new attire soon hung above her, and she missed the time when she was blissfully ignorant. It was a pink baby doll dress. The sleeves were short and ruffled, and the entire outfit was adorned with several tiny bows. The arms also carried a set of matching booties and mittens, to complete the ensemble. While Powder should be happy to have some coverage, she didn’t quite feel that way. The hands got to work, and Powder allowed herself to be dressed like Bruno had been. Show dog was right. Powder looked like she was ready to compete in a baby pageant. If the sheer bulk of the diaper wasn’t enough to stop her from walking, the booties sealed the deal. Like it or not, crawling was now her only option for getting around. When she was finally returned to the nursery floor, Powder fell on all fours and let loose. She couldn’t stop herself from crying. All the stress and humiliation of today was too much. She could hear something happening outside her field of vision, as Bruno tapped away on his stolen tablet. She was too distraught to look up, to see the truth. Her only hope was that one of her colleagues would come to check on her and stop this whole ordeal. Even if she had to be found dressed as a big baby doll, it would still be worth it. Before she could continue her miserable stupor, Bruno snatch Powder up and carried her across the room. “Wah…” Powder was confused. Wasn’t the point of all this to humiliate Powder, make her feel as small as she made Bruno? What was his next move? She looked up, and the horrifying answer to her question became obvious. The hypnosis monitor was back, and about to start an encore performance. “What’s the matter, doc? I thought you like watching cartoons.” No. Anything but that. She could handle the diapers. She could handle the spankings and the humiliating outfits. But this was too much. Bruno was about to chuck Powder’s mind down a hole she could never crawl out of. “You know something, doc? I’ve got this theory I’ve been working on. You see, ever since I watched those cartoons earlier, you’ve been acting real dodgy towards me. At first, I didn’t think much of it. But as soon as you started asking all those questions, I realized something. There’s this gap in my memory that I can’t seem to fill. Why was I dress like an adult? Why can’t I remember my age? Why shouldn’t I be acting like a baby? Every time I rack my brain for an answer, it all comes back to this video. So, I figured, if I saw what this did to someone else, I can finally get my answer.” “Pwease… I sowwy.” There was nothing Powder could do to break free from Bruno’s bear hug. All she had left to bargain was a literal cry for help. “No, no. Let’s not start any of that.” The bear stuck the earbuds into the poodle’s ears one after another. “The Q&A isn’t over yet, right? It’s my turn, and I still have a big question about what this program does. And this is the only way to answer it.” The bear found a comfortable spot to sit in and plopped down on his padded rear. He held Powder tight, and pried her eyelids open, preventing her from looking away. “So how about we sit back and enjoy the show.” The fears from before proved true. The second the program started; she could not look away. The audio was the first to strike, rewriting her identity as a baby between unending lullabies. Between every note of “Rock-a-bye Baby” and “Twinkle Little Star” was a hidden voice, a quiet scream, reinforcing how small and helpless she was. The TV screen was a mess of warping colors. It was a blistering rainbow that bullied her senses. But every other frame featured some form of subliminal messaging. The audiovisual experience tag teamed her brain and reduced it to a shatter pulp. It was intense. It was unrelenting. It was what she deserved. *** Gus scrambled through the halls of the research facility. He knew that he should have never told Powder about this project. The Labrador now had to track down his colleague before she did anything rash. To think how quickly things were spiraling out of control. He had told Powder that their new hypnosis program’s only hope of getting funding was if their superiors had seen tangible results. Obviously, this put a giant wrench in their plan. “No one in their right mind would be willing to agree to a program so dangerous.” Gus had said, “Not unless it paid a fortune.” After he said that, the smirk on Powder’s face should have been his first clue that she had a nasty plot in the works. While Gus was disappointed to have to shut the project down, Powder didn’t look fazed at all. Gus had figure that she was just coping in her own way. When a few of his co-workers had congratulated him on getting funding, he was confused. When they explained what had happen, and what Powder had done, he almost fainted. That’s where he was now, racing to stop Powder before she made a huge mistake. He had finally made it to their testing room, the one the others saw her walked into. He could hear muffled noises from the other side of the door and braced himself. When he opened the door, he soon realized he hadn’t braced himself well enough. The testing room had taken the form of a giant nursery. Powder had quite a few adjustments made while Gus wasn’t looking. How did she even manage to pay for all this? He saw a bear dressed like a little kid? What was he doing here? Amidst a sea of doll sat one that looked scarily like Powder—Powder! “Alright then Madame Woolsworth,” Powder said, speaking directly to a sheep plush, “I expect everything is to your liking?” The doll didn’t reply. All it did, all it could do, was stare back at her with unblinking eyes. For Powder, silence was golden. “Excellent. Now, there seems to be some business to attend to.” “Powder!” Gus yelled, scrambling over to his lab partner. “What happened? Why are you dressed like that?” “Hello there, Gus. While I would love to stay and chat, I have some company to attend to,” Powder gestured toward the circle of stuffed animals she was conversing with. “If you want me to talk with you, I need you to check the waiting list.” It was hard to make heads or tails of this ‘waiting list’ she displayed. Mainly because it looked to be a series of notes on her clipboard that Powder scribbled over in red crayon. “Powder, are you feeling well? You’re starting to worry me.” “There’s no use talking to her,” The bear yelled from across the room. “Unless you plan on having a tea party. “You’ll have to excuse him, Gus,” Powder explained, “He insists on acting like a poppyhead today.” The poodle stuck her tongue out and returned to her circle of plush friends. “Sorry for the delay, everyone. Where were we?” Unfortunately, it looked like Powder had her hands full now. Her state of mind was questionable, to say the least. Maybe talking to the bear would yield better results. He seemed to have some understanding of what had happened. “Excuse me, sir?” Gus called. Judging by the bear’s outfit, he wasn’t certain if ‘sir’ was correct. “Can you explain to me what happened? The bear didn’t look up. He was busying rolling a rubber ball back and forth between his paws. “That girlfriend of yours is a real handful. I watched that funky cartoon and she started asking me a whole bunch of questions. Had a nasty attitude about her too. My brain’s been in a rut ever since.” The bear paused and leaned over his shoulder to face the Labrador. “She’s a clever one, I’ll give her that. Too bad she couldn’t handle a taste of her own medicine.” A funky cartoon…The hypnosis tape! Powder had really done it! But why did Powder decide to watch it herself? She knew how dangerous it was. Maybe this bear coerced in some way. Or perhaps it was the other way around. “Oh yeah. Before I forget,” The bear leaned over, and handed the control tablet over to Gus. “You can have it. I don’t want to play with it anymore.” What was this stranger doing with the control tablet? There was no way Powder would hand over such an important device. Gus would have to check the security tapes later to learn the full story. “Thank you?” Gus said, still feeling puzzled. “Listen, I don’t know what happened between you and Powder, but I hope she didn’t do anything to upset you. I know she can come off as rude to some people, but she’s actually a nice person once you get to know her.” “Huh.” The bear mumbled. Before he could formulate a reply, nature arrived with a better retort. The bear got on all fours and began to grunt. It didn’t take a doctorate to figure out what he was doing. Mushy lumps invaded the back of his already soaked diaper, causing it to sag further. The fact that his shorts managed to stay on was a miracle, but more of the stained padding peeked out from each angle. Finished with his work, the bear let out a few breathy pants. The bear finally sat back down with a thud, squashing the mess against his plot. “That’s all I have to say to that.” The bear had said, returning to his ball game as if nothing happened. “Ugh!” Gus cringed. He wanted to distance himself from the rank bear as soon as possible. Gus made his way over to his lab partner, who was hopefully now in the mood to talk. Powder was laying on her back, suckling on the sheep plush from before. She had a tired look in her eyes, which was standard after a long day of work. “Hello again Gus,” Powder said, waving a tired paw to her lab assistant. “I’m sorry, but I am spent after today. If you have anymore complaints to voice, you’ll have to wait until after nap time.” Just like that, Powder was out like a light. Gus had said something, but she was done answering questions for today. Powder felt her leg twitch, as a warm flood rushed to the front of her diaper. Her work here was done. Now the rest was up to Gus. *** Several months later “Alright. I’m sending you guys the shape puzzle again. Your time yesterday showed improvement, but today you two will be working individually. Bruno. Please try not to distract Powder. It messes with the numbers if you do.” Bruno yawned and made the ok gesture with his paws. He would give the princess a break for today. Gus was a nice guy, a cool adult, and he didn’t mind listening to him. Besides, Bruno wanted to beat his time from yesterday. He was surprisingly good when it came to putting in most of the blocks into the correct holes, but there was still room for improvement. The square one always left him stumped. When their superiors had found what had happened, Gus expected all the shock and dismay they dealt out. What Gus had not been expecting, however, was how impressed they were with the results of the tapes. “Powder,” Gus instructed, “Try not to suckle on the blocks this time. When you do, it always adds a few unnecessary minutes to your time. If it would help, I can send you in another pacifier. Powder pouted, “Gus, that will not be necessary. I am more than capable of holding back my urges for a few minutes.” Powder crawled over to the block station and got to work. Everything was smooth sailing. Triangle goes there. Square goes here. Star goes in that one. She picked up the circle block. And couldn’t help but notice how tasty it looked. “Maybe just a quickie,” she thought. But before she had a chance to second guess herself, she was already laying on her back, gnawing on the foam cylinder without a care in the world—without a care for scientific progress, or anything else. Powder felt a familiar rumbled in her gut and pushed automatically. The result was that a messy diaper soon hung from her hips. She knew that would happen. It was well past the point of being only a theory that she continually tested for consistency. “A full diaper,” Gus thought aloud, “That’s not going to be good for her time.” It was a blessing, too. Gus needed all the funding he could get if he ever hoped to pay off Powder’s renovations to the testing room. She had taken many loans out to make those changes, and now, as her sole caretaker, the responsibilities fell on him. Thankfully, Powder was helping pay these changes off, one dirty diaper at a time. Gus had had a crush on Powder since high-school, and he always wanted to become more than friends. However, those feelings, and his views of Powder, quickly became outdated. Seeing said crush poop herself daily, while dressed as a giant baby, was bound to have that effect on anyone. Gus wanted to spend more time with Powder, and he had gotten his wish. But he always imagined them as dates, rather than playtime. Gus sighed, watching from behind the one-way mirror. “Oh well. Scientist can’t be choosers.”

Waiting sucked. Having to get up early in morning sucked even more. Having to get up early in the morning to wait around sucked to an infinite degree. Blair knew she shouldn’t have waited so long to schedule her annual check-up. Now she was paying the price, as all the afternoon slots had been taken. Things were so much easier when she still had her mother setting up appointments for her. Blair’s mother had argued that if she was old enough to drive to the doctor, and old enough to work, she was old enough to set up a doctor’s appointment. With nothing better to do, Blair slumped in her seat and pulled out her phone. No new messages. She thought about calling her friends and striking up a conversation to pass the time. But they were all probably either at work now or asleep and didn’t want to be bothered. She tried to connect online and check her social media, but the internet connection here was lousy. Even when she got online, opening another tab would greet her with a dreaded white background and a long loading time. Blair let out an annoyed sigh. They didn’t call these places waiting rooms for nothing. Was she really going to be stuck here, counting each boredom filled second, all morning? She even considered calling her mom or dad, just so she would have something to do. Getting lectured by mom wasn’t fun, but at least it was stimulating. Just as she was about to dial her parent’s home phone number, her phone buzzed, a new notification popped onto her screen. “Advanced Mental Age Quiz – Discover Your True Age Today!” It was a news headline. Something about an advanced personality quiz. It must have been a slow day in the journalistic world. She had seen, and taken, countless online quizzes during her formative years. Everything ranging from “which superpowers would you have” to “what’s your fantasy race” to even “which tropical fruit are you?” She remembered, sometime at the age of 12, being so disappointed when she got papaya instead of mango. Nostalgia aside, it did sound like a perfect way to kill some time. These were no doubt more fun when she was a teenager, but it wouldn’t hurt to take one for old times’ sake. The page loaded surprisingly quickly. The web design was quite basic, featuring plain black text on a white background. Whatever. It made the page load faster, even with the waiting room’s rocky connection, so she had no reason to complain. When taking this quiz, remember not to think too intensely about each question. The point of each question is to discern your natural point of view. Answer each question honestly and openly. Your answers will be record, for research purposes. However, your personal information, such as your email address and phone number, will never be recorded. Blair rolled her eyes. It all seemed so overdramatic for an online quiz. Maybe this was just how the site owners wanted to set the mood? She bit her lip and looked at the time. There was still a long way to go before her appointment would be up. “It should be fine,” She thought. She tapped the start icon, an anxious twinge sitting in her chest. Question 1: It’s okay to rely on others when times get tough. Blair read the question and looked at her answer choices. There was an option to agree or disagree, as well as a “strongly” variant for both. Standard stuff. However, there wasn’t an option to skip or stay neutral. She was somewhat surprised, as she always liked to pick that option when there was a question she didn’t understand or didn’t feel too strongly on. Blair thought to herself, “Is it okay to rely on others?” She would have to say yes. New to adulthood, she was very use to relying on her mother on many things. Some trivial, like cooking and cleaning. Others more major, like taking her to the doctor or setting up a schedule for her. Even her friends from school were a constant source of help over the years. She couldn’t imagine how many assignments she would have failed if her girls weren’t there to study with her. It sounded like she had no objections on this one. Agree. Right before she scrolled to the next question, she thought about the message from the start. About how she agreed to answer honestly. Blair groaned. It was just an online quiz, no reason to be bashful. Strongly agree. Question 2: I work better when I am on a routine. This one was also straightforward. Routine was something that Blair was quite familiar with. However, the more Blair thought about it, the more she realized those routines were never set by her. Always her parents or her teachers. That was probably worth factoring, right? Right. She was noticeably less confident in this one. Agree. Question 3: Hardships are unavoidable parts of life. “Hmm,” Blair mumbled. Was it really that cut and dry? She didn’t want to think so. In her mind, she pictured the life of someone who always got what they wanted. The life of a spoiled rich girl who never had to worry about things like taxes or finding a job. It sounded plausible. It even sounded compelling. Blair liked to think that some hardships in life were avoidable, with a little luck and good fortune. Whether she could vouch for it personally was another matter, but that wasn’t part of the quiz. Disagree. Question 4: Complexity is inherently more appealing than simplicity. This one was weird, Blair had to read it out loud to herself a few times. It was also vague as well. Complexity could mean many different things based on the context. Was that the point? Was that part of the question? Ugh, this one was annoying. Disagree. Question 5: Growing up is too hard. Now things were getting weird. There was a pit forming in Blair’s stomach. A gnawing suspicion of foul play. It was as if she on a candid camera show and the host was in an unseen location, waiting to jump out at her for the grand reveal. Confetti would rain down; Blair would look a fool in front of hundreds of viewers. Was she being paranoid? Unsure. While not an option on the quiz, Blair didn’t have to abide by those standards on her own time. Still, she had other personal questions she could answer with those confines. Was she starting to feel uneasy? Agree. Was the idea that a random internet poll was somehow aware of her thoughts, farfetched? Strongly Agree. Was she ready to stop clicking answers and do something else with her time? Disagree. Blair sighed. The question was a coincidence. Obviously. Agree. Perhaps the part that bothered Blair most, was that she wanted to click ‘Agree’. Say there was a way to skip the journey to adulthood. An alternate route that skipped all the awkward years. All the drama, all the embarrassment. All the mean comments about her hair or her face or her body. Say it was all true. Blair would certainly not be the only person to want to walk that route. Say someone actually found this ultimate lifehack. Would that person be liable to share it? Blair didn’t think so. She certainly wouldn’t herself. Ponce de León certainly wasn’t searching for the fountain of youth to help charity. Blair would keep it close, keep it nice and hidden. Had she figured out a way to avoid it herself? Disagree. Strongly disagree. Did she want to believe it was possible? Agree. Was she feeling hopeful? Agree. Final answer? Agree. The next set of questions began to load. A spinning red wheel on a white backdrop. It was almost hypnotic, like watching food cook in the microwave. Blair might just waste the entire day watching it, let the seconds trickle by. Was that why loading screens were designed that way? So that you didn’t notice how much time you were wasting? It wouldn’t surprise her. If that was the case, then it was working. How long was she going to watch this wheel go? Maybe just a few more seconds? No, she should check the time. Pulling her head away from the screen was a true test of willpower. Even after she did, she still felt slightly dazed. She could still see the bright screen clouding her vision, as if she had just come back inside on a bright sunny day. Maybe she was just tired… The waiting room hadn’t changed much since she started. There was still no one else waiting here besides her. There were still a few toys piled up by the corner, for the little kids to play with. There was one of those wooded toys with the wires and beads. The ones that never failed to materialize in waiting rooms across the world. There was a clear bucket filled with Lincoln Logs and Lego blocks—the really thick off brand kind. There were even oversized foam blocks that would have looked right at home at a daycare. None of them really interested. Blair was well past the age of sucking and stacking blocks. A couple posters hung on top of the plain wallpaper. A cat was hanging on a tree branch, trying his best to hang in there. One was detailing the skeleton and all the bones of the human body. She never could remember the lyrics to that song. What bone connected to the hip bone? Blair remembered seeing one poster at the vet that listed all the different breeds of dogs. It was sort of random that she remembered that right now, but it was still very cool. Still, Nothing out of the ordinary. “Sweetie, are you okay?” Blair turned and looked over at the front desk. She saw one of the attendants staring back at her with a worried look. “I’m fine.” Blair said. “Just waiting for my appointment. Do you know when Dr. Thomas will be available?” “Dr. Thomas had to deal with a family emergency. He had to stepped out for a moment. He should be back soon enough.” Great, Blair thought, more waiting. She knew something had felt off, like she had been here for too long. Like the gods had turn the clock back an extra hour just to mess with her. But a family emergency seemed much more likely. “I understand. Thank you.” The attendant smiled as she leaned on the front counter, “Do want me to stay and keep you company? It’s a slow day today, and I really don’t mind.” Blair fidgeted in her seat. The attendant seemed nice enough. But as much as Blair complained about being bored, she wasn’t in the mood for small talk. Even at her age, she was still awkward around strangers. Logically, she knew nothing bad was going to happen if she struck a conversation with this nurse. It was a gut feeling, and those tended not to be logical. “I’m fine, thank you.” The nurse frown, “Alright dear. I just don’t want to see anyone giving you trouble. There’s lots of bad people who might snatch up a little cutie like you.” The nurse pointed to her nametag. “If you have any problems, just shout out for nurse Tia, alright?” With a wink, Tia left the stand and went back to work. Blair felt her cheeks light up. Did she really look that young? She looked down at her outfit, suddenly feeling a lot smaller. The overalls she was wearing might have been the culprit. But she had a good reason for picking it today. She wanted something cute to wear to the doctor’s office. It sounded like a good reason, Blair thought, even if it wasn’t hers. No, of course it was hers. It’s not like someone else picked clothes for her. Blair was big now, more independent. Sure, she would struggle with the snaps sometimes, but those were minor setbacks. She had to be more responsible since she was growing up so fast. The lady behind the counter was probably just being nice. Maybe she had kids of her own, and her motherly instincts just so happened to kick in. Glancing back at her phone, Blair saw that the next set of questions had loaded. This next section is designed to test your consistency. Please continue to answer the questions quickly and honestly. Afterwards, that data will be compiled to build a final set of questions custom to you. Blair felt nervous. Why was she feeling nervous? It’s not like she was going to be graded for this. She chose the perfect time to lose all that quiet anticipation from earlier. “Come on Blair,” she thought, “Just suck it up and finish this quiz.” This really wasn’t something she should have to hype herself up for. Blair had many questions on her mind right now. Those could wait for later. The only questions that mattered right now were the ones on her phone screen. Question 6: I like to be looked after. Agree. Don’t focus on the wording, just pick the first answer that makes sense. She liked having mom look after her. She like having her friends from school look after her. Obviously, Blair could look after herself. But that wasn’t what the quiz was asking. Question 7: Other people might describe me as energetic. Agree. It never took much to get Blair started. A cup of juice in the morning, and she was on the move. In time, juice would be replaced by coffee. In time. Mom always said she was a little hellraiser. Mom had enough embarrassing stories to prove that claim as fact. In her younger days, Blair had a reputation for being a streaker. As soon as she figured out how to take off her diaper, she would run around the house stark naked. Time after time Dad had to chase his little girl around the room and remind her of common decency. It must have happened so long ago. And yet, the memory was so fresh in her mind. It was silly, really. She knew better now. Question 8: I am a social butterfly. Disagree. Blair had a few close friends, but that was it. Social butterfly was a stretch. Blair couldn’t help it, being so reserved. Many of the other girls in school were so mean. Calling her names, pulling on her hair. She been thankful when Mom pulled her out of school early, even if it was for a doctor’s appointment. Blair blinked. Had she done something wrong? Maybe she was misremembering something, despite how unlikely that had seemed. The day had been pretty unnoteworthy so far. She was having a fun day at school, enjoying reading time. The teacher got a call from Blair’s mother saying she had a doctor’s appointment. She remembered sulking in the backseat of mom’s car, still feeling embarrassed about her outfit. Oh, her outfit! That was the problem. She was wondering earlier why she had picked it out. Truthfully, she hadn’t. Mom said she was still too little to choose what to wear. This spiraled into a heated discussion—a ‘temper tantrum’ as Mom called it—on the subject of Blair’s maturity. Blair argued that she wasn’t a little kid anymore, but a big girl with growing responsibilities. “I’m not going to be a little girl forever!” Blair had boldly claimed. Mom had countered, “Regardless of how old you are, you still need to listen to your parents.” She had even used Blair’s recent accidents to leverage her claims, “The only reason we’re going to the doctor, is because someone keeps wetting the bed.” It was true, but still a low blow, nonetheless. Just thinking about that made Blair squirm in her seat. She tugged at her skirt, hoping that nurse Tia hadn’t caught a glimpse of her pull-up earlier. The nurse lady had been so nice, and Blair hated the idea of being seen as a big baby. It was probably nothing, no reason to feel so antsy. Blair just wished her mom would come back from the bathroom soon. It was getting lonely out in the waiting room. Blair looked back at her phone screen. She should just hurry up and finish. Mom hated it when she stayed on the phone for too long. Question 9: I keep my emotions on a tight leash. Blair let out an annoyed groan. Were online quizzes always so invasive? Truly, the question was a humility test. If she said no, she would be telling an obvious lie. Most people don’t get flustered over online questionnaires they’ve spent fifteen minutes on. Was it fifteen minutes? It had felt longer than that. She wasn’t sure what time she had started. Losing time was the goal, but the fact that she had lost it so easily worried her. “Stop being paranoid.” Blair thought, “Focus on the question. It’s just a webpage. It’s not going to hurt you.” If she said yes, that would fall in line with her spree of unyielding honesty. If she said no, then she would obviously be lying. And she just ­couldn’t do that now could she? And what better time to start being bashful than the ninth question? Blair had slowly realized that she was more honest with an online quiz then most of the people she knew. Just looking at the last few questions spell out her personality was eye-opening. Was this worth getting worked up over? Disagree. Question 10: I look forward to growing older. Blair knew the answer before she even moved her finger. She just didn’t have the heart to admit it. It was painfully obvious. What was this quiz for again? Mental age? Blair scoffed, thinking back on all her choices thus far. She would be surprised if her age even reached the double digits. If nothing else, she probably got the high score for lowest age without even trying. What a humbling day this turned out to be. “Fine.” Blair thought, “You win, quiz. I could learn to be more mature.” Whatever. It’s not like any of this mattered. It’s not like taking this stupid quiz will change anything. As soon as she hit confirm, she would still be stuck in the waiting room, feeling mad and lonely. Was there any real point in fighting with herself? Strongly disagree. Another loading screen. Another round of ‘follow the spinning wheel.’ Another flash of stilted confusion. Blair felt a trail of drool run down her lips as the seconds peeled by. She snapped her head back, dropping the device to the seat that was beside her. Mom was right. Staring at screens for too long was bad for you. She was relieved to look back up at the hospital waiting room. Yet, her relief quickly turned to sadness, as she realized her mother hadn’t come back yet. She was still waiting, still alone. Her head sunk into her knees. When was Mom coming back? It must have been forever ago since Blair had last saw her. She hadn’t left Blair and then run away, did she? Why did they have to fight? Why couldn’t Blair be a good girl, and just listen to her mother? Blair sniffled, and tears threaten to leak from her eyes. “Blair, honey?” A familiar voice called to her. “Is everything okay?” It was her. Same beautiful golden curls. Same full cheeks. The same wonderful person who always be there to hold her tight and make everything better. The same one who, Blair knew, would never hold a grudge over a silly argument. “Mommy!” Blair shouted. She leapt from her seat, snatching Mommy up in a great big hug. “I missed you!” Mommy let out a surprised laugh, “Blair, calm down. I was only in the bathroom for three minutes. You don’t need to be dramatic.” Mommy took her hand and brushed some of her daughter’s hair aside. “Hey, can we talk for a second?” “Yes, Mommy?” Blair looked up at her mother, both sets of eyes the same shade of ocean blue. Blair was ready to hang onto her mother’s every word. Even the big ones she didn’t know. Even if it meant Mommy was still mad about before. “It’s about what happened this morning.” Mommy began, her tone softening, “I’m sorry about what I said before. About your condition. I know how hard you’ve been trying lately. Even with how hectic everything has been lately; you still been making excellent marks at daycare. I’m very proud of you, and I’m sorry for yelling this morning. Even grown-ups can make mistakes.” “It’s okay, Mommy.” Blair said, her head nuzzling up against Mommy’s chest. Going to the doctor was a good idea. Blair should have just listened to Mommy from the start. There was a saying like that, something about moms knowing best, but Blair couldn’t remember it. “I just get protective, is all. I’m a mom, it’s in my nature. You’ll always be my little girl. No matter how big you get. Never forget that, okay?” There was something hidden behind Mommy’s words. A sense of commanding, or finality? “Okay Mommy.” Blair agreed. She didn’t stop to analyze the tone. Everything in her world felt correct. “I’m ready for my appointment now.” Mommy familiar smile had returned, “Well, that’s good. But before that, there’s still one other appointment you need to go to….” Mommy turned in her seat, the confusion on her daughter face was plain as day. “…. One with the tickled monster!” A second later and Blair was a giggling up a storm. The ‘tickle monster’ was as surprising as she was effective, and the poor girl was no match for her quick fingers. A small burst of pee splashed into her diaper, but Blair was too distracted to notice. She was having fun. Mommy was having fun. Those feelings mattered more. “Feeling better?” “Uh-huh!” Blair tugged on her mother’s shirt sleeve, “Mommy, can I have the tabby back?” Mommy stood up, now noticing the device she had been sitting on, “Whoops. Here you go.” Mommy stood up and handed the tablet to her daughter. “There’s still some time left before your appointment. You play and I’ll tell you when it’s time to go.” The tablet featured an ocean blue case decorated with a sea of cartoon smiling fish Not exactly a marvel, but it suited Blair fine. Besides, she more important things to worry about. She had a quiz to finish. Congratulations on making it this far into the quiz! I’m so proud of you! Before we give the results, we a few last extra-special questions for you. Thanks for stopping by! Yay, more quiz! Blair was already having so much fun. She couldn’t remember all the details, but the warm feeling running through her was a good sign. She needed to hurry and finish up before it was time to see the doctor. Question 11: I enjoyed this quiz. Just like before, there were four options for Blair to choose from. Two smiley faces and two frowny ones. The question sounded very gen…something. Gen-nary-ich? Some word she knew or heard one time. A word that meant ‘not different.’ But that couldn’t be true, the questions were all made ’specially for her. The quiz said so! Besides, Blair had enjoyed the quiz. It kept her company while Mommy was away, help clear up the confusions in her head. Smiley. Question 12: I would ask a friend to take this quiz. Yup! Blair knew lots of other kids at daycare who love to play games on their tabbies. She could even show it to one of the teachers she got the chance. Big smiley! Question 13: I am okay with the results of this quiz. Big smiley! Blair knows that she tried her best, and that’s what mattered. Blair tapped the flashing arrow, excited to see her results. There was no waiting this time. No load screen was needed. Instantly, the result screen was staring her dead in the face. You are right where you need to be! Your mental age perfectly matches your outward age. Test accuracy: 97% Honesty rating: 94% Likely of mental age increasing: 4% “Blair, sweetie, it’s time to go.” Mommy tapped her daughter on the shoulder, “The doctor is ready to see us now.” It was a statement of fact. Not an order, more than a suggestion. Blair had finished her game, she was satisfied. “Okay, Mommy.” Blair knew the routine well. She handed the device off to her mother. It was okay for the tablet to go bye-bye for a little while. After this, she had the whole afternoon to find more fun games to play. The doctor’s office was the same as ever. Same colorful wallpaper adorned with polka dots. The same informational posters taped over said walls, some of which had words that see didn’t know yet. And yes, the same jar of candy that teased her at every visit. There it was. Her pot of gold. “Hello there, Mrs. Winters,” Dr. Thomas said, “How are we doing today?” Blair recognized the man almost immediately. She had come to see him with Mommy or Daddy one or two times before. Blair liked him because not just because he gave her candy, but also because he was nice. His beard was fluffy and white, and it made him look like Santa Claus. Except Santa wasn’t bald, she thinks, and Santa wasn’t skinny, she knows. “We’re doing just fine, thank you. I’m bringing Blair in for her checkup today.” Mommy glanced down at the girl, her precious little one, while rubbing Blair’s shoulders. Mommy made idle chatter as she helped Blair on the exam table. The rustle of the exam table’s paper cover mixed with crinkle of her diaper, producing a symphony of white noise. “How are you today, doctor? The nurse told me you had to deal with a family emergency today. “It was nothing too serious.” He waved a hand nonchalantly, “Just a little trouble with my youngest, William. He’s about Blair’s age, actually. “Oh, William Thomas? Yes, he’s in Blair class right now. Are you and Will friends, Blair?” Willy was okay, sometimes. But some he was jerk head and horded all the blocks during playtime. Blair thought, but thought didn’t say. Thoughts like that were inside-thoughts, ones not to blurt out in public, and those didn’t help her get candy. Blair nodded, “Uh-huh, Willy is okay.” The doctor continued, “My wife couldn’t get him to eat carrot sticks today. She thought he might have an upset stomach or something. Turns out the only reason he was acting fussy was because he didn’t have his tablet. I don’t know if it was right to buy him one so early.” “They’re a blessing and a curse. Blair’s been more complacent ever since we got her one. But I’m worried that she may be spending too much time on it. We’ll have to wait and see.” “I guess so…” Dr. Thomas tapped his clipboard with a pen. “Alrighty then. Now, how old is Blair?” Mommy had knowing smile on her face. “Go on Blair. You know this one. How old are you?” How old… Oh! Blair did know this one. She learned how to do this one yesterday ago. She took her left hand and pointed up two fingers. Two, but not just two. Two was too small. She hadn’t been two since forever. She took her right hand and made another two fingers. Two twos. 22. Yup, she was two twos old. Much more than two or one two. “This many!” Blair said, feeling proud. “Wow!” Thomas said, no doubt impressed by sight of a no-so-grown woman remembering her age. “That’s very good Blair. Watch out, mom. I think we have a gifted child on her hands.” Blair didn’t know exactly what he meant. But she heard the word ‘gift’ and figured it had to be something good. Mommy chuckled. “She’s a quick learner. I’ve been told she was turning heads at Daycare. Who knows? Maybe if she ever grows up, you two might be colleagues.” Blair didn’t comment. Playing doctor didn’t sound like much fun right now. Blair had p to play her stacking games now, making towers and towers of blocks. Crashing them down with satisfying sounds. Maybe she could be a monster when she grew up. Or one of those people that make old buildings go boom. Thomas went back to tapping his clipboard. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see. Okay then.” The doctor turned his attention back to his patient, “Blair, have you been eating well?” “Uh huh.” Blair nodded, “I always eat all my food when Mommy makes it. I even eat all the veggies and Mommy doesn’t even have to ask me to.” “Three square meals? Plenty of fluids?” “Believe me,” Mommy cut in, patting down Blair’s diaper bag, “She been drinking plenty.” “Glad to hear it. Now then…” Dr. Thomas’ voice began to trail off. “You wanted to discuss her condition. Her condition. The reason Mommy and her were fighting. The reason she was felt so bad today. She shook her head trying to find the answer, came up with nothing consistent. Something important. Something obvious? Her condition… “I think it might be hearing lost.” Mommy sharply cut in once more. “She keeps having these dizzy spells. Her teachers say that sometimes she’ll zone out and won’t saying anything.” “Hmmm…” The doctor pondered, stroking his beard. “Okay, give me a moment.” The doctor walked over to his drawers on the other side of the room. Blair couldn’t see what he was doing, could only hear metal clattering against metal. She had hoped was doing well so far. Blair answered all her questions honestly, didn’t overthink any of them. “Alright, let’s take a look.” Dr. Thomas returned, holding up a strange looking device. The looked like someone glued an oil can to a stick. The silver sheen made the tool look cold and unfriendly. But Blair was familiar with it and recognized it as the ‘ear-thingy’, one of the many complex tools doctors used to make people feel better. True to its name, the doctor leaned over, stuck the device into Blair’s ear, and peered inside. “Well, everything looks in order. I don’t think—hey, look at that!” The doctor shouted in faux surprise, “You’ve got a bird nest in here. Coo, coo, coo.” Blair wasn’t impressed. She has fallen for the ‘fake bird’ bit a few times before and had wised up since then. She wasn’t a total baby. Dr. Thomas cooed a few coo-coos before getting back to business. The check-up was as routine as ever. Dr. Thomas’ jokes? As lame as ever. Blair was unfazed when he pretended her heart was a jackhammer. When he used the hammer-thingy to tap her legs, Blair didn’t laugh at being called an ‘up-and-coming kickboxer.’ There was a chance it hurt her odds of getting candy, but Mommy always told Blair it was bad to lie. “I can safely say that Blair has a clean bill of health. I think the only thing she’s missing is a good sense of humor.” Dr. Thomas winked. “That’s a relief. Blair, are you ready to go?” Blair squirmed in her seat, her eyes still on the prize. Should she say something? After all, she hadn’t endured the world’s worst comedy routine for nothing. “Ah, ah! There’s one last thing.” The good doctor returned, candy jar nestled like a newborn babe, “Every special patient deserves a special treat.” Dr. Thomas popped open the glass lid open, presenting Blair with a sea of possible prizes. The Reese’s cup was the obvious choice. She snatched at the orange delight and unwrapped it in an instant. In just one bite, her taste buds were in a peanuty-chocolatey bliss. “So good!” Blair thought. So worth it. *** “Hi nurse Tia!” Blair blurted out, happy to see a friendly familiar face at the front desk. “Hey there, little lady. Where you a good girl for the Doctor?” “Yeah! I got a piece of candy and everything!” Blair had already eaten the evidence, so Tia would have to take her word for it. “That’s great honey.” Tia’s sincerity was as plain as the smile on her face. She turned over to Mommy, carry over the same warm expression. “Are you ready to check out now?” Mommy nodded, “Yes, that’s right. Now, when can we schedule or next appointment? I was thinking maybe sometime in December…” Blair proceeded to drown out all the boring grown-up talk. She had other thoughts on her mind right now. What would she do now that she was out of school early? Was there anything good on TV at this time of day? She could only wonder. Another, much more immediate query, was also being asked of her right now. What to do about the rumble in her tummy? It was a question Blair’s body posed time and time again, one she was ready to answer automatically. She squatted down, still clutching Mommy’s hand, and got to work. Cheeks puffed out; all it was one push for the landslide to start. A wave of mush landed inside her diaper, accompanied by the sounds grunts and crinkling plastic. A brief pause and another round of sticky mush arrived, the diaper now sagging under its new weight, threating to touch the floor. Just after, a growing hiss came from the front. Her bladder got the memo, decided now was best time to let loose. Blair let a sigh of relief. Ready for potty training? Disagree. The state of Blair’s diaper was clear evidence of that fact. She was already such a natural with diapers and saw no reason to stop now. It was a tried-and-true solution to an everyday problem. “All done?” Mommy asked, that same warm smile on her face. She had squatted to meet Blair at eye-level. At this point, seeing her daughter poop herself hardly came as the surprise. It was more of a matter of ‘when’ rather than ‘if.’ “How about we get you cleaned up?” Mommy took Blair’s hands in her own, stood back up and… Upsy daisy! She lifted her back up, a wobble in her step thanks to some recently added weight. Mommy held Blair’s hand and the pair walked off to the bathroom together, a telling waddle in Blair’s gait. They entered the bathroom, Mommy lifted Blair onto the changing table, as effortless as the last dozen times. “Tabby?” Blair asked, pointing at the diaper bag. Sure, she was about to get her bum wiped by Mommy. But that didn’t me she couldn’t play a game while she waited. Blair wasn’t the one doing the heavy lifting. At least, not once the diaper came off. “Well, you have been good today.” Mommy rummaged in the diaper bag, pulling out the tablet. Blair greedily accepted, already forgetting about her status on the changing table. The screen came to life, and Blair was flicking through the home screen, looking for new games to play. Blair struggled to read the app titles; whether it was because the text was too small or because they were made up of words she didn’t knew, she couldn’t be sure. Blair simply picked the one with the most fetching icon. She picked one, and soon saw a funny looking animal roll through a dessert. The animal unfurled and introduced herself. “Howdy partners! My name’s Amy Dillo! I’m glad you’re here! I’ve gotten myself in a real pickle today. All my shapes broke out of their pens this morning. I need you to help get all my shapes back in the pen before sundown. Think you can handle it? The screen displayed a set of corrals, each with a sign displaying a different shape. The game seemed simple enough. Drag all the shapes into the correct pen as quickly as possible. Tapes scrunched and peeled back as Mommy got to work. Meanwhile, Blair got to work in her own way. Blair was an expert when it came to shapes. A fresh diaper and a high score were great notes to end the morning on. Blair shivered as she felt something cold rub against her tush. Still, that didn’t stop her, as she drag a circle across the digital farm. Triangle goes there, square goes there… “Bum up,” Mommy requested. Blair complied automatically. She hoisted up her rear, her focus still on the game. She tapped on a new icon, one that looked like rope. It was power-up! With her new lasso, she could now wrangle up three shapes at once. Victory smelled so sweet…or was that baby powder? Either way, Blair felt satisfied. The digital sun began to set as the screen took on an orange hue. A score board pulled up showing a set of big numbers and three gold stars. “Great job! But we’re not done yet. It looks like while we were busy, all the colors got out. You up for another round?” The colors had escaped too? Amy must be really bad at her job. New sets of corrals scrolled onto the screen. Signs in front of them colored red, blue, green, and yellow, respectively. While Blair’s bum landed on something soft and familiar, different blobs of various colors floated on screen. More tapes scrunched and peeled, more colors to wrangle. Mommy huffed. “I really hope this isn’t turning into an addiction.” Mommy nudged the distracted adult-baby on the elbow, “Come on honey, time to go.” Blair was felt hands on her shoulder, was pretty sure she was standing up now. She was well-acquainted with the feel of a fresh diaper and knew everything had gone well. There were still colors to catch… It wasn’t until she heard the snaps of the car seat that she paused the game. They must have made it back to the car while Blair was playing. “How about we take a break,” Mommy suggested, “You’ve been playing all morning, and it’s getting close to your nap time.” As if on cue, Blair stretched her arms and let out a big yawn. “Okay Mommy.” She handed over the table shifted in her seat, trying to find a comfortable spot to rest. Amy and she would have to play another day… Mommy strapped herself into the driver’s side seat. Looking down at her daughter’s device, she started to worry. Was it really a good idea, buying this for her? All this modern technology was so confusing. Who knows what ill effect being overexposed to a screen all day could have on Blair? If nothing else, Blair needed some good physical activity to balance herself out. “Since you’ve so good today, how about we swing by the park? School hasn’t let out yet, so it shouldn’t—oh!” Blair was already fast asleep, a trail of drool running down her shirt. It seemed her naptime had come earlier than expected. No matter. Mommy had all the time in the world to spend with her precious little girl. “Never mind,” Mommy said, “No more questions for today.”

James went into the office, his light blue shirt, neatly buttoned up, yet untucked from his tan slacks. Business casual meant ‘dressed up but lazy’. It was kind of his look. The only reason he wore loafers was because there were no laces to tie. On his way over to his cubicle he stopped by Jen’s desk. “Hey Jen.” The receptionist in her purple sweater looked up from her desk. “ Hey James.” Her very smile lit up James’s world. It’s why he stopped by her desk every morning before sitting down at his own. James was to Jen’s left. The watercooler was to Jen’s right. That’s why James always took so many water breaks. Townville Business Inc wasn’t the most exciting place to work. Quite the opposite. Some days James felt like his life was on an endless loop, a kind of kafkaesque torture of mentally running in place. If there was a hell, it might look a lot like Townville Business Inc. Internally, James winced at his own assessment. Hell? No. Maybe Limbo, but not Hell. Surely, Hell would be more exciting than this...this...place. Generally speaking, James came in to work fifteen minutes late. His alarm clock would go off at nine even though that’s when work started. A benefit to having a house so close to work was he could stay up late and sleep in, zoning irregularities be damned. He’d come in the side door so that Mitchell, his manager, couldn’t see him, and talk to Jen. After that, he’d sort of just sit down at his desk and space out for about an hour. Space out: A wonderful activity where James would just sort of sit at his desk and stare at his computer. He wasn’t actually working, but from far enough away it would look like he was working. He’d usually do it for an hour after lunch, too. In a given week, James probably only did fifteen minutes of real actual work. During those fifteen minutes, James would speak to clients about quantities...type of copier paper...whether Townville Business Inc could supply it to them...pay for it...and James had just accidentally bored himself even thinking about the job. Hell couldn’t be this boring. The only thing keeping James from leaving was he wouldn’t know what to do with all the random information he’d acquired over time. Information such as the tonnage of manilla folders and Jen’s favorite yogurt flavor being mixed berry. “JAMES!” A bony hurricane in a yellow button up shirt, red tie, and glasses came storming up to James. “Oh hey, Ike, what’s up?” Jame’s co-worker held up a baby bottle; a fairly large one too. It looked big enough to where a body would need two hands to hold it, but it was definitely a baby bottle. Some kind of novelty one, James guessed. “What?! Is?! This?” “That would be a baby bottle, Ike,” James said. He flashed a smarmy lackadaisical smile “Not everyone breastfeeds their children, you realize.” “Despite the proven health and developmental benefits to breastfeeding,I’m well aware, James.” Ike said. “What was this doing waiting for me inside my desk?” James cocked an eyebrow. “I’m guessing it was waiting for you…?” “Yes, but why was it there?” James turned his head slightly and looked past his co-worker and gave the wall a most cynical and confused look. James was the only one who did that, but no one ever seemed to comment on it. Sometimes to make his life a little less boring, he pretended he was on camera. “I guess whoever put it there for you didn’t want you to get hungry, Ike.” Ike was already fuming. His buttons were so easy to press that some days James felt like he had cheat codes to Ike’s brain. “I do not drink from bottles!” “Oh? So you still breastfeed? I haven’t seen your mother...ever...so you must fast till you get home.” James turned his attention to Jen. “Is that why he’s always so cranky all the time? He’s just hangry?” Leaning against Jen’s desk, James added, “You’re not you when you’re hungry, dude.” “I DO NOT BREASTFEED!” “Then why is that ba-ba so full?” “You want me to prove that I don’t breast feed?!” “I do. I really do.” Ike started twisting at the cap, but to no avail. The rubber nipple would not budge. Child proof cap. That thought was amusing enough for James to throw another cynical smirk at the wall just behind Ike. Eventually, Ike gave up and started chugging back the bottle of milk. “Are you happy now, James?” A stream of white dribbled down Ike’s chin. “You have no idea…” Still chugging, Ike trudged back to his desk with the bottle of milk. “Okay,” James whispered. “For real, I have no idea what that was about or how it got there.” Jen’s eyes lit up and she covered her mouth. “Really? I thought that was you for sure!” “No. No clue. I just couldn’t resist.” Tormenting Ike was another thing that helped James pass the time. It was one of the few joys in the man’s life. There was an idea: Maybe this was hell, but James was some kind of minor demon, meant to flirt with Jen and psychologically torture Ike. James had done plenty of nonsense just to get Ike’s goat in the past. If he dedicated anything to this job, it was that, further cementing the demon theory that was just starting to brew. He’d booby trapped Ike’s desk with confetti and glitter bombs, put his favorite stapler in gelatin, and removed all of the screws from his chair so that it collapsed the moment Ike sat down. One time, he realized that Ike’s muscle memory was so precise that just moving everything in the office two steps to the left threw him off. A big baby bottle was kind of out of left field, however. Not James style whatsoever. “Okay, we have to talk about this.” Jen stood up from her desk. “I have theories. But first I gotta go to the little girl’s room.” “Yeah, yeah. Sure.” James went back to his desk and watched Jen get up from hers. It was kind of perverted, we liked the view as she disappeared into the restroom. A real case of hating to see her leave, but loving to watch her walk away. The wait wasn’t long. No sooner had she gone through the bathroom door did she come out again. “Huh…” That was quick. Too quick. He went back over to her desk. Jen seemed equally disquieted. “Um, nevermind,” she said, sounding confused, “I guess I don’t have to go potty.” “Oooookay,” James said. “Potty? I think Ike might be getting to you” Admittedly, the toddlerish word sounded cute as anything coming out of Jen’s mouth, but James was decidedly biased. Jen looked very uncomfortable. “Maybe?” She shifted uncomfortably and held her stomach. James’s ears twitched and he looked around. Was someone opening a bag of M&M’s or rustling a grocery bag or something? “Reverse psychology, do you think?” “Maybe….” James went back to his desk and settled down for a good old fashioned round of spacing out. Adjacent to him, Ike was still chugging down the big baby bottle, his eyes ablaze like he was proving a point or something. Whatever. Ike could hold a grudge indefinitely, but his attention span only lasted about twenty two minutes on average. By the time James finished spacing out, Ike will have been done with the bottle and doing enough work for both of them. “Staff meeting, everyone!” James looked up from his computer. Standing in the doorway to the meeting room, was, of course, Mitchell. Mitchell was arguably one of the fewer people less productive than James. On an average day James only interfered with his own productivity (Ike didn’t really count). Mitchell, however, made everyone less productive with an endless stream of side projects and in-jokes that only Mitchell ever found funny. With no more than a few grumbles, everyone got up and shuffled off to another one of Mitchell’s mind numbing presentations. Dang. Right as James was looking forward to spacing out. “Done!” Ike slammed the bottle down with authority. “In your face, James! I don’t breastfeed!” “Yup, Ike.” James shrugged. “Ya got me. Let’s go.” James joined the small crowd and sat down in the back row while Mitchell prepared himself for another bit of mindless drivel. “Alright everybody,” Mitchel clapped his hands together, “I just wanted to make everyone aware that there are going to be some upcoming changes.” “Is anyone getting fired?” Stan asked. “No. Corporate is hiring new people, actually. Specialists, some might say.” Stan opened up his newspaper. “Then I don’t care.” Stan could give James a run for his money in terms of laziness. The older, balding, black man gave zero fucks about this job and did nothing to hide it. At least James had his hobbies. Stan had elevated napping while seated to an art form. “There are some modifications coming to life, and I just wanted everyone to be prepared for them. I think we’re going to have a...have a lot of fun with them. This could be a brand new start for us.” “What sort of changes can we expect?” Ike asked, suck up that he was. “More importantly what is the chain of command going to be. Will the assistant regional manager- “The assistant to the regional manager…” “-have any authority over these new hires?” “No, Ike. And here’s why.” James rolled his eyes. He hadn’t gotten in his usual space out time. Stan for all his brazenness had the right idea. Time to check out. Mitchell’s words oozed together into a kind of gibberish. “Nooboo chika om za gleb! Mik, mak, maka, lik dominips: Nooboo clops om jigga om meshka nooboo clops, nooboo gronk, wui caba nooboo. Oh feebee lay. Flutz ty roo!” James only knew that Mitchell was done talking because he clapped his hands and looked at everyone expectantly. He got up and shuffled out. Unsurprisingly Stan had fallen asleep and Mitchell was doing nothing about it. Funnily enough, someone had managed to wedge a big pacifier between his lips. Stan was even sucking lightly on it. Out of pity, James nudged Stan awake. “Hm?” Stan said, rubbing his eyes. He took the pacifier out of his mouth and looked at it briefly. “Huh? Oh yeah. Back to work.” For the third time that day, James stared at an otherwise unoccupied wall. That was weird. “Time to get a soda.” James walked past the copier and into the break room. Rather than go to the vending machine, he went straight to the office fridge. Ike kept a seemingly endless supply of sodas that he never labeled or kept track of. It was a wonder he didn’t, to be honest. James opened the door, bent over and... “That’s...new.” Ike’s soda cans were still there, but right next to them were even more baby bottles, all filled to the brim and ready to drink. James did a double take and looked back over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching him. Was this one of Ike’s random and weird attempts at a prank? They never worked, but they were entertaining to turn in on themselves. His hand hovered over the cans for just a second longer until his elbow swerved and he picked up one of the baby bottles instead. “Huh?” Before James could say anything else, he sat down on the floor, legs splayed out in front of him like a toddler and started suckling right then and there on the rubber nipple. The door swung open. “Aha!” Ike said, pointing down. “I knew it was you!” James couldn’t reply. His mouth was on autopilot, sucking down the delicious yummy milk and guzzling it down as fast as he could. Delicious? Yummy? Talk about intrusive thoughts. “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but Mitchell’s going to hear about this!” James was able to stop drinking long enough to twist Ike’s words some more. “Hear about what?” James asked. “Am I...am I stealing your….your….?” Crud what was the word he wanted. “Your... ba-ba?” Darn it! He’d already used that one? James hated repeating jokes in the same day. Why couldn’t he think of another word for...for...ba-ba? Yet another choice he couldn’t explain. Almost like he didn’t have any other choice...or any other words for… Ba? Ba-ba? Ike came to the rescue, giving James someone to focus on besides his own limited vocabulary. “Those are NOT my ba-bas!” “Oh yeah,” James said. “That’s right. You breastfeed.” “I do NOT breastfeed, James!” Ike stiffened as two fingers hooked into the back of his waistband. Behind him was a strange, and very tall woman clad in a stereotypical french maid’s uniform. Despite the subservient attire, she seemed very confident and powerful. Being seven foot tall could do that to a person. “Not yet,” was all she said. Jame’s rival coworker spun around on his heel. “Do you mind, ma’am?!” Evidently, she didn’t. The maid turned around and leaned out the door. “I found two more!” “Okay!” An identical voice came back. “Are they potty trained?” James started drinking faster so he could stand up. He couldn’t drink a ba-ba and walk at the same time. Nor could he stop drinking once he’d started. “Hard to tell!” The giant lady in black called back. “I don’t think they’re dressed appropriately if that’s what you’re asking.” “Give it time!” “Okay!” Ike wasn’t having any of this. “Mitchell!” he yelled. “Mitchell!” He stormed past the big woman and started going right for Mitchell’s office. The big woman paid Ike no further mind. Instead, she glided over to James. “Here. Let me help.” James remained perfectly still as the seven footer picked him up as though he were as light as a soap bubble and sat down in a rocking chair by the refrigerator. When had that rocking chair gotten there? James wiped the thought from his mind, instead focusing on getting the bottle out of his mouth. The only way to do that, however, was to finish it. The big woman rubbed his back and made cooing nonsense sounds while she gently rocked him. James finished the bottle. “Good job,” the maid said. “Very good job!” She picked James up off of her lap and set him on his feet. “Uh...thank you?” This was not what James was having in mind. “Okay. All done. Go play.” The office drone didn’t need much more encouragement than that to slink off. “MITCHELL!” Ike was on the border of a panic attack. “WHAT ARE YOU WEARING?” Dressed sailor whites, including the funny hat, Mitch was being carried on the maid’s hip. “Oh relax, Ike,” their manager scoffed. “You’re so uptight. This is new! It’s hip! Hip...get it? That’s what she said.” “You look like an imbecile, Mitchell!” Ike said. On most days, this would be a massive case of the pot calling the kettle black. Today was obviously an exception. James cocked an eyebrow. How did the maid…? He looked back into the break room. The maid who had just finished bottle feeding him still sat idly on her rocking chair. “Oh…” It wasn’t just the voice that had been identical. “Twins. Neat?” When he looked back, he saw Ike snatching a pacifier out of the second maid’s outstretched hand. “I’ll have you know, Mitchell, that I’m accepting this binky, but under extreme protest!” Amidst the absurdity James slid over to Jen. “Hey,” he whispered. “What’s going on?” “I’m not sure…” Jen said, just as flabbergasted at the bizarre scene as James. “Was this what Mitchell was talking about?” James shrugged. “I don’t...NO!” Jen’s clothing had switched out. Her purple sweater had become a purple jumper dress, accented with a bow on top of her head. That part had been strange enough. What had really startled the office worker was how his not-so-secret crush’s dress was so short; short enough that he could see the bottom of what could only be a diaper poking out. The look of intense concentration on Jen’s face was equally disturbing. Somewhere in the back of his mind he connected the dots and realized what she was doing. “Jen, are you...are you pooping?” “Yeah,” Jen said, her face turning red with strain and embarrassment. “I already wet my diaper. Now I’m making a messy.” “Why?” Jen grunted and the sounds of muffled farts preceded her answer. “Because I was never potty trained…?” To hear her say it, Jen was just as surprised as James was. She sat back down in her chair, wincing as her mess no doubt spread around in her baby panties. James blanched, but for whatever reason, perhaps years of malaise setting in, he couldn’t exactly bring himself to be disgusted. It just wasn’t in him. All the same, he still had concern and curiosity. “Aren’t you gonna do something about that? Get...changed?” The secretary shrugged. “Can’t,” she said. “Don’t know how. Will you change me?” James gulped and leaned back. Change her? Change her diaper? Like a baby? As much as he’d wanted to get into Jen’s panties, changing. More importantly however… “I...can’t…? I don’t know how…?” Wow. Was he really that much of a guy that he didn’t even know how to change a diaper? One of the maids came up. “Someone made a stinky!” she said, fanning her hand in front of her nose. James tensed up and remained statue still while the giant woman looked down the back of his slacks. “Oh! No diaper, yet. Can’t be you.” “Yet?” James asked, “What do you mean, ‘yet’?” The seven foot ignored James and quickly wound her way over to Jen. “Ooo!” She exclaimed, patting the back of Jen’s diaper. “I found a stinky baby! Let’s get the baby changed!” James watched helplessly as his crush was picked up and carried on the maid’s hip out from behind her desk. Her dress rode up so that if James had somehow missed the adult sized diaper she was wearing before. “Jen?! What’s going on?!” “I..” Jen stammered. “I don’t know. I think I’m getting my diaper changed...?” She was laid down on a large adult sized changing table right where the copier used to be. While her dress was hiked all the way up past her belly button, the first of two strange questions came to James: Why wasn’t she doing more to stop this? The maid cooed and babbled to Jen as she undid the tapes on Jen’s diaper. She effortlessly lifted the secretary’s legs up by the ankles and started wiping the mess off her bottom. “Such a cutie stinky patootie!” One-handedly she finished wiping Jen, balled up the old diaper and tossed it into the diaper genie right next to it. No looking or anything. Had he not been so disturbed, James might have made a Globetrotters quip. “Let’s have the baby smell as cute as she looks,” the maid kept cooing while slipping a new diaper beneath Jen’s bottom and powdering it. Through all of this, Jen sucked her thumb and babbled happily. James could literally make out the contented smile behind that thumb as the fresh diaper was yanked up and taped snugly on. “Muff beffuh.” Why wasn’t she fighting this? Jen shouldn’t be laying placidly on a vinyl mat getting her butt wiped and powdered. She should be kicking and screaming! She wasn’t a baby! She should be trying to stop this! Someone should be trying to stop this! That’s when the second question came to him. Why wasn’t he? James looked down at his own sneakered feet. They were rooted, unmoving to the floor. Sneakered? He did a massive double take. Somehow, beneath his denim shortalls, instead of his loafers, were bright yellow sneakers with red laces; practically clown shoes! Freshly diapered, Jen was carried back to her playpen at the front of...the…? Why was he wearing shortalls?! James raced through his recent memory. He didn’t remember dressing himself like this. A more shocking realization came to him: He couldn’t remember how to dress himself. The salesman waddled over to Jen’s playpen, where he’d been sure there was a desk not two seconds ago. “Jen,” he said. “Something weird’s going on.” He didn’t hear the crinkle coming from beneath his pants, nor did he notice his own toddlerish gait thanks to his own mounting panic. “Yeah,” Jen said. “I know. It’s like...it’s like...hold on.” She crawled over to a plastic rotary phone- a bright red receiver on a smiling white base- “Hello, Babville Daycare, how may I direct your call?” “Jen!” James shouted, “that’s a toy!” “I know! But it’s so much fun to play pretend!” Jen dropped the plastic receiver and gasped. “Oh my gosh, you’re right. What’s going on? Why can’t I go potty?” James leaned over the railing of the playpen. “I don’t know. Probably the same reason I can’t say ba-ba.” “Ba-ba?” James grunted in frustration. “I mean ‘ba-ba’!” He smacked his forehead. He couldn’t even say the adult word anymore. “You know what I mean.” Jen tried a few phrases out, and while she did not stutter, her face grimaced and flinched with each infantile substitute. “I don’t know how to go potty. I pee-pee and poopy in my diapee.” Her shoulders slumped and she started sucking on her thumb. “Jen!” Jen yanked the offending digit out of her mouth so fast it was a wonder her front teeth didn’t come flying across the office. “James,” she almost cried. “Why is our office turning into a daycare?” When James looked around, ‘turning’ was the wrong tense. The building where they spend most every day of their lives had become a full on nursery. Computers had been replaced with rainbow glockenspiels and jack in the boxes. Cribs lined the walls, and the restrooms seemed to have faded out of existence entirely. Toy boxes and piles of stuffed animals littered the periphery. “If this place is a daycare,” James said aloud. “What does that make us?” Jen looked like she knew the answer but was too afraid to say it out loud. “Look at Stan…” Stan was nodded off, like usual, but now he was clad in just a diaper and held aloft in a bouncer where his cubicle used to be. “Mitchel?” Their boss was being laid down on the changing table, his sailor shorts, around his ankles and his diaper swollen and sagging. “Someone left me a present!” The giant maid cooed. “That’s what she said!” Mitchel got a pacifier shoved between his lips. “That’s enough out of you Mister Mush Tush.” Obediently, Mitchel started suckling on it. James kind of wished someone had thought of that earlier. Over in the back corner, Angie from accounting seemed to be having a delightfully prissy time holding a fake tea party in a pink little bo peep outfit. James assumed she was diapered simply because there was no way anyone would be able to get to the potty on time with all of those petticoats on. Potty?! Poopy! Now he was doing it too! Poopy?! Darn it, he couldn’t even swear correctly! Time to do something about this. “Excuse me,” James said, raising his hand. “Miss? Miss Maid lady? Either of you?” He saw that there were three of them now. “Any of you?” One of them stopped and addressed the toddlerized James. “Nanny. Call me Nanny.” “Yeah, I am super not comfortable with calling you that. What’s going on?” The giant woman took James by the hand. “We’re just making some modifications,” she said. “Reorganizing things. Making this place look more like a daycare.” “This isn’t a daycare, though.” “Isn’t it?” Just off in the distance, Ike had switched to a yellow onesie, and he was busy suckling at the teat of a fourth giant woman in a French maid’s outfit. “James!” he screamed as he was being shifted onto the other breast. “This proves nothing! This doesn’t count! You don’t win!” “Wish I could forget that….” He looked back to the Nanny...the Nanny...no not the Nanny, the Nanny...darn it! James looked back over to the Nanny. “Nanny, you gotta believe me, it’s not normally like this around here.” “I know.” James cocked an eyebrow. “You do?” “Of course silly. We’re much bigger than you. That’s why we’re coming in to help.” “How is this…?” James winced as he felt a familiar and comforting heat enter the front of his shortalls. He was going pee-pee in his diapee. Like a good baby. Not enough to cry about it, though. “I’m sorry. How is this helping, exactly?” Nanny picked James up and carried him over to a high chair. James liked being carried. “Do you really want to work and stare at a boring computer screen all day, bubby?” “No, but I don’t exactly want to be a dumb baby, either.” She buckled James in and clicked the tray in place. From literally out of nowhere she grabbed a jar of green baby food. “Oh you’re not a dumb baby. Dumb babies are no fun. We’re not hurting you, just modifying things to make them better. For everyone.” James couldn’t argue with that. Literally. Some part of his brain was preventing him from interrupting. “Such a good baby.” The praise made him feel the same way that he did when Jen smiled at him. Better, even. “This isn’t Townville anymore. This is Babville. And it’s not a business office. It’s a daycare. And you’re not an adult, you’re a baby. Understand?” “But…” James looked at himself. “I look like an adult.” “Not to me, you don’t. Not on the inside. Where it counts.” James was about to try and ask a question, when instead he leaned forward and started pushing last night’s dinner into the seat of his pants. He’d poopied and pee-peed right in his diapee. Just like Jen. And oddly enough, he found the sensation neither terribly embarrassing, nor all that unpleasant. On an academic level, James knew that he should be embarrassed, more than embarrassed he should be absolutely mortified. But as he settled back down into his high chair and opened his mouth for another spoonful of delicious baby food, smushing the mush around both ends, he found he wasn’t. He was also...never potty trained…? How had that never happened? He knew words like ‘embarrassed’ and ‘mortified’, but he’d suddenly never been potty trained. It was almost like the part of him that had been potty trained and enjoyed doing adult things like drinking or making whoopee, had been copied and pasted over. All the same, he was still mostly the same old James. Even now, stewing in a very wet and messy diaper, he was formulating ways to mess with Ike...maybe could somehow make Ike think he was potty trained? Put his binky in gelatin? He’d have to work on that one “See?” the Nanny smiled at him. “You’re a baby. Now and forever. It doesn’t matter how big you’ve gotten.” “What happens next?” James wondered, filled with awe. “Well,” the Nanny waved her hand in front of her nose. “First, I think I’m gonna change somebody’s stinky pants.” Stinky pants? Really? James remained quiet, but he looked to an unoccupied wall and gave it a knowing look. “Then,” the Nanny said. “I think I’ll put you down in a playpen. Maybe with some more toys, and you and Jen-Jen can play until naptime. And before you know it, it’ll be time to go home, and you can have a bath and eat din-dins and sleep in your crib.” James sighed. “Okay,” he said. “Sounds good. Oddly enough, it sounds really good.” And that was that as far as James was concerned: Diapee change. Then playtime with Jen. A nice nap. Then home where Mommy0a woman he hadn’t met yet instantly knew she’s look exactly like a Nanny but with a red dress- would pick him up and take him in his stroller back home. ****************************************************************************** Robbie couldn’t stop playing one-handed. He kept rubbing the front of his PeekABUs with one hand while clicking on the screen with the other. Oh! It looked like one of them was pooping! Another one was breastfeeding! Oh, one of the girl’s was crying because she spilled tea on herself! It was so cute when they cried! It was cute when they giggled and cooed too. And they still sounded like themselves! That was so awesome. If the mod had just substituted in baby sound effects and patched them onto the adult models, it would have taken Robbie right out of it. But no. Somehow, somebody had managed to get everything, even the sound effects, just right, so it sounded like the adult voice actors were cooing and giggling and baby babbling. How was it any different than Townlish, the fake not-a-language the game’s characters normally used? Robbie couldn’t quite explain, but he could tell the difference. Robbie hadn’t known what to expect when he’d downloaded this mod, but he hadn’t expected this level of detail. Townville was easily the most sophisticated Life Simulator on the market. This “Babville” mod was easily on par with the original code, if not better. It reinforced Robbie’s belief that there were more than a few ABDL’s in the gaming industry these days. It was the only logical explanation! The only complaint, if he had to give one, was that the new caregiver models kind of all looked the same. Robbie could customize their color palette and maybe change their dress, but that was about it. It would have been nice to have giant Daddy NPC’s, too, and he said as much in the comment thread, but he made sure to heap oodles and oodles of praise for the rest of it. He’d been a fan of Townville, and the various hijinks and pop culture references the original programmers had put in, but he wasn’t going to be playing the vanilla version any more. After Babville, there was no comparison. No comparison at all. Maybe, he hoped idly, there'd be a V.R. mod someday so he could go and experience it himself. Watching the animation play out, Robbie sighed enviously as another character got their diaper changed and put down in the playpen. No censor bars either...hot damn! How had he not noticed that? He looked at the potty bars for two of the girls, and frowned that neither was close to having another accident. Robbie could wait. He’d be playing this game a loooooong time. If only those little collections of pixels knew how lucky they were.

Splash Zone: The Disneyland of Water Parks. Also coincidentally one of the major water parks that was open year round and NOT owned and operated by Disney or one of its fellow megacorporation competitors. And like all good theme parks Splash Zone was part nostalgia, part right of passage, part tourist attraction, and part tourist trap. Just past the entrance, in a sign painted in bright yellow letters and glossed over to look like they were dripping were the words “Caution: You WILL get wet.” That’s where the security guard got to them. “Here’s your wristband miss,” the thirty-something bald guy said, quickly wrapping some fabric around Kimberly’s wrist. He came up so quickly and decisively that Kimberly genuinely thought she’d done something wrong. Not yet five steps past the ticket booth turnstyle and she was already being accosted. Kimberly drew in breath, ready to scream or call for help or demand to know what the guard was doing. Except he did the same thing to Sarah less than ten seconds later. Kim’s best friend held out her wrist, however, as if she were expecting it. “Been a while, huh?” she asked Kim. The college sophomore blushed. “Yeah.” She took a closer look at the man who’d just put a wristband around her. All around her people in official looking uniforms were tagging park visitors. This wasn’t a security guard as much as it was a park greeter. Kim hadn’t even been in kindergarten the last time she was here. Evidently the park had made some major updates. Taking the lead, Sarah grabbed her ticket and held it out to the greeter. “I come here a couple times a year.” So that’s why Kim’s dorm mate seemed so in control. The burly greeter took out a scan gun and scanned the ticket. “Sarah Mathers? Age twenty?” he asked. “That’s me,” Sarah said. The greeter quickly scanned her wristband. “One more year till I can get pina coladas in the lazy river.” The greeter laughed. It was the dry laugh of someone who’d heard that joke a thousand times. “You’re good to go,” the greeter said. Sarah stepped to the side and Kimberly dug her ticket back out of her pocket. He scanned Kim’s ticket. “Kimberly Marshall? Age nineteen?” “Yeah…?” Big and intimidating he may have been compared to Kimberly’s relatively petite frame, but the man with the scanning gun seemed to be able to read Kim’s confusion. “We use a barcode system,” he quickly explained. “A lot of people hate lugging around wallets in their swimsuits. So we do this barcode thing.” He gave the wrist band a little tug as he scanned it. It was very sturdy, possibly waterproof, and had a barcode on it. “So if you buy anything we just run up a tab and you pay on your way out of the park when we snip the band off.” Kim had a feeling that she wouldn’t be able to get this off even if she used her teeth. “Huh” So that’s why Kim had to show her ID at the ticket booth. “Neat.” Sarah, who was a head taller than Kimberly, butted in like a know-it-all sister. “They also use it to access different parts of the park. Super high tech security stuff.” “That’s mostly for the kiddie parts,” the greeter answered. “Parents can leave their toddlers in Tadpole Town and pick them up later.” He shot a warning look at Sarah. “It also helps with the cabana bar and keeping problem patrons off of certain slides.” Maybe he was a security guard of sorts. The taller of the two girls shrugged. “We won’t be those kind of guests,” Sarah promised. “Yeah,” the greeter guard smirked. “You’re not dumbass boys. Have a good day, ladies.” “Bye!” Ten minutes later, the girls had changed and were meeting outside the locker and changing rooms. Kim had to admit the barcode scanning system was awfully convenient. No bags or keys to lug around between slides. She just had to strip down to her swimsuit, put her loose fitting shorts, t-shirt and purse in a locker, scan her wristband and walk out. Speaking of swimsuits: “Wow!” Sarah gushed. Kim had chosen to wear her favorite sunset orange bikini. It perfectly complimented her short auburn hair. “You know this isn’t the beach, right? Like, you’re not gonna pick up any boys or work on your tan here.” Petite though she was, Kim was showing a lot of soft smooth skin. Like her mother, Kim had not been particularly well endowed physically, but in a bathing suit like that, anything looked big. Besides, Kim’s very existence - not to mention her social calendar - was evidence that plenty of guys liked cute little things such as herself. “Flaunt what you got!” “Pass.” Sarah was clearly taking a different approach. Six months older and taller than Kim, puberty had been much kinder to Sarah. She had a busty chest that bounced when she so much as shifted her weight and full hips that wiggled when she walked like a cat strutting down the alleyway. Yet here she was wearing a plain navy blue one piece, that while it nearly matched her raven hair, gave her an unmistakably more mature and more serious vibe. “What’s the point of being twenty and wearing a bathing suit if you’re gonna dress like your mom?” Kimberly joked. They’d had this conversation before regarding clothing. Sarah was something of an old soul, aesthetically, favoring practical and functional over cute and flirty. Some days, Kim swore her buddy was a crazy old cat lady who just hadn’t grown into the role yet. “I’m here to ride the Sharknado, not to get phone numbers.” She eyed Kimberly’s bikini. “And this mom-suit only cost me half as much as yours. You’re paying for what; two pairs of triangles sewn together and tied up with string? How does that make sense?” Like a runway model, Kimberly strode further. “I’m paying for the societal permission to show all THIS off!” She struck a pose and held it for a second before both of them broke down laughing. “Come on. Let’s check out this slide you’ve been gabbing about.” Before they got very far, Sarah stopped them. “Oh, before we get in line for anything,” she said, “do you have to go potty?” Kimberly let out another little laugh. “Do I have to pee? That mom-suit must really be going to your brain.” She hadn’t been asked if she needed to ‘go potty’ since the first grade. “Do you?” Sarah arched an eyebrow and gestured to a nearby sign, pointing toward ‘Boys’ Potties’, ‘Girls’ Potties’ and ‘Tadpole Town’. “I don’t want to get on a roll and have to wait on you because that tiny little bladder of yours can’t handle a full bottle of Diet Coke.” Kim rolled her eyes. “That was that one time!” she said. “It’s not like it’s a law that girls have to go to the bathroom together.” They resumed walking. “Yeah, but I don’t want to get so far ahead in line that I have to wait ten minutes for you to follow after me,” Sarah complained. Dang! Kim had no idea her friend was this hardcore about a water park. She looked up at the towering structures of steel and PVC, painted up and decorated to rival roller coasters. All of them had lines winding from the top of the towers to the base. “If I really have to pee,” Kim promised, “I’ll just go to the bathroom, sit out a trip and wait for you at the bottom.” Sarah seemed happy with this promise. “It would give me an excuse to go twice,” she thought out loud. A naughty joke jumped out of Kim’s mouth. “That or I could just pee in the wave pool or something. Isn’t that what people do at these places?” Sarah stopped so fast and stuck out her arm so that her roommate had to duck to avoid being clotheslined. “Don’t do that here,” she said, her tone deadly serious. “I was only joking,” Kim chuckled. “I’m not gonna pee in the pool.” “Good. Don’t.” Yikes! This was not a side of Sarah that Kimberly had expected to see today. And for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why; Kim wanted to poke the bear a little bit. “Even if I did. So what?” she smiled. “That’s what chlorine is for! This place already smells like an outdoor toilet.” Raven hair tied back in a tight ponytail shook itself like a crow ruffling its feathers. “Don’t. They take that kind of thing really seriously here.” “How seriously?” “Very.” The shorter of the two kept walking. “Okay. Sheesh. It was just a joke, anyways.” Sarah caught up with a few longer legged strides. “I know,” she promised, her tone softening, “I just needed to let you know. A lot has changed in the last couple years.” They were friends again. “Like the armband barcode things?” “Yeah,” Sarah said. “And other things. My ex used to come here. Now he doesn’t. He peed in the pool.” “He got banned?” Kimberly asked. “Not exactly,” Sarah answered. “They called his parents and had them pick him up.” “That’s embarrassing.” the younger gal giggled. “You don’t know the half of it. His mom picked him up and they did something on his file to make him never want to come back.” “Like what?” Kim didn’t get an answer to her question. “Ooh!” Sarah shrieked. “The line for Sharknado is short! Let’s go!” She grabbed Kim’s wrist and took off running for the entrance to the ride that Sarah had been blathering about the entire drive over. The way inside, unsurprisingly, looked like a giant shark’s mouth with the maw opening into a concrete tunnel. To get the turnstyle to admit them they had to scan their bands, but once past they were free to power walk up the inclined passageway. “It’s gonna be like this for almost every ride,” Sarah explained. “They don’t want little kids going on a lot of these.” Kim admired bits of decorative metal sticking out of the walls, as if it were debris lodged into the concrete by a tornado. “Okay. This is kind of cool,” she admitted. She was starting to get excited. This was gonna be fun! The jubilation was short-lived. A fast paced walk towards high sliding adventure slowed to a crawl as they caught up to the back of the line rather quickly. Not half a minute later, the girls were no longer the back of the line and were penned in. Waterslides, by their very design, have a relatively fast turnover, Kimberly knew. One person got on a slide, was given the signal to go by the lifeguard on top and that person went flying down the chute propelled by jets of water. They’d pass a certain checkpoint and a second lifeguard would radio up so that a third or fourth could be ready by the splashpool and the first lifeguard could give another rider the go ahead. Overall it was very fast, very efficient, and very safe. Water slides were basically a big conveyor belt. But even conveyor belts seem to move slowly when it’s one at a time and you’re moving step by step up an incline waiting for the person at the top to hit the stream. More to the point, a slide that took maybe forty five seconds total was still racking up a wait time of close to fifteen minutes. A lot can happen in fifteen minutes. As they got closer to the front of the line, the sound of the rushing water got louder, echoing in the concrete tunnel. Kimberly couldn’t help but think about Sarah’s earlier comments and just a hint of her bladder getting full. Sarah didn’t notice because Kimberly didn’t draw any attention to it. She wasn’t three, anymore. She could experience some minor bodily discomfort without dancing from foot to foot. Her bladder was filling up; didn’t mean she was close to bursting. She just made a mental note that she’d have to take that bathroom break (and endure Sarah’s razzing more than likely) soon after this. “Next!” The lifeguard called. Sarah stepped forward. “This is gonna be so cool!” “Go! Next!” They were almost there! The sound of the water was thundering now. Anticipation for something other than the bathroom helped Kimberly ignore her bladder. “Go! Next!” Sarah stepped forward and sat down on the slide. “Go!” Sarah was gone! “Next!” For the first time, Kimberly felt a tiny tinge of fear. She sat down in the little pool next to the slide and grabbed the top bar just overhead so she could fling herself down. She winced, feeling the water splashing up her backside and getting her bathing suit bottoms wet. It felt like sitting on a park bench just after the rain. She looked up to the lady lifeguard sitting above her. No eye contact, just reflective glasses and a serious set jaw. “Go!” Just like that, Kimberly was going, going gone! Chin tucked; ankles crossed, leaned back, arms over her chest. Her entire word became the dark twisting tube she’d placed herself in. She hadn’t even thought of it. Pavlov couldn’t have conditioned a better response. “EEEEEEP!” She shrieked with the first dip! “OOOOOH!” with the twist. “AAAAAH!” with the second. Flashing lights and lasers! Briefly, very briefly she put the adrenaline fueled kick she was getting out of the way, marveled at the technical aspect as cgi fish projected on a spirling tube, so that it looked like water was swirling all around her plummeting form. Gingerly, Kimberly reached out to touch it, expecting it to sting like putting her hand in a fan; bracing for the feel of PVC scraping her fingertips. What she got instead was pure water jetting across her digits. Holy crap! This was like if Disney put all of its budget into waterslides! She let out a surprised squeak of wonder before the- DROP! The slide dropped out beneath her into a steep ninety degree angle. Automatically, arms splayed out and ankles uncrossed like a cat trying to land on her feet. Right beneath her, so fast that she only barely registered it, a gigantic shark waited for her to fall into its mouth. Her awe filled giggle of a scream turned into a terror filled shriek. “EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” The free fall wasn’t long. Less than a second passed before her back touched the ramp again and she skidded the rest of the way into the darkness. It wasn’t five seconds before she saw the light at the end of the tunnel and came skidding out across the surface of the splash pool before slowing and then sinking like a stone. Her head submerged under the water and for the briefest instant, her tiny frame was weightless before the balls of her feet pushed up off of concrete, and she pushed her way up back above the surface. “Hey kid! Are you okay?” Kimberly blinked and started swim-walking towards the stairs and railing of the landing pool. “Yeah,” she said, holding back nervous giggling now that she knew she could live through the ride. The adrenaline was really kicking in. She looked at the lifeguard at the bottom, a big dare-she-think ‘hunk’ with a six pack and tight cropped hair and baggy red swim trunks. She noticed everything about him but the concerned look on his face. He swam out to her even though she was just a step or two from grabbing the railing and scooped her up, carrying her out onto terra firma like a groom carrying a bride across the honeymoon suite threshold. “Come on, little lady. Up you go.” She didn’t mind that he’d called her little lady. She definitely didn’t mind the way he picked her up. Gleeful giggles erupted from her. “You okay?” “Yeah.” she said, doing her best to bat her eyelashes. “I’m fine. Never better, actually.” “Good.” He put her down next to the poolside and waved over someone near the exit gate. Another semi-security guard with a barcode scanner on their hip trotted up. “We’ve got a code violet over here.” The lifeguard pointed to the splash pool. “Already called it in. Filtration team should be here any second.” Sarah was suddenly next to Kim. “Oh no,” she gasped. “Kimberly. What did you do?” With an effort, Kimberly dragged her eyes away from the lifeguard she’d been just about to try flirting with. “What do you-?” Kimberly froze mid sentence and looked at the water she’d just been lifted out of. The water had turned a deep, dark purple, like grape kool-aid, and was spreading rapidly. “What is that?” She looked up to her friend. “Was that there for you?” Gravely, Sarah shook her head. “I didn’t pee.” “What do you-?” Kimberly looked down and realized that purple water droplets were clinging to her inner thighs. They were darker. More concentrated. Her sunset bikini bottom was looking more like twilight between her legs as the orange shaded into a dense purple. That, and Kimberly was realizing that she no longer had to go to the bathroom. “The swimming water is treated with a chemical.” Sarah explained.”It’s how people got caught.” A team in white jumpsuits was running to the splash pool. They stuck a vacuum hose into the pool and started sucking up the purple stain. Another jumpsuited team member threw in a few fizzing tablets the size of hockey pucks. “Told you to go potty before we started.” “I-!” “Excuse me.” Kimberly flinched while one of the guys with a barcode gun took her by the wrist and scanned her barcode. “Thank you.” “What the-?!” She yanked her hand away like it had just been bitten. “The fuck?!” “Don’t worry, ma’am.” The man with the scanner said. “Accidents happen.” He reached behind his back and offered her a white hand towel. “For your legs.” She took the towel, but did not break eye contact with the man. “Thank you.” She patted herself down and wiped the little purple beads off her. Thank goodness they didn’t stain her legs or anything, like that anti-shoplifter dye. The purple crotch in her bikini bottom… well, it sort of blended in like it was part of the natural color of the swimsuit, unless you knew about the purple dye in the pool water. Thinking about how she’d just peed herself and everyone knew about it sent shivers up her spine. So much for getting the lifeguard’s number. “Thanks,” she mumbled. “I guess.” The attendant took the towel back. “No problem. There’s a gift shop right around the bend,” he said. “You can go get a swim diaper over there and continue on enjoying the rest of your day. “Ha-ha. Very funny.” She pretended to scratch her forehead with her middle finger, making it very clear what she thought of the barb. “He’s not joking.” Sarah said. Kimberly’s jaw dropped at Sarah’s facial expression. “Yeah, no. That’s not happening.” Kimberly threw her hands up and stormed off. Sarah called after her, “Kimmy! Wait! You’re going the wrong way!” Kim moved as fast as her little legs would take her, rounding the corner away from Sarah and the lifeguard and the site of her humiliation. It was an accident! Plain and simple! The line had been long and the ride had been scary! The entire slide had been self contained! There had been no way for her to even anticipate that drop! She wasn’t going to be made a joke of because she’d...she’d...she’d accidentally done what everybody does at water parks! It wasn’t a joke. It certainly wasn’t funny. Weaving in and out through the crowd, Kim picked the nearest slide. “Amazon River Rapids.” Jungle Theme. Whatever. And stepped up to the turnstyle. The scanner wouldn’t let her through. The turnstyle wouldn’t budge. She got a very loud buzzing sound like she’d just gotten the wrong answer on a quiz show, and a screen flashing “Please See Attendant.” There was a snickering behind her. “Couldn’t hold it in, huh?” A forty-something schlub with a beer gut and a speedo said. “That’s what that buzzer means.” He pointed the opposite direction, the way she’d come from. “Gift Shop is that way, diaper girl.” Kimberly was about to take this fuck who was old enough to be her dad on a scatalogical tour of the Old Testament when Sarah suddenly yanked her out of the quickly forming queue, having finally caught up. “What are you doing?” She hissed. “Rules are rules, you need to go to the Gift Shop, weren’t you listening?” Another of the guard types came up. “Is there a problem here?” she asked. She might have been a woman, but she looked like she could be a bouncer at a bar. The reflective sunglasses, same as the lifeguards, also lent her an air of quiet intimidation. Definitely leaning farther into the “security guard” and less “greeter” than the ones at the front entrance. It was appropriate in a way that she was so close to the Amazon River Rapids, Kimberly thought despite herself. Sarah stepped in between Kimmy and the guard. “She’s new here. We were just going to the gift shop.” Sarah sounded rushed, apologetic, and even a little embarrassed. The lady who could have been in WWE unholstered her scanner and held out her hand. “Bands please.” Sarah held out her arm and got it scanned. “You’re fine. Thank you. Next.” Kim felt like she had no choice. She submitted. The same little buzz that she’d gotten at the turnstyle rang off. “That explains it,” The attendant said, looking at the gun’s readout. “You’re not cleared.” Surprisingly sweet looking blue eyes peered out over the top of the sunglasses. “And you’re obviously not dressed appropriately. Go get fixed up at the Gift Shop.” Kim knew what that meant. The attendant walked away. “Yeah,” she folded her arms over her chest and gave Sarah her best death stare. “No. I want to go home.” Sarah was having none of it. “Oh come on Kimmy! We just got here!” She was indignant. “You’re being silly.” “I’m not going to wear a…” She couldn’t even say it. “It’s normal in the park for people who forget to...who go in the…” Sarah lost some of her verbal footing. “It’s normal here. No one will look twice at you. It’s just a precaution.” “No.” Real mature, Kimberly thought to herself, but there was no way she was going to walk around looking like an overgrown baby just because she had a semi-common accident. A shadow fell over Sarah, the morning sun going behind a cloud or her mood made manifest? “We’re staying,” she said flatly. “I drove us all the way here. I’ve been planning this for weeks. I’m not the one that messed up. You can stay and not go on any rides, or you can swallow your pride and we can hang out the rest of the day. It’s up to you, Kimmy.” Kimberly shrank back, feeling ashamed and a little guilty, like she was being reprimanded by her big sister instead of being out with her best friend. Was it really that big of a deal? It’s not like anyone who saw her would recognize her. She relented and bowed her head. “Okay. I’ll do it.” The sun came out from behind the clouds. “Great. Come on. Let’s go.” At the very least, Sarah didn’t hold her hand on the way to the gift shop, though Kimmy plodded along forlornly alongside her, barely noticing her surroundings. As they got to the gift shop, Kimmy barely noticed a man coming out of the store who was very obviously padded. His baggy swim trunks weren’t nearly baggy enough to hide the roundness of the bulky undergarment or the slight waddle in his walk. Kim was still shellshocked enough to be unable to connect the dots for what that might mean for her. “Just go up to the counter and show him your wristband,” Sarah pointed to a scrawny man behind the gift shop counter and gave Kimmy a slight push in that direction. Legs trembling and feeling numb, Kim walked barefoot up. The man was about the same size as her, but she did everything she could to not look him in the eye. At least the scanner didn’t buzz like before. “Hmmm,” the man said, staring at a computer screen. “Okay. One washable swim diaper coming right up.” That cut through Kimmy’s mental fog; she tensed up again. The sales clerk had spoken at a normal volume but to her ear it felt like he’d shouted it into a megaphone. The man bent over and took out a plastic wrapped package. She looked at it. Yup. That was a diaper, alright. Puffy, soft pink, and decorated with an angel fish pattern, it looked like a bigger version of something a toddler might wear at the beach. The outer fabric was weird, too, like a silicone, waterproof outer shell instead of normal fabric, with the pattern underneath. “Anything else?” “Does it have to be pink?” Kimberly grimaced. “Sorry,” the man behind the counter apologized. “I took some liberties. I just thought it would go well with your new swimsuit.” “New-?” Kimberly hadn’t finished the thought when Sarah draped a swimsuit over the counter. “You’ll need this, too” Like Sarah’s suit, this was a one piece. Unlike Sarah’s simple blue unitard, it was bright pink, almost neon. The straps had decorative bows sewn into them and the butt had ruffles on it. It was one of the tackiest, girliest, and above all most babyish things Kim had ever seen in her size. “I think there’s a really cute bucket hat over on the rack if you wanna complete the look.” “Sarah?” Kim looked up at what she thought was her best friend. “The fuck?” The clerk held up a finger. “It’s park policy. Sorry.” Kim turned on him. “What? That I have to dress like a fuckin’ moron because I got scared on the Sharknado?” “Ah,” The clerk said to himself. “Sharknado; that explains it.” “Language,” Sarah warned. “You’re not my-!” “Sorry,” the clerk interrupted. “It’s park policy for guests who have accidents to wear diapers.” Again it felt like he was shouting, even if he wasn’t. He even had the nerve to sound bored, like he had given this speech a dozen times already. “It’s also policy that those diapers remain covered outside of dressing rooms and bathrooms.” “I can remai-...!” Kim froze and looked down at her bikini. “Okay. No. But-...” Sarah looked her in the eye. “Kimmy? Do you really want to go back out there in nothing but a diaper and a bikini top?” In answer, Kimberly grabbed the items from the counter and bundled them up in her arms. “Fine. Where’s the dressing room? Or do I have to get changed in front this perv?” She grumbled through gritted teeth as she gestured rudely to the clerk. The little man’s stare became icy. “Our dressing rooms are to your right,” he said. “But I’ll need to scan your wristband one more time.” His nostrils flared. “In case there’s a puddle when you walk out so we’ll know who made it.” “Oh fuck off.” Kimmy stuck out her wrist anyways and huffed as the clerk made a subtle adjustment to his scanning gun. She was scanned, and flipped the clerk the bird. Embarrassing garments in her grasp, the petite college sophomore skittered into the dressing room. The bare space, slightly bigger than a closet, had a full length mirror, a rack and a massage table. She set the swimsuit and the you-know-what on the table and went back to close the curtain. “Sarah? What are you---?” Sarah was closing the curtain behind her. “Let me help.” From the sound of it, Sarah wasn’t going to take “no” for an answer. “You really pissed off that clerk back there and I don’t want you getting in any more trouble than you’ve already gotten yourself in.” Kimmy wasn’t given time to object. In a blink, she was on the back of the massage table and Sarah was yanking her bottoms off. “EEEEEEP!” “Oh hush,” Sarah chided her. “It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before.” That was true, but normally when she was on her back and someone was going for her skimpy underwear it wasn’t her roommate and it definitely wasn’t for the sole purpose of putting something even thicker back on. “I can get your diaper to fit better this way.” That much seemed true. Kimmy bit down on the urge to scream and kick and allowed her bigger, stronger roommate to cross her ankles and lift her legs up. The slick silicone shell of the pink cloth diaper slid easily underneath her bottom, and the bulk of the diaper felt almost like a cushion beneath her as Sarah lowered her legs. “I hate you so much, right now.” Kimmy grumbled, even if she wasn’t sure if she really meant it. “You look cute.” Sarah replied. She pulled the front of the diaper up tightly between Kimmy’s legs, tucking in the elastic leg cuffs like a seasoned babysitter might to ensure a snug fit. Two broad velcro tabs stretched across the front of Kimmy’s pelvis were pulled tight to finish the change. “Maybe we should take these to the beach next time.” “Thanks,” Kimmy growled. “But no thanks.” She took off her bikini top and handed it and her bottoms (still faintly purple in the crotch) off to Sarah. “You can see yourself out. I know how to put on a bathing suit by myself.” Sarah shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She ducked past the curtain. “Heh. I accidentally made a joke.” Kimmy glanced down at herself and the swim diaper encasing her lower half. It rose halfway up her tummy, like a bad piece of shapewear, almost to her belly button. There was no mistaking this for a cute bikini bottom, that was for sure. She stepped into the replacement swimsuit and pulled the gaudy thing over herself, hoping against hope that it might conceal the even more embarrassing thing beneath it. It did not. For the first time in her life, Kimmy wished she’d been fat. Some extra flab here and there might actually make it look like the bulge around her crotch was just how her body was shaped. As it stood, her skinny frame was obviously padded between the legs, and she somehow looked even more babyish than if she’d gone with just the diaper and bikini top. She turned to the side. It didn’t look any better from that angle. The suit clung to her body in all the wrong places, following the unnatural curve of the diaper instead of her legs and making the most disconcerting noise as the diaper and the suit slid over each other with every move she made. The butt ruffles fluffed out like neon arrows, instead of laying flat, and the decorative bows on the shoulder straps made their presence felt whenever she moved her arms. Growling she grabbed the pink bucket hat that Sarah had snuck in and plopped it on her head. At least she could use it to hide her face. Still rustling and already starting to blush up a storm, Kimmy peeled back the curtain and stepped out into the Gift Shop. Something had changed in the room again. For once Sarah looked just as embarrassed as her roommate, and from the look on her face, the embarrassment was directed completely at Kimmy. Two big, brawny attendants stood by the check out counter. “Is this her?” The scrawny man behind. “Yup. That’s her. Kimberly Marshall. Check her wristband, she’s only ticketed to have privileges for age 19...months!” “The fuck did you say?” The attendants ignored her and closed in on either side. Kimmy thought about making a dash for it, but two sets of very strong arms gave her pause. One of the attendants drew his scan gun and scanned her wristband. “Yup. Checks out. Her barcode shows that she’s had an accident already, so at least she’s appropriately dressed.” “She was throwing quite a tantrum,“ the clerk snarled. “No parent or guardian either. She must have gotten separated from them.” He gave Kimmy a nasty, thin smile. “Oh well,” one of the steroid monsters said. “Happens. We’ll drop her off at Tadpole Town. Have her parents come pick her up. Come on baby girl.” A terrible lightbulb flashed in Kimmy’s brain. They’d scanned her driver’s license when she came in. It had her home address, not her college dorm. They could actually find her parents! Would they drive all the way over here? And see her? Like this?! The two bruisers hooked Kimmy under each arm. They could literally carry her, tote her all the way to the kiddy pool, where every other resident was also in swim diapers more than likely. This. This is how Sarah’s ex got banned. It had to be. Who in their right mind would go to a park where they made you dress and act like a giant toddler? “Wait!” Sarah yelped out. A flash of hope. Salvation perhaps? “I’m her uh...babysitter!” “You are?” One of the attendants asked. Kimmy’s feet were still dangling. “Yeah! No need to call her parents. I’ll tell them how naughty she’s been! And about her accident.” The attendant on Kimmy’s right looked to the clerk. The clerk shrugged noncommittally. “Alright.” They set the girl back down. “We’ll release her to your custody.” “Thank you,” Sarah said. “I apologize that my uh...charge is acting up. I’ll keep a better eye on her and we’re going to have a long talk. A very. Long. Talk.” Kimmy had the good grace to be ashamed and look down at her feet; probably the most mature looking thing about her if only because they were uncovered. “You do realize,” the clerk interjected, “that you won’t be able to leave the baby unattended.” “No problem,” Sarah replied. “And that she’s not going to be allowed on rides that are meant for older park guests.” Sarah’s face fell. “So I wouldn’t be either.” The clerk nodded, that same tight-lipped smirk on his face. Sarah bit into her lip. She looked back up at the attendants still flanking Kimmy. “Would it be okay if she went to Tadpole Town and I picked her up later?” “WHAT?!” Kimmy started struggling. The attendants effortlessly hefted her back into the air, where her efforts to get away were reduced to useless kicking of her feet like a tantruming toddler. The one on Kimmy’s left smiled. “We’ll take good care of her, ma’am.” Sarah grinned with relief at her babified buddy. “Bye-bye Kimmy! Have fun playing in Tadpole Town! I’ll make sure to pick you up after I’m done going down all the big girl slides!” Her smile faded just a bit. “And not having accidents...and not making a fuss over every little thing. I tried to warn you, you know.” This is probably why Sarah's ex was her ex, now, too, come to think of it… That’s how Kimmy found herself in Tadpole Town, behind a white picket fence surrounding her available world and a gate and attendant controlling access in and out, where the deepest pool of water ran six inches deep and the tallest slide was a whopping three feet tall. Pudgy infants sat in bucket swings that orbited around a central flower stem and were gently misted from the flower petals above. Children laughed and played around her running from water spouts and stomping in puddles. Kimmy just sat moping, feeling the puddle underneath her butt seeping ever so slowly through the elastic leg cuffs into the swim diaper. Her swim diaper. In the distance, she could still see the towering structures of hydro coasters, and hear the thrilled screams as people her real age plummeted into fun. A shadow fell over her. “Need a juice box?” one of the kiddie lifeguards asked. They were practically just daycare workers who knew CPR. “No.” “Potty?” “No!” “Diaper change?” Kimmy whipped her head up. “GOD NO!” “Okay! Okay!” the lifeguard laughed. “Just asking. You big babies. All the same. So pouty. Go play and have some fun!” She didn’t wait for Kimmy to reply. Kimmy grumbled to herself. “I’m not a big…” Babies? As in plural? Multiple big babies? The sophomore looked around the concrete splash pad. There, in the corner, sat a young man about her age, with an almost identical pouting pose. They made eye contact. Slowly. Carefully as if approaching a tiger. Kimmy got up and waddled over to him. He was bigger and had a mop of messy hair, very surfer bum chique. He was also wearing a swim shirt with a smiling sunshine on it and a diaper that was covered by what was technically a ‘Speedo’ that matched the swim shirt; really it was just another layer over the silicone of the diaper cover. “Made you wear a diaper too?” she asked. “Yup,” he said. “Wave pool. You?” “Sharknado.” Kimmy admitted. “Did you piss off the guy at the Gift Shop?” “Yup. My big brother is laughing his ass off.” “Roommate.” Kimmy added. She took a seat next to him in the shade. “Wanna...I dunno. Hang?” “I don’t like this bullshit,” the boy said. “Me neither.” Kimmy scoffed. “But security won’t let me out.” “Same. He offered his hand. Connor.” “Kimmy.” (The End. But also a beginning...)

“I swear,” Margo looked up at her partner, “this is the last damn time that I’m doing this.” She finished pulling the purple dress over her head, yanking it as far down as she could, even though she knew it wouldn’t do any good. The diaper would remain in plain sight. Jacqueline smirked. “A bit young to be considering retirement, aren’t you?” “I’m twenty-five and unadopted,” Margo said. “That’s like seventy in Little years.” “Ha-ha-ha.” the Amazon said more than actually laughed. “Seriously though. I get it.” She sighed. “I’m the one making the busts, but you’re the one taking the risks.” Damn right she was. Still…. “You’re more than fair with the pay cut you give me.” Margo conceded. “It’s thanks to you that I’m gonna be able to get out of this shithole country. No offense.” “None taken.” Jacqueline shrugged. “It really is a shithole for Littles here. So many of you guys end up being diagnosed with immaturity or ‘Maturosis’ or whatever they’re calling it these days and end up in diapers, and you don’t need it at all.” Margo rolled her eyes. “Yeah. I know.” It was a behavior that she only exhibited around Amazons who were worth a damn. Jacqueline was one of those select few that had earned enough of her respect to also get her candor. “You’re Mom-splaining again, Jackie.” Jacqueline bit her lip. “Sorry. My bad. I’m trying to show that I get it.” “I know.” Margo said. This time more kindly. “And I appreciate you, I really do. I’m sorry if I get snippy at you. Just picture being told your entire life that you’re never going to be allowed to grow up. Except with Littles it’s being a reality.” This time Jacqueline pursed her lips and nodded. “Yeah. You’ve told me. It sounds really frustrating. Like being in middle school. You know deep down that you’re an adult, but good luck convincing any of the Grown-Ups that you’re anything other than a kid. It’s hard not to lash out.” “I wouldn’t know about Amazon middle schoolers’ feelings,” Margo said grimly. “It’s how I’ve been treated my whole life. Not something I’ve been allowed to transition out of, really. Middle schoolers eventually get to be highschoolers and adults. Their bodies catch up to their brains. They’re allowed to grow up.” “Shit,” Jacqueline said. “I did it again, didn’t I?” “Kind of.” It made Margo feel a little better that her fellow detective was willing to swear in front of her. “Thanks for recognizing it, though.” With deft and practiced fingers, Margo reached around the back of her dress and unsnapped her bra. It was vital to her before each case that she dress and undress herself as much as physically possible. All Littles got talked down to by the Amazons at some point or another. It’s like when the Giants looked down to make eye contact their voices instinctively went up an octave. Being forced to piss and shit themselves was the worst- and unavoidable in Margo’s line of work-but it was the thousand other little indignities that really got her down. Adopted Littles (actual adopted Littles) weren’t allowed to change themselves, or bathe or clean or dress or feed themselves. They were implicitly told that they weren’t allowed to practice even the most basic tenets of personal space and agency. There was a reason why the lingo on MistuhGwiffin.web called such unfortunates “Dolls”. Suiting up in front of Jacqueline was both a sign of trust and a kind of flex. Not that she didn’t trust Jacqueline. She wouldn’t have gotten into this business with Jacqueline if the Amazon hadn’t earned her complete trust. It’s just that like most people, her own inner thoughts and opinions felt more powerful when she had the freedom to make them not-so inner. It’s why diaries went out of style with the advent of social media. Why talk to yourself in a secret book when you can act like you’re talking to yourself on the internet where everyone could see? “Hold this please,” she handed Jacqueline the bra she’d just slipped out of. Adopted Littles rarely wore bras, and the ones who needed them full time found themselves on the receiving end of a mastectomy, poor things. Margo’s breasts were just small enough that she needn’t worry about back pain, and the dress she wore was padded enough that no one would be able to see her nipples through it. Like so many things, the bra was a matter of symbolism and principle. Speaking of things being padded enough…. “Are you sure you don’t want help with that diaper?” Jacqueline asked. “It looks a little...funny.” Margo always diapered herself before infiltration. Another little flex of her independence, even if she could never quite get the fit perfect. Her Little fingers made it impossible for her to remove the tapes once they were applied, and her pride wouldn’t accept help in adjusting them. Likewise, when she got back from scouting, she’d be wrapping a towel around her waist so that Jacqueline could remove the tapes and Margo could step out with her dignity intact. Three years of these operations and Jacqueline had never seen Margo naked. Margo intended to keep the streak alive right through the end of this partnership. Margo pulled down at the Monkeez, showing that it was in no danger of slipping off her hips if she went toddling around the office. “Fits well enough.” Margo said. “It’s not like I’m gonna make it the whole day without being changed.” Being changed by SOMEONE in these undercover operations was unavoidable. A mindfucked Little that had the sense to hold it in wasn’t really mindfucked. And if you weren’t mindfucked, not needing a diaper change was the easiest way to get mindfucked. “They’ll just think that you’re a new Mommy and that you’re still new at putting these things on me.” The costume diapers they’d first invested in, the ones that a Little COULD take off by themselves, were more expensive than the regular ones and there were Amazons who could tell the difference. Margo’s dignity had a pricetag alright, but being allowed to dress herself was a rider in her contract. It never jeopardized the mission. Margo was that damn good of a liar and actor. “You’re right,” Jacqueline said. “You ready?” “As I can be.” Margo allowed herself to be picked up and carried out of their Private Investigator’s office and into Jacqueline’s yellow car, put in an Amazon sized baby seat, and buckled into restraints that she didn’t have the strength to escape on her own. Another sign of the trust Jacqueline had earned. Jacqueline took out a matching purple headband with a cutesy bow on top. “Don’t forget Last Looks.” She smoothed back Margo’s straight dark hair- such a contrast to Jacqueline’s own bright red curls- and checked the monitor on her phone. “Okay. Last Looks is up and running.” “Last Looks” was something of a joke for the pair. There was a highly sensitive recording device inside the bow; both visual and audio. Very sensitive. Sensitive enough that it could pick up the subtle flashes and nearly undetectable undertones of hypnotic and subliminal messaging. Amazons loved stealing away Littles and reprogramming them to act like babies using hypnotic programs, usually disguised as cartoons and nursery songs. Some were subtle: Like a rendition of Rock-A-Bye Baby that if listened to every day for a month would have the victim needing crib bars to not hit the floor in their sleep. Other cartoons would have babyish cartoon characters that the viewer literally couldn’t help but relate to. Still others were animated potty training videos that loudly concluded that the viewer wasn’t ready to use the big kid potty and should just be happy wearing diapers like the good baby that they knew they were deep down. Margo had seen it all, literally. The bow had a camera in it, but the headband had an automatic shocking mechanism. Anytime the bow picked up a subliminal flash or frequency, the headband would give Margo a painful jolt of electricity. It was Margo’s own idea and Jacqueline’s masterful execution. She’d managed to avoid having her mind hijacked by latching onto one of the most basic and primal truths of psychology. The mind tended to reject that which caused the body physical pain. Margo had been shocked so many times, she’d found she’d been able to watch some hypnotic cartoons without the headband on, so long as she’d already been exposed to that particular episode of that particular program. One last job. One last “surprise inspection” of a daycare, and she’d have enough money saved up to retire and immigrate to a new land; one where Littles weren’t treated like toddlers and where Amazons were the rare tourists who were treated with all due courtesy suspicion. A land where the only Littles who wore diapers were the ones who were too young to be in even Kindergarten. Even having to become fluent in another language and all the hoops she’d had to jump through was worth the price of admission. How had Margo managed to save up so much money? Simple. Hypnosis might be a common practice amongst Amazons, but it was also outlawed. City and state governments would pay good money to people like Jacqueline and Margo to investigate daycares and prove one way or another that the caretakers were following the letter of the law. While Margo went into a daycare posing as a mindfucked Doll, Jacqueline would record everything and present the findings to whatever School Board, City Council, Mayor’s or Governor’s office that hired them. They always paid more if they found evidence of hypnosis, but the pay for a clean site was nothing to sneeze at, either. The price of any government’s clear conscience was always high. Discretion so that certain scandals could be cleaned up discreetly instead of ending up on the news was always worth more, though. Amazons being just as susceptible to hypnotism as anyone else, Jacqueline never watched anything live. The software for their Last Looks technology had the ability to pinpoint and separate the rogue hypnotic frequencies, but only after everything was recorded. A good sign that a daycare wasn’t operating above board was any facility with T.V. rooms and no place for the Amazon to sit and monitor them. Leaving “kids” to be babysat by the television was more than just bad parenting, but a telltale sign that the caretakers knew they were showing more than children’s shows. Did Margo’s job actually STOP the abuse of her people? Goodness, no! For every case of simple hypnosis that she and Jacqueline had found, Margo had found a near equal number of atrocities that were perfectly legal: Littles were still allowed to be brainwashed, gaslit, or otherwise coerced into eternal infancy in any number of ways. Depending on the state, it was perfectly legal to just spank a Little until they played along and pump them full of laxatives until they were functionally incontinent for good measure. Places claiming to specialize in “Maturosis and Developmental Plateaus” were particularly insidious in their methods, but still perfectly legal. She’d met Littles in those places who were so far gone as to think that they deserved or needed to be babied but were otherwise still completely cognizant of who and what they were. That was almost worse, in some ways, Margo thought; to be beaten that far down that you liked your slavery. Shit, some places didn’t even need to be that clever to be in line with the law. Sometimes it was just as simple as a daycare containing Littles who were hypnotized at home. So long as there was no evidence that they were distributing the hypnosis or mandating that it happen to their clientele, no laws were being broken. If nothing else, Margo had reasoned, she was at least making the monsters pay for being lazy in their brainwashing. And perhaps, she imagined, fewer Amazons would adopt if it wasn’t as quick and easy for them to get their Daddy and Mommy fix. Just because she couldn’t stop ALL evil didn’t make what she was doing any less good. “Whatcha thinking about?” Jacqueline asked. Margo closed her eyes, relaxed her bladder and wet the diaper. More believable if her first diaper check was wet. God she wouldn’t miss this part of the job. “You know. The usual.” She opened her eyes and looked at Jacqueline’s. The mirror in her backwards facing car seat casting her gaze right into the car’s rear view mirror. She was in a baby seat, couldn’t see the route they were taking, and now was in a wet diaper. If Jacqueline had wanted to, she could have taken Margo straight to any courthouse and adopt her right there. Yet another sign of their bond. That’s something she really would miss. “Are you gonna be okay?” she asked the Amazon. “After today, I mean.” For the first time today, Jacqueline’s eyes betrayed a hint of sadness. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. It won’t be hard to stay in business. I’ll find another brave Little girl looking to take down corruption.” She paused. “I will miss this, though...with you, I mean.” Margo felt squishy feelings that had nothing to do with the thing under her dress. “Thanks. I’ll miss you, too.” The rest of the car ride was silent. “Alright,” Jacqueline said after they’d pulled up to the daycare. “Let’s do this. Finish strong.” She grabbed the diaper bag from the front seat and got Margo into her arms a minute later. “You nervous?” Margo took a look at the sign: Smiley Time Academy (Children: Birth To Age 5. Littles.) “Not really,” Margo whispered. That was a lie, Margo was always nervous. “They mix Amazons and Littles here. They’re not likely to risk getting real children caught in the crossfire.” That also meant that there was a crop of Amazons and Tweeners who were already being taught that all Littles were babies who would never grow-up. “We’ve seen it before.” Jacqueline helpfully reminded her. “Remember the Happy Hearth? They just kept the Littles and the real babies separated after lunch and did the deed then.” Margo jostled the Last Looks headband nervously. “True. I just hope they’re not up for naptime reprogramming.” She’d already developed a light case of insomnia from getting shocked so many times in a crib or on a mat. They went to the door. “No turning back now,” Jacqueline whispered. Lightly, she gave Margo a kiss on the forehead and went in the door. That wasn’t part of the script! More annoyingly, the front door was made of glass so Margo couldn’t afford to frown or she might spoil her cover. Margo would have to have a final chat about that before she left the country. Other Littles might not be so forgiving. “Hello there!” the receptionist, an overweight middle aged woman with silver gray hair greeted them. “Are you checking your Little Girl in?” Jacqueline trotted up to the counter. “Yes, I’m Jacqueline Guston, this is my daughter, Margo. I called yesterday.” The receptionist clacked at her keyboard. “Ah yes, Miss Guston, good to see you.” She then looked at Margo. “And this must be Little Margo. Hi Margo!” Margo let out a fake giggle and buried her head in Jacqueline’s shoulder. “Hi.” Her voice came out as a muffled meep. Had to play the part. Had to look like the shy baby Little every Amazon loved to see. “She’s really excited to make some friends her own age,” Jacqueline said. Unlike the impromptu kiss, this banter WAS part of the usual script. “She looks it,” The receptionist beamed. She slid some papers across. If you could just fill these forms out. When it comes to Littles, we really like to know specifically what level of care is best for them.” Jacqueline took the clipboard in her free hand, awkwardly balancing Margo in the other. “Oh...um…” The receptionist eagerly reached out. “I’ll hold her if you like.” Margo was passed over and sitting in the Amazon’s lap in a second. Another part of the routine. To convince the Amazons she didn’t need any kind of scrutiny she had to appear blase if not comfortable with being passed around and held by complete strangers. Almost immediately, Margo felt the hem of her dress be lifted and the back of the diaper pulled back. She kept looking at Jacqueline, straight ahead. Neither did she flinch when the same hand crept around to her front and groped her. Ah yes, the ol’ Amazon-to-Little-Handshake. “Ooops! Somebody’s wet!” Jacqueline look up from the clipboard. “Oh no,” she made a show of slapping her forehead. “I swear I just changed her before we came here.” “I can guess what you’ll be checking under ‘Potty Trained’. ” the secretary quipped, even as she lightly bounced Margo on her knee. The Little lowered her chin to her chest. “Sorry, Mommy.” She blushed, not because she’d wet herself, but because she had called a woman three months younger than her ‘Mommy’. Not that the Amazons could tell. Margo always hated this part. The receptionist took the bait. “Oh don’t worry, baby,” she ruffled Margo’s hair, careful not to mess with the bow. “That’s what your diaper is for. Your Mommy isn’t mad.” “That’s right, Margo,” Jacqueline repeated. “Mommy’s not mad at all. You’re being a very good baby.” “Fank you, Mommy,” Margo mumbled. “I can get her situated,” the older woman said. “She doesn’t have to be here while you fill out all this boring paperwork.” Jaqueline looked up from the clipboard. “Oh good, she can get antsy staying still.” More bobbing on the woman’s kneel, and chuckled knowingly. “Yup. She’s a Little, alright.” She grabbed a walkie-talkie and clicked it. “Angela, can you come to the front. We’ve got a new arrival.” The walkie buzzed. “Ommaway.” An Amazon in her thirties came through a back door. After a brief introduction to Jacqueline, she looked across the desk to Margo. “Hi there. I’m Miss Angie! Nice to meet you!” Margo did her best impression of a two-year-old and waved shyly. “Hi…” She was handed off, yet again. “She’s wet.” For the second time in five minutes, Margo got the ol’ Amazon-to-Little-Handshake. “Yeah she is.” This time, Margo didn’t apologize. “Let’s go get you changed and then we’ll start playing all sorts of fun games! Won’t that be nice?” “Uh-huh.” What would really be nice, Margo thought, was getting this over with so she could get paid. “Here,” Jacqueline said. She handed the diaper bag over to the sitter. “There should be enough diapers in here to last her the day.” “Don’t worry about it too much. We’ve got plenty of spares, just in case.” “I’ll bring a whole box when I come back this afternoon.” Jacqueline would not, in fact, be bringing a new box of diapers when she came back this afternoon, but the promise of such things always gave daycare workers the false hope that they’d be getting regular business. It was the Amazon version of promising a kid a lollipop if they sat still for a haircut. bE gOoD wItH mY LiTtLe aNd i’LL lEt YoU cHaNgE hEr DiApEr MoRe! Pathetic, really. “Okie dokie,” Angela said, “Say goodbye to Mommy.” “Bye Mommy.” “Give Mommy a kiss.” Another impromptu peck on the cheek. Jacqueline was really milking this last day thing. Margo made a note to cuss her partner out when she was back in panties. Margo was carried straight back into a nursery, and the worker made a beeline to an empty changing table. The room was strangely empty, with toys strewn about and coloring sheets left on tables only half scribbled. She couldn’t be the first to arrive. Where were the other Littles? The question must have shown on Margo’s face. “You’re a little late,” the Amazon explained. “We already had our morning meeting and breakfast. After breakfast, we go on the playground. Work off some energy.” That made Margo feel a little better. If not for the timing, Margo would have been changed while not five feet away, Amazon toddlers and diapered Littles played side by side. She suppressed a shudder. Too many of these places had out in the open changing tables; like they were couches or something instead of the baby equivalent of a toilet. Even if the place didn’t have any mind altering devices, it was still gaslight-y as anything. It made it so that Littles and actual kids were desensitized to getting stripped and wiped in front of everyone. And long after those toddlers started being taken to the bathroom, and taught that big boys and girls used the potty, Littles twenty to forty years their senior would still be laying out in the open with their legs up and their bums smeared with rash cream. “First diaper change, then playtime. Understand?” Margo sucked her thumb and nodded. Had to appear babyish and demure at first. Besides, she might as well get this over with. Chances are she had at least one, maybe two more of these before she could cash out. It was just a matter of laying back and thinking of her new home. “All better.” At least this Amazon was gentle with the wipes and didn’t overdo it with the powder. Once a fresh Monkeez was taped on, Margo was carried out a back door, and lowered down to the ground. Mentally Margo was mapping the place out. A reception area up front led to a nursery in the back, which in of itself opened back into a playground. She thought she saw a kitchen area to the side of the nursery, and maybe a kind of supply closet up by reception, but otherwise the layout was pretty simple. Okay. That was good. (As good as could be expected). Hypno-cares typically had sequestered off spaces for their brainwashing to take place. A “T.V. Room” or a “Nap Room”. Stuff to separate the victims from the victimizers. This place didn’t appear to have much of that. If the diaper check was a perverse form of handshake, then the pat on her newly padded rear must have been a light fist bump. “Okay, cutie. Go play.” She patted the diaper bag. “I’m going to go hang up your bag and put your extra diapers in a cubby.” Margo did her best impression of one of the Dolls and kept up a childish but quiet enough demeanor. “Thankoo Miss Teacher Lady.” That seemed to do the trick. “Awwww! I’m Miss Angie, sweetie. You’ll learn all the Grown-Up’s names soon enough.” Condescendingly, the Amazon patted Margo on the head and went back inside. BZZZZT! Condescendingly, the [Grown-Up] patted Margo on the head and went back inside. All around, children and Littles were playing; the Littles completely oblivious to how ridiculous they looked going down slides are being pushed on swings. A few played side by side with Amazon children as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The [Grown-Ups] were fairly involved, as well. A few seemed to be leaning on the outer end of a fence, gossiping, but there was also one monitoring a jungle gym, and another spotting the monkey bars in case someone was about to fall. Counting Miss Angie when she returned, the ratio of [Grown-Ups] to children, that made five adults on the playground to approximately thirty. A one to six ratio. Not bad, if over two thirds of their charges weren’t actually babies... The Little detective toddled out into the middle of the playground. She’d never gotten to go to a prom, but Margo always felt this was what it must be like, stepping out onto the dance floor and hoping that someone would notice her. (Now if only the people noticing her didn’t crinkle with every step.) She didn’t have to wait long. A Little girl who may have been twenty to her early fifties...it was always so hard to tell when they got all Dolled up….waddled straight up to her. She wore a dress similar to Margo’s, but pink instead of the dark purple. No hair bow. Her auburn hair was lifted up into pigtails, though. “Hi! I’m Wendy!” she said. “I went potty in my big girl panties and my mommy and daddy took ‘em away! Now I go potty in my diapers! I’m a baby!” Margo didn’t hesitate. “I’m Margo! Me too!” She lifted up the front of her dress like she was showing off a prison tattoo. Showing hesitation might be taken the wrong way. She’d infiltrated more than one daycare where the captured Littles were manipulated into policing each other; especially in the “Maturosis” places. “Yay! Let’s be friends!” The brainwashed Little spread her arms wide. “Baby friends!” Margo was hugging it out, and trying to hide her revulsion at the same time. Her gears were already turning. Such a scripted greeting was evidence of brainwashing in Margo’s mind, but was it mesmerism or simply indoctrination? She’d need more evidence. Margo found her hand gripped and was led crinkling over to a row of spring ponies. “Wanna play horsey?” Wendy asked. Sitting on the outside rocking horse wouldn’t be a bad place to start. Any activity where she could scout out the terrain and people watch was a good starter. The [Grown-Ups] wouldn’t suspect a thing. Margo’s tour guide, Wendy, stopped for a second. She had a far off look in her eyes and was bending her knees a little bit. Like a car wreck, Margo got on her own pony, but couldn’t quite look away. She’d seen this before. She didn’t need to see the girl’s cheeks ballooning out to know that something beneath her dress was expanding as well. It was something Margo had seen plenty of times but still, never got used to: A grown Little shitting their pants in broad daylight. Yes, she’d just gotten changed herself, admittedly, but she’d only wet. Furthermore, she’d wet in the backseat of a car. She always found some hidden away space to relax her bladder in. She’d never done anything other than number one, though. And the idea of doing it in front of everyone absolutely repulsed her. She’d tried it once in Jacqueline’s lap when they’d been working out their infiltration routines, but her body just kept clenching up. Even undercover there were some lines her body would not let her cross. To add self-insult to self-injury, Wendy stood back up after her eyes refocused and saddled up, squishing the mess inside her diaper by sitting down in it. The rocking wouldn’t be good for it either. Margo couldn’t hold her tongue. “Um...did you go poopie?” Wendy was already rocking back and forth. She seemed slightly puzzled. “Yeah,” she said. “Why?” “Don’t you want to go get changed?” Margo offered. Maybe the woman just hadn’t thought of it. “Why?” Margo shrugged. “No reason. Just wonderin’...” No point in arguing with a Little who’d already lost all sense. Another thing Margo had learned that if she wept for the senseless, she’d be crying all day. How nice it would be in a few days when she wouldn’t have to drink from a rubber nipple, and when the only sound of a Little walking was coming from their feet hitting the ground. The detective breathed through her mouth, rocking back and forth at a steady pace, looking for signs of something, anything that she could use. But other than the things that were obviously wrong with this picture, there wasn’t anything that was legally wrong with it. She probably wasn’t going to find anything. Not out here, at least. Something went wrong soon enough. Her horse bucked her! Actually bucked her! As Margo was rocking back she felt her balance go and the horse fall out from under her as she was left looking at the clouds. Snickering filled the air, and a repugnant, snot-crusted pug nosed face loomed over her. “Ha-ha, ya dumb baby!” It was a kid. An Amazon kid. Looked to be four or five, by Margo’s estimation. The Little connected the dots. She hadn’t fallen off, she’d been yanked off, tilted off by a kid who was either either very big for his age, or very dumb for it. Instinctively, Margo wanted to lash out and break the fucker’s nose. Sadly, Margo also knew that would break her cover. Also, even an Amazon preschooler could give Margo a good fight. There were other ways to fight, given her situation. “WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Margo screamed. She curled up in a ball. She did her best to look small and hurt and defenseless. She cried crocodile tears through eyes slammed shut. All according to plan. New, heavier, [Grown-Up] footsteps approached. “What’s going on here?” “N-N-Nothin’” the Amazon kid said. Ooof! Rookie mistake. Wendy did the rest. “Ronny was pickin’ on Margo! Mean ol’ big kid Miss Kelly!” Two [Grown-Up] hands reached down and picked Margo up out of the dirt, brushing off her purple. Margo lowered her wails down to a light whine and a sniffling. All according to plan. She opened her eyes to watch the carnage. This was a different [Grown-Up]. Miss Kelly looked like she was barely out of highschool, younger than even Margo. Margo hoped she’d never have to get changed by Miss Kelly. Getting her butt wiped by a [Grown-Up] who was several years her junior was so humiliating! “Ronny,” Miss Kelly barked. “That’s not very nice, is it?” “SORRY!” The [Grown-Up] was having nothing of it. “Big kids don’t just walk up and start picking on babies. I’d expect that kind of behavior from a baby, but not a big kid like you!” “SORRY!” Tears, real ones maybe, were starting to form in Ronny’s eyes. “Do you need to be put back in diapers? Do YOU need to be a baby?” “NO!” How queer it was, Margo often thought. To Amazons diapers and babyhood was the ultimate punishment, yet the majority of them transparently wanted Littles to love it and experience it in perpetuity. So many mixed signals “Then what do we say?” Miss Kelly, prompted. “SORRRY!” “If I see you picking on one more baby this week, I’m putting you back in diapers myself!” That was more than enough of a threat for Ronny. The kid went running off in the opposite direction. “Are you okay, baby?” she asked Margo. Margo nodded, quietly. She was put back down on the ground. “You did the right thing, honey. Crying is what good babies do to let Grown-Ups need help.” Inwardly, the detective bristled. “Fankyooo….” she said, looking away. The teenage [Grown-Up] brushed some dirt off of Margo’s dress. “I think you’ll be okay. But if that big kid keeps being mean to you, you do exactly what you did.” She patted Margo on top of the head, and then gave her another “fist bump” to send the girl on her way. If the sensory equipment in the Last Looks bow weren’t so advanced, Margo might be worried. Margo peered over to the other side of the playground. Ronny had joined another group of Amazon preschoolers playing Duck, Duck, Goose. She’d have to avoid them if she wanted to find what she was looking for. BZZZT! Margo peered over to the other side of the playground. Ronny had joined another group of [big kids] playing Duck Duck Goose. She’d have to avoid them if she wanted to find what she was looking for. “HEY!” Wendy called. “WAAAAIT UP!” Margo stopped and allowed her living camouflage to catch up to her. Might as well. “Sorry about Ronny,” Wendy said. “Big kids can be real butts sometimes. They think they’re so much better cuz they’re bigger than us and they’re growin’ up.” They were better though. Maybe not morally or intellectually speaking, but [big kids] were literally entitled to everything Littles such as herself were not, and almost all of it was due to their size. [Big kids] were given more rights and privileges than Littles and were, legally speaking, better. Soon, Margo promised herself she’d soon be going to a place where there weren’t any [Grown-Ups] or [big kids] to worry about. “Let’s go to the slide,” Margo said. Maybe she could get a few of something. A suspicious spy antenna or something. That’s what she was looking for, right? Right. “I’ll go first!” Wendy said. Margo’s eyes widened. “Um...can I go first?” she asked. “I’m scared of heights, and I might need you to help push me down.” This was a lie, of course. It was really because Margo had no intention of climbing up the ladder behind someone wearing a poopy diaper. Wendy made an O with her mouth and clapped her hands before proclaiming. “Yay! I’ll help! I’ll help! I’m a helper!” Margo briefly wondered if that was true; “helper” had a different meaning to Littles. If Wendy had been a helper it hadn’t prevented her from getting her big girl panties taken away. Rung by rung by rung, Margo climbed to the top of the slide. It was the highest vantage point someone of her size could achieve out here. On the off chance that what she was looking for was out here, this would be the place to find it. Sitting down on the slide, she peered out. More Littles playing in the sandbox, seeming to enjoy themselves. The diapered men and women hanging upside down from the monkey bars seemed to be having a good time. But none of that was illegal; only FORCING Littles to have a good time was against the law. Otherwise, she and Jacqueline would have to settle for a more modest finder’s fee. “Down you GOOOOOO!” A hand was on Margo’s back. Before she knew what was going on, she was careening down the inclined plane at what felt like lightning speed. The playground went whizzing by as the Little woman plummeted downwards, her arms and legs shot out and grabbed onto only air. KA-THUNK Looking up at the sky for the second time in almost as many minutes, Margo drew in breath and brabbed the back of her head. This time, she opened her mouth to wail in ernest. “WAAAAA-!” “WEEEEEEEE!” The detective closed her eyes just in time. A crinkly plastic barrier, just barely holding back wet pulp and disgusting mush landed on Margo’s head. Wendy had come down the slide right after her. There was crying, and it wasn’t coming from, Margo. Between the weight of it all and the stench, Margo could only exhale and dared not inhale. What a terrible way to go! Smothered and crushed by another Little (one who badly needed a change). Acid bubbled up in her throat. Her body was threatening to choke on its own vomit. “WAAAAAA!” And Wendy wasn’t moving! She was crying and wailing, but not budging off of Margo’s head! More [Grown-Up] feet rushed to the scene, and picked Wendy up. Margo gasped for air, and added her cries to Wendy’s. She was soon off the ground too, her back being patted while she fought off tears and vomiting. How humiliating! How very un-big-girl like! They were each in the arm of two older women; both old enough to ACTUALLY be their mothers. “It’s okay,” they said. “It’s okay. You Little babies just took a tumble, is all.” “I’m sorry Miss Erica! I’m sorry Miss Joan!” Wendy bawled. Why was she crying? She wasn’t hurt! “I’m sooooo sorry!” she said to Margo. “I didn’t mean to! I just- I just-!” And then she lost all coherence, while the [Grown-Up] gently bobbed and shushed her. “Sounds like somebody’s got some big feelings, Joan,” the [Grown-Up] holding Margo said. Her face was pudgy and reddish brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail. “That she does, Erica,” the one holding Wendy agreed. She peeked inside the Little’s diaper. “And needs a change.” Her blonde hair was so faded as to be nearly white. Margo didn’t even mind so much when her own, clean diaper was inspected briefly. It felt nice to be fussed over when she was in pain. And she WAS in pain. Her head was throbbing and it was harder and harder to catch her breath. “Let’s get to it, then.” Joan said. “Yup,” Replied Erica. “You change Wendy, and I’ll sit with...Margo was it?” Margo nodded, wiping her eyes. The two [Grown-Ups] Traveled with each other a ways, but then parted when it came time to going back in the building. Miss Joan with her almost-white hair carried Wendy in to change her diaper, while Miss Erica and her pudgy face plopped down on a bench next to the swings. Margo found herself lap bound for the second time that day. Man, she couldn’t wait to be free of laps. Though the “how” was still a little fuzzy to Margo. “You don’t have any bruises,” Erica told Margo. “So that’s good.” She reached into a cooler and took out a baby bottle full of juice. “Here,” she held the bottle to Margo’s lips. “Have some wa-wa from a ba-ba. It’ll make you feel better.” Reverting to her undercover persona, Margo gently sipped from the bottle while Miss Erica held it, drinking the cold ice water in tiny sips. Other Littles came and were handed their bottles, chugging them in the shade before putting them into a separate open bin, but Margo was content to sit in the shade and sip. This playground was a wash, anyway. She’d never find what Jacqueline was looking for out here. Waste of time. Might as well take it easy. “Wendy didn’t mean to hurt you,” Miss Erica said, gently. “She just has a habit of acting before she thinks. It was an accident. She’s not mean.” She patted the top of Margo’s bow. “She’s just a Little baby, like you. Not a mean bone in her body.” She might have been a Little, Margo thought. But not a Little like her. The slide had just proven that. BZZZZZT! She was a [baby], Margo thought. But not a [baby] like her. The slide had just proven that. “I think you and me should just sit here and relax a bit until it’s time to go inside.” It wasn’t a question, but Margo nodded anyway. “Good baby.” Margo spent the next twenty minutes waiting in Miss Erica’s lap, people watching. Nothing suspicious was seen, other than a daycare that had lots of [babies] in it. Too bad in this country a daycare packed with [babies] was nothing suspicious at all. Wendy came out holding Miss Joan’s hand and went waddling right by the bench, as if she’d forgotten the entire incident. (And to be fair, she probably did). Nothing to be mad about. Nothing to be. She just leaned back into Miss Erica and went pee-pee; waiting to run out the clock on this day. In time, Miss Angie, who had ushered Margo into this hellhole, called out. “Alright, kiddos! Time to go in.” Everyone on the playground grumbled. Everyone but Margo. She had no further business here. “Don’t worry, don’t worry!” Miss Angie laughed. We’ll be back in the afternoon!” This playground was definitely not what she was supposed to find. What was she supposed to find again? The motley crew of kids and [babies] shuffled back into the nursery. By the door nearest the playground, Margo noticed, were stacks of what appeared to be pieces of rug cut up into smaller squares. “Grab a spot,” Miss Erica chirped. Like clockwork, all of the charges grabbed the carpet rectangles and marked their territory, placing them in front of a big screen T.V. Clever, Margo thought. In a way, it beat chairs. Certainly took up less room. The T.V. was another problem, entirely Margo adjusted her bow. If there was going to be a time when her hair bow zapped her, it’d be now. It almost always zapped her at daycare when she was watching cartoons. There was no way that was happening, she told herself. Too many [big kids]. Her bow only zapped her when it was just her and other [babies]. Being around the [big kids] would keep her safe. She was safe. Still, she closed her eyes and prepared for the shock. Miss Joan grabbed the remote and turned on the television. “HI KIDS!” A goofy voice. “ARE YOU READY TO LEARN ABOUT BABY ANIMALS!” “YEEEEAH!” The whole room erupted. “THEN LEEEEEET’S GO!” Just like Jacqueline had taught her, Margo waited. But no shock came. She opened her eyes. It was a cartoon, alright. But it was an educational one. And like it said, it was all about animal babies. “Did you know that the Kangaroo is born suuuuuper tiny?” The cartoon told them. “But it grows much much much bigger while living inside its Mommy’s pouch!” It was all factual, as far as Margo could recall, except for the baby animals were all drawn wearing little white diapers in all of the animation; likely so that the [big kids] and [babies] could tell the difference. Speaking of diapers, Margo let out another little spurt of pee, wriggling on the carpet, as her diaper really started to squish! “Billy!” Miss Joan called. “Diaper time.” A [baby] boy in shortalls stood up and waddled over to the changing table. “Jessica! Potty time!” A [big kid] girl with pink Pull-Ups poking out of her shorts ran to the bathroom. RRRRRIIIP! KATHUNK! PFFF-PFFF! FLSSSSSH! Ah, so this is what this really was. A bathroom break. No asking. No checking. One by one, the children were called away from the T.V.. [Babies] went to the changing table. [Big kids] went to the bathroom. Everyone else watched T.V. while they waited. “Madison! Diaper time! Alex! Potty time!” The sound of ripping tapes the thud of a heavy door being closed signaled the beginning of each round. The smell of powder and the roar of a flushing toilet signaled the end. A [Grown-Up] at each area kept things moving along. RRRRIIIIP! KATHUNK! PFFF-PFFFF! FLSSSSSH! “Margo, diaper time! Ronny, potty time!” Dutifully, Margo got up and waddled through the seated tots over to the changing table. Miss Kelly was already waiting for her. That was good. Miss Kelly had been super nice to her, and was also super pretty. Margo was glad that it was Miss Kelly changing her diaper. Wow! Her diaper. Margo looked down. It was sagging like crazy! Her diaper had never gotten that wet before. But why no-? The [babie’s] thoughts were cut off as Miss Kelly boosted her up onto the changing table. “Diaper time, cutie.” Margo laid there, like a good girl and sucked her thumb as Miss Kelly changed her. It took a little bit for her to find the cubby where her Monkeez were stacked, but she found it. She wasn’t as good at it- not as ‘sperienced as Miss Angie- but it was still super nice. RRRRIIIIP! KATHUNK! PFFF-PFFFF! FLSSSSSH! The toilet flushed and Ronny practically stomped out of the bathroom. Margo was just waddling back over to her spot after being changed, and Ronny gave her the meanest look. What’d she ever do to him?! Her lip pouted out and started to tremble. Miss Joan was behind her. “Don’t worry about Ronny, baby. Just sit down so I can call someone else’s name.” Another pat on the head, and Margo sat down. “Penelope! Diaper time! Nick! Potty time!” Another [baby] got up to go to the changing table, and her [big kid] counterpart made a bee-line for the bathroom. BZZZZZT! Another [baby] got up to go to the changing table, and her [big kid] counterpart made a bee-line for the [potty]. RRRRIIIIP! KATHUNK! PFFF-PFFFF! FLSSSSSH! After a bit, [big kids] stopped being called to go to the [potty], and only the sounds of tape ripping and the crinkling of fresh diapers mixed with the fun animal facts. Margo supposed they could call more babies to the [potty] and change them in there at the same time to speed things up, but she instantly saw the downside. A cold tiled hard floor was no substitute for a nice soft changing table. Wouldn’t want the [babies] like her to get confused either. Speaking of confused, Margo still couldn’t shake the feeling that she was forgetting something. That was okay. Maybe that’d mean Jaqueline had forgotten about whatever it was too. When everyone had either been changed or gone potty, the cartoon was stopped, the lights turned on. “Okay!” Miss Angie called. “Time to go to centers!” Just like everything else so far, the more experienced children all got up and acted in near unison. They grabbed their “spots” and one by one put them back in the neat and orderly stacks in which they’d been left. Margo just followed the crowd, still fighting off the strange and lingering feeling that she was forgetting something. What was it she was supposed to do? Was she supposed to find something? Jacqueline knew. But Jacqueline wasn’t here. Her [Grown-Up] friend was busy working. That’s why Margo was here, at daycare. A shadow fell over her. Yet another [Grown-Up] was bending over her, offering their hand. “Hi!” The silver haired [Grown-Up] with locks that went down past her breasts said. “I’m Miss Jenna. You’re Margo, right?” Margo nodded, in awe of the old yet somehow more free-spirited woman. Her shirt was tie-dye! A [Grown-Up]! In tie-dye! How cool was that? “Come with me, sweetie. It’s time for art.” Overwhelmed from all the sudden changes brought about today, Margo let herself be led to a low table, covered with newspapers. Five other [babies] were already seated. They’d already been dressed in worn but clean smocks, so that their play clothes wouldn’t get too messy. Margo was the last to sit down, and the last to have what was effectively a giant bib tied around her. “For art today,” Miss Jenna said, “We’re gonna work with finger paints!” “Ooooooo!”, the other [babies] all said. They were giving each other knowing and excited nods and looks all across the table. Margo just stared down at the table, her mind on other things. What was she supposed to be finding? Was she supposed to be finding something?” “Margo?” Miss Jenna said. “Margo? Are you listening?” “Hmm?” Margo looked up. “Yeah...I mean...yes Ma’am.” That was a lie. She wasn’t listening at all. “Good.” Miss Jenna continued. “Now if you do this right, little ones, you’ll have a nice-” What was she forgetting? Had she forgotten that she’d forgotten? Maybe she was stressing out over nothing. She could just wait for the end of the day. Mind her business. Go home to Jacqueline, tell her she didn’t find anything and then…. And then… And then what? “Margo,” Miss Jenna lightly bopped Margo on the top of the head, right on her bow. “Pay attention, sweetie. Don’t you.want something to take home and show your Mommy or Daddy?” The lightbulb turned on in Margo’s brain. That was it! She didn’t have to DO something! She had to MAKE something! Margo knew what she had to do, and she’d do it for Jacqueline! BZZZZZT! Margo knew what she had to do! And she’d do it for [Mommy!] ******************************************************************************************************* Jacqueline came up to the receptionist, toting a giant sized box of Monkeez. “Hi there. Jacqueline Guston. Here to pick up my daughter. Margo?” Just saying it this time, saying it and meaning it gave the Amazon goose pimples. “We’ll bring her right out.” The receptionist said, grabbing the walkie talkie. “Margo to check out.” Jacqueline felt more nervous than she’d ever felt in her life. “How was she?” “Oh, she was fine. Good as gold. Everything went according to plan.” The older woman had a playful laugh in her tone. She clearly was very experienced in this sort of thing. That didn’t help Jacqueline’s nerves...or the niggling feeling that she had just done something very wrong. That feeling evaporated when the door opened, and out from the back came her Little Girl, cute as a button and as happy as can be. “MOMMY!” Margo sprinted for Jacqueline on Little legs. Jacqueline set down the box, and opened her arms. Margo rushed in for a hug. They’d done this bit so many times. So many times. This time, though, was real. She could feel it. “Mommy’s so happy to see you!” Jacqueline told her baby. “Did you have fun at your first real day of daycare.” Margo started nodding so hard, her headband almost came off. “Uh-huh! The other babies are really fun to play with, and the Grown-Ups are super nice! Can we come back again?” Grown-Ups. OTHER babies. It was enough to make Jacqueline. Others would say she was just cosseting, but she knew she’d made the right choice. She couldn’t bear the thought of Margo leaving her. So many Amazons might snatch her up at the airport and adopt her. And the Littles, the ones who thought they were so high and mighty in that other country; they were worse. Everyone knew that Little run countries were impoverished and crime ridden. Margo would end up living in some slum, possibly getting stabbed for food stamps or bread rations. Leaving home from everything she’d ever known just so that she could be treated more like a Grown-Up was completely reckless, when you stopped to think about it rationally. The worst thing that would happen here is she’d get adopted. It was better this way. She’d been planning this for months. It had been difficult to concoct a hypnotic program that would work on Margo and bring out her inner child (or cause her Maturosis to flare up as some called it). The Little Girl had conditioned herself into a kind of immunity. None of the mainstream hypno cartoons were going to work. Same with the silly songs. So when she’d stumbled onto this place, she’d known not to pass up the opportunity. Honestly, the method was ingenious. Subliminal messages vibrated directly into the inner ear and skull via a head apparatus. They’d even made a model that looked exactly like Margo’s favorite headband. Jacqueline had been nervous slipping it on to her Little Girl, thinking she’d somehow notice the difference in the weight or the fit. But in the end, as it should be, Margo was still just a Little Girl. The deal was simple: Free tuition for the Amazon Detective’s silence. That and something else... While the proud new mother picked up her daughter, Margo started leaning on Jacqueline and cuddling her back; giggling and burying her head in Jacqueline’s hair. Not just cuddling her, though. Margo’s bum cupped by Jaqueline’s hand as it was, she was able to feel the slight difference as her new baby raised her bum up and start tensing up, lightly grunting as her diaper began to sag and balloon back into Jacqueline’s waiting hand.. “Margo?” Jaqueline asked. “Are you pooping, honey?” “She won’t tell you,” the daycare worker said. “Babies never tell when they need to go potty. That’s why Grown-Ups have to check their diapers for them.” Margo exhaled and settled back down into Jacqueline’s hand. The Amazon got a good feel for the lumpy mush in her Littles’ diaper. Pooping right in her arms? In front of everyone? No signs of discomfort or cognitive dissonance or humiliation? Margo had never done this before. She’d been a good actor, but never this good. No one was this good. It worked. It really worked. “Someone needs a diaper change,” she cooed to Margo. “Nooo…” Margo whined quietly. “Wanna go home and play.” She didn’t want a diaper change?! The only time Margo didn’t want a diaper change is when panties were involved. “Okay,” she said. She rubbed Margo’s back. “We’ll get you changed when we get home to your new nursery. Then you can play in it for a while before dinner, tubby time, and bed.” Margo sniffed. “Okay, Mommy.” Jacqueline was on the verge of tears of happiness. The daycare worker came with the diaper bag. “Trade you a bag for a box, Miss?” Jacqueline took the bag back onto her shoulders. “Deal.” She reached into her back pocket and took out the Last Looks headband, the real one, and gave it to the worker. “As promised.” Miss Angie looked at it closely. “It’s so startling simple when you think about it. Condition yourself to resist conventional forms of conditioning.” “So easy a baby could use it,” Jacqueline joked. Everyone laughed. Even Margo. The daycare worker; Margo’s newest teacher, stuck her hand out. “Pleasure doing business with you.” “Likewise.” They shook hands. Jacqueline gave her daughter a kiss, and didn’t feel her tense up at all. It’d be an early day at the courthouse tomorrow, after which Margo would be officially her baby, and then Jacqueline could collect all the money the Little rascal had squirreled away. Then it’d be a happy life together. “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” Margo was literally bouncing in Jacqueline’s arms, oblivious or uncaring about the mess she’d deposited in her Monkeez. “Yes, honey?” “I made you somefin!” Jaqueline arched an eyebrow. “I put it in her bag,” Miss Angie said. Jaqueline opened up the diaper bag, more than one diaper lighter. She saw the manilla colored construction paper folded up inside right away. It wasn’t hard to unfold, even one handed. She gasped audibly when she saw the finished product. “A butterfly! It’s beautiful!” It was nothing that would go up in an art museum obviously, but the refrigerator would do nicely; especially with how a certain someone had used their tiny hands to make the wings. “I made it all by myself!” Margo proudly proclaimed. “I did it just for you, Mommy. Just like you wanted me too!” Yes. Just like she’d wanted her to. “Margo, baby.” “Yes, Mommy?” “Consider yourself officially retired.” “Okay, Mommy.”

Synced Up. “What’s this?” Elizabeth asked, picking up the tiny little keychain ornament up from among the clutter encased in cardboard boxes. She squinted at the almost egg shaped disk in her palm and the tiny screen on it as if doing so might give her more clarity. “Jericho?” she repeated herself. “What’s this?” Jericho looked up from his spot on the couch, blinking himself back to life. He’d zoned out again. The T.V. was on, but her roommate wasn’t really watching it. Just zoning it and looking off into the distance. Elizabeth bet that if she’d turned it off, though, the first words out of his mouth would be ‘Hey, I was watching that!’ “Huh?” Jericho said. “What’s what?” Elizabeth dangled the not even palm sized bauble between her thumb and forefingers. It was just compact enough to where it could be put on a keychain or worn on a belt loop. “Oh,” Jericho said dismissively. “That. Yeah. You can have it if you want it.” “I didn’t say that I wanted it,” Elizabeth said, still knee deep in computer parts, action figures with mismatched parts, old comic books, CD-ROMs, and model airplanes that at one point actually flew. “I just wanted to know what it was.” “You know what a Tamagotchi is?” Jericho asked. “Little pet simulator game thingy?” “Yeah?” “It’s that. I built it a couple months ago. Was going through a retro phase.” The fact that Jericho had built it did not at all surprise Elizabeth. Her roommate was something of a creative and technical genius. He could whip up gadgets, games, gizmos, and gear seemingly overnight. The chairs that they ate meals at were carved and assembled by him in a little under a week when he went through a ‘carving phase’. Jericho was literally the kind of human being who could do literally anything he set his mind to. Problem was he didn’t set his mind to much for very long. He’d flare up, become something of a savant at a hobby or activity, then it would flare out and he’d never touch it again. It vaguely reminded her of Sherlock Holmes’s brother, Mycroft; a man so incredibly smart that he dwarfed the detective’s intellect yet was so confident in his ability that he was lazy and never felt the need to prove anything. Jericho would set out to do something, do it, then never do anything like it again. His brain just moved too fast for the rest of the world around him. “You can keep it if you want,” Jericho said again as if he didn’t remember saying it the first time. His eyes hadn’t left the screen, currently at a commercial for laundry detergent. “I’m done with it.” Elizabeth picked herself up and dusted herself off. “You mind helping me clean?” She gestured to the piles and piles around her feet. The floor was so littered with random useless crap that Elizabeth had to high step through a kind of minefield just to walk around their shared living room. Jericho’s eyes had already glazed over. “Yeah. Just...in a minute. After this episode.” “You said that last episode.” Elizabeth’s roommate shuddered and he sat up, like waking from a dream. “I did?” “And the one before that,” Elizabeth said. “You know most of this is your stuff that needs throwing out, right?” When Jericho’s room hadn’t been able to contain all his useless knick-knacks that he’d lost interest in, Elizabeth had been gracious enough to let him use a coat closet. Now it was the floor. “You said you were going to help me clean up.” Jericho stood up, seeming dreadfully embarrassed. “I’m just...my executive function is really high today. I...I...I can’t focus. On anything. It’s...hard…” The pendulum was swinging very hard on the unproductive direction today. Last couple days in fact. This is why they were just roommates. Jericho was just as flakey as he was hyper focused and Elizabeth didn’t want to put in the emotional investiture into someone who might literally forget she existed the moment she was out of sight. “No,” she lied. “It’s fine...it’s fine. I’ll do it.” Her roommate put a hand on her shoulder. “No. Stop. It’s okay.” He took his hand off and said ‘Tee-Vee! Voicelock. Off for two hours.” The screen winked off and Elizabeth just now noticed that Jericho’s laptop had been hooked up to it, a red light blinking picking up Jericho’s voice commands. “You voice programmed the T.V.?” Elizabeth asked. “Yeah. Why?” “Why don’t you make like a quirky Youtube channel or something? Then you can show off all these random little things you build to somebody.” “Huh. I haven’t made a youtube bef…” Jericho’s face scrunched up. “Not important!” He said to himself. “Not important! Take a break.” he said. “Go hang out in your room. I’ve got this.” Elizabeth looked around at all the garbage and clutter around their living space; most of it caused by Jericho. “Are you sure?” She felt like she was talking to her little brother: Well meaning but incredibly unreliable. “Positive.” “Okay…” Elizabeth said. “But I’m going to be pissed if I come out in two hours and hardly anything. “I’m going to be a machine,” Jericho said. “Promise. Guilt fueled cleaning purges just became my next phase.” Elizabeth didn’t need further prodding. She retreated to her bedroom and closed the door behind her back to the one little corner of order that she still felt was distinctly hers. She went over to her desk to open her laptop, only then realizing that she still had the little egg shaped gadget in her hand. “Hmmm…” she said, examining it further. There wasn’t a tangible on-off switch. A feature of such devices were that they were extremely difficult to turn off and on and kept a running record of everything. Way back in highschool, her health class had forced all the girls to walk around with these things for two weeks in an attempt to ward off teen pregnancy. The game could become a twenty-four seven obsession by its very design. As if dealing with a beeping bit of plastic compared to a flesh and blood child. As if a sixteen year old would think about either right before sex. The one thing that crappy ‘lesson’ did was jog her memory enough to know to look for a paperclip and find the tiny rubber button near the bottom to reset and start the darn thing. What could she say? Jericho was a genius, and he’d forgotten to show this off to her however long ago he’d made it. Maybe it was time for her own ‘retro phrase’. “Boo-doo-bee-dooooo-boop!” The tiny game beeped to life, playing what kind of sounded like the first five notes of Rockabye Baby. The screen blinked on and Jessica felt her breath catch in surprise. This? This was really good? For starters, it was in color, not just in simple black and white. It was still pixelated, but still had a sharper image than the level of technology warranted. Nintendo and Sony wouldn’t be breaking down any doors to get this, but it was still very good considering. “Awwww!” Elizabeth let out a little cooing noise accidentally. The child sprite that manifested on screen looked exactly like Jericho, too! It had his dark spikey hair, his brown eyes. It looked like it even had that cute little mole on the side of his face. It was a little rounder than he was, but that seemed to be the game’s aesthetic, with more corners being rounded out than jagged edges. Kind of how Luigi still looked kind of pudgy even if he was the tall and skinny Mario Brother. It made sense that Jericho would use himself as the basis for the game’s avatar. By what had to be sheer coincidence it was even wearing a baggie purple t-shirt and blue jeans, exactly like what Jericho had worn today. “Hey Jeri?” Elizabeth called through the door. “Yeah?” “I just started playing with your Tamagotchi thing. It looks…” Cute? No. “Neat!” There was a pause. “Thanks!” “Is there a way to change the avatar?” She asked. “What if I wanted to make it look like a mini me?” She could just imagine a little pixel version of herself, made of long brown hair for her pixels and the green eyes shining back, looking smart with the outline of her glasses. She wasn’t sure how her breats would look in Mario form, not that she had much in the way of breasts to show off. “Nope,” her roommate said flatly. “Just me. Didn’t have time to program another one in. Got bored.” “Oh.” Elizabeth muttered. The way he said it reinforced the notion that he’d never even considered to show this to her, yet alone include her in it. This is why they never dated. Behind him the mini-Jericho avatar had a pretty generic looking bedroom: A bed in the background. An empty shelf. Not much else. With her index finger, she poked the little sprite of Jericho. “Heeheeeheee!” “Something funny?” Elizabeth called through the door of her room. It sounded like something had left Jericho positively tickled. “Huh?” Jericho called back. “No. Nothing. Just cleaning. I don’t know why…” he let the sentence trail off. The flimsy crinkling of a plastic trash bag signaled that he hadn’t completely zoned out staring at a wall or something. Turning back to her new toy, she pushed a button on the little gadget, and saw a readout of the little sprite’s stats in meter form. The stats were, “Happiness”, “Hunger”, “Boredom”, “Potty”, “Rest”, and “Hygiene”. Pretty standard stuff, to be honest, impressive mostly because her friend had made it from scratch. Like most digital pet games, the stats were displayed in little graph bars instead of concrete numbers. Looking at the. “Hey Jeri?” she called. There was a pause before Jericho answered. “What?” “How does this game work?” Elizabeth called. “Like, do I want the little graph bars to stay low or high?” “You want happiness high. You want everything else to be low.” Jericho said through the door. The twenty-something woman suddenly noticed another bar that she hadn’t noticed before. “Even age?” That was strange. Normally age, at best, in these games was a measure of the passage of time. It wasn’t a variable that could be decreased or increased through other means. “Huh? What?” Then Jericho said, “Nevermind. Don’t worry too much about that. That was an experimental mechanic I was working on. Just don’t let the Happiness Meter fall to zero. That’s how you lose.” “How do I win?” Elizabeth called back. “Not gonna happen, but hypothetically? Get the Happiness Meter to max.” Elizabeth looked at the Happiness Meter. It looked to be stuck at a little under half-full. That seemed a lot like Jericho. For being so creative, he was often restless. “Okaaaaay…” Elizabeth mused. “Thank you.” Jericho didn’t answer back. Thankfully, the reason he didn’t answer back was because she heard the sounds of more clutter and hobby materials from months and years past that had gone untouched being put in garbage bags. Looking at the stats of the mini-Jericho, she saw that while the need for hygiene was relatively low, though crawling forward slightly. The Hunger, Potty and Boredom Meters were both over half full, with the Hunger Meter inching closer to about three fourths full. “Let’s take care of that one,” she said. She touched the meter on the screen, and the background changed to a brown cupboard, it’s contents suspiciously similar to the contents of their own. Was this why Jeri had never shown her this game? Was he embarrassed because he’d incorporated a bit too much of reality into the game? If so, that seemed silly. “What to eat, what to eat, what to eat?” She clicked her tongue and settled for a bowl of sugary cereal. It was well past lunch in the real world but mini-Jericho didn’t know that. The real Jericho regularly skipped breakfast too; sometimes forgot to eat. His miniature version could do better at least. She dragged and dropped the cereal into a digital bowl and when given the option added some milk. “Eat?” The screen prompted her. “Yes or No?” She selected ‘Yes’, then she watched, in real time, as mini-Jeri walked to the table, sat down and fed himself a bowl of breakfast cereal normally marketed to kids. The real deal was oddly quiet as well, Elizabeth noted. “Drink milk from bowl?” Elizabeth read. “Sure.” She watched the cutscene continue. “Wow,” she said. “This is pretty detailed!” The level of commitment to minutiae was actually kind of neat. This kind of reminded her of some of the Sims games, more than Tamagotchi. Come to think of it they were kind of the same game with one just being less portable but more advanced. “Jericho! This is pretty cool!” No response. Jericho was either too far away to hear her or too in the zone. She went back to the stats. As predicted, the Hunger Meter had gone down substantially, well out of anything that she’d consider a danger zone. The Happiness Meter was now approaching half. Well done! The Boredom Meter looked to have been decreasing, too. “Huh,” Elizabeth remarked, “I guess some people eat when they’re bored.” The ‘Potty Meter”, though. “Let’s take care of that.” A touch of the ‘Potty Meter’ brought the screen to the background of a bathroom. From the light blue tiles, this was another adaptation of their shared apartment space. She pressed the button and sent mini-Jericho to the mini-bathroom. Ka-Chonk. The sound of the bathroom door closing caught Elizabeth’s attention. She looked down and selected the toilet. Jericho’s avatar sat down on the toilet. It was...tasteful...but pants around the ankles and no privates on screen, but Elizabeth still felt a little weird watching this part. At best, she felt like she was taking a small child to the bathroom. “Go Potty?” the screen prompted. She selected, “Yes”. Feeling like a peeping Tom, Elizabeth exited out of the bathroom screen and watched the Potty Meter go rapidly down. Coincidentally, she could hear sounds coming from the bathroom too; liquid hitting liquid and gassy hints that Jericho was also sitting down on the toilet. Interestingly enough the Age Meter ticked back up a little bit. Mini-Jeri was being a big boy. She went back to the bathroom screen, and was given a prompt. “Wipe?” Guiltily, Elizabeth looked at the door. She knew that the right choice, but part of the fun of these things was breaking them and doing to imaginary people what you’d never have them do in real life. Elizabeth selected “No.” The Age Meter ticked down a bit. “Flush?” The gadget game asked. “No,” Elizabeth selected. Again, the Age Meter ticked down. “Hmmm...what next…?” Elizabeth wondered. She heard footsteps and the bathroom door opening. “Jeri!” Elizabeth opened the door and called out. “Did you forget to flush?” “Huh?” Jericho called back. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry. My bad.” The sound of rushing water greeted her ears. Good. From the sound of things that would have been gross to let that fester. Pulled back into her own head, she looked at the stats for Mini-Jericho. The Potty Meter was down to zero. The Happiness Meter ticked up, but so too was the Hygiene Meter. While the sounds of scuffling and scraping continued outside, the game’s meter for Boredom and Rest started slowly to increase. But everything was well below fifty percent, so she let it go. Feeling that sudden rush of dopamine, Elizabeth refocused herself and put the silly game down. She did have work to do, afterall. Game or not, she was an adult. ******************************************************** “Boo-doo-bee-dooooo-boop!” Hours later, the first few notes of Rockabye baby pinged and Elizabeth looked up from her work. She picked up the off-brand Tamagotchi toy and checked on Mini-Jeri’s stats. The Happiness Meter was going down again. The Boredom and Rest Meters were well over fifty percent. Hygiene wasn’t great either. “Oh. Yeah.” She quickly touched the screen and interacted long enough to send Mini-Jeri into rest mode. “Couch or bed?” She chose ‘couch’ and watched with some satisfaction as the tiny computer version of her friend started snoozing on a digital recreation of the same couch he regularly crashed on. Just as gratifyingly, the Hygiene Meter had frozen and the Rest Meter was decreasing. Boredom too, albeit at a significantly slower rate. Mini-Jeri must be having sweet dreams. “Better check on the real deal.” Exiting her room and out into the common area, Elizabeth was markedly impressed. “Holy cow,” she whispered to herself. “This...wow. He did turn into a cleaning machine.” The place was completely spotless! The young lady inhaled and then regretted it. The place looked spotless. Didn’t quite smell spotless, however. She saw Jericho, napping on the couch. He didn’t have the little anime snot bubble, but he was softly snoring. She crept up to him and got a whiff that she wished she hadn’t. He stunk of sweat and...and...had he not wiped himself or something? Gross! It didn’t smell THAT bad from far away, at least. The piles of garbage bags left in the kitchen for garbage day proved that he had become a cleaning machine, at least for an afternoon. Better than nothing. A lot better than nothing. Her stomach grumbled, and she walked over to the phone. “Looks like my own Hunger Meter has filled up,” she joked. Time for a pizza. “Hello? Big Nero’s? I’d like a…” her eye caught something still soaking in the sink. “Bowl of cereal?” *********************************************************************** “Boo-doo-bee-dooooo-boop!” Three in the morning did not find Elizabeth any happier than one in the morning had. That had been when she’d finally been able to get to sleep. Earlier that night had been spent with her combing the apartment, and especially her room, for hidden cameras or transmitters or something. Jericho was fucking with her. He had to be fucking with her. It was the only logical explanation. When he got up off the couch, Mini-Jericho’s Rest Meter had gone all the way down to rested. Same with the Hygiene Meter when he went back into the bathroom and took a shower. “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?” She’d outright said as soon as he was out of the bathroom. She held up the Tamagotchi as though it were a piece of damning evidence. Jericho was still dripping. “Huh?” “This thing’s got like,” she searched for words, “.a twin receiver that tells you everything I’m doing on the game so you can copy it. Why else wouldn’t you wipe?” The flash of red across Jericho’s cheeks was sudden and from more than the hot shower. “You knew I forgot to wipe...?” Elizabeth growled. “You know what? You wanna play this game? Fine.” She pressed a few commands into the game. Without further comment, and still wearing nothing but a bath towel, her roommate went to the kitchen, ate a slice of pizza and then went to his room. Just like the game avatar that she’d commanded. Then he went back to his room, and got dressed in the gag footie pajamas she’d gotten for him last Christmas. She’d selected “jammies” from a few available clothing options. More to the point, she’d seen everything, too. Dude was in his birthday suit. There was nowhere for him to hide a monitor beyond even more ridiculous methods one might hear in a tarantino monologue about prison. Neither did he comment. It was like he was in some kind of fugue state. As soon as Jericho had caught up to his digital counterpart in terms of fulfilling the command, he sat on the bed and looked around as though slightly confused. “Hm?” Yet he did not try to take off the childish pajamas. Looking at the Mini-Jericho avatar, Elizabeth marveled at the SNES version of her roommate. Reviewing his stats, she also noticed that the Age Meter had decreased slightly upon the addition of footie pajamas. Prank or not, she was still having trouble wrapping her head around this; especially the Age Mechanic. The Boredom Meter started blinking in time with the Age Meter. “NEW TOY UNLOCKED” the screen told her. She went to the screen and saw a rattle. “Really?” No way did Jericho have a rattle. To prove a point to herself, she selected it and had the avatar start playing with it to reduce boredom. Shicka-shicka-shicka-shicka. A sneak peak into Jericho’s room showed that he’d started playing very enthusiastically with a maraca from when he went through a music phase. Elizabeth felt her pulse kick up. He was laying on the bed, his feet up near the ceiling, holding the rattle and shaking it; looking at it as if it were his entire world. Jericho wasn’t this focused. He wasn’t this committed to a bit. Jericho wasn’t this committed to anything Boredom Meter was going down, though. Happiness Meter was going up. It had freaked her out so much that she’d spent the rest of the night half-examining the device and half-searching for hidden cameras around the apartment until she passed out. Because of her split attention she did neither well, but she fell asleep positive that there were no hidden devices. Jericho’s thorough cleaning job had made it harder for him to hide anything. “Boo-doo-bee-dooooo-boop! Boo-doo-bee-boop!” Now it was doing it again. More notes too. Blurry eyed and exhausted, Elizabeth picked up the little egg thing and looked at Jericho’s stats. The Potty Meter was all the way up and blinking red. “Huh?” She rubbed her eyes and stared at it. “Warning” it read. “Bladder full. Toileting will disturb rest.” Then it gave her the strangest option. “Wet Bed? Yes/No” “Fine. You wanna play Jericho? Let’s play.” She pressed “Yes”. The Potty Meter plummeted in relief, the Hygiene Meter practically skyrocketed back up in equal measure, the Rest Meter continued to slowly dwindle back down, and the Age Meter...went down a bit as well. Elizabeth woke up late the next morning to the sound of the washing machine being run. The scent of stale urine still permeated the air in Jericho’s room, practically making a fog that hit Elizabeth in the face when she stepped out. “Jericho?” Jericho was fully dressed, out of the footie pajamas and looking flustered. His hair lay flat, unspiked. “Oh. Hi.” He said. “Just doing some laundry.” “Did you…?” Elizabeth asked. “Did you wet the bed?” Jericho blushed. “Yeah…” His roommate returned the blush and ran sprinting back to her room. Holding the door back she looked at the device she’d been playing with. “Did I do that?” She looked at the stats of Mini-Jericho. Everything added up to what she was seeing outside. Both Jerichos had their hair laying flat and were wearing jeans and a t-shirt. “Holy cow.” Elizabeth marveled. “I’ve done it. I’ve hacked my roommate!” A devilish thought entered Elizabeth’s head. Possibilities were beginning to stir. She had a devilish grin to match. *********************************************************************** “What are you doing?” Jericho asked her later that afternoon. “Just switching out your laundry,” Elizabeth assured him briskly. “You forgot to switch it out from this morning so I’m doing it for you.” With shopping bags still at her feet, she put Jericho’s laundry into the dryer. She normally wouldn’t have, but she had a feeling that the link between Jericho and the gadget he gave her went both ways. This was a nice, hopefully subtle way to fill out. Oh,” Jericho said. “I just got distracted. I’m going down this one rabbit hole about-” It’s okay, honey,” Elizabeth interrupted. “I’ve got you.” “Honey?” Jericho blanched. “Are we dating and I forgot or something?” “No.” Elizabeth said. “Why do you ask?” She didn’t give him a chance to answer. “Here, if you want to be a help, you can do some chores for me. Put these away.” She pointed to some grocery bags on the floor. “Chores?” A quiet, “Boo-doo-bee-dooooo-boop!” told her that she had an alert. She took out the doohickey and started putting in commands. Quickly, Jericho’s eyes glossed over and he entered a fugue state. He started putting the bags and started putting them away. The baby bottles she’d bought from WalMart were put in the cupboards first, right next to all of Jericho’s cups. The diapers from the pharmacy went into his underwear drawer, next, as many of them that would fit anyhow. The powder and the wipes went on top for quick and easy access. The Age Meter was decreasing and blinking. Good. She was getting the hang of this game. ********************************************************************** “Are you sure this is necessary?” Jericho asked. He was lying naked and beet red on his remade bed. “This is just in case.” Elizabeth lied. “You don’t want to wake up in a wet bed again, do you?” “No, I guess not.” Jericho admitted. He lifted his hips while Elizabeth slid the diaper beneath him. “This is probably just for tonight, unless…” “Unless what?” She didn’t answer his question. Rather, she taped on the thick diaper, keeping it snuck and tight, checking it for leaks. “Here you go,” she handed him the bottle of milk. “I warmed it up to help you sleep.” Jericho cocked an eyebrow. “But isn’t sleep a bad thing? Like if I sleep to deeply,” “Just drink it, sugar,” Elizabeth cooed at him. “Boo-doo-bee-dooooo-boop! “Is that that game?” Jericho asked, concerned. “Yeah,” Elizabeth checked it and smiled. “Go on. Drink up. You need your sleep.” “Can I at least sit up and screw the top off?” Elizabeth fiddled with the electronic toy. “No.” Jericho’s eyes clouded over, but just long enough to get the nipple between his lips. “Mmmm…!” “See?” Elizabeth asked. She started maneuvering the diapered boy underneath the sheets and tucking him in. “Feels good, doesn’t it? The taste? The warmth? The positioning?” “Mmmmhmmm!” He started to say more, but his mouth wouldn’t stop suckling. He kept his talk to gentle humming noises so that droplets of warm milk wouldn’t trickle out of his mouth. “Muuuuuch better,” Elizabeth said. She gave him a kiss on the cheek, and turned out the lights. The Age Meter was going down. So was the Rest Meter. So was the Hunger Meter. The Potty Meter was slowly starting to go up. So too, was the Happiness Meter. She went into the age settings and found a new feature unlocked. “Diapers at night?” The screen prompted. Of course, Elizabeth bit her bottom lip, and pressed, “Yes.” Easier than getting woken up in the middle of the night to force him to pee himself. Better yet, when she woke up the next morning and checked his stats: Happiness had not decreased. Rest was not needed. The Potty Meter and filled and emptied. The Hygiene Meter had ticked up a bit, but not nearly as bad as last night. “Time to go wake the baby up,” she chuckled. ******************************************************************* “Liz!” Jericho whined, pounding on the bathroom door. “Hurry up! I gotta go!” About time. She looked at the Tamagotchi-like gadget. The Potty Meter was full to bursting. Jericho’s tendency to zone until his bladder was close to bursting anyways played in favor, but he’d almost made it to lunch. “Drink water,” she’d ‘reminded’ him. Not even using the device to force him. She wanted to ease him into this next part and not have him suspect. She’d likely need it to do this part. “Go watch T.V.!” A few button presses, and she heard the T.V. on. Something childish and cartoony from the sound of it. Interesting, since she hadn’t figured out how to weave that level of detail into Mini-Jericho’s commands. With baited breath she watched as the potty meter flashed and flashed and... “Uh-ohhhhh.” Went all the way down. “Boo-doo-bee-dooooo-boop! She examined the Age Meter. “Turn off Potty Training?” Absolutely. Another glance. Happiness was falling! She had to act quick. Pocketing the gadget she left the bedroom. “Okay Jeri!” She said, “All...yours?” She caught him desperately trying to clean up his own puddle. “Jericho? Did you have an accident?” “NO!” Tears were streaming down his face. His pants were still wet. Like a little kid, he’d been so panicked that he started trying to clean the mess up without cleaning himself up first, making it more than obvious that he’d been the source to start with. She went up to him, and grabbed his wrist. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” She whispered. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” Gentle now. Had to play this right. “Let’s go get cleaned up. “I’m not a baby!” “I didn’t say you were.” There was an unspoken and implied ‘yet’. She carefully led him back to his room, and laid him down on the bed. His knees buckled as soon as the backs touched the mattress. “Let’s just get these off for now.” “I..I...NO!” She slapped Jeri’s hands away as he pathetically tried to keep her from unbuttoning his pants. She slid them off and tossed them aside. He wouldn’t be needing them for a while. Maybe not anymore. Quickly, she went and got the wipes, powder, and what would end up being the first of many more diapers to come. She didn’t know what undoing Jeri’s potty training was going to do to him, but she didn’t want to chance getting peed on if she took too long. She shushed and cooed at him, gently wiping him down between his legs. First unfolding the new diaper, she crossed his ankles and pushed back his legs to force his hips to lift. Just like a real baby. Slipping the diaper underneath him, she didn’t let up until she’d dusted powder on his bum. Letting his legs settle back down, she spread them, gave his front side a good dusting, and then set the powder down. “You don’t have to do this,” Jeri whimpered. “I know,” Elizabeth whispered. “But I want to.” That and she kind of did. No potty training meant anything less than diapers would make for much more clean up. As though it were programmed into her, Elizabeth yanked the front of the padding up over Jeri’s privates and taped it on, making sure to tuck in the front while pulling the back so that it was nice and snug. She gave each tape a firm and final press as she secured them. “There. All done.” “Boo-doo-bee-dooo-boop!” That would most likely be the Hunger Meter. “How would you like some mashed potatoes for lunch? Fill you right up?” “Yeah,” Jeri sniffed. “Yeah. I’d like that.” “And maybe some milk to wash it down?” “Yeah...okay…” She didn’t catch it, but she wouldn’t be surprised to later find the Happiness Meter rising in direct proportion to the Age Meter shrinking. ********************************************************************** The next day… “Crap!” “Jeri!” Elizabeth scolded. “Language!” “Sorry, Ma- I mean Elizabeth!” Jeri stuttered. “But look!” Elizabeth looked up from her own bowl of un-frosted mini-meats. Jericho was drenched in orange juice. That would mean the Hygiene meter would be rising soon. “Ugh,” she said. “And I just changed you and got you dressed for the day.” Dressed for the day: A phrase here which means a t-shirt, a diaper, and socks to keep Jeri’s footsies warm. “I’m sorry!” Jeri sputtered, “I just-!” Jericho’s protestations were cut off by Elizabeth yanking his shirt off him and wiping his face and chest with a dry washcloth. “I don’t know what’s happening! A round of baby wipes followed. “You’ll need a bath now,” Elizabeth told him. Didn’t want any of the meters to get too high. “Don’t want you getting icky sticky.” “Okay,” Jeri mumbled, “I’ll go take a shower.” Elizabeth’s hand weighed down on his shoulder before he could stand up. “Breakfast first. Then bath. The tubby will feel better if you have a full tummy.” “Bath? I don’t wanna take a-” “You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before,” Elizabeth bowled over his words. Simultaneously, she was pouring the rest of the orange juice into an empty baby bottle. “I just changed your diaper a few minutes ago, remember?” Something terrible clicked behind Jericho’s eyes. “You mean you’re giving me a-?” He was. “Drink up. Use both hands. I want you to stay hydrated.” And for the Hunger Meter to go down. Elizabeth had to admit. This was getting addictive. As part of the game, Jericho was so much easier to deal with, too. No more messy, inconsiderate roommate. The only messes Elizabeth wanted were the ones that she could control. The ones that stayed in his new absorbent underwear. Jericho glugged down the remaining orange juice. Elizabeth stirred around the cinnamon sugar oatmeal she’d cooked for him and held it up to his mouth. “I can feed myself, you know,” said. The spoon did not waver. “Can you?” Reluctantly, Jeri opened his mouth and Elizabeth gently slid it in between his lips. His eyes widened in pleasant surprise. “Mmmmm!” He swallowed and opened his mouth for the next waiting spoonful. Somebody’s Happiness Meter was going up! “Boo-doo-bee-dooo-boop!” “That’s right,” Elizabeth encouraged him. “Get it all down.” She let him take another sip from his bottle. “Fill your tum-tum up and then we’ll slip you into a nice warm bath. If you’re good, we can make it a bubble bath.” ************************************************************ And another day… “I don’t want a nap!” Jericho stomped his foot on the carpet It was actually really cute. No more excuses. No more vying for control. Not even a full on tantrum. Just a little bit of fuss at the inevitable. And it was inevitable. “I didn’t ask if you wanted a nap,” Elizabeth explained patiently. “I said you needed a nap.” “I do not.” He didn’t stomp his foot. Elizabeth didn’t need to look at the Rest Meter to know that her little man was tired. It was in the way he drooped and carried himself. (Speaking of droop, he’d need a change before his nap, too.) Thanks to another quick trip out to WalMart on her part he’d rediscovered hollow non-chokable blocks and had gone from stacking them up as high as he could (greatly reducing the Boredom Meter) to haphazardly sliding them around the floor. “You don’t need to make a fuss about it. It’s just a little nap.” “I want…!” He stopped. He really didn’t know what he wanted anymore did he? Did he ever? She reached into her pocket and dangled out a pacifier she’d snagged at the store and dangled it in front of him. “If you’re good,” she tempted him. “I’ll let you take your paci to bed.” His eyes looked at her breasts, then back up to the nipple on the pacifier. He was obviously thinking of doing the same thing to both of them, and the temptation, she felt, had nothing to do with the feelings a man might have for a woman. A boy? Perhaps. “Okay,” he said. “Can I hold Mr. Bear, too?” The lack of prompting over a stuffed animal delighted Elizabether. It felt like winning. “Of course you can hold Mr. Bear.” She got up and cupped the front of his diaper, giving it a good squeeze. “You can cuddle your stuffies and suck on your pacifier. Right after I change you.’ “Boo-doo-bee-dooo-boop!” “I need changing?” ************************************************************** And another… “Shoot!” The blocks crashed to the floor with the hollow clicking and clacking of tumbling plastic. “Shoot! Shoot! Shoot!” Jeri swore. “Jeri,” Elizabeth called from the kitchen. “Are you alright?” The man-baby called back. “Yeah! Just frustrated.” Elizabeth looked at the mini-Jeri avatar. Boredom was fine. Rest was fine. Hunger was rising but she was taking care of that now. The Happiness Meter, so close to being full, was starting to flag. Darn it! “Bout what, hun?” “I’m trying to stack the blocks as high as I can reach, but they keep falling over!” “Why don’t you just stack them wider but lower?” Elizabeth offered. “Because the point is to stack them as high as I can get them!” he whined. “That’s how I wiiiin!” “Boo-doo-bee-dooo-boop!” The gamer girl’s mouth twisted “As high as he can get them, huh?” She pressed a few buttons and messed with the settings. “Jeri! Take a break! Come in and get some num nums!” An exasperated sigh came back. “Okaaaaay….” The sound of crinkling signaled Jeri’s approach. Elizabeth didn’t see him until he looked down. Jeri was crawling now. Skinny as he was, it didn’t take much for his roommate to boost him back into his chair.by scooping him up under the armpits. “Hold on just a second.” She positioned him by slipping his arms into the safety harness and pinning his back to the chair. It was the same kind of harness used for special needs children who couldn’t be trusted to sit still on the bus. The result wasn’t quite a highchair-no feeding tray-but Jeri was buckled in so that he couldn’t escape on his own. Jeri didn’t complain. He knew it was for the best when he’d almost fallen out a few days ago. Same for the safety railings on his bed; even if they did make it look more like a crib. Little by little he was adapting. And little by little, his Happiness Meter went up. Elizabeth stirred the bowl of grits she’d made for lunch and he opened his mouth to accept the mush. Just like a good baby. The meal went smoothly, and the terry cloth bib caught any spills made from overfull spoons or bits of lunch dribbling out of the corner of his mouth. “MMMMM!” “Now I bet, you’ll be able to stack those blocks as high as they can go,” she assured him. In a way she was telling the truth. Like so many of the little changes, Jeri didn’t seem to notice them anymore or question his lack of abilities. It had seemed like ages since he had whined about naptime, or bathtime, or going to the potty. Speaking of which. “Still dry,” she announced after checking his diaper. She gave him a bottle of apple juice. That’d take care of that soon enough. She unbuckled him and guided him to the floor. His cute padded behind waggled a little as he crawled back into the living room. He wouldn’t be able to get off his knees, she knew. As high as he could stack them would be very very possible. She was doing him a favor really. “Boo-doo-bee-dooo-boop!” *************************************************************** Three weeks later… Elizabeth laid lounging on the couch, reading a good book. Jeri crawled on his pastel blanket watching cartoons, more focused than he’d ever been. He wasn’t focused on particularly productive things, but he was focused. According to the device, little Jeri was very happy, not bored at all, only slightly wet, and not hungry, but he might be due for a nap in an hour or so. His Age Meter was barely a pixel. There was a certain amount of clutter in the living room; assuming baby toys were cluttered. It was still nothing compared to Jericho’s normal mess. This took five minutes to clean up every night, and Jericho didn’t have much say in it. He didn’t have any say in it, technically, because Jericho couldn’t say anything. All he needed were giggles and cries, and it was for the best. Same with the crawling. It would have been dangerous to let him keep toddling around with all the sharp objects that were above waist height. Easy to keep him happy too, since baby brains didn’t need much to entertain them. The diapers were a lifesaver for the Hygiene Meter. Good odor control, absorption, and rash prevention. These new ones she’d found had little cartoons on them, too. and if he just lounged around all day, lower expectations made it so that Elizabeth found she wasn’t nearly as exasperated with his executive dysfunction. Big babies didn’t really have executive function, so executive dysfunction was a non-factor. She went to work, but the game was a better Nanny Cam and babysitter than she could have hired. She got alerts anytime something bad might have happened, and a few button clicks sent her little Jeri back to playing. “Hrrrn...hrnnn…” WIthout looking up from her book, she reached over to the coffee table and grabbed a fresh diaper. She’d need this in just a minute. His Potty Meter was about gone. As Jericho pooped his pants on the carpet, he exalted and thrilled at how everything had gone exactly according to his deepest darkest fantasies. When he’d figured out a way to turn his life into a video game of sorts, he craved EASY MODE. But the trick had been that he just couldn’t operate the device himself. Thankfully, he’d done research into the psychology of game design to make turning him into a baby just as addictive as being one. But Elizabeth was stubborn and wouldn’t have played if he’d told her. It was a delicate matter frustrating her to the point of being sick of his worst habits so that treating him like this would be easier. It was even more delicate tricking her into cleaning up his mess and “finding” the device he’d made. But it worked. As the mush slid into the back of his diaper and it ballooned out, he let out some happy gurgles to let his new Mommy know what he’d done. Well, as far as that sort of thing went. He’d never let her know what he’d really done. Happiness Maximized. Game Over!

The Pastel Gift Vampires don’t have many heroes, historically speaking. When one lives their unlife in the shadows, it’s very difficult to pick their own historical role models. Vampirism resulted in a secret society less like the Illuminati and more like the Sith. Eternal nocturnal existence wasn’t a vast sweeping empire that secretly influenced society through the ages as much as it was secretive little pockets of vampires and the thralls they let in on the joke. If you were a member of an undead secret society, the emphasis would more than likely be on the secret; and less so on the society. Vampires didn’t have George Washingtons or Cleopatras, or Louis Pasteurs. Both because if anyone had given the Dark Gift to those people it would have potentially ruined the big secret, and because vampires by and large still thought of themselves as people. The historical, philosophical, scientific, and artistic influences of the human world were the same in the darkness as they were in the sunlight. Simple as that. Still, if Melissa had to name any great ‘vampire history’ figures, she would have put a disproportionate amount of weight on the likes of Bram Stoker, Anne Rice, Charlene Harris, and Stephanie Meyer. Each of them had gotten close enough to the truth to aid vampirism and yet got so many details scattered and just plain wrong that the quality of unlife for those of the blood sucking persuasion was better for their work. As a result, most everyone knew what a vampire was, even if they didn’t know the exact strengths and limitations of said vampire. The many contradicting details in the various fictional novels and mediums vampires were portrayed in kept the real vampires like Melissa safer by relegating her in people’s minds to being fictional herself. No one went looking for vampires when vampires weren’t considered an option anymore. Conversely, it made thralls easier to recruit and manage. Everyone knew what vampires were, and all it took some years to recruit an ideal servant or snack was to prove that the fictional status was incorrect. Yet those fictions kept things easy for Melissa. Knowing or just suspecting that vampires were real was one thing. Knowing their weaknesses was another. Melissa hated sunlight, and preferred to sleep in total darkness, but Apollo’s chariot did nothing to harm her beyond making her eyelids droop and muscles ache. Crosses and other religious iconography had no effect on her other than making her uncomfortable about the sort of people that wielded them and how they chose to worship their god. Finally, vampires had no need to be invited into any domicile to force their way into it. Breaking and entering was simple when you could walk up walls and force open windows that had no fire escape next to them. Few people would think to lock the point of entry and even fewer would look for it as a point of breach. Being a thoroughly modern vampire, Melissa pitied her ancestors who had to find less suspicious ways to feed simply because people lived in single story, poorly ventilated huts that would have collapsed had a vampire tried to use their strength to enter. Come to think of it, that might have been the origin of that particular bit of superstition. Besides attributing weaknesses that just weren’t there, the various fictions completely missed out on many of the actual limitations of the condition. For starters, the Dark Gift had increased her dietary needs instead of transforming them altogether. Melissa had to eat, drink, pee, and poop just like anybody else. The blood sustained her immortality and strange abilities, but she largely sated herself on hamburgers just like anybody else. If she was careful she could make the blood in her system last for days, sometimes over a week before her fangs started popping back out looking for more. That bit of misinformation, that vampires subsisted on only blood, had helped her dodge a hunter seventy some odd years ago. Proving her ‘innocence’ had been as simple as eating a salad, popping off to the little girl’s room and then ‘forgetting’ to flush. The idea had felt particularly inspired, Melissa thought. Better than submitting for a blood test that somehow might find evidence of mixtures of different types of blood. Another fun secret about vampirism was what the blood could do for Melissa. The Dark Gift had a way of giving her more than just her victim’s life fluids. Whenever she fed, Melissa would take on the traits and skill sets of her victims. It was how she’d managed to live so comfortably when she wasn’t on the prowl. A nibble of an investment broker here; a lawyer there; a witness protection expert for good measure, and Melissa could continuously drum up money, pose as her own descendant, and inherit her own generational wealth again and again and again. Ironically, the pulpy television show about a crime solving zombie was a more accurate portrayal of vampirism than any number of fang laden love triangle melodramas. It’s also why vampires tended to be metropolitan monsters. Dracula, if he really did exist, most likely moved to London because he was sick of having the skill set and temperament of a superstitious Eastern European serf. Which brought Melissa to tonight’s hunt. Lorraine Schmitt’’s was an insurance agent, a good one too, and Melissa badly wanted to know of any loopholes that could be exploited. Her winter home in Alaska was almost up for coverage renewal, and Melissa had reached that point where she was looking to either cut costs or arrange an ‘accident’ to recoup her investment. It turned out the downside of having thirty days of continuous night was having to live in Alaska. With an aura that dampened the sounds of every footstep, creaking floorboard, and even the occupant’s quiet purring snores, Melissa opened the door to the insurance agent’s bedroom. She frowned and shut the door behind her as she entered. This was supposed to be Lorraine Schmitt’s bedroom. The layout and floor plan matched what her thrall had researched perfectly. If her spacial awareness and memory wasn’t beyond anything remotely human, Melissa would have doubted herself. No. This was the exact address and apartment that her insurance snack was supposed to reside in. If that was the case, though, why was the only bedroom home to a baby’s nursery? No. Not quite. Back in the early 1970’s, Melissa had experimented by sampling psychedelics. For an instant, Melissa was brought roaring back to a bad trip when scale, perspective, and common sense was thrown into a shredder. A quick blink and rapidly adjusting night vision brought Melissa back to the present. As her eyes adjusted to the soft night light and her ears took in the gentle lullabies playing softly on a speaker, the vampire soon understood that she was neither tripping balls nor was she in an infant’s room. Rather she was in a bizarre funhouse replica of one. Like a patron in a museum, Melissa glided through the room taking in each sight, sound and smell; piecing together a story from the room’s contents like a carefully curated experience. The closet was filled with professional looking clothing that might be expected for a white collar industry. Based on the size and style, an adult woman clearly lived here. There. Full-stop. Out with the expected. The chest of drawers on the opposite side of the room was not actually a chest of drawers. Originally it might have been, but it had since been heavily modified into an enormous changing table. If the sturdily padded top hadn’t tipped her off, the alcoves containing tubs of baby wipes, rash cream, and baby powder dashed that lie. Speaking of padding, the diapers on the middle shelf were definitely not for a baby. The size of the pre-folded disposables would have smothered an actual child. Though the cartoon prints might have fooled a casual observer. Adult diapers that looked like baby’s? Adult baby diapers? How was that even a thing? Why was that even a thing. By the time her eyes locked onto the stacks of folded up adult sized onesies, baby t-shirts, and decorative panties, Melissa already felt she knew more than enough about her latest snack. It looks like Little Lorraine had a dirty little secret. Compared to the feast for her eyes, the other senses felt left out by comparison. Yes, she heard the gentle lullaby that Lorraine played on loop in the faux nursery. Yes, her nose detected the lavender scent of baby powder masking the subtle aroma of urine and feces sealed inside a diaper pail. The problem, as far as curiosity was concerned was that it was very difficult to scale up the babyishness where smell and hearing were concerned. Sure, her heightened sense of smell detected the scent of bodily waste through even ‘odor lock technology’ but it didn’t smell any more odious to her nose than a bathroom that hadn’t been freshly scrubbed. Of course her fantastic ears noticed the faint whispers laced into the lullaby- she could hear a mosquito buzzing its wings from a football field away-but she’d fed upon numerous people who listened to soft whispers in their sleep. ASMR was a thing! She didn’t quite understand what it was, but it was a thing! Compared to the cake and icing that was the oversized furniture and clothing, she paid no mind to the decorative fondant of the music and smells. Melissa was fresh out of surprise by the time she approached the crib. She looked down at the slumbering woman-child, sucking on a pacifier in her sleep. Revulsion wasn’t even a factor in Melissa’s mind looking down at the girl. In nearly two centuries of unlife, Melissa had seen some of the worst that humanity had to offer. A woman sleeping in a pink-onesie and wet diaper was hardly anything to get upset about. It was odd, perhaps, but she’d felt she’d encountered odder. The infantile sights, sounds, and smells did nothing to stop her fangs from extending. Melissa stopped breathing. Like most of her snacks these days, this baby woman would survive and just wake up a little woozy tomorrow morning. If she didn’t feed soon though, her next meal might not be so lucky. Binge eating was a potentially deadly habit to those with the Dark Gift. Everything was academic after that. It was nothing to slide down the side of the giant crib; no different than parting a bed curtain during a more genteel era. Like always, the girl didn’t wake up as Melissa slid her fangs into the precious neck artery; the magic of the Dark Gift being less disturbing than even a mosquito bite. From there it was pure elementary. This. This was the best part of the Dark Gift, where Melissa took the blood, thoughts, and perhaps even part of the soul of the young lady. All of that knowledge. All of that experience flowing into her. Literally living vicariously through this complete stranger that she’d never met before. This. This was better than sex. Better than heroin. Better than Kobe beef. Better than caviar. More so than the immortality and the physics destroying power, this is what Melissa un-lived for. She might still need food to survive, but the experience gained through the blood made existence worthwhile. Her task complete, Melissa licked the wounds she made close. Playfully, half-instinctually, she pressed the button on Lorraine’s pacifier. As expected, the girl started sucking on the rubber teat. Good. Melissa hadn’t taken too much. Quickly, her eyes darted over to the changing table and the stacks of diapers contained therein. A feeling of deep longing mixed with guilt creeped up the base of Melissa’s brain. Unexpected, but not surprising. Unconscious tendencies were the first thing to surface after drinking. So for now, she had a fetish. Great. Whatever. She’d once spent nearly a fornite with the brain of whorehouse madam. The behavior of her thralls had greatly improved as a result and she continued many of the habits long after that particular morsel had worn off. So what if her heart fluttered a little bit at the thought of getting padded up (there was an errant thought if ever there was one)? So long as Melissa knew all the loopholes that the insurance companies didn’t want her to know she’d be satisfied. “Yup,” she whispered to herself, “It’s all there.” She gave her temple a self satisfied tap. Dampening the sound of her departing feet, Melissa glided out on the breeze slipping through the window she came in. Her conscious mind picked up only the (suddenly) pleasant sounds of a slight crinkle on a sodden diaper and the scent of baby powder. Her unconscious mind though... If only she’d paid more attention with her impeccable senses to the underlying whispers in Lorraine’s music box lullabies, this night would have been little more than a curiosity and a metaphorical bullet dodged. Melissa didn’t though, and stole off into the dark of the night with a new kink, and a mind that had been experimenting with some very interesting subliminal hypnosis tracks. ************************************************************************************************ Catherine O’Hara was never going to be a vampire. She’d decided that long ago. It wasn’t due to her vanity, Lord knew that. She was well past her prime, and her prime wasn’t that great looking to begin with. The pale skin and dark hair (assuming hers didn’t turn white) might have even looked appealing from a certain angle. The blood red eyes whenever her temper threatened might have been a bonus. A little intimidation never hurt anything. So overall, the Dark Gift as her master called it, likely would have smoothed a few things over in the looks department. Not that Catherine was particularly homely either. She could stand to lose a few pounds for her height and her hair was something of a curly tangled mess that wasn’t getting any better as stress and old age hung like the sword of Damocles over her, but no one would be calling her Quasimodo or Igor, neither. Matronly, some might have called her, if not motherly. A lifetime ago she would have been perfectly content being a sexless school marm out in the settler days, happy to keep whipper snappers in line and teach good little boys and girls all about the three R’s. If she’d been born into money, she’d be looking forward to being the Old Maid Aunt or the stern lipped Matriarch leveling judgement at passing generations. Unless reincarnation was a thing (and Catherine O’Hara very much doubted it was), she’d lost the lottery on that front. No, what this lifetime had in store for Catherine was an abundance of service to a vampire. While the idea of becoming immortal had initially appealed to Catherine - and the promise of eternal night as a reward had been the thing to initially string her along- experience had taught her that the Dark Gift was something she didn’t want to accept. What was the saying? No faster way to turn a Catholic into an atheist than getting them to read the Bible? Well, the fastest way to turn a vampire’s thrall into someone aching for the stillness of the grave was to have them actually live with the vampire. Vampires were nutters, the lot of them! One time, her master came home after drinking from a professional daredevil, and spent the better part of four days trying to chase an adrenaline rush, and it was Catherine’s job to sort out the details. An adrenaline rush? A death defying stunt? For someone whose very existence already defied death? But did her master give her any options? Did she appreciate how hard it was to quickly and legally (okay, sort of legally) acquire and learn to plant dynamite just so a semi-immortal being could jump over an explosion?! NO! NO SHE DIDN’T! NOT EVEN A THANK YOU! At least the ramp had been easy to find. Catherine had been wise not to scrap the scenery from Starlight Express when her master had gone through that “Theater Director” phase. Presently, it was Friday. This meant that her Master was going hunting tonight. Thankfully, the master was going after boring blood tonight; insurance agent. The only thing safer (from Catherine’s point of view) might be an accountant. The master came back to the manner early that night well before the pubs and clubs had closed. Catherine took this as a good sign. The insurance agent must be kicking in; why else would the master be home this early if not for the influence of a little boring blood. The master preferred to feed on the sleeping, and Catherine had gone out of her way to find the most boring candidate possible. Nothing had been on the target’s social media profile beyond etsy photos and niche office jokes. That explained why she was in bed by ten. Good. Maybe that meant this would be a relatively easy week. “Good evening, Miss Catherine!” the master practically chirped. She skipped in and left the door behind her wide open. Catherine shut the door behind the master, then did a double take. Skipping? Was the vampire actually skipping? “Good evening, master.” Catherine replied. “I trust your hunt went well?” The master stopped and spun around, fluttering a little bit. “Oh yeah!” she said. “Super good! Lotsa fun!” Catherine arched an eyebrow. “And you decided to come back early?” Candice asked. “Not go out to a club or a bar or…?” The thrall wasn’t sure where to lead this line of questioning so she just let the question drop. Raven hair went flapping as the master shook her head. “No, ma’am,” she said. “Too loud and smelly and sweaty!” She pinched her nose as if she were imagining it then and there. “I just wanted to come home and watch some cartoons.” “Very good, ma’am.” Catherine said. Her body began to ache in sympathy. That dull tired sickness that people get only when their body starts to feel as if it can lower its defenses was creeping in. She just wanted to watch some T.V. Maybe this would be an easy week. Maybe Catherine would finally be able to get some... “Wait? Cartoons?” The master tilted her head curiously. “Yeah! Do we still have the DVR?” “Yes, master.” Catherine stumbled. “But I don’t think we have any cartoons stored on there.” The vampire slumped a bit. “Awwww. Okay.” She let out a tired, disappointed sigh. Catherine’s more servile second nature kicked in. “I think I have a few streaming services. Netflix? Hulu? Disney?” That did the trick. “Disney?!” Her embrace was cold but strong, and Catherine was reminded why she was terrified of the undead, (not that she needed much reminding). “Yes, master.” Catherine blurted out. “You can have my password!” The vampire released her servant. “Yaaaaaay! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” Then she went skipping, literally skipping. “Take the rest of the night off, Ma-! I mean Catherine!” “Yes ma’am.” Catherine replied automatically. There was a look of emotional confusion on her master’s face; like she understood what was being said but didn’t like what she was hearing. “I mean, yes, master?” Nothing changed. “Yes...Melissa…?” That did the trick. “Kay-kay!” she said. “Have a good ni-ni! Is it okay if I wake you if I need anything?” Catherine felt a kind of shock. “What?” Why was she asking? If the ancient creature wanted something she usually just demanded it. “I mean, of course. You know where to find me if you need me. Ma-...Melissa.” “Kay kay! Ni-ni?” The aches of long forgotten relaxation was just starting to set into Catherine, and with it a new lingering question. Who had her master fed from? It certainly wasn’t an insurance agent. ********************************************************************************************* Melissa bobbed up and down on her bottom, belting out the lyrics to her new favorite T.V. show in the whole world. “Whoa oh oh, Vampirina! I may be blue with pointy teeth! Whoa oh oh, Vampirina! But I’m not so different underneath!” This insurance agent blood had done a number on her in the best way. Cartoons seemed brighter and happy songs seemed happier. She felt like she had all the time in the world and yet everything seemed to move along at a rollercoaster pace! It was the best of all worlds and experiences as far as Melissa was concerned. She had already cleared straight through an entire season of this children’s show and was ready to devour another. Like so many things about vampires in fiction, many of the finer details were missed about the Dark Gift, but at least it was a positive portrayal. If Vampirina were a real vampire girl, Melissa knew deep in her heart of hearts that they would have been best friends. More than best friends, actually. Melissa pictured herself in the cartoon girl’s bat wing pigtails, and spider-web pattern jumper dress. It still seemed so much bigger and more mature than how Melissa envisioned herself. She would have been perfectly happy wearing a onesie; maybe one with a decorated hoodie that she could pull over her eyes while she was feeling shy. Vampirina wouldn’t be her best friend; she’d be more like a big sister to play with Melissa take care of her when Mommy wasn’t around. Shame she wasn’t real. Melissa let out a little yawn and looked out the window. Dawn was approaching, the first traces of amber light cresting over the horizon. No wonder she was feeling so sleepy. It’s what Melissa got for finding Doc McStuffins first and bingeing that. A tired yawn escaped from the little vampire’s throat and an even tinier trickle leaked out into her panties. The yawn turned to a gasp and Melissa patted herself down to her panties. It was only a tiny accident, she assured herself. Not enough to stain the pretty (but very grown up) dress she was wearing today. “Ooops,” she whispered. “Gotta go potty.” Nervously she hugged the couch pillow. It wasn’t as nice as a teddy bear, but it would have to suffice till tomorrow. Before sitting down to watch cartoons, Melissa had gone on an online spending spree. Nothing major. Just stuffed animals that looked cute as well as some...other things. Things that would help her play and watch cartoons longer. She spent extra money to have them all expressed shipped so hopefully they would all be here by the time she woke up tomorrow night. She felt a strange itching in her being at that thought as well as a muted wave of embarrassment. She both wanted these things and felt ashamed for wanting them at the same time. Did this come with the desire to sleep in cribs, or was it a natural tendency of insurance agents? Melissa didn’t know. Whatever it was, it hadn’t stopped Lorraine from living her best life, and it wasn’t going to stop Melissa either. Oh yeah, and she’d figured out a way that her little home in boring old Alaska could basically pay for itself by turning it into a timeshare. So that was neat. “Time for beddy-...” From her place on the floor, Melissa looked behind her to the couch and only then did she realize that Catherine wasn’t there. Rationally, she realized that Catherine shouldn’t be. She’d given her thrall the night off because it was a nice thing to do. Rationally, she realized that Catherine wouldn’t be interested in something like Vampirina (even though Vampirina was clearly the best thing in the world!). Still...it would have been nice to have someone else in the room with her. Someone to keep her company and occasionally say nice things to her. Melissa got up and started to walk to the bathroom. First potty. Then bed. Then she’d wake up. Eat some sugary cereal, and get to play and watch cartoons all tomorrow night. Technically, she could do that all day since Catherine wouldn’t make her go to bed. Catherine. The vampire stopped at the door to her thrall’s bedroom. It was a relatively tiny space. Only room enough for a Queen size bed, a closet, and a dresser. Melissa had hidden in motels with more floor space. But it was cozy. Her own bed and living quarters was sunproofed and far more luxurious. But it was also empty. A strange impulse overcame the undead stalker. “Maybe…” she said, opening the door with preternatural quietness. Yes. Maybe indeed. Maybe a day cuddled up secure to the closest thing she had as a friend might be better than sprawling our in a big empty room on a big empty bed. Cozy even. Maybe she could hold off going potty until tomorrow night too... ********************************************************************************* Catherine woke up thinking she was dying! She’d never watched the vampire feed, but with the fangs and the blood red eyes, she’d always assumed that the act of feeding was dangerous and messy and above all bloody. So she could be forgiven for thinking that the wet feeling that was engulfing her and drenching her legs was that of her own blood spilling out onto the bed. Her master had finally tired of her and was going to consume her whole. That’s why she’d gotten the night off of work. It had to be. That’s what Catherine thought as she started screaming her head off, leaping out of her bed. “NOOOOO! NOOOOOOOOO!” It didn’t help her misconception that Melissa was in bed right next to her. For a split second, her master appeared for all intents and purposes to be a corpse. Vampires just looked that way while they slept. The corpse soon animated though as eyes fluttered open. “Huh?” she looked down at herself and the puddle that had gathered in the middle of the mattress. “What?! Oh no!” She flew out to the other side of the bed, and landed daintily on her feet. “Cahterine!” she shrieked. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to-!” Her skin remained as ivory pale as always, but her eyes turned a shade of rose petal pink. Was this the undead equivalent of blushing? “I’m so sorry! I’m sooooo sooo sorry!” “Sorry?” Catherine echoed. Not only was that a word that the thrall couldn’t remember hearing out of her master’s mouth, but she wasn’t sure. She looked down at her legs, there was They were wet but not with blood. “Did you...?” Her nostrils filled in the rest of the sentence. Yes, Melissa, vampire queen of the night had wet the bed. Correction: She’d wet Catherine’s bed. “I just wanted to cuddle and I forgot to go potty and...and...and…” Flabbergasted beyond comprehension. Catherine remained silent. What was this? Some kind of test? Hurriedly she started stripping her bed as adrenaline pushed her the rest of the way awake. She looked at the clock. The sun hadn’t even been up for two whole hours. That made Catherine feel even more exhausted. Living under a vampire’s roof had long ago shifted her sleep to third shift. Even with the night off, Catherine had only managed to claim sleep an hour or so before dawn. “I’m sorry Miss Cathy!” A bundle of peed on bedsheets in hand, Catherine glared at the slender immortal standing blushing across from her. “Miss Cathy?” Her vision started to come more into focus. “Are you wearing one of my nightgowns?” She’d never seen Melissa wear anything that pink before. “It looked comfy…” She took the foul smelling thing off and unhelpfully added it to the pile. “I’m a big girl.” “Of course ma’am...” Catherine said. “Sure you are.” “Say it.” the vampire said. “Say it I’m a big girl…” her voice was right on the edge of trembling and a tantrum. This was something she needed to hear and if she didn’t that nightmare that Catherine just imagined might be more than just a misunderstanding. “You’re a big girl…” Catherine said. Then she ventured. “You’re a very big girl...Melissa.” That seemed to do the trick. “I’m gonna go…” Melissa said. “Lay down in my bed. I mean. If that’s okay.” Once again she’d become submissive and demure. “Of course, dear.” The ‘dear’ came naturally, this time. A vampire’s thrall learned to anticipate their master’s needs. What Catherine couldn’t anticipate for, she could at least quickly adapt to new situations. This was certainly new. “Go get changed and go back to sleep. It was just an accident.” She noticed the slight flutter in Melissa’s posture, both at hearing her own name as well as the pet moniker of ‘dear’. Something in her was getting a major thrill out of just hearing it. This was certainly a development. The two parted ways, with Melissa floating off to her much nicer bedroom, and a still exhausted Catherine headed for the laundry room. She’d need a shower if she was going to get back to sleep. But first... “Melissa…” she called back. Melissa stopped and looked back over her shoulder. “Yes, ma’am?” There was a bit of guilt still rattlign around that skull. “Who did you eat last night?” “Insurance agent,” the vampire said. “Why?” “Just an insurance agent?” she asked. “No one...younger?” “Nuh-uh. Why?” “No reason…” *************************************************************************************************** DING-DONG! Catherine stirred from her sleep, still feeling exhausted. The couch wasn’t nearly as comfortable as her own bed. “I’m coming!” She called. Damn it. Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Even when her master was high on insurance agent blood, she couldn’t get a full rest. The thrall had little doubt that what was at the door was some kind of impulse buy that Melissa just couldn’t resist. The real question was a matter of what. Blearily she eyed the nearest clock. It was just after three. The usual courier was waiting at the doorstep. Being an overpaid mailman he didn’t ask questions. Good for him. It made the frequent deliveries more bearable when Catherine didn’t have to explain anything. This time, the middle aged thrall had wished there was some kind of explanation. Boxes and boxes and boxes lay piled up at the doorstep. All looking fairly heavy, and none looked the least bit distinct. Catherine spared a glance at some of the labels. “LKB LLC?” She read. “Strom Holdings?” said another. What was this stuff? “Sign here,” the courier said. He was sweating. He’d needed several trips to get everything unloaded. “Sure, sure.” Catherine sighed. “Do you mind helping me get these in?” Brow drenched with sweat the delivery man let out his own sigh. Both of them were thralls to blood sucking monsters in their own way. It’s just one was more literal than the other. “Yeah. I guess so. I’ll get ‘em across the door for you.” It was the most talking either of them had done to each other in their many years. Strange. “Do you need a box cutter?” The courier offered. He went to go for his pocket but Catherine waved him off. “I’m fine, thanks.” Then she remembered a bit of kindness. “Can I offer you some water?” “That’d be great...thank you.” Strange, Catherine thought. Melissa never offered such basic courtesies. She had infinite time and wealth, as did a certain delivery mega corporation, but it was the servants who showed one another the most respect. A sad state of the world she thought. After the water glass was drained, refilled, and then drained again, the courier went on his way. Most days, Catherine would leave the packages where they lay, letting her master’s impulse determine where they should go next, but a certain amount of curiosity had infected the woman. A sharp knife from the kitchen did the trick to satisfy her curiosity. The first box had vacuum sealed t-shirts. The colors were soft and muted. Pastel mostly. Some had, frankly, childish patterns on them. Light Blue with Frogs wearing scuba gear; another mint green with playful pigs; and so on. The dark one with the amalgamation of a cat and a skull seemed more Melissa’s aesthetic but it was still far too whimsical for her baseline mood. Tearing into a second package filled with bottles and pacifiers caused Catherine to go back to the box of shirts and fully unwrap them. Just as she hadn’t thought. These weren’t t-shirts, they were unitards. Except these unitards weren’t the kind that gymnasts wore. These were onesies, the kind that had snap buttons right in the crotch area. The kind of thing a baby might wear over their… Oh no! She tore into another box, and just as she suspected found the diapers. Packs and packs of them. Over half of the mountain of cardboard hid thick, tapable, plastic backed underwear that had bright and smiling cartoons on them. Everything that wasn’t a diaper wasn’t much better. Pacifier, bottles, rompers, frilly panties just barely big enough to cover the diapers; Lolita-ish dresses; jumpers. All of it looked like a carnival version of something a toddler or younger would be dressed in. Had Melissa eaten a baby? Had that actually happened? No. That didn’t add up. Babies wore those sorts of things because their parents dressed them in it. Left to their own devices they might just…watch cartoons all day… And crawl into their parents beds… And wet the bed… But did they buy their own diapers or toddler dresses or onesies? In sizes that fit them no less? Looking at the pile of accumulated nonsense in front of her, Catherine realized that there was also a distinct lack of practicality involved. There were diapers, but no wipes. Bottles but no milk. Bibs but no food. No powder or rash cream or any of the other little touches that an actual child might need. Catherine dug out her phone. As a thrall, it was her job to anticipate her master’s needs. She might not have eaten a proper child, but there was something certainly screwy going on. It was only a few hours before sunset when the master would wake up. She had some additional shopping to do and…. WHOAH...a lot of reading apparently. “Ay-Bee-Dee-Ell?” ******************************************************************************************** “Ma...Catherine?” Melissa moaned herself into consciousness and yanked the thumb out of her mouth. How had that gotten there? Her mo...thrall was already in her room and appeared to be rifling through her closet. “This one can go...this one can go...this one can go…” Long black dress after long black dress was being draped over Catherin’s forearm. “Hey!” She Melissa called out. “I wasn’t done wearing those!” Catherine stopped. “Good evening, Master!” she chirped. Melissa sounded much brighter and cheerier than she usually did. Normally the woman was relatively reserved. The almost forced happiness in her tone made Melissa’s brain tingle in so many ways. “Did you sleep better?” Melissa stretched and felt oddly refreshed. “Yeah,” she said. “Actually…” she rolled over to get up and froze when she heard the light plastic crinkling. She KNEW that sound. She LOVED that sound. But a part of her FEARED others hearing that sound. Stupidly, as if in a trance, Melissa slid the rest of the way off of her bed. Clinging to her waistbut lightly wet, was what her mind told her was something called a PeekAbu. A drawing of a yellow giraffe with smiling eyes poked its head out shyly just at the waist band. The sizing star on the right told her it was a medium, even though it was a “Size 8” according to the branding. “Why am I wearing a diaper?” The question came out of Melissa’s mouth even as her psyche provided the answer. This morning! The bed! But not her bed! Catherine’s! She could feel her eyes turn rose petal pink. Her own sheets had already been stripped. She’d been sleeping on a bare mattress with a spare comforter! That meant that...that...neither part of her mind wanted to fill in the blanks. Catherine continued to fold sheik black dresses and put them in cardboard boxes. She eyed the vampire with the same casual wariness that all mortals in the know tended to do, but she remained calm. “Your new clothes came in this morning with the diapers, and I’m putting your old ones away until it’s time to put them back on. Is that alright, little Master?” Little Master! Melissa wanted to swoon. Not at the master part, but at being called ‘little’. I’m a good little girl, she thought. Gingerly, her thumb crept up back between her lips. “Yeah. That’s fine, Miss Catherine…” “I put the diaper on because you had another accident in your sleep and I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable. Are you comfortable?” “But how?” Melissa reached down between her legs and squeezed the soggy padding. She knew it was wet only because she had a keen knowledge and memory of what a slightly damp diaper felt like. As far as her skin was concerned, she was wearing regular panties. Thick, crinkly panties that another woman had put her in and taped up for her while she slept. And she was perfectly comfortable. Good little girls use and wet their diapers. They need their diapers, even when they’re asleep. They don’t worry about going to the yucky old potty. As long as they have their diapers they’re perfectly comfortable. “You’re a very deep sleeper, little Master.” Again, Melissa inwardly rejoiced at the l-word. “It’s why you have me here. To protect you.” Melissa sniffed. “Did you use baby powder on me?” She winced. As much as she liked it… “I don’t remember ordering baby powder.” “You forgot a few things that should have been on your list,” Catherine explained. “So I took care of them for you. You forgot some things. Nothing big. Just some silly mistakes. I took care of it.” The vampire’s eyes blinked red. Some primal, undead part of her raged at the idea. Her thrall was correcting her. How dare she-? Good little girls always listened to their Mommies and Daddies. Their Mommies and Daddies take care of them and know what’s best… “Thank you,” Melissa said. She started. “But you’re up,” Catherine said. “So I’ll put away your big girl clothes later.” She strode up to Melissa. “Hmmm...I can’t tell how wet you are. Do you want changed yet?” Good little girls don’t decide when their Mommies and Daddies change them. “No…?” Catherine took her free hand and started leading her out of her bedroom. “I think you’ll be okay for at least one more wetting,” Catherine said. “Or a mess. I can change you then. But let’s get you some breakfast first. How’s that?” ************************************************************************************************************** “Catheriiiiiine!” Melissa’s voice whined out. “Where’s my chicken nuggies!” “Comiiiiing!” Catherine called back, exhausted again. Three days... It had been three days. Three days of changing diapers, and wiping mouths, and feeding bottles. And reading stories AND finding stuffies that were THERE one minute but then dropped and forgotten about the next until an hour later they were the vampire’s favorite thing in the world. Three days of Catherine feeling even more like a servant than she usually did. When she’d peaced together that these Adult Baby fetishists were, she thought this might be an easy week. Oh boy had she been wrong. “Catherine, look at this!” “Catherine watch me!” “Catherine get me grilled cheese!” “Catherine I wanna play a game!” “Catherine where’s my stuffie?” “No, not THAT stuffie!” “I wanna watch more cartoons! Catherine what’s a good cartoon?” “Catherine buy me that! Buy me that!” From one angle, it was like having to be a nanny to a child who could murder her. From another angle it was like having to be an undead monster’s thrall AND wipe her ass for her. Yes, she blushed more and she was unusually cheerful most of the time, but it was no less draining than when Melissa had feasted on an MMA pit fighter and needed a sparring partner. She thought that adult babies were supposed to be submissive! Now, Catherine had learned that there was such a thing as topping from the bottom. Whenever Catherine changed her diaper or fed her a bottle, she got quiet in a weird type of happiness paralysis, but it was like when a lion had you rub her tummy. Purring or not, you didn’t take your eyes off the teeth. When Catherine had been tempted into this service, she practically knew she’d be giving up motherhood...now she wished she had. “CATHERIIIINE! NUGGIES!” Catherine took the plate of chicken nuggets into the T.V. room. It was two in the morning and Melissa was watching the same episode of Vampirina for the seventh or eighth time. She bounced in her highchair, slapping the feeding tray. “NUGGIES! NUGGIES! NUGGIES!” Oh yes, the vampire had an adult sized high chair, now. The entire manor was slowly being converted into a giant daycare. Packages kept arriving at the manor. Not just diapers and clothes either. Highchair. Changing table. Crib. Melissa had ordered them all and it was up to Catherine to assemble them while she slept. All proportional and very very heavy. And then, in a few days when the blood war off, Catherine would have to disassemble them, and fold all the cute big baby clothes and put them off somewhere to be forgotten about or burnt. Then she’d have to get the habits and hobbies of whoever the next victim was. But for tonight, it was just chicken nuggets. Melissa was well into her fourth helping, and had honey mustard and barbecue sauce smeared all over her lips. “Here you are, little Master.” She put the next course of overly processed children’s food on the tray. The babied vampire looked down at them and her face twisted into one of pure disgust. “These aren’t dinosaur shaped!” “We ran out of the dinosaur shaped ones,” Catherine said carefully. “These are still very good. They’ll taste absolutely lovely “I! WANT! DINOSAUR SHAPES!” The strength and speed of the plate being flung against the near wall was practically a lightning strike. The shattering of the dish and the scattering of the chicken rang out like thunder. Melissa had shown such an unpredictable temperament before. Under most circumstances, Catherine would have been terrified; startled into submission. She should be scrambling to pick up the pieces while saying bright and happy things to appease her master. Catherine knew this. This wasn’t most circumstances, however... Catherine stepped up to the adult sized high chair and waggled her finger. “Nnnno!” She sounded like she was scolding a puppy. “Nnno! Bad girl!” Was there really that much difference between one and the other? “Bad girl?” Melissa echoed. She looked spooked. Genuinely hurt. Hurt! Yes! That was something she’d read about. Something Catherine hadn’t done yet. With as much courage as she could muster, the middle aged woman unclicked the tray off of the high chair and tossed it onto the floor. “Bad girl? What are -?” Before the vampire could react, Catherine grabbed her by the ear and started dragging her out onto the couch. It felt like her heart was about to explode. She was grabbing a tiger by the tail and hoping it thought it was a kidden. “Bad girl! We do not throw our food!” Spurred on by her own momentum, Catherine sat down on the sofa. Incredibly, her vampire master followed, splaying across the heavy set woman’s lap. Only one thing left to do. “NO!” She slapped the immortal’s padded bottom as hard as she could. “NO! BAD GIRL!” The sound was impressive, but from the cushion and the pulp from the diaper, Catherine knew it couldn’t have hurt too badly. Even real children required more than a few swats to leave a mark. A nigh invincible predator wouldn’t feel a thing. Except...the most miraculous thing happened. Melissa started to cry. She started to wail and bawl and squirm in Catherine’s lap. And even though she could likely bench press a grown-man, she screamed and mewled impotently. So what did Catherine do? She kept spanking the brat of course! ************************************************************************************* Bad little girls get spankings! Bad little girls get time outs! Bad little girls lose their Mommy’s and Daddy’s love! Being a bad little girl was the worst of all possible worlds! Those words, unprompted, were racing and raging through Melissa’s skull. She couldn’t help it! When the words came to her, even if they weren’t her words they were said in her voice. They were the same words that told her if she wanted to be good she shouldn’t use the potty and shouldn’t hold it in. They were the same words that told her to eat in her highchair and watch cartoons. The same words that made her want chicken nuggies and cuddles and attention. Ooooh the attention! Now she was getting attention; the wrong kind of attention. The words were screaming inside her own skull, with Melissa powerless to stop them. Her body was unimpressed with the flurry of blows raining down on her diapered bottom. The words in her mind, however, insisted that they hurt. So they did. Like a steak being driven through her heart. “NOOOOOOOOOOOOO! STOOOOOOOP!” “You’ve had this coming for a long time, little missy!”, Catherine yelled. She didn’t let up for an instant. “A! VERY! LONG! TIME!” Little! She was little! Helpless! A baby! A bad baby! A bad little girl! NO! Melissa had wanted to be good! She hadn’t meant to be bad! She was trying to be good! She just thought that doing what she wanted to do all the time was good! She wasn’t being mean on purpose! She just needed someone to tell her what good and bad was! She just needed...she just needed a …. “Moooooooommmeeeeeeee!” Melissa wailed, kicking feebly over Catherine’s lap. “Pleeeeease! I’ll be good!” The spanking paused. Melissa could feel Catherine peering down at the back of her head; could feel the spanking hand still raised, ready to strike. “What did you call me?” Like an owl, Melissa turned her head all the way around. Despite being something no human could do, she felt weak and helpless in the normal woman’s lap. “Mommy?” A bizarre glint came to the woman’s eyes. “Yes,” she smiled. “Yes you did. Now, are you going to be a good little girl for Mommy or am I going to have to spank you some more and put you in time out?” Time out?! Not time out?! Not more spanking! Be a good girl! Good girls listened to their Mommy! “I’m going to be a good girl.” The predator brain inside the vampire realized how hard Mommy’s heart was pounding, but the thousand pounds of kink and conditioning that was piled up on top attributed it to excitement rather than fear. “You’ve made quite a mess of everything,” Mommy said. “After I change you and put you into a clean onesie, you’re going to clean up your mess.” Mommy started standing up. Reflexively, Melissa made herself lighter. Mommy noticed. “Good girl.” The words were music to Melissa’s ears. The only thing better was what came next: “Let’s get you into a nice dry diaper.” “Yes Mommy…I’m sorry Mommy.” Mommy repositioned her and started patting her on the back on the way to the changing table. “I know you are, Melissa. I know you are.” She sounded kind of sad, actually. “You’re nothing if not sincere when you’re like this.” “I just wanted…” Melissa stumbled. “I didn’t mean to be bad...I just wanted…” What was the word. “Attention?” Mommy offered. “Yeah…” “Hmmmm…..” Melissa heard Mommy smiling, her ears literally pricking up at the upturning of her lips. “I think I might have an idea…” ****************************************************************************************************** Lorraine Schmitt stood shaking in her shoes. What kind of fucked up place was this? On the outside it was an impressive estate; upper echelon on the edge of the city. And on the inside? On the inside it was a dream come true. Just the wrong dream….the dream Lorraine never would have told anyone. A play pen. A ball pit. A walker. A bouncer. A playmat for tummy time and one with a mobile. A rocking horse. A sit and spin. A tricycle. A frankly absurd amount of non-choking toys. This place had a baby; just one that was much bigger than usual. That’s how the fantasy went. That’s how Lorraine’s fantasies went. A giant nursery for a giant baby that was already done growing up. Usually run by an idle rich person with too much money and love to give who would just love to spoil a little girl rotten. Lorraine wasn’t really a little girl, not by most definitions. But since she started those self-hypnosis tapes, it was getting easier and easier for her to think of herself as one. Especially in her nursery at home...her nursery that now perfectly paled in comparison to this palatial wonderland. It was better than even Capcon. This place was so big it could be it’s own ABDL convention center. “And this is the kitchen,” the client, a Miss Catherine O’Hara finished the tour. “Any questions?” “Um…” Lorraine choked out, “What does this have to do with insurance?” She was playing dumb out of self-preservation and habit more than anything. “Oh? That?” the middle-aged, slightly overweight woman said. “That was a lie just to get you here.” “Why do you want me here?” “Because,” Miss O’Hara said. “I’ve already got one lovely little girl. I thought I could use a second.” Little girl! She was a little girl! She wanted to be a good girl! A good girl! The insurance agent bit her tongue, doing her best to block out the voice in her head that sounded so much like her own. “I’m not running an adoption agency…” Miss O’Hara let out a little growl. “Fine, little miss. We’ll do this the hard way.” Her voice went into a high, playful musical tone. “You can either come with me and get everything you ever wanted like a good girl.” Her voice lowered back down, “Or you can be a bad girl and after I spank you and put you in time out, I’ll tell everyone you know know about your nursery and diapers at home. Lorraine nearly fell over, feeling like her brain was on fire. So many of her trigger words set off at once! It was almost too much to stand. This wasn’t supposed to happen! Not until she found someone to trust! Not until she was ready to be little full time with someone. This wasn’t real! It couldn’t be! It was like...it was like so many of the stories that she read online. “The hypno recordings you’ve been playing in your sleep are quite a doozy,” Miss O’Hara cooed. “Poor thing. I’m very sorry it’s going this way. But I’m a little short on time. I’ve only got a night or two left, you see.” Lorraine almost collapsed from excitement and mental exhaustion. Her walls wouldn’t last long. They weren’t meant to. “Please…” “Of course,” Miss O’Hara said. “Of course I’ll please you. Mommy will take care of you. Good good, care.” Mommy! She had to be a good girl for Mommy! “Stand up, dear, Mommy can’t carry you.” On wobbly, Bambi-like legs, Lorraine was being led deper into the house. She couldn’t resist; not enough of her wanted to. How did one fight against their wildest dreams when the alternative was one of their darkest nightmares. “That’s right. Come with me to the nursery. Then we’ll get you into a nice dry diaper.” Diapers! She needed diapers! Good girls wore their diapers! A wet patch blossomed between her legs. Her bladder wasn’t even waiting for her to be wrapped up and secure in crinkling plastic. “Why...why are you doing this?” Lorraine whimpered. “How do you even know this?” “It’s my job to know such things, little girl,” Miss...Mommy said. “Or it was. If I must confess, I got a little sloppy when I was researching you. Good thing I did. Otherwise I might still have my old job.” “What...what are you talking...?” They were entering a bedroom; an adult baby nursery. Lorraine wasn’t even close to surprised, and only eighty percent of her was thrilled at this. She was powerless to resist when she was boosted onto an ornate adult changing table. “Mommy?” A new voice called out from a darkened corner of the room. “Is that her?” “Yes Melissa,” Mommy said. “But I need to get her changed first. Then you two can get to know each other.” A brick of Lorraine’s willpower fell out of the wall as she started sucking on her thumb. “She really is a baby,” the new voice said. “Just like me.” Mommy yanked the young woman’s pants and underwear off. “Oh you have no idea,” she chuckled. “I think you two will have a lot of fun together.” She was being changed! By someone else! It was finally happening! Finally! She was a good baby! A good girl! Lorraine boosted her hips up so that a thick four taped Bunny Hops could be slid underneath her. That was one of her favorites! How did this woman know? “”I don’t believe in fate,” Mommy said. “But I do believe in happy accidents.” She gently and expertly wiped and powdered Lorraine clean, then brought the diaper up and taped it on. “And you’re going to have a lot more happy accidents, my little girl.” She sat Lorraine back off and removed her bra and blouse from her. “The only hard part for you, I think, is adjusting your sleep schedule. You’ll get used to it though.” “Get used to what?” Lorraine asked, thrilling and hearing the crinkle with her tits out and bouncing. Another woman, another little girl crinkled forward. She was skinnier than Mommy. Taller and paler too. Her long black hair was done up in pigtails, which was funny, because that’s exactly how Lorraine would have styled it if she had hair like this. Same for the use of the dark purple onesie to complement her pallid flesh. She was something of a goth by the looks of it, but definitely still a baby. “So...first thing’s first,” Mommy said. “Lorraine. This is your new sister. You don’t know it, but you’ve been a very positive influence on her this last week. You’re going to continue being a positive influence.” “Yes...Mommy…” Lorraine was already shivering with joy. She was going to be a good girl. She was going to have a sister. She was going to have a Mommy! “Melissa,” Mommy said. “This is your new sister. Whenever you need blood, you feed from her. Not too much though. She’s very delicate. Do you understand?” The paler baby girl smiled. “Yes Mommy. I’ll be super careful.” That’s when the fangs came out… As the fangs sank in and Lorraine started feeling woozy, she heard Mommy coo. “Good girls. Both of you. Forever.”

[New Programming] The link on MistuhGwiffin.web had been safe. Ethan had made sure of that. No viruses, no reports about the link having anything hypnotic. Correction: The link HAD been hypnotic. The whole point of it was to warn free Littles of the latest in hypnotic programming. Pennycade Little., a subsidiary channel of Pennycade was starting to lace in hypnotic images and subliminal suggestions with its programming. That’s what the whispers online told him. Most Amazon stations weren’t stupid enough to put hypnotic messaging on the airwaves. Not only was such a thing against the law, but there’d be no way to tell who it affected. It’d be like firing blindly into a crowd, and Amazons and their children would be just as likely to be confined to diapers as any poor Tweener or Little. Pennycade Little, though, was specifically marketed towards Littles. Round the fish up in a barrel and THEN shoot... Ethan watched the show on his computer, disgusted and uncomfortable the whole time. Disgusted and uncomfortable, but not hypnotized. Carpet Mice was propaganda about a bunch of adopted Littles happily going on “adventures” in their backyard and solving everyday problems like Tweener bullies, but it was nothing too surprising. If anything, it was more progressive than most Amazon shows that depicted Littles. Progressive enough that Ethan did a double take and rewound again and again, just to make sure he’d seen what he’d seen and heard what he heard. Progressive enough that it gave Ethan an idea. ******************************************************************************************************* “Excuse me,” the Amazon said the next day. “Are you wearing a Pull-Up?” The man’s face was big and his smile was gentle. Even though it was the middle of the day, he already had a five o’clock shadow. Instead of seeming unkempt in his suit and tie, Ethan thought it made the man seem more approachable. “I don’t mean to intrude, I just saw it poking out the back of your pants.” His smile turned a bit predatory. “Are you potty training?” Ethan violently shook his head. He went from looking back over his shoulder to fully facing the man waiting for him at the bus stop. “Oh no, sir,” Ethan explained. “I’m a big boy. That’s why I’m wearing a Pull-Up.” He thought about what Charlie had said in that episode of Carpet Mice he’d watched. “Only big boys wear these, and this isn’t a diaper. Babies wear diapers. This is just in case I forget to go po…” Ethan stopped himself, the phrase “potty” too infantile even in a quote. “I’m wearing it as a signal of my maturity, but also just in case…” Behind the big man’s eyes, a light clicked on. “Carpet Mice?” Ethan felt a surge of excitement that he hadn’t expected. “Yeah!” “My baby boy loves that show!” The man beamed. “Hold on, Let me check for you.” Just like Charlie, Ethan found himself spun around, his knees locking while two giant fingers dug into the waistband of his pants and pulled back to get a look inside. Ethan’s lips pouted out, tingling...wanting to suck on something as his dia...as his Pull-Up was checked. His thumb found purchase between the two lips, just as the Pull-Up was snapped back into place. Charlie did it when his Amazon parents were checking his Pull-Up...and he wasn’t a baby...so it must’ve been okay for Ethan to do it, too. “Good boy!” the man said. “Just like Charlie! My baby boy isn’t nearly that big!” More skin tingles as a giant palm descended right on Ethan’s head. Ethan couldn’t help but feel excited and proud of himself. His plan to get more respect from Amazons was really paying off! He couldn’t wait to show up at work and hope other Amazons noticed his Pull-Up. That wouldn’t be happening, however. “You wanna come to my place and watch some more?” “YEAH!” Ethan’s heart started pumping like he was on the world’s best roller coaster. Or so he assumed, since he’d never been tall enough to ride. Dopamine flooded his brain. Why go to work when he could binge his new favorite show with a new friend? The Amazon man reached out. Ethan reached up and took his hand. Together they got on the bus, towards the giant’s apartment. “Jolene,” the man said into his cell phone, “Cancel all my meetings for today.” He looked down and smiled at Ethan. “I’m taking a few days off. Watching T.V. With a Little friend.” “My name’s Ethan,” Ethan told him. “Nice to meet you, Ethan,” the Amazon greeted him. Ethan looked at his phone. “That reminds me, I should call into work and tell them I’m not coming in or something.” “Don’t worry about it,” the other man said. And since he seemed trustworthy, Ethan listened. ********************************************************************************************************* A few hours later, Ethan let out a long and tired yawn. He’d been sitting on the floor, quietly, for what had to have been a couple hours at least. Time really flew when one was binging T.V. Pennycade Littles, as it turned out, had a commercial free streaming service. And so Ethan and [Daddy] had spent the entire afternoon just watching together. The entire first season of Carpet Mice. What a rush! Even though they were fictional cartoons (most likely voiced by Amazon voice actors), Ethan really felt like he understood each of the character’s struggles: Charlie’s fear of change; Timmy’s upbeat attitude in the face of adversity; Bill and Jill showing that boys could be vulnerable and girls could be gross. If anything the gender gap was lessened BECAUSE they were near copies of each other, but that made them have to rely on other characteristics to define themselves by. Even their underwear matched... Ethan got up and stretched, his bones aching. “That was really neat,” he called back over his shoulder. “Thanks for inviting me over and letting me watch!” [Daddy] looked up from his book. “You’re very welcome, Ethan.” At hearing his own name, Ethan blanched. It only now just occurred to him that he didn’t know [Daddy’s] name. [Daddy] had told him, he knew, but he couldn’t quite remember. Everytime he tried to pull the information up, the only word that would come to the Little was [Daddy]. “Ready for a potty break?” “A potty break?” Ethan stuttered. So much was loaded into that question. The asking. The childish labeling of a [potty], just like how the Carpet Mice’s parents used the term. Scariest of all though, was the hidden implication that they weren’t done watching yet. “No thanks,” Ethan said. “I think I’m about done…” [Daddy] put down his book “Are you sure about that? I think you might want to use the washing machine...” Ethan looked down at his pants. The denim was stretched out in the crotch and his pants were sagging. The Pull-Up had expanded, with the wet thing flopping between his thighs, filled to the brim with pee-pee. More than expanded; the darn thing had leaked, and Ethan had the wet spots on his inner legs to prove it. He gasped, but it felt like it was a formality, than a genuine reaction. He’d known that he’d been going pee-pee in his pants. He just thought no one would notice. Ethan had gotten the idea in the second episode when Timmy, trying to be just like his Daddy, said he should stop watching cartoons to go potty. But then Bill and Jill pointed out that he’d been wearing a diaper. “Oh yeah,” Timmy had said. Then he sat back down. Ethan had laughed. It was a funny joke, as well as a decent idea. Since Pull-Ups were for in case he forgot to go potty, it made sense that he could go pee-pee in them and keep watching the next episode. Turns out Ethan had been wrong. “This never happens,” Ethan blushed. “I’m so sorry. Your carpet...I’ll I’ll.” “It’s okay,” [Daddy] said. “We can fix it.” He reached down and yanked Ethan’s jeans down to his ankles. “I’ll just put these in the washing machine.” Before he knew what to say or do, Ethan was on the living room floor, his bottom squishing beneath him as [Daddy] tugged his socks, shoes and pants off him. “MY PANTS!” His objection came out as a shriek. “It’s okay,” [Daddy] shushed. “It’s okay. I’ll just wash these and fix you right up.” Ethan laid there, splay legged, as the Amazon man retreated into the back of his apartment, a brand new pack of diapers in his hands. They were Amazon sized diapers; meaning they’d fit on an Amazon infant or toddler...or a full grown Little. So that’s what he meant by fixing Ethan right up. “I thought your baby boy needed those…” Ethan said, his voice a croaking whisper. “He does,” [Daddy] explained, opening the pack. “But I don’t mind if you wear one.” What next came out of Ethan’s mouth was more unintelligible stuttering and hemming as he tried to think of a way to get himself out of this situation. Big boys didn’t wear diapers. And smart Littles didn’t let Amazons put one on them. “I’m a big boy!” It was the only defense Ethan could muster. [Daddy] smiled like he was reading from a script. “I know you are. But I don’t have any big boy underwear in your size. Just these diapers. He was already removing one and unfolding it. The new packet of wipes was being opened. “So this will have to do until your pants are dry again.” Ethan didn’t want this...not like this! “Charlie’s a big boy, and he wears diapers.” Ethan stopped. His mouth dropped open. “NO HE DOESN’T?” This was fact! This was canon! It’s like the giant hadn’t watched the same cartoon at all! “Doesn’t he?” [Daddy] asked. “He wears Pull-Ups in the first few episodes, but after episode three, that’s clearly a diaper under his baggy shorts.” The Little thought back and swallowed. Hard. [Daddy] was right! The basic character design had remained the same, but there were many many many (many many many) shots in the series confirming the white top of a diaper poking out of Charlie’s pants . Between episodes, Charlie had gone back to diapers. No reason or explanation had been given. Come to think of it there’d been some lines about diaper rash and baby powder Charlie had said that would have made less sense if he’d been wearing a Pull-Up. “O...okay…” Ethan hadn’t even gotten the full word out, when the sides were torn up. A barrage of cold wipes cascaded up and down his nethers, followed by powder and a fresh diaper. It was rough, like [Daddy] was excited but not experienced at this sort of thing. Ethan felt kind of bad for whatever Little this guy had adopted. “Where is your baby boy?” “He’ll be here in a bit,” [Daddy] said. “Wanna watch more cartoons?” Ethan sat up and looked down at himself. “I don’t look like Charlie anymore,” he frowned. He had a t-shirt and a diaper on. Just a t-shirt and a diaper on. Like Timmy. His legs couldn’t help but splay out either. This thing had even less give than his admittedly bulky Pull-Up. Then again, Timmy was the main character… Being like Timmy might not be so bad. He didn’t have to use the potty to stop playing either. That was kind of cool “Wanna watch more cartoons?” [Daddy] repeated. He was already cueing up a new show. Not Carpet Mice “You can sit on my lap.” Ethan agreed, even though he wasn’t sure why. “Why are you putting on those glasses?” he asked [Daddy] as they sat down on his couch. “They’re reading glasses,” [Daddy] said. “They help me see better.” Ethan felt confused as to why someone would need reading glasses to watch television, but his train of thought was immediately pulled off the rails with an admittedly catchy theme song. It never even occurred to the Little boy that he never heard the washing machine turn on... ********************************************************************************************************** “Now I’m 22 Each day I think it’s cool. I’ll never grow-up I’m Ryyyyyyyu! RYYYYYYYU! RYYYYYYYU! I’m RYYYYYYU!” Ethan hated Ryu. The character, not the show. Ehtan loved the show. The next Pennycade Jr. he and [Daddy] had watched together was about a newly adopted [baby] who just couldn’t accept that he was a baby. It was like an animated trainwreck that one just couldn’t look away from. Every episode Ryu was complaining or whining about something. Ryu would whine that he was at daycare instead of his job. Ryu whined that he could dress himself, or that he didn’t need diapers. He would moan and cry and complain about not getting to choose his food or how it was fed to him or what kind of bed he slept in. He’d whine and whine and whine about every Little thing. And in doing so, he seemed all the more babyish. Add to that that Ryu was always wrong- he didn’t know how to dress himself or feed himself or even go to the [potty]- and it made him the perfect role model for how NOT to act around [grown-ups]. The [grown-ups] who took care of Ryu were always very patient. Always willing to explain or wait for Ryu to cry himself out of his tantrum or wait for him to inevitably prove himself wrong and that he really was just a twenty-two year old baby. They were too patient, Ethan thought. That was one [baby] that could use a good spanking, but then there wouldn’t be much of a show, would there? That was a weird thought, Ethan realized. If this bald headed twenty-two year old was a [baby], then what was Ethan at twenty-one? “Heeeere comes the sailboat,” [Daddy] teased as yet another spoonful of [yummy food] made its way across the air. Ethan opened up his mouth and accepted it, even though the food tasted [yummy]. Even though he was on his third jar and his [tummy] was [getting full]. Even though it was getting late. Ethan didn’t want to be a bad guest. He didn’t want to be a bad boy. He didn’t want to be a bad [baby]. “Mmmm! Someone’s hungry.” From the highchair he’d been put in (there was nothing else his size), Ethan nodded. “Yes, Daddy,” he said. “Thank you.” He didn’t really mean it. He was only being a good [baby]. His mouth was smeared with remnants of the three jars of [yummy food]. Save for the diaper he’d um...borrowed...Ethan was naked. “I don’t want to stain your shirt,” [Daddy] explained. “I don’t have a bib, yet.” Sad, because Ethan, or rather the baby boy, probably needed a bib. Daddy seemed just as inexperienced at spoon feeding. Ethan would have insisted on feeding himself, but he hadn’t wanted to be rude. “Why not?” Ethan asked, between swallows. “What what?” [Daddy] repeated the question. “Why don’t you have a bib, Daddy?” Ethan felt a rumble in his [tummy], but ignored it for the question. “For your baby boy?” [Daddy] smiled. “He’s very young,” he explained. “So I haven’t had a whole lot of practice, yet. Thank you, by the way.” “For what?” Ethan asked. The [grown-up] chuckled. “Never mind.” Another spoonful of [yummy food] zig zagged towards Ethan’s mouth. Ethan leaned forward and immediately felt another rumbling in his [tummy]. He had to go [potty]. But just like in Ryu, he knew that would take too long. [Daddy] would have to unbuckle him from the highchair and carry him all the way over to the [potty] and before he’d even gotten there, it would have been too late. But just like how Ryu’s Daddy had explained, Ethan remembered that it’s only too late if you’re trying to go [potty]. [Babies] like Ryu and Ethan, could do it another way. Ethan opened his mouth and accepted another spoonful, and at the same time, he pushed a mess out into the backseat of his diaper. Instead of going on the [potty] like a [grown-up], Ethan [made boom booms] in his diaper, just like Ryu had learned to do last episode. Like Ryu, Ethan teared up a little when he shifted his weight back down into the mush he made, but he wanted to be a good [baby], and not complain. But he didn’t want to be like Ryu, so he kept eating. “Making room?” Ethan nodded. “Uh-huuuuh.” He leaned forward again. There was a little more to push out. [Daddy] put the spoon jar away and gave Ethan more head pats. “Good boy!” Ethan got another round of skin tingles. His lips practically itched for the rubber nipple when the baby bottle was offered to him. Greedily, he sucked the milk down, all whie [Daddy] stared at him from the other side of the highchair; a strange, manic fascination in his eyes. What was that look? Love? Ethan didn’t have any other words to describe is. No one had ever looked at him like that. Just like the full diaper he was now wearing, Ethan found shocking, yet strangely increasingly comfortable. The warm mush on his backside (once it settled in) was kind of nice feeling. So was the look [Daddy] was giving him. As soon as he was done with the bottle, Ethan was taken out of the high chair and draped over the [grown-up’s] shoulder. A few strong pats later, and Ethan knew that he was being burped. “That’s right. Get it all out,” [Daddy] cooed. “Give Daddy all your burpies.” For a split second, Ethan wanted to be like Ryu. He wanted to kick and scream and fuss. But as more and more belches thundered out of him, his tummy hurt less and less. Using his diaper had helped too. It was pretty handy, actually . Very nice. Ethan did feel like Ryu; but more like Ryu at the end of any given episode. “Oh silly me,” [Daddy] said as he carried Ethan around, “I forgot to put your pants in the dryer.” Ethan let out one last burp. “That’s okay,” he said. “I can just get some more when I get home.” The [grown-up] laughed. “Big boys don’t go out in public in just a diaper, do they?” Ethan should have blushed, but he didn’t. Instead he gave the suggestion full and devoted attention. “No, Daddy,” he finally said. “Stay the night.” [Daddy said] “Then we’ll see about your pants tomorrow morning.” Ethan let out a yawn. He was tired. “Okay,” he said. []Daddy] laid him down on a [grown-up] sized bed and was changing Ethan’s diaper a minute later. He was slower this time. More careful. Less afraid. The cold wipes felt good on Ethan’s bum. The baby powder was a nice contrast to the poopy diaper that had just been balled up. A soft smile spread over Ethan’s face as the new diaper was put on him and taped up; making him feel super snug and cuddly “You’re getting better at this.” Ethan yawned. “Thank you,” [Daddy] replied. “I’m trying.” Ethan’s lips started itching. “You’re baby boy is lucky to have you,” Ethan said. His thumb went back into his mouth. It almost felt like it belonged there. [Daddy] pulled Ethan’s thumb out and popped a pacifier in its place. That felt pretty good too. “You have no idea how much that means,” [Daddy] whispered. Ethan just sucked on the pacifier in reply. His eyelids had already begun to droop. “Go to sleep,” Daddy whispered as he lowered Ethan into a tiny cot by the [grown-up] bed. We can watch some more cartoons in the morning, and then go for a walk. That sounded like a nice idea. A very nice idea. ********************************************************************************************************** “GOOO-GOOO-GAAA-GAAAA-GAAA!” Ethan shouted between pulls from his [ba-ba]. His entire brain felt tingly every time he said it or some other bit of babble. “DA-DA-DA-DA-DA!” [Daddy] carried him along, beaming with every bit of nonsense that Ethan’s mouth conjured. This morning, [Daddy] had forgone Pennycade Littles and turned popped in a DVD into the T.V. set. “These next few are classics,” he said. Classics, indeed! Watching them filled Ethan up with laughter and awe. Slapstick! Drama! Who would have thought that watching a cartoon cat and mouse chase each other around, with nary a word said between them could be so gosh darn entertaining! Just an appreciation of the craft that it must have taken to tell such stories with no spoken words beyond the occasional “OOOOOOOOOOW” made it worth it. He’d laughed so hard at parts, that he’dneeded an extra diaper change! At present, Ethan was doing his best impression of the cat. “OOOOO-DA-DA-DA-DA-DAH!” After a few shorts, the cat had been put in diapers. He was the same size he’d always been, and that annoying mouse was always bothering him, but ever afterwards in the shorts, he’d been clothed in a diaper, booties, and a bonnet; just like Ethan. Ethan couldn’t help but feel fancy, being dressed like such a famous cartoon character- even if he’d never seen the character before today. Still, it was good fun to be carried around, looking [cute], drinking from his [ba-ba] and not using any real words. If the cartoons had taught him one thing, it was that words were overrated. “Ethan?” a new, yet strangely familiar voice called up to him in [Daddy]’s arms. “Ethan is that you?” Ethan looked down. There below him, just by [Daddy]’s legs were three [babies] just like him. No. Not like him. Not like him at all! They weren’t wearing diapers. They didn’t have a [grown-up] taking care of them. If anything they were just like those mean cats that made fun of and hurt the [baby] cat! They were...they were…[meanies]! “Holy shit!” Another [meany] said, squinting his eyes up at Ethan. “That is Ethan! Ethan, what did they do to you? “Hello there,” [Daddy] smiled down at the [meanies]. “Can I help you?” “WE’RE NOT TALKING TO YOU!” The first [meanie] said. “WE’RE TALKING TO ETHAN!” Then in a softer, nicer voice, the [meanie] asked. “Ethan? Are you alright? Do you need help?” Ethan opened his mouth to speak, but how his voice caught up in his throat. He didn’t want to answer them! He didn’t want to use words So great were his emotions that spoken words were just this side of impossible. He was afraid of these small things that looked so similar to him but were not at all like him. HE WAS AFRAID! Oh how these terrible [meanies] would laugh at him! They would coo and mock him for being a [baby]! They would pinch his cheeks too hard and rock him too hard and toss him in the air until he bumped his head. They would change him too rough and hit him with mallets and put things in his diaper and step on his head! And then [Daddy] would find out he would be mad! The front of Ethan’s diaper started warming, going from nice and dry to soaked in an instant! HE FELL IN THE FISHBOWL! JUST LIKE IN THE OLD CARTOON! “WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Ethan’s bellowing was loud and unrepentant. Tears danced down his cheeks as his eyes made their own personal rain cloud. “DAAAAAAAA-DAAAAAAAA!” Ethan didn’t care that he was crying. It didn’t matter to him that such a short time ago he might die of embarrassment in a situation like this. He would do anything ANYTHING to make those [meanies] go away! He was a [baby]! He needed [Daddy] to look after him and get him sorted out. [Daddy] would protect him! [Daddy] would make it go away! [Daddy] did. “If you gentlemen are quite through, you’re scaring my baby boy.” “Your baby boy is our friend, jerkwad!” One of the [meanies] snapped. “DAAAAAAAA-DAAAAAAAA!” [Daddy] slipped his fingers past the leakguards of Ethan’s diaper and felt around. “Oh, is that what you’re crying about?” he asked. Ethan didn’t have the words, so he let his tears do the talking. “Excuse me,” Daddy said moving over to a public bench. “I need to change him. You understand.” They didn’t seem to understand, though. [Meanies] never understood. They just stood by and gawked while [Daddy] took care of Ethan. [Daddy] was very good at changing Ethan, now. Very gentle. Very good. He was careful to get all the little folds in Ethan’s skin so he wouldn’t get a rash. All Ethan had to do was lay back, put the paci that was dangling from his mouth, and make cute gurgling noises while [Daddy] did all the work. And unlike the [meanies], Daddy could change Ethan by himself. If the [meanies] had tried they’d have had to work together to manage. One to hold Ethan down, while another wiped and changed him while the third dug through Ethan’s diaper bag and handed wipes and powder and oil off to the leader. And the whole thing would have hurt, too. Because just like cats in the cartoon; even though they looked like Ethan, the [meanies] weren’t anything like him in real life. They were just….just….mean! “ETHAN!” one of them screamed. “Snap out of it, dude! This isn’t you! You’re not a baby! YOU’RE! NOT! A! BABY!” “HAAHHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHA!” Ethan couldn’t help giggling so; [Daddy] was blowing raspberries on his [tummy]. “I better stop,” [Daddy] joked, “or I’ll have to change you again!” The [meanies] looked like they wanted to hurt [Daddy] “What did you do to him?” Ethan went back up into [Daddy]’s arms, where he belonged. [Daddy] smiled back down at them. “I didn’t do anything to him,” he told them. “We just watched some cartoons together.” Suddenly the [meanies] didn’t look quite so mean or scary. They looked sad. Sad and very, very afraid. The [meanies] walked away, muttering stupid words under their breath. All words were stupid. “I told him not to look at that link!” one of them said to his friends. “I told him! Those cartoons will rot your brain!” Ethan buried his head into [Daddy]’s shoulder and made cute noises for him. He didn’t use words He didn’t need them: The words or those [meanies] that thought he was their friends used were pointless. [Meanies] and [babies] could never be friends. The only friends Ethan could have were other [babies], and that’s only if [Daddy] was okay with it. “Come on, baby boy,” Daddy whispered. “Let’s go to the dentist. Daddy knows the perfect one. They’ve got some great cartoons over there.” ******************************************************************************************************** Ethan woke in a haze, his head feeling unusually heavy and his mouth hurting something awful. Eyes still closed, he sucked on his pacifier, his rubber taste and softness somewhat soothing to his aching gums. There had been more cartoons. So much more. And just like [baby] in the last one he’d watched before falling asleep in the dentist’s office, Ethan knew that he was supposed to suck on his pacifier. He’d suck and suck and suck until a [grown-up] took the binky out of his mouth. Then he’d be able to use his not words to tell [Daddy] how much he loved him and needed him, and how wet and mushy his diaper felt. But he had to be quiet now. It was quiet time. It was sleepy time. Ethan new this as surely as he knew what the back of his eyelids looked like. “NO! PLEASE NO! I’M NOT A BABY! I’M NOT A BABY!” That made Ethan’s eyes pop right open. [Babies], dozens of them! All over the place. Everywhere his eyeballs looked he saw [babies], just like him. Some were in strollers. Some were in their [Mommy or Daddy]’s arms. Some wore onesies, some wore dresses. Some were talking. Others were crying. Many were sucking on pacifiers, just like Ethan. And bit by bit, Ethan realized, they were getting in line. [Grown-ups] were taking their [babies] out of their cars and getting in line. [Daddy] was getting into line, too. “PLEASE DON’T DO THIS TO ME! PLEASE DON’T ADOPT ME!” Ethan tried to look around more, but it was so hard to move his head. It felt so heavy like a ton of bricks had taken up space inside his brain. He tried to move and stretch his legs but found out that he couldn’t. He was all wrapped up in a [blankie] in [Daddy’s] arms. Swaddled. “PLEEEEEEEASE!” “Hey baby.” [Daddy] cooed. “Did you have a nice nap? I bet you did! You slept through your entire dentist appointment all the way here. Don’t worry, though. You’ll never have to go to the dentist again. Daddy made sure of it.” What that meant exactly flew straight (and perhaps mercifully) over Ethan’s head. “I’M NOT A-” Finally, the screaming [baby] was silenced when her [Mommy] jammed a pacifier into her mouth. “Sounds like somebody needs some cartoons,” Daddy chuckled, shaking his head. “Speaking of which…” Daddy took out his phone and pressed some buttons on it. He plugged some earbuds into the phone and rested it just in front of Ethan’s face. Ethan would be the only one able to see whatever [Daddy] was about to show him. “One last video,” [Daddy] whispered, slipping in the earbuds. “One last cartoon and you’ll be Daddy’s perfect baby boy.” [Daddy] gave Ethan a big sloppy kiss on the forehead and pressed play. The cartoon wasn’t even a cartoon, this time. Just a bunch of swirling colors and shapes. No plot or characters to speak of. No music either. Just a long, boring, drawn out tone. Had Ethan been able to move, he might have looked away or pulled the earbuds out. Bundled up as he was, cradled in [Daddy]’s arms and with the screen right in front of him, though. Ethan couldn’t look away, even if he wanted to. And he didn’t want to. Within a few seconds, he’d forgotten that that was a conscious choice he could have made. The very concept of consciousness was becoming lost to him. The world was becoming a lot simpler, and a lot smaller. Pain, pleasure, happiness, sadness, hunger, discomfort. That was it. That, and [Daddy]. Given a few weeks, he might be able to re-learn a few basic words if he heard them often enough. Including “Ethan”, but that was it. Everything else? Everything before [Daddy] and the cartoons? That was all going...going….the [baby] didn’t even have the proper words for it anymore. He didn’t have words at all. His last thoughts that could be construed as coherent would have been “Daddy, hel-!” (All because of a few cartoons.)

Little Gin-Gin's Trip to the Mall *this is only the first out of many to come* ooOoo Chapter 1: “Is my little Gin-gin excited to meet Santa!?” her mommy asked, gasping as if she were surprised. From their place in line, she could see about fifty other adult-babies with their mommies and daddies. Some eagerly awaited to meet the fat, white-haired man in the red suite while others sulked, mortified at the prospect of having to sit on a grown-man's lap in front of a crowd of strangers. “Are you going to tell Santa everything you want for Christmas?” the woman bounced her in her arms, squeezing the back of her thick oversized diaper. Crinkling loudly, Ginny didn’t give it a second thought. Her self worth had been lost a long time ago. No longer did she care who saw her naked or diapered. The mall, possibly the most public place you could be seen in, was where they were. Deck the Halls played loudly over the speakers and littles gathered around the large sparkly Christmas tree, eagerly watching the train go round and round in circles. The general atmosphere was a happy one. Holiday music filled the air as people did last minute Christmas shopping, dragging their littles in tow or dropping them off at the mall daycare. Ginny couldn’t help but blush as her mommy, placed a big sloppy wet kiss on her cheek. Her eyes drifted down, catching just a hint of the white diaper, peeking out from her frilled, velvety red dress. Soleless, shining black Mary Jane’s were strapped onto her feet and ruffled white socks that went up to almost her knees. The girl was convinced that dress up was her mommy’s favorite part of the day. Never was she to look less than her best, which meant looking the most little she could be. There was a time when she would’ve rebelled. There was a time she would've screamed and cried, refusing to leave the house until her mommy had to drag her out. But that time had passed and now she had resigned herself to the fact that she was never escaping. All she could do was suck it up and pretend. Good girls were rewarded with treats. Naughty girls received spankings. That was something she did not want. Next in line, a feeling of fear suddenly formed in the pit of her stomach. Gripping onto the front of her mommy’s shirt, the ginger-haired girl hid her face in the woman’s warm, soft bosom, tightening her legs around her waist. Laughs were heard as her mommy kissed her head, and they were called up. The fake Santa gave a friendly smile, motioning for them to come forward. “Ohhh, is the baby shy?” a worker cooed, approaching them. He was dressed as an elf with big ears, pointy shoes and a pointy hat. “Why doesn’t mommy come up with us! You wouldn’t want Santa to forget any presents, would you?” Could Santa grant her her freedom? Could Santa give her a phone so she could call the police and escape this place? The answer was no. There was nothing Santa could give her. They didn’t wait for an answer and her heart skipped a beat as she was taken from the warmth of her mommy’s arms. It was sickening how much she had begun to depend on her. A high pitched squeal escaped her lips as she was placed on the man’s lap, pressed against his beer belly. It didn’t surprise her at how she fit perfectly snug on his lap and he held onto her waist, ensuring she didn’t slip off. “Well, hohoho! You can call me Santa, what's your name?” the man asked in a loud jovial voice, his breath smelling of mint. His long beard tickled her skin leaving her wanting to pull on it. “M-mommy cawl me, Gin-gin ow Ginny!” as she spoke, drool dribbled from her mouth, and if the Santa imposter noticed or cared, he didn’t show it. Beside them, her mommy beamed, taking numerous pictures on her phone. Ginny knew that when spoke it either had to be in her baby voice or she was to stay silent. She had worked hard to perfect the high and squeaky voice, but her inability to pronounce words came naturally after over half of her teeth were removed and twisted around in her mouth. Was she in constant immense pain? Yes. Did her mommy care? No. She thought her speech impediment was cute and teethers had become her new best friend. Plus the constant drooling that resulted from the procedure was an extra bonus. “Well, Gin-gin, have you been a good or a naughty girl?” “Goo’!” she squealed, bouncing lightly in his lap, much to the enjoyment of everyone watching. In another life, she could’ve been an actress. That’s how good she was at pretending. “Why don’t you tell Santa what you want for Christmas.” She leaned forward, smelling the faintest whiff of cinnamon and cupped her hand around his ear, coming up with things on the spot. “My elves down at the North Pole are working very very hard to prepare. I can promise that you are going to have a very happy Christmas.” She continued to smile, giggling at all the right moments as she sucked on her fingers. A woman elf stood behind the camera, making funny faces as they did with all littles to get them to smile. Ginny beamed, making sure to show her toothless mouth as the pictures were taken. Beside them stood Jill Anderson, usually a stern woman, but today unusually happy. The woman already knew what her Christmas cards were going to be as she glanced down at her little’s exposed diaper, rapidly turning yellow, and she didn’t even realize. This year was going to be a great Christmas. ooOoo A/N: Hey! I just wanted to do a quick Christmas one shot, since the holidays are coming up!! For those who don’t remember or didn’t read it, Ginny was the new nurse from Emmy’s story who was taken and regressed by Jill Anderson, the mean nurse. I will be doing more of these quick one shots for the other characters I’ve created in this Little Beginnings universe! Hope you enjoy and happy holidays to everyone celebrating Christmas and Hanukkah!

(Monday Night) “Produced by the Yamatoa Anti-Tourism Board,” Clementine read the opening credits of the documentary and pressed pause. “Paul, this better not be some bullshit hypnosis video we’ve been sent.” She looked up at the man mountain on the couch next to her. Paul, an Amazon, leaned forward on the couch and uncovered his eyes. Unlike Clementine, Paul’s feet reached the floor when he was sitting on their couch, and he didn’t need a footstool to sit on it. Everything outside of Clementine’s room was Amazon sized. The price of having an Amazon roommate. “You’re guess is as good as mine, Clem.” He scratched his thinning head of raven hair. “I just got this in the mail. Thought you’d want to scan it with me.” The mysterious DVD HAD been addressed to Paul. If it had been addressed or referenced Clementine in any way, it would have been snapped in half and burned out of hand. Strangers didn’t send movies to Littles in good faith. “Fine, but if it’s a cartoon or I start sucking my thumb, we’re trashing it immediately.” “Same,” Paul agreed. Clementine shot him a look. “What?” Paul held up his hands in a defensive gesture. “Not a joke. Amazons are just as susceptible to hypnosis as Littles. Remember that Carpet Mice episode I watched for you? ‘Little Accidents Happen’? I was a bedwetter for almost a week after that.” Clementine thought about that week. So that’s why Paul had acted so strangely. “You never told me that part.” Crimson cheeks contrasted with midnight hair. “I was embarrassed,” he admitted. “I would be too,” Clementine admitted. She looked down at her jeans. Her anti-babying belt was still locked into place. Nervously, she fiddled with the lock keeping her pants buttoned. It was small enough that a giant’s fat fingers would be unable to properly press the release button and strong enough that none of them would get a peek inside her panties without a serious fight. They could still be cut off or torn loose with enough effort, but no Amazon was going to “just check”. It’s not that Clementine didn’t trust Paul. She just hadn’t taken it off when she got home from work. She rarely did. Keeping her pants tight came just as naturally to her as wearing a bra or tying her shoes. “No,” Paul said. “You wouldn’t have been. That shit was so powerful it would have bowled you over and you would have come looking for the nearest Amazon to help.” Clementine rolled her eyes. Amazons, even the well meaning ones like Paul, were so privileged sometimes. “I thought you said you big strong Amazons were just as hypnotizable as us poor weak defenseless Littles.” “Shit,” Paul cursed under his breath. “Sorry, that’s not what I meant. What I meant was that when I woke up in a wet bed, my brain was telling me that it was normal for a Little to wet the bed, and good Littles only had to find a helpful Amazon to make it all better.” “But you’re not a Li-” Clementine stopped herself. “Oooooooh. That’s how you knew your head was being screwed with.” Your average Amazon hypno-propaganda was so specific and targeted that there was room for cognitive dissonance to wriggle its way back in under the right circumstances. Clementine had dodged a similar bullet when after screening a movie that she’d had an overwhelming urge to call Paul ‘Mommy’. Yay Amazonian sexism and poorly designed subliminal content. She’d called out of work sick that day. That’s why the roommates usually watched this kind of thing in shifts. If Clementine went under, Paul could just do his level best to ignore her or treat her like the adult she was until she snapped out of it. No level of hypnosis was so strong that it stuck permanently after one dose. Hypnosis was like booze in that way: Different tolerances for different brains, but no one was going to die of alcohol poisoning after a single shot. People’s brains were more resilient than they expected. Prolonged exposure would give you liver poisoning, though, and if someone poured enough vodka down your gullet all at once and you’d be in for a hurting; brain damage if not brain death. “Do you mind if I isolate for this?” Paul asked. The movie, a documentary about the dreaded country where Littles checked in but did not check out by the looks of it, was still on pause. It hadn’t even reached the title card. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” Clementine tried to joke. “Got a feeling they’re gonna turn you into a Daddy?” In theory, it wasn’t impossible for hypno-propaganda to be targeted specifically at Amazons. An Amazon could be mind fucked into thinking that Littles were babies just as easily as a Little could get their eggs scrambled into believing that they were babies themselves, but Clementine didn’t believe it was a regular thing. Why would ninety percent of Amazons feel the need to hypnotize the ten percent that disagreed with them? Paul had often debated the accuracy of those numbers, but Clementine’s point still stood: From day one, Amazons were told explicitly and implicitly that Littles were basically babies, and society had been set up for them to make that the truth. Amazons didn’t need to be hypnotized, they were already largely indoctrinated. That didn’t stop Paul from walking out of the room whenever one of those obnoxious Monkeez commercials with the Littles and babies side by side came on. If diaper commercials aired on network T.V. were supposed to hypnotize her, they were doing it wrong. The Little woman felt like slitting her wrist every time she saw someone her own age or older waddling around on screen, dressed up in a pirate hat and saggy padding as a corny voice warned about the danger of leaks on the high seas. She’d die first before letting some Mommy or Daddy take her to be their Little doll. She’d kill first. Murder whatever Amazon was fool enough to put her in a crib and lean down for a kiss. Tear out their fucking jugular with her teeth. “Fine,” Clementine said. “I’d rather watch this and have to sit on the toilet all day tomorrow than lock and barricade my door.” Whenever Paul got like this- worried that he might be compromised- it was standard procedure for Clementine to lock herself in her bedroom and be ready to bug out at the first sign that he’d want to baby her. Paul was one of the few Amazons in Clementine’s life who was worth a damn. He’d never once suggested that he baby her. Not so much as a plastic sheet or a booster seat. Still...Clementine would be lying if she said she wasn’t relieved that her window was next to a fire escape.” Her roommate looked relieved. Hurt. But also relieved. “Thanks, Clem. I’ll keep an ear out and check in on you. If you don’t answer back or I hear anything, I’m coming running and pulling the plug.” “Deal.” Paul excused himself. Clementine pressed play. (Tuesday Morning) “How was it?” Paul asked at breakfast. Sitting on her stack of old phone books, Clementine stirred her instant oatmeal. “Well, it was depressing, that was for sure. Enlightening, but depressing.” “Yeah?” Paul said, spooning up his own brown and sugared mush. “Learn anything interesting?” “Only that Yamatoa as a culture is way more racist than I initially thought.” Paul nodded in that way that people did where they didn’t know what question to ask or what else to add, but they wanted to be involved in the conversation. Yamatoa was peculiar in Amazonian cultures. Various countries had different policies on what constituted a “legal” adoption, but Yamatoa was easily the most extreme. Every Little that crossed into the country’s borders had to be babied and diapered by law. Even tourists. Even Littles whose plane made an ‘unscheduled’ pit stop for ‘refueling’. Yamatoa was where the worst of Amazons went so they could kidnap and baby Littles with impunity. “Yeah?” Clementine swept her bangs away from her forehead, something she usually did when she was stressed, (which was a lot). “Did you know that the Yamatoan Emperor imposed that law as a way to, and I quote ‘keep Amazonian blood pure’. Fucker hated Tweeners and Littles so much that he wanted to control Little reproductive rights.” She took another spoonful. “Shiiiiiit.” Paul just shook his head. “I never thought of it that way. Littles who never grow up never have kids.” It was like a gentle kind of genocide. Thankfully Paul was aware enough not to voice those feelings out loud. Clementine let out a sigh. “And it’s depressing as anything. So many interviews with Littles who were just aware enough to give their side of the story. One guy was kidnapped and taken over to Yamatoa. Nobody would extradite him. When they’re done reprogramming him, his Mommy is gonna take him back and there’ll be nothing anybody can do about it because our country recognizes adoptions made in Yamatoa.” Paul frowned. “How long is that gonna be?” His roommate put her hand to her stomach. Sympathy pains perhaps. “He shit himself in the middle of the interview and kept going like he didn’t even notice. Just squatted down and messed his shorts. Then stood up and kept talking.” She blinked. “He might be back here already for all I know.” “And they put that on camera?” . “Yeah. Really depressing stuff. Kind of makes you wonder what the point of fighting it is.” Paul reached across the breakfast table and patted Clementine on the hand. “Don’t talk like that. People like us can make a difference. If that documentary showed how awful things are, then it’s up to us to make it less awful.” He drew back his hand. “At least it wasn’t a video about Maturosis.” Clementine spit out a mouthful of oatmeal back into her bowl. “Fuuuuck that.” She reached for a paper towel and wiped her mouth. Her words were harsh, but her tone was a bit jovial. “I thought there were some things we didn’t talk about in this apartment.” “Yeah,” Paul grinned. “But it snapped you out of your funk, didn’t it?” Maturosis was a craze that may have started here on the West Coast, but it had taken root and spread like wildfire back East. It was eugenics disguised as science and oppression framed as compromise. Summed up: Littles had a genetic predisposition towards acting like babies and if this predisposition expressed itself, it was every compassionate Amazon’s duty to baby them not because the Amazon wanted to or was cosseting, but because it was what the Little’s own ‘Developmental Plateau’ required. Paul, Clementine, and the rest of their friends at the Rowanton Adult Society agreed that it was the most ridiculous thing they’d ever heard. Such bullshit. The whole thing was a racket that excused bad behavior from Amazons by putting the blame on victimized Littles. What did the Little deserve to be put back in a nursery? Surely, it was their Maturosis flaring up. Meanwhile it was an incentive for every other Little to dissociate from each other, as one ‘symptom’ of Maturosis was a subconscious desire to associate with other regressed Littles. Babies wanted to play with other babies or some such. Not that Paul needed to express it to Clem. She’d been nice enough and patient enough to teach him. Now it was his job to teach others of his height. Clementine took another couple of spoonfuls of oatmeal. “Good point. At least it’s not any of that Little Voices bullshit. So fucking demeaning.” Little Voices had jumped on the bandwagon and promoted the Maturosis brand with gusto. They got to look like the good guys because they promoted more subtle forms of abuse than just plopping a Little in front of a hypno-screen or leaving them in shitty diapers or beating them till they broke. They’d received tons of Little Voices promotions over the last few months. Correction: Their wastebasket had received tons of promotions. It looked like the monster was trying to head home. “Do you mind doing the dishes for me?” Clementine hopped off her phone books and stood up on the chair. “I don’t wanna be late for work.” It was Paul’s day off of work so he didn’t mind. “Fine, but that means you’re on for after dinner.” “Deal.” Her floral print dress fluttered a bit when she hopped down to the floor. “Do you think I should watch?” “Only if you want to feel the opposite of ‘good’.” “I got nothing better to do,” Paul said. “Then give it a watch.” Clementine started to walk out of the kitchen. Paul arched an eyebrow when he saw her not make a right at her bedroom. “Uh, Clem?” She stopped. “What’s up?” “You’re not wearing any shorts under your dress, are you?” Clementine arched an eyebrow. “No. Why? Can you see anything?” He couldn’t but that wasn’t the point. “You’re not wearing any pants right now? And you’re going out? To work?” The Little looked down at herself. She lifted up the hem of her dress at the ankle. Her legs bear beneath it. “Yeah? So? I’m covered up.” The dress was indeed modest, but something didn’t sit right with Paul. “Yeah, but you can’t fit that fancy belt lock thing of yours over a dress and have it do anything. Can you. What if some Maternalist decides to...” he stopped and snapped the back of his own jeans to illustrate, “...you know?” Clementine blinked. “Oh yeah,” she said. “I guess I guess I just forgot.” She dipped into her room. Not even two minutes later she was out. “Got a pair of shorts and my belt.” She lifted up the hem of her dress to show. Paul, being a gentleman, fought the urge to look away. “Thanks for looking out.” “No prob.” That was weird, Paul thought as he cleaned up the dishes and rinsed them in the sink. Clementine was normally way more careful than that. ‘Careful’ wasn’t the word for it. ‘Paranoid’ was a more apt descriptor of her. Rowanton was super progressive as Amazon cities went, with restrictive adoption laws that made it not worth most Amazon’s time. Most Amazons who had their diapered dolls came from afar and got grandfathered in. Maybe that documentary she’d watched into the wee hours of the morning had done something to her. That was unlikely, though. There’d been none of the signs: No bed wetting or accidents, no childish lisps, or slips and calling him ‘Daddy’. No strange addictive compulsions (a common feature to ensure repeated viewing). No tics like thumb sucking. She’d made a tiny mess with the oatmeal, but she’d taken care of it immediately and it was his fault for getting her to do a spit take. More than likely she’d just been a bit depressed and sleep deprived. It happened. It was her right. So after he’d cleaned the dishes up and gotten himself a soda, Paul plopped down on the couch, turned on the old DVD player, and pressed ‘play’. (Wednesday evening) “Okay everyone,” Clementine spoke into the microphone. “Take your seats.” The Rowanton Adult Society came to order. The gathered crowd of Littles, Tweeners and yes, more than a few Amazons quieted and sat down, Amazons in the back only out of courtesy so that their shorter peers could be more easily seen and heard. The R.A.S. was the city’s largest organization against the adoption and infantilization of Littles. About once a year, someone suggested a cutesy name change, usually by adding an H-word so that the acronym would spell ‘RASH’, but it was always rejected. R.A.S. was no nonsense and without frills. Let Little Voices and their ilk use propaganda and calls to emotion. On paper, adopting anyone who wasn’t chronologically a child was wrong, and that’s all that mattered. Paul and Clementine were senior R.A.S. members, and had used their combined clout to call tonight’s meeting. “Paul and I have come across a very enlightening documentary. It shows some of the worst and most subversive practices of Little Adoption, both from a conditioning point of view and from a geopolitical and legal point of view. This is an honest and frankly uncomfortable look at Yamatoa.” There was a general murmur from the assembled crowd. Everyone knew of Yamatoa. It was only an ocean and an eleven hour flight away. Some in the crowd (the Amazons especially), likely had Yamatoan neighbors. Those neighbors more than likely had a Little kept in perpetual infancy. “I should warn everyone,” Clementine warned the audience, “that while this will be educational, there will be some disturbing content for everyone. You will see footage of captured Littles in diapers. You will hear uncomfortable historical information given by experts of all ages and sizes. You will hear suppositions by the filmmaker that accuse our own government using Yamatoa’s practices and reputation to their advantage, including as a way to suppress and discourage Little immigration and travel abroad. This is not a feel good movie by any definition.” That got an uncomfortable chuckle from some members of the audience. “If at any time you feel yourself becoming uncomfortable, feel free to excuse yourself.” A hand shot up from a Tweener. “Um...speaking of “ she said. “Are we sure it’s safe to watch?” There was no murmur, this time. All eyes and ears were on the stage. Everyone in R.A.S. knew the risk that certain types of media presented. Clementine gestured to her roommate and friend. “Both Paul and myself have already watched this once.” She made a show of turning around and bending over. No diaper bulge from inside the skinny jeans, no white plastic backing peaked out the top of her pants. “I’m not crinkling am I?” That got a good natured laugh from the group. “Paul? Did you bring a diaper bag?” Paul made a show of patting his pants pockets and looking over his shoulder, as if such a gaudy item of infantilization were something on the level of leaving his wallet in another pair of pants. That sent the taller folk howling. “I think we’re good, ma’am.” Paul said. More laughter, and the two took the slightest of bows. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way. Let’s educate ourselves.” The lights dimmed, the projector turned on, and the documentary started to play. Paul helped Clementine down stage by holding her hand, but his grasp lasted all the way until the pair had walked to the back and off to the side. Clementine had lied up there. Just a small fib, but for some reason she felt bad about it. She and Paul had watched it once, yes, but they’d watched it more than that. They’d each watched it once alone. Then they watched it again together. Then they watched it this afternoon before the meeting. It was as if they’d both wanted to commit each wrong, each atrocity to memory. This movie was the ultimate trainwreck. Clementine didn’t enjoy watching all of those Littles and hearing their stories about how they were once successful before being dragged back into the cradle of a foreign land. She just couldn’t stop watching it. Paul seemed much the same. Horrified and disgusted at what Amazons were capable of if given the permission. There in the darkness, Clementine fiddled with the lock on her anti-babying belt. Such a stupid thing; all so that a stranger had less ability to check her pants for her. Amazons didn’t have to worry about this kind of shit. She opened the lock with her touch. Then clicked it shut. Open. Then shut. Open. Then shut. Kind of pointless, really. If an Amazon really had the mind too, it wouldn’t matter. Paul, for all intents and purposes could still wrestle her down to the floor and peel her jeans off with a pair of scissors. A few of the interviewers had mentioned trying similar devices, before being taken. Now they all wore daycare uniforms and had giants coo at them and sing to them in a language they didn’t fully understand. Her belt was a wooden door when every other burglar had a battering ram. It was depressing. “I should do it,” she whispered to herself. “I should just get it over with.” She imagined herself just letting go and peeing her pants right in the middle of everyone. And then Paul or some other Amazon would scoop her up and strip her down, carry her naked to a corner store if they had to, and finally put a diaper on her. And she’d cry and bawl and scream the entire time. Right until whoever caught her put one of those inflating pacifier gags in between her lips. Even then she’d moan and mumble around the rubber bulb, all the way until her captor decided to spank her into obedience, or force her to watch enough cartoons until her brain turned to mush and seeped out into her diaper. No one got out of life alive. No Little got out of adulthood undiapered. It just didn’t happen. Clementine was coming to realize that. She didn’t want to be a baby. It was something that still gave her dread on an existential level. But this documentary was more evidence that it would happen to her eventually. Wouldn’t it be nice, in a weird way, to give up that fight and just let it happen on her own terms? She chased the thought away. It was gone, like the temptation to jump from a terminally tall building. But the thought had occurred all the same. One day, she’d jump. Just not tonight. Clementine snapped the lock on her pants closed. And watched. (A Thursday Afternoon...two weeks later.) Paul took a bite out of his sandwich. “So I was thinking,” he said. “Yeah?” Clem looked up from her phone.. “Maybe we should, I dunno,” he swallowed. “Leave the R.A.S.” She put her phone down with such force that Paul worried she might break it. “Leave the R.A.S.? Why?!” Out of habit, Paul raised his hands back up in the defensive position. “I think things are starting to go downhill there. Like, what good are we really doing Littles by watching that same movie again and again?” The documentary was met with rousing success. Standing ovation. So the powers that be decided to show it at the next meeting. And the next. And the next. “All we do lately is watch that doc. We watch it and we feel bad about ourselves, and then we clap and go home.” “You feel bad about yourself,” his Little roomie quipped. “I feel disgusted with what I’m seeing.” Paul rubbed his temples. Littles. So stubborn. So impulsive! Like children, sometimes. “Yeah,” he said with as much patience as he could muster. “But what about activism? Getting out there and changing people’s minds? We’re just turning ourselves into a big echo chamber.” This wasn’t an exaggeration. Things were getting more tense over at the R.A.S. meetings. There was never any talk of plans on how to change people's minds or get new anti-adoption legislation passed. It was all watching that movie, and Littles and Tweeners getting angry. The Amazons were getting shorter tempers too. An acquaintance of his had been kicked out because a Little had gotten mouth and slapped her, and she took the Little over her knee. She’d been expelled. He just hadn’t shown up to the next meeting. And Paul had the strangest premonition that he hadn’t quit the club, but was now in a playpen somewhere. In a way he’d reminded Paul of those guys in movies that went out and got in a shootout so they didn’t have to face the music. Suicide by cop. Or in this case it was more like Maturicide by Amazon. Clementin stood up from her phone books. “You sound like them, you know. The people who try to discredit Littles. Say we’re just a bunch of babies whining and crying about everything. Is that what you think?” “No, that’s not what I-” “Changing people’s minds. You mean changing Amazons’ minds. Or are Littles not full grown people to you anymore? Is that it? Am I just some dumb baby? Do I need a big strong grown-up Amazon to take care of me?” she spat. “I’m not saying that.” “Yes you are! You’re saying that we have to do things YOUR way! It’s always YOUR way! It’s always an Amazon’s way or no way at all! The only way that Littles get what we want is if we want what you want for us!” This was getting out of hand. Paul slammed his palms on the table and stood up. “Are you even listening to yourself? You sound like a-?” “LIKE A WHAT!” she screamed. “LIKE A BABY?! LIKE I’M THROWING A TEMPER TANTRUM!” “YES!” Paul shouted back. “YOU DO!” Something inside Clementine snapped just then. “Fine.” Clementine kicked off her shoes. “Wah! Daddy!” she mocked. “Feed me!” “Clementine,” Paul warned. “Don’t do what I think you’re about to do. She unbuckled her belt and squatted down. “Wah! Daddy! Dress me!” “Clementine. Don’t.” She closed her eyes. “Wah! Daddy!” And pushed. “Change me!” “Don-!” But it was too late. He heard the burbling sounds coming out of her backside. He saw the wet patch spread and drip down her pants as her bladder got in on the act, the puddle pooling and then dripping off the chair. His nose picked up the rest. “Wah, Daddy!” She stomped her foot in her own urine. “I’m a baby! What are you gonna do about it?!” To punctuate her point, she plopped down on the phone books that boosted her up to table level. Her lip quivered a bit and her face twisted as the mess squelched and spread around. She’d regretted that just then. She had no idea how much she’d regret that. Something inside Paul snapped just then. Fast, faster than any Little could possibly appreciate, Paul blurred across the table and snatched his roommate up. “You wanna act like a baby? You want someone to feed you and dress you and change your poopy pants? FINE!” He tuned out all her kicking and screaming and carried her to his bedroom. With one fell swoop, he cleared off his desk and pinned her to the makeshift changing table. She kicked and screamed as hard as she could. Meanwhile, he opened up the desk drawer and got out a travel pack of wipes and diapers. The Monkeez he’d bought from the gas station was a Size 8. Clementine’s size. He’d bought them and the baby supplies as a precaution. He’d wanted to offer it to her as an option the next time a hypno-toon sabotaged her bladder control. Better she have to wear a diaper for a day than all the extra laundry or damage to their couch like every other time. The wipes were for cleanliness. The travel bottle of baby powder was for her own comfort and to avoid chafing. That’s how he’d justified it. The pacifier gag he shoved in her mouth he had a harder time explaining to himself. On some level, he knew she wouldn’t like the idea of being diapered, even if it meant she was still a big girl. But she wasn’t a big girl, was she? Big girls didn’t pee and poop their pants in protest just because their best friends disagreed with them. That’s what Paul told himself as he pulled her disgusting clothes off and wiped her down. She clearly needed this. This was for her own good. He was being a good friend to her. That’s what he told himself as he powdered her bum and diapered her bottom. She screamed over the pacifier that she just couldn’t spit out, and swung at him, but her kicks and screams were nothing to him. He carried her squalling, flailing form over to the bed and swaddled her the Yamatoan way, just like the documentary had shown him time and time again. By the time he was done, his Little roomie was diapered and restrained, as helpless on the outside as she was on the inside; but she looked like an adorable newborn baby. Clementine, his darling, was moaning behind her pacifier, the reality of what she’d done to herself finally sinking in. But it was too late. The pro-Adoption Amazons in the doc had had a kind of twisted point. Littles really couldn’t be trusted to moderate themselves, to care for themselves. They really were just babies that wouldn’t grow up. And you couldn’t force them and you couldn’t let them. You could only baby them. Paul carried his Little girl out to the living room and propped her up on the couch. He flipped on the T.V. and unblocked Pennycade Jr. Good. Carpet Mice was on. The opening credits were finishing and the title card flashed. “Little Accidents Happen.” Good. A few of these, and Clementine would finally be happy instead of living in a world of perpetual outrage. She wouldn’t be an adult, but at least she’d be happy. Clementine moaned and tears started forming in her eyes. It was too late for her to blink, now. Paul went back into the kitchen and picked up Clem’s phone. She wouldn’t be needing it anymore. He’d snarled and looked down at the puddle she’d left for him. He’d always have to clean up her messes, but at least from now on they’d be encased in pulp and poof and plastic. Clementine’s moaning started to subside as the hypno-toon drew her in, (how had no one caught this yet? It must be more of that government corruption the documentary had talked about). Good baby in the making. He scrolled through her phone, looking for ways to properly adopt her, even if it meant going out of town. Hmmm… Yamatoa seemed nice this time of year. (Saturday Night. Eleven hours away. Translated from Yamatoan.) “Congratulations, Mr. Sato.” The champagne glasses clinked and the two Amazon men sipped. “Tourism and immigration is up ten percent since releasing that documentary.” “You are too kind. Mr. Ito.” The Vice-Minister of Tourism nodded to his superior. “I am honored that you have noticed.” “You aired many of our dirty secrets to the wider world and somehow made us more desirable than before.” A sly grin spread across Mr. Sato’s mug. “That is not all that I’ve aired, Minister.” “Oh?” Mr. Sato bit his tongue. There had been more in that film than just a bit of muckraking. His editors and technicians had also included subtle forms of suggestion, nearly indetectable. Something that quietly reinforced that there was no point in fighting or delaying a Little’s inevitable second childhood. Littles who watched it enough times would inevitably self-sabotage. High minded Amazons would lose their ideals, deciding it was better to join the masses instead of fighting an unwinnable good fight. And they’d all think it was their idea. Neither side would be happy with it, at least not initially. A Little would see their worst nightmares come true. An Amazon would find themselves a hypocrite. But they’d justify it to themselves, and after an inevitable vacation and adoption in lovely Yamatoa, they’d both come around to the right way of thinking. One as the child and the other as their doting parent. It was for the best. The real secret was luring them in with a bit of gossip and the bitter fruit of harsh truths. No one trusted things with news too good to be true. Everyone was willing to listen to the latest gossip and believe the worst. “I also added in a false flag, so we never have to take credit for spilling our own secrets.” Best not let his superior know the whole truth. Just in case there needed to be a sequel. Best to remain indispensable.

Dennis came to still sitting in the dentist’s chair. Anesthesia had a weird effect on Dennis; on most people, in fact. The college senior didn’t dream when he was this drugged up as much as his brain just turned off. The last thing he remembered was the dentist asking if he’d made sure to go to the bathroom. Dennis hadn’t been sure why the old-timer had asked that, but he nodded anyway. ‘I wonder what he wants to know-?’ Dennis had thought. By the time his brain had reached ‘that?’, the clock had skipped ahead an hour, and he was drooling into the paper bib chained around his shirt. “Well, kiddo,” the old man asked, “do you want the good news or the bad?” “Gooo-noooog.” If he hadn’t felt so messed up, Dennis might have laughed at himself. He didn’t slur this much when he was completely shitfaced drunk. “The good news is,” the dentist said, “your surgery was a complete and easy success.Yanked those wisdom teeth right out with no problem at all. Now there’s plenty of room for your other pearly whites.” Automatically, Dennis’s tongue started to probe the back of his mouth. He felt more than tasted the bloody stumps where his last set of teeth had started coming in. He winced in pain. The dentist chuckled at that. Clearly Dennis wasn’t the first to do that to himself. “Wusha-baaaa-nooog?” The dentist didn’t say anything. Instead, he replied by pointing down towards Denni’s lap. Wobbly as all hell, Dennis had to muscle himself up so he could see exactly what the ol’ tooth yanker was motioning to. It was in the shifting of his weight from his back to his pelvis that he got his first clue. His groin rubbed up against something wet and clammy. The dark wet spot on the front of his khakis confirmed what his crotch had already told him: He’d pissed his pants. Dennis’s cheeks flushed bright red. THAT’s why the doctor had asked if he’d gone to the bathroom before he’d been gassed off to dreamland. “Don’t feel bad, son,” the dentist clapped him gently on the shoulder. “Happens to a lotta fellas your age. Some people can hold their anesthetic and some…” He must have seen the embarrassment in Dennis’s groggy eyes. He changed track. “Nothing to be embarrassed about. Happens all the time.” A soft click as the door to the operating room (is that what they were called when it was just a dentist’s office?) and a familiar voice. “Yes Doctor? Your nurse said you wanted to see me?” It was Mom. Even through the haze of the laughing gas, Dennis knew that voice anywhere. “You’re his ride home?” The dentist asked. “A parent, maybe?” “I’m his mother, yes,” she said. “He’s staying with us this weekend while he gets his wisdom teeth removed. Is he ready to be driven home? She walked over to the chair and leaned over. You okay, baby? Ready to go…” she saw the wet spot on his pants. “Oh…?” “Yes, about that,” the dentist told her. “He had an unusually strong reaction to the anesthesia. Thought you might be able to help him.” Mom seemed a little dumbstruck. “Help him?” Who could blame her? Dennis certainly didn’t know what the guy was talking about. “It’s not like I still carry a diaper bag around,” she joked. The dentist’s laugh was hearty, good natured and absolutely fake. He must have heard something like that reaction a lot. He gestured over to a cabinet. “I’m sorry, I should have been more clear. Your son’s umm...reaction isn’t terribly uncommon. Take a look.” Mom opened the double doors of the cabinet just above a handwashing sink. On one side were folded up clothes, the ugly mint green that could only be found in a medical setting; clothes very similar to the dentist’s garb. On the other side were stacks of underwear; but the way they were folded and how bulky they were made them look like more than just underwear. It was Mom who said the word first. “Diapers?” “Medical briefs,” the dentist corrected. “Adult Pull-Ups if you prefer. That and cheap scrubs. Mild incontinence is a not-uncommon side effect, so I keep backups in stock.” He went on, as Dennis and his mother kept staring. “Nothing permanent,” he promised. “But things might be...hard to hold in for the rest of the day. Thought it prudent to be prepared.” “And?” It took Dennis everything he could just then to formulate that one word clearly. “And I thought you’d want help putting one on before you left.” He shrugged. “That or walk out of here in wet pants. Your choice. Or I could have one of my nurses come in and help...” Dennis thought about the pretty women he’d seen up front. The secretaries and nurses and hygienists. Some looked like they were a few years older than him, but not too old for him. He imagined them snickering and pointing as he left, the damp spot around his crotch a not so subtle marker of his shame. Worse, he imagined them yanking down his pants for him. “MOM!” he yelped. At least she’d seen everything; even if it had been a looooong while since she’d needed to. Mom let out a laugh. Sold, Dennis knew. “Been a while since you called me that,” she said. “Okay, I’ll help you. I’ll take you home and you can sleep the drugs off.” The dentist opened the door and slipped out. “I’ll give you two some privacy,” he said. “There’s also some old grocery bags that you can put his wet clothes in.” And with that, he was out of their lives. “First thing’s first,” Mom said, grabbing both of Dennis’s wrists. “Let’s get my big boy up and out of that chair.” Unconsciously, Dennis rolled his eyes, even as his mother had to help him to a standing position. “What?” she said, jokingly. “It’s been a while. This is all muscle memory; mouth included.” Dennis toddled over to the counter and had to lean against it just so he could slip his loafers off without busting his face. Ugh. Speaking of face, he got a nasty look in the mirror. More than his bladder had had a reaction to the knock out stuff. His skin had broken out in terrible acne again. His skin had been blotchy all the way from seventh grade until his senior year of highschool. He hoped it wouldn’t take him this long to ditch it. The feeling of Mom yanking down his pants for him brought him back to the present. At least she was looking away and kinda sorta averting his eyes. “This is just for today,” she reminded him, even as he stepped out of his wet pants and underwear. He hadn’t had to do something like this since before Kindergarten. “It’ll be boxers again tomorrow.” She popped open the adult Pull-Up, plain white and ruffled around the waist so it could fit the maximum amount of sizes. “You’re still my big…” she giggled and slapped the counter. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll stop. I’ll stop.” “Fanks,” he mumbled. He managed to pull the not-diaper up around his hips. The gross green scrubs were next. Less embarrassing, but he needed more help to get his feet through them; long legs and all. Time to cut the tension. “Why do they call ‘em wisdom teef anywaysh?” He was getting better at talking. At least the numbness above the waist was going down. Mom helped him finish by pulling the pants up herself. “It’s because of the whole ‘older people are wiser’ belief.” She grabbed his sneakers and helped him slip them back on his feet. Even redid the laces for him. Sneakers? Laces?! She didn’t see Dennis blanch. Damn. Anesthesia really had knocked him on his ass. He couldn’t even remember what shoes he’d been wearing. “Yeah?” Dennis asked. That made sense. “Did the gash knock you on your butt this bad when you got yours taken out?” Mom stood up and stuffed Dennis’s wet pants and undies in a shopping bag. “Nope.” That made Dennis blush a bit. “Never had them taken out.” She pointed to the back of her mouth as if he’d take the time to count her teeth. “I think you got your jaw from your father’s side.” “Ah…” was all Dennis said. Didn’t have much else to add, truth be told. Nothing left to do but to take his Mom’s hand, and stumble past the other people in the waiting room. At least his dignity was largely intact. Light snickers followed him out the door. It only then occurred to him that all the nurses already knew what the change of pants meant! Shit! *************************************************************************************** “How’d it go?” Dad asked when Dennis wobbled in, Mom still having to hold his hand. “He’s no longer wise, anymore,” Mom joked. “Nope…” Dennis said. “Not wiiize.” His mouth had regained most of its feeling, but he was still slurring a bit. His gums were starting to throb, and he let out a low moan unconsciously. Dad twisted his mouth a little bit and cocked an eyebrow. “What’s with the pants?” he asked. “Scrubs?” Mom kept shuffling Dennis along. “The doctor gave them to us. Dennis needed them.” Dennis dry swallowed. Please no, please no, please no, please no.. “I never had my wisdom teeth removed,” Dad said, “but I’m pretty sure dentist’s don’t operate down there…” Please no, please no, please no, please no… “He had a little too much anesthesia and wet his pants,” Mom said. “So he’s in trainers for the day.” There. Ripped that band-aid right off. “Mom!” Dennis said, right before having to stable himself against a kitchen chair. “Private!” “Nothing to be embarrassed of, Denny,” Dad said, a faint smirk on his mug. He hadn’t used that nickname since Pre-K. “Your mother and I changed your diapers before, we don’t mind doing it agai-?” The palm of Dennis’s hand slapped down on the nearest flat surface. It wasn’t nearly as thunderous as he had wanted it to be, but it was enough to cut Dad off. “I...CAN CHANGE...MYSELF!” The adrenaline carried his pounding footsteps straight out of the kitchen and to the bathroom door. His dulled senses, motor skills, and momentum sent him crashing headfirst into the closed door. Knees buckled. The world went topsy turvy. A set of strong arms caught him in a trust fall. “Easy there, bud!” It was Dad. “You just had an operation and your’re woozy is all. No shame in needing a little help.” No shame in needing a little help… Something about that phrasing stuck in Dennis’s mind. It’s something his father had told him repeatedly growing up, and his stupid pride made things worse. He’d told it to Dennis when he was seven and still wetting the bed; needing goodnites. Dennis had heard it that year in middle school when he’d broken his foot, but was too proud to let someone carry his books for him. Same spiel from freshman year of highschool, and they hired a tutor to stop him from failing algebra...and the tutor was someone he’d had a crush on. And now he was hearing it again when a bad reaction to anesthesia was making him need disposable underwear for all of a day. “Sorry,” Dennis said. Gently, his father patted him on the shoulder. “It’s my fault, son,” he said. “I shouldn’t have teased you. That’s on me.” Dennis looked back. The smile Dad wore was softer this time; a polite and gentle regret. Mom took Dennis by the hand. “Come on, hun. Let’s get you cleaned up.” She opened the door, and Dennis was gently boosted back into a full on standing position. “Thanks, Mom.” Dennis started wobbling into the bathroom. “Anything I can do to help?” Dad asked. Mom followed Dennis in and closed the door to just a crack. “Just make sure the dishwasher isn’t running. Hot water runs out faster if it is.” “Got it.” Dad walked away. “Oh, and maybe some water?” Dennis asked. “Knock out drugs dehydrate you, right? I think I read that somewhere.” It might be the placebo effect, but just thinking about it was making him thirsty. When no response came, Mom said, “I’ll make sure to tell him.” She went for Dennis’s pants. “I can do it myself!” Dennis whined, though he made no move to slap her hands away. This was like being drunk without the fun parts. He hadn’t even realized he was leaning on the bathroom counter again until just that moment. Not even bothering to argue, Mom tugged the scrubs and the medical Pull-Up down to Dennis’s ankles. He was able to slip his shoes off and step out so that Mom could ball the disposable up and toss it in the wastebasket. Before she did, he noticed a yellow stain in the padding. A big one, too. Ooof! He hadn’t even realized that he’d been peeing. Must’ve been when he bonked his head or something. “Arms up,” Mom said. Dennis obeyed, almost reflexively. Must be the drugs. The t-shirt was pulled off of him and added to the puddle of clothes on the bathroom floor. “Thank you,” Dennis said. Mom leaned over the bathtub, and turned the water on. ”Welcome.” Hot water came pouring out and steam started to rise in the air. “Thank you…” Dennis repeated. “Welcome.” Clearly, there was a miscommunication going on. When Dennis said “Thank you” he meant it in the same way that a person thanked a waiter refilling their glass: Sincerely appreciative and also with the unspoken expectation that the person would quietly leave once the task was complete. “Um...a little privacy, please?” It felt so awkward to have to say it; in front of his own mother no less and naked to boot. “No.” Dennis blinked. “No?” Mom rolled her eyes. “Honey, you bumped your head not two minutes ago just walking here. I’m not going to have you slipping and cracking your head open.” He looked at the filling tub, a cloud of steam already hitting the roof and fogging up the mirror. He’d only wanted to come in here for the privacy and the chance to wash his own stink off him. He was now being denied one of those things. “Can I at least turn the showerhead on?” “I think it’s best if you just sit in the tub.” Already, she was guiding him, one foot then the other, into the tub. A kind of muscle memory was kicking in, and Dennis was sitting down before he could try to make a counterpoint. “Safer that way. Easier on your muscles.” The tub was rapidly filling. The water was already filling up past his waist. His legs sang out. For some reason they ached terribly as if they’d atrophied or he’d sprinted three miles. The hot water felt wonderful to be submerged in. Something stubborn yet lingered inside him. “So you want me to risk drowning instead of cracking my head open?” It was more of a joke than anything, and his mother took it that way. Dennis couldn’t drown if she was there watching him. She chuckled and opened a pantry underneath the sink. The lavender colored bottle she took out poured out lavender colored contents. A moment later, the water was becoming foggy, foamy, and lavender scented. Bubble bath. ”There,” Mom said. “There’s your privacy.” Dennis relaxed a little. “And if you pee again, she added, “I won’t notice.” So much for that relaxation… Once the bubbles encased and clouded his manhood, Dennis was able to relax a little bit. Truth be told it wasn’t that bad. As long as Mom didn’t talk (which thankfully she stopped), this was kind of relaxing. It was nice to just have his muscle aches be boiled away; and to have his thoughts be able to float in the water with him. He even let Mom break out a washcloth and get the parts of his body that weren’t submerged wet and soapy. For the first time since waking up in the dentist’s chair, his skin was turning pink from something other than embarrassment. It was nice to just close his eyes and drift off as he was massaged and pampered. He’d had a rough morning, but it was turning into something of a spa-day. Too soon for his taste, the water in the tub turned tepid, verging on cold. “Okay…” he finally spoke. The numbness in his mouth was completely gone. Even better, the pain in the back of his gums was gone too. He ran his tongue along the back of his mouth and felt no soreness or stitches. No taste of blood either. Amazing! Maybe the anesthetic hadn’t worn off as much as it had just started working in the places it was supposed to work. “I think I’m done,” he said. Ready to get out.” “Sure thing, hon.” Mom grabbed a fluffy towel. “Do you need help getting up?” So nice to be asked! Experimentally, Dennis leaned forward and steadied himself on the rim of the tub. The water supported his weight and the world didn’t seem quite so wobbly as before. “I think I’m good.” Mom helped him out of the tub anyways and made a point of looking away even as she helped Dennis step into the towel. “Uh-oh!” Dennis stumbled...slipped really...and she steadied him. “Not quite.” She started leading him out of the bathroom. “I think a nap is in order.” A shiver and a sudden sense of relaxed tiredness. The water droplets evaporating off of him and his exhausted muscles made the idea seem appealing. “Yeah. Okay.” Dennis’s old bedroom was fairly spartan. In fact, it wasn’t even really his bedroom anymore. Since he’d moved into the dorms, his room had been converted a kind of bland guestroom. No more video game systems, movie posters, childhood trophies and keepsakes, bookshelves, or closets full of things that couldn’t be parted with come garage sale. Only bare beige walls and a neatly made bed with boring navy sheets, and an empty dresser remained. Hindsight can be a real kick in the pants: When Dennis had scheduled his wisdom tooth removal, he’d planned to move back in for the weekend to recover, but hadn’t brought in any kind of suitcase.. He hadn’t planned on needing a bath to get rid of any kind of pee-pee residue, either. “My clothes,” Dennis said. “I’ve got a bag in my car…” “Don’t worry about it.” Mom opened a drawer, and Dennis couldn’t help but gawk at what he saw. Goodnites. Bed wetting pants. Extra Large Pull-Ups. Whatever you wanted to call them, Dennis hadn’t worn them in years. “What are those?” Dennis felt stupid asking. He knew the answer; but then again “What are those?” wasn’t really the question. He knew what they were, but he didn’t know what they were doing here. Mom understood the question. “Just did some spring cleaning,” she told him, popping open a pair. “Found a half pack of these and thought to store them, just in case.” The young man’s eyebrows shot to the roof. “Just in case, what?” “I was thinking of grandkids in a few years,” she replied dryly. “But they’re gonna get used a little sooner.” Dennis opened his mouth to complain, and got a finger pressed to his lips before he could utter a syllable. “The dentist only gave us one pair of briefs and these are the next best things. You already had one accident. Let’s not have another.” Dennis literally couldn’t argue with that. His energy was flagging, and he was not long for this waking world. He’d turned beet red splashing urine on the inside of his pants. How much worse would it be if he peed the bed in the middle of the day? The fight left him as Mom knelt down and held the Goodnites open for him to step into. This time she didn’t even tell him to. He just did, only looking down long enough to make sure his feet slip into the holes. It was getting easier to do what his Mommy...erm...his Mother...wanted. ‘Wise’ or not, there were some habits that didn’t fade completely with age, and Dennis always was something of a Momma's boy. “Much better,” she said, and then snuck in a pat to his butt. The light swat caused Dennis to jump on his toes a bit. He looked at himself in the dresser’s mirror. He looked ridiculous. A big boy in what was basically a Pull-Up. It was like the cartoons with the big muscle man in nothing but a diaper and safety-pin. Except, Dennis didn’t look like a muscle man. Ooof! He looked like a wreck, truth be told. His skin was still blotchy from acne, and something had happened to his physique, to boot. The tone and muscle that he’d worked so hard for wasn’t reflecting back at him. He wasn’t flabby, but lacked any sort of definition. He was almost gangly. Practically pubescent. It reminded him when he was sixteen and he hadn’t “filled out” just yet as it were. That couldn’t be. Still, it was a bit jarring that a Goodnite could still fit over him. “It’s just for today and tonight,” Mom reminded him. “Till the operation gets through your system. You can wear your regular jammies tomorrow.” “Brought you something to keep you hydrated.” Dad walked in carrying a glass filled with red liquid. His eyes darted down, clearly seeing Goodnites, but choosing to remark. Probably for the best. Mom’s nudging could irritate Dennis, but a single remark from Dad was sometimes enough to make him feel like less of a man; such was his ego. “Drink up.” Dennis took the glass and stared at the cherry red stuff. “What is it?” “Kool-Aid,” Dad said. “Thought it’d taste better than plain old water. “Is that too much sugar?” Mom asked Dad. Dad scratched a bit of grey stubble on his chin. “It’s still mostly water, hon. It’s Kool-Aid, not that high fructose crud.” Dennis closed his eyes and knocked back the fruity drink. It was good. Really good! Sipping became gulping became guzzling. Dennis didn’t normally drink anything other than jaeger bombs this fast. “Oh! Careful there champ! You’re dribbling!” With a reflexive gasp for air, Dennis put the empty glass down, his belly now feeling comfortably flooded and full. Like a well trained pit crew, Dad swabbed Dennis’s chin and neck with a wet wipe. “Good stuff, huh?” Dennis nodded “Uh-huh,” he said. “Really good.” Mom touched the top of his lip. “Missed a spot,” she told Dad. That same smug grin came back to his father. “Oh, I just thought he wanted to look a little more like his old man.” Dennis looked back in the mirror. A stripe of red raced across his upper lip. An old-fashioned Kool-Aid mustache. He tried reaching out for a wet wipe so he could get himself, but his father simply stepped up and did it himself. “I’ve got it for ya, sport.” Now clean, dry, and hydrated, it was nothing at all for Dennis to wobble to his old bed, plop down on the mattress, and start to drift off, over the covers. “Should we tuck you in?” Mom asked. “Oh just let him rest,” Dad said. “He’s a big boy.” There was more than a little irony in his voice. He was falling asleep in what was essentially a diaper without the tapes. “We’ll wake you when it’s time for lunch,” Mom promised. “Get some sleep,” Dad told him. Turning out the lights so that only a thin shaft of sunlight came in through the boring beige curtains that had been hung in Dennis’s absence. Too late. Dennis was out before the lights. “Ni-ni…” he mumbled. He almost heard his voice crack. Almost... **************************************************************************** For the longest time, Dennis had been a thumbsucker. When he had been a baby, he almost never went to sleep without a pacifier in his mouth. Even when Mom and Dad had taken away all his binkies in pre-school, he’d just switched to his thumb. It’s not something he’d meant to do out of defiance; it’s just that his body had gotten used to the act. He’d finally kicked the habit when he was eleven by having Mom and Dad tape oven mitts to his hands for a week straight one blustery winter. Sadly for his teeth, the home remedy didn’t break the habit in time for him to not need braces. After enduring two years of braces,and nearly half a lifetime of insecurity all because of a frankly infantile habit, imagine Dennis’s shock and embarrassment to wake up with his thumb tucked deep between his lips. He hadn’t known when it happened; no dreams about slurpees or anything that would make his lips start to pump. His nap had been a dreamless sleep; just silence and darkness where time had lost all meaning. It wasn’t unlike being in the dentist’s chair in that regard. Part of his mind wondered if he had slept the day away. A glance at the kitty cat clock in on his wall immediately told him that it had only been a handful of hours. (Not immediately, actually...he had to find the little hand and then count by fives around the clock until he stopped at the big hand.) Dennis hadn’t even slept till lunchtime like he’d wanted to. But if it was one thing he’d learned about himself, it was that when his body wanted to wake up, there was no point in rolling over and snoozing. His eyes were open and any attempt to close them again would just feel like prolonged blinks. He’d likely gotten more than enough sleep in the dentist’s chair. Wiping his wet thumb on top of his comforter, Dennis let out a high pitched yawn; so high pitched that he startled himself into a sitting position. Immediately, he felt the sodden squelch beneath him. What the…? Oh yeah...the Goodnite. He’d needed it this morning. But it was only for today and only while he slept.. Tossing off the Paw Patrol sheets, Dennis swung his feet out onto the floor and stood up. With only his skinny thighs and gravity yanking it down; Dennis felt the full weight of the soaked garment threatening to sag right off his hips. It felt...loose. Oddly loose. Was it because he’d wet so much, or was it somehow too big for him? Maybe it was one of those things where it had been stretched so thin from him putting it on that it couldn’t hold its proper shape after less than two hours of use. He shuddered at himself for thinking of the word “use”. Gross. Out of a kind of nervous tick, Dennis ran his tongue over the back of his teeth. That, more than the wet night-pants caused him to suck his breath in. Something didn’t feel right. The young man grabbed the Goodnite at his hips and sloshed over to his dresser and knocked aside his dinosaur figures so he could lean forward and get a good look at his teeth. Crooked! His teeth were crooked! What the heck was going on? Years of orthodontics down the drain because he accidentally sucked his thumb, once! “Okay…” he squeaked to himself. Something sounded weird about his voice too...it sounded higher than he remembered. It must be because of the panic. “Okay...it’s not that bad.” They weren’t that bad. Bad, but not that bad. Not as bad as he’d remembered when he first got his braces put on way back when. Still crooked...but not too crooked. Will Ferrel had crooked teeth and he was still a leading man...in comedies at least. Another plus was that weird breakout on his face had cleared up. He looked at the top of his head and blinked. Was his hair a lighter shade? A quick knock and his door flew open. “You up, Denny?” “Huh?” Dennis said. “Yeah, Dad. I couldn’t sleep.” Dad had changed t-shirts since Dennis had laid down. Instead of a plain button up shirt, he wore a grey t-shirt with a cartoon picture of a pizza on it. Weird, but okay. “That’s fine, sport. You can get up from your nap.” Dennis felt oddly comforted that he had permission. “Still got a little time before lunch. Ready to get dressed?” Dennis had to shake a few cobwebs out of head. A little leftover sleep, it seemed. Why was his father even asking? “Uh...yeah.” Something must be wrong with his ears, too, Dennis thought. Something about his voice just sounded...off… “Okay. Do you need help getting that wet Goodnite off?” Nervously, Dennis's tongue ran across newly crooked teeth. “No.” Dad walked past Dennis and straight to his old closet. “Okie dokie, champ. You can take it off then. I’ll help you pick something out.” Rushing, Dennis shimmied his wet Goodnite down; feeling a plop as it hit the carpet so he could step out. He opened up his underwear drawer and stared down at it. A kind of mental nausea came over Dennis as a dozen questions assaulted him: Why were the walls of his room a different color? No more beige, but sky blue. Hadn’t he fallen asleep on top of his bed instead of under the sheets? Did that mean someone had snuck in to tuck him in? Weren’t his sheets plainer, too? Less childish looking? Where had the dinosaurs on his old dresser come from? And most importantly, “Dad? Why is my underwear drawer full of Pull-Ups?” There were still Goodnites in the drawer. But right next to them were a small stack of disposable training pants. Light blue trim on the sides, and Mickey Mouse riding in his car, they looked even more babyish than the soaked faux camo under Dennis’s feet. Dad seemed oblivious to the question. “Go on, big boy,” Dad told him. He placed a hand on Dennis’s naked shoulder. “Get dressed.” Dennis looked up to his father and repeated the question. “Why are there Pull-Ups in my underwear drawer?” He flinched when he realized that he was literally looking up to his father. Mom was a shorter woman, and Dad was on the tall side, so Dennis was always a bit shorter than this father, but he could have sworn it was by a couple of inches, not anywhere so that he'd have to bend his neck. Dad reached into the drawer and lifted up the stack of Pull-Ups. “Your underwear is still there.” Good old fashioned tighty whities (though they also had decorations on them) were bunched up under the toddler pants. “Your mother and I just thought it’d be better if you switched to Pull-Ups.” “Just for today?” Dennis asked. “Just for today,” Dad confirmed. “After the stuff the dentist gave you wears off, you can wear your big boy undies again.” He handed one of the Pull-Ups to his son. “Get dressed.” Dennis did. All by himself. He hunched over, and leaned against the dresser for balance so that he could fit his feet through the leg holes. When he pulled them up they didn’t feel right. Something was off. Good. He really was too big for these. A temporary measure, at best. Dad came back with a t-shirt that he promptly linked over Dennis’s head. “There we go!” he said. “Starting to look sharp.” The college student looked down at his shirt. Gray, just like Dad’s. It also had a cartoon pizza on it; but this one was just a slice. Dad’s was a whole pizza...that had a slice cut out. Matching father and son outfits. Cute. Oi vey. “Thanks…” Dad looked down at his Pull-Up and chuckled. “Denny, I think you need some help.” Dennis cocked an eyebrow. “Huh? Why? With what?” He’d dressed himself. Dad pointed at the front of Deniss’s waist. “That bright star right there? It says ‘back’.” A fresh coat of paint was applied to Dennis’s cheeks. He’d been so focused on keeping his balance that he’d accidentally put on the Pull-Up backwards. That’s why it fit so funny… “Here, let me help.” Dad took a knee. Dennis tried to politely decline “No, you’re fine.” Scriiiiiitch. Sriiiiiitch. Before Dennis could react The covert velcro sides were ripped open, sending the Pull-Up wafting to the floor like a leaf in the early Autumn. “Just easier to rip ‘em off and start over.” “DAD!” His father just grabbed another Pull-Up and opened it, just like Mom did. “You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before, son.” Dennis stepped into the new Pull-Up, just wanting to get this embarrassing day over with. But when he looked down, he did have something he hadn’t seen before. More accurately, something looked different. His public hair wasn’t as dense. Weird. Manscaping, maybe? At least the Pull-Up still felt pretty stretched out, pressed to its limit; like he was too big for it. Good. That meant he wasn’t going crazy. “Remember,” Dad told him. “This isn’t a diaper. This is just in case your body forgets to go potty.” He pointed to the mickey mouse ears centered right on Dennis’s crotch. “That Mickey Mouse will fade when wet if you have an accident. You don’t wanna chase Mickey away, do you?” Dennis shook his head. A solemn vow had been made. A flash of denim blue. Dennis blinked. Dad was holding a pair of bib overalls. Only one word came out of the boy’s mouth. “Why?” “You don’t wanna just run around the house in your underwear all day, do you?” “These aren’t my-” Dennis stopped himself. Dad had a point. Not being a farmer, he couldn’t remember the last time he wore overalls- kindergarten, maybe- but there were certain practical advantages to it: They’d better hide his Pull-Up with no chance of it peaking out over the back of his pants, and the bib would cover up the childish t-shirt. “Okay….yeah.” Dennis didn’t argue with help getting the overalls on. He’d had enough trouble with something as simple as a Pull-Up. Denim lederhosen was way out of his capabilities right now… He looked down at himself. This would work, he decided. The legs went all the way down to his ankles, and the buckles on the bib were firm. The hardest part would be taking them off to go to the toilet, but that wouldn’t be an issue. He was awake now, it’s not like he’d be doing potty dances and having to rush for the bathroom. “Come on,” Dad said. Dennis blinked again. Had he gotten even taller? Before leaving his room, he took another look in the mirror. It was still Dennis’s face looking back at him...or a face he remembered…. Together father went out to the family room. “Your Mom and me are still fixing lunch. How about you watch some T.V.?” That was more than enough invitation for Dennis to take a seat on the couch and grab the remote. “Sure.” Finally, some normalcy. Dennis started flipping through channels. He didn’t have much time for just vegging out at school, so it was nice to just turn into a couch potato. Within five minutes, he remembered that it was more than just studying that kept him from T.V. these days. Over a hundred channels and nothing on. Sports. News. Lame sitcoms. Gameshows. Cartoons…? Spongebob was on. Dennis remembered Spongebob. He didn’t remember this episode though. Squidward had hit his head and was now being treated like a giant baby. Were they still making new episodes? The college senior did not like it when the “Squid Baby” pooped his diaper and needed changing. It was a real case of “I’m in this picture and I don’t like it.” He lifted his seat up and felt the back of his pants; not that he thought he’d actually taken a dump in his clothes...but just in case. Of course the episode ended with Squidward back to normal, followed by an older episode; one that Dennis vaguely remembered came on. Okay. Sure. A nostalgia trip wouldn’t hurt. Dennis watched a Spongebob cartoon. Then another. Then another. The “miracle” of lazy children’s programming made it so that while official marathons were a thing of the past, three hour blocks of the same show were the norm. A tap on the shoulder. Dennis looked up from his spot on the carpet. “It’s time for lunch.” Mom said. “How’s your appetite, Denny?” Dennis leaped to his bare feet. “Starving!” His eyes lit up. Did his voice sound higher? His throat didn’t hurt, though. Dennis’s attention drifted from his throat to his clothes. He could have sworn he’d been wearing blue overalls, not red. Weirder still, the leg cuffs ended just below his knees. Hadn’t they come down to his ankles just a little while ago? Was he hitting a growth spurt or were his clothes shrinking? Dang. That must’ve been some strong stuff he’d gotten hit with. Clothes didn’t just change color, and only shrunk in the wash. The stray thought that he’d had some kind of miracle growth spurt was equally ridiculous. He was a big boy; all done growing. “Coming Denny?” Mom was looking over her shoulder. Not wanting to hear his own strange yet oddly familiar voice, Dennis just nodded and padded along, the crinkle as he walked the only sound coming from him. Mom’s ears wiggled a bit when he closed. “Oh, I almost forgot,” she said. She turned around and looked down at him. “Do you need to go potty?” “No…” It was an automatic reaction. It was also the truth, but not in the way that Dennis might’ve preferred. His bladder did not ache in the least, that was true. But were his pants dry? He legitimately couldn’t tell. The Pull-Ups seemed a little looser. Almost like they were sagging a bit. He felt the temptation to reach between his legs and give the padding a squeeze but that would have tipped his mother off that he didn’t REALLY know the answer to her question. Mom clicked her tongue. “Okay…” She’d said it in that way that grown-ups did when they didn’t really believe you. He paused, long enough to let his mother get a few steps ahead of him and wondered: Hadn’t he gotten taller than her around middle school? Nervously he ran his tongue across the back of his teeth. They felt straighter than they had after the nap. This was all in his head. Things would make more sense after all of the medicine got out of his system. When he got to the kitchen, Denny didn’t have to guess where he was supposed to sit. “What’s this?” He pointed to the chair within the chair. He’d seen baby pictures of him circa age three sitting in it. “That’s your booster seat,” Dad told him. The bigger man hoisted him up by the armpits. “Hey!” Denny protested. A combined glare from his parents stopped him from protesting further. He sulked, instead just folding his arms over his chest as Dad finished buckling him in. It made a bizarre kind of sense, Denny supposed. He could barely keep his balance while putting pants on, today. It might be best for him to have something to keep him stable in his seat. Dad probably dug it out of the attic with that in mind. Though for something that had been sitting in the attic for nearly twenty years, the booster seat was in remarkable condition. Like everything else, it was a bit of a squeeze, but a manageable one. It didn’t even creak or crack under his weight, and the chair barely made a scraping sound as Dad muscled him up to the table. Like a professional waitress, Mom came holding three bowls at once. In her right hand and the crook of her elbow were a shredded mishmash of shredded meat and gross looking chopped up vegetables. “Chicken salad for me, and Daddy.” she said. Denny wrinkled his nose at it. It looked like cat food to him. “And a bowl of macky cheese for Denny.” In her left hand was a bowl of golden noodle goodness that made Denny’s mouth water. Macaroni and cheese! It was good to have a bit of comfort food when he was feeling so low. Mom took the seat next to Denny. Dad sat across from him. Mom dipped a plastic spoon into the cheesy gunk and picked it up. “Okay big boy. Open up!” The spoon came shooting out towards him, a speer stabbing at a lion’s maw. “Maaaahm!” Denny whined, turning his head. A bit of cheese sauce smeared on his cheek. “Denny…” “Come on, honey,” Dad said. “Give the boy a chance.” Mom twisted her mouth again, weighing the options and consequences. “Fine.” The spoon was put in Denny’s hand. Cheek stained with cheese, Denny took the spoon and shoved it in his mouth. His tongue fairly orgasmed at the taste and texture. Let his parents eat chopped up chicken and mayonnaise or whatever it was that went into chicken salad. He had everything he needed right in front of him. He dug the spoon in and shoveled another bite in. “Mmmmmm!” He couldn’t help but squeal as he swallowed. A bit of cheese leaked out the corner of his mouth. “Yummy!” “I think he likes it,” Dad nudged Mom. “Good call, hun.” Mom smiled and blushed a bit. Denny loved the macky cheese so much that he was willing to ignore his parents' terrible flirting with each other. He loved it so much that he somehow managed to miss his mouth on the next go around, an elbow noodle plastering his upper lip. How had that happened? The next spoonful was successful though. The third wasn’t. Denny was halfway through the bowl and only hitting a fifty percent success rate. He was going as careful and slow as possible, but his limbs were practical. His face began to turn red with frustration. Every spoonful he missed was a bite of macky cheese denied to him! If not for the bib catching him, his shortalls would be terribly stained. Bib? “Okay, I think he needs help.” Mom said. Her bowl was scraped clean. She even ate faster than him. She took a baby wipe from the spare pack off the dining table and dragged it over Denny’s mouth. Dad dragged Denny’s chair away from the table, “I think you’re right, hon” “Wait, I'm not done yet!” Denny said. “I’m still eating.” “We know,” Dad said. “We’re helping.” Denny heard a click and then felt a slight pressure against his stomach. Denny looked down at the tray that had been slid into place. His booster seat had been the kind that started out as a highchair but could be converted to a booster seat. It was being converted back... Mom saw the impending tantrum in Denny’s eyes. “It’s not permanent. It’s just for tomorrow. First thing tomorrow, we’ll turn your highchair back into a booster seat.” There was something off about that statement, but Denny couldn’t quite put his finger on what. “Ready big boy?” Mom said. She dipped the spoon into the pasta and spooned it into his waiting mouth. It was much better to have a full belly than a full bib. It wasn’t even until the third or fourth serving that Mom started playing games with the spoon, pretending it was a submarine firing torpedoes filled with yummy payloads. “Fire eight!” Mom was scraping the bottom of the bowl. Denny let out a mighty belch while she readied one of the last payloads, and looked away. “ ‘Scuse me.” “That’s alright, sweetie.” He looked away anyways, feeling silly for not remembering to cover his mouth. When he saw his cheese smeared mouth reflecting dimly in the microwave, he realized that he had a lot more to feel silly about then a simple lack of manners. Denny looked younger. Much younger. The reflection was his, but it was one that he hadn’t seen since roughly fifth grade. There was more to it though. Mom and Dad were acting funny. He was acting funny. FIfth graders didn’t wear Pull-Ups. They definitely didn’t get spoon fed in highchairs by their Moms. “Mom…” That voice! That’s why it sounded so strange. It was pre-pubescent. His body was shrinking down to elementary school and his parents were “Fire ten!” Denny opened his mouth, chewed and swallowed the macaroni and cheese. Wait! Why was he doing this? Was it affecting his mind too? “Mom!” He cried out. “Mom! Stop! Something’s wrong!” “Mommy’s all finished, Denny.” She took a second wet wipe to his face and unclicked the tray. Denny grabbed her by the wrists when she moved in to unbuckle him, just so that she’d pay attention. He tried to summon all of the seriousness his squeaky voice could muster. “Mom! Something’s wrong.” Mom stepped back. Dad turned around from doing dishes in the sink. “What’s wrong, bud?” “Mom. Dad. This is wrong.” He gestured to himself. Undeveloped body, toddler shortalls and booster seat included. “There’s something wrong with me. I’m not supposed to be like this. I’m twenty-two, not ten. I shouldn’t be in a booster seat or training pants, or any of this!” Mom and Dad exchanged bemused smiles. “Of course you’re not ten,” Mom said. “Not yet.” “It’d be very silly if a twenty-two year old was in a booster seat.” Denny noticed how his father emphasized the word “year”. “I’M SERIOUS!” he shouted over them. In a bit of theatricality Mom put her hand to her face and tapped her chin. “Sounds to me like someone doesn’t want any popsicles for his desert.” “If he’s too fussy, he might not get orange…” An itch of panic. No popsicles?! He loved orange! “NO!” Denny powered through it. His mind was definitely being altered with the rest of him. “NO! NO! NO! NO!” He was too far away to pound the table and the feeding tray was gone so he settled for hammering his balled up fists into his lap. “Yikes,” Dad said to Mom. “He’s really working himself into a fit.” “DAD!” Denny begged. “MOM! PLEASE! SOMETHING’S WRONG WITH ME! I WENT TO DOCTOR...DOCTOR…” Crud! What was that dentist’s name? “Madison?” Mom suggested. “Doctor Madison?” “YES!” the young and getting younger man said. “THAT ONE! I WENT TO THE DOCTOR AND WET MY PANTS!” His tiny throat was starting to clench up and he had to power through just to choke the word out. “THIS ISN’T SUPPOSED TO BE HAPPENING! I NEED TO GO TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM! I NEED SOME KIND OF EXPERT. I NEED A NEW DENTIST! I NEED...I NEED…” who did one contact about one’s body going back in time? “I NEED A CHRONOLOGIST!” No such thing, of course, but if there had been... The back of Mom’s hand pressed to Denny’s forehead. “He is a little warm.” “That could just be from him shouting.” “Still,” Mom said. “He has been acting funny since we brought him home this morning. Maybe he’s having a bad reaction to something they gave him? Better safe than sorry.” She gave Denny a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll go get the car ready.” Dad nodded and sighed. “You’re right. I’ll get Denny ready.” Yes! They were getting the car. Dad came and unbuckled him, and Denny started getting a tour of his own house via being carried over his father’s shoulder. “Dad,” Denny said. “I can walk.” Dad didn’t break his stride. “I know. I’m just gonna have to pick you up anyways.” “Pick me up? For what?” Denny found out when he was laid down on something soft and cushioned. “Huh?” He didn’t have time to react as his father pulled a restraint across Denny’s chest. “What’s this?” “You’re kinda wiggly today, bud.” Dad told him. “This is so you don’t roll off while I’m changing you.” “Changing?” Denny rolled his head to the side and saw his reflection in the dresser mirror. There had been a bookcase where he was currently laying. The thing he was on had shelves, but those shelves didn’t have books on them. “No!” Denny yelped. “Daddy! Not that! Please don’t put me in a diaper, Daddy!” He tried to unbuckle, but his fingers lacked the strength to push the catch. That wasn’t normal. Ten year olds were stronger than this, and didn’t have to lay on changing tables, besides. Did he even look ten anymore? He might’ve been younger, even, losing a year between the kitchen and room. “DADDY!” Unphased by Denny’s crying hysterics, Daddy unbuttoned the snaps running up and down the inseams of Denny’s.shortalls. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Those definitely hadn’t been there before. Reality itself was turning against him. “Don’t worry, Denny,” Daddy promised. “This is just because we’re going out and we want you to not have to stress out about making it to the potty.” The ripping off of the hidden velcro sides felt like tiny rips in Denny’s brian. “You need a change anyway.” He started wiping Danny’s penis down. He forced himself to look below his own waist while his father finished wiping him. The open Pull-Up was indeed soaked. He didn’t need to see the faded mouse ears to know that. More disturbingly, his pubic hair had completely gone the way of the dodo. Dad muscled the man-boy’s legs up to finish wiping him and then balled up the sopping Pull-Up like the diaper it really was instead of the underwear it was supposed to be. Mickey didn’t go away, though. The Huggies Size 6 that was slipped under him had similar decorations; though thicker padding and a white unisex coloring. “This is just for today,” Daddy promised. “You’ll get your big boy Pull-Ups back tomorrow.” Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. Always tomorrow. His life was being stolen from him in degrees, with an ever babyish stick and empty promises that he’d get slightly older tomorrow. “What if I don’t make it that far?” Denny whispered. His father must not have heard him over taping the diaper on and popping the snaps back in place. “You’re almost too big for these…” Not for long. A pair of socks and sneakers later, and Denny was being carried through the house again. This time, he was able to ride, albeit uncomfortably on his father's hip. “Hurry, Daddy! Hurry!” All that got him was a condescending pat on the back. Mommy had already started the van when Daddy had carried him into the garage. “Okay, we’re ready to go.” Daddy slid him into a forward facing car seat and started buckling him in. “Got the diaper bag?” Mommy patted a blue canvas number that Denny could never remember seeing before. “Right here. Fully packed. Was he dry?” “Nope.” Daddy slid into the passenger seat “Not at all. Might have to think about putting off potty training for a bit.” Denny slinked down in his carseat. Already they were talking about dialing back his potty training as if he’d never finished it. And adults talking about him as if he wasn’t there or couldn’t understand them was something he wasn’t used to. “Guys,” he pleaded from the back seat. “I need to get. “I know,” Mommy said, pulling out of the driveway. “We’re going as fast as we can, sweetheart. “Don’t you remember?” Denny said. “I’m twenty-two. I’m about to graduate college.” “Oh yeah?” Daddy asked. “Yeah.” Denny said. “But then I went to get my wisdom teeth removed and I wet myself while I was asleep.. “Huh…” Mommy remarked. “Go on.” Denny was really hating the sound of his own voice. It was technically him, but it wasn’t in a range he’d remembered. “And since then, I think I’m getting younger and younger.” Daddy didn’t turn his head. “Oh really?” “Yeah. Like first my voice changed back before puberty. Now I don’t have any pubic hair. No wait. I think I started getting shorter first…” Mommy nodded. “Uh-huh.” Waves of relief were pulsating through Denny’s spine. “But my clothes are changing too,” he thought out loud. “I didn’t even have any clothes at home. Then I had Goodnites. Then Pull-Ups…” “I getcha,” Daddy said. “And my room is turning more and more into a baby’s room. The changing table wasn’t there before lunch. And even if I’m nine or whatever I shouldn’t be wearing diapers or sitting in a car seat.” “Yup.” They were agreeing with him? “I think something is happening with my mind, too. At first I thought it was the anesthet...ane...the knockout gas for my wisdom teeth, but it should have worn off by now. But it’s hard to tell how it’s affecting me.” No response. Then Mommy glanced at Daddy. “Wanna do pizza tonight?” “Guys? Mommy? Daddy?” Daddy tapped Mommy’s shoulder. “Your turn.” “That’s nice, baby,” Mommy said. “What else?” “You can’t understand me, now. Can you?” “Oh really?” Daddy chimed in. “What else?” They weren’t really listening to Denny, he realized too late. They were just doing the thing that parents of young children do by pretending they could understand the babble so as to encourage the kid to talk.. He leaned forward in the car seat and looked out the window. The roads looked so unfamiliar. Where were they even going? Would it do any good to ask? “This doesn’t look like the way to the Dentist…or the hospital.” “Yeah?” “Yeah…” “Okie dokie. What else?” He hung his head. “Nothing. Never mind.” “Uh-huh.” The parking lot was packed and no hospital in sight. Dennis tried to figure out where they were, but when he read the signs in the plaza he realized that the letters looked like they were nothing more than chicken scratch. “I can’t read…” Dennis gulped. “I can’t dress myself anymore and I can’t even read.” “Yup-yup, hun,” Mommy said after the second or third lap around the lot. “Stop the car and switch with me,” Daddy spoke up. “Denny’s getting restless, I think.” Mommy stopped the car. “Good idea.” His parents got out and shuffled around the outside. Diaper bag on one shoulder, Mommy slid the van open and leaned in and leaned in to unbuckle Denny from his carseat. “Let’s get you to the doctor, baby.” Knowing she wouldn’t understand him, Denny decided to hold his tongue. Even with the body of a seven year old (he’d guessed), he still felt ridiculous being carried around the parking lot by his mother. He did appreciate the gentle back rubs ,though, and that worried him. The door to the doctor’s office opened with the ringing of a little shop bell overhead. It didn’t take long for Denny to figure out that this wasn’t the dentist's office. Preschoolers and babies, real ones fussed on their parents laps or dozed in their mothers arms and cheap and well worn baby toys littered the floor. “You took me to a pedia…” the word wouldn’t come… “a pee-pee…? You took me to a friggin’ baby doctor.” Mommy just rubbed his back and bounced him a little. Denny caught a look at himself in a convex mirror. He was still too old to be in diapers, but he definitely looked like he should be going to a pediatrician. He was losing ties. The lady at the receptionist's desk wore light pink scrubs. “Hello may I help y-...Denny? What are you doing back here? Is he okay?” The question was clearly addressed to Mommy. An idea came to Denny. “Lady, you've gotta help me! I’m not a baby! I’m not even a kid! I’m twenty-two! A big boy!” He squirmed in Mommy’s grasp. “A BIG BOY! I’M A TWENTY-TWO YEAR OLD BIG BOY!” There was almost no reaction from anyone. A few mommies and daddies looked up at the source of the noise, but quickly disregarded it when they saw the source. A dirty thought. “THIS WOMAN IS ABUSING ME! SHE LOCKS ME IN A CLOSET BENEATH THE STAIRS AND BEATS ME!” Desperate times called for desperate measures. No one so much as stirred. Not even the few children who seemed old enough to talk reacted. This bizarre magic (no other word for it) was affecting more than he and his parents. It was affecting everyone who saw him. Likewise, Mommy ignored him. “I think he’s having a weird reaction to the booster shot he got earlier today.” “Booster shot? I didn’t get a booster shot!” Mommy jostled him a bit. “I know...I know…” She patted his back. Then his bum. She was checking his diaper right in front of these people! “I’ll let Dr. Madison know you’re back,” the receptionist said. “Go ahead and have a seat.” “NO! DON’T HAVE A SEAT! GET ME OUT OF HERE!” Mommy ignored him and sat him down in her lap. He struggled and shrieked to get out of her grasp, but she held him fast. “Are you feeling hot?” she asked. Big strong adult hands undid the buckles to his shortalls. Denny caught the first falling strap, but not the second. She slipped off his shoes while “Mommy! Stop!” He was stood up on a neighboring waiting room chair. Gravity and Mommy’s strength went against his grip. HIs arms went skyward when Mommy yanked the t-shirt back over his head. More not listening from his parent. “You’ll be more comfortable in just your diaper,” she promised. Mommy was getting the barest gist of Denny’s discomfort. Even as a kindergartener, Denny would have been mortified to be in nothing but a diaper. “You’ll have to be undressed in front of the doctor, anyway.” Denny’s whole body heated up with humiliation. His hands shot down in a vain and futile effort to hide the front of his Huggies.. That only made Mommy gently slap his hands away and check his diaper. “Still dry.” A few other mothers saw Denny’s undressed state and decided to do the same to their actual children. That didn’t help Denny’s mood. “Denny Ides?” a nurse said, poking her head into the waiting room. “Right here,” Mommy said. She stood up with Denny and followed the nurse out of the waiting room. How young did they think he was, now? The lay-down scale and lay down measuring mat they used to measure his weight and height didn’t give him much hope. At least they took his temperature with a forehead scanner, leaving the nightmare scenario of rectal thermometers a thing of the past and fetishists. Left alone with Mommy in the exam room, Denny didn’t calm down as much as he kept quiet. Denny kept racking his brain: How was he going to get his Pull-Ups back? The door opened up and an attractive woman came in. The white lab coat branded her as a doctor. She looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties. Even though he was only twenty-two in real life, she was decidedly to Denny’s tastes before this, with beautiful auburn curls and dimples. The crinkling in the front of Denny’s diaper alerted him to something else: He had a twenty year old’s lust and a six year old’s dinky. “Hi Mrs.Ides.” the doctor said. She put on a big bright smile. “Hi Denny! Good to see you again.” Butterflies fluttered in Denny’s brain and he broke eye contact. “Someone’s feeling shy.” Mommy transported him to the exam table. “He’s been feeling more than that,” Mommy told the doctor. “Something’s gotten into him today. I’m worried he’s having a bad reaction to the shot.” “It’s normal to get cold-like symptoms within a day or two,” the doctor said looking a chart. “But everything seems to be normal.” “This is not normal…” Denny said. No one listened. “Yeah, I know,” Mommy said to the doctor. “It’s just he’s been acting rather….off...I guess.” “He may be feeling some effects, but not enough for any outward symptoms.” “The symptoms are pretty outward, lady.” The doctor ignored him, instead feeling his back and pressing a stethoscope to his chest. She continued to examine him, test his reflexes, shine lights in his ears and eyes. He kept making comments which were ignored or given just a cursory glance. “Is he still eating?” “Ate all of his macaroni and cheese.” “Any fatigue?” “He did have an early nap as soon as we got home. But he was playing in his crib not even two hours later.” Denny didn’t even have a bed back home anymore. “Sounds normal to me. First time Mom, right?” “Yeah,” Mommy said. “Denny’s our little miracle baby.” Miracle is not the word Denny would have used to describe his situation, but it did give him some more insight. “Miracle babies” were used to describe babies who shouldn’t have been born, usually because the parents were thought unable to conceive. Everyone might think he was a little pamper pusher, but his parents were seen as just as old. This cosmic injustice anger Denny to no end. Rage started to replace fear. A growl rattled up out of his body. “WILL YOU JUST FFFFUUUUGIN LISTEN!” Why was it so hard for him to make the “F” sound? He opened his mouth and felt for his teeth. They were there, but only some of them. His front teeth were almost non-existent. He had a full on case of jack-o-lantern grin. His tiny pudgy finger recoiled as if it had touched a hot stove. “Oh?!” A glove finger zoomed into Denny’s mouth and prodded at his gun. “This might be the culprit,” the doctor lady said. “I think he’s teething.” “Already?” “It would explain his appetite and irritability. He wants to chew. It hurts otherwise. I can recommend some good pediatric dentists for when most of his teeth are in.” It was only some shred of bewildered empathy that kept Denny from biting down with his remaining teeth on the woman’s finger. “Oh yeah,” she said. “One more thing. Do you mind if I take his diaper off?” “Go ahead.” What about Denny? Didn’t he get to consent? Apparently not. His back hit the examination table; basically a changing table and the diaper was ripped open. “Gotta make sure his testicles have descended. “Heh,” she chuckled looking down at his shrunken penis. “He’s a boy alright.” Embarrassment at her comment and shock as she squeezed his tiny grapes took care of any erection that remained. She stepped away and removed her gloves. “He seems to be developing just fine, in my opinion. I think you’re just worried over nothing. Which means you’re an attentive and caring mother.” she added. “Go ahead and get him dressed. No charge for the extra visit.” “Thank you doctor.” “Ffffuck you doctor.” It was a minor benefit that no one could understand him. He didn’t bother to sit up from the table. His body was aching to the point where sitting up to be pushed back down would have been more effort than it was worth. Mommy held him down with one hand and took the old diaper away. “Not wet but…” she squinted at the front. “Size 6? How did this get here? Weird.” Yes. Very weird. Just not for the same reason she thought it was. The diaper that replaced it was even smaller. Still snug...this did not bode well for Denny. Neither did the absence of shortalls and shoes as she dressed him. The pizza slice t-shirt had transmogrified itself into a pizza slice onesie. The leak guard leg cuffs his new diaper still peaked out of the bottom. Everyone who saw him would know that he was diapered...not that they’d think there was anything wrong with that. A pre-schooler in a onesie might be odd, but it wouldn’t be unheard of him to be diapered. He ran his hand through his hair. It felt thinner. Finer. Another glance at the nearest mirror showed him to be nearly blonde. He’d been born blonde, and his hair darkened as he’d gotten older….not much time left. “Really…?” Daddy huffed as Mommy carried the regressing boy out of the clinic. “I just found a parking space.” He was pushing an umbrella stroller. “Why’d you bring his stroller?” Mommy asked. “I figured we could go on a walk after. Enjoy the fresh air.” “It’s after now.” “Good point.” Mommy started to lower Denny into the stroller. Another thing with a buckle that he had no hope of undoing. Another mobile prison. Another infantile contraption to just demote him further and further… ENOUGH! He bit down as hard as he could with his remaining teeth, right on Mommy’s hand. “OW!” Mommy shrieked, and pulled back. With all his might, Denny pushed off the stroller’s foot rest and leaped out. He landed on the ground on his feet but did not run. His knees buckled and his arms caught him. He couldn’t even walk anymore. The element of surprise was still all on his side. Scrambling like his life depended on it, the twenty-two year old toddler crawled between his mother’s legs. “DENNY!” Round a corner! Hide! Do something! He had to get away! This might be his only chance. He was out of ideas otherwise. The opportunity of ideas was robbed from him. His body stopped. Was he about to plop down on the sidewalk, unable to even crawl? Something was about to plop... When he’d wet his pants, Denny had been blissfully unaware; either asleep or mesmerized by cartoons. As the single cramp flooded his system and his gut started to push, Denny had no such luxury. He was pooping his diaper. He was acutely aware of each movement of his bowels pushing the mass out: His cheeks spreading and the warm solid lump coming out of him and then smushing against the back of the diaper; causing the Huggies to balloon ever so slightly before the padding’s give gave out and the mush spread out while more and more came out of him. Shit. His adulthood. His future. His hope of escape. Everything was ending up in the back of that diaper and dragging it and him down into the abyss. “Gotcha,” Daddy said, snatching him up. “Don’t scare us like that, little guy.” Too despondent to cry out, Denny could only wince as he was buckled into the stroller. Something broke inside him. What was the point of crying? All it’d get him was another diaper change if was lucky. He might as well get used to sitting in his own mess. Emptying his body’s contents into his pants was the only forward passage of time he was experiencing. Denny sat in the stroller, sniffling as the world was pushed by him. Wriggling in discomfort, Denny tried to contemplate his fate.. Maybe he’d get diaper rash. Yeah...that’d show ‘em….somehow. Being “fussy” might be the only freedom left to him. “Connie? Frank?” a voice called out. The stroller stopped. A woman holding the hand of a big-kid came in. “I thought it was you two!” “Frannie?” he heard Mommy say. “Oh my goodness,” the woman said. “Is this Denny? He’s getting so big!” “Carter is too!” Daddy said. The big-boy giggled and waved. “Hiiiii.” He waved at Denny. “Hiiii, baby!” “That’s Denny, Carter.” “Hiiii, baby Denny.” The big boy said. Denny rattled himself awake. That wasn’t a big boy! That was a little kid! He looked three...four at best. And Denny looked younger. It took him trying to count his few remaining teeth with his tongue for him to realize he lacked the ability to count. He must be sitting on that, too. The grown-ups talked to each other, while Denny was “entertained” by the kid making “funny faces” at him. His gnashing teeth and spread (facial) cheeks and inside out eyelids were replaced by a turned up nose and audible sniffing. “Mommy,” Carter tugged on the grown-up lady’s pants. “The baby is stinky.” “That’s because the baby isn’t potty trained,” the boy’s mother explained. “He goes pee-pee and poopie in his diaper.” “Ewwww!” the boy giggled. Denny just wanted to die. “Don’t laugh, Carter,” Mommy said. “It wasn’t that long ago that you were wearing diapers too. “Nuh-uh.” Carter started to fidget uncomfortably. “Speaking of which, I think someone is getting ready to do their potty dance.” “Nuh-uh.” Oh how nice it would be to be understood by the grown-ups again, Denny thought. “Come on, Carter, let’s go to the potty,” the lady said, taking the big boy by the hand. “I got the last one,” Daddy said. Mommy walked around to the front of the stroller. “Fine,” she said. “I’ve got this one. Come on, baby.” The stroller shrunk away in Mommy’s arms. “Whew!” Mommy proclaimed. She patted his backside for emphasis. “How did all of THAT come out of little you?” “AAAAAAAH!” Denny cried out in despair. “AGABAH!” He sucked in his breath. Understand him or not, he couldn’t talk anymore. “Looks like there’s a long line at the ladies’ room hon.” Daddy said, peering off into the distance. “It’s going out the door.” Mommy looked at a nearby bench. “No big deal. I don’t have to go to the bathroom anyways. I can just change him here.” She flipped open the diaper bag and removed a changing mat. No! “WAAAAAAH! AH-AH-AH-AAAAAH!” Not in public! Not in front of everyone! This was too much to bear! “WAAAAAAH!” “Don’t worry,” Mommy cooed. “We’ll get you sorted out. It’s no fun to be in a dirty diaper, is it?” Denny was down on the hardwood, looking up at the sky. His onesie unbuttoned and his diaper untaped so that everyone could see the mess he’d made of himself. His head feeling like a lead weight, Denny looked at once last time to see his half naked body. He no longer even had the autonomy to decide when and who he was naked in front of. His penis had shriveled down to a nub. His testicles had retreated inside him. His tongue probed his mouth while Mommy wiped him. No more teeth, and plenty of room for new baby teeth to sprout out. His body had finally caught up to the way they were treating him. His mind wasn’t far behind. Maybe then this madness would stop and he wouldn’t get any younger; it wasn’t much of a prayer, but what else could he realistically hope for? A cool cloud of baby powder enveloped his not-so privates. Mommy slipped the fresh clean diaper, one of many many more to come underneath him. “Size two already,” she said. “It seems like he was just in New-Borns.” “Yup,” Daddy agreed. “They sprout fast. He’ll be going off to college before we know it.” “I hope not,” Mommy said. She pulled the diaper up and over baby Denny’s pelvis. “I love being his Mommy. I wanna enjoy this.” “Me too,” Daddy agreed. “Little stinker is cute.” Denny cried and tears trickled down his chubby cheeks. He didn’t want to be this pathetic but cute blob. He wanted to be a man! He wanted to finish college and go on dates and get a job. He wanted his wisdom teeth! Something else started dripping and Mommy looked at her shirt. “Heh,” she said. “I think he’s fussy because he’s hungry.” She lifted her shirt up and unclasped the front cup of her nursing bra. “WAAAAAAAAAH!” Daddy grabbed a blanket from the stroller. “I’ll give you two some privacy.” The lights went out for Denny as his father covered his head so no one would see him suckling on his mother’s breast. He wasn’t even thinking in words anymore. The last coherent thought in the boy’s brain occurred right as he latched onto the milky teat. “This isn’t so bad….” (The End)

It was Monday and Stacy’s back was starting to hurt. It was starting to hurt because Stacy had big breasts for her frame, but no bra. Any of the asshole pervs at work wouldn’t know that, though. The subtle pressure lines from the straps were all there and any one who cared to stare at her shoulders would see them. But Stacy wasn’t wearing a bra; not a proper one. Instead, she was wearing a training bra that was for all intents and purposes a piece of useless cloth strapped onto her chest. It offered less covering than an undershirt with about as much support, and was harder to put on, but it sure looked like a bra. The “why” she was wearing something typically reserved for middle schoolers was more complicated. On Saturday, she’d been doing some Spring Cleaning, going through old cardboard boxes and sorting clothes, figuring out what old things to give away and what to just throw out. When the college intern found her old highschool clothes, she stopped at the training bra. How had that gotten there? She hadn’t worn it since before freshman year. It wouldn’t have gone in the donate pile, thrift shops never took used underwear. It should have gone in the throwout pile. She was never going to use it again. And yet it ended up in the oh-so-rare nostalgia pile filled with till-then forgotten relics that she couldn’t bear to part with. Training bra joined the nostalgia pile with the old beaten up teddy bear she’d had since she was three and the little blanket that Stacy recognized more from baby pictures than memory. On Sunday, while preparing Mr. Johansen’s portfolio, Stacy found she had the hardest time concentrating. She’d organize a few things here…then zone out and stare at her laptop. She’d shift around a few things there. When she finally read the clock, it was close to dinner time, and she’d started working on it just after breakfast. She just couldn’t focus! Looking over her shoulder, she saw her old teddy bear, her baby blankie and the training bra, all still in the nostalgia pile, now moved to her bed. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt drawn to those childish things of yesteryear. And holding the stuffed bear in her lap made her finally able to focus enough to get the job down. It turned into almost an all nighter, but it worked. That night, in spite of her exhaustion, she couldn’t sleep. Stacy just kept tossing and turning. Eyes closed, but sleep refused to come. Her brain felt the same kind of loud Her blanket blutched up to her chin fixed that problem and she finally managed to drift off. Mom had probably packed them- the bear and the blankie- ages ago when she moved out. Training bra? Not so much. Now it was Monday, and that same weird buzzing fuzziness in her brain- a skull’s worth of static- had come back sometime between her morning pee and gobbling down her bowl of corn flakes. How was she going to focus?! The bear and the blankie wouldn’t be allowed at work! It just wouldn’t fly. Personal mementos were frowned upon at work; even something as innocuous as a teddy bear on her lap. But something sheathed safely underneath her clothes… It was too tight and not made for someone...um...Stacy’s size, but it did the job. For whatever reason, she was doing just fine, now. Easier to focus. Easier to be on top of her game. “Excuse me Stacy,” Mr. Johansen, broke Stacy’s train of thought. Stacy looked up at her boss. “Yeph Miphah Johanphen?” “The organization on the portfolio this weekend was top-notch. Some of the best work I’ve seen from you, but…” “Buh…?” “This memo you just sent out…” “Whuh ‘bou iph?” “It’s a little…” he paused to find the right words. His tone was delicate. An uncommon tactic for her boss. “It’s a little sloppier than usual.” He slid a piece of paper in front of her. “I printed it out so you could see.” Stacy forgot to breathe for half a second. So many typos! So many simple mistakes! “Oh my gosh, Mr. Johansen! I’m so sorry! I have no idea how that happened!” With near preternatural quickness, a quiet click, and a thundering of keys that could easily be mistaken for heavy rainfall on a rooftop, Stacy made a second draft that was perfect. “I have no idea how it happened!” “Yikes!” Mr. Johansen exclaimed. “You’re a machine, Stacy!” “Thank you, sir.” “Maybe next time you can avoid those mistakes if you type with more than one hand.” Stacy looked up to the older man. “Excuse me?” “Look down at your keyboard. Spacebar.” She did. Same old keyboard, nothing broken or missing, no keys put out of place by some kind of anachronistic office prank, (as if Stacy needed to look at the keyboard to type). But when she looked at the spacebar, there seemed to be a light glaze over where her left thumb normally rested. Come to think of it, said digit felt a bit clammy as well. “Spit?” “You were biting your nails, Stacy.” Mr. Johnasen said. “You were chomping on your thumb while we were talking. Almost like you weren’t thinking about it.” Stacy looked at her thumb as if it had betrayed her. She hadn’t been biting her nails, she knew. Biting your nails didn’t turn your fingers wrinkly. She’d been sucking her thumb; just like in those old baby pictures. “It was kind of cute, to be honest,” Mr. Johansen said. Was Stacy being hit on? Goose pimples- the bad kind- broke out on her back. “Kind of reminds me of my daughter. She’s in kindergarten now.” Being compared to his daughter didn’t take the shudders off Stacy’s skin. “I guess I just must be stressed,” Stacy said weakly. A corporate internship was not the place to complain about stress. It was all she could come up with though. Mr. Johansen snorted a bit. “Back in my day,” he said. “we took up smoking if we needed something to do with our mouths and hands. I’d say go for gum these days. Better for you.” “Yes sir.” Her boss didn’t leave though. He was staring at her, squinting his eyes, narrowing his field. A million little thoughts, none of them good, went through her head. Was her training bra not padded enough? Could he see her nipples through her shirt? Was he looking at her chest? Ogling her in public? She dare not call him out on it, she decided. Old guys were total creeps, and didn’t take criticism well; even if they were on their second wife and had little girls in Kindergarten. Better to just stare straight ahead and keep typing up reports until he went away. An eternity that only lasted three seconds broke when Mr. Johansen said, “Did you get a shot, Stacy?” Stacy looked up and followed his gaze down to her bicep instead of her bra. She rolled up her sleeve showing the band aid that was just about ready to peel itself off. “Yes sir. This year’s flu shot. Infinitech gives it free to all employees. How’d you know?” Mr. Johansen ignored her question and asked another. “When did you get it?” “Friday, sir. Why?” Mr. Johansen shook his head and grumbled a bit. “Shit like this is why I use my own private doctor. If you would have mentioned it to me, I would’ve gotten you a referral.” Stacy frowned. “I don’t understand, sir.” Her boss twisted his mouth and shifted his eyes. “You know how they say that when you get a flu shot you don’t get the flu?” “You just get a cold, sir,” Stacy finished the saying. “Sometimes Infinitech’s colds are worse than any flu.” He paused. “If you start feeling woozy over the next few days...or just a little off...feel free to call in sick.” Red flags should have been waving. Alarms should have been blaring. Cannons should have been blasting. No one this low on the totem pole at Infinitech, especially those under George Johansen, dared to take sick leave or personal time. Those mental warnings never came, however. Stacy was too relieved that her supervisor was talking to her like a human being and not staring at her chest. “Yes, sir.” Things got stranger on Tuesday. “Stacy,” Mr. Johansen said. “We need to talk.” She’d been called into the boss’s office. “Yes, sir? Is there something wrong with my work? Did I make a mistake?” She sat in the chair across from her desk. Her knees together and her hands demurely on her lap, she couldn’t help but wonder what she’d done wrong this time. She stole a look down at her fingers. Had she been sucking her thumb again? Nope. That was fine, at least. “I told you to go over the numbers from accounting; more practice than anything; due diligence,” Mr. Johansen told her. “And you actually managed to catch a few errors that the boys in the back missed. You just saved us some money.” Stacy beamed. “Thank you, sir!” A little dog wagging her tail, she sat up a little straighter, her eyes a little brighter. Mr Johansen held up his hand. “I’m not done yet. “Eyes faded, seat slumped down. “Your work is fine. Exemplary. It’s your state of dress, if I’m being honest. It’s not exactly professional.” The intern looked down at herself. She’d made sure to switch out her old training bra for something that actually offered support. Her blouse was very adult….er...professional. The skirt wasn’t too short and she’d seen plenty of the other interns and secretaries wearing similar outfits. “What’s wrong with it?” “Your hair is in pigtails.” Stacy reached up and pulled at the two little tassels on the side of her head. “Oh yeah. I guess they are.” She hadn’t known why she’d done that, to be honest. Just for some reason, it made the weird stress-buzz in her head fade away. That, and she looked and felt cute. “I came out to congratulate you,” he told her, “but then I saw your hair and had to bring you in here. I know I said you reminded me of my daughter,” he said not-quite jokingly, “but that doesn’t mean you’ve got to dress the part.” He paused and gave her that same see-through stare he’d done the day before. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Obediently, Stacy nodded her head. “Yes sir.” “Go to the bathroom and fix your hair.” And just like that, the meeting was over. Face blushing, Stacy scurried off to the ladies room to fix her hair. She felt a little teary eyed, and very embarrassed. “Stupid...stupid...stupid.” She grumbled to herself while she took her hair down. What had she been thinking? The thing is, she’d been thinking very well until the moment she let her hair back down. Even putting it into a ponytail didn’t help. She was absolutely useless for the rest of the day. Wednesday was a banner day for Stacy. Like a good girl...like a professional...she’d sat at her desk all morning going over memos from corporate, organizing and digitally filing Mr. J’s work. Last night, she’d even managed to get a little extra work done on the side, just a few ideas, really; and left them on Mr. J’s desk for when he came back from lunch. Her hair was tied back and up in a very professional bun. She had no training bra on. Mr. Bear-Bear was left on her pillow, next to blankie. Her outfit was very corporate shique, a dull and boring grey pantsuit. She wore glasses she’d bought from a pharmacy on a whim. They weren’t prescription but they made her look smart. She hadn’t sucked her thumb all day, either. The only thing, on the outside at least, that might be considered inappropriate was the light up sneakers she’d found in her size and snatched up. No one was going to look at her feet anyways, and a little light every time she stepped was nothing compared to thumb sucking or having her hair up in pigtails. Mr. J. didn’t come to get her. He just emailed her. “Please see me.” The missive read. Stacy’s stomach lurched. What had she done wrong, now? No way had he seen her feet all the way under the desk. She didn’t think anybody had tattled on her, neither. The slight, barely audible crinkle as she trudged nervously to Mr. J’s office didn’t lift her spirits. She didn’t sit down. Mr. J. didn’t invite her to, either. He just left her standing there in the middle of the room. “Can I help you, sir?” She asked her superior. “What’s this?” Mr. J. Held up the paper that Stacy had left for him on his desk. Stacy felt her lips purse. Fear was building up inside. Had she done something wrong. “It’s Infinitech’s projected quarterly report, Mr. J. I had some spare time-” “About that,” he interrupted. Stacy peed a little when her boss cut her off. “Why do you even have spare time?” The tone was a weird blend of a concerned relative talking to a demented grandparent and a suspicious teacher accusing their pupil of cheating. Correction: Stacy was now peeing alot. She didn’t think she had that much in her. “I finished all the work you normally have me do today.” That too, was a bit of a lie. The intern had done everything Mr. J had her do for the rest of the week. The diaper she was wearing (another impulse buy from said pharmacy) had surely sped that up. No more potty breaks meant more time working. The feeling of her diaper starting to sag to the inseam of her pants told her that she would need to change soon. If only she had thought to pack a fresh one. Thank goodness Mr. J couldn’t see inside Stacy’s pants, (and not for the usual reason). “Okay…” he said, still sounding hesitant. “Now tell me about this again,” he indicated the paper she’d left for him. “Why do you think you can project our quarterly growth when we’re not even two weeks into the third quarter?” “Oh,” Stacy laughed. “That? You see-”. Stacy then began to rattle off some basic economic principles she’d picked up for some light reading online the other day. Simple stuff. Middle school level, really. Practically Kindergarten. Confidently, she explained how she’d remembered the mistakes she’d caught yesterday and cross referenced the actual and accurate data found within with Infinitech’s historic growth and market trends over the last three decades and factored in spending habits with middle class Americans based on location, political party, and what television shows were the highest rated. Mr. J’s eyes started to glaze over. Obviously, it was because he understood everything she was saying. Time to really impress… “Also, just before you called me in, I found more backlogged errors from accounting. They’re fairly consistent errors across the board too. The thought occurred to me; someone might be embezzling from the company.” “Uh...yes. Yes. Of course,” Mr. J. said. “But why is it all in crayon?” “It was all I had on me…?” Another lie. Mr. Bear-Bear had kept falling off her lap, and using the crayons she’d bought from the pharmacy’s obligatory cheap toy section had helped keep the buzzing at bay. (Come to think of it, the lady at the pharmacy had given her such odd looks when slid everything across the checkout counter. “I calculated all the different factors using different colors so it’d be easier to keep track of,” she offered. A knock at the door. “Come in,” Mr. J. called out. Stacy looked back over her shoulder, and saw two women enter. One was short, a couple inches shorter than Stacy, in fact. She had short cropped black hair, thick rimmed glasses, and most oddly enough a pair of blue medical gloves on. The other one was close to a foot taller than Stacy, with light brown hair tumbling down past her shoulders. She wore functional jeans and sneakers, and even though the weather was far from nippy, the red turtleneck and dangling jewelry had a warmth to it that was only enhanced by her friendly smile. The big baggy purse slung over her shoulder reminded Stacy of Mary Poppins, too; so points there. “What seems to be the problem?” The shorter of the two asked. Stacy started to answer, but she silenced herself when she realized that the question was not directed to her but rather to her superior. Stacy’s lips started to itch. Her brain started to buzz. She started to fiddle with the thing dangling from her neck, hidden beneath her blouse. She’d packed the pacifier just in case the urge to suck her thumb came back. It was a better long term investment than either gum or cigarettes, anyway. Mr. J gestured to Stacy. “My intern here got the company flu shot,” he said. “I think she’s having a negative reaction.” “Why do you think that?” The lady in the lab coat asked. “Yesterday she was wearing pigtails. Day before that, I caught her sucking her thumb. Then there’s this.” He showed the doctor woman Stacy’s drawing. “Interesting…” the doctor said. “I’m more of a biologist than a mathematician but these seem to be some very complex calculations. That’s IS unusual…” “I feel fine!” Stacy whined. “Stacy,” Mr. J shushed her. “Hush. Grown-ups are talking.” Stacy hushed. She didn’t want to make him mad. Mr. J. looked back to the woman with the lab coat. “See what I mean?” The lady in the lab coat frowned. “Fear of authority and a submissive reaction to misogyny does not indicate a correlation with mental regression.” Mr. J turned red and looked like he was about to shout something when the tall lady in the turtle neck spoke up. “I think I can help.” She walked around and smiled at Stacy. “Hi! What’s your name?” When stacy found herself too bashful to answer, the woman helped. “I heard it’s Stacy. Is that right?” Quietly, and fighting a nervous smile, Stacy nodded. “Uh-huh.” She didn’t know why, but she liked this new lady. New lady was nice to her. Still a little scared, Stacy looked down at her feet. “I like your shoes,” the tall woman said. “Are they the kind that light up when you walk?” Stacy looked up at her, astonished. She didn’t talk, but let her very vocal gasp of surprise communicate what she needed. “Can you show me?” Stacy enthusiastically showed off her new shoes, marching quickly up and down, marking time to make the heels light up beneath her. “Like this?” “That’s VERY good!” The woman clapped her approval. Stacy couldn’t help but giggle. As she was giggling, the new lady scooped her hand upwards and felt the squishy diaper between Stacy’s legs. For some reason, Stacy didn’t mind too much besides the lack of warning. “Jesus…” Mr. J. whispered just a little too loudly. “Quiet, Johansen,” lab coat woman hushed Mr. J. “A grown-up is working.” Mr. J. hushed. The nice lady looked Stacy in the eye. “Uh-oh,” she said. “It looks like you’ve got a wet diaper on. Would you like me to change you?” Stacy thought about refusing; of insisting that she was potty trained. Of running away from the woman who’d just casually groped her and was offering to wipe the piss off of her. She thought of drinking a bunch of water and proving that she didn’t NEED diapers. Part of her wanted to prove that she was a big girl. But the more she thought about such things, the more her head just felt all fuzzy again. “Yeph Pweaph,” Stacy said. The tall lady took Stacy’s thumb out of her mouth, and fished out the paci from Stacy’s blouse. “Here you go.” “Thank you!” While the woman with the turtleneck started to unbutton Stacy’s pants and slide them down her hips, Stacy sucked on the pacifier. Lady was right. This was a lot better than sucking on her thumb. “Oooooh,” Miss Tall Lady praised Stacy, “I like how there’s all these little stickers on the front of your diaper. Did you do that?” Overwhelmed from the sheer amount of praise she was getting, Stacy only nodded while she giggled bashfully behind her pacifier. “Okay, time to lie down.” Stacy did, feeling the sopping squish first she sat down on Mr. J’s carpet, and then laid back. “What the-?” Mr. J. began to object. “Hush.” Was all the lady in the lab coat said to quiet Mr. J. down. “Let the woman do her job.” Stacy wasn’t sure how to feel about Mr. J. getting yelled at. The tall lady started digging through her purse. “Help me get her pants off,” she called to her compatriot. Stacy just laid there, while the stranger with the short hair removed the girl’s shoes, so she could more easily shimmy the fancy pants right off Stacy’s ankles. From behind her pacifier, Stacy grumbled, “Muh phooph!” Taking out a packet of wipes and a fresh diaper, (a much prettier one...this one was pink and had bunnies on it), the nicer of the two strangers looked to her. “Don’t worry, hon. You’ll get your pretty light up shoes back. Just gotta change you, first.” Apparently she could speak pacifier-eese. “Muh pamphs?” “I don’t think you’ll be needing those anymore.” And that was just fine by Stacy. Strange things happened inside of Stacy’s skull over the next few minutes. The four tapes being ripped off her saggy wet diaper were like little sparks in her neurons, firing away. The chill of the office air conditioning hitting her pee coated nether regions made her shudder and reflect. She giggled and cooed as the soothing cold wipes were applied and her pubic area was cleaned. Like a good girl, she lifted her legs up over her head and grabbed her ankles. It was a little like sex in that regard, but without the sweaty grunting hairball of a dudebro panting over her. Mr. J probably used to be a dudebro…. The the feeling of the used diaper being slipped out from under her, and the sound of it being balled up and put to the side- KA-THUNK! “My wastepaper basket!” -Make that thrown away- The sound of it was like all of her lack of focus and concentration, all of the strange static-y fuzziness that had overwhelmed her over the last few days being thrown away with it. “Good girl!” the tall lady said. That only made Stacy blush harder, and reaffirm her hypothesis. The former intern waited for the fresh diaper to be unfolded and a gentle tap on her naked hip to lower her legs back down. That wasn’t just the smell of lavender in the baby powder being sprinkled on her. It was also the smell of opportunity. “Now you look AND smell pretty.” Stacy giggled and sucked on her paci even harder. She couldn’t help it. She didn’t want to help it. Out of curiousness, she looked up as the pink diaper with bunnies on it was pulled up between her legs, the leakguards tickling her thighs. As the pseudo-velcro straps (oooh, nice creature) were fastened on securing the nappy to her hips, Stacy cooed with wonder. The two ladies were nice enough to put her shoes back on for her before helping her back up. “Stacy,” the nice tall lady said. “Do you know what happened.” “The damn flu vaccine turned her into a baby!” Mr. J. barked. “Ugh. Happens to a couple people every year...always to my interns too…” “I AM NOT A BABY!” Which in a way, was a lie, but Stacy loved the idea of being fussy and stomping her foot. So she did. Oooo! Her shoes still lit up! Mr. J. Rolled his eyes. “You just got your diaper changed right on my Persian rug. So are you taking her to the secret nursery?” That last question wa directed at the woman dressed as a scientist. “Soon,” the dark harried woman in the white coat said. “But I’m curious about something. Most afflicted don’t have this type of...cognition.” She looked at Stacy. “Stacy, dear. Do you know why you’re dressed like a baby and why Miss Wanda just changed your diaper for you?” Stacy let her pacifier drop. There was no fuzziness now. “Well if I had to guess…” “This is a waste of time…” Mr. J. again. “Infinitech is experimenting with a permanent flu vaccine that adapts each year with the virus and testing it on employees,” Stacy said. “But a side effect- and a reason that the vaccine is still in testing stages- is that a small percentage of test subjects end up suffering a form of mental regression, likely as the vaccination tries to mutate and ends up causing a form of low end Alzheimer’s...not quite an accurate description, but close enough of a parallel for layman's terms.” She stopped. “How am I doing?” Scientist lady and turtleneck lady’s jaws dropped. “Go on…” “Due to C.E.O and founder of Infinitech’s predilection for shall we say..” Stacy motioned to the pink diaper clinging to her hips (it felt soooo good), “let’s call it juvenile aesthetic, the company secrets away those affected and cares for them as infants and toddlers instead of killing them or putting them in nursing homes. That’s what these two are here to do. They’re a scientist and a caretaker respectively.” She looked at the grown-ups all gawking at her. “What? Don’t you guys do twitter? That part about Miss Vasquez being into baby stuff is kind of an open secret these days…” “Is there more?” Miss Wanda asked. “Only that I’m presuming that this latest batch when combined with my own particular brain chemistry has produced a slightly different result. My neurochemistry has been rewired so that baby stuff…” Stacy started counting off on her fingers, “Pigtails, diapers, Teddy Bears, being cooed at and loved on…” now it was Miss Wanda who blushed. “That kind of thing. It sends my dopamine into serious overdrive, but also my cognition and mental processing has increased as a happy side effect.” She paused. “Oh, and I start going through a kind of withdrawal when I can’t act on my newly acquired childish impulses…” “Child,” Doctor scientist lady said, “How did you know all that?” Stacy popped her pacifier back between her lips. “Bayphic debuckshun?” The other two adults looked to Miss Wanda. “I think she said basic deduction.” “Maybe if you’re Albert friggin Einstein,” Mr. J. groused. “But she is!” Miss Wanda beamed. “Or she could be! She’s an...an..she’s an adult baby genius!” “Does this mean I get my intern back?” Mr. J. asked. All three of the women (or two women and a little girl as Stacy preferred to think of it), laughed at that. Stacy didn’t get to go home that day. That night she luxuriated in a comfy crib that was just her size. On Thursday, she gave a lecture to the board of directors on how they could maximize their profit shares, all while applying basic psychology principles to increase worker productivity and job satisfaction. She got to do it in the most adorable pink dress with a matching poofy bow in her hair. Miss Wanda came with her and changed her mid presentation; not that she let that stop her. Friday? Friday was play day. The other babies in the nursery weren’t nearly as smart as her, most of them could only talk a couple words. But they were way more fun to play with than those boring old grown-ups in the office. (The End.)

One foggy morning, Kayla Summers took a final long drag from her cigarette; holding the smoke in her lungs and closing her eyes before finally exhaling. This was stupid. So fucking stupid. Kayla opened her eyes and stepped through the cloud of nicotine like a debutant applying expensive perfume. If she already smelled like smoke, it’d be harder to prove that she lit up in the school’s ladies’ room. Fucking law change: She’d smoked since she was fifteen, and now that she was nineteen, the law had changed again, upping the smoking age to twenty-one. Just when she was getting used to being an adult, the world decided that she should be a kid again. Kayla could join the military, vote for the president, and get fucked on camera for money, but she couldn’t have a beer or a cigarette. ShE jUsT wAsN’t ReAdY fOr ThAt! Not that the law stopped her. Definitely didn’t stop her from drinking. Didn’t stop her from smoking other things, either. Things like laws and rules, Kayla had found, rarely stopped people from doing bad things. Didn’t help people experience good things either. They just tended to punish people who stepped out of line by withholding necessary things: Freedom, licenses, diplomas. Those sorts of things. It was easier to just withhold necessities and privileges than to actually, y’know, help people. A surprising, if hypocritical insight considering Kayla’s current situation. Kayla was smart. Everyone knew that. Naturally bright. Kayla was also kind of a badass. Anyone who didn’t know that quickly learned it. What Kayla wasn’t, unfortunately, was someone who gave a damn. That’s what all her teachers had said. Not quite true, actually: Most of them had said that she was “bright” but she was “unfocused”, or “unmotivated”, or “didn’t apply herself”, or “lazy”. “Kayla, if you just apply yourself,” the endless parade of teachers had told her year after year, “you’d be capable of so much more!” It wasn’t always “apply yourself”. Sometimes it was “focus” or “pay attention”, or “practice self-discipline”, or just “grow up”. Being in remedial classes and credit recovery classes and having electives withheld all throughout elementary, middle, and highschool had done nothing to motivate her. Mostly because people underestimated how little Kayla truly cared. She didn’t care that she couldn’t do arithmetic without a calculator. That’s what calculators were for! She didn’t care that she could still only read at a sixth grade level. All the best stuff was on T.V. anyways and she didn’t need to read a whole lot of fancy words for Reddit. Why sweep the floor when you have a vacuum cleaner? Why vacuum when you had a maid? Most of all, Kayla didn’t care that her complete lack of experience, skill sets, education, (and attitude) made her virtually unemployable. Only Mr. Witherspoon, Junior Year, had come out and said that Kayla didn’t give a damn in so many words. Mr. Witherspoon tended to tell things like they were. Kayla had respected that about Mr. Witherspoon. Not enough to actually give a damn, but… Kayla dropped the cigarette on the curb and put it out with her heel. She couldn’t stop swearing under her breath in the early morning fog. It had finally come to this. Mom was lowering the boom. A week ago, Kayla had been given an ultimatum. She could get a job, work towards getting her G.E.D. or get out of the house. Sensibly, Kayla had chosen Option B. It’s not that Kayla wanted to go back to school to finish up a senior year she’d never had. It’s just that “school” was better than work and a helluva lot better than being homeless. She had experience in school. it was known to her. Work wasn’t. This was just a band-aid on a bullet wound, Kayla knew; but at least she’d have her old bed in the meantime. Could likely stretch out the goodwill from getting her G.E.D into a couple months of purposefully fruitless “job searching”. Till then, Kayla had to actually look like she was making an effort. This would be easy, she promised herself. Alternative education schools and the like were geared toward getting results more than an education. Unlike her previous schools, this place made money on getting people degrees and jobs; they were incentivized to take her money, train her up and kick her out instead of just holding her for eight hours a day. Glorified daycares, that’s all most schools really were.. Unlike her previous schools, at least the other kids would all be just as dumb and screwed up as her. Hard to be the dumb kid when everybody was more or less equal in their failure. “Fuck!” The highschool dropout cursed under her breath for even thinking of herself as a kid. Yeah, she was a skinny short woman, but she had made what felt like countless boys develop a fearful respect for short women. Big attitude and small package meant that all that energy was condensed. More pure. Mom was a short woman. It was nerves, Kayla assured herself. The last time she was in school, the words “student” and “kid” were synonyms. She should feel proud of herself that she still knew what a synonym was, of all the useless information that had been crammed into her skull through the years. Nerves weren’t the only factor for the mental slip up. Mrs.Cocker’s Reformation School for Adult Juveniles was a strange and slightly forced choice. What a weird fucking name! It sounded like something from Downtown Abbey where fancy ass rich people sent their daughters to learn how to sip tea and walk with books on their heads. Adult Juveniles? As in grown-up kids? Who the fuck talked like that? Who the fuck called people that? It was the cheapest of her options, though. Also, the only one that didn’t require a credit check or entrance exam; some people apparently WERE too stupid to learn. Lastly, it was the only one that Mom had agreed to pay for out of her own pocketbook. Funny, too, how it was the only one that also required her to take a private bus to their facility. Kayla would have thought that the cheapest school in the city wouldn’t have wasted money on transportation. Just take her money, give her an address and then tell her to show up on time. Kayla didn’t even know where this place was. She’d certainly never passed or driven by the place. The young woman would have definitely remembered reading a sign with such a stuck-up and ridiculous sounding name. Telling her where the campus was would have shown too much trust in her. It was why Mom approved of it. “You can’t be irresponsible if they don’t give you the choice,” she said. Mom even took the car, dropping her off at the bus stop and confiscating her cell phone and wallet. It was either go to school or walk home. It was all Kayla could do to stop Mom from waiting with her, holding her hand like she was a Kindergartener on the first day of school. Whatever. Kayla stood there on the curb in her black top, skinny jeans, and sandals waiting for the bus. Her bra matched her top and her panties were nonexistent. Her pants were so form fitting that panty lines would have looked like a cancerous bulge by comparison. The stylish shimmering silver belt dangling from her hips was literally just for show. If this morning’s dry run was any indication, any bathroom breaks Kayla took were going to require at least an extra minute and a half to two minutes between yanking and shimmying her pants off and on her hips and down her legs. In a perverse way, she was banking on it. Longer bathroom breaks meant less boring ass lectures. Kayla liked going to the bathroom during class. It was weird to say, but there was more than a grain of simple truth to it. She liked the quiet. The escape. The privacy. The sense of autonomy. Before she dropped out she went to the bathroom at least once a period whether she needed it or not. Not even the most hardened teacher taskmasters dared stop her from exercising her most basic privacy and autonomy. A psychologist might say that Kayla used going and hanging out in the bathroom as a way to manipulate social moores to flee responsibility and rebel against authority while trapped in a system where she otherwise felt very little control. Fortunately, Kayla had never taken a psychology course, and old habits died hard. A light breeze brushed by her, carrying the scent of cigarette smoke with it. Kayla couldn’t smell it of course. She was long since noseblind to it. Her new backpack,empty save for the half a pack of cigarettes stuffed in the front pocket, drooped sadly over one shoulder. That would no doubt change by the end of the day after she was overloaded with bullshit remedial textbooks and worksheets. It’d probably smell like cigarette smoke by the end of the week, too. Did adult schools even give worksheets? Kayla suspected they did. Her waiting came to an end as the old yellow school bus rolled through the fog, it’s brakes squeaking slightly as it rolled to a stop. Not quite a school bus, actually. Not a proper one. School buses were bigger. Longer. This was a short bus. THE short bus. The kind of bus that the REAL dumb kids rode back in the day; the ones who drooled all over themselves and pissed their pants on the regular. The ones for whom school really was a daycare. Kayla shook her head and clicked her tongue. It figured. She read the side of the bus, hoping it was some kind of mistake. No such luck. “Mrs.Cocker’s Reformation School for Adult Juveniles,” it read. The door opened. Save for the driver, it looked empty. The driver himself was so warped that he looked like he might be part of the vehicle, with yellow clothes and yellow jaundiced skin. His fat rolls had avalanched beneath the steering wheel and shorts that didn’t go nearly far enough down his knees. The dark, uneven patches of stubble gave him a kind of troll-like appearance; the kind of monster that waited under bridges for unexpecting billy goats to trespass. “Gettin’ on?” The dropout took a deep breath, wishing she had time for one last cigarette, and exhaled. “Yeah,” she said. “I guess so.” She took those first treacherous steps up onto the bus. The world blacked out for a moment after her feet planted themselves on the bus floor proper. Her vision became a cat’s slow blink, just long enough to notice the blackness as her insides began to sting and itch and tingle like an inside out sunburn that was just starting to peel. Sight rocketed back to her like a flickering bulb just before an iffy power outage. Kayla couldn’t put her finger on it at first, but something looked...different. It was the bus driver, Kayla realized. He was still fat, to be sure, but no longer nearly as grotesque. He was rounder, more pleasantly plump. His face smoother, and skin cleaner. His eyes brighter. It was the difference between a man in a monster fat suit and an actual overweight person. Even though he was still sitting, he looked like he carried the weight better. She wouldn’t have ever dated him, but he was nowhere near as repulsive as he had first seemed. A trick of the morning light and fog, perhaps. The yellow uniform he had on looked cleaner; less dirty and jaundiced and more the bright yellow of sunflowers and starshine. The legs were baggie and long enough to appear infinitely more flattering. He smelled better, too. Not that the young lady had been close enough to sniff him out on the curb but she would have bet even money that he smelled of unwashed clothes and three day old body odor. Now, her nose detected not so subtle hints of baby powder. It was a clean and pleasant smell. “Ya okay there, pumpkin?” His voice was warm and friendly, like Santa’s younger cousin. Kayla blinked again and rubbed her eyes afraid that the nicer, less trollish looking driver would dissipate with her morning eye gunk. There he remained, smiling softly. “Yeah,” she said. “I think so.” Then it occurred to her to repeat, “Pumpkin?!” “Time to sit down, Kayla,” A woman’s voice coaxed. Kayla whipped her head around. “The bus can’t move until all kids are buckled safely in.” Standing in the aisle was a woman. A foot taller than Kayla, she was black with dark eyes that sparkled and beautiful straightened hair that curled slightly and stylishly at the ends. Her red blouse buttoned neatly down the center and tucked into a dark skirt that traveled down to her ankles. Her black flats were the epitomey of “sensible”. She hadn’t been there a second ago. Kayla was positive of that. “Who are-?” Kayla found herself unable to finish. “I’m Miss Jenkins,” the new lady chirped. “I’ll be one of your teachers.” Gently, she grabbed Kayla by the wrist, tugging her forward. “Come on.” One step. That’s all it took for Kayla to realize that something was very wrong: with her environment; with her clothes; possibly even her mind. Her gait was slightly off; more than slightly. Her brain registered the slight papery crinkle sound when she took that first step but refused to give any kind of meaning to it; nor did it give significance to the way her legs now became not so slightly parted, an intruder inserted between them. What it did give away was how loose her pants felt around her legs brushing lightly against her knees and ankles like gently wafting curtains. What it did give away was how she couldn’t wiggle her toes freely in the open air and how her ankles now felt covered. What it did give away was her nipples brushing lightly against her shirt. What it did give away was how full (if not heavy) her backpack felt dangling from her shoulder. Speaking of which, was something dangling from her shirt collar? “Huh?” Kayla planted her feet and looked down at herself. Her shirt was a faded pink, now instead of dark black. Her sandals had been replaced with pink and white sneakers; velcro instead of laces. Her jeans were suddenly super baggie, around the legs anyhow. The waist, though... “What the fu-?” “Oh,” another voice interrupted. “Let me help, dear.” Another thirty-something woman seemed to manifest just on the periphery of Kayla’s vision. She too wore jeans, but they were anything but skinny (she didn’t quite hve the figure for it). Her sneakers had laces, and the thin sweater gave an air of professionality that Kayla’s ensemble sorely lacked. The red of her hair was the kind only available out of a bottle. She took Kayla’s backpack, now bulging with SOMETHING and slid it behind a bus seat. “Thank you Miss Stone,” Miss Jenkins said to the other adult. “Say thank you, Kayla.” Kayla was too dumbstruck to reply. The feeling of the backpack sliding off her shoulder allerted Kayla to three other new pieces of information: Her bra had vanished; she had a silver studded chord clipped onto the collar of her pink shirt; and her panties...existed? If panty lines had been a cancerous tumor, she now had something inoperable and terminal riding on her hips. Stupidly, she lifted the shirt up and stared down at her waist. No belt, either. Peeking up at her from just above the elastic waistband was a thing papery line. What was that? A dia-? “Ah-ah-ah.” Miss Jenkins’s hand gently slapped the top of Kayla’s. Reflexively, Kayla opened her palms and let the hem of her shirt drop back down. “No playing with your clothes. Time to sit down.” Kayla’s thought process was interrupted by a deceptively strong grip yanking her out of the bus aisle and forcing her into a seated position. More than just her clothes had changed. She was positive that even short bus seats didn’t typically have roller coaster harnesses on them. Quick, practiced hands pulled straps over her shoulders and buckled the disoriented Kayla in within seconds before she could react. “There we go!” the taller woman cooed. “Comfy?” She didn’t wait for Kayla to respond. “Okay, driver! Next stop!” A sudden panic filled the young woman. She pulled at the straps keeping her pinned to the seat. They didn’t budge. She pressed and squeezed at the main buckle coming up between her legs positioned just above her belly button. The red release tab might as well have been painted on; just for show. No sounds of concern came from either of the two women who’d ambushed her. The pair just watched her, light eerily pleasant smiles framing their faces as the girl began to kick her feet and futilely wriggle her shoulders. The bus moved on regardless, the floor beneath Kayla vibrating as it did. Kayla looked down at herself, back to the sparkling not-necklace dangling from her used-to-be black shirt. Was that...was that a pacifier? Why did she have a pacifier dangling from her shirt? The fuck was going on? Her struggling gave way to quiet contemplation “Someone’s already tuckering themselves out,” the redhead chuckled. Kayla didn’t have to wait long to get more answers to her questions. The next stop made a few things abundantly clear. The cheese wagon crawled to a stop with a creek. Soon after the doors swung open, Kayla heard a throaty “BYE MOMMY!” Up the steps tramped yet another rider. Like Kayla, the boy appeared to be around her age; nineteen; twenty tops. If only the similarities had stopped there. His t-shirt was baby blue, but had a large pacifier clipped to it. His sneakers were also velcroed on and lit up whenever he took a step. His backpack was stuffed. His pants were non-existent. Kayla’s breath caught in her throat. Dude was wearing a diaper. Not an “adult diaper” like Depends. A diaper. White. Puffy. Taped on and with cartoons plastered all over the front and back. “Good morning Jimmy.” “MORNING MISS JENKINS!” The man baby shouted back. “MORNING MISS STONE!! Dude only had one volume, and that setting was loud. He noisily crinkled past Kayla, handing off his backpack to the black lady while the artificial ginger scooted him into the row behind Kayla. Crinkle?! Gently Kayla pressed her thighs together and heard the same sound. Felt it too. The sudden pillow like bulk suddenly made more sense. No! It couldn’t be! She couldn’t be wearing a-! Uh-oh. That smell; the baby powder smell; it probably wasn’t coming from the bus driver. “Oh Jimmy,” she heard Miss Stone say. “One of these days you’re going to make it on the bus without being soaking wet.” Jimmy just giggled back. “Oh well. We’ll change you when we get to school.” More giggles and the metallic clicking sounds of a giant baby seat being secured. That’s what this was. Kayla was dressed like a baby, wearing a diaper, and strapped into an honest to goodness baby seat. Kayla felt a scratching, acidic burn in the back of her throat. Her stomach was threatening to eject the morning gas station coffee she chugged before Mom had abandoned her on the curb. The name of the school she’d signed up for made a certain kind of sense now: Mrs.Cocker’s Reformation School for Adult Juveniles. Adult Juveniles. This really WAS a short bus; and everyone who went to this school was so plainly deranged and deficient that they had to be treated like babies for their own good. Everyone, that is but Kayla. “Excuse me. Excuse me!” Kayla called out as the bus started rolling again. “Yes, Kayla?” Miss Jenkins said. “Is something wrong?” A creeping dread came over the girl. She didn’t remember giving anyone her name. Never mind that. “I think there’s been some kind of mistake.” “No there isn’t, hun.” The response was immediate. “You’re right where you’re supposed to be.” “But I’m sitting in a baby seat,” Kayla said, doing her best to sound intelligent and reasonable. If she could be articulate and reasonable, it’d be evident to anyone that this was the result of bad advertising and a fundamental understanding. “Uh-huh,” The woman who’d put her in the seat said. “Yes you ARE sitting in a baby seat! Very good!” She tweaked Kayla’s nose. “So smart!” Kayla genuinely couldn’t tell whether she was missing the point on purpose or not. New tactic. Babies knew about baby things. What if she knew about adult stuff? “And I’ve not wearing a bra anym-” She was interrupted again, “Don’t worry, you’ll get a bra.” Miss Jenkins said. She paused a beat. “When you’re a big girl...” The dropout felt her face flush. Was this happening?! Was this really happening?! “I AM A BIG GIRL!” Funnily enough, declaring that she was a big girl had the opposite effect. It was one of those para-something...by saying she was a big girl, she seemed much littler. Both of the thirty-somethings giggled behind their hands. Jimmy laughed too, but it was the empty laughter of someone who didn’t rightly understand what was happening and was just going along with the crowd. “Big girls don’t wear diapers, do they?” Miss Jenkins pointed out. “And I can tell you’re wearing one.” The highschool dropout felt something close to a tantrum well up. “That’s not fair!” she cried out. “I wasn’t wearing one a second go! I didn’t put this on myself! I didn’t put any of this on! Just a second ago I was wear-” “Of course not,” Miss Stone jumped in. “Babies can’t dress themselves. Your Mommy changed you and dressed you when she got you up this morning.” “No she didn’t!” The two adults exchanged knowing looks. “So you’re saying you’re Mommy didn’t wake you up this morning?” Kayla flushed. “That’s not the point! I’m supposed to be going to school! Not a daycare for dummies!” “We ARE going to school, Kayla” Miss Jenkins said. “A VERY SPECIAL school! She seemed to be the higher ranked of the two adults...teachers...attendants?....whatever. “But first we have to pick up all your classmates. Oh you’ll make so many friends! Then you’ll learn about shapes, and colors, and numbers, and letters. So much fun! So many wonderful things!” The diapered girl’s outrage was only matched by her complete and total disbelief “I already know that stuff!” “Sure you do!” Miss Stone’s voice was high and condescending. The kind reserved for not arguing with children and idiots who didn’t know any better. “Seriously!” Kalya insisted. “I’m an adult!” That didn’t sound right for some reason. “A grown-up!” Nope. “A big girl!” Yeah, for some reason that felt appropriate. It was nothing at all for Miss Stone to reach back behind the seat and pick up the backpack she’d stowed. “Then why do you have these?” she asked. The zipper came undone, and stacks and stacks of folded white rectangles practically burst out. “That’s a lot of diapers for a big girl…” She let the thought finish itself. “FOR THE LAST TIME!” Kayla screamed. “I DIDN’T PACK THOSE DIAPERS!” The head teacher nodded. “Of course not, baby.” she said. “Your Mommy did.” This was infuriating! This was more than a mistake, this was straight up madness! This had to be a joke! A hidden camera prank! Something for Youtube! Anything but what it seemed! Anyone with half a brain could see that she and that freak in the wet diaper weren’t even in the same ballpark. Anybody with eyes could see that she was far too old to be strapped in a baby seat or be wearing panties one could pee in! Just as the young lady’s outrage was reaching a crescendo right as the bus engine was lowering to a dull purr. They’d reached the next stop. “I’M! NOT! A! BABY!” The sudden quiet made Kayla’s shouting that much louder. Miss Jenkins stood up and leaned over the shouting nineteen-year-old. With surgical ease she picked up the pacifier with one hand and held Kayla’s nose with the other. Kayla opened her mouth to breathe and had the pacifier rammed between her lips. “Shush now. Now more fussing. Prove you can control that temper little lady, and then we’ll talk about the rest.” The forcefulness and certainty! No one ever talked to Kayla like that! Not even Mom! Meekly, Kayla averted eye contact and kept the pacifier in her mouth. Miss Jenkins rewarded her with a pat on the head before stepping away to help the greet the next diapered dumb-dumb.. Shuddering, almost seething, Kayla kept herself under control by sucking on the rubber bulb in her mouth, shocked into silence as the next passenger came up the steps. This new infantilized idiot had dark hair and frilly socks over Mary Jane shoes. She also had purple ribbons in her hair and a matching dress that just barely covered the top of her diaper. At least it was clean. “Kitty! You look so pretty today!” The girl just blushed, handing off her diaper filled backpack to the redhead while the head teacher buckled her in next to Kayla. “Kitty, this is Kayla. She’s new to our class so be nice. Kayla, you could learn a lot from Katie about how to be a good baby.” Kayla held her temper this time. She just took all of her fear and embarrassment and frustration and bit into the thick artificial teat wedged between her teeth. The teacher took notice “Ooooh? No more tantrums?” Slowly and deliberately, Kayla shook her head. Her nostrils flared and she had an odd instinctual desire to claw this woman’s eyes out, but she did not act on them. The older woman stroked her chin and hemmed. “Maybe you really are a big girl if you can keep from fussing so well.” Kayla felt an unusual amount of pride in that compliment. “Even if you need a pacifier to help.” Nevermind on the pride. If her back wasn’t literally pinned to the back of the baby seat, Kayla would have slumped forward and placed her head in between her knees. She opened her mouth and let the dummy fall out, caught by the sparkling tether that so resembled her belt. “Tell ya what,” Miss Jenkins said as the bus started to pick up steam. “If you can keep your diaper clean aaaall day,then maybe you ARE a big girl. How does that sound?” Kayla picked her head up a little straighter. Not pee her pants? Any non-idiot could do that, and Kayla was an exceptionally bright underachiever. “Okay!” she said. “That’ll be easy!” “If you really are a big girl, yes.” Miss Jenkins agreed. “And if not, that’s okay too. We’re happy to have you.” She walked back to her (non-baby) seat as the bus started moving. “You and Kitty make friends.” “Hi!” The dark haired girl said to Kayla. “I’m Kitty! I’m a baby, too!” “Good for you,” Kayla quipped. “I’m not.” The girl with the non-functioning dress, cocked her head. “No? But I thought I was supposed to teach you how to be a good baby…” Poor thing. Poor simple thing. “That was a mistake.” Kayla said, trying to be polite to the woman-child. “One that I’m fixing A.S.A.P.” “Ay Ess Ay Pee?” The smarter girl exhaled and crossed her arms, lest she smack someone outside the head. “It means I’m going to fix thing. “Oooooh.” There was a hollowness in her voice. GIrl did not get it. “Are you s’posed to be a new teacher?” Kayla almost scoffed, but then stopped herself. “Yes,” she lied. “Yes I am.” If the only acceptable titles here were ‘teacher’ and ‘baby’, Kayla would choose ‘teacher’. Kayla really was bright, after all. She could probably do these ladies’ job. How much did she have to know to change diapers and feed bottles or whatever? “What do you teach?” Kitty asked, seemingly completely oblivious to Kayla’s mounting distaste. “Is it coloring? I love coloring! I always wanted a teacher to help me learn to color better! Do you think green colors better than blue because I’ve always tho-” Kayla interrupted her new seatmate. “Kitty, was it?” “Yes teacher lady ma’am?” The girl was all toothy smiles and blank, uncomprehending eyes. “How about we try and see if we can be quiet aaaallll the way to school?” “Like a game?” Kayla blinked. It was literally like talking to a two year old. “Yes, Kitty. Like a game.” “Okie dokie!” She popped her own pacifier into her mouth and started idly looking around. Kayla fiddled with her own pacifier, but upon looking at the adults (the ones actually dressed for the part) decided against it. The next two stops were uneventful- if by “uneventful” one meant trying not to gawk at a twenty something crinkling in pink shortalls, and a man and a woman in complementing sailor outfits. Twins? Fuckin’ twins? Kayla just shook her head, flabbergasted at the circus unfolding in front of her. Adult Juveniles? Even IF someone was so damaged that they needed diapers and preschool level education, why dress them like THAT? It was cute when they were knee high; it was kind of gross after puberty had done its job. Speaking of gross, the sound of grunting and straining distracted her long enough to look at her seatmate. “Kitty?” Her dress bunched up above her diaper by the restraints, Kitty did not look at Kayla. She just kept sucking on her pacifier; staring at an invisible dot somewhere in the middle distance past the plump bus driver’s head. Staring. Squinting. Grunting. “Kitty?” Kayla repeated herself. Shit! That was her name right? Had she already forgotten the freak’s name and that’s why she wasn’t responding? Girl was responding to something, though. Staring. Squinting. Grunting. What the-? Another sound, faint, almost imagined, wormed its way into Kayla’s inner ear. More crinkling. A diaper shifting and rustling. That and something else. Something muted. Suppressed. Low. It was Kayla’s nose that finally clued her in. Girl was pooping! Holy shit, (a poor choice of words), she was really going right there in her lack-of-pants! When the guy in the t-shirt and diaper tromped on, Kayla wasn’t entirely surprised to hear he’d peed himself. Men were gross! But the girl next to her had straight up shit herself! Shamelessly, too! Kayla felt bowled over! This was impossible! Why would anyone over the age of two do that to themselves? “Kitty?” Kayla said. “Kitty?” Kayla waited until a bit of light seeped back into her seatmate’s eyes; the unconscious sigh, a tell that the other girl had finished with her disgusting business. “Kitty?!” Calmly, too calmly, Kitty took the pacifier out of her mouth and turned her head. “Huh? Are we all done playin’ the quiet game?” “Did you just poop yourself?” Kitty’s mouth twisted, deep in thought. Perplexed. “I dunno,” she said. “Maybe? How would I tell?” Kayla felt her mouth go dry. She had no answer. It was such a preposterously simple question that she didn’t know how to. It was like someone asking how to eat, or walk. “A grown-up will just check me when I need changed.” WIth that, Kitty popped her pacifier back in her mouth. Just like that, like a turd being flushed down the toilet, the matter seemed resolved and forgotten. A new wrinkle folded itself deep into Kayla’s brain. How was she going to prove to the people who chartered this bus that her diaper was actually clean and dry? There really was only one surefire way to check. She pictured either of the two women, pulling back her waistband and staring down at her ass to see if she’d taken a dump in her pants; or pulling down her pants to squeeze between her legs and stick fingers past the leak guards to check for wetness. Yeah, they could ask her, but people like Kitty didn’t even know when they’d shit themselves...and they thought Kayla was one of them! Her stomach threatened to upheave its contents into her lap. The thought that such a “school” existed repulsed the young woman on a near existential level. The idea that she’d need to attend was ludicrous. And the notion of her, a grown-ass woman, highschool dropout or not having to get her pants checked throughout the day to prove that she wasn’t as brain dead as the others was nothing short of obscene to her. Whatever happened to the honor system? All while she was fuming, her nostrils flaring with indignation with every breath, the not-so-subtle aroma of Kitty’s mess continued to invade her sinuses. It was gross. It was disgusting. It was...not nearly as bad as Kayla thought at first. Oddly familiar in a way. Everybody started out shitting themselves, Kayla realized. That was literally just life. The girl just didn’t cotton to the idea of people thinking she still did that. The thought was almost too mortifying to fully process. The bus slowed down and came to one last stop. Kayla looked out her window, and the teachers confirmed what she already knew. “We’re heeeeeeere!” Kayla felt a knot form up in her throat. It really was a school. It wasn’t a massive campus like her old highschool, but it was definitely a school. Its bricks were bright fire engine red; its roof a pleasing gray slanting down. Up on the roof a large bell tower cast a shadow that reached down to the bus. A not-so-little-red schoolhouse. A giant announcement board by the side of the road had mentions of picture day retakes on it. She looked out to the road and didn’t recognize it. Stupidly, she’d been so in shock that she hadn’t thought to look for street signs to track the path the bus took. She really was well and truly lost. A nearby playground to the side of the main building was abuzz with activity, though the little tykes weren’t nearly so little. It was hard to tell from afar, but the equipment looked bigger too. Bigger diapers. Bigger baby clothes. Bigger playground. And Kayla couldn’t help but feel small just looking at it. “You’ll get to play there later,” Miss Jenkins said, having watched and misinterpreted Kayla’s gaze. “Our class’s playground time is just after lunch.” Miss Jenkins pressed on the button to Kayla’s seat harness and the straps slackened and released her as easy as anything. The little read circle just below her breasts wouldn’t have so much as budged when Kayla had tried it. Everyone was handed their backpacks and then shooed out of the bus with one teacher leading the way and the other bringing up the rear. No opportunity to go unnoticed or escape. The now pleasantly plump bus driver just sat in his seat and waved bye-bye to the babified adults exiting. All of this crazy started the moment she got on the bus, Kayla realized. Maybe it would stop the moment they got off. No such luck. Her childish sneakers remained sneakers. Her jeans still had an elastic waistband and increased room to accommodate the diaper still taped snuggly around her nips. Kitty grabbed one hand. Jimmy grabbed the other. The six not-quite adults formed a handholding chain and walked single file like parading elephants towards the main building.. “Can I speak to the Principal?” Kayla called out. Speaking to the manager. Yeah, it was the ultimate Karen Move, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Miss Jenkins at the front of the line turned her head enough to call back. “Mrs. Cocker is very busy. We don’t want to interrupt her. We’ve got a full day of learning and play ahead of us.” She emphasized the word ‘play’ like it was a special carrot to dangle in front of Kayla. Another idea bubbled up in Kayla’s mind. She really was bright! “I have to go to the bathroom!” she announced. Her new classmates didn’t even know if they were pissing or shitting in their pants. Even the tiniest tinkle into a potty could prove that she was head and shoulders above these feebs and that she didn’t really belong here! “As soon as we get in and get everything put away,” Miss Stone called from the back. The toddler line was just crossing the threshold into main school building when the bell started to ring. DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! Loud would be an understatement. The giant bell at the top of the building reverberated, sending ripples through the air that Kayla could almost see. Any louder and there would need to be a hunchback near the top shouting “SANCTUARY!” “Ooops!” Miss Stone shouted over the clanging. “We’re running a little late. Double time kids!” That’s when things started to fall apart. The vibrations from the bell did more than cause Kayla to wince and wish she had a free hand to cover her ears. That’s when she realized that the diaper between her legs was starting to dampen. She was peeing! Something in the vibrations traveling through the air had caused her bladder to start spasming uncontrollable. Every step she took she could feel her formerly fresh diaper start to sag and swell and droop about with added weight. Whether it was adrenaline, humiliation, or something else, Kayla failed to feel even the minor relief of an empty bladder; only the spreading warmth and increasing squish of a diaper that was now anything but pristine. Biting the sides of her tongue and breathing through her mouth, Kayla did her best to keep her cool. It was okay. No big deal. So she’d wet herself? So what? Not that she’d wanted or meant to pee her pants, but it’s not like anyone noticed. She glanced down past her waist. The diaper hadn’t swollen up THAT much, had it? No. Of course it hadn’t. And it wasn’t like anyone could tell. No one knew. No one but her. She’d wet her pants and just disqualified herself from “big girl” status but she still had a chance to pull this off. Yes, she had a wet diaper on, but she could still pull this off. All she had to do was get to a bathroom, change herself, and then ditch the offending padding. Maybe in a trash can already filled with offending diapers, maybe in her backpack. It didn’t matter that she had absolutely zero experience in changing diapers-hers or anyone else’s- it was still a plan. She could do this. They walked through a hallway and stopped at a door. “Miss Jenkins and Miss Stone,” the sign on the door read, with large headshots of each woman on the door. Beneath them were smaller print names and photos of each of the adult babies. The newest student felt her mouth go as dry as she wished her diaper had been. How did they get her picture? More concerningly, why did her face in the picture have such a vacant carefree look? Kayla never looked like that. She looked high. She looked like a brainless twit. She looked...babyish. Her face paled. Was that another spurt of pee she’d just let loose into her pants? The teacher at the head of the line looked past Kayla and to her cohort. “My turn for morning diaper duty, right?” MIss Stone grinned. “Your words, not mine.” Miss Jenkins nodded and opened the door up; turning on the lights and then walking out of sight. None of the others rushed past her. Stuck in the line as she was, Kayla felt paralyzed; hemmed in by babied idiots who she now sadly had something in common with. While Jenkins lurked behind the door, her co-worker made her way to the head of the line. “Okay class!” she chirped. “Let us end our morning drive-” The other five dimwits responded in unison. “WITH A HUG, A HANDSHAKE, OR A HIGH FIVE!” They dopped their hands back down to their sides and stood single handed. Finally, Kayla found her hands free. If she had had any idea where she could go, or wasn’t afraid that she might fall on her face in a clumsy toddling escape; Kayla might have dashed off. But she didn’t and she was. “Hello Kitty,” the teacher said to the lead ‘Adult Juvenile’. “Do you want a handshake, a hug or a high five?” Kitty opened her arms wide and leaned in for the kind of hug normally only reserved for close family and lovers; at least in Kayla’s estimation. The sight of Kayla getting her backside patted and felt up like a ten dollar hooker didn’t get. “I thought that was either you or Kayla,” she said. Kitty whirled around and looked at Kayla. “You were right!” she said. “I did poopie!” She sounded astonished, as if the dropout had predicted the future or something. “Kitty’s coming!” Miss Stone called into the room. “Code red!” “Got it! Come on Kitty!” With small and rabid steps, Kitty toddled in, not seeming to notice the extra butt pat the adult gave her through all the padding and mush. Kayla was next, and even though she’d never admit to being afraid, her knees started to shake slightly. It’s just that her knees were lonely and wanted to touch. Yeah. That was it. The sponge like expanding of her soggy padding wasn’t doing them either favors. “She doesn’t know,” Kayla said to herself below even a whisper. “It’s okay. No one knows. It’s impossible.” “Hi Kayla!” Miss Stone said. “Do you want a hug, a handshake, or a high five?” Even if she hadn’t just seen the thirty-something feel the last girl up, Kayla wouldn’t have chosen a hug. Even a high-five seemed like more than this psycho deserved. Another brilliant idea: Balling her hand up, Kayla timidly offered her hand forward. “Fist bump?” The light in the thirty-something’s eyes shown even more radiantly. “A fist bump?! Oh my goodness that’s so cute! Kayla you are so cute! Such a bright little girl!” The woman radiated insane ‘soccer mom’ energy; chuckling to herself as she lightly tapped knuckles with the wet nineteen year old. For her part, Kayla used the opportunity to dig her own fingernails into the palm of her hand and relish in the sobering pain. She watched as Stone’s nostrils expanded and listened as the woman sniffed. “Do you need changed?” she asked point blank. Kayla watched her new adversary’s eyes travel down to the bulge beneath her jeans. They hadn’t swelled up that much they hadn’t swelled up that much they hadn’t swelled up that much. Kayla’s eyes darted down to the woman’s hands and her feet ready to jump back in case Stone attempted to check her. “Or can you go potty like a big girl?” A throbbing sound of her own heartbeat rang on inside Kayla’s ears. “Big girl.” Not technically a lie. Kayla COULD go potty like a big girl. She just hadn’t. She’d fix that soon enough. Stone stepped aside and thumbed to Kayla’s right. “Bathroom is on the right as soon as you go in.” Kayla darted past her, looking behind her to avoid the dreaded back pat. That was when Kayla found out that there was a large pink teddy bear pattern sewn into the butt of her pants. “Kayla’s coming in. CODE YELLOW!” Code yellow? Did that mean that the grown-up knew that Kayla had peed herself? Or did that mean she suspected it? Or was she announcing Kayla’s intent to go to the bathroom? This was an instance, Kayla decided, where she was better off not overthinking it. Plunging through the door, she practically contorted her head searching for the bathroom door. There, she’d wait by it for Miss Jenkins to get done changing Kitty and then slip in and demand privacy. Then she’d just change herself and cram the offending diaper down to the bottom of the trashcan. Kayla stopped at the open door, the toilet and sink in plain view. Leaning in and looking around, she realized she’d made a fundamental miscalculation. The bathroom was empty and clean as a whistle. The tiny waste basket by the sink was barely big enough to hold a handful of paper towels; never mind a sopping wet grown-up Pampers! If she ditched the diaper there, the grown-ups know. There in the shadow dim glow of the bathroom light, Kayla started to formulate a different plan. Her mind started to race; run through different imaginary scenarios. She had a backpack full of diapers. If she changed herself in the bathroom and then shoved the wet thing deep down in her backpack, she could still conceivably make it through the day without another accident. In her mind, she heard the disapproving tone of dozens of teachers. “If you put this much effort into your school work,” they said in unison, “then you wouldn’t be wearing diapers right now.” “Kayla?” Miss Jenkins called out from nowhere. “Are you okay?” The bathroom was still in a kind of bottleneck. The dropout couldn’t see her new teacher or idiot classmate. “Yeah...?” she lied. Looking back away from the bathroom she saw the beginnings of a preschool classroom. A whiteboard and a plush, quilted rug were easily seen; but no desks. No teacher either. “You said you needed to go potty,” Miss Jenkins called from out of line of sight. Kitty’s childish giggling added to the strangely eerie soundtrack. “Do you need help getting your diaper off?” If her diaper came off in front of any of the teachers, her goose would be cooked! Miss Jenkins would know! EVERYONE would know! “NO!” she yelped a half second before she regained composure. “I mean...I’m fine.” “You can take your diaper off by yourself?” Miss Jenkins asked. “Hold still, Kitty.” The little woman said a quiet half-prayer and then said. “Yes, but I don’t need to anymore.” Then she tacked on. “False alarm.” “Okay…” Jenkins said. She wasn’t buying it. “Well don’t just stand there, come in.” It was worse than Kayla might have imagined. She stepped out of the narrow bottleneck and into the room proper, taking everything into view. Alphabet letter and numbers were plastered along the ceiling’s borders. Colorful rainbow calendars and charts emphasizing the day of the week were hot glued to portions of the wall directly in front of her next to the white board. To the far left looked like a children’s activity table, the kind that went out of style in middle school except all the chairs were sized to fit someone who had grown-up. To the far right was a low shelf stacked with toys: Dump trucks, racecars, plushies, plastic rings, wooden blocks, Mr. Potato Heads, doll houses. The kinds of toys that people who hadn’t figured sex out loved. “Put your diapers up.” Kayla pivoted clockwise and felt true despair. Behind her and to the right was a tall bookshelf and a the biggest fucking changing table Kayla had ever seen. Kitty laid there getting her ass wiped by another adult as if it were the most normal and natural thing in the world; nomming on her fingers and giggling as the cold rags caressed her most sensitive parts. Miss Jenkins repeated herself. “Put your diapers up, Kayla.” The older of the three women diverted her gaze just long enough to ball up Kitty’s soiled diaper and toss it into an equally large diaper genie. “Oh,” she said as she started to unfold the new diaper “I forgot that this is your first day.” “Jimmy’s coming in,” Miss Stone called out. “You already know he needs it!” “Got it!” Miss Jenkins called back. Jimmy waddled in. His diaper sagging and swinging between his legs like a sack of garbage. “Jimmy, will you teach Kayla how to put her diapers away?” Like a good boy, Jimmy reached into his backpack and took out a stack of diapers. He slid the whitish cartoon printed rectangles onto a shelf that likewise had a headshot of him. “YOU’VE GOTTA PUT THEM WITH YER PICTURE!” He spoke-shouted. “THEN YOU GO HANG YOUR BACKPACK ON THE HOOK BUT IT DON’T MATTER WHERE YOU PUT THAT!” On the other side of the changing table, half a dozen little wall hooks protruded offensively. While Kitty got her ass powdered, Jimmy walked around his teacher and hung his backpack on the wall. Kayla reached into her backpack. Six diapers had been crammed in there. They all had the same cutesy print on them, too. Identical. Good. No way to differentiate between an old diaper and a new one save for the state and saturation of it. Maybe she could find a way to sneak the thing around her waist into the backpack...ditch it later. Carefully, Kayla grabbed five and slid them onto the shelf above her picture. “All of them Kayla,” Miss Jenkins said. She hadn’t even looked up from securing the tapes on Kitty’s new diaper. “Or do big girls need help counting to six?” Uncanny! Dang it! So much for her backpack plan. “And Jimmy, don’t go far. You’re next after Kitty, little boy” The newest classmate felt a strange kind of relief. Jimmy was next! That HAD to mean that she was safe for the moment; her privacy still secure. They didn’t know. They might suspect, but hadn’t confirmed. Kayla took a moment and examined the picture above her diapers. (Well...not HER diapers but…) If she was so new here, how did they already have her picture? It was a different picture than the one of her just outside the classroom. Her expression was different. Her shirt was an annoying lime green outside. Here on the shelf, it was dandelion yellow. It wasn’t a portrait either, strictly speaking. She had the same doofy look as all the other ‘adult juveniles’, but she could tell that another body had been cropped out. A familiar arm draped over her shoulder in the picture. Mom? “Tyler’s clean!” Miss Stone called out. “Taylor? Not so much!” “Do you need to be changed, Kayla?” Miss Jenkins asked. Kitty was helped off the table. A second later, Jimmy was being boosted up onto the changing table. In that time Kayla had shook her head approximately thirty-eight times. “Then hang up your backpack and go sit down. Kitty can show you where.” Kayla’s feet moved faster than she thought possible. The paranoid part of her brain caused her to hum tunelessly as she walked by the adult to hang up her backpack. Did a wet diaper crinkle more or less than a dry one and could someone experienced in such things hear the difference? Kayla was determined not to find out. Kitty grabbed her by the wrist the millisecond her hands were free. “This way! Over here!” Kayla didn’t allow herself to be led as much as she was just too overwhelmed to resist. “Everybody gets their own color!” Kitty plopped down on a purple spot, and Kayla swore she saw a fine white mist poof out the leg holes of her not-underwear. Kayla found a pink patch and lowered herself down to the floor; wincing as her pants squished warmly beneath her. This would take some getting used to. CORRECTION! MAJOR CORRECTION! This was something she hoped to never have to get used to. NEVER! “Criss cross applesauce!” With her Mary Janes folded under her bare legs, Kitty’s diaper was now the most concealed it had been since they’d met. Kayla followed suit. Thanks to the bulk wrapped around her loins, it was much harder than she remembered. How did real kids sit like this? The sound of Jimmy cooing as he was wiped and changed behind her helped Kayla sit up a bit straighter. Fuck sitting. How did real kids learn any sense of modesty or privacy if daycares like this one constantly had them getting their diapers changed in broad daylight. Shit! Was she starting to think of this as a real daycare? Had she just lumped herself in with these kids? No! They weren’t real kids! Neither was she! One of the twins, the boy in sailor suit shorts came and took a seat. Curiosity got the better of Kayla. She turned her head around and looked over her shoulder. So much for privacy. Thankfully Jimmy’s privates were in the midst of being covered by the front of a new nappy. Sailor boy’s twin- the girl with a skirt almost as short as Kitty’s was lining up for a change, too. Someone needed their poop deck swabbed. The girl in the pink shortalls apparently didn’t need fresh crinkling underpants either and came to join the group on the carpet. A new, stranger secret started to bubble to the forefront of Kayla’s mind. She was now good and surrounded by what were effectively giant babies; but she was the only one sitting in a wet diaper. What did that say about her? How should she feel about that? A shudder of self-loathing worked its way through Kayla’s psyche. Miss Stone worked her way to the front of the class as Velcro. Only Kayla flinched. To the others, it was just white noise; no better or worse or more remarkable than the sound of a toilet flushing. Shit! Kayla could have tried flushing the damn thing down the toilet! Might’ve clocked. Still would’ve been worth a shot….too late now. Miss Stone took out a CD player with speakers. “Okay everyone! Let’s start our singing time with the Alphabet Song!” This, so it seemed, was cause for much celebration amongst the others. A fan favorite. It became obvious that this rendition wasn’t just the same old twinkle-twinkle rendition. That would have resembled merciful. No such luck. “Come along sing the alphabet song,” They sang. “Sing it loud and sing it strong! Sing it high and sing it low! Sing it proud wherever you go! Apple begins with a-a-ay! Ball begins with b-b-bee!” Kayla didn’t know the words to this! Yeah, she knew that apple began with a-a-ay, and so on, but she couldn’t guess what the next object named in the song would be. There weren’t even any visual aids! How was she supposed to know that the dee-word was going to be ‘door’ or the gee-word was ‘gate’? This wasn’t fair! This wasn’t fair at all! All she could do was sit there in squishy pants while a bunch of other babies all sang along by heart. Then came another half-a-dozen songs: Days of the week crossed with the Addams Family theme; a months of the year song with a macarena-ish dance: a color song that was a cross between Old Mac Donald and B-I-N-G-O (with ASL no less); a weather song that ripped off Clementine, and a shape song that had no rhyme or reason (literally). “Circle! Circle! I wanna be a square! I wanna be a triangle, and have three sides, one-two-three! Triangle! I wanna be a rectangle, and have two sides longer than the other two! Oooooh yeah!” And everyone but her knew the words. Not a great feeling. By the time the sing-a-long ended, everyone who had needed changing was down on the carpet and singing along. Everyone save Kayla, that is...on both counts. “Okay, class,” Miss Jenkins said. “Now that that’s taken care of, let’s take a moment to welcome our new friend, Kayla.” “HIIIIIIII KAYLA!” Kayla almost shrieked from the volume. “Since it’s Kayla’s first day, I thought she could come up to the front and share something with everyone.” Kayla didn’t have time to object. She felt two deceptively strong hands snake under her armpit and hoister her to her feet. How had Miss Stone gotten behind her. After sitting for a solid ten minutes, Kayla was more acutely aware of her soaked padding starting to droop and sag from her waist. What if Miss Stone got a good look?! The teacher hadn’t had time to give her a swat on her puffy back side, but Kayla scurried to the white board as if she’d been prodded with a red hot poker. They couldn’t see. Her baggie jeans were doing a marvelous job of hiding everything. Enough. They were doing an okay job of hiding enough. The inseam of her jeans was acting as a kind of diaper bra, holding the undergarment up and keeping it from drooping too far down her knees. “Hi!” Kayla tried not to shriek. “I’m Kayla.” “HIIIII KAYLA!” It was just as loud. Just as stressful. Silently, Kayla cursed and wished she had a cigarette. “Tell us about yourself, Kayla.” Miss Jenkins urged, her tone gentle and downright motherly. Even before she’d stepped on the bus that morning, the young lady had been shit at these kind of lackluster ice breakers. “Um...I’m nineteen.” Kitty’s hand shut up. “Me too!” The others started echoing. “Me too!” “Me too!” “I’M TWENTY!” “Me too!” “I LIKE MICKEY MOUSE!” “This is Kayla’s time,” Miss Jenkins said gently to the girl in the pink shortalls. That’s when Kayla had started to poop herself. She hadn’t meant to. Of course she hadn’t. Who meant to do that kind of thing? But just like with her bladder, she felt herself filling the back of her pants. It was as if her sphincter learned to tense and close. It was like she’d had a colostomy, save none of her plumbing had been moved around. But just like those poor bastards with holes next to their belly buttons and bags taped taped over them, as soon as she felt a slight cramp, her body started ejecting the stuff in a steady and solid loaf into her crinkling panties. “Kayla?” Kayla swallowed. Hard. The teacher was looking right at her. Both of them! Her classmates too! “Um...um…” She reached behind her, pretending to scratch her back. She felt the lump forming beneath her. It was so big! And the edge of her diaper was still sticking out of her pants! “Kayla?” She almost slammed the back of her head against the whiteboard. Kayla found herself paralyzed with the fear that this strange woman beside her might decide to hook her fingers into the back of her waistband and see just how much Kayla had disgraced herself. No one could see! No one could know! No one could check! “Do you have anything else you’d like to share, baby?” Musn’t bend her knees! That was key. Babies always bent their knees when they booped. She tried to keep her knees locked. Musn’t squat. Musn’t sit. She prayed to whatever god would listen that she wouldn’t fart. That would just end her. “Kayla?” Kayla felt the mess stop. Safe! No one knew! So far so good! She had to think quick however. “I don’t have anything else to say right now, can we learn now?” The words were clipped and fast. She might as well have been saying name and serial number to an interrogator. “Alright,” Miss Jenkins said. “Let’s break out into centers. Jimmy, Kitty, Taylor. You can go play with the toys with me. Kayla, Tyler, McKenzie, you go to the teacher table.” Massive sighs and pouts were had by Kayla, sailor suit boy, and shortalls girl. Kitty, Jimmy, and the sailor skirt girl were practically jumping. As half the class went to the toy shelves, and the other waddled to a the table, Miss Stone included, Miss Jenkins gave Kayla a suspicious glance. “After you, ma’am.” Kayla wasn’t being polite, of course. She just didn’t want to have her back to the woman. Miss Jenkins arched an eyebrow, but walked past Kayla without further challenge. “Come on, sweetie! This way!” Miss Stone was waving her over. So were the other non-adults. The dropout trudged over to the table, feeling a delayed bounce with each step as what had dropped out of her bobbed up and down. “Sit down!” Tyler patted the seat next to him. “It’s coloring time!” Kayla sized the situation up. She didn’t have much of a choice. If she was going to make it through this, she’d have to go along with it. One. Two. Three. Kayla’s face was a mask of placidity as she sat down and spread the mush out in the back of her pants. “What are we coloring?” She inhaled through her nose and didn’t even wince when she caught a whiff of herself. It wasn’t that bad. That and everybody liked their own brand. A worksheet and a pack of crayons was slid in front of Kayla. Ha! She knew that adults did worksheets in school! As promised, it was a coloring sheet; a busy park scene. Dogs playing catch. People eating donuts as ducks waddled buy and little girls played with dolls. She still couldn’t tell what the title of the sheet was. Kayla looked down at the sheet, but couldn’t make heads or tales of the scribbled mess printed at top. Someone had reprinted the directions in nothing but wing-dings! Miss Stone started to explain. “Today we’re talking about D-words. Can anyone think of any words that start with D-d-dee?” The look on her face was hopeful and coaxing. Not wanting to draw attention to herself, Kayla kept her mouth closed. “DIAPERS!” McKenzie blurted out. It took a superhuman bit of willpower to keep Kayla’s face from matching her shirt. Miss Stone deflated a bit. “Yes, diapers, do start with D. So do words like d-d-dog, or d-d-dolly, or d-d-door! “OOOOH! Like in our song!” Miss Stone nodded. “Yes, Tyler, like our song. For our worksheet today, we’re going to color, but we’re only going to color the pictures whose word starts with the letter D.” Kayla felt a sparkle of hope. The letter D? That’d be easy! She could do that! She’d do it in record time, before anyone even had an idea that she’d had (more than) one little accident in her diaper. That’d prove that she was a big girl! Desperation really could do many things in a little girl’s mind. Kayla was the first to open her pack. With wild abandon, she began to scribble and color. If she drenched the entire page in crayon, then surely she’d get all the D-word pictures. “Careful Kayla. You ONLY want to color the-” “I know! I know!” Kayla said. “Color all the D-words! I’m on it!” She bent her head over and became engrossed in her work. Hurry! Hurry before she was noticed. Just on the edge of her vision. She saw Miss Stone waving in the air. Signalling to someone watching. It wasn’t until Miss Jenkins’s shadow fell over the coloring page that Kayla connected the dots. (Gosh she wished she could be doing connect the dots) Someone had smelled her! “Tyler,” Miss Jenkins said. “Please stand up.” Good, Kayla thought. Neither of her classmates had been changed yet. They were just as suspect as her. If they needed fresh diapers, then she’d buy herself more time to finish this and prove how she didn’t really belong in this place. Still coloring, probing the coloring sheet with sniper-like precision, the little boy stood up. It was an easy thing for Miss Jenkins to pull open the back of his pants and peek down. “You’re clean,” she told him and gave him a light pat on the butt. Tyler sat back down, completely unfazed that his privacy and adulthood had been so casually violated. A bead of sweat started to form on Kayla’s forehead, as Miss Jenkins’s shadow passed over her. “McKenzie?” The little girl in shortalls (not so little, actually, she had a couple inches on Kayla in fact) stood up. Kayla scribbled with all her might. Had to get this done. Had to get this done! As Kayla colored with reckless abandon, Miss Jenkins checked her classmate. It was thorough, to be sure. The teacher patted the girl’s bottom, feeling for lumps. When none were found, she went so far as to unbutton the snaps on the shortalls and hiking them up. McKenzie’s diaper was pulled back and inspected. Miss Jenkins reached around and gave the fron a squeeze, even going so far as to stick her fingers past the leg gathers. “Clean AND dry, McKenzie. Good girl! You might almost be ready for Pull-Ups.” McKenzie, for her part, just kept coloring in slow gentle strokes; barely noticing as she was half-stripped and fingers probed into her baby pants. Kayla did her best to scoot in and put as little space between her backside and the chair as possible. Miss Jenkins took her time, buttoning McKenzie’s pants back up. Kayla still felt no closer to coloring in all the G-words. (it was G, right? Right.) Oh for a call from the Principal! Or the Governor! Process of elimination determined that only one one of them might need a trip to the dreaded changing table. “Kayla? Kayla did not look up from her worksheet. “Hmmm?” she said trying to sound innocent. Trying to feign ignorance. “Could you please stand up dear?” “In a second…” Kayla said. Had to stall. From across the table, Miss Stone’s hand laid over Kayla’s. Kayla stopped coloring. She had to. There might as well have been an elephant on her fingers. “Kayla,” she said. “Miss Jenkins wants to check your diaper.” “No thank you.” That got a genuine bark of laughter for the adults. The idea that one of their “Adult Juveniles” might refuse having their personal bubble popped was ridiculous enough to be cute. What they didn’t know was just how much Kayla Summers didn’t give a damn. “Kayla, sweetie,” Miss Jenkins said. “Just stand up, baby. It’ll only take a minute.” Her tone was slow and patient. Kayla kept coloring “No.” “It’ll only take moment, and if you don’t need changing you can keep coloring.” “No.” “And even if you do need a change,” Miss Jenkins tried to coax, “you can get right back to coloring after I change you.” “No.” “You won’t be in trouble.” Miss Stone said. “You’re not in trouble, now.” “No.” “No one will laugh at you,” Miss Jenkins promised. “I just changed a bunch of your little friends.” “No.” “I’ll have to change everyone at some point today.” “No.” “Looks like someone is going through that phase where they don’t want to stop and get changed,” Stone clucked. “They all do at this age,” Jenkins clucked back. Kayla would have slammed the crayons down if her hands weren’t pinned. “I’M NINETEEN!” “That’s right,” Miss Jenkins said too calmly. “You’re nineteen. Now come be a big girl and get your diaper changed. Only babies lay in their poopy pants all day without complaining.” “I DON’T NEED A DIAPER CHANGE!” The other kids stopped playing and coloring. She could hear the stillness. She could hear the lie in her own voice. The grown-ups went on undeterred. “If you sit in your poopy diaper too long, you’ll get a rash and your butt will get all itchy.” “I DIDN’T POOP MY PANTS! I’M NOT A BABY!” Kayla’s feet were stomping mad. “I’M AN ADULT! A GROWN-UP! A BIG GIRL! I’M NINETEEN!” “Do you have a job?” Miss Stone asked. That caught the dropout off guard.“What?” “Or a car?” Miss Jenkins pressed. “Or a phone?” “My Mommy took it away...I mean my Mom...my Mother…-” “What about degree?” Miss Stone asked. “Or a house? Who do you live with.” Kayla sulked. “I’m not a baaaaaby!” With the perfect patience of the most adulty of adults, Miss Jenkins took a deep breath. “Kayla. Baby. Sweetie. Darling. Hon. I’ve checked and changed everybody in the room. You’re the only one who hasn’t-” “I can explain!” Kayla yelped, her brain grasping for straws. “Oh?” “I farted.” A devilish grin spread over Kayla’s mug. “I just farted and I was embarrassed about it. The smell will go away in a few minutes.’ In that time, one of the other babies would likely poop their pants again. Checkmate! The adults chuckled a bit and then groaned. “Okay, Skunky,” Miss Jenkins teased, “have it your way.” Kayla flushed. She’d been called worse (a lot worse) in her life; but that one hit a buttonThe two adults made purposeful eye contact. “Maneuver two?” “Ready.” Miss Stone let go of Kayla’s hands and got up. From her end of the table, the teacher picked up her own chair and passed it over the others’ heads to Miss Jenkins. Kayla would have run just then, her mess sagging behind her, but Miss Jenkins had positioned herself right behind Kayla’s student chair. Jenkins was the immovable object; wedging the poor girl into the activity table. For all the nineteen year old could do, she might as well be pinned in one of those old-fashioned highchairs with the tray slammed down; like in the cartoons. By the time Jenkins put the teacher chair down and took a seat Kaykla’s hands had been re-pinned to the table, leaving her trapped as Jenkins sat, readying herself. She watched, comprehending but powerless as the adults counted. “One…” “Two…” “Three!” Kayla was yanked out of her seat and over her teacher’s knee. It did’t matter how staunchly she sat if she was yanked out of it and across the grown-up’s lap. “NO!” she screamed. “Don’t spank me! Please!” If they could do all this to her with a few simple movements, Kayla couldn’t begin to imagine what they could do by hitting her. “I’ll be good. I’LL BE GOOOOOOD!” “Spank you?” Miss Jenkins left. “Silly girl. I’m not spanking you.” Kayla felt a hand gently patted her bottom, feeling the poopy lumps in her diaper. The sudden rush of fresh air hitting her ass when Miss Jenkins pulled back her waistband and took a gander was freezing by comparison. “Thought so.” “NOOOOOOOO!” Kayla slammed her eyes shut, even as she was picked up and carried across the room. “NOT LIKE THIS! NOT LIKE THIS!” She knew what the flat padded surface was when she was laid on it. Still she did not open her eyes. She knew what the strap being pulled across her chest was. Still she did not open her eyes. She recognized the crinkling sound coming from the shelf. Still she did not open her eyes. She was crying so hard she was giving herself hiccups when two impossibly strong hands grabbed the waistband of her pants and yanked them down to her ankles. What had taken a solid ninety seconds this morning to get down her legs took less than one on the changing table. Kayla was almost hyperventilating. “Oh Kayla,” Miss Jenkins clicked her tongue. “So nervous about something so silly. Here, let’s take these off.” “I’ll put this in her backpack,” Miss Stone stage whispered over Kayla’s whimpering. Still, Kayla didn’t open her eyes. She couldn’t bring herself to look and acknowledge the truth. THEY COULD ALL SEE! EVERYONE COULD SEE! “NOOOOOOOO!” “Kayla” “DON’T LOOK AT ME!” “Kayla!” “DON’T LOOK AT ME!” “KAYLA!” Kayla opened her eyes. “Look around,” Miss Jenkins said. She popped the pacifier back in Kayla’s mouth. Kayla suckled and looked around. Her wish was not granted. She was not in bed staring up at her mother.. She was still in the nursery pre-school style classroom. Hovering above her was the same dark skinned stranger that had pinned her on the bus. She was still very much on a changing table and in a very wet and messy diaper that desperately needed changing; and based on the intensity of the smell, not everything had been contained in the diaper. But the other kids, the other nineteen and twenty somethings weren’t looking. Three were playing with toys and the other two were busy coloring in worksheets. It wasn’t even the purposeful lack of looking that people did when they were avoiding a sight. Her new classmates weren’t avoiding anything. They just didn’t care that she needed to be changed. They just didn’t give a damn. Just like her. The velcro ripped off the front of the diaper and Kayla’s pee and muck smeared privates met open aired. Miss Jenkins went to work. Gently, the girl was wiped from front to back, and in between all the folds. Like Kitty before her, Kayla sucked on her pacifier and let out barely suppressed giggles as cold wipes removed warm poop from sensitive and vulnerable areas. Other things seemed to be getting wiped away, too. It couldn’t have been worries or cares, though. Not giving a damn meant she never really had those; not in any particularly great amount. Her toes were lifted to the sky and the old diaper was slid out. The weight of the world was being balled up and tossed away with her poop, pee, and the dirty wipes. The fresh diaper that was unfolded and slipped beneath her was the promise of a new start. The unspoken knowledge that it’d be ruined again and again only to be replaced and change a covenant of almost infinite forgiveness. Miss Jenkins even went the extra mile and took the time to rub a special butt cream all over Kayla’s bottom. “Can’t have you getting a rash on your first day,” she cooed. The cream had a strange almost medical smell to it, but it was more than covered up by the lavender scent of her new diaper. That, and it felt amazing on her skin. Not so secretly, she hoped Mommy had some of this on her changing table when she got home. Looking forward to Mommy taking care of her instead of fights and ultimatums. That was a nice feeling: A feeling Kayla couldn’t remember having since before report cards had become a part of her life. Last, a cloud of baby powder was sprinkled all over her front and back, it’s lavender scent pleasant in her nostrils. It’s cold dryness refreshing to her skin after having spent a small eternity in something wet and clammy and mushy and swampy. Still her new friends didn’t watch. Diapers could be changed out in the open like this because everyone big enough to care understood and was there to meet her needs, and everyone and everyone who was smaller just didn’t care enough to be embarrassed either by her or for her. The perfect arrangement. She really did belong here. It felt like her first diaper change when the fresh padding was gently pulled up between her thighs and Miss Jenkins started to gently fasten the fresh diaper over her hips. It felt like a dream. Brand new. Even a fresh pair of panties straight out of the wash didn’t feel this good. Had she ever worn big girl panties? She was starting to wonder why she’d ever want to when she could have these. Everything in life should be so simple and uniform. Everything in life COULD be, Kayla realized. Her new diaper secured, and the safety strap removed, Kayla let herself be pulled into a sitting position. She wriggled her seat and marveled at how it felt. The crisp crinkling of the outer layer! The feeling of the powder still slifting around, and the cream being rubbed into her skin! All cushioned luxuriously by the soft puffy padding! She didn’t even want her pants back. It was too warm for pants when she could just run around the playground in her t-shirt and diaper. Oooooh! She’d get to go to the playground after lunch! Miss Jenkins gave that knowing laugh that grown-ups did when they thought something was funny but couldn’t explain it to little kids. Kayla laughed too but she wasn’t sure why. She just wanted to go along. Miss Stone got out her phone and held it up like a camera.“Say Cheese!” Kayla was feeling cheeky, and so tried to do her best to pout, even if she wasn’t feeling it. Miss Jenkins beat her to it by digging out a tootsie roll out of Kayla’s backpack where the cigarettes used to be. A treat Mommy had sent along just in case. “CHEEEEEEEESE!” And that’s how Kayla Summers’s changing shelf picture became one of her sitting proudly on the changing table in just a t-shirt and a diaper. Later that day her photo on the outside door would be cropped from a candid shot on the playground. Thus Kayla became yet another success story at Mrs.Cocker’s Reformation School for Adult Juveniles. Her Mommy was very happy. Best money she’d ever spent.