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Brian stumbled stumbled home to his Queens apartment drunk. Not just any drunk; subway drunk. Subway drunk was a special kind of drunk. It meant that Brian’s thoughts were too jumbled hail a taxi; his fingers too thick and dumb to call an Uber. His speech too slurred to intelligibly tell anyone where he was going besides “home”. Subway drunk was at least four or five shots of Jager past blackout drunk. Subway drunk meant that if he didn’t go home RIGHT now, he’d be spending the night and most of next morning wherever he next sat down. So he’d shambled the few blocks over to the nearest entrance, got on the train home, and held himself upright(ish) leaning against a pole and giggled at his reflection. Brian didn’t even look that funny. Most people were dressed up tonight. It was fuckin’ Halloween. Shit, it was New York; people didn’t need an excuse to dress up. Just in Brian’s subway drunk state of mind, he’d found it funny that Dracula cast a reflection is all. The twenty-eight year old didn’t even look like one of the “cool” Draculas. Brian had chosen to go full Bela Lugos (or Adam Sandler as he thought of it): Black hair slicked back. White tuxedo shirt and black pants and loafers; all brought together with a cape, a costume jewelry medallion, and cheap plastic fangs that he’d lost half an hour into the party. AND WHAT A RAGER IT HAD BEEN! Drinks a plenty, free love, there had been more than cocoa in those brownies, and it wasn’t just pot that was being smoked. Even now, as he limped up the last couple of steps to his apartment’s floor -subway drunk also meant too drunk to hit the right elevator button- the sights smells, and sounds rattled around him and tastes. So many sexy girls, too. Halloween might as well be called “All Sluts Day”. Something in women just changed when they had a sexy costume on; it was like they suddenly didn’t care. Good times for guys like Brian. By his count, he’d made out with two sexy Ronald McDonalds, banged a sexy Sonic the hedgehog, and eaten out sexy corn; and that was before he had gotten too blitzed to care about costumes. Stopping at his door, Brian tugged at his collar and felt the material of his costume. this might not even be his original cape. He hadn’t been the only Dracula there. It was only as he was digging through his pockets hoping that he didn’t accidentally drop his keys on the train that the thunk-thunking that exploded out with every limp was a jack-o-lantern he’d stepped in somewhere between the party and his door. It wasn’t the first slimy thing he’d stuck his foot in that night. The thought made him smirk again. He’d probably be disgusted with himself tomorrow morning for even having that thought...but that was tomorrow morning. The pitter patter of not so little feet got Brian’s attention. It didn’t sober him up any, but it made him whip his head toward the stairwell. Halloween was a night for freaky shit, but it was also a night for people who couldn’t handle their freaky shit, and Brian had learned that when you hear feet pounding you get ready to run yourself. It would be just his luck for some asshole high on shit he couldn’t handle to think it’d be funny to mug or tackle him, or to trample him running from ghosts and goblins that only he could see. The sound of bare feet slapping on the ground preceded an absolutely intimidating silhouette. In the dimly lit hallway the running figure was a beast, a real brick shithouse of a man, (or woman). Towering, squared shoulders and barrel chested, this guy could have been the Boris Karloff to Brian’s Lugosi, (or the Kevin James to his Sandler). A microsecond’s inspection revealed that the shadowy figure hadn’t been running at all. Hurriedly walking perhaps, with heavy thundering foot steps slamming and slapping on the floor; but not running. The left foot never left the ground before the right foot planted itself. That didn’t make the silhouette less intimidating. Even the way he moved all stiff legged and lock-kneed unnerved Brian. The fact that the guy zig-zagged as he run walked didn’t take away from the chill factor. Either this mook was really in character or he was as far away from even subway drunk as Brian was from sober. Drunkards and high people were fun to be around. People on the verge of overdose or on much harder stuff were. Adrenaline pumping and his manual dexterity failing him, Brian gave up on opening the door to his apartment and palmed his keys, making sure the longest and sharpest ones were protruding from out between his knuckles. Fuck Dracula, might have to go Wolverine on this ass. “I’mma punchim inda balls, then stabbim inda eyes…” Brian slurred. Balls. Then eyes. Balls. Then eyes. No such thing as a fair fight in real life. Shit, why didn’t he have a gun? His keys almost dropped to the floor when his own personal Franken-zombie came closer into the light. “Dafuuuuuuuuuq?” The guy was built still built like a brick shithouse, but literally nothing else about him was intimidating in the least. Shithouse might have been a poor choice of words considering. The dude was naked save for his diaper. His very wet diaper by the look of things. Brian’s mind rearranged itself then and there. This wasn’t a threat. This was at most a weird ass prank. Dude hadn’t been zombie walking, he’d been toddling. Even now, not five feet away, he seemed topheavy, like a one-year-old that hadn’t quite figured his own legs out. In a weird way, Brian was impressed. Dude was a full method actor. That and probably as high as he was. Maybe both? First one, then the other; the order of which didn’t matter. “Help meeeeee….” the big baby whispered and whined. “I need help!” “Awwwwww,” Brian chuckled. He decided to get in on the act. “Have you lost your Mommy, little guy?” Even drunk as a skunk, Brian made sure to enunciate every syllable to be as humiliatingly babyish as possible. He would have risked pinching the dude’s cheeks, if dude hadn’t been able to rip him in half like a phone book. Seriously, though. If the guy didn’t wanna be talked to like this, he wouldn’t be dressing or walking the way he was. Clearly, Brian drunkenly thought, he was doing this pampered punk a favor. Heh. That’d have to be another line he used. “I’m serious!” the guy yelped. “Something’s happening to me! They’re after me! You’ve gotta help me!” Dude was having some kind of bad trip. In the dim light of the apartment hallway, Brian squinted. Maybe more than a bad trip… The stranger’s hair was thin and wispy. No big surprise, there. Steroids were a thing. Something was odd about it, though. Brian couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it seemed less like old hair that had thinned out and more like new hair that was just starting to grow in, and Brian couldn’t precisely figure out why he thought that. Maybe it was because his hair vaguely smelt of baby shampoo…. Baby dude’s skin seemed smooth too. No hair. No stubble. No scars or blemishes or calluses. Perfectly soft, baby smooth skin that glistened like baby oil. The sounds of heels clicked up the stairwell. Baby man’s eyes went wide. “They’re coming for me!” The stranger’s voice shot up almost an octave. The guy was a living tank but all of a sudden he looked like he really needed his diaper at the sound of those heels echoing up into the hallway. Smelled like he needed it too. The reeking mix of fresh urine and baked in baby powder invaded Brian’s nostrils. “Holeeeshit,” Brian slurred. “Thassa real diaper, isn’t it?” “Yeah, yeah, yeah…!” Baby costume’s voice was fast and panicky. His head kept swiveling between the apartment’s stairs and the. “Issat a Pampers?” Brian asked. “Like a real baby diaper?” His sister-in-law had a kid about that age. This looked like a blown up version of the same diaper. No plain white with a comedic safety pin holding it together. Instead, baby cookie monster smiled along the thing’s waistband as two gigantic velcro tapes held the damn thing up against all odds. It certainly wasn’t Depends as far as Brian could tell. “That looks like sumfin a baby would wear. My nephew wears-” “Yeah! Sure!” the guy said. “Just PLEEEEEASE let me into your house.” It was the teeth that did it. Homeboy had freaky small teeth and tiny gaps in between them. And when he drew out “PLEEEEEEASE” Brian swore he saw the teeth move. They were retracting; sinking back into the man’s gums! “Holy shit!” As if to further expound on the transferration he was seeing (and he WAS seeing a transformation) Brian watched as well muscled arms and pecs, began to ripple and lose definition. Same with his abs. The man before him still looked every bit as; but he’d gone from gym bro big to a kind of farmboy intimidating as a layer of baby fat manifested over his muscles. DING! “Fuck!” Tears were rolling down the guy’s slightly chubbier face as the elevator opened up and a shadow stretched out into the hallway. Suddenly sober, (enough) Brian jiggled open the lock to his apartment. The big baby pushed his way into his apartment, stumbling on unsteady legs. Brian followed suit and locked the door. “Don’t turn on the light, don’t turn on the light.” Baby man’s voice came out in high pitched whispers. “They’ll think we’re not home…” “Who the fuck is after you?” Brian demanded. “Who are they?” Even in the darkness of his unlit home, Brian could see the look of terror and certainty in the man’s face. “Vampires.” “Oh baaaaaaaby!” A feminine voice called from the hallway. “Where arrrrrre you?” Like devil’s hooves on brimstone, the clicking of stiletto heels clacked along in the hallway. Then a second woman joined in. “We know you’re here somewheeeeere! I can practically smell you.” “And it smells like somebody needs a change.” “Or will soon.” “Vampires?” Brian jerked his head towards the closed door. “They sound like sorority chicks...or porn stars!” Brian was incredulous; not because he didn’t believe what he was hearing, but because there’s only so much impossible that the human mind kind take in one sitting. Men turning into big babies right in front of his face was one thing. Lady vampires being the source was another. Shaking on wobbly legs, the baby man had to lean up against a nearby wall to hold himself up. “These two chicks are making out with me, yeah?” he said. “Then I feel them bite me. Then I started feeling funny, and my clothes started turning into...into…” he gestured down to the very wet Pampers still hugging his hips. “If they hadn’t started arguing about who was going to get to keep me, I wouldn’t have been able to get away!” There was no blood. No telltale puncture marks around the neck, either. “Are you sure they’re vamp-?” A sudden and violent knock at the door made Brian jump. He almost wished he was wearing a diaper he’d been so startled. “Hellooooo?” A voice called out. “Is anyone in there?” “Sir?” another chimed in. “We’re babysitters and we’ve lost our child. Can you help us find him? He’s SUCH a cutie! He wriggled out of his costume, and is just walking around in a diaper!” “Maybe crawling around by now!” The first voice added. Brian peeped through the hole in his door. A second wave of subway drunk hit him as blood rushed away from his head and plummeted towards his nethers. He’d thought they sounded like either sorority girls or porn stars. Looking at them, porn stars was definitely closer to the mark. Even through the fisheye lens he could tell they were gorgeous. A petite blonde with pale (but not deathly so) skin smiled through the peephole. Her dark skinned companion smirked knowingly and chose just that time to suggestively adjust her considerable breasts. Slung over the blonde’s shoulder was a light blue satchel bag. Brian could just make out babyish decorations of darker blue teddy bears holding rattles; and a baby bottle sticking out of a side pocket. Brian had seen his sister-in-law tote one of these around too: Blondie had a larger version of a baby’s diaper bag; one that would be overkill under normal circumstances. “Don’t open the door!” Baby man was on his knees now. Somehow, Brian figured it was because he didn’t have a choice. “I’m begging you!” Through the hole, Brian watched the women with the ample bosom examine blondie’s baby bag. “We just want our baby...Davey back!” Baby man went pale. “They know my name! How do they know my name?!” “It’s on your diaper bag, duh!” The blonde yelled. “You’re not nearly as quiet as you think you are, sweetie.” The black woman rolled her eyes and elbowed her companion. “Way to give the game away, Desdemona.” Her petite friend shrugged. “Sorry, Ember. I just couldn’t help myself!” The pair had the energy of a couple of sadistic kittens playing with their food. “Sir,” the black woman, Ember apparently, called out. “We know you’ve got our baby in there! If you don’t let us have him back, we’ll call the police!” Brian actually had to fight off a guffaw; either because he was drunk or because the sheer audacity of the demand caught him off guard. “Dude might be in a diaper,” he called through the door, “but he’s no baby! I’m not THAT drunk!” The two women (vampires?) shared a look. Eyebrows were cocked. Smirks were turning into frowns. “How can he tell?“ Desdemona, the white girl asked. Ember shrugged nonchalantly. “Must have seen him before we…” she let the thought drift off a moment, and patted the diaper bag instead. “WE CAN HEAR YOU BITCHES!” Brian shouted through the door. “YOU’RE NOT QUIET EITHER!” “WASN’T TRYING TO BE!” Desdemona shouted back. She giggled and winked towards her companion. “Were you at the party, too, sweetie?” Ember asked, her voice calm and condescending. The party! Brian looked at Davey (David?), now sitting splay legged on the floor and squinted. Holy shit! This guy HAD been there! He’d been an absolutely ripped Larry The Lobster from Spongebob! Killer costume and lots of red body paint, and almost every chick at the party had been wanting to smear it all over themselves. Now, he was being reduced right in front of Brian’s eyes. “I’m sowwy,” Davey trembled. “I got scawed and fowwowed you home! I didn’t know what ewse ta do!” No more teeth for baby Davey it seemed. “You could have gone to your own damn place!” Brian spat. He couldn’t clearly see Davey’s face, but he heard the fear in his voice. “I don’t membuh how ta get home!” “Helloooo!’ the blonde vampire (because Brian had finally accepted that they were, in fact, vampires) called through the door. “We’re still here! Waiting! And peckish!” “Davey,” the more mature acting of the two called out. “If we don’t come in soon, sweetheart, you’re gonna bleed out straight into unbirth. Tell your little friend to let us in and we can stop the leakage.” “Not the one into your diaper, of course!” Desdemona giggled. Davey shook his head feverishly. “Noooooooooo!” The monstrous women on the other side of the door were right about one thing. Baby man was totally getting worse. “You two can’t come in unless I invite you,” Brian asked. “That’s how vampires work, right?” There was a pause. “We can’t cross the threshold, that is correct,” Ember said, her tone like a careful politician. “But if we don’t come in, your friend is going to be unborn all over your carpet.” “Where’s the blood?” The pair positively tittered at the question. “We don’t drink blood,” Desdemona said, running a finger through her pale blonde hair. “We drink life.” “Then why isn’t he dying? Getting old? Turning into a skeleton?” Brian demanded. “Life is just time being poured into mortals like water into a balloon.” Ember said. “Old age is just when the balloon’s about to pop.” “Then...then…why isn’t he shrinking?” Brian couldn’t help himself. He had to know. If he was going to have any chance of surviving this he’d need to understand the rules; and these vampires were falling for the oldest villain trope in the world. The longer they kept talking, the closer to sunrise it would be. “Why isn’t this guy getting lighter or younger or something?” Vampires had to still hate sunlight, right? Right. God, Brian hoped all that bullshit about sparkling was just for those tween girl movies. “Most mortals will!” Desdemona squealed. “If you didn’t already know him from before, you’d just see a baby, right now!” Bullshit! Brian backed away from his peephole, and covered it with his hand just to feel safe. Vampires could do that whole ‘look into my eyes’ nonsense. For all he knew he could be being hypnotized right now. He suddenly wished he’d thought of that earlier. Just to be on the safe side he looked back towards his new companion. Based on his body language, Davey was increasingly out of it. He was yawning and his head slumped against his chest as he mumbled incoherently to himself. There was no blood, and whatever was leaking out of him was ending up in the giant sized diaper, but something was definitely draining out of the man. Brian thought he might have even seen less hair up top. “If you don’t believe us,” Ember called out, “turn on the lights and check his reflection!” Brian flicked on the lights. There was a desk table with a mirror where he habitually checked his hair before he left home and regularly dropped his keys when he returned. Sitting slumped over as he was, Brian couldn’t get a good look at the baby man’s reflection from where he stood. WIth feet gently shuffling on the floor, he inched closer to the mirror. He still couldn’t believe what he saw: There in the mirror’s reflection, Brian saw a perfectly normal infant sitting on the floor in a perfectly normal (albeit very wet) diaper. Brian spun around to look at the genuine article; but no transformation had otherwise occurred. Davey looked up at him, and his bottom lip started to stick out. “WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” What was he crying about? What was he doing? Could he not talk? Had something else happened? Brian got his answer when a dark and impossibly strong hand clapped over his mouth; it’s partner snaking around his chest and pulling him tight. Brian felt no heat from the hands that had grabbed him, only cold. Like ice. Like death. Out of reflex, he reached up with one hand to try to pry the first away from his mouth. The palm might as well have been welded to his lips. It was only a pinky beneath his jaw, but it was practically a jack forcing his bottom row of teeth to be shoved up and gnashing against the top. With his other arm he tried to elbow the monster in the solar plexus, knock the wind out of her. All he got for his trouble was a dull thud and a sharp pain as he rammed his funny bone against the wooden desk behind him. How in the-?! “Thank you for turning the light on, little morsel,” the vampire calling herself Ember cooed at him. He could feel the mass of her breasts up against his back and her arms wrapped around him. Her breath was like a cool breeze on his ear, but there was nothing of the rest of her! How?! As if sensing his thoughts she whispered, “I told you the truth; baby boy. I can’t cross the threshold without your invitation.” Just on the periphery of his vision, Brian was allowed- no, MADE to turn his head- and watch as the second intruder crawled her way from the other side of the mirror. “That’s one of the benefits of not having a reflection,” Desdemona grinned. “Nothing gets in your way when you travel by mirror.” Brian screamed as the blonde one pulled her legs out of the mirror and slipped them over the edge of the table. A lot of good it did him; he had an undead gag muffling him. “Just plug Davey up before all the life spills out of him.” The voice from behind Brian ordered. “You don’t want a premie do you?” Like a little girl who’d just been offered a kitten, the blonde monstress’s eyes sparkled. “You mean he’s mine?” “If you want.” Brian heard. I’ve got mine, now.” Brian never saw the fangs. His cheek had already been pinched and wriggled around like a chubby toddler’s on picture day before he knew that his mouth was uncovered. The pinch on his face distracted him to the sharp, piercing pain on the opposite side of his neck. Funny thing was it didn’t hurt. He was aware of the pain as his skin was broken; and then his neck went numb; rather like when an I.V. was inserted. And just like a car crash victim being wheeled into the Emergency Room, Brian’s whole body felt like it was glowing as the drip set in and the sweet sweet pain killers started flowing into his system. Inside his own mind, Brian was screaming. Nothing was flowing into him; but everything was flowing out. But he couldn’t move. Everything just felt soooo...good. “I...I...I have an erection,” he moaned. “That’s okay,” the blonde said. She was busy lifting up her top and guiding Davey over to tit. He couldn’t move his body...he didn’t want to move his eyes away. So many conflicting emotions- mortal fear, lust, hunger jealousy- welled up inside of him as he watched the man baby latch on. “Just go with the flow, little one,” she encouraged. Whether she was talking to Davey or to him, Brian didn’t much care. A low moan came out of him as his penis impotently spurted in his pants. It ached so from the abuse that it had been put through tonight, and from the abuse his whole body was suffering. Backwards. He was going backwards. His own lifetime was being drained from him; not the years he had left to live, but what he’d already lived. He could feel his body hair evaporating off of him like morning dew. He didn’t need a mirror to feel the hair on top of his head become finer and several shades lighter. His mouth itched as adult teeth shrunk down to baby teeth and then retreated back inside his head. Unconsciously, he widened his stance as his pants became shorts. Then Pull-Ups. His cape and shirt merged with the morphing stuff to give the final Pampers; the first diaper he’d worn in over two decades. “There we go…” the gentle breeze from behind him said. The impossibly strong arms released him, and Brian fell forward. He was a crawler, now. He looked over and saw Davey being burped and then laid down on the back as his new Mommy...no, the Vampire Desdemona...started digging through the diaper bag. “Let’s get baby sorted out.” Had the breastfeeding been that quick, or had Brian just lost that much time? He wasn’t sure which he preferred. On one hand every minute as himself was precious; on the other hand, something deep down inside of him wanted Mommy’s tit for as long as possible. Why should dumb ol’ Davey get all the fun? Brian could only let himself watch as the tapes to Davey’s diaper were ripped open and his Mommy started wiping all his pee-pee...and the last bits of grown-upness away while his own Mommy finished crawling on the mirror. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. But what? Moving around, he sat awkwardly on the floor and squeezed the picture of Elmo between his legs. He still knew Elmo. He was a big boy; yet frowned at that thought. Something wasn’t right. He hadn’t even noticed how squishy his own diaper had become. Did that mean he was wet? Brian wasn’t sure; couldn’t be sure. He hadn’t even been consciously aware of him wetting himself. He’d lost his potty training. This time, she had her own blue diaper bag. But it had Brian’s name on it. Not that Brian could read; he just knew that the the squiggly lines had to mean “Brian”, but it could just have easily said “Baby” or “Diapers” or “Scrumdiddlyumptious”. “I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Mommy said, her dark eyes shining brightly. “People think we don’t exist anymore because we don’t leave corpses.” She unbuttoned her blouse and opened up her nursing braw. Brian started drooling. “And we can go a long time without switching babies. You’ll just get refilled and refilled with life, and Mommy Ember will take a liiiiiittle nibble here and there. She’ll make sure to take care of you for a loooooong looooong time; make sure you never get as much life in you as before. Never fill all the way up so Mommy will get to take care of you. No more potty. No more reading. No more talking. Nothing. And when you’re finally all done and out of time...Mommy will get a new baby.” Baby? Brian looked up in the mirror. He literally didn’t recognize his own reflection. Who was that chubby little tyke in the Pampers staring down at him? It couldn’t have been Brian? Could it? He was on the verge of losing his object permanence. “And anybody who didn’t know you before tonight will just see you as Mommy’s cute little baby boy when we go out. And anybody who did?” She brushed Brian’s cheek with a leaking, inhuman nipple. “This is New York. Weirder stuff happens all the time.” Brian latched on and let himself suckle. Gums and tongue worked to fill himself back up and replace what had been taken. What little remained of his adult mind had worried that some thick ichorous substance would invade his mouth. Instead, all he tasted was candy. Chocolate! Caramel! Bubblegum! All the candy of Halloween filled the boy’s mouth. Greedily he gulped down. Snickers. Reese’s. MnMs. Starburst. Skittles. Each pull filled him more and more; but like so many empty calories he felt fuller yet nothing came into replace what he’d had taken from him. He drifted off, still suckling as liquid milky dribbled down his throat; his mind drifting to oblivion. He only woke when a sharp pain in his tummy commanded him to push. It was only as the back seat of his Pampers started to feel warm and lumpy that he knew that Mommy Ember had been done feeding him, and was busy patting him on the back. He let out a loud belch, and even though he couldn’t understand what Mommy said, her words sounded happy. Good. He wanted Mommy to be as happy as he was. She was warm now; nice and warm. Almost as warm as the stuff in his diaper. He opened his eyes and saw that Davey was rolling around on the floor; little baby brother unable to even crawl. Brian promised himself that he’d be good and try to share as many toys with him as possible. The Mommies started talking to each other about grown-up stuff while Brian was laid down on the floor. Brian giggled and kicked while Mommy undid the tapes of his diaper. He laughed while she smiled at him and wiped him down. The wipes weren’t cold. Mommy’s very touch warmed them an instant before they touched his bottom. Mommy dug around his Brian’s bag and unfolded a fresh diaper so that she could slide it under his bottom, easy as pie. He let out a little sneeze as he was powdered, causing both Mommies to let out an “Awwwww!” In another jiffy, the fresh diaper was taped up on his hips; this one with a funny green monster smiling up. Brain could tell that this new diaper crinkly and dry, but that realization would be instantly forgotten by the time she picked him up and gave his bottom a playful pat. Babies like Brian had such short attention spans after all. If he could have seen himself, Brian- the old Brian- would have screamed. Objectively, two adult men were being kidnapped wearing nothing but overlarge Pampers and being dragged off into the night by maternal fiends; shitty and soiled nappies being the only evidence that they were ever there. The rest of their lives would consist of sleeping in cribs during the day, unable to escape or get into mischief while their Mommies slept. At night they would be fed upon with special kisses, and would gorge themselves on the bizarrely sweet and euphoric substances that their captors’ bodies produced. They would be played with and changed and dressed up and bathed by the beautiful monsters; a strange hybrid of child, toy, livestock, and pet. They would be cooed at and tickled and read to and fed, but never nurtured...not really...nurtured things grew up. Brian couldn’t know this, but if life was measured in years, he and his new little brother, barely a newborn, had decades to go; at least three score. But if life was about experience and knowledge and memories; then their lives were forever over. Permanent tabula rasas Fortunately for Brian’s doomed psyche, when he looked in the mirror, all he saw were two precious baby boys being carried out the door by their Mommies; both incredibly warm.

You are about to enter another dimension. A realm somewhere between delight and delirium, where anything can happen, but only when you least suspect it. Where light and darkness overlap, and much madness dances with divinest sense: Read on and you will be entering The Dawn Domain. Tara Anderson was an average young woman on her way to pick her baby up from daycare. Like most people who would use the term “average”, it was less a descriptor of her capabilities and more a comforting non-committal adjective to describe her own sense of complacency. For people like Tara Anderson, “average” merely meant that the day before would be startlingly similar to the day that followed. Little did she know that this day would not be a day like any other; not for Tara Anderson. For en route to daycare, Tara Anderson’s minivan had just taken a sharp left turn into the Dawn Domain. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” she mumbled to herself. Rush hour traffic was never quite so infuriating as when someone was waiting for you at your destination, and Tara’s baby (not to mention the daycare staff) would be growing more and more impatient with every passing minute. At twenty-four, motherhood had come upon Tara unexpectedly. Having a baby really did change one’s life completely, Tara was finding out. Overnight, the young woman’s life had metamorphosed from lazy days hanging out with her best friends, to the thankless task of taking care of someone much smaller and more helpless than she. Diapers and baby food were expensive, forcing her into a vicious cycle where her only time for relaxation after work consisted of sneaking in a few hours of sleep between feeding, playtime, and diaper changes. And being a working mother meant she had to abandon her child each day so that she could afford to keep paying for necessities as well as, ironically enough, continue the routine abandonment. Such was life. A yawn blossomed up from Tara’s throat. The past night she’d tossed and turned in her bed, unable to get a good night’s sleep despite a seemingly perfect number of pillows and blankets. It wasn’t nightmares or discomfort that had plagued Tara as much as the uneasy inability to shut her brain down and she’d been plagued with a mind that wouldn’t stop barraging her with lists and the nagging feeling that she’d forgotten something. Worrying about the baby certainly didn’t help. If she could find the time (and she wouldn’t) she’d need a nap later; even if that would perpetuate the sleepless cycle. When her van was at a stoplight she reached for an extra black iced coffee macchiato with foam on the bottom and three pumps of vanilla syrup. When sleep was not an option, coffee became a young mother’s best friend. She completely drained the bottle in a few quick gulps and sat it back down in the cup container. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” she muttered again, as if saying so might compelthe stoplight to change colors sooner. Another audible yawn prompted her to reach for the coffee again. Perhaps, magically, she mused, she could get at least another gulp out of the dregs. She reached for the bottle and stopped, her hand freezing mid reach. Bottle? Why was she drinking her coffee out of a bottle?! A sudden green light and honk of a car behind her caused Tara to keep her eyes on the road and lurch forward towards her ultimate destination. When she looked again, the milky bottle had been replaced by a normal disposable coffee cup. No rubber nipple; just a hard plastic top like a sippy cup; not unlike what toddlers and older babies drank from. Such things were fairly common in a world that was phasing out straws. Tara shook her head and laughed at herself. She had to. For a second there, she’d been so tired she could have sworn that she’d been sipping from one of her baby’s bottles. Not a Mommy for even a month, and she was already experiencing sleep deprived hallucinations. Yay, life goals! Sadly, her coffee was well and drained by the time the minivan pulled into the daycare’s parking lot. Eyes closed from yet another yawn, Tara reached down to unbuckle her seatbelt; and found nothing. Frowning, Tara opened her eyes. Was she drunk all of a sudden, too? Maybe there was a little more Irish in that coffee or something. Upon closer examination, there was a belt buckle, however it was not on the side. A strange sense of deja vu overcame the young lady. Instead of being by her hips, the release button was right between the legs of her denim jeans, with two separate buckles snaked over her shoulder and then fastening themselves over her chest. Rather than a seatbelt, Tara found herself in a harness. Was she in a car seat?! Car seats, however, could not be blinked away so easily. Within seconds, she was out of her car and on her way inside. Babies couldn’t get themselves out of car seats. “Must’ve nodded off,” Tara told herself, smoothing out her plain pink t-shirt just in case. Nothing to worry about. Nothing at all; though the thought of calling a cab did cross Tara’s mind. On her way in, Tara looked back over her shoulder. The car seat wasn’t on the driver’s side. It was right where it should have been. Good. Good. She was just tired. Not crazy. The daycare was almost empty when she entered, signalling her presence with an annoying cheery beeping rendition of “You Are My Sunshine”. If there was one thing she would have changed about the daycare it was that darn annoying chirp every time someone crossed the threshold. “Good morning Mrs. Anderson,” a daycare worker with black flats greeted. Tara squirmed at that, even as she approached the daycare worker. It was “Ms. Anderson”, but people still assumed that a mother had to be married. “Good morning,” she said, calmly enough. “I’m here for my baby.” A note of light confusion entered the other woman’s voice. “Your baby?” Tara looked back over her shoulder. This was the right daycare, wasn’t it? How embarrassing would that have been to be so tired that she’d shown up to the wrong place? But Tara recognized the hand stenciled alphabet running along the wall. No. This was the right place. Her baby was here. But if so, what was wrong? “My baby?” Tara clarified. “Kind of looks like me? Red dress? Long brown hair in pigtails?” She tried somewhat and failed to hide her indignation. If this was a joke, it wasn’t funny. Seriously, if they’d lost her kid Tara was going to be homicidally furious. Another daycare employee, this one in white sneakers, stepped into the conversation turning interrogation. “I know which baby she’s talking about, ma’am” she said. She turned to face Tara’s direction. “Your baby got VERY dirty,” she told Tara. “We’re cleaning her for you, now.” A wave of relief washed over Tara. “Oh.” They were giving her baby a bath. That made sense. Children were such dirty little things, and Tara had already learned how many different ways a baby could dirty itself, (and that wasn’t even counting diapers). “I’ll wait, then.” And so Tara did. Patiently. Too patiently. As the minutes ticked on, the young lady kept looking up from her crossword jumble. What COULD she do with the letters g, x, three y’s, and a z? The constant beeping and booping of “You Are My Sunshine” was getting on her nerves too. Impatiently, she swiped the letters away and looked up from her increasingly failed attempts to unscramble a nonsense word. Little by little, more people trickled into the daycare, each looking for their own little one. Again and again, the annoyingly cheery rendition of “You Are My Sunshine” beeped and booped as more impatient parents filed in. Tara huffed. What was taking so long? Were ALL the kids taking baths? Was there some kind of pool party going on in the bathroom? She was about to go find one of the employees and give them a piece of her mind when she felt a strange trickle beneath her. It felt faint, and far away, but strangely familiar. A warmth blossomed and spread between her legs and beneath her. A surprised gasp leaked out of Tara’s lungs as a puddle was leaking out of her bladder. “I’m peeing!” she realized. She had heard that new moms sometimes leaked when they sneezed, coffee was known to go right through people, but this was ridiculous! “Just like a…!” She paused. “Just like a…?” There was no puddle, beneath her, however. Tara looked behind her and all down her legs. Nothing. No dark spots on her jeans. No wetness on the carpet. Nothing that would indicate that a full grown woman had just had a sudden “accident” as they were called. Within moments, she didn’t even feel the warm wetness between her legs that had prompted her to think the unthinkable. Had she put a liner in her underwear when she got up that morning? She couldn’t remember. Rolling her eyes at herself, she let out a quiet groan. She definitely needed sleep. New to-do list: Pick up her baby. Go home without crashing. Take a nap. A woman with two pink sneakers broke Tara out of her self-induced trance. “Are you waiting for your baby?” she asked. Tara nodded. “Me too,” the other parent said. “Come on,” she gestured. “Let’s go hang out. We can all wait together.” At this point, anything was better than figuring out her stupid word jumble. With a wave of her hand and a wooden clatter clicking in her ear, Tara followed. Might as well socialize, she figured. The blue dress didn’t match the other woman’s shoes at all, but it was pretty just the same. What Tara hadn’t needed to know was that the newcomer’s panties matched her shoes and were decidedly frilly. Tara bit her lip and looked away when her new friend bent over to pick something up...just not fast enough. She wondered if the other woman knew just how short her dress was. What happened next was another shock, perhaps greater than even the strange feeling between her legs. The woman in blue was pulling away from her, and fast! It was as if the girl were sprinting when all Tara could do was walk. Except her legs weren’t moving any faster than Tara’s. It was the same strange gliding effect Try as she might, Tara couldn’t keep up. “WAIT!” Tara called out. “WAIT! YOU’RE GOING TOO FAST!” Even that calling out for help sapped a bit of stamina from Tara. She felt like she was barely moving, shouting her lungs out, and in the middle of an olympic marathon all at once. Her new acquaintance did not stop. She did not look back or turn her head; deaf to Tara’s cries for aid. Not everyone was deaf, however. “Here, let me help.” Gently, two hands guided Tara over to a chair. Internally, Tara blinked. “Chair” wasn’t quite the word for it, but it was the only one that came to her. It was more like the deformed lovechild of a hammock, and office chair, and something her Mee-Maw might use at the nursing home. Tara felt...better, actually. The frame supported her weight when she stood and steadied herself, but the wheels on the bottom also allowed her to buckle a bit and just glide and kick along like a chair at work. “What is this?” Tara asked the daycare attendant in the white sneakers. The attendant gave her a soft smile. “Just something to help with fatigue,” she said. “Do you like it?” The relief was palpable. “Uh-huh,” Tara replied. “It feels good. I gotta get me one for my house.” It was absolutely exhausting being a young mother. “I’ll make sure to pass that along,” the attendant said before walking away. Newly supported, Tara went to join the other parents socializing while their babies were sorted out. The wheels were squeaking slightly beneath her as she turned the corner. “Tara!” her new friend in the blue dress and frilly pink panties exclaimed. “So glad you could make it!” Three other women sat at a fine table, sipping from dainty tea cups. “Thanks,” Tara said, feeling funny about it. If she was so glad Tara could make it, why didn’t she help, or at least wait up? And how did she know Tara’s name? Tara couldn’t remember making any kind of introduction before. Was she THAT sleep deprived? “I love your...thing.” A woman in a singlet and tutu said. “Very nouveau chic.” “It’s not mine,” Tara said. “But thank you.” “Tara’s waiting for her baby to get cleaned,” Blue and pink said. “So am I. I thought it’d be okay for her to join us. Maybe sip some tea with us?” That got an unexpected round of cooing squeals “Awwwwww!” Tara blanched, not quite scowling at the condescension. “Seriously,” A girl in a yellow sundress remarked, “that is totally cute and nice of you to invite her. Considering...” Tara winced at that. This is why she didn’t make friends with other Mommies. Too much social politicking. Too much cliquing and jockeying for position instead of being actual friends. Tara missed her own friends, even though she had less in common with them, recently. And yet...societal pressures being what they were, Tara did not choose to take that time to excuse herself. Even if she felt she could have left, it would do nothing to cure the interminable boredom she’d been plagued with. That and she was thirsty. Another woman bounced around to Tara’s side. “Tea?” She offered a tiny saucer that looked more fit to be a shot glass. This is why hoity toity people only sipped at tea; lest they run out too quickly. “I’ve already had enough caffeine, thanks.” Tara replied. “I’m here for the…” Tara stopped when something caught her eye. A nearby bottle of Gatorade looked inviting. She was feeling awfully dehydrated for some reason. Must have been the coffee. Without waiting for further invitation, Tara reached out and began guzzling it down. Whether this was polite or not did not occur to her, and the others didn’t seem to mind, encouraging her, in fact, to drink it all up. Tara liked the juice-like drink, both in terms of taste and quantity. It made it so that she didn’t have to talk to the other adults; and made it infinitely easier to pass the time. When she was halfway through the bottle, that strange feeling, not unlike peeing, came over her again. It was more pronounced this time, and the feeling of wetness didn’t immediately vanish, but Tara chose to ignore it and keep drinking. “So I told Princess Unicorn that Lollipop La-la and Mrs. Muffinhead were..-” Tara put down her bottle. What in the world were they talking about? They sounded like crazy people! Was she drunk? Tara put down the sports beverage in order to ask a question and it was that time that her stomach chose to let out an absolutely air vibrating belch. The others stopped talking. “Huh,” A tea-drinker said. “Rude!” “Don’t be too hard on her,” the woman in blue, said. “She can’t help it. She’s just a baby.” No mocking tone or condescension in the woman’s voice. “Babies can’t help it.” “That’s true,” another said. “It’s not like Tara’s a big girl like us. She wears diapers.” If Tara had had any gatorade left she would have spit it just then. “Excuse me?! Is that supposed to be some kind of code or something?” Just because she wore only jeans and a t-shirt didn’t make her less-than compared to these strangers! “Hey!” Another woman said. “I wear diapers!” “Yes,” yet another replied, “but just because you wear diapers doesn’t mean you’re a baby. It just means you’re not potty trained yet.” Tara raised her hand. “Excuse m-” “Even I have an accident sometimes,” another girl spoke over Tara. “And I’ve been in Pull-Ups the longest.” They were ignoring her! Out and out ignoring her! “EXCUSE ME!” Tara yelled. “I’m trying to ask a-” “Oh, do you need me to get you another ba-ba?” The woman in the blue dress asked. Tara scoffed. This was some either some grade-A bullshit or some grade-A gaslighting. “Ba-ba?” Tara followed her not-quite friend’s gaze down to her hand. Like a snake, Tara’s mouth practically unhinged itself. In her hand was not a gatorade bottle, but a baby one. One that had fit perfectly in her hand. The hexagonal cylinder tumbled onto the floor. “Oh, I’ll get it for you!” For the second time that day, the woman in the blue dress turned around and bent all the way over, flashing her panties at Tara. Unlike the first time, Tara didn’t try to avert her gaze out of a sense of politeness or propriety. Those weren’t panties… They weren’t diapers either, but they were something no Mommy, no grown-up of any kind should be wearing. Pull-Ups shouldn’t be that big… And they shouldn’t be wet, either... Entrapped as she was in the not-quite-chair, Tara didn’t retreat as much as she backpedaled away. Screaming her lungs out, she could only hear the muffled replies of the strange women who looked more annoyed than shocked. “What’s her problem?” “Babies, go figure.” “Maybe she’s wet? Don’t babies do that when they’re wet?” Tara had to get help! There was something wrong here! Very wrong! “Teacher!” she yelled, “Ma’am! Someone! Anybody” She didn’t know any of the daycare workers’ names! Why didn’t she know anyone’s name? They took care of her baby for chrissakes! Why couldn’t she remember their names? An unfamiliar face stopped her. “Whoah whoah whoah!” the new person tried to calm her down. “Tara. Are you okay? What’s the matter, honey?” Tara didn’t quite recognize this person’s face, but the voice sounded familiar. Looking down over the contraption’s tray, Tara saw a pair of black flats. AN EMPLOYEE! A DAYCARE WORKER! SOMEONE WHO COULD HELP! “Miss,” Tara panted. “Something’s wrong! Something’s very VERY wrong! I don’t know if the women in there are crazy or if I was drugged by something in the bottle...I MEAN Gatorade or...or…” Tara was very quickly running out of words. “Tara?” the employee asked, a frown of confusion on her brow. “What women?” Tara pointed back the way she came. “THE WOMEN IN THE TEA ROOM!” Obviously! She hadn’t made it that far away from them. If Tara listened hard enough she could even hear them giggling and resuming some nonsensical Wonderland conversation about Dutches Moo-Moo and Fairy-Blossom-Sugar-something-or-another. “You mean the playroom with the little plastic tea set?” the nursery worker asked. “Yes! WHATEVER! THEM! THOSE WOMEN!” The lady in the black flats bent over and looked Tara in the eye. “Tara,” she said. “There aren’t any women in that room. I just looked. Just some little girls.” “Little girls?” Tara repeated, sounding far more incredulous than she’d meant to. “No! There are full grown women over there! And they’re wearing tutus and and..and...pull-ups.” The last word came out in a conspiratorial hiss. “Sweetie,” the daycare worker said. “Trust me. I just checked a second before you went in there. None of the grown-ups are in there. Just some girls playing pretend. They’re only a bit bigger than you are!” Tara just shook her head, dumbly, feeling little bits of hair brush up against the side of her cheeks. This person wasn’t listening. No one was listening! She had to get away! She had to get out of here! She tried to get away, but it took only a single hand to stop the chair, hammock, brace hybrid- no..the baby walker-in its tracks. This? This was impossible! Tara shouldn’t be in a baby walker! This lone woman shouldn’t be able to stop her dead in her tracks! Yet here she was... “LET ME GO!” “Just a second,” the daycare worker said, her voice as calm as Tara’s was panicked. Tara felt herself lifted out of the baby walker, a strange feeling of helpless vertigo overcoming her. She wasn’t a baby! She wasn’t a baby! Babies didn’t have babies! Tara felt her throat almost close up as the stranger began to grope between her legs. “Wet,” was all that the woman said. Faster- so much faster than Tara thought possible- she was carried across the daycare’s floor and found herself staring up at the lights. “What are you doing?!” Tara demanded as a strap was pulled across her chest. Her chest! She had breasts! Babies didn’t have breasts! Wasn’t that proof? The daycare worker seemed to ignore her as she went over to a nearby shelf. Craning her head up, Tara gawked as the woman opened a bin. Even though Tara couldn’t read (why couldn’t she read?) she recognized an eerily smiling face on the front. She’d seen it in the mirror this morning. It didn’t take long for Tara to realize what the white rectangular thing in the daycare lady’s hand was. And what’s more, she could see through the translucent plastic of the bin that there were plenty more diapers where that came from. “I don’t need that!” Tara insisted. “Those aren’t mine! They belong to my baby not m-!” While Tara begged and pleaded and tried to rationalize the insanity she was being drenched in, the caregiver had hooked her fingers into the elastic waistband of her jeans and yanked them down to Tara’s ankles, just short of her velcro shoes. Looking past her shirt and down at her own crotch, Tara let out a gasp of disbelief. Not only was it evident that beneath her shirt was the swollen and bulging padding of an incontinence garment, but it was also evident that she hadn’t been wearing a shirt. Shirts didn’t come together with snaps between the legs. Overcome with existential panic, Tara remained silent while the onesie was unbuttoned and shimmied up over her hips. The baby diaper- and that’s what it was; adult diapers didn’t have cartoon decorations all over them- drooped and sagged away from her once it was unbound from her pink onesie. Unable to do anything else, she remained silent while the other woman changed her; biting her nails nervously for comfort. Like most any woman her age, she didn’t want to have her diaper changed; to have her privacy and personal space so brazenly violated. But she didn’t want to knowingly stew in her own excrement, either. A fresh diaper might feel nice, too. Tara had to slam her eyes shut in a vain attempt to block out that oddly familiar and very babyish thought. Her eyes weren’t the problem, however. Her sensitive skin felt the not quite refreshing cold of baby wipes. She still felt the sopping wet padding be slid out from beneath her while her legs were lifted up to the sky. Tara still heard the light crinkling of a fresh disposable diaper being unfolded, and felt it slipped beneath her. She felt the softness of the fresh floof as her weight was lowered back down and smelled the fragrance of the baby powder as it was dusted onto her bottom. She tasted the slight saltiness of her thumb as she continued to suck on it. Eyes back open, Tara witnessed the completion of the transformation. The diaper being taped snugly around her hips. The onesie being snappedand holding the diaper firmly against her. Her jeans being yanked back up over the onesie. The strap unbuckled, and Tara sat up on the changing table, she looked exactly as she had before when she’d gotten out of the carseat. Yet something felt distinctly different...and it wasn’t just the fresh diaper. “What? What’s going on?” Tara asked. Picking Tara up, the daycare worker in the black flats replied, “You just got your diaper changed. It happens all the time to baby girls like you.” “That’s not what I meant,” Tara whined. But once again, her words fell on deaf ears. The world zoomed by in an instant, and Tara found herself on padded ground surrounded by soft white mesh walls. Just like that, the woman was off, leaving Tara alone with another girl her age; this one barefoot with her diaper on full display beneath a red t-shirt and matching ribbons in her hair. “Hi, Tara!” Tara’s back was against the meshof the playpen in an instant. “Hah duh yuh knuh muh num?!” “Huh?” Tara yanked her thumb back out of her mouth. “How do you know my name?” she repeated. “How does everyone know my name here?!” The girl seemed confused. Considering that she herself seemed perfectly comfortable showing her diaper off, that seemed completely possible. “Um...I dunno. We play all the time…? Also we play the name-game at least once a week. Tara-tara-bo-bara!” “I do NOT play here,” Tara almost shouted. “This is a daycare! Daycares are for babies!” The more obviously diapered girl nodded. “Uh-huh…” It’s as if Tara had just said that the sky was up or that water was wet. “But I’m not a baby,” Tara put special emphasis on the “not”. “I’m a Mommy!” Rebecca (Crap! How did she know the girl’s name was Rebecca?) pointed past the playpen wallsand towards the daycare’s front entrance where Tara had checked in. “Then who was that who brought you in?” “Who?” “The grown-up lady that the other grown-ups were calling Mrs. Anderson.” “I’m Mrs…!” Tara stopped herself. No she wasn’t… The daycare attendants hadn’t misidentified her. They hadn’t been talking to her at all! They’d been talking to her mommy! Mommy’s didn’t pick up their babies first thing in the morning! They dropped them off! At daycare! Everything was clicking into place in the worst way imaginable. Tara had just completely ignored or forgotten the person who’d actually been driving the minivan; the person who’d unbuckled her from her car seat; the wonderful woman who’d carried her all the way into the daycare and then set her down on the carpet! Even the word jumble she’d been playing with pass the time had been just random alphabet blocks none of the other babies had wanted!” Confused and bewildered, Tara practically slammed the back of her head against the mesh sides of her confinement. “But I’m not a baby!” It was quickly becoming her mantra. “I’m not dressed like you! You’re just wearing a t-shirt and diaper!” Rebecca rolled over onto all fours and crawled closer to Tara. “Yeah, cuz that’s what my Mommy dressed me up in today. Your Mommy dressed you up in that. You’re still wearing a diaper. You’re still crawling around...cept when you’re in that walker.” “I am NOT a crawler! I can-! I can-!...” But she couldn’t. That’s why the girl in the Pull-Ups seemed to be going so fast and why Tara had gotten so tired. Crawling was hard work. That’s why, even now, she realized she was thinking of grown-ups based on what types of shoes they wore instead of hair or eye color; shoes were the first thing she got to notice about somebody. She was used to looking at the world from the carpet up. “No...no, that can’t be right.” Tara said. Gripping the top rail of the playpen she pulled herself up into a sitting position. “See? I can stand!” Rebecca smirked. “Now let go.” To say that it did not end well for Tara would have been an understatement. Within seconds she lost her balance and ended up like a turtle on her back. The padding on the playpen floor and the fact she landed rear first before momentum carried her all the way over broke the fall. “I’M NOT A BABY!” Tara slammed her fist and kicked at the ground to emphasize her point. Looking up at her playmate, Tara caught Rebecca rolling her eyes. “Yeah, because that’s totally something the grown-ups say.” The girl punctuated her point with a brief raspberry. Tara hated to admit it, but her old playmate was right. All the evidence was pointing towards Tara not being nearly as big as she thought she was. “I’m twenty-four!” Tara protested! “Way too old to be a baby!” “Twenty-four?” Rebecca echoed. “Do you even know numbers yet?” Tara realized that she didn’t. Twenty-four was just the biggest sounding number she could imagine. “But what about my baby?” Tara was feeling about as pathetic and well...babyish as she sounded just then. From above them, the daycare worker with the white sneakers leaned over. “Tara, look what I’ve got for you!” In her hand was a rag doll. It had a red dress on it and it’s brown yarn hair had been woven and bundled up into pigtails. It’s nearly featureless face had perfect for Tara to imprint on and imagine that it looked just like her. “Fresh out of the washing machine. All of that paint you dipped it in yesterday came right off!” “BABY!” Tara squealed as she reached up and cuddled it to her chest. Even better, the daycare lady had sewn a plain white doll diaper on it that peeked out from underneath the doll’s dress. Now it really was her baby! “Dang girl,” Rebecca guffawed. “Is this what made you think you were one of the grown-ups? A doll?” “A BABY DOLL” Tara corrected her playpen pal. “And I’m her Mommy.” “When you play house, you play hardcore.” Tara stopped and dangled the doll, the beautiful baby that made her feel so grown-up whenever she held it. She lifted her legs and started pushing something warm and mushy into the back of her pants. What it was she didn’t know and didn’t care. One of the real grown-ups would take care of it eventually. And Tara knew she could cry to speed up the process in case her bum got too itchy. For the time being, however, Tara had a new baby to take care of and an exasperated peer to ignore. She really was a big girl; a woman grown; a new mother. At least until she wanted to be something else….or decided to take a nap. And so ends the tale of Tara Anderson. A sleep deprived young mother whose reality got turned upside down? Or a baby that got too wrapped up in her own intricate fantasies to notice the truth staring her right in the face? She may never know, and neither will we. Such is what happens when you find yourself… In the Dawn Domain. (This was a patreon one-shot.) To view more and other continuing stories, please subscribe. patreon.com/personalias

<I’m never letting go.> That’s the promise that Molly had made Rebecca when they’d first met, and she’d meant it. Of course she meant it. Very few toys could lie, especially ones given to children so young. It’s exceedingly difficult to lie when the child whose magic gives you life doesn’t even understand the concept of lying. When Molly, stuffed kangaroo that she was, was given to little Rebecca , aged nine months, it was love at first sight. Literally. Molly’s awareness began with the feeling of complete and total adoration for the child that held her in those chubby little arms. <I’m never letting go> she’d whispered deep in Rebecca’s brain as the not-quite-toddler cuddled and kissed the kangaroo in the same way that she was cuddled kissed by Mommy and Daddy. <I’m never letting go.> And Rebecca, known affectionately as “Becky”, accepted it as fact in the same way that a nine month old accepted everything as fact. So it became fact. Rebecca was magic. ALL children are magic. All PEOPLE are magic. All people START magic. It’s just that the magic fades into a collective reality when other people’s views begin impressing themselves on each other, forming a collective perception and reality. Fun fact that Molly had learned from older and wiser toys passed down through countless generations of <oral> history: A thousand years ago the sun really did go around the Earth, simply because enough people agreed that it did. And that same ability to affect reality yet lingered in every infant, toddler, and child to some degree or another. It was an ability that faded over time as kids learned to listen to their parents and teachers so that they accidentally gave up their powers, thus adding to the collective truth that matter was anything that had mass and took up space or that for something to exist it had to be measurable. Yet something lingered in most people’s memories about this lost and atrophied ability. It’s why invisible friends, closet monsters, and moving toys were such a common occurrence during childhood. It’s why a certain animation studio had been able to make over half a dozen movies and animated shorts on the subject. It’s why the foundation of most major religions was “childlike faith”. Everyone subconsciously- instinctively- KNEW about this. Molly knew about it. She was born knowing. She was born because of it. <I’m never letting go.> So great was Molly’s love that she made that unbreakable vow, that magical vow, and bound herself to the child that gave her life. Becky hadn’t agreed to that bond, but the magic infused stuffie hadn’t needed her too. Becky had only been able to babble, giggle, and cry, but she had heard Molly Roo’s not-voice, and that was all that the kangaroo had needed to make it so. In hindsight, Molly had once reflected, that might have been for the best. If Molly had been given to her little girl even a few months later, Becky might have understood the concept of “no”, and then the bond might not have been quite so strong; a strength that both of them sorely needed. Then where would they be? Babies were wonderful because you could protect them and keep them safe and happy and you didn’t have to ask permission to do so. It was just your job and expected of you. Doing the right thing was easy when no one could object. The bond between them was as strong as ever and Molly had nothing but the purest love in every seam for Becky. <I’m never letting you go.> Molly kept her promise. Almost eighteen years had passed and it was still going strong. Becky was still loved. Still safe. Still cuddly and happy and silly and still without a care in the world. And why wouldn’t she be? Circumstances hadn’t changed. Not one bit. Not the important ones, anyways. For close to eighteen years now, Becky had never walked upright or eaten big girl foods or spoken more than a few scattered words that likely were little more than gibberish or identifiers to her: Your “Mama” and “Dada”. Your “baba” and “di-di”. Your “Ni-Ni” and “hungee”. The basics. Of course “Mowwy” was a favorite that saw frequent use. “Emmygope” was another bit of babble that popped up every now and then. Molly had never been able to figure that one out, and her parents never noticed it. The basics. Molly took care of the rest. Becky certainly had never so much as sat on a grown-up toilet, or even one of those plastic “big girl” potties. Instead, she got to see Molly smiling down at her while she was laid on her changing table five or six times every day, both of them giggling as Becky’s Mommy or Daddy changed her diaper. Only Becky ever heard Molly’s not-voice, though. Grown-ups didn’t generally believe in magic. Or talking kangaroo plushies. And especially not magical kangaroo plushies. They could be so so silly sometimes, Molly would often not-say to herself. They might not have believed in Molly, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be affected by her. They stopped noticing that Becky was getting bigger. They never realized that Becky’s teething rings were something of a misnomer since she’d gone through a full set of teeth, lost those and grown another. Those were just chewing rings now. Most parents might find it odd that their little one never grew out of Size 3 diapers, or that for some reason every pack in their shopping cart now expanded and the label changed so that Size 3 fit 31-36 inches instead of 16-28 pounds. Common sense dictated that Mommy and Daddy should have found it funny that Becky was still 9 months old, even though her date of birth was close to two decades past. Red flags should have been thrown high into the air that their precious baby girl who still slept in a crib and ate in a highchair had full formed breasts; or so common sense would suggest. Fortunately, common sense and magic rarely interacted well with each other, and so the two just tended to politely nod and ignore each other. How fortunate, then, it was that magic got to Becky first and never left. Neither Mommy, Daddy, Becky, or any of her sitters realized what was happening. Even as Becky’s babysitters started coming from the ranks of former playmates, now getting ready to go to college, no one was the wiser. Time (or the perception thereof) stood still for the happy family. They’d always be like this. They’d always be happy. Because what was happier than a couple with their baby? Nothing! That’s what! Why else would baby pictures exist other than to revisit happier times? But you didn’t need to take pictures of Disney Land if you lived there; and ever since Molly and Becky had been united, every day was Disney Land. Becky wasn’t the only font of magic that Molly drew from. Part of the magic came from Mommy, Daddy, and yes even the occasional sitter that only looked vaguely familiar now that they’d outgrown their own beloved plushies. Routine, when infused with magic and unquestioning belief became powerful rituals. Regular feeding times with spoons masterfully filling the roles of airplanes and choo-choos had their own magic. As did the intimacy of a good game of peek-a-boo or a bubble bath (with Molly safely on the counter watching over it, of course). Routines turned themselves into powerful self-sustaining rituals. Changing time was a ritual the pair knew all too well; legs held up, bottom wiped nice and clean, baby powder cascading down, diaper balled up and thrown away into the pail to join dozens of others, fresh diaper taped on with a kiss on the cheek from Mommy or Daddy. Being a baby’s constant companion, especially one so big would be a messy job by any standard, but Molly didn’t mind at all. Quite the opposite. She adored being a part of her baby’s daily care. Whether it was changing time, feeding time, a bit-too-rough playtime or nap time, Molly was there for all of it. And she never regretted a moment of it. Becky was always loved and always safe as her guardian had promised. It had been a bit of an extreme measure, Molly knew, to remake her Becky’s world this way. But the alternative was simply too horrible to bear thinking about… She listened to Mommy and Daddy talk to each other. She read the news and surfed the net when the rest of the house was asleep. Molly knew what happened to kids who grew up: Tide pods! Racism! Pornography! Money troubles! Sex! Politics! Disease! Drugs! R-Rated Movies! The world was a scary place, and as people grew up, it became infinitely more dangerous, infinitely more depressing and infinitely less cute. Never Becky though. Never Becky. Becky would never have to worry about things like paying rent, or getting pregnant, or who to vote for. Becky could just be who she’d always been: Her Mommy and Daddy’s precious bundle of silly little fun and the greatest, truest expression of Molly’s love. Molly knew that love as Becky laid on her blankie in the middle of the living room floor. The T.V. was playing PBS, but it was more or less just white noise between the beats of Becky’s babble, Mommy’s dish washing, and the random shaking of jingly or rattling things. Becky was on her back holding Molly up at arm’s length, and babbling happily as she always did. “Mowwy! Mowwwwwy! Mowwy! Maaaaaaah-weeeeee!” Every day Becky looked at Molly like that, and Molly felt like the most beloved kangaroo in the world. <Becky! Becky!> Molly said in her cooing not-voice. <You look so beautiful today! Have I told you that, sweet girl? Molly loves you.> “Mowwy, Mowwy, Mowwy.” <Yes, yes, yes!> Molly not-chirped. This not-conversation never got old for either them. Another sort of ritual that only strengthened their bond. <Can you help me hop?> “Opp.” It wasn’t a question. Becky never questioned. Uncertainty wasn’t a concept that applied to her. “Opp! Opp! Opp! Opp-opp-opp-op-op-op-op-oooopp! Opp-opp!” Molly smiled. <Yes, sweetie. “Hop-hop-hop!” Are you ready for me to hop?> She was always smiling, due to the stitch pattern, but there were subtle differences that only Becky might notice. Right now, the kangaroo was using her quiet but adoringly patient smile. “Opp-oppa-oppa-opp-opppa-opp-opp-opp!” More baby babble. Becky loved playing with mouth sounds, and reveling in the purest joys from both auditory and tactile aesthetics. If she’d grown up, Becky might have been a poet or lyricist, perhaps a performer or singer. She might have learned to be a speech and language pathologist. Maybe her acute awareness and appreciation of texture could have made her an award winning chef or a fantastic dentist. It might have also amounted to nothing but a quirk or a talent at tying cherry stems with her tongue. Baby Becky could very well have grown up into” Bee-Jay Becky”. But that was the best part of babies like Becky. Unlimited potential. At an eternal nine-months, Becky could be so many things that Rebecca would never get the opportunity to be. Then again, Becky wouldn’t be able to eith- Molly banished the thought in her mind as she lept skyward. Becky had finally decided to make Molly “Opp-opp-opp!” and launched her towards the ceiling. <WHEEEEEEE!> Molly not-cheered as she tumbled end over end milliseconds before gravity took over and yanked her back down. She tumbled into Becky’s waiting bosom and received the warmest of hugs and the silliest of ggles. <Again! Again! Again!> Even with a nine month old’s limitations, Becky had gotten quite good at tossing and catching her favorite toy. As was the ritual, Molly went soaring once more, this time, the bit of her tail scraping the ceiling. It threw her momentum off and made it so she landed on the hardwood floor instead of her darling child’s arms. Fortunately, it didn’t hurt Molly a bit; one of the fringe benefits of not having bones. Becky scooped her up and brought her back into view. <Amazing hopping, Becky! Again!> Molly had to not-laugh at herself. Who was sounding like the baby, now? “Emmygope,” Becky babbled. <Of course emmygope,> Molly not-told her best friend and darling Becky. <As soon as I figure out what that is, you can emmygope all you want.> Before Molly could go soaring to the roof a third time, Mommy came and picked Becky up from the floor. “Time for Lunch, Becky.” Somewhere around year four or five a bit of the cooing motherese and questioning tone had leaked out of Mommy, save for the big events. Molly presumed it was because of some increasingly growing parenting trend of talking to children as though they were adults. Mommy groaned as she picked her big baby up and Molly let out a little not-yelp as she slipped from Becky’s grasp. “Gosh, Becky,” she said more to herself, “you’re gettin’ heavy.” Molly stitched on smile was directed inward this time. Becky’s Mommy had no idea. “Mowwy!” Becky yelled, her eyes downcast. No tears yet. There wouldn’t be tears unless Mommy walked away without correcting her mistake. “Mama! Mowwy!” From her spot on the floor, Molly looked up as Mommy slipped two fingers past the leak guards of Molly’s ‘Size 3’ Pampers. “You’re not terribly wet,” she said. “Maybe a change after lunch.” Eighteen seamless years of changing Becky’s diapers had made Mommy a real pro when it came to checking. Necessity was another factor. Diapers were an expense that most kids grew out of. But since Becky wasn’t growing, the diapers kept coming. Thanks to Molly’s influence, the idea that Becky was an incontinent 18 year old meriting financial aid for adult diapers never had (and never would) occur to anyone. Subconsciously, Molly guessed, Mommy and Daddy knew this, too. They’d learned to make diapers last when they needed to. The only drawback to letting a child sit in a wet diaper for a prolonged period of time was that it would make the child harder to potty train. Potty training was never going to be an issue for Becky. “Mama!” Becky whined. “Mowwy!” Mommy looked down and saw the stuffie. “Oopsie” she said. “Wouldn’t want to forget Molly, would we?” She bent over and scooped up the fourth member of the family, carrying them all to the kitchen. Molly was placed lopsided on the kitchen table so that Becky could be buckled into her enormous highchair. “Mowwy! Mowwy! Mowwy!” Clumsy grasping hands reached out for Molly the moment Mommy was done fastening safety harness over Becky’s breasts. “Molly’s right there on the table.” Mommy glanced over and righted the kangaroo. “We wouldn’t want her to get all messy, would we?” They certainly wouldn’t. After nearly eighteen years, the occasional trip to the washing machine had been unavoidable, but it was an inevitability that Molly preferred to prolong whenever possible. Kangaroos did not like ‘baths’, it turned out. All that spinning and swirling in the dark scared Molly. It was the only time where she truly felt alone, irrationally afraid that the magic that kept things perfect would be washed away with the strained carrots. <Thank you, ma’am.> Molly said. Even if only Becky could hear her, it didn’t hurt to be polite. Had to set a good example for the baby. “Ma’am” Becky echoed. “Mama,” her mother corrected. <I’m fine here, Becky. I’ll just watch. Okay?> Becky smiled. “Mowwy!” This time it was a sign of adoration and consent instead of a plea or demand. Molly could stay and watch as Becky got fed, and the stuffie would get all her nourishment through another means. It was remarkable how much could be communicated with a single word. The adult sized baby looked to her mother. Mommy had just finished tying on a bib. “Mama.” “Yes, Mama.” Mommy agreed. “Mowwy!” “Yes, I’ m your Mommy, and that’s your Molly. You really do love that toy, don’t you?” Mommy had no idea, nor did she appreciate how much the toy loved the girl back. “For lunch today, we’re going to have some yummy peas. Doesn’t that sound good?” Becky’s tongue drooped out of her mouth. “Uck!” Mommy chuckled, knowingly. This reaction wasn’t unexpected. “They’ll help you grow big and strong, Becky! Don’t you want that?” The baby girl shook her head so fast that her hair was flapping back and forth like the tail of an unruly dog. No one thought it odd that a nine month old could have such lustrous and long hair. Mommy and Daddy regularly took turns brushing it while their daughter luxuriated, her wonderful kangaroo in her lap. <She’s right, Becky. Eat your peas! That way you can get all grown up! > That was a lie, of course, but only Molly knew the truth. Becky would get to be little her entire life, and the occasional jar of yucky peas was a small price to pay for that. Becky was bouncing, now. “Emmygope!” Mommy laughed at that. “Yes yes, I’ll get you up out of that chair as soon as lunch is done.” She unscrewed the lid on an over sized jar of baby food and dipped a large plastic spoon in the green muck. “Here comes the airplane!” Becky clapped her hands, flailing her arms at the shoulders and giggled excitedly while Mommy made whooshing and whirring sounds. “Coming in for a landing!” Mommy announced. “Open up the hanger door!” The big baby opened her mouth and was rewarded with a mouthful of mashed peas. <Yummy, yummy!> “Um-um-um!” More clumsy hand clapping, now with light green mush leaking out over the girl’s bottom lip. Mommy was there to catch it with a washcloth, like a pro. Halfway through the jar of peas, Molly started yawning and drooping in her seat. That’s when the spoon started turning into a choo-choo instead of an airplane, chugging along on an invisible track. That made Becky perk right up, and the afternoon’s entertainment resumed in earnest. “You’re getting to be such a big girl!” Mommy said when the jar was almost done. <Such a big girl!> Molly agreed. (No she wasn’t. And that was the beauty of it.) Becky swallowed another mouthful of pees and then looked down at her tray. “Pee-pee…?” she said. “Pee-pee!” <Yes, those are peas!> Molly cheered. <How smart you are! How clever!> Molly couldn’t frown, but internally something felt amiss. She’d been a particularly un-squirmy baby today and so the tray was clean. Only the bib was even remotely stained, and a quick spot scrubbing would take care of it for tonight. Why was she looking at the tray? Mommy put down the nearly empty jar of baby food. “Pee-pee?” she said. Reaching under the tray and giving her daughter’s diaper a squeeze. “Oh wow! Yes! Pee-pee! Wow!” Mommy seemed oddly happy about this, relieved even. “That’s right, Becky! You’re going pee-pee! Such a big girl!” <Yaaaaay! Becky!> But Molly didn’t mean it. Nine month olds weren’t supposed to recognize that they were wetting their diapers. That’s why they needed their diapers and their bottles and their Mommies and Daddies and their toys… That old excited cooing creeped back into Mommy’s tone. “Maybe my little girl is an early bloomer!“ <Maybe!> Molly’s smile was stitched on, but for the first time in a long while, it felt forced. The kangaroo was worried. Very worried. Worried for all of them. She couldn’t bear the thought of letting go. “Maybe in a few months we’ll start potty training! Won’t that be nice?” “Mama! Emmygope!” <Yaaaaaay…potty….> Thank goodness Becky wan’t really listening. The kid was empathetic as anything and would know something was up if she’d been paying attention. Fortunately, some rituals still had great power over Becky. The mashed peas were only the first course. Mommy unclicked the tray and unsnapped Becky from the highchair, the giving her diaper a firm pat. “I’ll change you in a second. But first…” She carried Becky out of the kitchen and to the couch. The stuffie used Mommy’s preoccupation to shift ever so slightly on the kitchen table so that she could get a good view of the couch. Becky was already pawing at Mommy’s boobs. For nearly eighteen years, Mommy and Daddy had talked about weaning their daughter…starting when she was one years old. “Just a second, silly girl.” Mommy cooed. She lifted her shirt, unclasped her nursing bra, and the big baby went to town suckling on mother’s milk. Molly was used to being left out of this part. It was a special Mommy and Baby time, and it often gave her a much needed break. Right now, Molly was grateful for a very different reason. She’d need to concentrate. Molly focused all of her will on the girl. <I’m never letting go.> She said it like a spell. <Never letting go.> Unblinking little button eyes stared as Becky nursed and mewled with joy. Even Mommy seemed to take solace in this never ending bonding ritual. It was for the best to keep it going. <Never. Letting. Go.> Just. Had. To. Concentrate. Becky’s mewling turned to grunting and her diaper expanded out, the last of the creases rounding out. The middle snap even popped loose on Becky’s onesie. “Maybe I was a little premature on that early potty training thing,” Mommy laughed to herself as Becky finished nursing. Becky finished drinking and was shifted into burping position. Like the baby she was, she didn’t realize that anything had changed in her diaper until after Mommy gave her backside a pat. “Mowwy!” Molly couldn’t quite hear Becky’s tone. Surprise? Accusation? Or was that just Molly’s own guilt echoing back at her? Not that she should feel guilty. “Mowweeee!” There it was! Baby Becky just wanted her favorite Kangaroo friend. Molly sighed so hard that she fell back over on her side. Molly felt the love radiate as she was put back into her Becky’s arms, being. <I’m here, sweetie.> She whispered to Becky. <Your Molly’s here. I’ll always be here for you. All of us will. It’ll always be like this. Always.> The string of babble from Becky’s mouth was so incomprehensible and nonsensical that even Molly’s trained ear couldn’t decipher what the baby meant. It sounded happy though. The resulting diaper change came a few steps quicker than Molly would have otherwise expected “Don’t want a blowout before we get to your room,” Mommy said as she laid Becky down on the living room blanket. “Better to just do it here.” Like with any experienced parent, diapers inevitably crept out of the nursery and into strategic locations around the house, and Becky’s parents were nothing if not experienced, even if they didn’t know it. In this particular instance, a tiny stack of three rested next to a packet of wipes on a nearby coffee table. Molly stared down at Becky, held in the grown-child’s grasp high above her head. <Don’t make me hop now,> she warned Becky. <I don’t wanna have an oopsie daisy and land in a yucky diaper while Mommy is changing you!> Becky giggled. “Di-di.” “Yes, di-di!” Mommy said. “I’m changing your diaper.” Molly breathed easy as she heard the tapes of the diaper come undone. As soon as the old diaper was thrown away, the idea that Becky was anywhere close to potty training age would fade out completely from everyone’s memory. Molly wasn’t sure why it worked this way, but it did. Magic was funny like that. The diaper was tossed in the kitchen trashcan (thank goodness for lids), Becky’s onesie was buttoned back up, and Molly could tell, the sweet girl was getting ready to dose off. “How about some fresh air?” Mommy said after she’d washed her hands. Becky was picked up, cradled by her mother, and like a good baby, Becky copied and did the same for Molly. How wonderful it felt to be cradled by one who loved you so. Out the kitchen door they went, and Molly found herself resting in the crook of baby Becky’s arm while Mommy secured them in the stroller. <The sun is so warm today,> Molly whispered to Becky. <Perfect napping weather.> Becky’s eyes were already beginning to droop as Mommy walked behind them and started pushing. The sun was bright and beautiful and warm as Mommy pushed them on the side of the road. Perfect stroller weather. Perfect napping weather. Had Molly been the type to need sleep, she would have luxuriated in the stroller ride and dozed beside her eternally infantilized companion. Fortunately, the concept that anyone besides her might need sleep had never occurred to Becky and so Molly was never truly sleepy. Instead she was content to relax next to her little buddy and take the world in. Another day in paradise. A few blocks into their stroll, a shadow fell over the stroller. Molly shifted so she could see. ‘Oh hi, Deborah,” the jogger said. “Patty! Hiiiiii!” Mommy replied. The jogger’s face, a woman about Mommy’s age, peered back into the stroller. “Oh my gosh, is that Becky? She’s getting so big!” <You have no idea…> Molly smirked. Mommy seemed to agree “She is! Every day.” “When’s her birthday?” the jogger asked. Mommy told her the date. “About six months from now.” The other woman said. “So that means she’s…?” “Nine months old,” Mommy corrected her. There was a pause as the magic that Molly wielded interfered with the grown-ups ability to do basic math calculations. “Yeah! That sounds about right. Is she walking, yet?” “Not yet. Any day now, though.” Mommy let out a tired sigh. “Any day now.” If she had teeth, Molly would be flashing her pearly whites right now, but she settled for the stitching that made up her mouth to seem just a little bit more pronounced. The stroller kept moving, as did the conversation. Becky moaned a bit and pulled in her kangaroo closer to her. Poor thing. She hated the idea of growing up as much as Molly did. “Emmygope…” “What’s it like being a stay at home, Mom?” Mommy’s friend asked. “Oh you know,” Mommy said. “It’s fun, and I’m glad to be taking this year with Becky, but I’m looking forward to going back to work.” Mommy’s friend laughed. “I completely get it. I stayed home that first year with Kyle, but I was ready to get back to work around one year.” Kyle? KYLE! That’s where Molly remembered the jogger lady! Molly and Kyle had been playmates. First they were the same age. Then Kyle became her “big playmate” while they were both still in diapers, him a Size 6, her a magically modified a Size 3 and then he gradually faded away into Pull-Ups and preschool. <Oh yeah. I remember her. I wonder how Kyle is. Shame he had to grow up. Guess his stuffie didn’t love him as much.> “None of the daycares around here even have services for kids Becky’s age,“ Mommy complained. That was true… Mommy’s friend seemed to agree. “Exactly. And private sitters are more expensive. Not worth the cost of going back. Cheaper to stay home.” If Molly could have nodded, she would have. “Still, it was such a relief to get back to work when the time was right.” Still in Becky’s arm, Molly wriggled and tried to sit up a little straighter. <What?> “Exactly.” Molly wasn’t sure, but she could practically hear Mommy nodding in agreement. “Not just for the extra income, but so that I can be a role model for Becky.” <Role model?> Molly was confused. <Babies don’t need role models. They’ve got their role! BABIES!> Becky gurgled and shifted in her sleep. <Oh…> Molly lowered her not-voice. <Sorry, baby. Go to sleep.> Mommy’s friend started piling it on. “Plus there’s all the neat things you get to see them do. Kyle’s gone from a blob to a crawler to a kid to a..a…just the neatest person. I’m so proud of him!” Both of them sighed wistfully. “Whatever happened to us?” Mommy asked. “I had kids,” the jogger said. “Motherhood changes your whole social structure and priorities. You start making friends with other parents.” “Yeah,” Mommy said. “I get that. Before Becky, most of our friends were childless, but all of them are fading away now. I hope we can find a playgroup for Becky.” Molly was getting a strange kind of deja vu. She’d heard a variant of this conversation so many times. Mommy was always finding baby friends for Becky. But they never stayed babies, so they never stayed friends… “I wish we could have had kids around the same time,” Mommy’s friend said. “You would have been a blast at the play dates.” “Yeah, me too…” There was a thought that the plushie hadn’t considered before. Becky wasn’t the only one without friends her age…Molly couldn’t frown, but she suddenly felt just a little tiny bit sad. Mommy’s friend waved goodbye and ran ahead of the stroller. Mommy turned off into a park; not a playground. A park. Becky was too little for most anything but a baby swing, anyway. This was a place where the Big People played strange and complicated games called sports. For Mommy though, it was a spot with benches to rest at and a place to park Becky’s stroller. Practiced hands unbuckled and jostled the girl awake. “Emmygope?” Becky let out a fussy groan and whined a bit as Mommy picked her up out of her stroller. <What’s wrong Becky? Do you need a ba-ba? A change? Don’t worry. Your Mommy will check you. And I’ll be right here.> “Noooooo…” Becky whined. Mommy tutted her tongue. “I’m not gonna let you nap all day and be up all night, baby girl. You’re too big for those midnight tantrums.” <NO SHE’S NOT!> “Mowwy….” Becky groaned. Molly was in Becky’s hands instantly without further comment from Mommy. With darn near superhero strength, Mommy bounced Becky on her lap as she checked her various social media accounts. Becky was content to babble at her best stuffie friend. “Abababbaabab.” <Uh-huh.> “Uh.huh.” “Buh-buh-buh-buh” <Is that so?> “Yeah?” “Emmygope.” <Yes! Emmygope! We’re emmygoping right now, aren’t we? Yes we are! Yes we are!> “What does that even mean?” Mommy laughed. “Such a silly little girl!” They laughed. They all laughed. Becky even gave Molly a kiss. Although, like usual, it was closer to a gentle, lips only goose bite “Mowwy…” <Yes, it’s me! Your Molly!> “That’s right. That’s Molly. She’s your favorite, isn’t she?” “Mowwy!” They just sat there for a few minutes, the three of them, in amicable silence. Molly in Becky’s lap, Becky in Mommy’s lap. Like perfect nesting dolls. Then Mommy pulled up Candy Crush and started playing it. All of Becky’s world dived into the phone. Becky kept trying to grab at the beautiful, colorful, and fun looking game, and Mommy couldn’t quite understand how her nine month old was able to so easily grasp at the phone. <Becky!> Molly half laughed, half chided her girl. <Take it easy. Mommies need to play, too. Just watch. It’s like a cartoon!> “Cah-toooooooooo!” “That’s right.” Mommy agreed. “It’s like a cartoon.” How lucky was Becky, Molly marveled, that she could have two conversations at once? Not many people could get to say that. With Becky and her mother distracted, Molly took a moment to take in the sights that the park had to offer. There were other girls at the park; girls Becky’s age. Not nine-months…her real age. They were playing games: Basketball. Tennis. The clink of a metal bat and the clap of the audience shouting “run run run” signaled that there was a baseball or softball game nearby. Others just walked around in the open, without their Mommies and Daddies to watch over them. There were a few who even held hands with boys or other girls! They weren’t playing any games, but just gazing deeply into each other’s eyes; giving each other little pecks on the lips. (Some gave not so little pecks.) Molly knew what that all this meant; she was a grown kangaroo, after all. Love! Not the kind of love that Molly gave Becky or that Becky gave Mommy. More like the kind of love that Mommy and Daddy had for each other, maybe even the kind of love that made Becky. A few walking about made goo-goo eyes at Becky. Smiling at her and whispering to each other about how cute the little baby was, and made special flirty whispers to their partners. They were jealous not of her, but of Mommy. They wanted to cuddle. But they didn’t want to wear diapers, they wanted to change them. They wanted to nurture and tickle and care for someone: Things that Becky would never be able to do as long as Molly wasn’t letting go… One even had a bump coming out of her shirt and was practically glowing. The lady might not have a pouch, but sooner or later, Molly knew, this girl who was only a few years older than Becky was going to change her name to Mommy, too. Becky was never going to get to be a Mommy…but wasn’t Mommy just saying how much she wanted to go back to work…? Molly had no nerve endings, but she suddenly felt something she’d never felt before: Confusion. All of these people, young men and young women…all Becky’s real age or just a little older. They looked happy. They all looked so happy. Happy and safe. And some of them were happy and going to be Mommies and Daddies. But Becky was happy too. Wasn’t she? <I can’t ever let go….or else…or else…this? This might happen?> ************************************************************************ “Honey! I’m home!” <Daddy’s home!> “Da-da!” “Daddy’s home!” Mommy walked over and half-hugged, half-collapsed into Daddy’s arms. “Welcome home, hon.” Daddy gave Mommy a kiss. “Rough day?” “Oh no,” Mommy said. “Just tired of the grind and I miss you.” Another kiss; this one on the cheek. “I miss you too.” Oblivious to the grown-ups, Becky kept banging the wooden spoons on the pots with Molly cheering her on. <Great job, Becky. Beautiful music!> “When’s your next day off?” Daddy must have not heard the question. He went over to Becky and scooped her up in his arms, tickling her. “There’s my big girl!” Becky squirmed in Daddy’s arms, and Molly couldn’t help but laugh along from her spot on the kitchen floor. “Ooops! Daddy better be careful or he might just have a leaky butt on his hands. Yes he might! Yes he might!” “Would you mind changing her?” Mommy asked. “Not at all.” Quick as a lightning bug, Daddy zipped out of the kitchen, a soggy adult baby in tow, leaving Molly behind. Becky was wriggling and reaching over Daddy’s shoulder. “MOWWY!” she cried out. Not that Daddy could see, but there was an obvious look of distress on the girl’s face. Daddy patted Becky’s back comfortingly. “You’ll get to play with Molly in just a second,” he said. Molly could only sit there on the kitchen floor as Becky called out for her, dying inside. <It’s okay, Becky!> She called out. <Daddy’s just in a hurry. It’ll be okay!> “MOWWWWWWY!” The house was big. Big enough that Molly couldn’t hear the tapes being ripped open, or Daddy’s gentle shushing as he wiped Becky’s bottom. She couldn’t hear the soft click of the well used diaper genie, or the crisp crinkling of a new diaper being unfolded, slipped underneath Becky and taped on…Daddy tended to skip the powder. All she could hear was Becky’s screams and it broke her amorphous cotton heart. <I’M RIGHT HERE, BABY!> She called out, hoping that Becky could hear her despite not really having a voice. “What’s the matter, baby?” Daddy said, coming back into the kitchen. “Why are you so upset? Your booty doesn’t have a rash on it. I just checked.” The big baby was on the verge of being completely inconsolable. “MOWWY!” Tears were coming now. Mommy picked Molly up and reunited the pair. “She just wanted her doll.” Becky immediately started to regain her composure in Daddy’s arms. Molly felt immediate relief, too. “Oh…” Daddy said. He had the good grace to look embarrassed. “Sorry.” Mommy shrugged. “It’s a phase. When’s your next day off?” Daddy sat Becky down on the floor. “All these pots and pans on the floor,” he said. “I’m guessing it’s not spaghetti night?” He laughed at his own joke. He was the only one. <Look Becky!> Molly urged. <You can make me hop-hop-hop on all the different pots.> Becky started making Molly hop on the pans in place of the wooden spoon. With her adult sized hands, she was able to slam Molly hard down enough so that each of the metal containers reverberated with every ‘hop’. If Molly had had any bones or non-cotton organs, it might have hurt. “Op-op-op!” Molly was trying not to listen to Mommy and Daddy. So was Becky. They were failing. “When’s your next day off?” Mommy seemed a little more insistent this time. Daddy froze. He sucked on his teeth. After almost eighteen years, Molly could sense a fight coming. <Keep me hopping, Becky!> “I just got took more hours of overtime at the office.” Daddy lowered his head. Mommy looked like she’d just been slapped. “You what?! Without asking me!” Daddy’s face was getting red and his brow was furrowing. “Why do I need to ask you whether I make more money for us or not? Why do you need me to take a day off?” “I spend all day taking care of the baby and I just want a little time to myself…?!” It had the rising tone like a question, but it wasn’t. Not really. Parenthood was hard. Perpetual parenthood, though? Literally inconceivable. “It’s no picnic for me, either,” Daddy said. “Who do you think is paying for all these toys and diapers and stuff?” Becky stopped making Molly hop around on the cooking pots. She was staring at her parents, watching the fight brew like one of those Hollywood Island Natives watching a volcano start to rumble. “I JUST NEED A BREAK!” “SO DO I!” Becky let out a wail as the grown-ups raised their voices. Two wet spots formed on Mommy’s chest. A natural reaction given the constant breastfeeding. “When are weaning her, anyways?” Daddy asked. “We can’t afford to wean her,” Mommy said. There were tears in her eyes, and they weren’t terribly happy tears, either. “The free food that I’m producing is helping our budget!” There were tears in Becky’s eyes, as well. Daddy’s too. Money always hurt. If Molly had had unlimited magic, she would have made Mommy and Daddy kajillionaires with a full time staff of housekeepers and cooks so they could spend all their time with their baby girl. Molly couldn’t do this without them, she had to admit. Unfortunately, Becky didn’t understand the concept of money, and so the magical plushie had no power to affect the crinkly green stuff. “How can we be having all of these financial problems?” Daddy asked. “Hospital bills?” Mommy shook her head. “Paid them.” Easily, Molly knew. “Pediatrician?” “Up to date on her shots, no major appointments.” Mommy thought for a moment. “College fund?” It was Daddy’s turn to shake his head. “Completely up to date and paid.“ More than he realized. Daddy had been making that first big down payment again and again and again for a little less than twenty years. Kind of a shame, considering that Becky would never have to go to stinky old college and do keg stands or whatever it was that non-baby girls her age did. Those girls at the park hadn’t been doing anything terribly dangerous or bad though. Had they? The couple fell back into each other. “I’m just SO tired.” Daddy rubbed Mommy’s back, long since desensitized to something so simple as a milk stained shirt. “Me too, hon…me too. But it will get easier.” No…no it wouldn’t. From her spot on the floor, Becky was getting tired of being ignored by all three of her support givers. “Mama? Dada?” “Oh shit…we did it again.” Daddy said. “We argued in front of the baby.” Honestly, they’d had a pretty good track record, all things considered. By Molly’s count they had made it almost six years before they had their first argument around their daughter. The kangaroo couldn’t remember what it was about…maybe wanting to switch to cloth diapers or some other minor alteration? It had been nixed with empty promises that this would all get easier over time. On average they had a heated discussion like this once a year, every eight to nine months. Ironic. Or was it? Nothing changed. Nothing ever changed. And for some reason Molly was feeling just awful about it. “It’s okay Becky,” Daddy said. “Mommy and Daddy are just talking. We’re just a little cranky, yeah?” <Yeah? See Becky? Everything’s fine. Everything’s JUST fine.> Molly could hear the lie in her own not-voice. “It’ll get easier,” he promised Mommy. It was a promise he didn’t know he wouldn’t be able to keep. “In a few months, you can go back to work, and Becky can go to a daycare and make lots of friends her own age.” Wrong. Mommy hugged him even harder. “And then in a few years,” she said, “after potty training, and when she’s in public school, we’ll get a lot of that income back.” Wrong. “And we’ll get to be there for all of the other fun stuff,” Daddy said back. “Like when she starts talking in full sentences.” Wrong. “And walking.” Wrong. “And feeding herself.” Wrong! “And reading and writing.” Wrong and wrong! “And taking care of herself.” WRONG! “And we’re teaching her how to drive.” <NO! TOO MUCH!> “Whoah whoah whoah! Let’s not go crazy, now!” Daddy said. <First sensible thing you’ve said!> “This is awesome,” Daddy continued, not hearing Molly’s not-voice. “Our baby girl is awesome, and she’s only going to get cooler and cooler.” With a wide sweeping gesutre he indicated the messy kitchen literred with cooking irons. “But this? This is only the beginning. We got a late start in this game, but we’re gonna get to watch her grow up.” <No…no…no! It’s not! It’s everything! It IS EVERYTHING! Why would anyone WANT TO GROW UP?! WHY WOULD ANYONE WANT TO LET THEIR BABY GROW UP? I DON’T UNDERSTAND!> “Emmygope!” “What’s she saying?” Daddy asked. Then he thought of a better person to ask. He squatted down, hands on his knees and looked his daughter in the eye. “What’s that, Rebecca?” <DON’T CALL HER THAT! THAT’S HER ADULT NAME! SHE DOESN’T NEED-> Becky talked over Molly. “Em..me…go….up!” She never talked over Molly. It was Becky’s own will that had brought Molly to life. From a mystical point of view, she was practically talking to herself…or so Molly had thought. Daddy smiled “Let you grow up? Is that what you’re saying?” Becky nodded, grinning even as a bit of drool escaped her. Mommy and Daddy laughed at that. “Our kid!” Mommy said. “Honey, I don’t think we could stop you from growing up if we tried.” <Becky?> Molly said. Becky didn’t look at her. <Becky?> Still nothing. <Rebecca?> The baby turned and looked at her constant companion. <Is that true? You want to grow up?> All she got was more babble as the baby was lifted up on Mommy’s hip. “How about pizza tonight? We can afford a pizza and Mommy can take the night off from cooking.” “PEE-AH!” She didn’t cry out for Molly. <Rebecca…> Molly whimpered. <I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I just didn’t want to let go.> “Sounds like we’ve got a winner!” <I just didn’t want to have to let you go.> “How’s pepperoni?” <I didn’t want you to let me go…> “You know I don’t like meat on my pizza.” <I thought I was helping…> “Okay. Half-pep for me and Becky. Let me guess, pineapple? Becky. Tell Mommy ‘Yuck?” <Wasn’t I…?> “UCK!” <Good-bye, Becky.> Things started getting fuzzy. “Just means more slices for me.” <I love you. And I always will.> Molly’s world started to fade away. Reality was reasserting control over itself. Magic was making way for new memories. <Please let me feel love.> As a magical totem of sorts, Molly wasn’t used to praying as much as being prayed to. <I just want my last thought to be love. Let me stop existing, let me leave this existence being loved. I just want to be lov-> ************************************************************************ BREEP BREEP BREEEP BREEP! Rebecca slammed the alarm clock off. “Rebecca!” Mom called from down the hallway. “Time to get up!” “FIVE MORE MINUTES, MOM!” Rebecca begged. “PLEEEEEASE!” “No ma’am,” Mom called back. “Five minutes turns into ten minutes turns into you being late turns into skipping and us having to spend even MORE money. Quit stalling.” Rebecca grunted and growled. She knew Mom was right. Didn’t make her any less grumpy first thing in the morning, however. Being an adult sucked sometimes. She threw off her covers, swung her feet over the bed and stretched. Her old kangaroo lay on the floor. She must have accidentally tossed or kicked it in her sleep last night. Rebecca walked past it and straight to the bathroom, not even thinking about it until the toilet was flushing behind her. Looking at the kangaroo on the floor, a strange sense came over her: It was what George Carlin called “Vuja De”, the feeling that none of this had ever happened before, but that was a silly idea. More importantly, it was a strange and sudden feeling; a quiet one; a sad one, even though the young woman couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She bent over and picked her oldest toy up. Her parents had given it to her when she was a baby, but for some reason she’d never been able to let go of this one, even as every other toy she’d ever gotten had made its way into Goodwill or storage. “Hey Molly,” she said, giving the beaten up old thing a quick hug before tossing it on the bed and getting herself dressed for the day. She really had abused the poor doll, but part of her imagined that the plushie loved the attention all the same. Getting her backpack, she took one step out of her room before doubling back. “Almost forgot,” Rebecca said, grabbing onto Molly. She unzipped the large front pocket of her book bag and stuffed the old baby toy inside so that its head was still poking out. It only made sense for a kangaroo to be riding in a pouch. It was something that Mommy had said to her on her first day of Kindergarten, a way to get her to hop on the bus (no pun intended) without tears. Over the years, it had become habit and Molly had evolved from a beloved childhood toy to something of a good luck charm. She’d need all the luck she could get. The SAT’s were upon her. But if she was going to be a dentist, that meant college and that meant late night cram sessions and that meant suffering through the SAT’s. “Daddy?” Rebecca called out into the kitchen. A tired but somewhat jovial sigh rumbled from out her father’s throat. “What do you want, Becky?” He called back. “Nothing…!” “You only call me ‘Daddy’ when you want something!” “And you only call me ‘Becky’ when you’re going to give it to me!” A pause. “What do you want?” “Can I borrow your car tonight?” Another pause. “What’s wrong with yours?” Rebecca continued the negotiation, taking Molly and her backpack into the kitchen. “I’ve got a date tonight.” “A date?” Mom said, just barely out the door herself for another pre-dawn investor meeting. Dad’s job made a good chunk of change, but Mom was the real breadwinner in the house. “A date with who?” A hint of rose made it’s way to Rebecca’s cheeks. “Kyle.” “Huh,” Dad grunted. “I always got more of a kid brother vibe off of him.” “It’s not serious,” Rebecca told him. But it might be… “Don’t we have some pictures of them together when they were about two and half?” Mom asked. “Both of them on their little potties in the living room. Nothing on but the Pull-Ups around their ankles? “MOTHER!” “What’s the point of having babies,” Mom laughed, “if you can’t embarrass them for being babies as soon they’re grown up?” Rebecca reached behind her and gave Molly another squeeze. “Let her have the car!” Mom called back before rushing out. “Good way to celebrate tonight.” Her father took a sip of his morning coffee, the only one not in a hurry to leave the house. “I never could say ‘no’. To either of you.” “So I can take it?” Rebecca asked, already starting to bounce in excitement. “Date night? Yes. SAT’s? Not so much.” He was being hugged before he had a chance to object. “Thank you, Daddy! You’re the best!” Rebecca started running out before he had a chance to change his mind. “SAT’s,” Daddy said to himself. “Date night. Seems like just yesterday I was wiping your-” The door was closed before he finished the sentence. Rebecca got into her car. It was used and wasn’t pretty, but she’d managed to save up all the money herself; working countless hours from the day she turned thirteen. Walking dogs. Babysitting neighbor kids. Stocking the batting cages over at the park. Collecting scrap for recycling. The whole nine yards. Riding shotgun, as most always, was her backpack containing a certain stuffed Kangaroo. “Ready to roll, Molly?” she asked. It might have been her imagination, but she could have sworn that the stuffed animal nodded a bit. “Wish me luck.” Rebecca wiped a little bit of sleep out of her eye, but could have sworn that the stuffie was smiling at her. Of course it was smiling, its smile was stitched on, but this one seemed more genuine for some reason. Maybe even relieved. Poor thing had been beaten up so bad over the seventeen plus years, that it’s stuffing just wasn’t what it used to be. If Molly had had any bones, they’d all be jelly by now. As she backed out of the driveway and drove to the testing sight, a new idea popped into Rebecca’s head. He didn’t know it yet, but Kyle was taking her to Build-A-Bear tonight. It shouldn’t cost that much to re-stuff and spruce up an old marsupial. Kyle probably wouldn’t be surprised. Molly had tagged around for every other date they’d had. Rebecca had outgrown a lot of things in her life, but that stuffie wasn’t one of them. She reached over and gave it another pat on the head. “I’m never letting go.” It was silly, but it made her feel better, and the idea of taking care of her old stuffie like it was an actual person helped chase her pre-test jitters away. <Thank you.> “Hmmm?” Rebecca looked around. The radio wasn’t on, but she could have sworn she heard somebody just then. It was nothing. Probably nothing. Just her imagination.

Lance Corporal Matthew Maddox stood at attention with the rest of his squadron just before deployment. A few generations ago, Matthew could have been a professional athlete. Basketball maybe, at six foot eight, he was tall enough. Perhaps MMA. He definitely had a fighter’s physique and stamina. Maybe even pro-wrestling; (getting paid to pretend to fight people would’ve beaten the hell out of this). This wasn’t a few generations ago, however. Earth was at war. Earth was always at war. As soon as space travel beyond Earth’s moon had been developed, Earth had drawn the attention of most every galactic power around. Some first contacts had been good. Most had been...rough. The good news was that such incidences had managed to unite Earth’s various people into something resembling a cohesive unit. Nothing unites humans more than enemies outside the gate. The bad news was, of course, that there were enemies outside the gate. Earth didn’t have a draft. Didn’t need one, mostly. Overpopulation, a rough civil economy and benefits to the families of the enlisted was enough for most folks. It’d been enough for Matthew. Being the oldest of what some might call a litter of kids, meant that Matthew had to grow up fast. Lack of money and opportunity pretty much guaranteed that he’d be enlisting and doing his duty for his planet. The recruiter had been practically drooling over him when he went to enlist. This particular war was against the Yuggoths. Yuggoths were these creepy lookin’ mother fuckers that lived just on the edge of Earth’s Solar System. They were blind, but had sixth and seventh and eighth senses or some shit. Based on photographs, Matthew figured it was a good thing they were blind. They weren’t exactly sentient, either, according to the briefings and propaganda. More like they all had one communal mind that existed outside of themselves. So blasting a Yuggoth was more like blasting a single cell in a much larger organism. No pain. No loss of overall life...the Yugoths weren’t even people as much as giant cancer cells.. That made Matthew feel better about all the Yuggos he’d blasted over the last couple of weeks. He’d seen enough buddies from basic get consumed by ‘em too as those gelatinous bodies overtook them or those tentacles with the piercing through their armor. Some people thought that a nutjob in the 1900’s had made contact with those freaks and it broke him. Matthew didn’t know. Matthew didn’t care. He was just glad his armor had a visor on it to keep the Yug blood off his face. “HOPLITES ON DECK!” A voice called. Even standing at attention, Matthew stood up a little straighter than before. There was no draft on Earth. Didn’t need one. Overpopulation and benefits was one reason. Hoplites were another. Hoplites might’ve been grown in vats, or unwanted orphans taken in by the government and spliced up. They might have been convicted criminals who enlisted for experiments to avoid the death penalty. Mathew didn’t know. They looked like gods though, in their shining full body armor, their billowing red capes. The first time he’d seen them in person, Mathew had scoffed at the capes from behind his helmet. When a cape had darted right in front of Matthew’s face to block a Yuggoth acid spray, while its wearer blasted the slimy sumbitch; Mathew had gained greater respect for it. Hoplite gear-cape included- was filled with high tech gizmos; nanites or some shit. A Hoplite could use their cape like a shield or wrap it around themselves and go invisible with a cloaking field. Sometimes- like with Matthew- the capes reached out and did their own thing. It wasn’t just the tech or the fancy armor that made the Hoplites so elite. Hoplites themselves were exceptional. They were faster, stronger, tougher, and had better reflexes than were humanly possible. A single Hoplite, sans armor could likely take on an entire platoon in a bare knuckle streetfight. Matthew was never going to be a Hoplite. Hoplites weren’t promoted; they were made. They fought alongside humans, but they weren’t human themselves; not quite. The armored gods started going through the ranks of assembled marines; each super soldier going down a line of jarheads. “Don’t worry. I will protect you.” It’s what they always said. It was their ritual right before battle. With few exceptions, it was the only time an enlisted soldier and a Hoplite communicated outside of battle. “Don’t worry. I will protect you.” “And I will fight for Earth,” Came the response. “Don’t worry. I will protect you.” “And I will fight for Earth.” It was an assembly line of meaningless vows and exchanged promises, but for some reason it made Matthew feel a tad bit safer. One of them was now directly in front of Matthew now. His turn. “Don’t worry. I will protect you.” Matthew angled his head downward. He was a good foot taller than this one, for all it mattered. “And I will fi-” he stopped. From behind his helmet, he let out a gasp of surprise. The Hoplite had taken off his helmet. No, not his. Her helmet. The Hoplite had taken off his...its...her helmet! Hoplites never did that! Matthew had always assumed they couldn’t, or that whatever process gave them their superior physical capabilities horrendously scarred them. In the back of his mind, Matthew had just assumed that Hoplites were genderless, and if they had a gender, they’d most certainly be male. Yet right in front of him was the face of one of the most beautiful women he’d seen in his entire life. She wore no makeup and her haircut was the same short butch aesthetic that most lady marines favored, but even encased in Hoplite armor she was gorgeous. “Don’t worry,” she said again, clear as day. “I will protect you.” There was no edge of anger or impatience in her voice. Call and response, that’s all it was. Call and response. “And I will fight…” Matthew still stuttered, “I will fight for Earth.” She moved onto the next marine in line. “Don’t worry. I will protect you.” “And I will fight for Earth.” ******************************************************************************************************* Matthew collapsed into his bunk, exhausted and having just showered the smell of dead Yuggoth off of him. None of the alien monsters actually got on him, per se, but there was something about the smell that just seemed to seep through the armor. Top Terran science assured soldiers that it was psycho symptomatic, but Matthew showered extra long and scrubbed himself raw after nearly every combat mission. It was more than his own stewed in sweat that he smelled. The complete thoroughness of the scrubbing- bordering on obsession- was an eccentricity to be sure, but it served a dual purpose. By the time Matthew got out of the showers, the rest of the barracks was cleared out; the rest of his platoon having already gone for RnR elsewhere on the ship. Being the oldest of so many kids, privacy was one of the few luxuries that Matthew rarely got to experience. There was something serene about being alone. Privacy also allowed for other, more discreet activities. Making sure the coast was clear, and holding his breath, Matthew dug into the foot locker by his bunk; dug deep. Down at the bottom, he kept a Neural Recall Device- a “nerd” the troops called them. N.R.D’s allowed for perfect recall of specific events, taking the subject’s mind’s eye and projecting it on a headset in perfect clarity. Cavemen had “Home Movies”. Modern man had “nerds”. Good for homesickness. Also good for reliving dates that ended particularly well. In his own weird way, Matthew was kind of doing both. From beneath his locker’s false bottom, Matthew retrieved another item that was deeply personal. Like the “nerd”, the thin disposable diaper wasn’t technically contraband. Unlike the “nerd”, Matthew was more than a little worried about being caught with it. No one blinked, if they found you zonked out or teary eyed jacked into an N.R.D. You might get razzed a little bit for being homesick, but then somebody would clap you on the back and say “same here”. Pretty much every marine had one of the gizmos in their footlocker. Every now and then, there’d be talk of Private Wusshisname or Corporal Soandso being caught jerking it while viewing a particularly lust filled memory. “You never forget your first,” someone would say. “Pfft, for Corporal Soandso?” the joke would go, “that’s first and only.” “Do you think he’s jerking it to himself jerking it?” “Naw, nerds only do memories, not fantasies. And he’s not an officer so he can’t be in love with his own dick.” That got a lot of laughs around the mess hall. The diaper in Matthew’s hands would get a lot of laughs, too. As big and athletic as Matthew was, the idea of a grown man laying in his bunk in a diaper was knee slapping hilarious. But there were some memories that Matthew liked to revisit much more than others. And the N.R.D. only dug up visual and auditory memory; sensory input was needed. Slowly and carefully, as if the slight crinkle was a ticking time bomb- one wrong move and then boom- Matthew unfolded the diaper. To call it a “diaper” was an overstatement. “Medical brief” was a more apt descriptor. Plane white with a thin wetness indicator going down the middle and four cheap tapes. Lots of soldiers wore these things. Easier to pee in on a long night of surveillance or ducking in some crater, than actually dropping trow in an alien atmosphere. The ship’s locker room even had a garbage de-atomizer for disposal purposes. Plenty of soldiers wore a diaper. Just none of them wore one off duty. Quick as a hiccup, Matthew laid down on top of the diaper and yanked it up between his legs over his manhood. He knew how to do it standing up of course, but something just felt right about doing it this way. God, he wished he had some baby powder, but Matthew was too paranoid to risk the smell lingering. The diaper never fit quite the way he wanted it to, either, but it was good enough. Sitting up briefly, he grabbed a pair of loose fitting shorts and shimmied them up his hips before lying down again. Now for the easy part. He put on the N.R.D. The visor went neatly over his eyes. The earpiece giving only the slightest pinch as the needle shot out to interface with his brain. A small bit of pain, then nothing. After a hard day of defending Earth, Matthew was going to go back to one of his favorite memories; one he couldn’t have possibly recalled without the help of technology. The world fuzzed out for a second as the memory sequence was retrieved. Then, through the visor, Matthew started looking back through his own eyes. Back when he was much smaller and the world seemed much simpler. Back when he was an only child. The memory played out like it always did. “Good morning, baby boy!” His impossibly young mother chirped at him from above the bars of his crib. “Did you sleep well? I bet you did! I bet you did! Mommy was listening to the monitor all night long and you didn’t make one little peep.” In his ear, Matthew heard his much younger self cooing and babbling happily as he was picked up out of the crib and carried over to the changing table. This was nice. Way back when when Matthew didn’t have to be the big boy, or the big brother, or the big anything. He could just be himself...the baby. Oh to turn back the clock to then and be allowed to babble if he felt like it! Matthew smiled as the memory of his mother unbuttoning his sleeper and changing his diaper played out in front of him. Truth be told, the diaper change was his least favorite part, but not because he objected to them or was embarrassed. It was a matter of discontinuity: N.R.D’s only played back sight and sound, when Matthew deeply craved the full experience. When it came to diapers he’d either be dry when he should be wet before the change, or wet right after the change when he should be dry. He just couldn’t change himself fast enough in real time as the memories played back, (and didn’t want to risk getting caught in the act, either). When he wanted wetness, he’d do the deed himself, and then find a memory that ended with him being checked and declared wet. Matthew didn’t know if the baby version of him had started the memory wet, or had unknowingly peed his pants halfway through a round of pattycake in the highchair...and that was kind of the point. Part of his infatuation for the past meant going back to a time when nothing was expected of him; even knowing when his pants were dry. For this memory, it was the opposite. Matthew had to content himself with whispering “I’m wet, I’m wet, and then letting out a contented sigh as the memory of a dry diaper (a real one...not a medical brief) was played in front of his eyes. He shivered and kicked his legs in time with the memory as each snap on his sleeper was done up. “I bet that feels soooo much better,” the memory of his mother cooed, as the old was replaced by the new. Apparently the baby version of him agreed with a babbling chorus. “I bet your hungry, too. Aren’t you?” The changing table was falling away from him. The nursery- his nursery-flew by, and suddenly he was cradled back in loving arms, looking back up at the beautiful friendly face. Matthew nodded a little in real life, even as the memory babbled on. Yes. He was hungry. Hungry for intimacy. Hungry for privacy. Hungry for a complete lack of responsibility or restraint. He watched as his mother, who then couldn’t have been older than him, opened her blouse and opened the front left cup of her nursing bra. The memory went flesh colored darkness and Matthew shuddered. He closed his eyes, the memory went blind here anyways. And since he couldn’t experience tactile sounds from the memory, Matthew made do with sucking his thumb. “Lance Corporal Matthew Maddox.” Matthew’s eyes shot open and he jumped to his feet. With alacrity that surprised even himself, Matthew tore off the NRD. He stood at attention, not even knowing or caring who was addressing him in the heat of the moment. His training had just registered someone referring to him by rank and name and with the tone that they had the authority to do it. A stranger stood in front of him. A woman. No. Not just a woman. “Hoplite?” Matthew stuttered. His mind scrambled to remember what rank Hoplites technically were. “I mean...Lieutenant! You’re the one that..that...that...” that promised to protect him. And she had. There were at least three Yuggoths sans whatever passed for heads today so that Matthew could keep his. She’d done it with a sword. A fucking sword! “Why are you wearing a medical brief and sucking your thumb?” The tone sounded strange and clinical. Detached almost. God was she hot, though. If he hadn’t seen her face outside of the Hoplite armor and that fancy red cape, he wouldn’t have recognized her at all. Damn, but that suit hid a lot of curves! For all his precautions of getting into the diaper and loading up memories from being a baby, Matthew had prepared absolutely no clever lies or excuses if he got caught. Now he’d been caught by someone who was both a superior officer, and technically a superior lifeform. “I...I...I…” No clever quips or lies were forthcoming. His skin was turning lobster re Then something occurred to him. “What are you doing here? I thought Hoplites were stationed in their own part of the ship...with the officers.” The Hoplite did not blink. Did not flinch. “Do you normally wear diapers for recreational purposes?” Again. Completely clinical. “Um...yes sir? I mean ma’am...sir…! Lieutenant!” “And relive memories of early childhood on your Neural Replay Device?” How did she know that?! Nobody could know what was being played back on an NRD unless they were hardwired in themselves! “Do you enjoy those memories of being a baby?” Rephrasing the question did’t help matters. “Uh...uh...I mean...err…” Matthew was so flabbergasted, so completely afraid, that internally he swore he would have wet his diaper were he able. In fact, it might’ve made him feel better in a weird way. The super soldier put him out of his misery. Sort of. “You will meet me in my quarters tomorrow afternoon. Thirteen hundred hours.” This was not a request. Matthew stood back at attention, feeling rather small despite how much bigger he was than the woman. “Sir, yes sir!” She picked up the device and handed it back to Matthew. “As you were.” The Hoplite turned to leave. “Sir!” Matthew called out before the wonder of a woman exited the bunk. “Ma’am!” She stopped and turned around, gazing at the Lance Corporal like a hungry lioness did a gazelle. “You’re not going to tell anyone about this, are you?” The Hoplite blinked. Then smiled a bit. It was weird watching one of the demi-gods smile. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I will protect you.” ************************************************************************************************************ Matthew stood in front of the Hoplite’s door on the other wing of the ship, working up the nerve to ring the buzzer. “Lieutenant Madeline Sterling,” the label on the door read. Beneath the name was the shield and spear symbol of the Hoplites just in case there was any doubts. Officers, especially Hoplites, all got their own private quarters, and this was the only Hoplite with a lady’s name. So yeah...process of elimination….right place… If only the “right time” could be never. The young man was apprehensive; afraid even. What did this beautiful monster want from him? And how did she know about his dirty little secret. Fidgeting, he waited as his courage started to drain and fail him. Maybe, he thought, if he waited out here long enough some other officer would see him and chase him off; maybe give him some kind of assignment or busy work that he just couldn’t get out of. No way, could he be in trouble then. The door to the Hoplite’s quarters hissed open. “It’s thirteen hundred,” came that same feminine, commanding voice. “Enter.” The lance corporal’s feet betrayed him and walked into the room as he was bidden. His jaw betrayed him and dropped as soon as his brain registered what his eyes were taking in.. This room was at least as big as his entire bunkhouse! Swanky, too! Shag carpet. A king sized bed. A wooden foot locker that was almost the size of a bunk! A bathroom area with a jacuzzi style bathtub! An actual fucking closet! This was closer to a hotel suite than anything in the military. The woman who had beckoned him inwards looked completely different, too. She still had the same short haircut and piercing gaze, but she wore neither the combat armor nor any sort of military garb that might indicate her . Instead, wrapped around her was a silken red dress that went down to just below the knee and left her shoulders bare. Without the carbonium plating of the Hoplite armor, her breasts were very shapely. She had an athletic frame, because of course she did, but everything else about her reeked of a kind of gentle femininity. In a way her name was appropriate. She looked kind of like a Madeline out of the armor. Inside the armor...pure shiny cold sterling. Had Matthew seen a girl like her on leave, he would have totally tried to hit on her; maybe use his uniform to get laid. Something about seeing a super soldier in civies had the opposite effect. This lady could kill him without breaking a sweat, and then blend into the crowd and go about her day at a yoga class or 5k “fun run”....also without breaking a sweat. “Um…nice place,” he said, not sure of what else to say. “How can I uh...help you?” The woman’s face remained as neutral as it always had. “Thank you. Hoplites get preferential living arrangements. One of the perks for our sacrifice.” “Sacrifice?” She didn’t clarify. She pointed in the direction of her bed. “Go lay down and take your pants off.” Matthew went to move before she stopped them. “On second thought, don’t take them off. I wish to do that myself.” Blood rushed to Matthew’s face (as well as other parts) and his throat went dry. Was this a booty call? Was he being whored out? Was he part of a “preferential living arrangement”? On shaky legs, Matthew wobbled over to the bed. “No,” the Hoplite’s voice cut in. “Not the bed. To your left. Ten O’Clock.” Matthew adjusted his gaze over to a thick oak dresser next to the bed. Except something seemed...off about it, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. “Lay down.” The young man approached the heavy wooden box and ran the palm of his hand over the vinyl mat on top. This thing was big, big enough where he could feasibly lay down on it comfortably. The mat was strange too, with decorations of cartoon rainbows and stars on it. This was getting weird... “Is there a problem?” she asked. Matthew shuddered. Then lied. “No. Not at all.” A thousand questions bubbled up in Matthew’s mind as he slid on top of the dresser’s mat. But like a crowd shouting at each other, he couldn’t pick out and give voice to just one. In the blink of an eye, she was standing next to him, looking down at him. That same thin, hungry, almost mischievous smile spread out past her lps. “Don’t worry.” she said. “I’ll take care of you.” What she said...not just WHAT she said but HOW she said it made Matthew’s heart start to thud on all cylinders. It was like a cross between the girls in a porno movie and….and certain memories that he liked to relive. “I…” “Shhh…” she put a finger to his lips. “Just let me do this first. Then you can ask all the questions you want.” Matthew closed his mouth and nodded, trying to control his breathing. Two dainty fingers slipped into the waistband of his shorts, deftly yanking them off his hips without any help. He would have lifted them up if she had asked; but she needn’t have. “Hmm...I’d hoped you’d wear a medical brief.” She looked down at his boxers and twerked her lips to the side in disappointment. “My fault for not specifying it in instructions. Next time, perhaps.” Next time? The marine barely had time to ponder that when his boxers were stripped off him and left in a cloth puddle next to his pants. He shook in anticipation and anxiety. Was this happening? Was he about to get mounted?! No. No he wasn’t. Madeline Sterling- it was getting harder and harder to think of her as “Lieutenant” or “Hoplite”- opened the top drawer. No panties came out. No condoms either. This wasn’t an underwear drawer. The thick, crinkly, white, plastic backed thing decorated with red and yellow and blue puppy dogs all over that she’d taken out connected the final few dots in Matthew’s mind. This wasn’t a dresser, it was a changing table. And Matthew was the baby! He sucked in his breath as the diaper was unfolded and slid underneath him without his help. Matthew didn’t resist. He was afraid to resist. He didn’t want to either. Another drawer revealed a bottle of baby powder. “This is just like my memory,” whispered to himself as a cloud of cold white powder coated his front and backside. Just like any number of relived moments through the “nerd”. Just like it, except that he himself was bigger, and the woman diapering him was more attractive to him than his mother could ever be. “W..wh...wh?” The superwoman dug a rather large pacifier out of her dress. “Suck on this, little one.” He wasn’t going to, but then she called him “little one” and then he couldn’t resist. He suckled on the rubber teat frantically as the diaper was brought up and taped together. From behind the pacifier he let out a low moan. It felt sooooo much better than when he did it himself. She smiled at the sounds he made. “Do you like that?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I bet you do!” Her voice went up a half octave. She was cooing at him. “Babies just love getting their diapees changed!” What the fuck was going on and why didn’t Matthew care what the answer was?! This time, when he was picked up off the changing table, he felt the air rush by him as the much stronger woman supported his padded rump and transported him over to the bed. “You just keep sucking, and I’ll do the talking. Okay?” Still sucking on the giant pacifier, Matthew just nodded. “I’m a Hoplite,” she said. “I’ve been genetically modified to go beyond the peak of human physical capabilities.” This much was obvious. Her tone returned to the same clinical, almost detached tone that Matthew had expected from Hoplites. “But there are costs to it. Most relevant here is that I’m unable to have children.” She paused for a moment and gestured to the damn near stately manor that was her quarters. “I’m entitled to most any physical comfort I could want when off duty...but the military can’t give me what I want most. I was born to be a mother. I was selected to be a soldier. I have a need.” She looked at Matthew and gently caressed the side of his face. “Can you help me with that need, Matthew?” His eyes darted around the room. Then back to below his waist. Hell yeah, he could help her! But he still had one question burning in his brain. He took the pacifier out of his mouth. “Why me?” Then he added. “Sir...ma’am...Lieutenant?” The superwoman caressed his cheek again and sent happy tingles all through his body. “Hoplites are all low level telepaths,” she told him. “Helps to anticipate enemy combatants.” That explained a few things. “I sensed your attraction in the lineup. And then I sensed what you were looking at on the Neural Replay Device.“ And that explained a few more. “I also know that you were very much enjoying what I was doing to you on the changing table.” She blushed. “Though I don’t know if I’d need to be a telepath to know that.” A hot flash blossomed over Matthew’s face. “Sorry about that.” “Don’t be.” Daintily, she booped him on the nose. “Little baby can’t help himself.” Matthew sucked in his breath, and the woman’s facial expression retreated. “Apologies. You’re conflicted.” She stood up from the bed. “Let me be frank. I think we can help each other. You can help me take care and nurture someone outside of combat, and I can help you make some new memories.” She paused. “But even though I can sense your thoughts, I won’t do it without your express verbal consent.” “Okay…” Matthew said, fiddling with the pacifier. “Sure.” “So I have your consent to Mommy you?” “Yes.” “Yes…?” One last shuddering breath rattled out of his lungs. “Yes...Mommy…” The red dress slipped away from her; not entirely, just enough to expose her breast. Briefly, Matthew realized that it was the same material as her cape. It could have been the cape for all he knew. He sat there transfixed on her breast, as a few drops of mother’s milk leaking out from her nipples. Gently, she wrapped her hand around the back of his head. “Come to Mommy.” She didn’t need to guide his lips to her nipple, but she did. As the milk dribbled out into Matthew’s mouth- a sensation that had never been duplicated by the NRD- the pacifier was completely forgotten. But just like always, he closed his eyes and pulled on the teat. No thumb this time. Now it was his Mommy’s turn to start moaning. It was almost like a purr as he suckled. His own moans synced up with hers. “That’s right baby,” she cooed at him, gently rubbing his back and petting his head. “Eat up. Such a good little eater he is.” She moaned again. “Yes he is!” How he had longed to hear those words instead of just remembering them. How complete. How right it felt to hear them from some place outside of his own mind. Wordlessly, he was switched over to the other breast and continued to nurse there. He would do it. He would eat it all up like a good little boy. A good baby. Not a single dribble would escape his lips. Speaking of dribble, another sensation creeped into the back of his mind. He had to pee. But he’d never done something like that before, not in front of another person. Not outside of his long ago memory. “It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s here,” she cooed as he nursed. “Babies don’t have to be embarrassed about wetting their diapees. Mommy will just change you when you need it.” It might have been the excitement at acceptance; or perhaps Hoplites could influence thoughts as well as sense them;, but Matthew’s bladder chose that moment to relax. Just like a baby, just like he’d always dreamt of, Matthew unabashedly flooded his diaper. It was almost nothing like a medical brief; so much better in fact. The thin padding that he normally indulged in was nothing compared to this. It contained, but it sagged and he always felt wet in the worst way. It was like peeing into a plastic shopping bag lined with band-aid cores. This? Yeah, the diaper sagged a little with the extra weight, but it swelled too. And it felt wet...but not sloshy. Moist, perhaps. As an afterthought, he squeezed his legs together, and felt the pulpy core push back. He’d done it! He’d wet his pants! Except he wasn’t even wearing pants! Pants were for big boys! He’d wet his diaper! And he did it all while nursing on an absolutely gorgeous woman’s tits. The nursing ended too soon for Matthew’s liking. What he liked even more however was the look of absolute satisfaction and adoration in his new Mommy’s eyes. “There,” she cooed at him. “So much better. For both of us.” Right there. In that moment. He stopped being Lance Corporal Mathew Maddox and she stopped being Hoplite Lieutenant Madeline Sterling. They were just a baby and his Mommy. Gingerly, he looked back at the changing table. “Hold on,” Mommy said, snaking a hand between his legs. “Let Mommy check.” He shook as she squeezed the front of his diaper, sneaking in two fingers on the inside past the leakguards just to be sure. This was amazing! Mommy didn’t even need to ask him. He didn’t need to talk! She could just sense what he was thinking! “Hmmm…” Mommy clicked her tongue. “You’re wet. But not too wet. Let’s play some more and then Mommy will change you.” A change. A real diaper change. Not boxers to brief, or a brief back into boxers, but a real diaper change. A wet diaper changed for a clean one. Just a little wet. Fighting off a whimper, he looked back to the changing table. “Uh-uh-uh,” Mommy said. “You don’t have to worry about what’s going on in your diaper. That’s my job. Diapers are expensive, too.” Diapers are expensive. “Let’s play on the floor,” Mommy said. It wasn’t a request. Matthew found himself picked up and deposited on the floor next to the ornate wooden footlocker. His new underwear (that wasn’t under anything) squished against the shag carpet ever so slightly. Such a strange, foreign-yet-familiar sensation. Outside of combat, he’d never worn wet for longer than a few minutes and now he was getting ready to play in a wet diaper. Again, Mommy read his thoughts. “Sitting in a wet diaper can affect potty training,” she told him. “But you’re too little to worry about potty training anyway, aren’t you?” Too little to potty train. Matthew jumped inside his own head. Just a little wet. Diapers are expensive. Too little to potty train. Those phrases were burned in Matthew’s brain. Some of the very few memories that he didn’t need an N.R.D. to access had those very phrases embedded in them. Memories from long ago. Before his mother was pregnant more often than not. Back when he was the only child instead of the big brother. Back when he was the baby. “First playtime. Then a change,” Mommy assured him. “After you’re more wet. Or poopy. Then, depending on how you’re feeling, more playtime. Maybe some snuggling or some food.” The baby started to do a kind of calculus in his head. A bowel movement? More play? Snuggling? How long would he be there? “It’s not even fourteen hundred hours,” Mommy cooed at him. “I already checked our schedules. Neither of us are due till at least o five hundred. We’ve got plenty of time.” Without further preamble, Mommy opened up the ornate wooden footlocker. “Silly baby,” Mommy giggled. “This isn’t not a footlocker.” She showed him the inside. “It’s a toy chest!” Teddy bears and plastic blocks and tinker toys were all stacked inside. It was the opposite of a weapon cache. It was a toy cache. Baby Matthew could feel himself drooling over it. All of this? All of it for him? “Yes, baby boy.” Mommy told him. “All for you. Just so long as you’re all for me.” Matthew’s eyes started leaking. The super human that had labeled herself his new Mommy held him tight. He could hear the smile in her voice as she rubbed his back again. “It’s okay. I’ll protect you. Mommy will take care of you.” (The Beginning)

A True Story. I was down on the living room floor, playing with my mother’s old sewing machine. I was volunteering to work at the local Renaissance Faire (yes with an ‘e’) and was trying to make my own tunic like all the other Ren Faire nerds. Mom had been dead for a couple of years and Dad sure as hell wasn’t using it, so nobody minded when I ‘borrowed’ it. (A word which here means I walked right out with it, no intention of returning it, but still would not claim ownership of it). Great procrastinator that I am, the damn thing sat in the corner of our cruddy apartment’s living room, waiting patiently to come roaring to life all week while I did literally anything else. I’d spent that afternoon watching tutorial videos and reading how-to’s to figure out how I was going to turn the bolt of cloth I’d bought at the bougie crafts store in order to turn this into the real deal, (or as real deal as Ren Faires got). My girlfriend had been at work all day and I’d just picked her up and brought her home. Her car had broken down so there was only one vehicle between us while hers was in the shop. “Mind if I use the computer when we get home?” she asked. “Sure,” I said. I’d been acting like a vegetable all day looking at literally nothing of substance. I couldn’t even remember what I’d been doing before I got the call to come pick her up when her shift ended an hour early. I could remember being ever so slightly annoyed, but it was the kind of annoyance that comes from a place of privilege. I wasn’t annoyed at her for getting off work, I was annoyed that I’d lost another hour of procrastinating and doing nothing of worth. Now I’d have to make that damn tunic. Couldn’t be that hard. Could it? Of course it couldn’t. Those other nerds all did it. So could I. BUT I’d never had a lesson in my life. BUT I didn’t even have a card table, hence me being on the floor. BUT I had this intense but bizarre phobia of fucking up and needling a piece of fabric to my hand. Over and over again, I imagined feeding a strip of cloth into the machine and then slipping and mutilating myself. Highly unlikely, but who said phobias were rational? Certainly not me. So I’m there. On my belly. On the floor. Girlfriend is settling into our computer station in the corner of the living room. Got my pieces of fabric lined up and I’m turning the dreaded sewing machine on. I was going to DO this. I would not be one of those jerks that had to end up going to one of the more experienced costume makers and grovel for something that would take them less than fifteen minutes all told. It was a TUNIC! It was practically just a loose tank top with wider shoulders! How hard could it be? As the machine roared to life I started inching what I’d managed to (poorly) cut out towards that needle. I started to psych myself up. YES! YES! YES! I CAN WIN! I FEEL GREAT! CAN! DO! THIS! “HONEY?!” My girlfriend yelled over the machine. “HONEY?!” I stopped and prepared to roll my eyes. Great. I was being too loud or something. Never mind that I told her I was going to be working on my Faire sewing and she didn’t have a problem with the idea before. Doing my best to keep a civil tongue, I looked up from the beast machine I was trying to tame. “What’s up?” “What’s this?” Time had slowed down for me only once before. I’d been “sparring” with a friend (we were going through a martial arts phase) and he hit me in the nose. Mike Tyson was right: Everybody’s got a plan until they get punched in the face. It wasn’t quite the life ‘flashing before your eyes’ that the movies talk about; I just remembered this weird heightened sense of awareness and acute amount of detail as his fist came zooming for my schnoz. I saw it in perfect clarity, but wasn’t fast enough to do anything about it. So slow motion...and a lot of pain. Same thing here. I saw in perfect clarity what my girlfriend had been pointing at on the computer screen, every pixel branding itself into my eyes. Only instead of my nose hurting, my entire brain felt on fire. And just like that impact on my nose by my friend’s knuckles, the moment that image registered any and all plans I’d had for just such an emergency went out the window. On my computer screen were three strange women. They were smiling, giggling and posing for the camera. At least two had hair in pigtails. Another was wearing a big pink bonnet. One of them was wearing what could charitably be called a dress. The others were just in T-shirts. The one in the middle was sitting on her bottom, and her legs splayed open. She was leaning back with her legs so far up in the air I thought her a contortionist of some kind. And of course, all three were wearing thick white diapers. “What’s this?” My girlfriend repeated. Her tone was flat. Accusatory. She was the prosecuting attorney and had just shown the jury the most damning piece of evidence imaginable. She’d found my porn. She hadn’t even found it, I realized just then. As usual, I’d been surfing and looking at pictures of cute girls in diapers, not thinking about anything in particular except for the basest, most naughty thoughts. It beat sewing, that was for sure. Then I’d gotten the call to pick my girlfriend up early, and I was so thrown off my routine that I’d forgotten to click out and clear my browser history the way I always did when I was alone. She hadn’t found my diaper girl porn. She’d just stumbled into it. That’s still giving her too much credit. I left it right there for her to see and forgot about it. I was fucked. Unless.... I got up to my feet and furrowed my brow. I squinted to show not that I couldn’t see what was on the screen but that I didn’t quite understand it, or want to understand it. More people squint from suspicion, confusion, and disgust than any form of nearsightedness. It was a natural human reaction “Huh?” I said. “What is that?” Had to play this right. As my girlfriend-as far as anyone knew-I was a vanilla. The key to seeming like a vanilla is to take the disgust that you see other people have towards your kink and then project that onto yourself. I wasn’t disgusted or confused with any of those nameless girls on the computer; I was disgusted and confused with myself. “You tell me.” “Eww…” I said. “Eff if I know. Click out.” I gestured with my finger and swiped over to the corner rather than try to wrestle control of the mouse away from her. I wrinkled my nose, another telltale sign of disgust. “What site did you go to?” I asked. Yeah, gaslight-y and creepy I know. Desperate times. Desperate measures, y'know? My girlfriend looked offended. “I didn’t go to any site. It was here when I moved the mouse.” I drew back, and used the tightening of my throat to induce the feeling of nausea in myself. “Ugh,” I said. “Then what site did I go to?” I made sure to curl my upper lip in disgust. “I don’t know!” she exclaimed. She clicked out, and a little bit of tension left me. Had to keep the performance up. “Run the virus scanner,” I said. “Just in case.” “This was a virus?” I shrugged. “I guess so.” I was pretty computer illiterate. So was my girlfriend. “I went down the rabbit hole today looking for sewing tricks.” It was a half truth; an unrelated fact. “I can’t even tell you how many links I went on. Maybe one thing led to another led to another led to...to...that…?” I purposefully inflected that last syllable like it was a question. I had to seem pretty sure that that’s what happened, but not entirely sure. I had to explain an inability to replicate this feat, and ignorance was playing in my favor. “Okay,” she said. “I was worried. Running scan.” “Make sure to do the full one,” I told her. A full one always takes a couple of hours. Plenty of time for her to forget and for me to pretend to forget what had been on the screen. “Kay-kay” she said. I gave her a chaste kiss on the lips and went back to my feeble attempts at sewing. Bullet dodged. Everything you just read since “Unless…” was a complete fabrication on my part. It was the basic plan I’d had and imagined for the highly unlikely event that my girlfriend or anyone else ever found out I was an adult baby: Lie. Deny. Deflect. Feign confusion. Change subject. Move on with life. Ta-da! But to reiterate the Mike Tyson formula: Plan + Punch to the Face = 0. And those three diaper girls who didn’t exist to me outside of that website and my very real girlfriend, were at least worth four punches right to the nose. I was sitting at negative three plans. She was going to leave me. That’s what was going to happen. My girlfriend, my highschool sweetheart, was going to see right through me, was going to know that I was an ABDL, would leave me right then and there, tell her family, tell my family, tell our friends, and my life as I knew it would be over. I didn’t have any friends in the kink community. I was pure lurker. So when all of my vanilla friends found out and abandoned me, when my father cut me out of the will and stopped inviting me to Thanksgiving, when all prospects of me getting a good job or having a career or life were over with, it would all be traced back to THIS moment. This damn moment when I’d forgotten to ex out at what was at best a C+ tour section for a pay site that I wasn’t about to give my credit card information to. All because I’d forgotten to click out of the goddamn internet. Might as well get the crying started. I climbed to my feet. “I’m sorry.” My face was already starting to get red. “I’m so sorry!” I said it at least three more times while she sat there staring up at me. “I’m SO SO SORRY!” “For what?” she asked. She wanted a confession. She wanted me to confess my sins. “I was looking at porn,” I said. “That’s porn. That’s my porn…I’m so sorry.” I fell to my knees. I wanted to take her hands in mine, but I was too afraid to even touch her. She looked at the screen and back to me. She saw the three models in diapers and then looked at me on my knees; my hair a mess and my breathing shallow. “Are you into little kids or something?” That question. Of course that was the first real question she’d asked me. There was that look, that look of revulsion. “NO!” I almost shouted. “NO-NO-NO! Not at all! NO-no-no-no-no-no-no-no!” My mouth was a machine gun full of no. “Then what is this.” I sighed and closed my eyes. I didn’t want to have to look her in the face to admit this. I’d never planned on telling her this; on telling anyone on this. This was my take it to the grave secret. The thing that I had nightmares about people, especially her, finding out about. “I’m an ABDL,” I said. “What?” She’d heard me, but she had no idea what that meant. Those were just letters to her. Duh. I opened my eyes and looked at her. “I’m an adult baby.” “What’s that mean?” I didn’t show it on my face, but I was flabbergasted. How could she NOT know? All my life I’d known that what I’d wanted to be was a baby. I’d seen Baby Bottle Neck and practically preyed for conveyor belt nurseries so that I could ‘accidentally’ fall in one. I’d fantasized about slipping into alternate dimensions where people my age still went to daycares and were bottle fed in highchairs. Every girl I’d ever had a crush on would be in diapers with me whenever I’d bite my lip and close my eyes and every friend of mine would be in the nursery with me when I’d let my mind wander into the most basic of wish fulfillment daydreams. So five years prior, when I finally stumbled into the terms Adult Baby, I knew what it meant. It was blunt, and more than a little cringy (proven by how I was cringing just then) but it fit the description of my thoughts and desires. “It means,” I said… “It means that I like...like...girls in diapers and stuff, and like the idea of being treated like a baby, too. Sorry.” I was adding ‘sorry’ to all of my sentences like it was ketchup on an overdone steak. I was just trying to drown out the bad, burnt taste in my brain with unremarkable and bland, but still better tasting word sauce. “So yeah. Sorry. I like the idea of being treated like a...a...y’know...sorry….a” JUST SAY IT! “A baby…I like the idea of somebody treating me like a baby.” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Wall of FUCKS. ALLLL THE FUCKS! There I said it. This is the part I’d been dreading. This is the part where she called me a freak, or a pervert, or a pedophile by proxy. This is where she locked herself in our room and I was left sleeping on the futon. Come next morning, we’d talk about how we were going to live beside each other and pay off the rent until the lease went up. She wasn’t a monster. She just couldn’t love me. She never really had loved me, come to think of it. She’d never gotten to see the real me. Instead, she asked me, “Why?” “Huh?” I was the computer that just learned the existence of a number outside of 0 and 1. WHY had never been a factor into any of these hypothetical discussions. “Why?” she repeated. “Why are you an...an…” she pointed to the computer screen. “That?” I shrugged. “I don’t know.” I admitted. “I think somebody fucked up my potty training or something…I wasn’t abused or molested or anything.” “And you don’t want to…?” She was kind enough to not say if I wanted to molest anybody out loud, but her silence and the look on her face finished the thought clearly enough. “NO!” I did not add a ‘sorry’ on to that. I was offended and a little bit hurt that she’d ask that and made no attempt to hide. She stood up and draped her arms over my shoulders. “So what do we do from here?” That elicited another “Huh” from me. I figured that she’d be calling the shots from here. Her? Door Locked. Me? Futon. Us? Broken up. Her? Time wasted. Me? Life ruined. Y’know. The usual. “Um…” I paused, my throat was dry and no amount of water was going to fix that just then. “What do you wanna do from here?” My life was in her hands and she was acting like she was the one who was afraid and hurting. How was that possible? “Do you…?” She said. “Do you still want to…” she paused. The words that she was thinking were just as hard for her to say as mine. “Do you still want to be together?” I looked at her the way a cow looks at an oncoming train. “Of course I do! Honey I’m so sorry. I’d never cheat on you. Never!” “Do you…” again she hesitated. “Do you want to bring anybody else in?” I blinked. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. She’d more or less caught me looking at fetish porn, now had my most embarrassing secret...and and...was offering me a threesome?! “Um...okay…” I said. “Sure.” “Who?” she asked. My mind went blank. This was like the big lottery question before the age of ‘I guess I better pay off all my debt’ was the practical and automatic response. Infinite possibilities. “I don’t know,” I said. “Can I get back to you on that?” She leaned in and kissed me on the lips. Her mouth was open and she slid her tongue past my teeth. “Sure, baby,” she whispered. She drew me in close. “But first, let me take care of something.” I was trembling. “W-w-what?” Slowly, gently, seductively, she whispered. “Let’s get those big boy pants off of the little baby.” She reached between my legs and grabbed my junk. I was instantly erect and gasping in shock. “Someone’s not wearing his diaper. I don’t want him to have an accident.” Grabbing me by the wrist, my girlfriend led me into our little room. I had to waddle because of the tent I was pitching in my pants. She pushed me down onto our mattress and straddled me, kissing me and moaning as we dry humped through our clothes. Before too long (and before my zipper left permanent marks on my dick) she stopped and dismounted. “Be right back. Gotta get you something.” She went over to my suitcase; my special suitcase. The one I buried under piles of old clothes in the back of the closet under the guise of being too lazy to hang my collection of comic book themed t-shirts up. Before she said anything more I knew where she was going to. I just laid there, my fingers digging into our old mattress as she worked the case’s zipper along the track. I knew what was in there. I’d hidden it in there long ago. And the fact that my girlfriend was now digging around in my old suitcase told me what she already knew. The whole thing with the computer had been a test. I HAD remembered to exit out. I HAD remembered to clear my browser history. My girlfriend, sneaky devil that she was, had rummaged around in my suitcase, found the diapers, done her own research and put me in a trap! That site was just the first (or at least most obvious) site that came up on Google at the time. Getting caught had been a test. A test that I had passed, apparently. Bambino diaper in one hand, and a travel sized bottle of Johnson’s Baby Powder, she sauntered back over to the bed. “Let’s get you dressed in something…” she paused for effect... “more appropriate.” The diaper and powder were laid down just long enough for her to unbutton and pull my pants down for me. Like a good (and horny) boy, I bucked my hips up so she could slide the diaper underneath me. I exalted in the feeling of the thick padding under my bum, and the cool baby powder on my cock. This felt so much better than me putting them on by myself. She pulled the diaper in up between my legs, taping each little strip of adhesive on one at a time. First the Tops. Then the bottoms. I was so physically aroused, that even the Bambino’s thick padding tented out in front. I looked adorable with those cartoon blocks just above my crotch; and from the way she was looking at me felt sexy. “Better?” she asked. I nodded my head. “Yes Mommy!” Reflexively, I started sucking my thumb while she rubbed the front of my diaper. We weren’t done yet. We’d barely gotten started. With one deft maneuver she took off her t-shirt. “Now how about some tittie, baby?” HOLY FUCK! How had she managed to take her bra off without me noticing?! I didn’t care. All I cared about was her tits bouncing in front of me, and dripping in milk. “Those hormones I’ve been taking finally kicked in.” She straddled me and grabbed the back of my head, shoving me towards her gorgeous tits. “Time to suckle.” AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Okay. Okay. I’m done messing with you. That’s not what happened at all. I didn’t have diapers in the closet. I was cohabitating with my highschool sweetheart, and I was too paranoid to tell her my kinks. No way would I have so much as a pacifier on my person at that time. We were both equally blind-sided, though in completely different ways. She didn’t know that this part of me existed, I never expected anyone (least of all her) to ever find out. The last true thing that you read was her asking if I wanted to invite someone into our relationship. “Do you…” again she hesitated. “Do you want to bring anybody else in?” I blanched, tasting a kind of cognitive bile in my mouth. “What? No! No! Why would you think that I…?” I didn’t even finish the sentence. It might’ve hurt me to finish it. We were monogamous. We’d seen poly units work, but we knew ourselves and each other well enough to know that it wouldn’t have ended well for us. Her asking if I wanted to stop being monogamous was practically code for ‘do you want to break up? “Of course I don’t!” The love of my life didn’t reply. She just gestured to the models on the screen; all smiley, giggly looking, and very obviously padded. Something clicked in my brain. “Do you think that…? That…? Do you think I want someone else?” Sullenly, she nodded. I melted inside. My heart vomited. “Honey, no!” I just started shaking my head. “Yeah, they’re pretty, but I’m not in love with them. I don’t even know them. I don’t even know their real names.” Come to think of it, I didn’t know their fake names. “So you’re not bored of me?” I hugged her as hard as I possibly could. “Not at all.” We didn’t talk for a few minutes. Just stood there, holding each other. The question didn’t go away. “Why then?” she asked. My skin started to tingle, and not in a good way. I wasn’t ready for this conversation. I was never going to be ready for this conversation. Deep down, even now, I wanted to shove this conversation in a tiny box and crush it with a giant hammer. But the truth was, I couldn’t. I had zero time. “Sorry,” I started up again. “I’ve always been like this. For as long as I can remember.” “Pre-puberty?” Because of course my girlfriend latched onto the porn aspect. Not that I could blame her. It was all she’d seen. I nodded. “Pre-puberty. Puberty added in a few more complications...but yeah. Pretty much as soon as I was...y’know...potty trained...and a” I paused to make air quotes, “big kid...I’ve wanted to go back to being a baby on some level.” Damn it felt stupid saying this out loud. No wonder she was going to leave me. I really was a freak. Then she said something that caught me off guard. “So this has been a part of you? Even before we met?” It sounded like she was coming to her own realizations. “Yeah...sorry.” I felt like I was setting a world record for the s-word. She frowned. “So you’ve been afraid to tell me? All this time?” I looked away. “Yeah. Sorry.” This time, she at least had the decency to not ask me why. I didn’t think she understood, but she knew me well enough to know when she was pressing all the wrong buttons. “Would you want me to wear diapers?” she asked again. Truth be told, I’d thought about that particular scenario on more than one occasion if you catch my drift. Still, hearing it come out of her mouth and so brazenly sounded like it was coming out in a second language, one I could understand the gist of but wasn’t comfortable enough speaking out loud. “I mean...that’d be kinda hot,” I admitted. “Would you want me to pee in them?” The look in her eyes was one of extreme distaste. Wetting her pants was definitely not her scene. “Oh no! You wouldn’t have to do that!” I insisted. “No. Not at all.” That part was kind of a lie. The fact that my real life flesh and blood girlfriend had just said that she’d be willing to pad up for me was a bigger stretch than I’d dared imagine. I wouldn’t have forced her to do anything she didn’t want to do...but yeah...no way would I have objected if she’d offered. “Okay…” she said. “Would you want me to call you Daddy?” Fire alarms blared in my brain. I was a lot of things. A ‘Daddy’ was not one of them. “No-no-no-no…” She looked confused more than hurt. “I like being the baby…” Again, my girlfriend gestured to the pics on our computer. There hadn’t been any guys pictured. All I could do was look away. “I’m pretty sure I’m still heterosexual,” I said. “Pretty girls in...in... fetish gear.” I swallowed. There. I said it. I had a fetish. Boom. Fuck off. The rest of the night was quiet. We didn’t talk much other than for every “I’m sorry” (which I said a LOT of) she said “It’s okay.” Plenty of awkward silences. Watching T.V. More silence. No small talk. I’d completely given up on sewing that night. I’d just have to beg one of my Ren Faire friends to hook me up. I was helpless as far as that went. As helpless as a...well, you know… I didn’t sleep that night, either. I just laid there in bed, tossing and turning. Closing my eyes for a sleep that just wouldn’t come. The clock was not my friend. Neither was the sun. I just kept playing things over and over again in my head: What I should have said. What I might’ve fantasized about happening, (both of which you’ve read). My tired frame was screaming for sleep, but my brain just wouldn’t hit pause long enough for it to happen. I lost consciousness at some point, but it wasn’t what I’d called sleep as much as my body finally giving out despite my fevered mind’s protestations. She was gone when my eyes opened. The keys were still on the hook, but she was gone. I called her name and received only the faint echoes of our tiny apartment in reply. On the computer, a word document was left open for me to see. All it said was: A friend gave me a ride back to Mom’s. I’m sorry. I just sat there, staring at the computer, blinking. The real shock of it hadn’t hit me yet. And it never did. Because when I really woke up, it was because she was closing the door behind her and hanging the keys to our one remaining car back up. “Morning,” she said, a big goofy grin on her face. “I got something for you.” My head rattled around. “You’re still here,” I said. Out of all the things I’d imagined happening, seeing her after that last night wasn’t one of them. It literally hadn’t occurred to me. I’d been running this scenario over and over in my head for as long as I’d known enough about myself to realize that I wasn’t ‘normal’. “Oh yeah?” I asked. She had a Wal-Mart bag in her hand. She’d done some shopping. Like a cat bringing home a dead lizard she shoved the bag in my hands. “Open it!” I did. From out of the nearly white translucent bag, I withdrew a package. Ugly leaf green packaging. A generic picture of a waist that could have been a manakin, the adult diaper drawn on it as well. “Depends.” I said. “You got me Depends.” She grinned. Full teeth. Proud of herself. “Surprise!” They weren’t even the kind with the tabs. Just a package of Pull-Up granny panty briefs. Ugly packaging on the inside, and plain, ugly Depends on the inside; stuff that belonged in nursing homes more than nurseries. I still gave her a hug. “This isn’t exactly what I’m into,” I explained. “But thank you. Thank you so much.” I kissed her on the forehead. Then the lips. Then deeper. “I thought you liked diapers,” my wonderful, loving, understanding girlfriend, said. I looked at the packaging; the literal punchline on most every abdl site when discussion of diapers came up. “Yeah...but not these. But this is a start.” I’d have to show her some websites later. “A good start.” “I’m trying.” She leaned in for another kiss. “I wanna help you.” A second later she gasped. “Shit!” I felt a fresh jolt of panic. “What?! What?!” “I forgot to get wipes!” I huffed more than sighed, but it was still an immediate release of tension. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to wet them if you don’t want to.” She booped me on the nose. “I’m not going to be the one wearing them…” “Oh?” “I might’ve googled a few things,” she grinned. “Tell me more about being a Mommy…” This is normally the part where I’d tell you that this was the end, but that wouldn’t be true. Alternatively, I’d finish with “This was just the beginning,” and while accurate, it’s just so boring. Instead, I’ll just say that there are more stories: Lots of ‘em. Some are true, like what you’ve just read. Others only happened inside my head and involve people who aren’t me. But from here on out, you’ll have to settle for the ones from my imagination. The rest I’m keeping to myself.

Rhyse woke up in his crib during naptime, the mobile above his head still gently playing music above his head. He couldn’t see the soaking wet diaper beneath his onesie, but he saw the swollen bulge rising above his crotch, and felt the room temperature squishiness enveloping him. He’d been put down dry, but it didn’t last. It wouldn’t be long before Sky came in and changed him. It wouldn’t be long before he was set down on the floor and allowed to play with his blocks and stuffies. It wouldn’t be long before that was all he could do. The virus had him. ********************************************************************************************************* (Two Weeks Ago) “Stupid fucking wifi is out again!” Rhyse screamed across the house. “SKY!” The wifi isn’t workiiiing! The hair on the back of Sky’s neck stood straight on end. It had only been a month in quarantine, and already the two roommates were driving each other crazy. ‘Essential services’ were the only jobs allowed, and neither of them were package deliverers, food industry employees, or healthcare professionals. Sky closed his book and walked across the house. The Arc of the Scythe would have to wait. Like a fool, he’d thought that he’d at least have time to catch up on his reading. It just meant more time to have to babysit Rhyse. Passing a sink full of dirty dishes and three half-full garbage bags that had yet to be taken out to the curb, Sky could only shake his head in disgust. Not quite empty soda cans- just full enough to attract fruit flies- littered the living room; left on whatever flat surface they might find purchase on. At this rate, Sky was going to have to highstep around the house if he wanted to talk to Rhyse face to face. “What is it?” Sky asked, poking his head into Rhyse’s room. He immediately started breathing through his mouth as the smell of skunk weed and unwashed clothes invaded his nostrils. Rhyse sat at his computer, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and boxers. “The wi-fi’s out again,” he whined. Sky caught a peek at a little too much of his roommate and turned his head. “OGH! Rhyse, at least put your dick away when you’re talking to me!” His roommate had the decency to look down at himself and tuck it away. “Sorry,” Rhyse said. “Been indoors too long.” “Okay, new rule,” Sky snipped. “If you want to talk to me you have to have pants on.” Rhyse rolled his eyes. “Okay, Mom. The wifi’s out. Can you check the modem?” “Modem’s in the living room. Why don’t you check it?” Rhyse leaned back in his fancy leather gaming chair. “Because your room is closer to the living room.” Unconsciously, Sky’s hands balled up into fists. “Do it yourself.” “Pleeeeeeease!” Rhyse wasn’t even looking at Sky anymore. He just kept trying to refresh whatever porn site or game he was on. “Can you at least do the dishes or something?” Sky asked. “Take out the garbage? The truck is coming tomorrow and I don’t want this stuff stinking up the house. It’s starting to attract bugs.” “Sure,” Rhyse nodded, still not looking away from his screen. “Tomorrow. Maybe it’s my computer...” “The trucks come early in the morning. You should put out the garbage tonight so that the trucks get it tomorrow.” “Yup.” Somewhere, deep down, they both knew Rhyse was lying. Dejectedly and feeling ever the pushover, Sky trudged back out to check the modem. “Please let this quarantine be over soon,” Sky prayed. The two had been friends since college, with Sky finishing his Masters just as Rhyse earned his bachelor’s degree. It’d made sense at the time to split the rent. Before the quarantine, Rhyse had been a good friend and a good roommate. But the lockdown had forced Sky to confront some uncomfortable truths about his buddy: Some people grew out of their old college habits of acting like a kid while working like an adult; others were like Rhyse. Now Rhyse felt as though he were being invaded in his own home by a toddler. But maybe that was wishful thinking. If Rhyse had been infected by the virus, it would at least give Sky some authority to take charge of him. From his room, just as Sky was going to restart the modem, Rhyse called out. “Got it! It was on my end. Just had to turn it off and on again.” Great. More time wasted. Goddamnit, Sky wished he was essential personnel right about now. Even being a package boy or a garbage man would have been preferable. Sure, it meant he’d be throwing bags and bags and bags of dirty diapers away or delivering fresh ones, but at least he could get away from his roommate. Rhyse hadn’t always been such a slob. No wait...that was a lie. Rhyse had always been a complete and total slob. But Rhyse ate drive thru so much that the grossness was confined to his car and bedroom, giving Sky the freedom to roam and maintain the rest of the two bedroom one bath house they’d rented together. Now the ratio of space was shifting way out of Sky’s favor. Since news of the virus broke, going outside was not an option. People were afraid to even talk to each other face to face. It had some fancy scientific name, but the news was calling it the Baby Virus. It was highly contagious, and even though only about twenty percent of people infected with it started showing symptoms, the symptoms were a doozy. Incontinence, loss of fine and gross motor coordination, heightened emotional instability, decreased memory, lethargy, and sensory overload. Brains were literally being rewired and the symptoms, on the outside at least were making the afflicted seem like giant babies. Chances are everyone was going to have it sooner or later, even if most people were asymptomatic. The people who did get the symptoms though, oof. No cure, either. Just a matter of letting the disease run its course. Some people ended up peeing themselves for a couple of days and then went back to normal. Others were no longer speaking English (or any other language for that matter) and were nowhere near independent. People had died, but it was mostly in self-mutilation accidents, like leaving a giant toddler unattended; or someone stupidly trying to drive themselves to a hospital after forgetting which color was green. Across the country, hospitals and nursing homes were being converted into nurseries and play-centers. The news was talking about “Bee-Vee’s” as if they were a new fad or social class. Many of the unafflicted had taken to dressing up their suffering S.O.’s, roommates, and family members as giant babies in an attempt to make caring for them more palatable. If you’re gonna be shitting yourself and drooling, you might as well look cute and easy to clean up. That rationale worked for real babies, so why not the unreal ones? People on social media were trying to make the best of a bad situation, posting ‘Bee-Vee pics’. The narrative from a lot of Sky’s Twitter and Facebook pals had seen a steady transition from ‘woe is me’ to ‘we’ll get through this’, proceeded by ‘this is easy’, followed by ‘isn’t he the cutest?!’. Quarantine did weird stuff to some people. It’d definitely brought out the worst in Rhyse. As Sky closed the door to his bedroom and cracked open his book, he couldn’t help but think: Wouldn’t it be nice in a weird way if Rhyse came down with a case of the B.V.? At least then, Rhyse’s gross smells would stay contained in a diaper, and Sky would only have to worry about seeing his dick during changes and bathtime. It’d be hard for the little guy to make a mess of everything if he were confined to a playpen and wooden blocks and stuffies were a lot easier to clean up after than beer bottles, soda cans, and pizza boxes. That was a stupid idea, though. A silly one. No way would he be able to get away with it….or could he? It was two hours of searching the internet later before Sky resumed reading his book in earnest. According to Google, it’d actually be relatively easy to trick Rhyse into thinking he’d been infected with B.V. and then get him to act the part. Multiple sites that had popped up with a single search. He’d gotten links to and lurked on a few new telegram servers where people actively discussed using the quarantine to their advantage to “teach little ones some manners”. This was a thing. This was really a thing. Holy shit, people were freaks! Nasty ones too! Sky would never do something like that to his buddy. Would he? Of course he wouldn’t. He put the idea out of his mind entirely, and picked up his book, spending the rest of the afternoon finding out whether Rowan Damisch or Citra Terranova would prevail. ***************************************************************************************************** Sky wandered out to the bathroom, blurry eyed the next morning, and rubbing his eyes. After he’d relieved himself, flushed, and washed his hands, he looked around, feeling his face flush and his temperature rise in pure fury. “RHYYYYYYYYSE!” No response. “RHYYYYYSE!” “What?” The voice sounded sleepy. Sky stomped to Rhyse’s room and flung open the door. It took all of his restraint to not kick it down. Rhyse was still in bed, a pillow pulled over his face. The smell of weed and B.O. was worse than yesterday. “Why isn’t the garbage picked up and placed out?” “I’ll do it tomorrow.” Rhyse’s voice came through muffled by his pillow. The more responsible of the two walked up and ripped the pillow off the other one’s face. “You said that yesterday! The garbage truck has already come and gone!” Rhyse kept his eyes closed. “Sorry.” They both knew he was lying. Sky didn’t say anything. He just left, quietly closed the door behind him and trudged to his room. He pulled out his tablet and followed a few of the links left on discord. Enough was enough. If Rhyse was going to act like a helpless and disgusting Bee-Vee, so be it. He spent the rest of the day downloading programs and researching techniques, devouring information faster than his eyeballs could process, while making several pricey orders; special delivery, expedited shipping. ************************************************************************************************************ Rhyse was in such a deep sleep that he didn’t even know he was dreaming that night. “Rhyyyyse….” A soft voice whispered. “Rhyyyse. Can you hear me, buddy?” His head on his pillow, Rhyse reflexively mumbled in his sleep. “Nnnnhhnnn..” The voice sounded familiar, but in the darkness behind his eyelids Rhyse couldn’t quite put a finger on it. He knew the voice, he definitely did...but his conscious mind- blurred by cheap beer and pizza rolls- couldn’t process it. “Good.” The voice said. “Good. You’re going to go on a little trip. Are you ready?” “Ivvafitr?” Rhyse asked. (Which was a mumbling closed mouth utterance of “Is it an acid trip”, because of course it was.) A gentle hand stroked his forehead. “Shhhhhhhh,” it whispered. “You don’t need to talk. Just listen.” Low soothing music and the chirping of birds came into Rhyse’s ears. “Hello little one,” a soothing, quiet voice said, still sounding strangely familiar. “It’s time to go for a little journey. Right now, you’re hearing the little birdies go tweet tweet tweet. It feels good to go outside, doesn’t it? Rhyse nodded and smiled. After being locked up for so long, it felt good to be out in the fresh hair. “Don’t worry, though,” The voice said. “I’m right beside you. Here to protect you and keep you safe. When you’re ready to go, just reach up and take my hand.” The young man looked up and saw a giant, its silhouette like an eclipse blocking out the sun. He let out a gasp. “Don’t worry, little buddy. I won’t hurt you. Take my hand.” The giant reached his hand down, and feeling small and helpless, Rhyse reached up and grasped it. “Let’s go, little buddy. Walk with me.” And so he did, taking quick little steps to keep up with the big person’s slow and thundering stride. “We’re going through the forest, with all the trees and the little tweeting birds. It will take ten big boy steps to get out of the forest. Quietly, count down with me.” Though he couldn’t quite hear his own voice, Rhyse counted down with the giant. “Ten...nine...eight...seven...six...five...four...three...two...one…” “Good,” the giant said. He gave Rhyse’s hand a squeeze and pat. “Good boy.” The sound of a gentle breeze rustling grass filled Rhyse’s dream. “Now we’re in a windy meadow.” As if Rhyse needed that explained to him. He could already see the tall grass wafting in the breeze. “To get where we’re going, we’re going to need to take five regular sized steps, next. Ready?” “Nnnhnnn…” “Shhhhh…. Just walk with me this time. Five...four...three...two...one..aaaaand we’re out.” Rhyse next heard the gentle sound of running water. He could practically smell the moisture in the air. The giant gave his hand another gentle squeeze and a loving pat. “We’re almost to the stream,” the giant told him. “You’re going to get to swim and relax for a little bit. Can you hear it?” Without saying a word, Rhyse nodded. “Don’t worry, little one, the water is very warm. It’s very close. We’re only going to need to take three baby steps. That’s easy. You can do it. Ready? Three...two...one…We’re there! Good boy!” Rhyse smiled. With Sky constantly on his case about every little thing, it felt good to get some praise. He almost purred when the big giant squeezed his hand and patted it for a third time. “Here, let’s test the water,” the giant told him. I’m going to dip your hand in the water, just to test it out. “Feel the nice warm water.” And he did. It felt so real that his conscious mind wondered if he was really dreaming, even as his unconscious mind accepted everything as fact. “It feels good, doesn’t it? Nice? And warm? And wet?” Eyes closed, even in his dream, Rhyse just hummed agreement. “Let me just dip you in, little one. Feel the water coursing, over you. Just lie back and float.” He felt the warm water engulf him, gentle and comfortable. Soothing. Was that his thoughts or was that what the giant was whispering sweetly to him? He didn’t know and didn’t care. “And if you have to pee, just relax and let it go. No one will know. No one will see. It will just get mixed in with all the other warm water.” For the first time, Rhyse frowned. “Just let it go,” the giant whispered. “You know you’ve done it before. Why should you be stressed out over nothing? Just relaaaaaaaaax….” He was right, Rhyse knew. So instead, he just relaxed and let it all flow into the river. He couldn’t even tell that he was doing it, because the warm water inside of him just mixed with the warm water surrounding him. “Good boy,” the giant whispered. “Isn’t that more relaxing?” Rhyse just closed his eyes and purred. “The next time you fall asleep, you’re going to come back to this little stream? Okay?” “Okay…” “Good boy.” The music faded out. The giant walked away, and Rhyse’s dreams drifted off with the nice warm river he’d been floating in. ******************************************************************************************************** Rhyse woke up feeling uncomfortable, his sheets were cold and uncomfortable, and oddly wet for some reason he couldn’t quite wrap his brain around. He didn’t smell the stench of stale urine anymore than he’d detected his own body odor or the lingering smell of marijuana and cheap incense in his room. The nose only detected new scents and was blind to anything that it had been exposed to for more than an hour or so. It wasn’t until he rolled over and yawned; felt the sickly stickiness as he peeled clammy sheets off his legs that something finally clicked. He’d peed the bed! “Fuck!” The cold and wet sheets now burned like acid, as he leaped off his mattress. His three day old boxers were soaked but not dripping, but only because the mess had already spread so far and become completely soaked up. What his boxers hadn’t absorbed, his blanket and bed sheets had made up the difference. His body going into autopilot, Rhyse stripped his boxers down and tossed them onto the bed so that he could strip his sheets off in one big bundle. Feet shuffling like a scared toddler, he took the piss stained mass out of his room and straight to the laundry room; not caring how many fast food bags he stepped on or soda cans he knocked over. To his small fortune, the washing machine was empty, not that it would have stopped him from overloading it. Just as he was shoving his sheets in and going for a laundry pod, he heard a voice behind him. “Rhyse?” Rhyse spun around on his heel and was face to face with Sky. Play it cool, he told himself. Play it cool. “Oh, hey Sky,” he said. “Just decided it’s about time to do some laundry.” Sky cocked an eyebrow, obviously suspicious. “You don’t normally do laundry.” “Yeah, I know….just got to be too much for me,” Rhyse lied. “So today’s laundry day.” “Your clothes, too?” “Y-y-yeah….” His roommate’s nose twitched a bit. “What’s that smell?” Rhyse shook his head. “I dunno, man,” he said. “I think I might’ve left something out and it’s going bad or something.” Sky nodded at that. He bought the lie. “Take some Febreeze or something. It smells gross.” “Good idea!” Rhyse reached into the cabinet where all the cleaning supplies were just above and went brushed by Sky on his way to his room. Shutting the door behind him and locking it, Rhyse didn’t scrub his mattress as much as he drowned it in fabric safe perfume. “I just had too much to drink,” Rhyse told himself. “That’s it. I got shitfaced wasted and and…” he desperately didn’t want to finish that thought: ‘...had an accident,’ didn’t sound particularly good. Nor did ‘I peed the bed’. “I do not have the Baby Virus. I am not a Bee-Vee.” It’s a known psychological fact that a lie repeated often enough and loudly enough will become truth in a person’s eye. Sadly, the span of a day cleaning washing sheets and doing laundry as an alibi was not nearly long or loud enough to embed it. The shower he took was not enough to erase the nagging fear in the back of his mind that baby wipes might be replacing hot water in his near future. It hadn’t even occured to him that Sky didn’t seem even a bit perturbed that he’d been naked. ********************************************************************************************************** “Hello little one,” the giant came back into Rhyse’s dreams. “Are you ready to go back to the water and float for a while? Take my hand.” Rhyse reached up and felt the warm comforting hand of the giant grasp his. The wind rustled through the tall grass. “We’re closer to the river this time, little buddy. Let’s take five normal steps. Can you count down for me?” Rhyse knew he could. “Five...four...three...two...one…” “Good boy,” They were back at the gentle babbling brook. “Ready for three baby steps to get into the river?” Rhyse quietly nodded, and spoke. “Three...two...one…” The giant squeezed and patted his hand. “Good boy. You didn’t even need me to tell you what to do. You’re super smart.” Rhyse liked being told he was smart. “Do you know what to do next? Just relaaaaaax.” Rhyse didn’t frown. Barely hesitated at all. He just relaxed and felt the warm stream spread below his waist as he floated gently in the water. “Good boy.” Another squeeze. Another hand pat. “Tomorrow night, we’ll start here, and see if you can relax on your own. And if you do, I’ll give you a special surprise. But don’t worry about that now. Just enjoy the nice, warm wet feeling of the water. Just relaaaaaaax.” ********************************************************************************************************** “Doing laundry again?” Sky asked when he caught Rhyse stuffing his sheet into the washing machine. He wasn’t naked this time, and had thought to pull on a dry pair of basketball shorts, but he still reeked of old pee. Sky had purposefully put himself in the bathroom just in case Rhyse had wanted to hose off before destroying the evidence. “No!” Rhyse sounded like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. “Why are you washing your sheets?” And with some grim satisfaction, Sky added in, “And what is that smell?” Rhyse’s eyes darted like a trapped animal looking for a way out. “I….I…” Holy crud, the guy was starting to tear up. Sky decided to give him a way out. If he was pressured into this too quickly, he’d break instead of bend. And if he broke, he’d just put himself back together in a couple of days, according to all the chatter and tips on discord. “Did you not dry your sheets enough?” “Huh?” “Did you not dry your sheets enough?” Sky repeated. “Sometimes if clothes and sheets aren’t dried enough, they get all gross and mildewy. Ya gotta wash ‘em all over again and dry ‘em good.” “Oh yeah…” Rhyse seemed relieved. “Yeah. That’s it. That’s it. “ He looked at Sky. “Uh...bathroom free?” Sky couldn’t help himself. “For now…” “Huh?” “Yeah, it’s open. Taking another morning shower?” “Y-yeah…” Sky didn’t comment further. Just went back to his bedroom to brag to his new friends on discord and check on the orders he’d placed. ************************************************************************************************************ The babbling brook filled Rhyse’s ears. He was close now. “Hello, little one,” the giant said. “Do you remember what to do?” Rhyse did. He took a deep breath, and took three little baby steps so he could get into the water, waist deep. “Three...two...one…” He relaaaaaaaaxed. “Good boy,” the giant praised him. Rhyse felt his hand squeezed and patted again. He liked it. It made him feel secure and safe. He was alright as long as the giant was there to protect him. “Very good. Very good,” the giant whispered. “It’s time for your present. I’ve given you a magical power,” the giant said. “The power of happiness. Every time I’ve held your hand and given it a pat, I’ve put a little bit of happiness into it. It’s glowing now.” Rhyse felt the hand the giant was holding warming up, and when he looked up from the water, he saw little bits of light streaming out between the giant’s fingers. “You see it glowing, don’t you? “Nnn-hnnnn.” “Good boy. I’m going to let go of your hand now, don’t be afraid.” Rhyse wasn’t. His entire palm was a torch once the giant released it. “Now I want you to take allllll of that happiness and pack it up. Condense it. Squish it all up so that it becomes super concentrated. Take all of that happiness in your hand, and squish it inside your thumb. Make it so only your thumb is glowing.” Rhyse focused and focused. Slowly, he could see the light moving from the palm of his hand and his other fingers, and oozing and scrunching until there was just a single bright beacon, a blinding point of light right in this thumb. “Is it there yet? Is the happiness all in your thumb?” “Nnnnhnnn…” That was the best part of these times, the hardest thing Rhyse had to do was count backwards. No other talking was needed. “Good boy.” The giant kept whispering to him. “This happiness in your thumb is a special kind of happiness; a gentle calming type of happiness. When you use this happiness, instead of feeling angry, or scared, or nervous, you’ll feel calm and happy. Just like you do now when you’re floating in the nice warm water. Doesn’t that sound nice?” “Nhnnnn…” “And all you have to do to feel this way, is to get this happiness in your body. All you have to do is stick your thumb inside your mouth- like a lollipop-...” “Orrjnt?” “Yes, little buddy, or a joint. Just stick your thumb in your mouth, and suck. You’ll feel relaxed and calm, just like you do now.” Without prompting, Rhyse gave it a try. Laying there in the warm water, he took his thumb and stuck it in his mouth. Calm and tranquility filled him as he started to suck. So peaceful. Not a care in the world. It felt nice. So relaaaaaxing. “Thaaaaat’s right.” The giant could hold Rhyse’s hand and so instead petted the boy’s hair. He felt like such a little boy compared to this big, friendly helper who’d found him; but it was a good feeling. “From now on,” the giant whispered, “whenever you feel nervous or scared or angry, I want you to suck on your thumb so you can calm down and be happy again. Can you do that for me?” Rhyse nodded. “Nnnnhnnn…” The giant patted him on the forehead again. “Good boy. Now take your thumb out right now. You don’t need it right now. Save it for when you need it.” ***************************************************************************************************** “Rhyse?” Rhyse continued dozing. “Rhyse?!” He rolled over, not even realizing how cold and sticky his legs were. If anything, he was starting to get used to it. “RHYSE!” Rhyse’s eyes fluttered open. Standing over Rhyse, Sky was glaring with his arms crossed over his chest. “Huh?” Rhyse mumbled. “You wet the bed.” The stoner almost jumped out of his skin, but barring that he settled for the other side of his mattress. “FUCK! NOT AGAIN!” Sky was shaking his head. “You’ve got it, dude. You’re infected.” Rhyse looked up from his piss stained mattress and back up to his roommate. “What? Infected? No I’m not.” Sky was still shaking his head. He seemed a little sad. “You just said ‘again’, bro. You’re doin’ it. You’re regressing. You’ve got the virus. You’re turning into a Bee-Vee.” Rhyse could hear his pulse in his ears. “NO I’M NOT!” His roommate didn’t yell back. “Should’ve seen it coming, honestly.” “I’M NOT INFECTED!” “The lack of bathing. Making all the mess. Now bedwetting.” Sky was just ignoring Rhyse, talking more to himself than to anyone else. “It all adds up.” He let out a sigh. “Sorry, man. I’ll call you an ambulance.” Ambulance? Ambulance?! Ambulance meant hospital. Hospital meant going into a giant nursery! If he went to the hospital, he might not come back out! “NO! NO! JUST NO! FUCK THAT!” Sky looked nonplussed. “Tantrums, too?” He took a step back and covered his mouth. Rhyse panicked. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry…” he lowered his voice to nearly a whisper. “I’m not throwing a tantrum…I did wet the bed...but that’s cuz of...of…” Fuck. Why did people normally wet the bed. “...stress!” “You’re wetting the bed because of stress?” “YES!” A single look from Sky made Rhyse instinctively hunch down, as if that would quiet himself. Rhyse’s thumb started to feel funny. His lips started to tingle. It was a low humming feeling that progressed into an itch. “What about your clothes?” It felt almost as if his thumb was calling out to him. “I washed those,” Rhyse said. “And the mess?” Sky asked. “Your garbage all around the house?” Rhyse’s lips and thumb were throbbing; pulsing for each other. It was taking everything for Rhyse to not pucker his lips. “I’m just a slob.” “Not before the quarantine you weren’t,” Sky pointed out. “Not this bad.” Even though his legs had been basted in his own pee, Rhyse dropped to his knees. “Please, let me prove it. I’ll clean up the mess! Just don’t call an ambulance!” Sky paused and looked down at Rhyse for a good long, uncomfortable time. “Fine,” he said. “You can prove it. Clean up the house.” Rhyse got up off his knees. “Can I take a shower, first?” His roommate smiled, incredulously. “Of course. Why are you asking permission?” “I don’t know…” ******************************************************************************************************* Sitting down in the shower, hidden in hot steam, Rhyse cried to himself. He was turning into a Bee-Vee. He knew it. He let the rushing water muffle his quiet sobs. The coolness of the tile contrasted with the scalding temperature of the water. He’d used what felt like half a bottle of body wash, and he still felt dirty. What was he going to do? Was he going to recover or was he going to turn into one of those permanent Bee-Vees? Was this going to be a kind of bummer, or was he going to end up in a giant nursery for the rest of his life? He didn’t know what to do. Quickly, and without thinking, he slipped his thumb into his mouth and began to suck gently on it. Better. Not perfect. But better. Surprisingly, it calmed him down. Alot. “I can do this,” he whispered to himself. “I can do this.” As he muttered words of encouragement to himself, Rhyse barely registered, the muted sound of the doorbell being run. What was being delivered?! He hadn’t ordered anything. The grocery delivery wasn’t until tomorrow! Was it an ambulance?! Had Sky gone back on his promise? Another few pulls on his thumb helped him calm down and forget about it. ************************************************************************************************************* “Are you done, yet?” Sky called from his bedroom. Rhyse picked up another bottle and put it in the garbage bag. “Almost!” Sky walked out and surveyed the work. There were garbage bags everywhere, but they were full and tied off. Nary a piece of garbage was in sight He nodded his approval. “Okay,” he said. “Not bad. Not bad at all.” Rhyse exhaled. “Yeah?” “Yeah.” Sky agreed. “You’re not done yet, but you’re getting there.” Rhyse frowned. Getting there? “What else do I have to do?” “You can’t just leave all the garbage bags lying around, little buddy. That’s not cleaning up. You’ve gotta take them outside to the garbage cans. And there’s still the dishes to do.” A strange sense of familiarity shot through Rhyse’s backbrain. “What did you say?” “I said you can’t just leave all the garbage bags lying around, bud.” Rhyse chewed on the sides of his tongue. That wasn’t quite right, but he wasn’t a stenographer or nothing. Probably just a turn of phrase. His thumb was throbbing again. Sky seemed to notice that something was wrong. “Hey,” he offered, “why don’t you take a break?” “Yeah?” Rhyse asked? “Yeah. Go take a rest. Relax for a few minutes.” Relaaaaaaaax. Without thinking, Rhyse closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let go. It was a full five seconds before he realizes that the puddle forming at his feet was coming from him. “AAAAAH!” Sky’s eyes widened in horror. “You’re peeing!” “I know!” Rhyse “STOP IT!” “I CAN’T!” Sky reached out his hand and Rhyse met him half way, taking it and allowing himself to be led to the bathroom, leaving a trail of pee-pee behind him. There was something oddly familiar about holding Sky’s hand, but in his panic, Rhyse couldn’t consciously recognize it. Without hesitation, without waiting to ask, Sky positioned Rhyse in front of the toilet and pulled down his pants. “Sit.” Rhyse did. For his trouble. “Wait here.” Feeling stuck on the toilet, Rhyse sat there, quietly sucking his thumb for several minutes to hold the terror at bay. He yanked it out the moment he heard Sky’s approaching footsteps. When he saw what his roommate was holding, he desperately wished he hadn’t. “Is that a...a...a…?” Sky just rolled his eyes. “Yes. It’s a diaper. I ordered some shipped from the pharmacy.” Rhyse gulped and felt his throat go dry. “Drug store diapers don’t have cartoon racoons on the waistband.” Sky frowned, and then examined the incontinence garment more closer. “Heh. So it does. Makes sense,” he shrugged. “There’s been such a run on medical diapers lately that only these big baby ones are left. No big deal.” “I am not putting that on.” “Fine,” Sky said. “It’s not a pull-on anyways. I’ll put it on for you.” Rhyse was off the toilet in a flash, his back against the bathroom wall. “I’m NOT wearing that thing. Only Bee-Vees wear those things!” His roommate’s arms went limp. “So let me get this straight. You’ve been peeing the bed, staining your mattress and stinking up your room. You just peed your pants right in front of me. I just spent the last five minutes cleaning up your pee-pee accident.” Sky looked over into the toilet. “Didn’t even get a dribble in. And now you’re throwing a tantrum because you don’t like the style of diaper I found for you? Yeah...that doesn’t sound like you’re regressing at all…” Rhyse didn’t know what to say. When it was put like that… He looked over and grabbed a couple of wet wipes that were left next to the toilet. Wet wipes. Flushable. Not for babies or Bee-Vees… Quickly, he scrubbed himself down, as Sky watched. Not trying to move past sky, he threw them in the bowl and flushed. Then he laid down on the floor, letting the fluffy bath mat give him some measure of comfort. “Put it on me.” ********************************************************************************************************* The rest of the day went without incident. The house was cleaned and the dishes were done, and something besides the smell of grease and B.O. wafted through the air conditioned halls of the little two bedroom house. Sky had been pretty cool about it too. “Wear it just in case,” he said. “If you need to go to the bathroom, go to the bathroom. I’m not forcing you to wear them.” This despite the fact that he literally had, more or less. But was it really so unreasonable? “I just don’t want to have to clean up after you all the time. That’s fair.” Rhyse supposed it was. They’d only butted heads once more regarding the diaper situation that day. The first time Rhyse had tried to toddle off to the bathroom, he’d found Sky grabbing his hand. “Where are you going?” “I gotta pee. And not in this.” Rhyse pointed to the raccoon peeking out from just above his penis. “How badly do you gotta pee?” “Why does that matter?” “Those tapes are sticky,” Sky said, “but only the first time. I don’t want you running out of diapers when you actually need them, just because you managed to make it to the potty on time.” “I’m not going to pee myself on purpose.” Rhyse’s pouty lip was desperate for his thumb. “So you want me to waste money? On something I bought? For you?” Rhyse didn’t have a counter for that. Sky squeezed his hand again and gave it a pat. “Just hold it a little longer. Pretend you’re on a car trip or we’re conserving water. Wait until you’re about to burst before you do it.” “Okay. Yeah. Sure.” And so he had. The racoon diaper was switched out for a giraffe one and all was well. The rest of the day was comparatively easy. With the cleaning done, Rhyse rested and surfed the net, purposefully avoiding social media. It seemed almost everyone he knew had SOMEONE else in diapers at their home who was far above the age of two. And this time it was happening to him. After dark, knock came on his door. “I baked cookies,” Sky said. “As a way of saying thank you.” “Chocolate chip!” Rhyse almost shouted. “My favorite!” He wolfed down three before he’d taken a breath. Sky looked at him, smirking. “Oh…” Rhyse said, correcting himself. “Where are my manners? Thanks for the cookies.” “You’re welcome,” Sky replied. He looked at Rhyse’s computer. “What have you been up to?” Rhyse shrugged. “Nothin’ much. Y’know. Relaxing. Watching youtube. Playing MTGA. That kinda stuff.” A strange look came over him as he felt the front of his diaper getting warmer. As though his bladder were detached from the rest of his brain, Rhyse made himself look down between his legs and watch as his diaper swell and discolor. If he hadn’t been looking, he might not have noticed. In a strange way, it felt kind of nice, the way the garment held everything in place instead of letting it trickle down his thighs. But in watching it, Rhyse had been forced to admit himself that he’d done it again. “I...I gotta go change.” Sky didn’t seem that bothered by it. “Okay, bud. Go change.” As Rhyse struggled to wipe himself down and figure out how to put a new diaper on himself, he didn’t notice Sky’s shit eating grin. ************************************************************************************************************ Everything was peaceful and relaxing in Rhyse’s dreams. He didn’t consciously know it, but he’d already begun counting himself down to sleep. Before he knew it, he was back in the little stream, just relaxing. “Hey there, little buddy,” the giant whispered to him. “I can tell you’ve already started to relax. Good job.” Rhyse smiled. He liked making Mr. Giant happy. Speaking of happy… “Does your thumb still have that magic I gave you?” “Nnnhnnn…” “Show me.” Like a good boy, Rhyse started to suck on his glowing thumb, feeling the happiness fill him.. It helped him to relax even more. Everything felt so nice and peaceful there in the brook. “Just relaaaaaax….” The giant whispered to him, gently stroking his hair as he floated there. “Be happy and relaaaaax.” If Rhyse said anything, it was mumbled behind his magic thumb. But it was a good mumble. A happy mumble. A relaaaaaxed mumble. “I’m going to give you another present, little buddy,” Mr. Giant said. “Are you ready?” Lying in the river, Rhyse continued sucking his thumb and basking in the happiness. He purred a little bit when Mr. Giant patted him on the head. “I’m going to give you the gift of concentration.” Rhyse didn’t talk, but Mr. Giant must’ve seen something in Rhyse’s face. Concentration didn’t sound like much of a gift. “With concentration, you can do anything,” Mr. Giant said. “You can finish anything. You will finish anything. Just trust me. Breathe in...” Still floating in the warm water, Rhyse did as he was told and breathed in deeply through his nose. “Now hold it.” Rhyse did. “You can hold it for a bit, can’t you?” Still holding his breath, Rhyse nodded. “But you can’t hold it forever, can you?” Starting to feel uncomfortable, Rhyse shook his head as his chest began to protest. Mr. Giant kept petting his head. “It’s okay. You can let it out, now. Breathe normally. Relaaaaax.” Rhyse did so slowly and resumed breathing. “That’s how your body is going to be for now on,” Mr. Giant told Rhyse. “You can’t stop breathing unless you purposefully try to, and you can’t do it for long, can you?” “Nnnnhnnn…” “It’s because your lungs already know how to concentrate. They’re focused. That’s how your body is going to be from now on, little buddy,” Mr. Giant told him. “From now on, your body is going to be so focused that once you start something, you won’t be able to stop.” Rhyse lazily took his thumb out of his mouth. “Nnnn...stahp…” “That’s right, little buddy,” Mr. Giant cooed to him. “You won’t stop. It won’t matter what you’re doing. Once you start, you won’t stop. You won’t need breaks. You won’t need rest. Your body will just do what comes naturally.” Rhyse liked the idea of this. Cleaning up the house would be easy if he didn’t have a choice. “But while your body is working,” Mr. Giant promised, “your mind will be free. Free to relaaaaax.” Gently, Rhyse found his thumb guided back into his mouth and kept sucking. “Concentrate. Concentrate and relaaaaax.” ********************************************************************************************************* Rhyse woke to Sky shaking his shoulder. “Rhyse. Wake up. Wake up!” Eyes still closed, Rhyse let out a long loud yawn before his mouth closed back over his thumb. “Wuphup?” “You’re sucking your thumb and your diaper leaked.” That woke him up. Sky was standing above him, a spray bottle and rag in hand. “Get up,” he said. “The mattress needs to be scrubbed, or the pee smell is never going to go away at this rate.” Rhyse popped his thumb out and rolled out of bed, feeling oddly mellow considering a large disposable diaper was sagging from his hips. He ripped the fitted sheets off, and in a sick way marveled out how soaked they were. Even with the diaper on he’d done a lot of damage. His roommate handed him the rag and spray bottle. “I’ll take care of the sheets and put them in the wash,” Sky told him. “You scrub the mattress.” “What time is it?” Rhyse yawned. “Rhyse, I need you to concentrate.” Rhyse stood a little straighter. “Right.” He was already spraying and scrubbing while Sky was carting the soiled bundle away. Rhyse hated doing manual labor; hated the monotony of bending over and the repeated actions of scrubbing. It’s what he hated about brushing his teeth and wiping his ass, too, come to think of it. But scrubbing was easy. It was like his body was on autopilot. No muss, no fuss. “Good job,” Sky said when he returned. “All done.” Rhyse stopped. “Now help me put this on.” Rhyse looked at the slightly cushioned mass in Sky’s hand. “What’s that?” “It’s a mattress protector. For when you leak again.” When. Not if. “I’m not gonna leak again.” Sky smirked. “Are you going to stop wetting the bed?” “NO!” Rhyse stopped himself. That hadn’t come out right. “I mean...yes? I mean...I don’t know.” He drooped his head, looking down at the soaking wet diaper between his legs. Sky rustled Rhyse’s hair, and Rhyse felt oddly better about it. Not thumb sucking better, but still good. “Let’s put it on,” Sky said. “Just in case.” “Fine,” Rhyse agreed, if only so that he could stop talking and get this over with. He wasn’t comfortable talking around his thumb. Truth be told, the mattress protector didn’t seem that bad. If Rhyse hadn’t known what it was, he might’ve just assumed it was an extra bit of insulation, and not something meant for people who couldn’t be trusted to sleep and hold their piss in at the same time. Sky picked a fresh diaper up off the floor along with a packet of baby wipes. Where had those come from? Rhyse had made a point of hiding all of that stuff in the bathroom. “Good job,” Sky said. “Now let’s change your diaper.” “I can change my own diaper, thank you very much.” Rhyse tried to snatch the diaper out of Sky’s hand; an effort that failed miserably. “No,” Sky said. “Clearly you can’t. You wouldn’t have leaked, otherwise.” Rhyse scowled and crossed his arms. “I just peed a lot. That’s all.” “I googled this stuff,” Sky said, a smarmy look on his mug. “These diapers are supposed to have a six thousand milliliter capacity. A person pees maaaaybe two thousand milliliters a day, give or take. You leaked because you put on your diaper wrong. Lay down.” Rhyse stood firm. “No.” “Think about it logically,” Sky said. “You didn’t have any leaks when I put the diaper on you. These things are meant to have help. See the tapes?” “I also see the green dragon thing on the front.” Rhyse spat. “We’ve been over this,” Sky told him. “Are you going to throw another tantrum?” Rhyse sat down on the bed. “Maybe…” Sky sat down beside him. “Did it leak when I put a diaper on you?” “I didn’t pee in the diaper you put on me.” “So you haven’t tried it my way.” Rhyse opened his mouth and closed it. “But I only leaked in my sleep…” he finally said. “Do you want to chance it?” Sky asked. Rhyse didn’t...but he was too proud to admit it. “Lay down,” Sky said, patting the mattress behind him. Reluctantly, Rhyse obeyed. Sky had already diapered him, but Rhyse had never been changed before. It felt alien; violating. The sound of the tapes being ripped off was louder when it wasn’t his fingers peeling them off. The diaper being opened felt more vulnerable when it didn’t immediately plop down to the floor; it was still beneath him. The wipes felt colder, too. This was more delicate; more intimate. And all Rhyse could do was lay there with his hands behind his head. His thumb started to throb while his roommate cleaned his penis for him. So weird. “You can suck your thumb if you need to,” Sky told him. “No judgement.” That was all he needed to hear to start. His pulse immediately slowed. “Hips up. Good boy.” Rhyse didn’t care that he was being talked to like he was some kind of trained animal. His thumb made him feel so much better. Time for the new diaper. “One more time,” Sky said. “Thank you.” The diaper took shape around him as Sky pulled the tapes snugly on and wet and soggy and cold was replaced with warm and dry and crinkly. So much better… Almost as good as his thumb. ******************************************************************************************************** “Wow,” Sky smirked. “You really inhaled those leftover cookies” “You let me have cookies for breakfast,” Rhyse replied. “Of course I did!” Sky grinned. “Thought you’d like them. Contrary to popular belief, cookies don’t get better with age. So you get a junk food breakfast. I get the last bowl of Cheerios. I’ll order more cereal for delivery after we go through the toast. Win-Win.” Internally, Sky was marveling at just how well Rhyse was adapting to this. He seemed like such a cute little tyke, wearing just his diaper, his mouth still covered with crumbs. It was hard not to fall in love with that image. “So what are we doing today?” Rhyse asked. Sky wanted to melt. Rhyse was starting to follow his lead consciously now. Perfect. “No work,” he said. “The house is clean enough.” His roommate seemed relieved by that. “Oh cool,” he said. “I guess I’ll just go hang out in my room.” Shit! Get to the pitch, fast! “But,” Sky said before Rhyse could turn his back on him. “I might have found a way to keep you from turning into a Bee-Vee.” “Oh?” That definitely got Rhyse’s attention. “What?” Sky walked over to the coffee table and dumped the hundreds of jigsaw pieces out. “Puzzles.” “Puzzles?” Rhyse echoed. “How is a puzzle going to help me be a grown...you know…” “Exercises your brain,” Sky lied. “Keeps you focused. They do stuff like this in nursing homes to fight senility. Or at least they did before things went crazy.” Rhyse looked at the disassembled puzzle and back up to Sky. “Okay,” he huffed. “It’s worth a shot. “Cool,” Sky hopped on the couch. “I’ll let you get to it.” He opened his book, and pretended to read. Everything about this morning, about this entire day had been planned in advance to help Rhyse along. Rhyse hadn’t noticed, but the coffee table had been shifted juuuuust far enough so that he couldn’t Rhyse couldn’t piece the jigsaw together and sit on the couch at the same time. At first, Rhyse started bending over. Within ten minutes he was on his knees. Good. Very good. He’d need to get used to playing on the floor. It was where he belonged. At fifteen minutes, Sky’s patience was giving out. Time for a test. “How you doing?” “Fine.” Rhyses voice sounded distant and far off. “Making progress?” “Uh-huh.” “You seem like you’re in a zone.” “Uh-huh.” Perfect. Just as Sky had hoped, Rhyse had worked himself into a light trance. He’d be moving around those tiles and piecing them together, tuning out the rest of the world. Now time to see how strong the trance was. “Do you like this?” “Uh-huh.” Sky licked his lips. “It’s kind of relaxing, isn’t it?” “Uh…” Rhyse paused, and Sky swore he heard the quiet hiss as Rhyse started wetting his diaper. “...Huh”. Sky hid his face behind his book and waited for Rhyse to freak out; to blush; to panic and excuse himself or ask for a change. All that happened was Rhyse kept concentrating on what he was doing and shuffling pieces around. His soon-to-be-little guy was now officially playing in a wet diaper. Good. Very good. Soon enough, Sky hoped, Rhyse wouldn’t even need the trigger word. He’d just be given something to play with and trance himself and nature would take its course. An hour or so later, and Rhyse was about seventy-five percent done. But the cookies from last night were ninety nine percent done if that based on the gurgling coming from Rhyse’s tummy. Sky had lovingly baked the cookies last night from scratch, using laxative chocolate in place of Tollhouse chips. “Gentle overnight relief,” the box had promised. Translation: “Make a baby eat it the night before and he’ll be filling his diaper like a good boy by the middle of next morning.” Right on time. Sky knew Rhyse was about to poop his pants (not that he was wearing any) the moment he took that first deep breath. BLERRRRRRT. Peeking out from over his book, Sky marveled as he watched the back of the diaper tent and fill up. Rhyse, however, just kept playing with his puzzle like a good baby. Experimentally, Sky leaned over and pulled the diaper back. Rhyse didn’t even tense up as Sky peeked in to see the wet and much mass he’d deposited. He didn’t flinch when Sky experimentally patted his backside. “Come on, bud,” he said, taking Rhyse by the hand. “Let’s go get you changed.” Sky watched Rhyse’s eyes widen. “NOOOOO…!” Rhyse screamed. “I wanna finish! Lemme concentrate! LEMME CONCENTRATE!” He released Rhyse as though the boy’s hand was a poisonous snake. Rhyse immediately went quiet and began sucking his thumb, content to keep playing in poopy Pampers. Wow. He really liked this. That’s what all the chatter online had told him. Sky felt tremendous satisfaction, at that. He was right. He was doing what was best for his Bee-Vee boy. Sky knew when Rhyse had finished the puzzle. He heard the gasp. From his spot behind Rhyse on the couch, he watched as the boy reached back and smushed his own diaper. Saw him stand up, legs spread wide in an almost natural instinct to want his own feces away from him. “Sky…” Rhyse started tearing up. “I...I…” Sky took his little roommate’s hand and started patting it reassuringly. “Come on, bubba. Let’s go change your diaper.” ************************************************************************************************************* A few days later, Rhyse trudged around the house with a blanket draped over his shoulder. “Skyyyyyy!” He whimpered. “Can you pleeeeeease turn the air down? It’s chilly in here.” Sky looked up from his book. “You want me to make it warmer…?” Sky asked. The way he asked made it clear that he wasn’t asking for clarification as much as. “You want me to make it warmer in...in this heatwave?” “I can see my breath,” Rhyse whined. “You’re exaggerating.” Sky rolled his eyes. “Just go put some clothes on if you’re chilly.” Rhyse looked himself over. For close to a week, the only clothing Rhyse had worn was the crinkly disposable diapers that Sky had put him in. It didn’t feel good realizing that. It felt worse that he hadn’t realized that dressing himself had been an option. He’d been so busy trying to work on those puzzles and all the other little remedies Sky was trying that self reliance was. With a smile, Sky stood up and took Rhyse by the hand. “I’ll help.” Rhyse was about to protest when he felt a strangely familiar hand squeeze and pat. “I can do it.” “You can’t even select your own underwear,” Sky said. “But thank you for trying.” Rhyse just went along with it and took a seat on his bed while Sky dug through his closet. He felt he was becoming a passive observer in his own life. He hadn’t even made it to the potty...er...toilet in days. Sometimes he was helping Sky with chores (though that was less and less) other times he was trying some weird mental exercise that Sky thought of (and that was more and more). Either way, he’d just kind of zone out, and when he came to his diaper was usually wet (or worse). Sometimes, he’d be completely aware and just pee a little bit...but when he started he couldn’t turn it off. Yesterday, he’d just decided to ride this thing out and went freely in his diaper. No point otherwise. “What about this?” Sky said. Rhyse wanted to light it on fire. “Where did you get that?” Sky looked at the yellow onesie with drawings of bees and honeypots on it. “Got it online.” “I’m not wearing that…” Rhyse knew it was a lie the moment it came out of his mouth. He just had to go through the motions at this point. What was it even doing in his closet? “Come on, Rhyse.” Sky said. “Don’t be like that, buddy.” “It’s a onesie! Only Bee-Vees wear ‘em!” “I think it’s cute. Just wear it,” Sky insisted. “I’m NOT GONNA!” Rhyse stuck his thumb in his mouth. The wave of calm was still battling against an upswell of terror. The pause between the two roommates grew and grew. Sky finally broke the silence. “How is that fair to me? “Whu?” “I’ve been wiping your ass, and changing your diapers, and bathing you-” “BAYFING MEH!?” Rhyse screamed around his thumb. He pulled the digit out of his mouth long enough to enunciate. “You walked in on me in the shower!” “I’ve been doing my best to take care of you,” Sky said, keeping his tone level and calm. “But it’ll be easier to change you if you wear these. That’s why I bought them. No other reason.” When Rhyse continued to pout, Sky added, “Would you rather parade around in just your diaper, all day?” Rhyse knew he was going to end up wearing it when the argument started. At least it was comfortable... ************************************************************************************************************ Rhyse was relaxing in the tiny river, yet again. So relaaaaaxing to just let his cares drift away. “Hey baby boy.” It was Mr. Giant, again. “How are you?” “Guh-guh-guh,” Rhyse mumbled around his finger. The birds were chirping a tinkling little song like a lullabye. “You did a good job today.” Mr. Giant told him. “I’m so proud of you.” A chaste kiss on his forehead made Rhyse blush. Oddly human sized lips for a giant, Rhyse thought, but he didn’t comment. Mr. Giant was magical. He could do anything he wanted, even change his size when it suited. “I’ve got another gift for you,” Mr. Giant told him “This one will help you get rid of all of your sadness and fear.” Rhyse was glad to hear it. There had been a lot of that lately. So much so that his Rhyse had been worried that his thumb would get pruney. The magic thumb was keeping him calm, but it wasn’t getting rid of the bad feelings. It was like baby powder. It covered up bad smells, but didn’t get rid of their cause. “I want you to look at your hands,” Mr. Giant said. “Go on. Look at them.” Rhyse obeyed. “Good boy. Now I want you take all your bad feelings; all your fussiness and anger. Force it allll into your hands. Your hands are starting to feel heavy, aren’t they?” “Uh-huh…” Rhyse could finally speak clearly because his thumb was out of his mouth. He’d gotten so used to talking to Mr. Giant, that he wasn’t mumblign as much, either. “You can’t keep all of those bad feelings in anymore, little buddy. They’ll stay in your hands for a while. But Rhyse took a look at the palms of his hands. They were getting red. Glowing red. Burning metal red. “In my diaper…?” Rhyse asked. “Oh-ho-ho!” Mr. Giant laughed. “No, silly boy. Your hands! Your hands! Put all of your anger into your hands and let them get heavy. But when you grab something. Like a cup. Or a spoon or a fork. All of that heavy, heavy anger will go riiiiight out. No need to be angry, or fussy. And all you’ll have left is silly happy feelings. Because all of the heaviness will go out of your hands, and into what you’re holding.” Rhyse looked at his hands, burning red. Yes. This made sense. Whatever he picked up would fill with his bad thoughts. And only is good thoughts would be lift. ************************************************************************************************************ Rhyse was howling with laughter, and he wasn’t sure why. All he knew was that he couldn’t drink from a glass and it was hilarious for some reason. He’d gotten up in the middle of the night to get a drink of water, and was now drenched from the top of his onesie in water. Everytime he lifted the glass to his lips, it just felt so heavy. It was like trying to heave a full garbage can instead of a drinking glass. He could make it budge, but then everything got top heavy. After the first one crashed to the floor and shattered, he switched to plastic instead of glass. The door to Sky’s room opened. Sky had bags around his eyes and looked like he’d just barely drifted off to sleep “Rhyse?” He asked. “What is going on, baby? Buddy…” he half corrected himself. “Haaaaa!” Rhyse howled with laughter. He sounded like he was a giggly little boy, even as his mind was racing. “I can’t drink! I keep spilling! Haaaa-haaaa-haaaa-hooooo!” Sky frowned, but something looked off about it, though Rhyse was too tired to piece it all together. “Here,” he said. “Let me help.” Sky reached into the cupboard and took out a plastic bottle with a rubber nipple on top. “A baby bottle?” “It’s my nephew’s from when I used to babysit... I dug it out...just in case.“ Rhyse knew it to be a lie...but he was just so tired. He just wanted to relax. He didn’t even feel his diaper warming up. Sky filled up the bottle and led him back over to the couch. Sky sat down first and then guided Rhyse’s head into his lap. “Let’s give this a try.” That’s when Rhyse knew it was going to be all downhill from here. When the nipple touched his lips he started to nurse and suckle, and deep down through a dreamy haze, Rhyse knew he wasn’t going to be able stop. Even as his tummy started rumbling. Even as he lifted his knees up to his belly button. Even as he started pushing the solid mush into his diaper. He was broken. He was a Bee-Vee. The virus had his body. His mind was next. *********************************************************************************************************** Several days later, as Rhyse rested in the nursery, Sky listened on the baby monitor, filled with a sense of pride and contentment. The transitions came faster and faster, and Rhyse was happily complying. It was like being a cute little Bee-Vee was what Rhyse was meant to be, deep down; even if he’d never contracted the virus. Computer swap out for a baby monitor? No problems. No arguments. Same with the crib and the mobile. Without even suggesting it (subliminally or otherwise) Rhyse was starting to refer to Sky as “Daddy” and Sky was in no mood to deny it. This was everything that Sky had ever wanted. The little mewling sounds Rhyse was making as he made boom-booms was adorable. But because he wasn’t done with the nap, yet, Rhyse would close his eyes and go back to sleep, full diaper or not; just like a baby. “My little stinker,” Sky chuckled to himself. A new headline greeted Sky as he logged into his social media. “Warning: Baby Virus is a Misnomer.” Sky kept reading. “While it is true that dementia and temporary incontinence are common symptoms in approximately twenty percent of the infected, especially among the elderly” the article said, “the virus has been shown to have a tendency to mutate in younger carriers. Most prominently is a form of psychosis and an overwhelming urge to reduce someone to an infantile state. Many doctors, nurses, and other professional caregivers are being quarantined and put under observation and further study after falsifying findings as an excuse to continue to baby their patients. People suffering these particular side effects have been shown to still retain a high level of intelligence and develop tendencies towards manipulation; going so far as to poison those close to them in an attempt to coerce them into diapers and acting like a baby. If your loved one insists that you might have contracted the virus, be careful; experts warn. They may in fact be the ones who have become infected.” Sky read the article. Then deleted it. (THE END) Note: This One-Shot was done for my patreon. http://patreon.com/personalias

“The Hall of Mirrors?” Riley groaned. “Your idea of a fun time is to bump into our own reflections for ten minutes? Really?” She tilted her head back and rolled her eyes. “I thought we were going to do the Tunnel of Love first.” Carrie cocked an eyebrow. “You’d rather make out in a raft being pulled along a giant kiddie pool filled with hose water?” “If it’s with you, yes.” Carrie didn’t have a good answer to that. They’d been together long enough where Riley could tell when her girlfriend was stumped. Carrie finally pointed to her shoes. “I saw those things the fair is labeling boats. They’re practically intertubes. I don’t want to pop one and or get my shoes wet.” She gestured to the four inch heels she was wearing. “Why did you even wear those?” Riley asked. “They’ve gotta be murder to walk in.” “If we’re going to be out in public,” Carrie said, “I wanna be able to show off.” Internally, Riley all but melted into a puddle, right then and there. The two couples that passed them into the hall of mirrors could have trampled her and she’d still be feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. Riley wasn’t exactly an exhibitionist- exhibitionists didn’t stop at flats, green and purple titles, and a baby doll t-shirt long enough to act as a skirt-but she did have a kink. Passion. Raw. Unadulterated. Passion. Carrie was always so...so...put together. Even now, Carrie’s makeup had taken at least an hour’s worth of careful application, with lipstick, eyeshadow and nail polish that all perfectly went with her top (which perfectly complemented tonight’s purse and shoes). It’s not that Riley’s girlfriend was fake; it’s just that everything was so carefully curated. She never really let herself go. It was one of the things that made her so attractive, but there was always a certain form of reservation. Carrie was always holding back. Riley had never confided this, but she suspected it had to do with Carrie’s own body image. Riley was skinny as a rail (and had her own bounty of body issues to go with), but Carrey was kind of chubby. All that makeup and careful wardrobe choice was a way to accentuate the right curves and hide the wrong ones. It’s how Carrie maintained control. One of Riley’s deepest, darkest fantasies was to make Carrie lose control. She was a freak in the bed, but sometimes it felt like asking for anything more than a peck on the lips in public was burdening her. Was Carrie ashamed of Riley? She didn’t think so. But she wanted to grope Carrie. To make out with her. To show how much she loved ALL of her. To leave a hickey on her neck and have her screaming in delight. To just make her lose all composure and to just...just...WANT her. That was why Riley wanted to come to this fair in the next county over. To be out and about, anonymous and lost in a crowd. Intimate and concealed, yet pressed up with the flesh of a thousand random strangers. And by the end of the night when they were back home, no stranger would recognize them. And a few days later when the fair picked up its roots and packed up its rides, the local yokels would completely forget anything they saw either. That and the Tunnel of Love. It was hokey and stupid...but it was hot. It would be like tonight never happened. And on a night that never happened, anything could. Heels clacking against the wooden entrance floor, Carrie leaned in. “I don’t want the Tunnel of Love,” she whispered in her most seductive tone. “I’m wet enough.” Riley visibly shuddered, feeling her heart start pounding. Was this happening? Was this really happening? “And if we do something funny in there,” Carrie added, “There’s a chance that a stranger could see us.” Riley just about ruined her panties right then and there. Carrie took her by the hand, and led her inside. “Let’s go, babe.” Pet names too! Was it Christmas?! First was the literal hall of mirrors. Rows of warped and twisted glass, distorting and bending the image of whoever was unlikely enough to stand in front of it. “Oh my gawd!” Carrie laughed. “Look at me! I look like I’m made of putty!” Still riding on the endorphin high, Rilee politely nodded. “Aaaand this one makes me look like I’ve gained about a hundred pounds. Carrie stood in front of another. “My boobs look HUGE!” Can we take this one home with us? Carrie was laughing. Riley? Not so much. Self-esteem was not her strongest attribute. Too often, she’d see this warped visage of herself without the aid of bendy mirrors. “Carrie?” she called. “Can we go?” Her girlfriend looked at Riley’s drooping face (and not just the upside down one in the mirror) and read the room. “Go? Oh! Oh yeah! Sure! This isn’t the part I wanted to show you anyways.” Riley’s body image issues weren’t exactly a secret. Again, but with less urgency, Riley let herself be led into the mirror maze. Carrie click-clacked through the rigid path like a hound on the scent of an escaped convict. Riley just followed behind, a lost little sheep. “How are you doing this so fast?” “Just look at the ground.” Carrie didn’t even look back at her. Riley angled her vision below and saw the dingy gray of a thousand little scuff marks in the old floor’s pathway. This maze was well traveled, and so was the floor. The only way anyone could possibly get lost was if they looked at the mirrors. Riley saw the look of intense focus on her girlfriend’s face. None of that focus was directed at Riley, unfortunately. She chose that moment to dig back in her heels, and shift her weight back. Carrie almost fell back like a dog that had outrun its leash. “Huh?” Carried grunted. “What?” Riley smiled and tugged down at the edge of her babydoll top, flirtily. “Y’know…” she smiled seductively. “This seems like the perfect place.” “For what?” Carrie asked. “If we started going at it right there, I bet someone might find us.” She leaned in and started taking careful little pecks at Carrie’s neck, making sure each one was a little more forceful, a little more intense, than the one that preceded it. Carrie brushed her away. “Whoah. That’d be rude to all the other people.” Riley might as well have been punched in the gut. “Oh. Okay. Yeah. That makes sense.” Oblivious to Riley’s disappointment, Carrie led Riley through the rest of the maze. “This!” Carrie proclaimed when they’d reached the end. “This is what I wanted you to see!” “What is it?” To Riley it looked like just another row of mirrors, indistinguishable from the ones at the beginning of the hall. If it weren’t for the exit clearing out into the Merry-Go-Round instead of the Tilta-A-Whirl, Riley might’ve thought they’d gone around in a circle. “A friend of mine made some of these.” There was an undercurrent of excitement in Carrie’s voice. “Take a look!” Riley found herself pulled towards the nearest mirror. “Don’t we look silly?” Carrie asked. They didn’t, though. Carrie just looked unreasonably excited, and Riley drained and disappointed. This is what had gotten her girlfriend so excited to drive an hour and a half? “Um...is it broke?” “Hmm?” Carrie asked. “No, it’s not broke!” Riley looked to her girlfriend and shrugged and then to their reflection in the mirror. Nothing. “What am I missing?” They were the exact same size. The exact same proportions. The exact same height. Exact same height? A few minutes ago Carrie had towered over Riley, her heels giving her an extra couple of inches. Riley looked down at their feet. “What happened to your shoes?” Carrie’s heels were gone, replaced by sensible white sneakers, much like what Riley had walked onto the fairgrounds wearing. Good walking shoes were important for hopping from ride to ride and waiting for long lines on the Ferris wheel. “Nothing!” Carrie gushed. “Look! Do you see it?” Riley looked to the mirror and back to her own feet. Neither image had been warped, but something was wrong with her shoes! She looked down, and instead of her white tennis shoes, reflecting back at her were black patent leather shoes, aka Mary Janes. The kind that little school girls and toddlers wore when Mommy and Daddy wanted to dress them up. The world blurred out of focus for a moment while Riley was yanked five feet over to the next mirror. “What about this one?” Carrie asked, oblivious to her girlfriend’s confusion. “NO!” Riley blurted out. “No?” Carried frowned. “You don’t see anything?” “No I do but…” Riley’s leggings had shimmied up to above her knees, imitating bike shorts. Her ankles were still warm though. A pair of frilly white socks had blossomed to perfectly compliment her Mary Janes. Carrie’s ankle length skirt had thickened into a well worn denim, making her look more like a midwestern school marm than a femme fatale from the movies. “What’s going on?” In answer, Carrie took them over to the next mirror. “How about this?” Carrie’s ultra femme top became a light pink and functional T-shirt. The look of nearly manic joy in Carrie’s eyes temporarily obfuscated the fact that her eye shadow was completely gone. It took Riley panickedly trying to wriggle her wrist free to notice that her girlfriend’s nails were no longer hot red with nail polish. It took the next split second of examining her own nails to notice that hers were now pink. “Riley? What’s gotten into you?” “The mirror!” Riley said. “They’re...they’re…” Riley didn’t have the words for it. Her tights had ridden up even further up her legs. No longer bike shorts, and just an extra set of panties. The material had bunched up, too. Her panties felt thicker now for some reason. Undeterred, Carrie pivoted around Riley and pushed her to the next mirror. Riley had no choice but to stumble to the next mirror, an odd crinkling registering in her ears over her own “EEP!” When had Carrie gotten so strong? When had Riley become so weak? Her panties had thickened to the point where they were peeking out from underneath her T-shirt. Aghast, Riley lifted up the hem to see the frilly monstrosity wrapped around her thighs. Rhumba panties. Ruffled and frilly pink rhumba panties. Completely pointless. Almost obscenely girly. And based on the bulk, she must be wearing several pairs. “No, no no,” Carrie said, gently slapping away Riley’s hands. “Good girls don’t lift up their dresses.” Riley dropped the hem of her baby doll tee, back down as though she’d been tased. Speaking of electricity, an almost electric shock shot through her, and the front of her new panties felt very very warm, and her crotch felt very very wet...and not in a good way. Carrie kept pushing her down the row of mirrors, unconcerned with RIley’s shock. “I’m peeing!” Riley realized. But no puddles formed beneath her feet. No urine dripped down her thighs. Instead her panties thickened and swelled like a sponge and the warmth stopped spreading almost as soon as her bladder stopped spurting. “That’s okay,” her girlfriend said. “You were dry when I checked you a couple of minutes ago. It’ll hold.” The pink bunny diaper bag that had manifested on Carrie’s shoulder- exactly the same shade of pink as Riley’s panties- gave confirmation to what she was unconsciously registering. Riley was wearing more than just panties. The crinkle she’d heard a moment ago took on new meaning “I gotta get-” Riley froze in front of the last mirror. Her baby-doll tee that had functioned as a kind of dress had blossomed into a full blown toddler dress. Full Lolita. Pink with ruffles at the sleeves and hem. Big pink bows both at the waistline and the neck. A matching bow at the top of her hair. And her hair! Her straight brown hair had twisted and curled itself into positively adorable ringlets! She was dressed like Shirley temple! “What happened to my face?” Riley gasped. Her relatively thin frame that she’d been cursed with her entire life filled out in all of the wrong ways. Cheeks were chubby. She had a tummy now. “I look like a…a…” The poor girl couldn’t get herself to say ‘toddler’, but that’s exactly what she looked like: A little girl all gussied up for a toddler pageant. She was the spitting image of her little sister circa eighteen months. Only her deep green eyes remained unchanged. “Isn’t that perfect?” Carrie asked. “Don’t you look adorable?” Riley did look adorable. Adorable in all the wrong ways, but still adorable. Her sudden influx of literal baby fat must have come from Carrie. Her girlfriend’s curves had become accentuated in all the right ways. Her hips jutted out, matching with her breasts. Her waist slimmed down, giving her that often coveted hourglass look. Meanwhile, her perfectly primped hair toned down to a simple blonde hairdo pulled back into a ponytail. The only thing about her eyes were their natural piercing blue color. If Riley was a chubby kewpie doll, Carrie was now a hot Soccer MILF. “Mommy?” Riley trembled. “What’s happening?” She bit down on her tongue. She hadn’t meant to say ‘Mommy’, had she? No. Definitely not. “We’re at the fair, honey,” Carrie said. “Remember?” If Riley’s bladder hadn’t already emptied into her diaper. For the third time, she grabbed Riley’s hand. For the first time, Riley felt as if she had no choice but to follow Carrie. Riley wasn’t yanked off balance, it’s just that her feet moved with her; like she was used to being dragged around by the hand. “I know you slept in your carseat most of the way here, but we’ve been talking about this for a long time. You so wanted to come! Remember?” Going back out into the open air and blending in the with the crowd, Riley let out a gasp of confusion and surprise. “NO!” “You don’t remember?” Carrie asked as Riley looked around in shock and awe. “Silly baby.” Riley didn’t answer, or refute anything as Carrie started to drone on and recount the last few days’ discussion (with some very obvious details altered such as daycare instead of work). There was too much going on in her own head to fully register what her Mommy was saying - or that she’d just thought of Carrie as her Mommy. Babies! Babies everywhere! Chubby cheeks! Curly locks and spit curls! Bows and bonnets and completely impractical hats! Pleated shorts and frilly dresses. Elaborately decorated onesies and rompers all in pastel hues! Stomping walks and waddling gaits! The bottoms of diapers sagged out slightly from beneath frilly dresses. Leakguards added to the frills out the leg holes of onesies. Paper thin crinkling waistbands poked out of the top of sailor suit shorts and bulges between the legs made it clear that even the few toddlers wearing overalls wouldn’t have to worry about potty breaks. Babies, babies everywhere...and all of them were at least 5 foot tall! The people escorting these tremendous toddlers were just as exaggerated. All wore t-shirts and jeans, the fancier ones with maybe a polo; but their bodies more than made up for the lack of flair in their wardrobe. Daddies were barrel chested and muscular. The ones with facial hair having a rough stubble that was more hunky than grody; the beards that were masculine and refined instead of douchey or gross. If not for her own strange circumstance, one might be forgiven for thinking Riley was staring at the Mommies out of lust instead of disbelief. Wide hips. Ample bosoms. Full lips. Beautiful eyes. They were all beautiful. Half the crowd was adult toddler pageant contestants. The other half were model level Ward and June Cleavers updated for the twenty first century. “Let’s ride on the Ferris wheel,” Mommy said. “It’s starting to load up.” Too startled to do much else, Riley got in line behind another Mommy/daughter pair. “Carrie?” Riley managed to blurt out, but it left a funny taste in her mouth. “Mommy?” “Yes, baby?” Mommy said. “How old am I?” The line inched forward, and Riley heard the crinkle from beneath her. “You’re twenty-four, silly.” “And how old are you?” Mommy smiled as if it were the silliest question in the world. “I’m twenty-four, silly.” “Then why am I dressed like a baby?” Mommy laughed. She thought this was cute. Riley didn’t think so much. “First time at the fair?” The lady-the Mommy- in front of them asked. Mommy nodded. “Little Ones always ask the cutest question their first time. Isn’t that right Makenzie?” A chubby little girl in a pink sailor outfit nodded, not even taking her thumb out of her mouth, a look of sage silliness in her eyes. It was strange, the way the woman said it. It was almost like Riley could hear the capital letters in ‘Little Ones’. Riley avoided the other big baby’s gaze and stared down at her own shoes. For her trouble, she got an accidental peek at Sailor Girl’s diaper. Mary Janes really did reflect up...just not always straight up. “It’ll all make sense when you let it,” Mommy said. “Everything will be fine.” Riley wanted to believe this to be true; was desperate for it in fact, but something inside her very much doubted it. The other Mommy/Little One couple (damn...now Riley was doing it) disappeared in the newly empty seat of the Ferris Wheel. They rotated a good few feet and then it was Riley and Mommy’s turn. “Mommy...Carrie...Mommy?” Darn it! Why was it so hard to call her Mommy...her girlfriend?...her Mommy by her first name. “Yes, Little One?” she asked as the ride attendant closed them in the gate. “What’s happening?” “We’re at the fair, baby.” Mommy explained. “We’re gonna take a ride on the Ferris Wheel. Isn’t that nice.” The wheel rotated a bit. “Um...why am I in diapers?” Mommy laughed again. “Because Little Ones aren’t potty trained and you wouldn’t want to get your pretty pretty clothes all messy, would you?” The wheel rotated bit by bit as the conversation continued, Riley feeling more and more like a confused little girl, and Mommy sounding more and more like a patient and loving caregiver. Riley gestured to the clothes she was wearing; so much pink and frills that she wouldn’t normally be caught dead in it. “But I didn’t wear...I mean I wasn’t..I didn’t pick-?” Mommy cut her off and booped her on the nose. “Of course you didn’t pick these out. Little Ones can’t pick out their clothes or dress themselves. That’s Mommy’s job, silly girl!” “BUT I DON’T WEAR DIAPERS!” the toddlerized woman blurted out. In answer, Mommy calmly reached between Riley’s legs and gave a squeeze. “Feels like you do,” she whispered sensually. Even through all the padding and the wet pulp of the peed in diaper, Riley could feel Mommy’s hand pressing against her penis. The diaper was getting a lot less roomy, and not just because of the swelling of the diaper or the suddenly added baby fat. “It’s okay, Little One.” Mommy said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. Nothing to be a shamed of.” “Mommy…” Riley groaned. “Everyone can see!” The low droning sound wasn’t because of embarrassment...not quite. Mommy began rubbing Riley through the diaper...through her diaper. “Let them see,” Mommy cooed in Riley’s ear. “There’s nothing wrong with a Mommy lovin’ on her Little One.” To punctuate her arguments, she started to kiss Riley on the neck, each peck a little more forceful than the last. The wheel was still rising. Hazily, through lust clouded lenses, Riley looked down at the people milling about on the fairgrounds. Half of the people below them looked just like her; all padded and gussied up. There was a decent sized canopy set up, with a sign that read “Little One Changing Station.” Just at the very edge of it, Riley could make out a muscular man, a Daddy, slipping a very large fresh diaper under a big baby boy’s rump, the boy's dapper shorts down by his ankles. People had their privates out in the night air. What was the harm in a little diaper rubbing? Fuck it. Riley leaned back in her seat and moaned as Mommy continued to tease her. Mommy lovingly cooed at her. “Awww, is my baby girl forgetting how to talk?” Eyes closed, Riley just moaned a breathy, “Uh-huh…” They were near the top of the wheel, now. “Poor baby can’t talk. She must be hungry.” Hungry?! Whether it was by some instinct forced upon her by this strange fucked up situation, or just connecting the dots, RIley knew exactly what Mommy meant. She opened her eyes to see Mommy lifting up her shirt, the left cup of her nursing bra opened, her engorged breast dripping with milk.. “Mommy…” “Shhhh,” Mommy whispered. “No more talking.” Riley twisted and contorted her neck to get to the nipple, her tongue savoring that first sweet drop of milk. “Let me help.” Mommy guided Riley over her lap so that the Little One was laying down, held and supported by the true adult. A firm hand pressed the back Riley’s head into the breast. Riley didn’t think to resist. She just started suckling; taking Mommy’s milk and warmth and love into her while playing with herself through rhumba panties and giant Pampers. There at the top of the Wheel, they were as far away as they could be from the rest of the world while still being a part of it. Please let this not end. For the second time that night, Riley felt her hands lightly slapped away. “Good girls don’t play with their diapers.” Mommy said. Her voice was teasing and giddy. “That’s Mommy’s job.” Riley focused instead on squeezing and playing with Mommy’s breast. The wheel started gently turning as Riley switched over to the far breast, making it easier for Mommy to pleasure her. To help, Riley thrust her hips into Mommy’s hand, suckling and gulping in time with their combined thrusting. Please don’t let this end. Even the movement added to the sensation; with the gentle rocking of the seat give a secure, cradling feeling. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE don’t let this end! The pressure was building up now. Riley was nearing that point of no return. The point when she would either start racing towards climax and become completely insensate until fireworks went off in her brain, or she would stop and the world would get a little grayer and darker. There was no inbetween. Finish or don’t. Shit or get off the pot. Finish! She had to finish. A different kind of pressure manifested beside it, and Mommy must have sensed it when Riley’s hands migrated down to her own tummy. “It’s okay honey. You’re not in the tub. You’ve got your diaper on. You’re not potty trained.” She wasn’t, she realized. She wasn’t potty trained at all. And she didn’t want to be. Still suckling, Riley closed her eyes and swiveled her hips as she started pushing with her guts and filling up the back of her diaper. The pressure release was immediate! The feeling of her body taking over for her as the mush spread into the back of her panties was primal; therapeutic. Within seconds, she would be engulfed by her own aroma as mush settled in her back side. It would be squished around and smeared on her already defiled privates And yet her pink and ruffled rhumba panties still looked adorable, even if they had been stretched out a tiny bit. As a baby, as a Little one, Riley could be both disgusting and desirable. She could be careless, and a mess, and cute as a button and loved unconditionally. To be crass: She could shit herself, suck on Mommy’s titties, and orgasm in public, and the most she would get is coy and knowing looks from every other Mommy or Daddy around. She could cry and laugh and be loud, and she’d be rewarded with love and attention. Any mess she might make would be cleaned up proudly by Mommy. And she wouldn’t even have to decide on what she would wear. She wanted to be a Little One. Riley WAS a Little One...even if she didn’t fully understand what that meant or why it had happened. With that final realization, that final bit of letting go, Riley climaxed, her body shaking as she fully and completely used her diaper. Surely anything she left in it would be unnoticable with all the other stains she’d contributed. And when Mommy changed her, all the evidence would go in the nearest garbage can. A literal fresh start. Mommy patted her head as Riley came down and the fireworks in her brain started to fizzle out. No guilt this time. No post orgasm regrets. Everything was perfect. Riley not only noticed, but exhilarated in how full her panties felt as Mommy sat her up and the ride was slowing down. “Mommy,” she asked. “Can we do that again?” Mommy started leading her over to the canopy that Riley had seen. “Little One Changing Area”. Riley didn’t even have to ask what was about to happen. Like a cowboy unholstering his gun, Mommy was already opening the bag, exposing a bevy of fresh white diapers and a packet of wipes. The tables were packed. Half of the people here weren’t potty trained, (anymore?), and the other half were busy taking care of him. In a way, this lessened Riley’s anxiety. Mommy was the only grown-up Riley had been naked in front of since she was a child, but it was hard to feel anxious when everyone was doing it. If anything crying about it would draw MORE attention to it. “Up you go,” Mommy said as she hoisted Riley onto a clear table, her diaper sopping beneath her. Riley didn’t even have to be told to lay back down. Neither did she have to be told to lift her hips so that Mommy could hike her dress up or shimmy her panties off. “Don’t want these to get dirty.” It was almost like they’d already done this an uncountable number of times. It was so strange, yet so routine: The tapes coming off. The feeling of air rushing in as the old diaper was unfolded. The gentle and cool wiping as Mommy caressed Riley’s genitals; a stark but pleasant contrast to how they’d felt just moments before. Riley lifted her legs up with Mommy’s help so the poopy could be cleaned off. Mommy slid the old diaper and wipes out so she could roll it into a ball and toss it into the nearby trash can. Riley craned her neck and saw a sore thumb sticking out from among the assembled diapers in the bag. “Pink one, Mommy!” she blurted out. Mommy obliged, sliding the pinkest, girliest diaper she had with her to replace the plain and boring white one that had just been tossed out. Everything else Riley had on was pink. Why not her diaper, too? As if afraid that she’d wake up from this bizarrely satisfying dream, Riley held her breath while Mommy finished taping up the diaper, pulling and pressing on the tapes to make sure it was snug and comfortable. Her anxiety only lessened, when her panties- a diaper cover really- were slid back up in place and she was boosted off the table, so that another waiting pair could get changed. Those first few steps off the changing table were strange. Her underwear felt stiff, kind of like a baseball glove or a new bra that needed to be broken in. Riley would have to get used to this feeling, even as she luxuriated in the contrast. From wet and mucky to dry and crisp (and back again). This was definitely something she could get used to. Just as they were walking out, another Mommy/daughter pair walked up. “Can I just say that your little girl looks beautiful in that outfit?” the woman asked. “Oh thank you!” Mommy replied. “I dress her, but it’s my little Riley that really shows ‘em off. She loves showing them off. She’s a real girly girl, aren’t you honey?” “Yes Mommy.” The words felt so automatic. So natural. So right. “I’m sorry to come up out of the blue,” the woman continued. “I wanted to comment on it earlier, but I saw you were about to change your Little One’s diaper. Where do you buy them?” “Homemade, actually,” Mommy said. “Oh my goodness. You MADE that?! I HAVE to get your contact information.” While the grownups traded numbers, the other Little Girl in a yellow sundress giggled bashfully and waved to Riley. Riley waved back, feeling equally as bashful. Before today, she’d have never had this impulse, but she sorely hoped that the two Mommies trading information meant that Riley could have a playdate at some point in the near future. When the Mommy and baby left. Riley turned to her Mommy and asked, “Can we do this again tomorrow?” Mommy’s mouth twitched to the side, and shades of the old Carrie came back. “I don’t know, Riley. Fairs are very expensive and a long trip besides. They only come around once a year or so.” “Not this!” Riley gestured around to the open air and the rides. “This!” She motioned to herself. Chubby Cheeked. Ringlets in her hair. Bows and ruffles everywhere. Even the black Mary Janes and the diaper. “I wanna be a baby tomorrow! I wanna be YOUR baby tomorrow!” Carrie melted back into Mommy and hugged Riley close. “Awwwww. Riley! Of course we’ll be like this tomorrow. And the day after that and the day after that.” “Really?!” There were tears in Riley’s eyes. Happy tears. Deliriously joyful tears. “Of course, you silly thing!” Mommy promised. “You’ll always be my Little One.” Riley still didn’t know what that meant. Didn’t much matter, either. Few things do when you’re that happy.

Therapy Session 1 (already in progress) “I’m not doing it,” Ciara said, arms crossed. “I’m not doing it. Not gonna happen.” Dr. Mattis looked at Ciara from across her office. “That’s your choice.” Ciara waited for her to continue. Nothing happened but silence. “But?” Ciara prodded. “No buts,” the shrink said. “‘But’ implies that you don’t have a choice, and you do. It’s just a matter of whether you are willing to accept that your choices will have ramifications.” Ciara kept her voice steady. “What kind of ramifications?” “Considering that you’re here under court orders, violating that order will result in you going to jail. If that’s acceptable to you, you may leave and I will be legally mandated to report it to your parole officer. If not…” There it was. There was the threat. Stay or go to jail. That was the choice Ciara faced: bullshit new age therapy, or a month in jail, and Ciara could not afford to miss work for a month. It was such bullshit. All of this was bullshit. An unpaid toll led to a suspended license, led to arguing in court, led to Ciara losing her temper to...this. Court mandated anger management. “Look,” Ciara said. “I understand that you’re just doing your job. Please understand that I’m incredibly frustrated by all this.” “I agree,” Dr. Mattis said, a pen coming up to ruby red lips. “And your feelings are valid. It was a literal series of unfortunate events that brought you here. It is, frankly, bullshit.” Ciara sat up from the overly cushioned couch she’d plopped on. “So you don’t think I have an anger problem?” The doctor lady laughed at that. “Oh-ho-ho! I think you do have an anger problem.” “But you just said-” “I think it’s bullshit that it took a judge finding you in near contempt of court to bring you to me. You definitely have an anger problem.” Ciara’s hopes sank, and with them so did her posture. Figures that this lady would think she had an anger problem; she was an anger management specialist. Hammers saw nothing but nails. “Oh…” was all she could say. This was gonna be a looooong court mandated treatment. “I don’t think you have the anger problem that the court diagnosed you with.” Ciara arched a ginger-colored eyebrow. “You don’t?” Dr. Mattis shook her head. With her raven black hair done up in a bun, the back of her head almost looked like one of those little stubby-tailed dogs wagging their butts. “Not at all. I think your anger is more self-destructive than anything else” She gave Ciara a long, hard look. “Let me guess: you heard the words ‘life isn’t fair’ a lot growing up, right?” Green eyes batted in confusion. “Yeah?” Ciara said. “Who hasn’t?” “You’ve had to make compromise after compromise after compromise.” “Life is compromise,” Ciara agreed. “And you’ve been good. Held control of your temper.” Ciara was nodding along. Then the doctor ventured. “Oldest child or only?” “Only. How-?” The doctor just kept bowling over her, not letting Ciara get in a word in edgewise. “So you’ve always had to be a tiny adult, right?” “No, I-” “Never really silly, and having to accept circumstances as they were instead of how they could be.” “Doesn’t everyb-?” “Always settling for less?” Ouch...that one hit her. “Never getting what you really want?” Ciara opened her mouth to object and stopped herself. Then, after a moment, she said, “Well...when you put it that way...” The doctor pushed her wire-rimmed glasses back up the bridge of her nose. “Ciara, I don’t believe that you’re destructive toward others. I think you’re potentially damaging to yourself. You’re the type of person who just takes it and takes it and takes it. You never get to dish it out.” The ends of Ciara’s mouth plummeted to the carpet. “Yeah…” she said. Ciara had read somewhere that it took more muscles to frown than to smile, but there was a certain relief that came with frowning. For the first time that she could remember, Ciara felt like she was letting her guard down. There was a sense of relief in admitting it. Nervous fingers picked at curly red hair. “That’s what happened with the judge,” Dr. Mattis said. “You’ve taken it and taken it and taken it and just lashed out at the wrong person. And right now, I’m betting that your brain is telling you that the mistake you made was not keeping things more under control. You didn’t keep your guard up enough.” “I guess so…” Ciara said. Still frowning. Finally being honest with herself. Fuck. Spelled out like that it made perfect sense. Leaning forward in her chair, Dr. Mattis said, “I’m betting that frown you’re wearing is feeling pretty good, all the same.” Ciara wanted to die from embarrassment and shock. Was this lady a psychic? She wanted to scream and dig into this couch and hide from the world. “No,” Ciara lied. “It feels awful.” “Does it?” the doctor said. “Does it really?” Her tone wasn’t harsh, but Ciara couldn’t help but feel like a little girl caught in a lie. “You pen up all this anger inside of you, Ciara,” Dr. Mattis told her, “but you’ve got fatigue from doing it. It’s only going to get worse from here unless you can find a way to properly express your emotions.” “How do I do that?” “Complete and total emotional honesty,” the doctor replied. “Saying exactly how you feel to people when you feel it.” Ciara pointed to the frilly pink panties on the table between them. “Okay. But why do I have to wear those?” They were clearly sized for an adult, but they looked like something a three year old might wear. Who the fuck made My Little Pony underwear for adu-...Bronies existed...never mind. “They’re little girl panties.” “I know what they are. Why, though?” Dr. Mattis blinked and looked as though she were doing complex mental math. “They’re a psychophysical trigger. Wear them to help keep your emotional guard down.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “A small but vital way to reinforce your emotional vulnerability and help you let your guard down. Very hard to feel tough in something like those,” she motioned to the panties. “So kind of like I’ve hit rock bottom, so there’s nowhere to go but up?” “Something like that.” Ciara tossed the concept around in her mind. It was only pink underwear with cartoon characters and some frills along the waistline. Lots of girls wore girlier and/or sluttier. “I don’t have to show anybody, right?” “Not at all,” Dr. Mattis assured her. The young woman reached across and dared to pick them up. It almost felt like she was holding some kind of voodoo talisman. “Um...okay then.” “Good,” the doctor stood up from her chair. “I’ll make sure you get several packs of these to take home.” She took the pink undies from Ciara “But first...” She inserted her fingers into the waistband and popped them open. “Step in.” “Now?” Ciara asked. “Right here? Right now?” “Yes,” the doctor said. “No better way to acclimate than right away.” “Do I have to take my pants off?” “Ideally,” Dr. Mattis replied. “Unless you’d like some help with that.” There should have been some kind of sarcasm or threat, Ciara sensed, but there wasn’t. This woman was genuinely offering to help Ciara strip and change her underwear. “Can’t I just change in the bathroom?” “I don’t have a bathroom.” “I don’t like this…” “Good!” The doctor smiled. “Progress already! Good job expressing your feelings.” “But I’m…” “Don’t worry,” Ciara was interrupted. “I’m a doctor. You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before, and I do this all the time with my clients.” Nervous fingers were already unbuttoning her pants. “Well...okay then,” Ciara said, despite every instinct in her body telling her to kick the bitch in the chin and run. Quickly, Ciara stepped out of her sneakers so she could slide her jeans off. Off came the jeans, then her perfectly sensible granny panties. Then, like a two year old that hasn’t quite mastered dressing herself, she stepped into the little girl undies sized for an adult woman. “Up we go!” Dr. Mattis cooed, sliding the panties up Ciara’s legs and over her hips, letting the waistband fall in place with a tiny snap. “Such a good girl! So pretty!” Ciara could feel her cheeks turning scarlet. Pure scarlet. Nimble, well-manicured hands gripped Ciara’s shoulders and turned her towards the office door. So that’s what the mirror on the reverse side was for. Standing back from the mirror, Ciara saw herself, a grown woman in a green tank top, wearing frilly pink panties with Lamb Chop on the front. Behind her, holding her shoulders, in a black pantsuit and looking very much like a proud mother, was Dr. Mattis. Then the most alien thought entered Ciara’s brain. Holy shit, she felt kind of pretty. Cute, even. “You like?” Ciara didn’t want to admit it, but she nodded her head anyways, all but tucking her head into her chest in an attempt to hide. Her therapist walked over to a speaker and pressed a button. Gentle, lilting xylophone music tinkled into the office. “What I’d like to do, next,” she said, “is to guide you through some minor meditation exercises...” Ciara barely noted that Dr. Mattis was inserting ear plugs. Session 2 “Have you been wearing your big girl panties?” Dr. Mattis began the session. That was odd, Ciara thought. Was that what her therapist had called them last session? She could have sworn that Dr. Mattis had said something else. “I thought they were little girl panties.” The other woman seemed amazingly amused by this. “Little girl panties? Who would call them little girl panites? Are you a little girl?” “NO!” Ciara yelped before shutting her mouth instantly. She hadn’t meant to say it. That is to say, she HAD meant to say it, but not like that. Not so...so..childish. She was yelling at the judge in traffic court all over again. “Just as we discussed during last week’s guided meditation, you’re wearing big girl panties. It’s not like they’re training pants.” Abruptly she changed the subject. “How have you been feeling?” “Not great,” Ciara admitted. “I’ve started crying more often.” She looked down at her feet. “Like, my boss yesterday said that I was late on delivering a last minute report, and I had to run to the bathroom just so he wouldn’t see me cry.” Dr. Mattis nodded. “Good,” she said. “Very good.” “Good?” “Crying means you’re learning to process your emotions. You’re stressed. The world is unfair. But instead of holding it all end and letting yourself explode, you’re expressing yourself and crying. Does crying feel good to you?” Yes. “No…?” It was like the therapist could see through Ciara’s lie and just chose not to address it. “Good...good.” She took a seat on the couch next to Ciara. “If the crying reflex you’ve developed is bothering you, I might have something that will help.” Crying reflex? Holy shit! That described it perfectly. All week long, Ciara had felt a terrible compulsion to just tear up at even the slightest set back. It was like someone was hammering on her tear ducts. “What kind of help?” Dr. Mattis reached into her pocket and pulled out a plastic bag. Inside the plastic bag, a little rubber bulb with a shield guard rested. In other words, it was a pacifier. “Object transferal.” “I am not putting that in my mouth!” “Oh really?” Dr. Mattis asked. “Are you not in control enough for a simple therapy exercise? Are you that undisciplined? Do you even lack that degree of control?” Ciara’s lip started trembling. She had control! She did! Really! Her own resolve was crumbling, even as she took stock of it. She thought she was doing well! She’d worn her big girl panties all week and been honest with her emotions. She was allowing herself to feel, and like a good girl she was listening to the meditation files at home every night, too. The catharsis was just amazing! Addicting. And here she was feeling like a total idiot; all because she didn’t want to put a stupid pacifier in her mouth. “I...I...I…” her voice was trembling even as she tried to choke out the words. *pop!* Past shaking lips, the pacifier fairly zoomed and stuck itself between her teeth, courtesy of her therapist. Ciara shuddered. An electric shock went through her spine. Pure relief. Instant relaxation. Without even being prompted, Ciara started sucking as she oozed back into the couch cushions. Oh god. It was like a screwdriver had been injected directly into her veins. It was like pot. “Better?” Dr. Mattis asked. Ciara nodded. No hesitation this time. She was sucking on rubberized morphine. Holy shit. “Good,” the doctor lady seemed to approve. “Very good. I see you’ve been listening to the files I prescribed.” Ciara felt a surge of pride at the praise. She was a good girl! Why should that make her feel proud? No...no. Her therapy called for complete emotional honesty. No more pent up anything. “Fenkoo,” Ciara mumbled over her pacifier. “From now on,” her therapist instructed, “whenever you feel overwhelmed, just use the pacifier. It will calm you but allow you to process.” She reached for her ear plugs and started up the xylophone recording. “Let’s do another guided meditation together, yes?” Yes. Very much yes. Just the sound of the childish instrument was starting to make Ciara feel drowsy. “Duh uh haftuh tik muh pnts uff?” she mumbled around the rubber teat. Without asking, Dr. Mattis yanked the pacifier out of Ciara’s mouth. “Come again?” Ciara felt a surge of panic. Her paci! No! She dug her fingernails into her knees to keep calm. “Do I have to take my pants off?” she repeated herself. “You can if you’d like,” Ma...Dr. Mattis said. She popped the pacifier back in Ciara’s mouth. Sweet relief! “It’s best if you're comfortable.” That made sense, Ciara reasoned. The dark haired woman hadn’t even finished the last sentence when Ciara’s pants were sliding down past her ankles. She’d been listening to these meditations just before bed, so it made sense to wear as few clothes as possible; it’s what she did before bed. A gentle tap by the taller woman on her own lap was all Ciara needed to lay her head down as the soft music and the therapist’s reassuring intonations lulled her into a trance. Soft reassuring hands started to stroke Ciara’s long and curly hair. For the first time in weeks, her light-skinned freckled face broke out in a quiet smile, and felt relief instead of disappointment or panic. Who cared if that smile was largely hidden behind something meant for a baby? Ciara didn’t. Session 3 (Already in session) “What makes you think they’re all laughing at you?” “Cuf vere aw wuffink ut meh!” No tears were coming just then, but Ciara couldn’t help but feel just a little frustrated. Her eyes drifted past her nose, allowing her to realize she had her paci in her mouth. “Cuz they were laughing at me!” she said after spitting the bulb out. “And how does that make you feel?” Great. NOW the lady wanted to sound like a typical therapist. Clutching the infantile item for comfort, Ciara replied with, “It makes me feel like I wanna cry, that’s what.” Dr. Mattis remained unphased. “So in summation,” her therapist said, (Ciara hated when Dr. Mam...Dr. Mattis used big words like that) “your coworkers discovered your binky and teased you about it.” “Mmm-hmm.” Already the binky was back in Ciara’s mouth. She didn’t consciously realize that that was the first time her therapist had called her coping device a ‘binky’. Nor did she realize that she was now thinking of the little rubber teat as a ‘binky’ when moments before it had been a ‘paci,’ and a ‘pacifier’ before that. Ciara might have been a little shocked if she had. Whatever she mentally labeled it, it was emotional heroin. Baby girl needed her fix. Needed it bad. “They teased you about it, and you wanted to cry?” “Mmm-hmm.” “And to stop yourself from crying, what did you do?” “Puh muh bnkee in muh mowf.” Dr. Mattis made some notes in her big fancy chair. “Good. Very good. I’d say you handled that situation very well. Excellent object transference. Good girl.” “Funkyoo?” More notes from Ma...the doctor. What was she writing? Why wasn’t she helping? Ciara could only comfort herself by sucking on the binky a little more. She shifted, feeling a little uncomfortable. She had to pee, too. Don’t think about it don’t think about it don’t think about it. “So what should I do?” Ciara asked, finally feeling emotionally strong enough to speak without her binky. “About what?” “About the laughing.” She couldn’t handle another week of the snickers of co-workers behind her back. Ciara had never seen ‘nonplussed’ before, but Dr. Mattis’s expression perfectly expressed it. “Oh. That?” the good doctor said. “Just ignore it, I guess.” “Juph inow ih?” Ciara said before spitting the binky out again. How had it gotten back in there? “How am I supposed to just ignore it? Everyone at my job is making fun of me.” “I think it says more about them than it does about you, don’t you think?” “I phin,” she took the rubber bulb out just enough to talk. “I think it says that I look ridiculous.” “I don’t think you look ridiculous,” her grown-up doctor said. But her friends at schoo...work did. And that’s what hurt the most. “Buh-” she started to say. Dr. Mattis cut her off. “Does your job require that you talk overmuch?” “Nnn-nnn,” Ciara said. “So your binky isn’t hurting your productivity?” “Nnn-nnn” “Then I fail to see the problem.” Her therapist was talking to her slowly and calmly, the same way that an adult might patiently address a well liked but particularly fussy child. Softly (but not too softly), Ciara stomped her foot in frustration. Sometimes not talking was the best way for her to express herself, she was finding. Dr. Mattis removed her classes and rubbed at her temples. “Would it help if I wrote you a note?” Like a prescription! Yeah! That made sense. They couldn’t make fun of Ciara if she had a prescription for her binky. It’d be for therapy. The redhead was practically bouncing at the idea. “That’s fine,” Dr. Mattis said. She finished rubbing her temples and replaced her glasses before making a few more notes on her notepad. “That’s fine.” Ciara was working her binky, in joy this time, instead of anxiety. “Is there anything else that I need to know?” Dr. Mattis asked when she was finished writing things down. Ciara was now practically playing with her binky, popping it in and out of her mouth like a lollipop. “I’ve been taking this to bed with me,” she said in one of the spare moments where it was out. It came about so naturally. She’d been taking the thing with her for her meditation sessions before bed, and she tended to drift off soon after... Dr. Mattis waved that problem off as quickly as she had the last one. “Binkies are fine for bed. What else?” What else? What else? What else could there be… Her entire face buzzing with embarrassment, Ciara felt the blood drain out of her. Oh yeah...that. “I’ve been having...accidents at home,” she said. “Excuse me?” her therapist said, leaning forward. “What did you say?” Dark brows furrowed with concern. “I’ve been havin’ accidents.” She shouldn’t have told the other woman that, Ciara knew. But it was something she only realized after she said it. It’s almost like she already knew. What was up with that? “Spatial disorientation isn’t typically a symptom for this kind of treat-” “No,” Ciara interrupted. Furrowed brows became cocked. “I beg your pardon?” “I’m not hurting myself or falling down.” Ciara breathed deep. Now or never, girl. “I’ve started to wet.” All the tension left Dr. Mattis. “Oh, is that all?” she said. “I’m sorry. I misunderstood.” “But I’m wetting the bed.” “That just means that your body is processing through your negative emotions the same way your brain is. It’s just unconsciously letting its guard down. Nothing more. Nothing less.” “Buh um wuddin da but.” Darn it. Binky was back in. This time it didn’t stop Dr. Mattis from understanding. “I have just the thing.” Standing up from her chair this time, the doctor went to the back of her office and bent down low to fetch something. From a back cabinet, amongst a cluster of similar packages, the therapist withdrew a medium sized box of clear, plastic, tightly constraining bits of pink. Like a cat bringing a dead canary to its owner, Dr. Mattis displayed the contents to her client. “Here you are, dear.” “Diapers?” Ciara gasped, the binky finally tumbling to the floor. “Diapers?” The other woman seemed as if she were stifling a laugh. “No. These are Pull-Ups. You can put them on yourself.” Ciara didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t this! “But-” “These are only for bedtime,” Ma...Dr. Mattis promised. “You’re still a big girl, in your big girl panties, during the day time.” She wanted to say ‘No.’ She desperately wanted to scream, or curse, or punch the dark haired woman. But the anger flooded right out of her as soon as she experienced it. Instead, all Ciara could make herself say was, “Promise?” “Of course, dear.” Her Therapist dug out her ear plugs. “Now, let’s finish the therapy session on a strong note. Time for some guided meditation for your emotions.” Ciara was yawning before Mama finished the sentence; her head placing itself in the other woman’s lap. The pacifier found its way back to her mouth, and her eyelids started getting heavy. … … ... “Ciara...Ciara? Ciara?” “Huh?” Ciara opened her eyes, feeling as if woken from a pleasant dream; a common side effect after her meditations, especially the guided ones. “It’s not your fault, dearie.” She yawned. “You told me you were having accidents and I should have prepared you…I should have listened. This is Mama’s fault….my fault, I mean.” Ciara woke up to a cold dampness from the waist down and a wet dark patch that had bloomed out and soaked her pants. She would have thought she’d be used to waking up wet after this past week. But doing it in front of someone else made it so much worse. Not even the pacifier could stop the tears this time. Dr. Mattis stroked Ciara’s hair and shushed her. “I know. I know. Don’t worry. You’re not in trouble.” It wasn’t the idea of being in trouble that made Ciara cry so. It was the complete lack of any kind of autonomy or control she felt. Her guard was completely down and even in this most dreadful and humiliating of moments, she secretly relished the comfort being heaped upon her. Or maybe it wasn’t so secret... “I don’t have anything dry for you to change into. Would you like help getting into the Pull-Ups? I can walk you to your car so that you can get home.” Ciara could only sniffle and nod her consent. ***************************************************************************************** Session 4 Ciara walked in, humming. The meditations had finally kicked in, and her anger and tension had melted away over the previous seven days. That wasn’t why she’d been humming, however. Ciara needed the humming to cover up the crinkling as she moved into the office and took her usual spot on the couch. “Good morning, Doctor.” “Good morning, Ciara.” Dr Mattis’s tone was equally cheery. “I trust you’re doing well.” Ciara beamed. “Yup-yup! I’m doin’ really bestest!” Bestest? Was that even a word? Screw it. It was now. No point in holding on to the grief. Right? Right. Speaking of holding on, she didn’t need to constantly have her binky in her mouth anymore. A shoe string around her neck took care of that need. Ciara had felt like Abraham Lincoln when that apple had fallen on his head and he invented the theory of relativity. Wait, what? Ciara banished the cognitive dissonance right out of her brain. So smart! Finally, things were looking up for her! A thin, amused smile spread out from Dr. Mattis. The dark haired woman seemed almost as happy to see Ciara as Ciara was to see her. She was close to a breakthrough- she knew it! “How are you doing?” her therapist asked. “I’m good.” This time, Dr. Mattis took a seat right next to Ciara instead of across from her in the chair. “Good,” she said. “Do you feel better about your accidents?” “Yes?” Ciara chirped. “I mean no. I mean they’re fine. Fine.” “Still wetting your pants?” Last session, they were just accidents. “Yes…” “But only at night?” “Yes…” A lie. A bold-faced lie. She’d made it a total of one day dry last week. Could it really be an accident if she’d given up on trying? She picked up her binky and plugged it in between her lips. Mommy nodded her approval. Mommy?! Dr. Mattis! “Good,” the doctor said. “Still wearing your big girl panties?” Not in close to a week. She was wearing her Pull-Ups right now, hence the humming. She nodded. “Mmm-hmm.” She worked on her binky to help relieve the tension. “Are you dry?” the doctor asked. She wasn’t sure, to be honest. These diapers...pull-ups...were so absorbent. So cushy. So comfortable. It had gotten hard to tell the difference between wet and dry. It might have had something to do with how squishy she felt. Squishy was dry, right? Part of her was scared that she couldn’t quite recall the answer. “Ciara?” Dr. Mattis interrupted. “I asked you a question. Did you have an accident? Are your panties dry?” “Mmm-hmm…?” Was it a lie if she didn’t know what the truth was? Darkly painted nails slipped up Ciara’s baggy shorts, the only pair she had left that could accommodate her new padded undies. “I’ll check.” Ciara sucked harder on her binky. No time to refuse. Barely any time to brace herself. And yet something felt right about this. Mommy was just checking her pants for her. That’s what her brain said. Don’t scream. Don’t kick. Just be a good girl and let Mommy check. “Hmmm…” Dr. Mattis, said. She was wet! Even if Ciara wasn’t wet, Dr. Mattis knew she’d lied about wearing her big girl panties anymore. These were nothing like big girl panties, were they? HOLY GEEZ she couldn’t remember and that freaked her out even more! Mommy withdrew her fingers and cleaned them on a wet wipe. “And what about your job?” Ciara let the binky drop and dangle on her shoestring. “My job?” “Have the people been laughing at you at your job?” “No,” Ciara sighed in relief. “Definitely not.” This was true. Mostly because she hadn’t gone to work. Her meditations had led her to decide to not show up. The idea of calling in just made her panic to the point of tears. She just didn’t show up. They’d get by without her. “Good.” There was a pause as Dr. Mattis kept looking at her...looking through her. Ciara was doing everything she could to stay out of her own head. The girl felt that if she spent any more time in there, she’d drown. “Okay,” Dr. Mattis chirped. Ciara felt a new wave confusion wash over her. “Okay.” “We’re done here. You can go.” Ciara stood up from the couch, not even humming to cover up the crinkle this time. Mommy...Dr. Mattis knew. “Oh,” she said. “So...see you next week?” A dark chuckle came from dark lips. “No. I think we’re done. No more anger. You’re acting like a big girl by wearing your big girl panties. You’ve clearly been doing your meditations. You’re cured.” “Can I get another pack of…?” She paused and gestured down to her waist. “For the road?” Dang it! Why didn’t she just gesture to the cabinet? “The pack I gave you should last most of this next week.,” the lady said. The redhead found herself whining. “But...but…” “And Depends will do well enough if your bed wetting persists.” Dr. Mattis said. “They’re not as cute, but they’ll get the job done.” It wasn’t just bed wetting! If only! And job?! “But...but...I can’t...I may have quit my job.” It felt like word vomit spewing out of her. “You quit?” “I just didn’t show up all week!” “Ciara. That’s not something a big girl does? Is it?” It wasn’t. “I...I...I...words are hard right now.” Ciara wanted to crawl inside her own brain and claw out the words she was supposed to have right, like picking out needles from a cactus. “Words typically are hard for little girls.” “I’M A BIG GIRL!” she cried, stomping her feet. Those words came out easily enough. Finally, Dr. Mattis stood up. She seemed so much taller to Ciara, even though neither of them had really changed. “Do big girls lie?” she asked. “Do they quit their jobs?” Ciara went for her binky again, only to find it snatched from her. Her thumb had to suffice. “Do big girls suck on binkies or their thumbs?” “Y-y-yeph?” “Really?” “No...” Shocked as she was, she couldn’t react quickly enough to stop the grown-up from yanking her shorts down, exposing the big saggy pink padding clinging to her bum. “Do they need diapers?” she was asked. The girl couldn’t help but feel defensive. Literally couldn’t help it...“These aren’t diapers, they’re-” “I didn’t say ‘wear diapers’.” Mommy all but spat. “I said ‘need diapers’. Pull-ups are for little-girls learning how to be big girls. They still make it to the toilet sometimes. When was the last time you went potty all by yourself? The redhead felt deflated. She was beyond embarrassment. Beyond anger. She felt nothing but exhausted. “I’m not a big girl,” Ciara finally said. “I’m...I’m not a little girl. I’m..I’m a baby.” It was true. The meditations had led her here. It was self evident. This was just the physical manifestation over her inability to control herself. Mommy went over to the back cabinet in her office. Left drawer this time. “Then let’s have you look the part, dear.” What she came back with weren’t Pull-Ups. They were white. And much thicker. And the baby blocks on the front literally spelled out who they were meant for. “Lay down, baby.” A little gasp escaped her as she laid back down on the couch and Mommy ripped open the sides of her Pull-Ups. The feeling of the wet mushy stuff being unfolded away from her was a palpable relief. They were a bother to deal with anyway.. “No…” the words came out of her automatically. “No…” Again the word as this stranger...as her Mommy...gently caressed her nethers with a cold babywipe. Mommy ignored her, instead humming a familiar tune, a lullaby, not unlike the gentle melodies in her meditation tracks. Like a good girl, Ciara lifted her hips so that the grown-up could take away the yucky Pull-Up. It was practically second nature to do so. “Hold-on-hold-on-hold-on,” Mommy chuckled as she quickly unfolded a fresh diaper. “Rookie mistake, I know!” Ciara sniffed. The smell of her old pee-pee mixed with the perfume of the fresh diaper that Mommy was sliding under her. “No….” Why was she still saying this word? She wanted this! She needed this! Mommy started sprinkling bits of baby powder on Ciara. “Nooooo…” she moaned. WHY?! SHE NEITHER WANTED THIS NOR NEEDED THIS! THIS IS JUST WHO SHE WAS! WHO SHE HAD ALWAYS BEEN! The diaper metamorphosed as Mommy pulled the plastic backed padding up between Ciara’s legs and taped the ends together. From useless rectangle to cute and indispensable clothing; a part of Ciara’s identity. “Seems like someone is on the verge of another tantrum,” Mommy said, a hint of concern in her tone. Mommy then laughed and smacked her forehead. “Of course. Silly me!” She went for her earplugs. “We’re not done yet.” No...no...please no. The music was playing again. The beautiful music. Words were going bye bye now. Ciara was gurgling now as Mommy put her head in her lap. Her eyelids were getting heavy. Was this dying? Part of her was afraid so. A bigger part liked it. Other words, last words, flashed in the front of the big baby’s brain. “Bye-bye.” Mommy Mattis all but melted at hearing it. Lovingly she stroked her new daughter’s hair. Those were the last words of the therapy. Proof that the subliminal messaging had run its course. All she’d need is two more words to lock everything in. Two little words and Ciara would be all hers, and she’d be perfect. Needed. Complete. “Good baby.” (Fin)

First Timer Jane the newlywed dialed her mother-in-law, Kathy. “Hi, Jane. How are you today?” “Good, good. Do you have a moment?” “Sure. Is Timmy okay?” She was anxious; she’d never even sent him away to camp, and now someone else owned him. “He’s fine,” Jane replied, looking through the living room to where Timmy was standing in the corner. “I’m having a little trouble with him and was hoping you could help me out.” “Of course. Whatever I can do.” Her son had been married to Jane for two, now almost three, days. It was a big transition for everyone but especially Tim, like it is for all men, and doubly so because he had only ever had one owner, his mom. When she gave him away, she knew Jane would do things a little differently than she had in rearing him to age twenty-three, but of course that was much easier for Kathy to understand than Timmy. “We’re having a little power struggle,” Jane reported. “Someone didn’t want to eat his vegetables because they’re not the way his mommy makes them, and that led to a tantrum, and now someone is waiting in the corner for a spanking.” “O my.” Kathy knew Jane was pro-spanking when she agreed to give her Timmy to her. Kathy was not pro-spanking. “Well, what can I do?” “Could you maybe have a little talk with him to reiterate things are different now and he needs to follow my directions?” “Um, I can. Won’t that undermine you?” She didn’t want to undermine Jane, and she didn’t want to participate in her son’s spanking in anyway. “No, I don’t want to force him if I don’t have to, and I think he’ll cooperate if he understands me being in charge means kn charge of everything. I know we’ve both had that talk with him several times, but one more time from you would help.” She drove hard a bargain on the dowry because, obviously, the best trained men didn’t need to be told that more than once. “But do you really have to spank him,” Kathy asked. She didn’t want her to. “Well, I definitely do now. I can’t go back on it the very first time I give him a punishment.” “No, I suppose not.” “And I may not in the future. We’ll just see how he responds to it. It doesn’t work on every man.” Though she knew it worked on the vast majority; she expected it would work very well on a man who needed it as much as Timmy did. “But since I told him he’s getting a spanking, I have to follow through.” “No, I agree,” Kathy said reluctantly. She hoped this would teach Jane to think twice before deciding on a spanking. “But I don’t want to scare him or traumatize the poor guy. I could force him, but I was hoping you’d have a little talk with him and maybe convince him to cooperate like a good boy.” Kathy didn’t respond for a moment. She was in a crummy position. She didn’t want her son spanked, but he wasn’t just her son anymore. Her son was married now, and she had to support her daughter-in-law. That would be best for Timmy in the long run. “Okay, I’ll do my best.” “Thank you. I’ll put you on speakerphone.” She did and walked to the living room, coming up behind her obstinate husband and taking him by the ear back to the sofa. “Ow ow ow,” Timmy whined. He was such a drama queen, but his ows only made Kathy more concerned. She swallowed it down. Sitting on the sofa with him, Jane said, “Your mother is on the phone and has something to say to you.” She said it calmly but firmly. Timmy was sure his mom would get him out of this. She’d gotten him out of lots of things. She didn’t even let the daycare teachers spank him, and they spanked everybody. “Timmy?” “Hi, Mom. Jane wants to spank me because I wouldn’t eat her vegetables and I like vegetables but yours are good and hers aren’t yours and I don’t get spanked tell her I don’t get spanked ... please?” Kathy listened to the rush of words and let him finish. “Timmy, remember what we talked about at your bachelor party before the wedding? Things are different at other people’s houses, and your Jane’s husband now. You live at her house now. You need to try different things and do as she tells you.” “But I don’t like her vegetables.” “Did you even try them? I bet she makes yummy vegetables.” “No ... but she says I need a spanking and I don’t and never have and don’t want one because everybody says they hurt and I don’t want one and people aren’t allowed to because you always said.” “Timmy .... Timmy,” Kathy cut in. “You need to listen to Jane. If she says you need a spanking, you need to be a good boy and let her spank you.” That was so hard for Kathy to say, but she thought of it like pulling off a band-aid. Her Timmy would not respond well to spanking, she was sure, and Jane would come around to Kathy’s way of disciplining Timmy. “But I don’t get spanked. I don’t. Other men get spanked. I never get spanked. You never spanked me. I don’t get spanked. That’s for other men...” “Timmy ... Timmy ... Timothy Edward! Things are different in different houses. I never spanked you, but now Jane is your wife. If she decides you need a spanking, you’re getting a spanking.” “But ...” “No. You’re ... you’re getting a spanking, Timmy.” Timmy sniffled. “But I don’t ... but you never spanked me, Mommy.” Jane silently chuckled at how the prospect of a red butt turned Kathy from ‘mom’ into ‘mommy.’ “I know, baby ... but Jane is your wife now and she’s in charge of you. You love Jane, don’t you?” “Yes (sniff).” “And she loves you. She knows what’s best for you now, like we talked about. You need to listen to her.” “(Sniff). Okay.” “Be a brave boy and cooperate. Will you do that for Jane and me?” “Yeah ... but just this once?” Kathy hoped so, but replied, “Whenever she says, Timmy. I’m going to go now.” “Can I call you after?” “You can call her tomorrow,” Jane answered. “Say bye bye.” “Bye bye. Love you, Mommy. (Sniff).” “I love you too, Timmy. You’re such a brave good boy. Night night.” Jane took the phone off speaker and left Timmy sitting on the couch, walking back into the kitchen. “Thank you, Kathy. I know that was very hard for you.” She didn’t respond right away. “I ... that was very hard ... (sniff) ... but learning to respect your authority is important. He’ll be better off for it.” “He will,” Jane agreed, and chose not to add that had Kathy spanked him growing up and let other women do the same when he needed it, he wouldn’t be at all confused over who was in charge. She needed to train the man, but she didn’t want to frighten him or be harsh, hence calling her mother-in-law to have that heart-to-heart talk rather than spanking him into submission. She wasn’t ruling that out but wanted to avoid it if possible. “I promise he will,” Jane added. “Thank you again for talking to him. You made this much easier for both of us ... well, I’ll call again after breakfast.” “Promise me you’ll be gentle with him?” Jane opened the cupboard door, on the back of which hung a paddle just like the one that hung in her mother’s cupboard. Many is the time she’d fetched the paddle and handed it to her mom, who would thank her as she took with her right hand while she held her father or whichever brother was in trouble with her left. Jane ran her finger down the edge, debating whether it was too harsh an introduction to spanking or if a harsh introduction is what Timmy needed to learn she was in charge and to want to avoid future spankings at all costs. “I promise. Thank you again. I’ll give him a kiss for you when it’s over.” “Thank you.” “Have a nice rest of the afternoon.” “You too.” Jane hung up and considered her choices again. Turning back to look into the living room, she saw Timmy quietly crying where she’d left him on the sofa. She turned back and took the paddle down, thinking she’d see how he responded to her hand first but intending to give him at least two with the paddle at the end to drive the point home. “Timothy,” she said as she stood over him. He looked up at her and then at the paddle, his eyes transfixed by it. She sighed and sat down next to him, placing the paddle behind her and rubbing his back. For a moment she thought he was going to collapse onto her shirt front, but he didn’t. “Timothy, look at me please.” He did. “I’m very glad you married me, and I love you very much. Do you believe that?” “Yes ... I love you too.” “Husbands live with their wives, and their wives are in charge like their moms were in charge before. Things are different here, like your mom and I have both said. Does that make sense?” “Yes.” “That means you need to do what I say when I say it, even if it’s different than it was at your mom’s house. Understand?” “Mhmm.” Jane sighed. Her brothers and her father all knew the proper way to respond; she’d worry about driving that lesson home later, but she did add, “Then you say, ‘Yes Ma’am, I understand.” “Yes Ma’am, I understand.” “When you don’t do what I say, that tells me you need a spanking. So because you didn’t do what I said, I’m going to spank your bottom. It’s going to hurt, and the next time I tell you do something, you’re going to remember that spankings hurt, and you’re going to do what I say.” At least, Jane thought, that’s the goal, but men never do fully grasp the lesson no matter how many times it’s taught, at least not in her experience. “Do you understand?” “Yes Ma’am, I understand.” “Stand up, please.” Timmy stood slowly. Jane reached out and took him by his belt, tugging him gently in front of her. As she undid his belt, she decided she’d be dressing him in things with elastic waists for a while, at least until their first anniversary - much easier to take down for a quick on-the-spot correction. “Keep your hands at your sides,” she told him as she pulled his pants down. She noted his pants were wet and sighed. “Step out.” He did, leaving him in his socks, tee shirt, and a pullup that had been dry fifteen minutes ago. Jane thought it was really great how Kathy put so much faith in her husband and two sons, but she was more of a realist. The changing table she told Timmy was just for bedtime and was only stocked with overnights had plenty of room for daytime diapers, which were stacked in the no-no room in the basement. That was next week’s transition. She tore the sides of the pullup away, and Timothy covered himself. Who teaches men to be modest, she thought. She liked Kathy, but just didn’t understand why she’d go to such lengths. She’d be moving Timmy to a new daycare if they couldn’t handle Timmy the way she knew he needed to be handled, a change she negotiated with Kathy without too much difficulty (she’s just too much of a softie, Jane reflected), but when she told the daycare she’d be transitioning him back to diapers and expected them to discipline him like they did the other men, the head teacher practically had a new spark in her eye. With their help, she knew Timmy would be much better behaved by his twenty-fifth birthday. She set the wet things aside. “I said hands at your sides,” she told him firmly. She knew you didn’t need to raise your voice at well trained men. Timmy slowly complied. One more thing to work on. She felt a little sorry for him. She saw men’s lack of modesty as one of the few things about being a man that seemed enjoyable, that sense of bodily abandon (if not freedom). She looked up at him. “It’s time for your spanking. I’m going to lay you over my knee and spank your bare bottom until I think you’ve learned your lesson, and then we’re going to snuggle until you’ve calmed down and talk about what you will do differently in the future, and then we’ll get you in your jammies, and you’ll finish your dinner. Then it’s an early bedtime. Understand?” He nodded. “Do you have any questions?” “Am I allowed to cry,” he said with tears already running down his cheeks. “Yes, sweetie, you’re allowed to cry all you want.” She guided him over her lap, and he meekly let her, just as she hoped the little talk with his mother would lead to. “Ready,” she asked, when she got him situated. “Is it over when I start crying,” he asked. “No, sweetie, it’s not over when you start crying. Try to hold still.” She took a firm hold of his hip with her left hand and raised her right.

It’s really okay (The Dialogues #4) Becky had gone in search of a project, and he was somewhere in the house. Ben was thirty-six and had been married to an unkind woman his mother had finally pried him back from, and Becky was intent on helping him become happy again. Six months into their marriage, he mostly was, an active, talkative, kind man who liked YA fiction and playing in his wading pool in equal measures. He was wonderfully behaved, having needed just one correction since their wedding when Becky found him getting things out from under the sink, which turned out to be a misunderstanding. Still, he remembered his first wife, and when he was afraid he was in trouble the happy man disappeared and the frightened, cowed husband came back out. He would stopped playing, stopped talking, and go hide. By late morning, as Becky was wiping down the kitchen and getting ready to start on lunch, she realized it was too quiet. She went in search of Ben and found him in the corner of his bedroom, nose in the corner. “Ben, you okay, buddy,” she asked, wondering what the wounded man was afraid he’d done wrong now. He didn’t respond or turn around. She approached him and reached out to put her hand on his shoulder. He flinched and sniffled. She turned him around. “Why’ve you been crying, sweetie?” He didn’t answer. She didn’t expect him to, but she always asked anyway, her effort to help him know it was okay to tell her what he was feeling even when he was afraid. He was holding her hairbrush, a habit she surmised stemmed from being told to go and get it whenever he was in trouble with his first wife. She told him so many times she wasn’t ever going to spank him with the brush, but he would often go and get it anyway. She cursed the woman silently and took it from his hand, putting it in her pocket. She took him by the hand and led him toward his nightstand, where she always made sure was a box of tissues. She plucked one and wiped his tears away, bent her knees a little to look him in the eye, and said to him, “We’ve talked about this, remember? You’re not in trouble, sweetie. You don’t need to bring me the brush or put yourself in timeout. Remember?” He nodded slowly, but avoided looking her in the eye. She grimaced and reached for another tissue, holding it to his nose. “Blow for me,” she said in the nicest voice she had. He responded well to that tone most of the time. He blew his nose. “Can you tell me what happened?” He didn’t answer. She looked around the room. A broken toy, a small mess, a spilled cup - these were the sorts of things he was certain he would be in trouble for, and as much as she would tell him it wasn’t a big deal, that he wasn’t in trouble, and that he should go play while she fixed it or cleaned it up, he stand there silently. Only when whatever it was had been fixed and they’d had some cuddle time would he come back out and go back to being his happy, chatty self. She didn’t see any mess, so she took his hand again, and walked him to the bathroom. He liked to play with his boats in the tub. But there was no mess in there. She looked in the hamper, but there was no mess in there. He’d been playing upstairs since breakfast. “Benny, is there something you want to show me?” He didn’t answer. “Even if I double pinky promise again that you’re not in trouble?” She sighed and straightened up, giving him a kiss on his forehead and a hug. Maybe Beth, her wife, would be able to coax it out of him. She was coming home to have lunch with them and had an especially good rapport with him. Becky would sit with him on the couch until then, putting on a superhero movie and trying to interest him in it. She had an epiphany as she passed his room with him in tow and stopped, stepped around him, and pulled out the back of his diaper. “Nope,” she said, and felt around to his front. “Lets go change those wet pants.” Taking his hand again, she started toward his room. He didn’t pull away but he didn’t follow. “C’mon, silly. Don’t you want dry pants?” He started to silently weep again. She thought he was over his fear of using his diapers. His first wife had insisted on catheters and enemas and treated accidents harshly. Becky, Beth, and his mother had done so much work to get him over his fear of using his diapers. “Benny, honey, it’s okay. It’s okay. Let’s go get you into something dry.” He followed behind sheepishly. “Upsie Daisy,” she said and helped him onto his changing table. “Lie back.” He only cried harder. Becky looked around his bedroom for a binky, and not seeing one took his wrist and guided his thumb toward his mouth. She didn’t like thumb sucking, but was happy to let him if it would stop the tears and make him feel safe. “It’s okay, Benny, go ahead. It’s okay.” He accepted his thumb, and she went back to her task, getting out a wipe and a clean diaper. She dabbed at his tears again with the wipe, raising the pitch of her voice and and saying in the almost-melody that sent him to sleep each night, “There’s no need for those tears. You’re such a good boy. Such a good boy.” She untaped one side of the diaper, and he turned away, catching her by surprise. “Benny,” she said in the tone she reserved for her one-year-old niece, you silly man. You gotta hold still.” She reached for the other tape and he turned away. “Benny, why you being so silly? Huh? You gotta hold still for me. You gonna hold still and let me change your diapee?” He didn’t say anything but eased his hip back down, sucking hard on his thumb and looking away. “There we go. Dere we go! Hold still ...” She untaped and I opened the diaper. It wasn’t easy to see. If he hadn’t made a big deal out of it, she was sure she wouldn’t have noticed he’d cum in his diaper. She sighed. Different people had different opinions, but it never bothered her or Beth that men like Ben sometimes spontaneously ejaculated in their diapers. She was surprised Ben hadn’t yet; she assumed he had and she just hadn’t noticed, but seeing his reaction as she opened his diaper, his silent sobbing growing deeper, she realized this must’ve been the first time since their marriage and that his first wife had been one of those types. Becky and Beth had agreed when deciding to get him that baby talk would be kept to a minimum, reserved for scrapes knees, bedtime, and when he needed cheering up. They wanted to ween him off such babyish needs, but tears certainly fit within the exception, and Beth moved around to the side of the table so he could see her face smiling down at him. “Is dat all? Is that dat all you was afraid of?” She took his thumb away and gave him a kiss on his mouth, even parting her lips a little. “It’s okay,” she said, “it’s okay. That happens to men your age sometimes. You didn’t do anything wrong. It was just an accident, just like the other things you do in your pampers.” Like he had all the other times he thought he was in trouble, once she found what it was he’d done and told him it was okay and that he wasn’t in trouble, he tentatively smiled, as though until she discovered it, he wouldn’t believe her. “Aww. Dere’s a smile! Dere’s a smile! Ooo, such a good boy!” She looked down toward his feet. “I’m fact...” A devilish smile crossed her own face, and she reached for the rash cream under the table, applying it directly to his clitty. “Can you show Becky how you make a sticky cummy?” She wasn’t sure he actually knew how it happened and doubted he’d ever done it on purpose. She started to massage the head of his clitty between her thumb and forefinger, more than enough to manage his little stiffy. “Show Becky. Show Becky. Show me what a good boy you are ... What a cute clitty you have. Yes it is. Come on. Make a sticky cummy for Becky ... Come on ... Dere it is! Ooh, my! Yes, dere it is. Dat’s a good Benny. Such a good Benny.” His little load didn’t even shoot, just oozing out of his clitty and staying in the wet diaper open between his legs. She leaned down again and gave him another thorough kiss, not what she’d give Beth but appropriate for husband and wife. She smiled wide, beaming at him as she asked, “Do you believe me now? It’s okay for you to make cummies in your pampers. That’s what your adorable little clitty is for.” His smiled turned to confusion. “My what?” “Your clitty ... Your peepee ... Your peepee is also your clitty, honey.” She reached down and gave the soft thing between his legs a gently squeeze. “Same thing.” “Oh ... I’m really not in trouble?” “No, sweetie,” she chuckled, “you’re not in trouble. If you make cummies again, you don’t even have to tell us. Like we said, your pampers are our responsibility.” “Can ... can we do that again sometimes?” “Sometimes. I’ll even show you how to do it yourself, but you have to do it inside your pampers, okay?” “Okay.” She gave him another kiss, this time on his forehead, before wiping her hand and going about the diaper change. “You are such a sweet little guy ...Now,” she said as finished wiping him down, “let’s get your little clitty snug in some new pampers.” As she sealed the second tape, she heard the garage door. “Ooh, there’s Beth. She’s gonna be so happy to see you! ... All done!” She held out her hands and helped him sit up. “After lunch will you help me build a fort in the backyard,” she asked him. “Uhuh! Can I tell Beth about my clitty?” Becky laughed. “Tell her all about it!” She leaned forward and gave him a strong and meaningful hug. “She’ll be so proud of you, just like I’m so proud of you.” “Thank you, Becky. I love you.” “I love you, too, sweetie! Ah! There she is! Go tell her!” He hopped off the table and scurried out of the room faster than Becky could swat his little bottom. She chuckled as she cleaned up after the change. He was all man underneath his trauma, and she and Beth were so happy to help him come back out and see him find his happiness again.

The bus, old yellow cheese wagon that it was, pulled into the Fun Time Land parking lot. Melody looked out the window and rolled her eyes. So lame. Senior field trips were supposed to be fun: Late night trips to REAL amusement parks like Six Flags, or lock-ins on a college campus with chaperones that were shitty at their jobs. They weren’t supposed to be day trips to some dumb baby park. As if in confirmation, Melody spotted another school bus, repainted white and covered in tiny rainbow handprints. Great. They’d probably be the only kids here who didn’t need help wiping. Not kids, Melody reminded herself. Not her at least. Her birthday had been two weeks ago, (and some days it felt like she still had the hangover she’d earned). Grown-ass woman right here! All she had to do now was mark time for a month until she got her diploma. And if that meant going to some local kiddie tourist trap it was still better than Mrs. Jenson’s Fifth Period English class. She slumped forward, resting her head on the leather bench seat directly in front of her while the rest of these plebs just nattered away about unimportant bullshit. Please just let this day be over with quickly. The sooner she was passed out at home, the better. A quick poke on her shoulder reminded Melody that she wasn’t the only person suffering here. She pushed her mop of blonde hair out of the way and looked to her sidekick. “Yeah?” “You alright?” Beatrice asked. Beatrice was one of the few people that Melody felt something besides simmering contempt for; a bright spot since Mom and Steve had dragged her to this town last year. “Not really,” Melody grumbled. “This is going to be soooo boring.” Beatrice was unusually smiley this morning. “It’s cool. It’s tradition. For a lot of us, this was our first field trip. So it’s kind of...I dunno..poetic or something?” Melody lilted her head to the side and looked at her friend like a particularly judgemental cat looks at a mouse. Beatrice was cool, but sometimes the girl needed a little help. “You’re right,” Beatrice corrected herself. “Lame. Totally lame.” Much better. “I’m just glad you’re here to get me through it,” Melody allowed herself a moment of genuine human emotion. “Aw,” Beatrice chirped. The puppy had been given her bone. “Thanks Mel! Love you!” “You too, Bea.” “Besties!” “Besties.” They hugged; Beatrice squeezing a little harder than Melody. Heavy steps clomped to the front of the bus. Loafers, gray slacks, and a boring white polo, Dean Garfield took the sage. “ALL RIGHT, PEOPLE! LISTEN UP!” A voice like a drill sergeant and jowls like a bulldog, the dean knew how to command attention. Everyone stopped talking. “You all are seniors! Most of you are eighteen if not close!” There was a smattering of cheering that was cut off with a glare. “BUT...right now, you are under school jurisdiction. That means that if you get hurt or injured here, the school is liable. So for safety purposes, everyone is going to be grouped up and have an adult chaperone. ” “I’m an adult!” Melody shouted out with no small amount of cheekiness in her voice. “I’ll chaperone!” She couldn’t help herself. The old bulldog gave her a look and she looked back, unblinking. Beatrice clasped her hand and she squeezed back, keeping her mouth shut. Melody wasn’t that stupid. Her silence was enough. “Everyone is going to be grouped up and have a school approved volunteer.” Dean Garfield continued. “Everywhere you go will be as a group.” Chet Masters almost shouted out “Even the bathroom?!”. Almost. One of Chet’s friends was kind enough to elbow the wind out of him before he could be heard from the back. “Paradoxically,” Dean Garfield said, “you’re also representing our school. So if you make an ass out of yourself, it makes everybody look like an ass.” Hearing the old man- the actual adult- curse made a round of chuckles bubble up around the bus. “Or do you want a diploma from a bad school? Think about how everyone talks about Liberty High.” That got another round of chuckles, but this one was infinitely more thoughtful. For some, where the degree came from mattered. It’s why snooty old people name dropped Harvard and still wore their class rings. “Go ahead and stand up,” Dean Garfield said. “File out of the bus and you’ll be sorted into your travel groups.” Silence and quiet compliance followed as the herd of highschoolers stood up and made for the center aisle. “I gotta go give that speech to Bus 2,” the old man said and walked down the steps to the outside. A second later he popped his head back in. “Oh yeah,” he smiled. “AND HAVE FUN!” A chorus of whoops, claps, and stomps greeted that last announcement. For a complete tool, the guy did have a flash of showmanship. As soon as she got her diploma, Melody might even tell him that, she’d decided. It wasn’t long before middle aged housewives and unemployed dads wielding clipboards started herding the seniors up. Thankfully, both Melody and Beatrice managed to weasel into the same peer group. Everyone was put into groups of six. And true to society’s puritanical roots, they were very much unisex. Boyfriends and girlfriends gave each other goodbye hugs and snuck kisses (or didn’t sneak them). The few same sex couples that were out gave each other knowing winks and held hands. Cheeky bastards. A forty something lady with a short “Mom-cut” handed out tickets to the group. She stopped and eyed Mel and Bea. “Are those outfits dress code?” Great. One of those. Melody clicked her tongue. “Dress code is for school.” “And we’re at a school event.” She looked down at her clipboard. “Juniper? Melody?” The two pointed at each other, hiding their shit eating grins and laughter...poorly. Juniper was absent today, but Mom-cut didn’t know that. A quick over the shoulder look ensured that Beatrice’s actual group would be going on without her. No one with any brains wanted to incur the pair’s wrath. “Do me a favor.” Mom-cut pushed on. “Stand up straight. Arms down at their sides.” Ah, the old fingertip test. “Really?” Melody said, crossing her arms. “This isn’t middle school.” Such bullshit. She was wearing overalls. The leggings stopped well above the knee, showing off her gorgeous thighs, but it’s not like anyone could see her junk. Shouldn’t she be applauded for wearing something that made it harder to pee? And Bea had a perfectly acceptable, very tasteful, skirt on. Who cared if people could tell what color her panties were every time she bent over? Certainly not Mel. Definitely not Bea. Melody wasn’t even sure Bea knew how many times she’d given people a peak when she dropped something, and she was such a good friend, she was positive that Bea didn’t want to know. “Yeah.” Beatrice echoed. “We’re all adults here…” She looked to Melody. Melody nodded her approval. “So...yeah. Adults…” Mom-cut was not having it. “You heard what the dean said.” She started waving around the tickets like they were carrots on a stick. Melody hated carrots, but it was better than being talked at in a parking lot. “You represent more than just yoursel-” An unexpected ally came into the fight. “Don’t worry about it, Mom,” Gretchen Simone said. “Just give them their tickets and let’s get going.” So this was Gretchen Simone’s mother. Interesting! Also explained why Gretchen was such a pathetic bug. Getchen was the anti-Bea. Total snitch. Total narc. Good grades. Needed constant reminders about how much she sucked. Mom-cut Simone looked back at her narc of a daughter. “Alright sweetie,” she said. “You’re right.” She handed out the last two tickets. “Here you go girls.” “Thank yoooouuu…” the pair said, taking their tickets. The smile was fake. The tone was fake. It was all fake, and everyone kind of knew that. It made it all the sweeter, because there was no penalty for insincere apologies. Mom-cut started to lead the way past the ticket taker for Fun Time Land. The little exchange with Mom-cut, had caused the group to lag behind. The entire senior class was in front of them, moving in tight little clusters at the front of the park. Undoubtedly, they’d all start to spread out as it opened up to the different sucky rides and lame attractions. But right now, they were all traveling as one big group of rowdy teens with exasperated parents dotted in every now and then. Melody looked around the park at the other guests. It was about what she expected: Tourists who couldn’t afford to go somewhere good, retirees walking down memory lane, and other schools who wanted an easy field trip but didn’t have a budget. Mostly Elementary schools by the look of it. At least they didn’t have to wear group T-shirts like...she paused to read...Mrs. Wilkerson’s Toucans. Being right about how much this was going to suck didn't improve her mood. Time to pass the time and poke the bear; the cuddly cuddly wimpy cowardly bear. Melody slid up next to Gretchen. “And thank you, sweetie. I needed the backup there.” Gretchen kept looking straight ahead. A coward’s response. “Get over yourself,” she mumbled. “I just want to ride a few coasters.” The group was past the gate and well into the park proper by this point. Signs to the various attractions were pointing the way towards winding roads meant to obfuscate a person’s view. Amusement parks did this to force exploration. “They’re all old and lame.” Melody scoffed. She just couldn’t help herself. “None of these rides even go upside down.” “They’re still cool,” Bea butted in. Melody shot her sidekick ‘the look’, again. “I mean, lame. Stupid. They suck. I’ll be riding them ironically.” Melody turned her head to her sidekick. “No you won’t.” “I won’t?” Melody pointed to a sign pointing off to the far right. “Beer Garden,” Melody said. “How much you wanna bet we can score some?” Bea licked her lips. “I do like beer…” Gretchen snapped her head around so fast her ponytail could have cut through steel. “No!” She hissed. “You are NOT messing this up for me, Melody!” Melody couldn’t resist. “I’m Juniper,” she said, pointing to herself. “Or did you miss that part?” The girls couldn’t get in trouble if they didn’t get noticed. And if they got noticed, it’d still be hard to catch them if Mom-cut didn’t know their names. “I thought I was Juniper,” Bea said. “Am I Melody, now?” A sly smile came to Melody. “Maybe.” Only real obstacle was goodie goodie Gretchen. Melody could handle it. “Gretchen doesn’t know who we are, right? Maybe Gretchen doesn’t know where we went. She doesn’t even know our names, does she?” Melody took a peek at Gretchen. The meeker girl kept staring straight ahead, still intimidated. Good. She was grinding her jaw, a nervous tick when she was thinking, Melody had learned. Good. Gretchen was a wimp, but not stupid. “We just disappeared and Mommy has no leads to go on, right?” Melody waited for that to sink in. “Unless you want to spend all day chasing us. Cut into your widdle fun time. Chaperones can’t leave their group.” “You two are gonna get in so much trouble,” Gretchen whispered. “Nah,” Melody waved the idea off. “Probably just get chewed out. We’ve been chewed out before. And we’ll only get chewed out if we get caught.” A fork in the road was approaching them. The left led to rickety roller coasters and a game row with rigged contests and overpriced prizes. The right snaked around and took guests to The Kiddie Korral, and the Beer Garden. Their window of opportunity was closing. Gretchen wasn’t stupid. She was weighing her options, Melody could tell. Bea wasn’t stupid, either. “Come on, Gretchen,” she whispered. “Just don’t tell. That’s all we’re asking. We won’t be bothering you.” “This will probably be the last time we do a school field trip,” Mel added. “Do you really want it to be with us?” Good move. Go for the disgust card. Staring ahead, Gretchen nodded. “I don’t see you. I don’t know you. Go before I change my mind.” In the same insincere honeyed voice she’d used on Gretchen’s mother, Melody whispered the closest thing she could manage to actual thanks “Byyyye,” she cooed. “You kids have fun.” The group went left. Mel and Bea went right. The two walked fast, in rapid tiny steps, just waiting to hear a deep adult voice call out after them, or to hear the pounding of feet chasing them. None came. “Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look, don’t look,” Bea squeaked. Arm in arm, Melody leaned over to her sidekick. “I’m not. I’m not.” Melody took a quick glance back over her shoulder. “I’m not. I’m not.” The two grinned as if they were master criminals on the run from the law. “Okay,” she finally said. “I think we’re good.” The two stepped off to the side and breathed a sigh of relief. For the last hundred yards or so they hadn’t been looking where they were going as much as they were just going. Now they were taking the time to actually navigate. “Now where is that beer?” Melody asked herself, reading the various signs posted up. “Amphitheatre? Nope. Souvenirs? Nope.” Bea started helping. “Bathrooms? Nuh-uh. Petting zoo? No thanks. Kiddie Korral?” The two shared a look. Ugh. Little kids. “No,” they said in unison. It was Bea, bless her heart, that found the sign pointing to what they were really looking for. “Beer Garden! Over there!” The two started walking. Paved sidewalks gave way to more sophisticated looking cobblestones. Ah yes, the Beer Garden: For people who wanted to get drunk and pretend that they weren’t at a third rate theme park with no other theme than, ‘This is a thing’. “How are we gonna get any?” Bea asked as they started following the correct sign. Melody patted the bib on her overalls. “I’ve got my fake I.D.. Never leave home without it.” She could see that her sidekick was still worried. “They might not even card me,” she said. “It’s beer. Not liquor. What do they care if we have a sip?” Bea was slowing down already, her own self-doubt quashing her courage. “What if they card me?” she asked. “I don’t have mine.” Not breaking her stride, Melody grabbed Bea’s wrist. “Then you’ll stay back and I’ll buy the beer. You’re overthinking it,” she giggled. There was a statement Melody never thought she’d get to say. Before she could get over her own little joke, Bea dragged her to a sudden jerky stop. “Hey!” “Oooh!” Bea pointed down to a wafting ten dollar bill. “First glass is on me!” She bent down to pick up the money. Melody grabbed the collar of her shirt and yanked her back up. A passing group of park goers now knew that Bea’s underwear was red today. “Hey!” Bea squeaked. “What was that for? Melody picked up the bill, instead. “In case any bulls escaped the petting zoo.” “Huh?” “Never mind. Just know that I saved your life.” Without further comment or questions from her sidekick, they followed the path to their own personal main attraction. The roar of wooden coasters faded out and muted; replaced by the chirping of birds and the droning of violins being piped in from speakers hidden by strategically placed fern trees. Much less amusement, more park, in this section. Good. “Do you think we have to drink in the garden, or can we just buy and walk around?” “Drink it there,” Melody said. “Less risk of getting caught.” “Good point,” Bea agreed. “We’ll look super classy too. Sipping and enjoying the um...taste of the...uh...hops. Is that what old people say when they’re talking about beer?” “Yeah...sure…” Melody said. She was planning on gulping hers down as fast as possible. She wasn’t in it for the taste. The mere state of being buzzed would help make this crap day just a touch more bearable. The path wound a bit, causing the main area of the Beer Garden slowly curve into view. A good thing too, as it turned out. A crackle of static and a garbled drone could be barely heard over the quiet laughter of adults and a string quartet CD. “Be vye. Misting singers porridge. Peep hole leafing hair groots. Pee onna foot ow.” Bea planted her feet back and shot her hand out to the side, blocking Melody’s path. Melody stopped and looked over. “What’s up?” Bea had the focus of a basset hound that’d just sniffed a rabbit. “That’s a school issue walkie talkie,” Bea said. “I’d know it anywhere” It’s true. All the administration staff kept walkie talkies on them, sending messages and calling for reinforcements when fights broke out or the Superintendent paid a surprise visit or some other emergency warranted the attention of more than one professional killjoy. Discretion was generally ignored on the little black rectangles. The language wasn’t coded as much as unrecognizable thanks to poorly aging technology. Bea and Melody had spent so much time in Dean Garflield’s office, caught so many random updates blaring across the ancient speaker, it was a wonder it didn’t haunt their dreams. And Bea had started freshman year. If old ass walkie talkie had been a foreign language, Bea would be fluent. “Be advised,” she translated. “Missing seniors reported. People leaving their groups. Be on the lookout.” This. This kind of thing is why Melody kept Bea around. “I think I know whose walkie that is,” Melody said. “Roger that.” Through the ferns the pair could make out the vaguest outline of a certain bulldog of a human being. “I’m on the lookout. Nobody in the Beer Garden. That’d make it too easy anyways.” Bea elbowed Melody. “How about that!,” she whispered excitedly. “He was drinking on the job, too!” “Shut up, Bea” “Sorry, Mel.” “Why would they even bring the walkies?” Melody hissed. “Probably in case somebody like us skipped.” They about-faced and began heading back towards the park’s main walkways. “Just keep walking. Keep it cool. No need to freak out.” Melody didn’t know if she was talking to Bea or herself. “HEY!” An all too familiar voice called out. “YOU TWO!” Rigidly, Melody leaned over to her sidekick. “Just keep walking. He might not be talking to us.” The pounding of feet reverberated off of cobble stone and into their ears. “BEATRICE AND MELODY! I’M TALKING TO YOU!” Or maybe he was. The two delinquents didn't need to tell each other to run. They just did. “AND THAT’S NOT DRESS CODE!” Shit shit shit! A knowledge of basic tactics would have told the pair to split up and take separate routes as part of an escape maneuver. But loyalty trumps sense. More importantly, Bea was too scared to let Melody out of her sight and Melody had no way to trip her sidekick without falling herself. Cobblestones quickly turned into flat gray concrete and the roar of the coasters thundered into the air. “There!” Melody pointed. “Gift shop!” Amongst all the towering distractions, tackily decorated food carts, and signs pointing the way to more of the same, a single, rectangular building stood out like a sore thumb. The Fun Time Land Gift Shop might just be big enough to get lost in and open enough to not get caught. Better than getting into line for a flume ride, anyhow. They weren’t dead if they weren’t caught. Due process and all that shit. The two dashed in and put on the brakes so as not to ram headfirst into a rack of overpriced t-shirts. Several other groups of their peers were in the gift shop; chatting, checking their phones, and generally lingering. Better yet, bored chaperones were either busy doing the same or on the hunt for the rare and elusive (some might say mythical) theme park gift store bargain. With just a moment to breathe, a dab of common sense careened into both girls’ brains. “You go left, I go right,” Melody said to her sidekick. Beatrice nodded and obeyed, with the two splitting up and mixing in with other bored seniors. The key, Melody found was staying close enough to the different pockets of seniors without making enough of a stir to be noticed by them. From off a nearby rack, Melody quickly grabbed a jacket and baseball cap; slipping the former on and cramming her hair beneath the latter. Instant disguise. Bea, meanwhile, was busying herself pretending to look at merchandise, bending over and flashing her bright red panties everywhere. Fuck. Dean Garfield was on their trail within thirty seconds, but thirty seconds was all they’d needed. The fact that he’d not called out their names or otherwise was proof. Melody’s ears pricked up. “Still looking,” he said. “They’re around here somewhere.” “Okay shun?” “Gift shop.” “Tenth-floor. Floppy hat” Thinking quickly, Melody dug her phone out of the bib of her overalls and texted: “Stand up. Walk out. Slowly.” Please vibrate. Please vibrate. Bea stood up and patted her thin bag that was barely a purse. Good! Vibrate! She wasn’t checking it however. Instead she looked around warily and started to edge her way out of the gift shop. She was too scared to check her cell phone in public! Gawd! At least it was getting the same end result. Now it was Melody’s time to move. Just under Dean Garfield’s radar, Melody moved from cluster to cluster, not making a sound. The dean was moving towards the cashier, likely asking the poor bored thirty-something whose life hadn’t worked out like he planned if he’d seen any girls fitting Mel and Bea’s descriptions. Yeah right. Good luck with that. All highschoolers looked the same to adults, the same way all babies looked alike to teens. With Dean Garfield’s back to her, Melody took her chance and fast walked her way out of the gift shop. BEEP! BEEP! BOOP! BOOP! FUCK! She’d forgotten to take off her disguise and the alarm went off. “Mel!” Beatrice shouted. “I just got a text from you!” The shitty hat and crappy jacket went airborne and ended up in a decorative hedge just before Melody grabbed her sidekick’s hand and took off at a run. “Where are we going?!” “Shut up and just run!” Melody panted. “Kay!” The crowd whizzing by them as they ducked and weaved through the crowd, they took the first turn they saw. “LEFT!” Melody commanded. The two turned and broke line of sight from the shop, hopefully before any school administrators had poked their head out and looked around. They didn't do DNA testing for shit like shoplifting, right? Breaking into a full out run, the girls jumped the log fence in front of them with Bea giving anyone that looked in the right moment a good glimpse of her bright red panties and Melody grateful that her own overalls were too short to get snagged on a loose nail. A quick touch confirmed that the criss crossing logs they’d hopped over weren’t wood at all, but sculpted concrete and stone made to look wooden. The two hunched down low, the barrier only coming up to their waists otherwise. “Please don’t see me please don’t see me please don’t see me,” Melody prayed in a whisper. When no one called out their names, and no garbled messages of walkie-talkies invaded their ears, the pair stood to their full height, only hearing the high pitched screams and cries of giddy children. “That was close,” Bea said. “Yeah,” Melody agreed. “So much for beer.” She shifted her weight and felt an odd sensation, as if the ground were not quite solid. “Where are we?” The two turned around. A Playground. It was a playground. A fucking playground. An admittedly expensive playground, but a playground all the same. Foam padded ground squished beneath their shoes. In the event of some idiot toddler tripping over their own feet they’d be fine. A series of jungle gyms, low to the ground playground equipment, ball pits, giant connect four games, and bounce houses dotted the landscape. “Kiddie Korral” the sign read. “Ages three and under.” “Fuck.” Melody said. Bea agreed. “This isn’t good.” If they couldn’t hide in a crowded gift shop, they stood no chance here. Curly topped little girls and carrot topped toddler boys waddled along on the padded ground. If these kids were two, they were only just, and the ground wasn’t the only thing that was padded. Between waistbands poking out the top of shorts, distinctive bulges below the belly button, skirts that were like scaled down versions of what Beatrice was wearing, and a couple of kids whose parents just didn’t give a damn about pants at all, it was fairly evident that every kid was diapered here. One kid looked like she might have been wearing really short jeans, but it was just those faux denim diapers that got popular every summer. “We’re gonna stick out like sore thumbs.” Like conditioned animals, both girls could hear the static and garbled chatter of school issued walkie-talkies, even from across the playground. Their pursuers weren’t here yet, but they were close. Beatrice made to hop back over the fence the way they’d come. Melody’s hand landed on her shoulder. “Maybe not,” she said. “Look over there.” “Ollie! What are you doing you silly boy?” A voice called out. A little boy hung from a rope net, giggling as he dangled upside down. The ladder couldn’t have been more than four feet, but somehow this kid with curly black hair had managed to get himself tangled up and was avoiding having the soft spot on his head squashed by a thread. A lady, a girl really, rushed up and hoisted the kid out by his armpits before setting him down. “Go play somewhere else,” she said, before giving him a pat on the butt, sending him waddling off towards a bouncy house. The girl couldn’t have been older than twenty. Most of the adults couldn’t be old enough to drink. Another lady was playing peekaboo with a baby crawling through a log tunnel. “Where’d Emma go?!” she’d coo. Then the tot in the pink dress would crawl out and giggle. “There she is!” The kid would stand up and waddle to the other end of the tunnel, and it’d start all over again. “Oh no! Emma’s gone!” Girl deserved a Daytime Emmy. More importantly, girl was maybe a year ahead of Bea and Melody. Most were. A few bored looking old maids and ex-housewives sat on benches like mother hens overseeing the chaos, but all the adults in the thick of it were barely legal. Just like Melody. Just like Bea. “This is perfect,” Melody said. “Let’s chill here for a minute. We’ll blend right in.” “But Melody,” Bea said, “everybody else our age has those shirts on.” Bea was right. All of the young ladies chasing down, playing with, and wrangling toddlers were wearing white t-shirts covered in rainbow handprints. Remembering the bus, Melody didn’t have to guess where they were from. Even daycares took field trips. Melody waved off the concern. “We’re not staying the day,” she said. “We’re just hanging for a couple of minutes.” Bea didn’t seem convinced. Time for a demonstration. “Keith!” Melody called out to literally no one. “Careful sweetie! Don’t fall!” No one at the playground even turned their heads. “See?” Melody said. “It’s like Jurassic Park. No one cares.” A few steps away from the guardrail on the spongy turf proved that to be a lie. As they moved deeper with tiny children scurrying past them and screaming in merriment, the pair began to better appreciate the level of detail put into this section. “So that’s why this place is called the Kiddie Korral,” she said. “It’s all cowboy like.” As always Beatrice had a gift for stating the obvious: Big rubber balls painted up like tumbleweeds were being clumsily pushed around. The tunnel that the baby girl kept crawling in and out of was made to look like a tipped over watering barrel. The spring horses looked more like actual horses and a nearby bouncy house was made to look like a Saloon. Cute. Campy, but cute. “Excuse me!” A fat old woman called out. “Excuse me!” She was forty-nine if she was a day, had chins down past the collar of her cheap t-shirt, thinning hair, and was deeply in need of a bra with more support. If this is what working with kids did to a body, Melody was never going to enter the field. She might have been Dean Garfield’s sister...or his mother. “Can I help you?” (Translation: Get the fuck out.) “We’re here as volunteers!” Bea lied (badly) before Melody had a chance to elbow her in the ribs. Big Bertha put her hands on her hips. “Nice try, honey. I know all these girls. You don’t belong here.“ She pointed to a sign posted on the inside of the fence: “No Unaccompanied Children OR Adults.” Place was aware and hypervigilant about creepers. Good for them, bad for the girls. Melody pointed to a toddler in green shorts and a matching shirt, his outfit having a Ninja Turtle motif. “I’m a teen mom,” Melody tried, grasping at straws. “That’s one’s mine…?” Yeah...she didn’t think that’d work either. Things went from bad to worse when Melody spied a white polo and heard the familiar squawk of a walkie-talkie coming from just the other edge of the playground. Had to break line of sight, if only for a second! “We just want to uh…” Melody’s head was on a swivel. She looked to a jungle gym decorated to resemble a covered wagon, roof included. “Go on the playground. Just once. Relive our childhood, get it? Been coming here for years!” “But you just-!” Melody slapped her hand over Bea’s mouth. Idiot. “I don’t care what you- hey!” The hag didn’t have time to finish. Melody was already off, dragging Bea behind her towards the jungle gym. “Stop! Don’t make me call security!” The woman yelled, but didn’t pursue. Probably couldn’t move that fast. Let her call security, Melody thought, they’d be gone before any park cops got to them. Scrambling up tiny steps, more like scaffolded platforms, the duo quickly but gently scooted by a group of rugrats. “Excuse me?” a girl about their age said. “You’re not supposed to be-” “We know,” Bea cut her off. “We’re lost. We’re going.” It looked like Melody’s sidekick was finally getting the hang of things. “We just need to…” she caught sight of it before Melody, “go down the slide!” This playground was built specifically with tiny people with tiny legs in mind; people who hadn’t completely mastered the art of walking. The way up to the slide didn’t have a ladder as much as it had a ramp. It wasn’t a real slide, not like at a bitching water park, but it was an inclined tube. Not long either, but it was enclosed and fed out facing away from from where they’d last spied Garfield. Good enough. “Goodbye, thank you!” Bea chirped as she crawled up the ramp. She had to crawl in order to avoid hitting her head on the plastic “canvas” of the faux covered wagon. “I can see your underwear, you know,” the volunteer called back. The disdain in her voice was evident. “Kids,’ Melody heard her mutter. Bea went down headfirst, shrieking. Figures that Bea could have fun going down a damn kiddie slide. Melody crawled up the ramp, making every effort to shake her ass as the snobby girl who thought she was better than them. She took just enough time to reposition herself so that she was sitting and swung her legs in front of her. “Fuck off,” she said before pushing off and sending herself into down the beige tunnel. AND DOWN SHE WENT! Sliding, slipping, plummeting even! One Mississippi...two Mississippi...three Mississippi! This was taking a lot longer than she thought it would, and it had nothing to do with her getting stuck. Melody would have thought that she might have gotten stuck. She was too big for the slide and skin tended to stick to hot plastic. If anything it felt like the surface was greased. After an uncomfortable amount of time, Melody finally came out the other end and into a nasty surprise: BALLS! TONS OF THEM! Tumbling out of the tube, Melody found her world out of balance as she crashed into a moat of balls, her head plunging under a cascade of rainbow colored spheres. It WAS like a water slide, including the splash down at the end. “Come on Melody!” she heard Bea beckon. “Get out of the way.” Thrashing awkwardly, the girl managed to right herself and stand up. Wow. Her shoulders barely crested above the rainbow spheres. Beatrice was at the far end of the pit waving to her. “Come on! So the next kid can have a turn.” Moving her hands in a kind of breast stroke motion, Melody half walked, half swam across the balls just in time to hear another “WHEEEEE” and the clatter of balls behind her as some two year old crashed into the pit. Melody winced, but didn’t look back. Something felt odd, and not just physically. Her shortalls felt kind of bunched up, probably a byproduct from the slide. She also felt clumsy, a byproduct of both the crash and that she was wading through a pit full of tiny plastic obstacles. But there was a strange feeling she couldn’t shake, something that was throwing something besides her stride off. Like why would a ball pit be so deep if it was supposed to be for little kids? Also, when she ran for the jungle gym, she didn’t remember seeing a ball pit at the end of the slide. Had she just missed it? A quick peer through the mesh netting that kept the balls firmly in, helped reorient her. Bounce house to the far left. Kids pushing rubber tumbleweeds. “Come on, Mel!” Bea shouted. “Hurry up! I wanna go again!” It didn’t surprise Melody that her companion had said something like that. Either Bea was still on some misguided attempt to blend in or the little ditz had genuinely forgotten what they were supposed to be doing in the first place. She could only roll her eyes in a way that had become a kind of involuntary reaction. What did surprise her was the friendly face greeting them. The old fat lady that had shouted them away and threatened to call security and was waiting for them. But her expression had changed entirely within the last forty five seconds. “Come on, Beatrice! Let’s go Melody!” Her gaze looked past the two, as if she had other things on her mind, as if she hadn’t caught two asshole teens in a trap. “Bryson! Good job!” Melody kept moving, but there was a shiver in her step. Where had the big bitch learned their names? It’s not like they had name tags. “I’m waitin’ for Mel-Mel!” Bea said “She’s bein’ a slowpoke!” Big Bitch smiled at that and chuckled. “Alright, alright. Just a second, though.” She called out, “Hurry up Melody!” But it wasn’t mean at all; closer to the tone a lady Santa Claus might use. What did she do? What could she do? Nothing. LIterally nothing. All she could do was swim-walk a little faster. Beatrice giggled as she got closer and began to get out of the ball pit. Just like with the slide, there was a ramp leading out instead of a ladder. Just like the slide down, Beatrice opted to crawl up the ramp. Just like the ramp to the slide, Melody and everyone else behind her got a good look at Bea’s panties. “The fuck?” Except those weren’t Bea’s panties. They were nearly the same shade of red and covered her naughty bits, but all other similarities ended there. Everything else was just not quite right. The shape of it was wrong. Bea’s panties were normally so tight you could see the outline of her ass. These things were bulkier, puffier, like someone had taken a couple dozen maxi pads and stuffed them on the inside of the girl’s underwear with reckless abandon. Padded: That was a better description. Bea’s panties were tremendously padded. Then there was the texture. Bea’s panties (Melody had seen enough of them today) were bright, shiny, and smooth, almost like silk. These were approximately the same color, but they seemed rougher. Soft, but not as smooth, maybe it was all the wrinkles in the exterior. There was just something dull and off about it. It was cloth-like, but not proper cloth. “Get up and walk you silly girl,” the big woman said. If Melody hadn’t been right behind Beatrice, she might not have heard the dry paper crinkle as the girl got up. Nor would she have noticed the little frilled gatherings around the leg holes as she did. What anyone would have noticed was how little Bea’s skirt did to conceal her undies. She’d been giving people a peek all morning every time she bent over, but now even that wasn’t necessary. Free show. Rising to her feet on the ramp, Melody couldn’t help but notice that the bottom part of Bea’s underwear was now plainly visible underneath her skirt. It wasn’t unlike... That’s when it clicked. Bea wasn’t wearing underwear anymore. That wasn’t her underwear. Just like every other kid on the playground, Beatrice was wearing a diaper. And just like the faux-denim huggies that one kid had been wearing, Beatrice’s diaper was doing its level best to look like her red, silky panties, but deep down it was still a diaper. It was like a kitten trying to bark. Melody couldn’t believe it. “Bea?” she said. “Are you wearing a diaper?” “Yeah,” Bea said, taking Big Bitch’s hand and stepping down out of the ballpit. “There you go, Bea.” “Thankoo!” “Why?” But before Melody could ask her follow up question, Bea was running off, stopping only to look behind her and wave Melody on. A flabby arm reached out for her and Melody took the grown-up in the hand-printed t-shirt’s help so she could chase after Bea. Damn, that crinkling was loud. Melody could swear she heard it even when she was a dozen feet away from her diapered sidekick. Waddle, waddle, waddle. Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle. Weird, Melody thought that she could still hear it even when Bea wasn’t moving. “Bea,” Melody said when she’d caught up. “What’s going on?” Bea shrugged nonchalantly. “I dunno. Was thinking about going to play over there.” She pointed over to a dome made of interconnected steel bars that created a kind of web effect. Perfect for climbing on, hunkering under or hanging upside down. “The slide’s gettin’ kinda crowded.” Melody looked back over her shoulder. The slide WAS getting kind of crowded. It wasn’t any fun playing in the ball pit if it got too crowded. Mrs. Jay was making the other kids get out of the pit to make room for other kids coming down the slide. Play was less fun if there were rules to it. THE FUCK?! Melody rattled her head, shaking out the ridiculous notions that seemed to be manifesting in her mind out of thin air. No!” she said, “Why are you wearing a diaper?” Beatrice looked confused, and not just her normal level of confusion. “Whaddya mean?” Melody wanted to scream, but instead lowered her voice to a low hiss. “What’s there to understand?! You’re wearing a diaper.” “So are you.” Beatrice cocked her head to the side. “All us babies are.” “I’m not…” Melody stopped herself mid refutation. Informally, tunnel vision is where a person becomes so focused on a particular element or situation that they block the rest of the world out. Their brain zooms in and focuses on a single aspect of its reality that it accidentally forgets to register all the other data being presented to it. It’s how students in a psychology class can watch a video of two people passing a basketball to each other and when told to count the number of times the ball is passed, not notice the dancing gorilla in the background. Melody had just become victim to her own tunnel vision to such a degree that calling it such would be a misnomer. Melody was experiencing complete and total tunnel thought. The crinkling rustle she’d heard with every step had been hers. Her panties had become so thick and padded that she now walked with a kind of waddle. Almost reflexively, Melody reached between her legs. Her cute shortalls felt a little less roomy. They weren’t any smaller, though. Objectively, they might have been a tad baggier. It’s just that her underwear was taking up more space than before. Melody’s fingers brushed against brass snaps on her inseams that hadn’t been there before a minute ago. She ignored those as she squeezed her panties. Panties were another misnomer. That puff. That crinkle. That slight tickling as leg gathers and leak guards brushed her inner thighs. Melody wasn’t wearing panties. Melody, high school senior and grown-ass woman, was wearing a diaper. As if on cue, she felt a slight trickle in her shortalls. A bit of relief came over her as her bladder relaxed just as it always did. She hadn’t felt the need to pee any more than most people feel a need to breathe. People didn’t feel the need to breathe unless they weren’t allowed to. They just breathed naturally. The feeling of her diaper warming ever so slightly gave a hint as to what was going on. It wasn’t much of a wetting. The thirsty padding wrapped around her hips sucked the little spurts up in a jiffy, wicking the moisture away from her skin. By the time her and her bestie got to the jungle dome, she’d be able to forget about it. THE FUCK?! Melody pulled at her own pigtails, in an effort to focus her mind and get a hold of herself, letting the pain in her scalp bring her back to her senses. PIGTAILS?! Melody didn’t wait for Bea. She gave neither orders nor warning. Heart pounding in her chest, Melody ran as if Dean Garfield were right behind her wearing a cop badge and devil horns. The extra bulk of the diaper that had manifested slowed her down, but only just so. Back in junior high, when she’d gone through her ‘shoplifting phase’, she’d managed to dash away with more cumbersome materials crammed into her pants. To her muscle memory this was only a half-step above the time she’d gotten a week’s worth of new underwear by trying on seven pairs of panties at once and ‘forgetting’ to take them off in the changing room. Changing...a poor choice of narrative inner monologue perhaps. Or perhaps, Melody feared, far too appropriate. No time. Just run. Just breathe. Don’t think. Don’t pee. “Melody! Wait!” Bea called after her. “You’re going the wrong way!” Melody ignored her, pumping her legs as fast as they’d go. Her eyes saw the faux log fence she’d hopped over before her mind registered that something was amiss. The fence perimeter of the playground had been easy to infiltrate; it was only waist high. It was like hopping a turnstile. The thing in front of her was positively gigantic. That wasn’t a fence, it was a wall; a barricade even! She’d shrunk! “MELODY!” A strange voice called out. “STOP!” Melody’s legs did not immediately stop. As cartoonish as this all seemed to her and as fast as she’d wanted to sprint, she was not the Roadrunner. She couldn’t stop on a dime. She did slow down though. Her legs stopped pumping as hard and her sneakered heels dug into rubber padded ground. She was stopping. If only she had commanded her body to. What Melody had wanted to do was power through and somehow sprint up the giant wall. She’d been preparing herself to put her arms and legs in the slats between the giant logs and use the momentum to scale over the top. Barring that, there would have been nothing wrong with a sudden change in the direction and fleeing out the playground’s exit proper. Her body did none of that. The strange voice commanding her to stop had been as the voice of God. “No-no-no-no-no!” Melody shrieked. The sudden shift in momentum and her own body railing against her caused her to lose balance. Her arms flailed out- a penguin trying to fly-before she fell onto her backside. The fall didn’t hurt at all. What shock the padded ground failed to absorb, her padded bottom more than compensated for. Only her pride and sense of self were hurt. “The fuck?” Melody didn’t stop when someone told her too. If anything she tended to do the opposite (at best). A shadow fell over her. “The playground’s that way, little missy.” The voice was authoritative, yet caring; an adult speaking to a child that didn’t know any better. Two hands scooped up underneath Melody’s armpits, lifting her back to her feet. Melody whirled around to face the giant... Only there was no giant. Just a girl close to Melody’s own age, maybe a year or two older than her. A community college student in a white t-shirt decorated with rainbow handprints. She glanced back at the fence. Melody hadn’t shrunk, and the fence along the edge of the Kiddie Korral hadn’t gotten bigger; or it had, but not through any expansion of mass. It was just built bigger. Concrete faux logs were now stocked six rows high instead of two. The blonde haired senior (now in pigtails) summed up her shock and confusion in two succinct words. “The fuck?!” The other girl grimaced and sucked in her lips, stifling a laugh. “Heh,” a giggle escaped. “Melody, don’t say naughty words like that.” Against all common sense and the distinct feeling that something was very wrong, Melody’s almost knee jerk reaction to authority kicked in. Bitch didn’t like swearing, eh? “Why the fudge not?” The color drained from her face. She’d really said ‘fudge’; it was that crappy movie they played every Christmas but in reverse. “Because little girls your age shouldn’t even know those kinds of words,” Miss Sarah said. Melody’s heart leapt into her throat. She’d blinked and suddenly she knew this rando, Miss Sarah’s, fudgin’ name! Fudgin’? That wasn’t the right word. She couldn’t even think of the word she’d meant to think. She didn’t know it anymore! Butt! Meanie! Darn! Fudge! Poopy! Those were the only bad words that were coming to mind and they weren’t NEARLY bad enough. Like a freight train, Melody’s emotions barreled right past denial and anger and straight into full blown bargaining. “I wanna leave!” she said. “I wanna go home!” Fudge it. “I wanna go back to school!” Miss Sarah just put a comforting hand on Melody’s shoulder and looked her in the eyes. “I know it can be scary to be in a new place,” she said, “but this is only for today. After this, we’ll go back to school and your Mommy will pick you up and take you home.” She spoke softly and slowly, an adult explaining a simple concept to a simpler mind. “Okay?” Melody shook her head, her pigtails gently wafting. “I don’t…” she mumbled… “I’m...I’m not sure what’s going on.” The girl who’d ordered her to stop didn’t explain anything further. She just took Melody’s unresisting hand and started walking away with her. “Come on.” Melody’s eyes wanted to bulge out of her head. Her mouth wanted to scream. Her feet, however, only wanted to follow and her hand firmly held Miss Sarah’s. Just like a good little girl. And out of the two of them, only one of them crinkled. Head on a swivel, Melody’s brain started to take in the sights and sounds of the Kiddie Korral’s playground. More was different than just the size of the fence. The entire playground had somehow scaled up. Equipment was bigger, expanded to fit grown-up bodies. The kids that had been playing them were now completely gone...sort of. There were still curly topped girls and carrot topped boys waddling along the playground. The waistbands of diapers still poked out the top of shorts with distinctive bulges below the belly button. A handful were wandering around in just t-shirts and Pampers. There was still a kid wearing a diaper that was made up to be blue jeans. But none of them were babies, anymore. Legs were longer, shoulders were developed. Chests were bigger and giggling, shouting, and screaming voices were deeper. Girls had hips and breasts and a quick look downstairs confirmed that most of the boys had a little more than just padding in the front of their Huggies. A boy Melody’s age with a tangle of curly black hair was now bouncing happily in a bounce house decorated to look like a saloon.. A barely twenty-something woman was clapping and chanting, “Go, Ollie, go! Go, Ollie, go!” The same lady who’d been playing a hide and seek version of peekaboo with a little girl in a play tunnel, was still playing. The problem was that the tot she was playing with now had bigger breasts than her. “Where’d Emma go?! There she is!” Not a single actual toddler remained; only adults acting like them. The adults who’d been playing with them didn’t seem to notice this switcheroo. The same twenty somethings were on their feet playing with the much bigger babies with older women off to the side looking at their phones and occasionally bouncing a fussy adult toddler on their knee. Yikes that was weird, but no one besides Melody seemed bothered by this. New playground. New bodies. Same babies. All unfamiliar faces. If any of them had looked like her classmates, she might have been relieved. That would have meant that she’d busted her head going down the slide or just had a stroke and any minute now she’d wake up in a hospital bed or dead (both were okay options). Instead, a set of children had been replaced with same aged peers, and those peers were acting as if splashing in a ballpit, or playing with a giant tic-tac-toe board was high tea. The fudge? “Here we are,” Miss Sarah said. They were at the spider-web dome. Bea was hanging upside down on a lower platform, the tips of her fingers just grazing the ground. The hem of her skirt had fallen upside down with her hair and her diaper was on full display, not that anyone seemed to care. “Are you having fun, Bea?” Bea answered by giggling like an idiot. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Melody let go of the daycare worker’s hand and knelt by the dome so she could look her sidekick in the eye. “Bea,” she whispered. “Stop it! You’re embarrassing me.” A second later she thought to add, “And yourself. You’re embarrassing me and you! You’re embarrassing us!” Bea stopped giggling and untensed her legs slowly. It was a safe dismount, but not a graceful one. She didn’t so much as drop into a handstand as she kind of slowly crumpled to the floor and picked herself up. Too late, Miss Sarah let out a “Be careful, baby!” and stepped forward to check on Bea. Out of all the teacher aides, Miss Sarah was always one of the less fun ones, even though she said it was because she cared. How the fudge did Melody know that?! Miss Sarah looked right at Melody. “Mel-Mel, you play nice with Bea, okay?” No. It was not okay. None of this was okay. But it was enough for the grown-up to walk away satisfied. Melody wanted to chase after her and ask more questions, or else make another go at that wall. Instead, her body squirmed and dipped and ducked into the middle of the jungle dome. “You’re actin’ funny,” Bea said. She was already starting to Spider-Man up the inside of the dome. Melody burned with anger. “You’re acting like a total...dummy.” She’d wanted to call Bea something meaner, but she couldn’t quite come up with the right words. What was meaner than ‘dummy’? “You always say stuff like that,” Bea replied. She didn’t sound hurt, more like she was stating a fact. It was a fact. Whether it was highschool or daycare, Melody’s relationship with her sidekick wasn’t what would be referred to as ‘health’ or an ‘equal partnership’. “I say stuff like that because it’s true,” Melody said. She started to climb up the inside of the dome, hooking and unhooking her legs rung by rung until she was dangling side by side with Bea. She hadn’t realized she’d been doing it until her pigtails were closer to the ground than her feet. Miss Sarah had told her to play nice, after all. “You’re acting weird today,” Bea said. “You normally love this kind of stuff.” “No I don’t!” From upside down, Bea’s confused frown kind of looked like a smile. “Is it opposite day?” There was no trace of sarcasm in her tone. She was genuinely asking if they were playing a kid’s game that most outgrew by late kindergarten. Melody scoffed. “No, you dummy!” “So...yes, I’mma smartie...?” Melody let a hand loose so she could properly facepalm. “No!” Finally she had the presence of mind to right herself and stand on her two feet. “I mean you’re acting like a...a...a baby!” There weren’t any other words. “We’re not actin’,” Bea said. She lowered herself back to the ground, too. “We don’t even got costumes on.” Melody pointed to where her sidekick’s panties used to be. “You’re wearing a diaper!” “You’re wearing shoes!” The blonde haired girl blanched. She looked down at her sneakers. “What...?” “Now you say something that I’m wearin’,” Bea said. “No fair sayin’ shoes cuz I already said that.” Girls just wasn’t getting it. Melody didn’t understand what was happening either, but Bea was on a completely different (and dumberer) level. “Bea!” Melody snapped. “Focus!” Bea smiled. “Kay kay!” “What’s wrong with you?” “Nothin’.” Melody made a sweeping gesture to bounce houses filled with adults rocking onesies and people playing patty cake unironically. “Why is everybody...playing…?” Bea shrugged. “Cuz itsa playground?” “But WHY?!” Bea’s attention gave out. She looked past Melody and over her shoulder. “Oh look! Teeter totter is open! Let’s go!” For the first time since they’d known each other, Bea grabbed Mel by the wrist and tugged her along, and Mel felt she had little say in the exchange. Some part of her still wanted to ‘play nice’, even without the mean old grown-up telling her what to do. STOP IT! The two were waddling over to an unclaimed seesaw with seats made to look like saddles. Melody made it over and threw one leg over an end of the saddle-saw. Might as well get this over with. Maybe Bea’s brains could work if her legs were occupied. When she looked across, she realized that Bea wasn’t with her. Bea had stopped in her tracks. Her feet were shoulder length apart, her elbows tucked in, and her butt was sticking out. Bea’s eyes were squeezed shut, a tense smile on her face. A few seconds later, she stood back up and walked over to the other side of the teeter totter. “What was that about?” Melody asked. Bea wasn’t being any more helpful. “What was what about?” “Nevermind.” “Okie dokums.” It had been a while since Melody had been on a seesaw but it was a bit like riding a bike, or so the grown-ups said. Point is, once a seesawer always a seesawer. The girls balanced each other out and Melody really put her weight on her seat for the first time. Mistake. Big Mistake. Melody felt her wet diaper squish up against her. She’d literally forgotten that she’d pee-peed in her pants until the moment she sat down on the wet padding. Gross. Totally gross! Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. That’s all she had to do, just keep her mind off of it. “Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout?” Bea asked. “Nothing!” Melody felt the hot blush of guilt spread over her face. She normally lied like a pro; close to a socio...socio…? A sociologist! She lied like a sociologist! Apparently what was going on in her pants was a kind of kryptonite to her normal ability to fib. Bea didn’t seem to notice. She just lowered herself onto the seat of the seesaw and sent Melody catapulting into the air. A grin once reserved for roller coasters and smoking spread out over Melody’s mug as Bea pushed up from ground and sent herself up into the sky just so that Melody would go plumpting down. Melody caught herself and paused just long enough so that she could REALLY jump for this second time. She went higher! It was impossible, but somehow she KNEW she’d gone higher. The two kept going. UP! DOWN! UP! DOWN! This was kind of- NO! NO! This was NOT FUN! This was stupid and a waste of time! They had to get out of here. Biting her tongue, Melody kept going through the motions while regaining her focus. Her legs were pushing off the ground but her mind was running full tilt. How did she shake Bea out of this? Up. “Bea? What do you remember doing this morning?” Down. “Going to school and then coming here.” Technically true. Up. “What about Dean Garfield?” Down. “I love Garfield!” Bea said. “He’s funny!” Darn! Not what Melody had meant! Though Garfield WAS funny. STOP! Up. “Bea what grade are you in?” Down. “Huh?” Melody stopped pumping and leveled out the seesaw. “We’re Seniors. In highschool. Remember?” Bea shook her head and giggled. “Nooooo.” A gust of wind blew past them, and Melody’s nose wrinkled in disgust. It smelled like the bathroom after her uncle with IBS came to visit. It smelled like someone had an accident. The pieces came into place as soon as Melody looked upwind and saw her friend sitting across on the teeter totter. THAT’s why Bea had stopped. With surprising agility, she leaped off the seat. Bea, caught off guard, plummeted down a whole three feet down onto her bottom and rolled backwards onto the padded ground. The smell was stronger as Melody walked over to her friend. Leaning over she whispered. “You poopied in your pants!” Bea looked up at Melody, her face a mask of awe. “Yeah? How can you tell?” She gasped. “Are you gettin’ potty trained? Is that why you’re acting so weird?” She stood up. “Just don’t turn into a dumb meanie head like Annie.” “Pfft,” Melody said. “Annie doesn’t go potty. She just wears Pull-Ups and pees and poops in them like a diaper, same as everybody else.” A wave of panic overtook Melody. “How do I know that?!” Melody pinched herself and looked. “Just whatever! Whatever! Gross! So gross!” “What’s gross?” Bea asked. “You pooped your...you’re still wearing…” It suddenly occurred to Melody that Bea had pooped before she got on the seesaw. The mental image of what must have been going on inside Bea’s diaper while they were on the seesaw filled Melody’s mind and made her want to vomit. “Just...just go get changed.” Bea’s brow knitted together. “What?” “If you’re going to act like a baby, at least do it right, and go get changed.” Now Melody was thinking about how her diaper felt during the ride. Operation Don’t Think About It: Failed. Bea crossed her arms. “No.” Not in all their friendship, had Bea ever refused. Melody didn’t know how to process this. “What do you mean, ‘no’?” Still sitting, Bea pouted out her lip. “I mean ‘no’. I’m not gonna go get changed. I wanna go play an’ you’re not the boss of me.” Melody held her nose. “But you stink!” “So?” “Your butt is covered in smushed up poop!” “So?” Melody opened her mouth for another point, and then closed it. How did you argue with somebody who legitimately didn’t care that their bootie was smeared with poo-poo? How did you argue with an eighteen year old baby? “You might get a diaper rash!” The counter argument practically vomited out of her. “Then it’ll hurt to walk and sit and playin’ will be no fun cuz you’ll have a big ol’ owie on yer butt! It’ll be like you got a big ol’ spankin’ but the owie will last longer an’ the grownups will put icky cream on your butt that’ll make your diaper sticky on the inside, but not the fun way!” Melody felt sick with herself for saying that. Where had that explanation come from?! She was right, she knew, but she didn’t know how she knew. It was like her brain had inverted herself: Talking about how stinky Bea was right then didn’t make her feel gross. Same with how Bea’s butt was covered in poop. Unconsciously she felt like she was mimicking what grown-ups felt when poopy diapers were mentioned. It felt like she was pretending and saying what grown-ups said. But when she talked about how bad and annoying it was to have a rash, a part of her felt...a part of her KNEW she was speaking from experience; not even far off experience. Mundane experience. Everyday experience. Experience that no typical eighteen year old should be so familiar with. Bea looked perplexed. Melody had finally made an argument that both of them could agree on and understood...and it had disturbed Melody on levels she couldn’t articulate. “But...but...I don’t wanna…” Bea stood up, finally. “I don’t wanna! I don’t wanna! I don’t wanna!” She was on the verge of having a breakdown. She punctuated each ‘wanna!’ with the stomping of her foot, as if that might add more weight to her argument. “You don’t wanna what?!” Both girls’ spines went ramrod straight and stiff. It was Miss April. Melody felt a sense of dread. If Miss Sarah treated them too much like grown-ups (in a bad way) with her rules and her calls to play nice, Miss April treated them too much like babies, (also in a bad way) with cooing and fawning and no privacy and never believing them. She was smiling...the girls were not. Melody bit down on the sides of her tongue. Somebody else’s life-somebody much younger, much dumber, and definitely not potty trained- was being copied and pasted into Melody’s head and she didn’t like it one bit. But the memories and knowledge seemed so genuine, and the babyish voice giving thoughts to her sounded so reflexively like her own. “You don’t wanna what?” Miss April repeated herself. “Nothin…” the girls said in unison. Some things had changed about them, but neither of them were tattle-tales. Tattle-Tales got put in diaper pails, or so the old saying went. “Um…” Melody started to lie. “You see…the truth is...” Fudge! What did giant babies lie about?! Miss April had a patient and practiced smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Go on,” she said. “Use your words.” GRRRR! This was infuriating! Melody might’ve been a baby but she knew how to tal- wait no she wasn’t! She was a grown-! “Melody wanted to go down the ball pit slide again,” Bea fibbed. “But I didn’t wanna stop playin’ on the teeter-totter.” Miss April put her hands on her hips in that condescending manner of hers. “Awwww! Sounds like two best friends were having an argument. Sometimes friends disagree but instead of arguing, they make a compromise. Do you girls know what ‘compromise’ means?” “Yeeeeeessss….?” They said in unison. Melody was looking the teacher-girl in the eye. Bea wasn’t...Bea was fibbing. She didn’t know what the word meant. To be fair, Melody wasn’t sure if Bea knew the word before things had gone sideways and upside crazy. The teacher-girl either knew Bea was fibbing or didn’t care that Melody already knew. “A compromise means that you take turns doing what you want to do so everybody gets a little bit of what they want. So how about you both play on the teeter-totter for just a little bit longer, and then you go play on the-” Miss April stopped and wrinkled her nose. “What is that smell?” “Nothin!” Again, the two were synced up. Beatrice might have poop in her pants, but Melody wasn’t going to be the one to tattle on her and purposefully stop the playtime. (Darn it! Why did that make so much sense?) Miss April seemed less convinced. “It doesn’t smell like nothing.” She pointed toward the ground and made a tiny circle with her finger. “Turn around, Bea.” With a heavy and defeated sigh, Bea did as she was told. “Yes ma’am.” Melody started taking steps back and away. “Not so fast, Melody. You’re next.” Melody’s knees locked in obedience. She was forced to watch as Bea’s skirt was lifted all the way up and her diaper was pulled back and inspected. “Thought so. You need a change right now, lil’ missy.” Beatrice just groaned in annoyance. She walked two steps to Melody. “Let’s check you, too.” She undid two of the snaps along Melody’s inseam and stuck two fingers inside Melody’s diaper. It really was a diaper she was wearing, too. The young woman could see the black lace trimming of her panties, but just like with Bea, it had been reduced to a knock-off...a diaper doing an impression of big girl undies. “You’re a little wet,” Miss April said. “But I think you can wait a bit before you need a change.” Almost as an afterthought, Miss Melody reached around and patted Melody’s backside. Melody didn’t have to ask to know that she was being checked for lumps of you-know-what. It was so bizarre. Logically, Melody knew that this girl was maybe a year or two older than her, but deep down she was not-so-subconsciously accepting of her authority and her status as a grown-up. Melody stood there, paralyzed, while the snaps were reapplied over her wet diaper. “Bea, come with me. Melody, you can go play if you want, baby.” Internally, Melody felt relief that Miss April had put that qualifier there. If the adult girl had phrased her permission as a command, Melody would have had no choice but to toddle off. She just knew it. Instead, she was allowed to watch, horrified, as her best friend was led away and laid on a picnic blanket in some nearby grass. It was like a car being t-boned by a trolley in slow motion still careening towards a pile of baby goats bleating in terror; but Melody couldn’t make herself look away. She watched as her best friend’s skirt was shimmied up, putting her diaper on full display. She gazed in a kind of awe and terror as Bea rested her hands behind her head as if this were the most natural thing in the world while Miss April, dug around a big canvas bag. It was a communal diaper bag, Melody somehow remembered from previous nonexistent outings: Everybody had two to three extra diapers, separated into big ziplock bags, plus a few extra provided by the daycare ‘just in case’. Miss April dug through and found Bea’s baggie, removing a fresh diaper, along with some powder and a pack of wipes from different reaches of the bag. “No,” Melody whispered to herself when she saw the diaper. Even from halfway from across the playground, she could tell there was something different about the diaper; or rather something very very not different. The poop filled diaper that was being undone right there in the open air was a diaper, yes, but it at least was attempting to look like Beatrice’s decadent red panties. The lavender and white Luvs that was to replace it was nothing more than a scaled-up version of something available in most any grocery store. Melody couldn’t quite express why she was feeling sad as her best friend was getting poopy wiped off her tushie, but she was feeling it all the same. Perhaps it was because as the vile thing was being balled up and moved to the side, it was like the last bit of Bea’s adulthood was being tossed into the shit with it. The powder and the fresh Luvs being slid under her was like every other freakshow oblivious adult baby on this playground. Bea might be feeling better as the new diaper was fastened on (though she’d never admit it) but Melody was mourning her lost adulthood. Somehow, Melody intrinsically knew there was no longer any chance of saving Bea from whatever weird and warped reality they’d gotten themselves trapped into. While Bea was being helped up and her skirt flipped down over her new Luvs, yet another tiny spurt of pee rushed its way into Melody's panty-diaper as a reminder that her own sanity and sense of adulthood was on a ticking clock. She had to escape. It was all but guaranteed that if she were laid down on that picnic blanket, she’d wouldn’t get a diaper that resembled anything close to big girl undies. She was in another universe: That was the only quasi-logical explanation; a universe where 18 year olds were closer to two-year olds instead of being fully grown adults about to graduate high school. There might not even be highschools in this universe, considering most of the teacher-girls didn’t look old enough to drink. And the rules of this reality were corrosive and oppressive and imprinting themselves on Melody’s consciousness. If Bea, simple as she was, was any indicator, Melody wouldn’t even realize she didn’t belong here before day’s end. Time to get out. Gait still widening, Melody waddle ran back up the stairs of the covered wagon jungle gym towards the slide. The simplest solution was most often the correct one. It’s why Melody faked notes about dentist appointments instead of funerals when she wanted to miss a day of school. Recovering toothaches were easier to fake than grief. The slide brought her to this dimension; so it should be the gateway out. “Wait your turn, Melody,” Mr. Ken said, sticking his arm out so that Mikey could go down first. Who cared if it was Mikey’s turn?! He was used to peeing his pants and having his Mommy Dress him stupid little shirts with embroidered ducks stitched in and matching shorts. It’d been that way all his life. This was not something she was willing to get used to. Sadly, Mr. Ken was a grown-up, and so his word was law just now. Melody waited impatiently for Mikey to go down the slide. The sound of clattering balls down below signalling his splash down. One...two...three… Mr. Ken’s arm came up and Melody was allowed to swing her legs into the plastic tube and hurl herself downwards. “WHEEEEEEE!” The tumble and sliding was met with the clattering and cushioning of a sea of brightly colored balls. Balls! There’d been none of the balls in her own reality! The fudge?! Why was she back in the ballpit? Shouldn’t she be a grown-up again? A terrible thought slammed into Melody’s greymatter. Had she just made things worse? Scrambling for the surface as if she were drowning, Melody’s head breached and she reached skyward; terrified that her clothes had metamorphosed yet again. How much younger had she gone? Was she in a stupid smock of a sundress, now? A pink sleeper? Naked save for her diaper? Had she been reduced to a crawler instead of toddler? All of these dreadful and until today fantastical possibilities ricocheted between her ears as she found her footing and waded closer to the pit’s shallow end. To her great relief, she was still in the same T-shirt and shortalls that Mommy had dressed her in this morning. Still normal...well not really but… Her diaper! Had her diaper transformed more?! She had to know! Diving back down into the balls for a modicum of privacy, Melody went fetal and yanked at the legs holes of her clothes, unsnapping the little brass buttons so she could expect her urine soaked undergarments. “Melody!” Mrs. Jay called out. Mrs. Jay...most grown-up among grown-ups. “What do you think you’re doin’ little girl?” Melody ignored her. She could because it was a question, not a demand. In this universe, babies like her only had to obey grown-ups when they were ordered to. Questions didn’t count so silence was still an option. Something very much like relief settled into the back of Melody’s brain when she saw her diaper. It was a diaper, alright; two large velcro tapes holding together piddled-in padding with cutesy decorations to mask its ultimate purpose. But it still vaguely resembled the panties Mommy had dressed her in this morning. No cartoon characters; just the black piping and the cute little pink bow on the waistband. The bow was now drawn in instead of being an actual bit of ribbon, but it was better than Elmo or Mickey. At least she wasn’t any more babyish than before. Now to just...just…crud! She couldn’t rebutton her pants! Just like a toddler, she could manage to strip her clothes off with some struggling and serious effort, but her hands had lost the fine motor control required to do something as simple as snapping two overlapping disks back over her crotch. Nevermind REAL buttons, Melody had lost the ability to do snaps! “Melody, get out of there, you silly thing.” She had no choice. The ends of her pants dangling behind her, Melody first crawled, then trudged out of the pit. Big and jolly like Mrs. Claus, Mrs. Jay was waiting for her. “Felt like turning your overalls into a dressie?” she asked. “Kind of,” Melody lied. It wasn’t a completely absurd possibility, given the look and context. Melodies deconstructed leggings hung about her knees like a dress, and certainly covered her diaper better than any of the other babies actually wearing skirts. Mrs. Jay took the time to check Melody again. Not even announcing her intent before violating the girl’s space. “Yup. You’re wet. You’ll need to be changed soon.” Melody almost forgot to breathe. “But not yet…?” Now, the most grown-up of the grown-ups reached between Melody’s legs and squeezed, feeling the squish between her fingers. “You can play a little longer.” Melody found her breath. Thank goodness. Mrs. Jay started snapping up Melody’s shortalls for her. “You’re getting pretty good at undressing yourself,” she said. “Does that mean I’m ready for potty training?” Melody asked hopefully. “We’ll see…” Mrs. Jay chuckled. “We’ll see.” Melody didn’t need to have full access to her grown-up brain to know that was a lie. Whatever eighteen year olds were in this crazy new world, ready for potty training wasn’t one of them. With a quiet grunt and a growl, Melody waited for her pants to be snapped back up so that she could circle round back up the stairs to the ball pit slide. Try again. She had to try again. She wasn’t a dumb baby. She wasn’t a stupid toddler. She wasn’t going to give up after just one try. The second try was no more successful. Nor was the third. Nor after that. Going down headfirst didn’t reverse the effects. What it did do was get her a warning from Mrs. Jay. “Good boys and girls go down feet first. Do it again and you’ll get timeout.” she’d said. Like a good girl, Melody continued to go down the slide feet first. It wasn’t until what might have been her eleventeenth trip that Melody remembered what she’d been doing and why she was doing it. She was running out of time! The slide wasn’t working! She wasn’t getting any biggerer! She was going more and more backwards, just like Bea. Where’d Bea gotten to anyways? From her spot in the deepest part of the ballpit, a little lightbulb lit above her head. Backwards! That was it! If going down the slide had put her in this playground, going up was the way out of it. She’d slid down to belonging in the Kiddie Korral; she was going to have to climb herself back to grown-upness. With a gleeful, manic smile, Melody hoisted herself back onto the slide and started shimming herself back up the plastic tube. “Melody! Careful!” Mrs. Jay called out. “Don’t-!” “I’M GONNA TAKE MY HORSE TO THE OLD TOWN ROAD! I’M GONNA RIIIIDE TIL I CAN’T NO MORE!” Melody scream-sang. Her voice was amplified by the tube. If she couldn’t hear what a grown-up was telling her to do, she didn’t have to listen, or so her reasoning went. “I’M GONNA TAKE MY HORSE TO THE OLD TOWN ROAD! I’M GONNA RIIIIDE TIL I CAN’T NO MORE!” Melody was going to be a grown-up again! She’d shimmy up to the top of the slide, her panties would go back to normal, and then she’d get kicked out of the playground like a normal person her age. Even if her panties were soaked with pee-pee, such would be the price for her freedom. She couldn’t wait to give Dean Garfield the finger, (even though she couldn’t remember what that meant at the moment)! A pair of sneakers and a squealing “WHEEEEE!” dashed those hopes. Melody was sent hurtling backwards, as another big baby slammed into her, sending her plummeting back down and into the ballpit. Oh yeah...she had no ability to make other kids stop going down the slide. That was the big problem, wasn’t it? The crinkly Luvs in her face was the other problem. A pinch and a push, got the dumb girl off of her, but it gave her no pleasure when she saw the face attached to it. “Hi, Mel-Mel!” Bea giggled when both of their heads were above the balls. “Was that you pinchin’ me? Why were you goin up the slide? Slides aren’t for going up.” “MELODY! BEATRICE!” Mrs. Jay’s voice rang out. “Are you two okay?” “Yeah! We’re okay!” Bea shouted back. “Are you okay, Mrs. Jay?” Dumb baby was missing the point! “BEA! GET OVER HERE!” Mrs. Jay boomed. “MELODY! YOU T-” “I GOT THE HORSES IN THE BACK! HORSE TACK IS ATTACHED!” Melody clapped her hands over her ears for good measure. She couldn’t obey if she didn’t hear the commands. Melody’s rebellion only lasted only as long as it took for another baby to slam into her. “Darn it Emma!” The girl in the pink dress only giggled as if she were still playing peekaboo in the play tunnel. Melody hadn’t even broken line of sight from Mrs. Jay when her classmate had careened into her. Classmate...what a weird term. It’s not like daycare was really a school...Melody and her friends were too little to go to sch- The sight of a discolored Mickey Mouse grinning at her from Emma’s Huggies snapped Melody out of it. Sinking in the ballpit with the girl planted right on her chest, Melody sniffed. “Ugh! Gross!” Melody had to bite back the desire to vomit. At least Bea’s diaper smelled like baby powder. This one? Not so much. And not all of that warmth was just pee-pee, Melody realized. This girl whom Melody remembered yet had never met before today was now sitting on her chest in an absolutely vile Huggies and was giggling like a dope. “Get OFF!” Melody screamed. Emma did, but she did so by swimming forward, directly over Melody’s face. If not for gravity’s pull on the back of Mel’s head and the diaper’s thick construction, Emma’s messy backside would have directly scraped over Melody’s nostril. Due to some quick struggling Mel-Mel was given just a quick (but disgusting) flyover. Mrs. Jay had had enough. “Melody!” she bellowed. “You get out of that ball pit right now! It’s timeout for you!” Melody sighed as her body started responding to the grown-up’s commands without her approval. “Yes ma’am.” Slowly, like wading through quicksand, Melody waded back up through the balls. Dragging her feet like the naughty child she felt like, Melody trudged to her inevitable doom. She didn’t notice the slight rumbling in the stomach, or the pressure building below her waist. Her feet stopped moving. Her knees bent and she sunk back into the balls, with her chin just above the surface “Melody!” Mrs. Jay growled. “Quit stalling. You’re in trouble. No hiding!” “I’m nnnn...not.” Melody wasn’t sure why it was getting harder to talk. It’s like her lungs and her diaphragm were rebelling against her, her stomach muscles pushing...pushing….something! Her legs kept bending up to her tummy and the balls were displacing just enough of Melody’s weight that she was almost floating. Pressure! She could feel it now. Something needed to get out of her. And there was just enough grown-up left in Melody to know what that was and how it was going to go down. And there was just enough baby in her to be distracted and actively try to make it happen “Melody, you get up here right this instant!” “C-c-c-nnnnn..can’t!” Melody grunted. Her body wasn’t moving. It had more important, more immediate needs than listening to grown-ups just then. That’s why babies wore diapers: not because they didn’t listen to their bodies, but because their bodies hadn’t learned to listen to anybody. Mrs. Jay and the other grown-ups could control a lot of things about Melody. What nobody could control was her butt. “Don’t-think-don’t-think-don’t-think-don’t-think” Melody whispered to herself. “You’re not pooping your pants...you’re not pooping in front of anybody...you’re just...nnnnnng...just….” Bea must’ve recognized that look on Melody’s face. The blank stare, the intense concentration. The flushed cheeks. “SHE’S POOPING!” Bea yelled. “TEACHER! TEACHER! MEL-MEL’S POOPIN’! SHE’S NOT BEING NAUGHTY! NOT ON PURPOSE! SHE’S POOPIN’! MEL-MEL’S POOPIN’!” No chorus of laughter or gasps came from the assembled crowd. And why would they? Everyone on this giant playground was used to pooping and peeing themselves on the regular, or changed the ones who did. This was hardly shocking by this universe’s standards. Mrs. Jay’s tone softened, but only just a bit. “Melody,” she called out. “As soon as you’re done pooping, you get your little fanny right over here!” “Yes…nnnnng” Melody paused. She was crowning. “Yes Ma’am.” The pressure was building. She was on the verge. Breathe. Just breathe. The relief, the hot mushy relief as the log dropped into her nappy was palpable. Melody felt herself shudder with delight. It was it was...she didn’t have the words for it as the mess hit the back of her diaper and started to spread. No wonder Bea didn’t wanna get changed so quick. It was like a mud bath in her pants. And with every push she lost something, but gained something, too. And she wouldn’t have to wipe, neither! Somebody else would do that for her later! When grown-ups went to their dumb ol’ potty, they had to pretend that nothin’ happened. They didn’t talk about it or nothin’. They’d stop what they were doin’, go to the potty room and then come back out. So much time wasted! Not Melody, though. If she hadn’t been naughty, she could’ve just kept playing! She didn’t have to say ‘excuse me’ or ‘I have to go’. She just had to do what came naturally and everybody would love her for it. No worries! What went on in her Pampers was somebody else’s problem; not hers. As she caught her breath and finished emptying herself, the strange feeling of euphoria evaporated from Melody. Her body was still not under her control, but it was now moving out of the ball pit. With every step she felt the lump in her pants sagging down, drooping more than before and with more solid weight. This was a true walk of shame. A little girl in poopy pants being dragged out of the ball pit for being naughty. “Sit down,” Mrs. Jay ordered. Melody couldn’t hesitate. Once on the main flatform, her knees buckled, and she plopped down; her backside cushioned by her own fetid mess. She knew her stomach was empty- she had all the evidence she needed beneath her, but Melody seriously wanted to vomit. “But I-...” She tried to interject. “Quiet,” the head grown-up interrupted. “You’re in time out.” So Melody was quiet. Left only to her thoughts, and stuck stewing in her disposable former-panties. As to Melody’s thoughts, they were a swirl of confusion and desperation. So many questions: How did she escape? How did she get back home? What if she couldn’t? Would she still have Mom and Steve to take care of her or would her parents no longer be divorced? Would she have to sleep in a crib or would she get a big girl toddler bed? Would she get her big girl panties back in a year or two? Then would it be her job to change other big baby diapers? Why was everybody on the playground the same age? Was there a class of freshmen babies? Or a class of middle schooler babies? How did THAT work? Why was she so oddly comfortable sitting in her own poopy? How did one “use the potty”? Melody bit her own tongue in retaliation for THAT particularly intrusive thought. She knew how to use the potty! Right? Right! Didn’t she? Mentally, she went over the steps. Sit down? Flush? She was supposed to take her diaper off first though? Or was that after the flush? The grown-up part of her brain reeled. She wasn’t just diaper dependent...she was almost completely un-potty trained! It wasn’t as bad, she realized, as if she were a real baby...like a six month old or something. She KNEW what the potty looked like, what it was for, and that it was hypothetically an option. And Mel-Mel was positive that if someone outlined the steps for her, she could nod her head along and make sense of it. But just like (poorly) cramming for a multiple choice test, she couldn’t dredge up the knowledge herself. By her own reckoning, that put Melody on par with maybe the average eighteen-month-to-two-year-old. Pulling at her own pigtails while her mess cooled beneath her. Melody looked up to the sky and then out to the park, proper. If she squinted, she could just see past the playground barrier. The shine of a baldhead and the telltale garbled squawk of an outdated walkie talkie caused Melody to go pale. “Rower roaster aw near!” That was messed up static for “Roller coaster all clear.” Melody heard Dean Garfield’s voice call back. “Beer garden and playground all clear.” “I’M HERE!” Melody wanted to call out. “HELP ME! HELP ME! I’M HERE!” If she could have, she would have stood up and shouted to the high heavens for all to witness. In the moment, Mel-Mel didn’t care about being in a poopy diaper or how embarrassing it would be to be caught in one by someone she actually knew from real life. She didn’t care that she’d get in trouble. Even detention or suspension would have been preferable to this. Mel-Mel couldn’t call out, however. Mrs. Jay told her to sit down and be quiet. And like it or not, Mel-Mel was going to be a good baby girl. It was only after Dean Garfield had passed that the thought occurred to her: “What is Dean Garfield doing here?” There were no highschoolers since she went down the slide, just highschool aged babies… And yet here he was, still looking for runaway teens. Mel-Mel looked down at her hands and arms. Still fit and trim; no pudgy baby fat. Same breasts beneath the bib of her overalls. (She ignored the turtle with a pink bow that had suddenly been embroidered on.) Pulling at her pigtails, her hair was just as long as it had always been. Yet, with the Dean here, what did that mean? Were thirty somethings the new highschool seniors on this side of the slide? Or maybe...just maybe...no one out of diapers saw the giant toddlers like herself as quite so big. “Okay, Melody,” Mrs. Jay snapped Mel-Mel out of her trance. “Time to get up.” Mel-Mel shook her head. “Huh?” Her legs gathered up beneath her and stood up before she consciously ordered them to. Darn it! She felt her diaper cling to her backside for a good three seconds before the weight of her mess outmatched the stickiness, causing the bulky thing to droop back down to the bottom of her shortalls. Oh, her poor panties! The oldest and most grown-up of the grown-ups cupped her hands together and shouted, “OKAY FOLKS! ROUND THEM UP! IT’S SHOW TIME!” Like cattle, the diapered teens started getting rounded up by the not-quite twenty-somethings with the daycare shirts. Bouncy houses were emptied and ball pits were cleared. Play areas were evacuated, all while people only a year or two older than Mel-Mel ushered them near the entrance. Meanwhile the older women gathered up diaper bags and lunch coolers, picked up bits of litter and scanned the perimeter for any “little one” that might’ve slipped through the cracks unobserved. Bea hurried over and picked up a piece of paper that had blown onto the playground, flashing her Luvs to everyone looking over. For some reason, it didn’t seem as profane or indecent as when Beatrice had been wearing panties. (When had) Maybe it was because diapers weren’t really underwear, even if they did get covered up. She gave the crumpled up piece to one of the adults, who gave her a pat on the she trotted over to a line of padded strangers. In groups of ten they were being separated. Ropes were being handed out by the grown-ups: Long blue chords with colorful rings attached to them. Every toddler grabbed their own colorful ring and stood in front of the next person to grab theirs. A walking rope...something that even kindergarteners might feel is too babyish...and Beatrice looked like she’d just won a prize by grabbing onto one. Even though each step caused the lump in the back of her pants to bounce and slosh up against her, Melody made off to join the group. Babyish or not, she WOULD get the ring next to Beatrice. She WOULD get to her best friend. “Hold on a moment, Melody.” Melody stopped at the command. “SARAH!” Mrs. Jay called out. “DIG THROUGH THE DIAPER BAG! MELODY NEEDS TO BE CHANGED!” Melody’s face was on fire. She’d been called out! She needed a new diaper and literally everybody in the entire world knew about it! THEY KNEW! Miss April trotted up, a not-so-little boy in tow. “Um...Eddie needs it too. And can we take them to the restroom to change them? It might be good for Annie’s potty training.” Mrs. Jay waved it off. “Odds are ten to one that Annie’s got a lump in her pants, too. But sure. Meet us at the amphitheatre.” “Yes ma’am!” Miss April Chirped. “Thank you!” She reached her hand out to Melody. “Come on, Melody! Let’ go get your diaper changed.” Melody’s hand shot out, taking the other girl’s hand. There was nothing now to do but go along and get changed. It was out of her control. Miss April led Melody to the front of the playground, where Miss Sarah already waited; two diapers and a pull-up and a pack of wipes in one hand; Annie’s wrist in the other. Annie was in all pink: Pink Shirt. Pink Shorts. Pink Shoes. And yes, the waistband of a pink pull-up peeking out the back. “I’m a big girl!” Annie shouted gleefully. “Of course you are,” Miss Sarah cooed. “Now let’s go to the potty and get changed with our little friends!” Annie let out a ‘yaaaaay!’ Eddie sucked on his thumb. And Melody’s body walked out with them even as her mind reeled. They didn’t even have the diaper bag with them! Three diapers and three giant toddlers! Everyone in the park would know! It didn’t help that Eddie was one of the pantsless wonders and his sagging diaper was obvious to any and all who knew what they were looking at. Looking back over her shoulder, Melody tried to see Beatrice. Her sidekick, such as she was, was fitting in quite well. Her line of walk rope carrying toddlers started to meander behind them, going to some stupid baby show in the ampitheater. For a moment the two made eye contact and Bea gave her an enthusiastic wave goodbye. “Bye Bea,” Melody whispered to herself. Deep down, she knew that her friend was long gone. The real question was when would Melody be joining her? A step later, Melody craned her neck up and looked up to the entrance of the playground. The entrance had been altered too! In place of the plain old alphabet labeling this the “Kiddie Korral” were brand new scribbles. Scribbles that Mel-Mel couldn’t decipher in the least! It was all gibberish to her! How was she supposed to tell if it was an “A” without an Apple or an Alligator? Or a B without a Ball right next to it? It took far too many steps for Mel-Mel to realize that she couldn’t read. The letters hadn’t changed...just Mel-Mel’s comprehension of them. It was just as many step for her to realize that she was starting to think of herself as ‘Mel-Mel’. Walking and freaking out in her own head, Melody vaguely heard Miss April and Miss Sarah talk to each other as they weaved through the crowds to the nearest restroom; talking about who would change whom or how one would change the so-called kids while the other made sure those not getting wiped down didn’t run away and who would stay with Annie while she tried to sit on the potty and so on and so forth. “Oh, this one doesn’t have a changing station,” Miss April said. Their route altered as they followed the signs that Melody could no longer read. Coming out of her own head, Melody looked around the crowd...and wished she hadn’t. A baby, a real one, wheeled by in a stroller. That was unnerving, but if people in this world didn’t get potty trained till they were nineteen or twenty it made sense that everyone younger would still be a ba-.... Melody didn’t even have the luxury of finishing that rationalization. On her right a group of elementary schoolers paraded by, chattering and nattering with each other. She still couldn’t read, but she’d seen their class t-shirts before. No one in Mrs. Wilkerson’s Toucans needed their hands held or to walk with a rope. No onesies, no pigtails, no rompers, no crotch snaps. As far as Melody could tell none of them wore diapers either. Unlike the 18 year olds at the Kiddie Korral, these ten year olds were acting their age. But then...what did that mean for her? “Miss Sarah,” Melody called over to the babysitter, somehow instinctually knowing that she’d be more likely to humor Melody’s question. “How old am I?” “Oh Melody,” Miss Sarah let out a small giggle. “Don’t you remember? You’re...‘Eighteen’.” There was something wrong about the way Miss Sarah said the number. It sounded hollow; disconnected; kind of like the robot call messages when you got a wrong number. Melody gulped. “Could you say that again, ma’am?” Miss Sarah turned her head and looked straight at Mel-Mel this time. “I said you’re…’Eighteen’...silly girl.” Her heartbeat started to ring in Melody’s ears. She’d paid close attention to the babysitter’s lips and what came out was like a bad anime dub. Miss Sarah’s voice had said ‘eighteen’, but her mouth had said something that didn’t match. Melody couldn’t lip read very well, but she could tell that there was only one syllable in what Miss Sarah was saying and that her lips pouted out when she said it. Was it one? Melody couldn’t quite tell... “And I’m a big girl!” Annie squealed over Melody’s existential crisis “I wear pull-ups!” Melody was certain that she’d never met the auburn haired girl in the pink everything before today. Despite that, she couldn’t help but shake the feeling that she deeply resented and hated the twit. “They’re only pull-ups if you DON’T go potty in them,” Melody taunted. “The moment your stars go away they turn into diapers!” It wasn’t the best insult, all things considered, but Melody’s more stinging and vulgar barbs had been taken from her by a simple command. It had the desired effect however. Annie was already starting to sniffle and tear up. Good. Stuck up poopy pants potty trainer had it coming! “Melody!” Miss April scoffed. “That’s not very nice!” No. No it wasn’t. The fact that it wasn’t made Mel-Mel feel a little better, too. Miss April handed over. “Annie, do you want to be a big girl and hold your Pull-Up for me?” That’s all it took to undo the damage Melody had caused. Being called a big girl and being allowed to ‘help’ carry something that would soon be underneath her shorts was enough for simple Annie. Eddie was in the same boat. Melody just rolled her eyes. Big boys and girls didn’t have to carry around extra pairs of undies. Her own indignation made her almost forget that she was tromping around a third rate theme park with a load in her pants. Almost… “Melody? How about you? Do you want to be a big girl and hold your diaper for Miss April?” The Pampers that was offered to her was bigger than any undergarment Melody could remember wearing. Her panties at home were much smaller. They could be balled up and shoved in her pocket if she’d wanted to….and that somehow made them more grown-up? That was because of course, big girl panties could stretch and be thinner. They only had to cover. They didn’t have to absorb or contain anything. The Elmo decorated white rectangle shoved in her face was almost bigger than her head and reeked of perfume. “Do you wanna be a big girl and hold your diaper?” Miss April repeated. Melody made a move to slap the darn thing away. “N-!” She stopped herself when she saw a cluster of very familiar faces. Classmates! Real ones! They couldn’t see her! Not like this! Hurriedly, she snatched the diaper out of Miss April’s outstretched hand and used it as a shield. “Don’t see me, don’t see me, don’t see me,” she whispered. Melody had never been to church, but it was a prayer all the same. The last few moments were excruciating until the little group came to the bathroom; a big brick building with an in and an out door. “Okay,” Miss April reported after ducking in, “Only one changing station. I'll change Mel-Mel and Eddie first, then you take Annie potty?” Miss Sarah pulled back the waistband of Annie’s pants and peeked inside. “Leave the wipes when you do…” she said. “Mrs. Jay called it.” BUSTED! That made Melody far happier than it had any right to. Her schadenfreude was short lived, however, as Miss April reached out her hand. Like someone being pushed to the edge of a cliff, Melody felt an instinctual desire to do everything she could to prolong the inevitable. “Uhhh! Eddie first? He needs it more?” “Oh sweetie,” Miss April said with a frown, “that’s very nice of you but…” Miss Sarah interrupted. “Just change Eddie.” Eddie was more than happy to take the grown-ups hand and be lead into the ladies room. “Mel-Mel, what has gotten into you today, little girl?” “Yeah,” Annie said. “Why are you bein’ so weird?” Melody’s jaw hung open a half second. “Weird? I’m not the one pretending I’m a big girl while there’s poop in my pants!” Miss Sarah cocked an eyebrow and crossed her arms. “Aren’t you, though? Aren’t you?” It wasn’t a command, but it shut Melody up all the same. Eddie waddled out a minute later, the fresh Huggies taped around him still stiff and crinkly. “Okay Mel-Mel,” Miss April cooed. “Your turn. Come with me.” Like a good girl, Melody’s body followed the grown-up into the restroom. Unlike the playground, everything was scaled correctly. No giant stalls. No humongo potties...err...toilets. No massive sinks. The only thing that did seem out of place was the changing table that was far too big to be necessary for someone young enough to be in diapers. And it wasn’t even in a handicapped stall. Melody was about to get her diaper changed right along the wall with a steady stream of women shuffling by her. “No!” Melody protested. All it took was a reassuring shush to seal her lips. Her body even gave a little hop so she could be boosted onto the plastic folding table. The cooled mass in her panties didn’t squish nearly as much as it had. If anything, it was starting to crunch and crumble. BEYOND gross! Almost past the threshold of no return, Melody laid down and allowed a strap to be fastened over her chest. One hand helpfully still held the fresh diaper to her chest. Her body wanted the poop and pee to be wiped away more than her mind wanted to hold onto her last vestige of adulthood and privacy? “This will be real quick, baby girl” Miss April promised. “Just suck your thumb and we’ll be done before you know it.” Darn it! Her right thumb popped into her mouth as the strange woman started popping open the snaps along Melody’s inseam. Her poor panties were now transmogrified into a diaper, a wet and messy one that sagged away from her and bunched up in all the wrong places. She needed a change. She needed it now. The world seemed to slow down as Miss April reached for the newly manifested tapes on what used to be Melody’s underwear. Two pulls, one on either side, and she’d be completely exposed. “Awwww!” An all too familiar voice broke Melody’s reverie. “Look at the baby!” Melody’s entire body went nuclear with heat. “Chewnifer?” she mumbled around her thumb. Juniper was here! And her mother! They had both shuffled into the restroom, and Melody had her pants rolled up and her diaper in full view! Juniper even made eye contact. Eye contact...but no recognition. “Don’t even think about it until you're married,” Juniper’s mom cut in. “I’m not ready to be a grandma.” April pivoted and showed them her shirt. “Daycare,” she said. Then she looked at Juniper. “We’ve actually got summer jobs opening up if you’re interested. We always have an influx of preschoolers and kindergarteners not old enough to stay home or go to camp or whatever.” “Actually, that might be a good way to convince you to wait,” Juniper’s mom said. “Moooom,” Juniper moaned. “I don’t wanna have babies, I just think they’re cute.” She squinted at Melody, and some glint of recognition registered in her eyes. “Hey,” she asked Miss April. “How old is she?” There was a hint, the barest splinter of suspicion. “Melody?” Miss April spared her a look. “She’s ‘...Eighteen’.” And it was gone. As soon as those badly dubbed words tumbled out, Melody knew that the only thing that Juniper saw was a baby on a changing table. “Oh,” Juniper shrugged. “I thought she was a little older.” “Growth spurt. She’s big for her age.” “Chewnifer!” Melody begged from behind her thumb. “Helph! Vey Furnin’ meh inta bebbe!” For her trouble, Melody was rewarded with cooing baby babble and motherese from Miss April. Miss April always did treat her the most like a baby. “That’s a weird diaper.” Juniper pointed to Melody’s crotch. “Looks like it’s trying to be panties or somethin’. “Yeah,” Miss April agreed. “I think it was a gimmick or something. Kinda like the blue jeans diapers.” “Is it supposed to be for potty training or something?” Juniper wondered. Her mother gave a knowing chuckle. “Potty training? ‘..Eighteen..’ isn’t nearly old enough for potty training.” “Yeah,” Miss April sais. “We’ve got a few ‘...Eighteen…’ year olds in Pull-Ups, but it’s more like the parents are tired of changing diapers and are trying to rush things.” She thumbed backwards to where Annie was waiting. “Really just makes the clean up harder.” “Huh,” Juniper shrugged. “Weird that they look like panties, then.” Miss April just shrugged. “I don’t get it either. But this is the last one she’s got. Now it’s back to regular Pampers for you!” Melody didn’t want to giggle amidst the flurry of tickles to her ribs and tummy. Poor girl had no choice. “Well, we’ll let you get to it.” Juniper said, before shuffling off to the toilet. No amount of begging from her thumb could make Juniper come back. No amount of muffled screaming could cover up the sounds of velcro tapes being ripped off, it’s scritch scratch chorus filling the linoleum halls. “So fussy, today.” Miss April said as she broke out the wipes. “You act as if you’ve never had your diaper changed before.” Melody hadn’t...not that she could remember. “You get changed all the time, though, remember?” And just like that, Melody did. She didn’t want to, but she did. This was no different than any other time she got changed by a grown-up. The surface of this changing table wasn’t as nice and comfy as the one she had in her nursery at home, or as familiar as the sturdy one at Daycare, but it was functionally the same. The cold wipes scraping poopy off her bum were the same that Mommy and Steve used. They felt good on her skin after sitting in that hot mushy diaper...panties?...diaper… She couldn’t help it, but she actually let out a sigh of relief as she began to feel the fresh hair on her privates. Clean at last. All of these conflicting, contradictory messages filled her head. She was eighteen, a grown woman about to break out into the world. She was a baby, a toddler at best who still needed her Mommy. She was graduating highschool soon! She was a regular at daycare! None of it made sense. But the grown-up was right. The grown-up was always right. And a dark, increasingly fearful part of Melody’s brain wondered if the only reason she still was able to think of herself as a big girl at all was because Miss April or one of the other grown-ups hadn’t told her not to. “Say bye, bye to the old diaper.” Miss April cooed. An order was given. “Bye bye.” The diaper was out of Melody’s hands and quickly unfolded. “And say hello to the new one!” “Hello.” A smile crept up Melody’s lips as the giant Pampers slid and crinkled beneath her. Mommy always got her Pampers. Melody frowned a little bit when Miss April started pulling the diaper up between her legs. No powder. Miss April hadn’t brought any. The sweet smelling perfume locked into the diaper’s core, should be enough. The diaper was quickly pulled snug around her hips, and just like that, Melody was fresh, clean, and oddly relieved. “There,” Miss April said as she buttoned Mel-Mel’s snaps back up. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Melody hopped off the table. “Fankyoo…” she said, oddly relieved, but still not quite feeling herself. Her hand reached out and took Miss April’s. The crisp crinkle of the fresh diaper was easy to hear again. Soon enough, Melody knew from experience, the diaper would conform more to her shape and not be quite so stiff. Soon enough she’d wet this one or poopy. Soon enough she’d be right back on her back like always...hopefully just before naptime or some other boring thing. She wouldn’t want to miss something fun because of a diaper change. On the way out, she got herself a little wave to Juniper as her former classmate washed her hands in the sink. Boring old goodie goodie Juniper seemed so grown-up to Melody just then. She couldn’t help but be in awe of Juniper. Melody couldn’t help it. She genuinely hoped the bigger girl would sign up for that Summer Job. Miss Juniper looked like she’d be a good playground supervisor. “You’re up,” one grown-up said to the other. Miss Sarah took the packet of wipes and took Annie into the bathroom. “Meet you at the amphitheater.” And so the two big babies and their caregiver went to a show, now with nothing for Melody to hide her face behind as Highschoolers walked in the opposite direction. “Eddie?” Melody asked. “Have you always been like this?” Her mind instantly knew two answers at the same time. Eddie gave voice to the louder one. “I think so,” he said. “I’ve always been a baby. Deep down anyways. Then I think came here and…” Eddie stopped talking and frowned. “Or maybe that was a dream. I don’t ‘member.” “You’ve been here before?” “Yeah.” Eddie said. “We come here every year, Mel-Mel. You know that.” And she did. Another two bits of contradicting knowledge and memory: One grown-up and one baby. She’d never been here, and she’d always been here. Today’s circumstances were both paranormally bizarre, and completely routine. Two lives were stuck between her ears, and she didn’t know which one to believe anymore. The warbling of a grown-up and chorus of childish laughter signaled “Do your ears hang low do they wobble to and fro? Can you tie ‘em in a knot? Can you tie ‘em in a bow? ” It was an old stupid song that she’d long grown out of. It was a new and delightful song that Melody had never heard before. Her head hurt just thinking about it. Had she had both hands free she would have clapped them over her ears. Instead she contented herself by going back to her thumb. What on Earth was happening to her? Was she still even on Earth anymore? She was escorted to the very front row, where a middle aged man strummed on a guitar. “Oh looks like we’ve got a few more kids trickling in.” “Melody had to get her diaper changed!” Whelp, at least Melody now knew where Beatrice was. No laughter, came from the audience. Even Melody didn’t feel embarrassed anymore. Her grown up brain was already stretched out beyond embarrassment, and her baby brain felt no reason to be embarrassed. “Well hello, Melody. My name’s Reffie!” The old guy said. His face kind of wrinkly, and he had a beard, but not a cool beard like Santa. He was somehow both bald and had a ponytail in the back. “How old are you?” “ ‘...Eighteen..’” Melody gasped. Her words came out one way, but her lips moved another! “Oh,” the old man chuckled. “I was ‘..Eighteen..’ just like you were once, believe it or not. And sometimes it was rough. Would you like to hear a song about it?” Melody had no time to respond. The shouting of “Yeah!” from everyone around her drowned out any reply she may have given. A simple, if steady blues riff sang out from the guitar. “My Mama took my bottle She took away my apple juice My Mama took my bottle She took away my apple juice Got somethin' squishy in my tushie I got them saggy diaper blues.” The got a laugh, from the grown-ups most of all. Not from Melody though. Somehow she could relate. It really was no fun when grown-ups took stuff away. “My nanny up and left me I can't find that girl nowhere My nanny up and left me I can't find that girl nowhere So I'm just sittin' here in my high chair cryin' Puttin' Spaghettios in my hair.” She found herself nodding. It stunk when grown-ups left you alone with nothing to do to entertain yourself. Mel-Mel wanted to be the center of attention. Always! Oh how she wished she could be big! But in that wish, Mel-Mel realized that she just admitted to herself that she wasn’t big. Before today, she might have argued her size or her age made her big, but neither seemed to disqualify her now. Saggy or not, her diaper still fit. A bit of a flourish, and the kiddie singer brought it home. “Boom boom boom, what's that in my room? I smell somethin', ain't no perfume Look in the trunk and what do I find? Ain't no spare tire—got a stinky behind Mama, mama mama It's hangin' down to my shoes Better hurry up and change me I got them saggy diaper blues.” Oh the catharsis! Oh the drama! How it mirrored her own life experiences! Truly this was art! Before she knew it, she was clapping along and cheering with the rest of her Daycare class. And not a single Grown-Up had to tell her. “But it’s not all bad,” the entertainer said when all the applause had died down. “There are plenty of upsides to being your age, too.” “Like what?” Melody hadn’t meant to call out...it just bubbled up out of her. “Oh, a little girl or little boy always asks me that.” The old man smiled. The grown-ups sitting with them all laughed, like there was a joke that only they got. “And here’s what I tell him.” A happier, more upbeat riff this time: “I can crawl around on the ground I'm allowed to make obnoxious sounds I can be asleep both night or day I ain't got much hair to brush And there ain't no need for me to flush And that is why you'll always hear me say Man, it sure is great to be a baby.” Mel-Mel couldn’t tell if she was nodding in agreement or just bobbing her head, but her foot was tapping along. Old guy had a lot of good points! “You can sit all day and suck your thumb I can chew my brother's toes And play with the stuff inside my nose And the pans in the kitchen cupboard make great drums.” That DID sound fun! What did grown-up Melody have to look forward to? Nothing. More complaining and witching (though that wasn’t quite the right word…) from Mom and Steve for not doing her chores. Lectures about getting a job. She definitely wasn’t going to college. In a kind of euphoric trance, Mel-Mel looked around. It was like a magic ritual. The other (yes other) babies clapped along like good little boys and girls. The grown-ups watched patiently, smiling kindly. Mrs. Jay even gave a wink at Mel-Mel when they made eye contact. She knew! Mrs. Jay knew! That’s when Mel-Mel knew too. All of these people, all these other toddlers, never grew up. They never had to. Never needed to. It’s why Bea was being such a good baby. She’d always been one. Always needing a firm hand to guide her and tell her what to do and only wanting to play. Who else but a baby thought like that? Mel-Mel didn’t have an answer for that. In her mind(s) at least, there wasn’t one. So much catchier than any grown-up song she knew, the song picked up speed as the ritual neared its conclusion. “Get strolled, carried, burped and cuddled Wiped, powdered, diapered, swaddled Hugged, tickled, dried, tossed Ported, dressed, kissed, washed Swung, spoiled, peek-a-boo! Pampered, nibbled, coochee-coo! Snuggled, cuddled, rocked and fed Sung to, nursed and put to bed.” Melody sang along with the last refrain. Everyone except the grown-ups did. “Man, it sure is great to be a baby!” The moment those words came out of her mouth, Melody died. There was no pain, no inky blackness, no pearly gates or burning hells. Her heart did not stop. Her lungs still drew breath. It was not the death of a physical body, but the death of a point of view; the death of an identity. Melody the highschooler and adult on the verge of freedom just faded away, and little Mel-Mel the big baby toddler came out to play. Forever. Gone were memories of school, or work, or peer pressure, or independence. All of that silly old stuff evaporated right along side big fancy words and big girl beds and modesty and potty training. Mel-Mel’s diaper remained clean and dry, but only because she had just been changed. The juice boxes and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches they’d all partake in after the concert would see to that. If she was really wet, she’d be changed before getting back on the bus. If not, Mommy would take care of it. Mommy, or somebody else. What happened in Mel-Mel’s diaper wasn’t her problem, anymore. It never had been. And Mel-Mel’s discipline was never a problem even when she was feeling a bit naughty or cranky. She always listened to grown-ups. Always... **************************************************************************************************** One Year Later... “What the fuck?!” the new girl shouted. “What the hell is going on?!” Mel-Mel stopped racing Bea on the spring horsey and dismounted. Her diaper still crinkled a little bit underneath her pretty white dress that Mommy had dressed her in today for the field trip. She might’ve been wet, but she couldn’t tell. She could never tell. That’s why grown-ups like Miss Juniper had to check her. It was so much easier for all involved then asking the poor ‘...Eighteen…’ year old to know for herself. She loved this trip; had looked forward to it all year, in fact. Fun Time Land had the best rides, and nothing was better than the spring horseys at the Kiddie Korral! “Excuse me!” the new girl waddled up. “Excuse me! Do you know what’s going on?!” “We’re havin’ a field trip!” Bea volunteered helpfully. “She asked me, Bea!” Mel-Mel stuck her tongue out at her bestest friend. Bea playfully stuck her tongue back out. The new girl didn’t seem to notice. She’d just slid down into the ballpit for the first time and seemed shocked that something besides water filled the big ol’ pool at the bottom. To be fair, it happened to a lot of babies. It had even happened to Mel-Mel once or twice. “I was here with my family,” the new girl said. “And my brat of a younger brother ran away from me and I tried to find him and I checked the slide just in case and...and...and…” she took a deep breath. “Where did all the babies go?!” Mel-Mel and Bea looked at each other. “Um...here?” It was Bea who had the idea. “Wait, Becky, are we playing invis-di-ble now? Can you not see me?” Oh yeah, Mel-Mel remembered. This wasn’t a new girl. This was Becky. Silly Becky! Her Mommy sometimes called her Rebeccah, but only when she was being naughty. Bea bent over so she could do a summersault, giving everybody a good look at her Luvs in the process. “Invis-di-ble flippy flip!” “Oh my god!” Becky gasped. “Are you wearing a fucking diaper?” “Her or me?” Mel-Mel asked Becky. “BOTH OF YOU!” Mel-Mel frowned. She THOUGHT she’d been wearing a diaper. Just in case, she lifted her dress all the way up past her waist so she could look down. Cookie Monster grinned up at her from her Pampers. “Yup!” she told Becky. “What about you?” “What about me?” Becky asked. Then her eyes grew wide. Mirroring, Mel-Mel, Bekcy hiked up her skirt and stared down at her diaper. It was a funny looking one: Mint Green with some kind of yellow trim. Had a bunny on it everything. “What happened to my-...” Becky interrupted herself. “I'M PEEING!” she shrieked. Becky’s hands shot down to her diaper and she looked real embarrassed for some reason. Mel-Mel for her part had stopped paying attention. She had a silly grin on her face as she stared past Becky and bent her knees. “Pooooooopie…” she whispered just as the back of her diaper ballooned out. “Are you…?” Becky stuttered. “Are you shitting yourself?” Mel-Mel blinked when she was done. “Huh?” She didn’t know what those words meant. “Sorry. I was just poopin’. Wanna play horsey with me and Bea?” “NO!” Mel-Mel let her dress drop back down. Her diaper sagged just enough where somebody could see the very bottom of it now. “Okay. Come on Bea!” For some reason, Becky looked like she was gonna be sick when Mel-Mel got back on the horsey. She turned almost as green as her fancy looking diaper. Maybe that’s why she was so fussy today, maybe Becky was getting sick. On a completely different note, the saddle felt a lot softer and mushier as Mel-Mel bucked up and down on the play pony. “Becky!” Miss Juniper called. “You leave Mel-Mel alone if you can’t be nice to them.” Becky walked away...even though she looked like she didn’t want to. Must’ve meant that she couldn’t be nice. That was the nice thing about Miss Juniper didn’t give orders like the other grown-ups, and when she did, she still gave you a choice. Mel-Mel didn’t know why, but she had a feeling that Becky was going to have a very bad day. That was okay though. Mel-Mel had had bad days too. Soon enough, probably by tomorrow, Becky would be back to normal. This field trip had a way of making everything right again.

Ryan sat at Chez Jeunesse, waiting for his date, praying this wasn’t some elaborate prank. It felt like an elaborate prank, and not just because of what he had been instructed to wear. “Will monsieur be dining alone this evening?” the waiter had asked. The fake french accent was so thick, it sounded like something out of a Monty Python skit, and not one of their good ones. Ryan shook his head. He had wanted to call the hack waiter “garson” or some other suitably French sounding word, but he didn’t want to make waves. Don’t make waves: That was Ryan’s modus operandi, his life in a nutshell. To call him average would have been an insult and a misnomer to the word. When most people said “average” they really meant “normal” or “down to earth”. For most, “I’m your average guy”, meant “I’m not showing all of my crazy in one sitting, but I definitely won’t bore you.” What it meant in Ryan’s case was: “There’s nothing about me that separates me from the pack in any significant way. I’m not even boring or dull. I’m a living extra from the Lego Movie. No not Emmet, one of Emmet’s co-workers in the beginning of the movie. Were my life fiction, I’d be the perfect self-insert for just about anyone with a penis.” There was nothing remarkable about Ryan, or so he’d thought. When playing an rpg, he’d just go for the base character creation stats and appearance. Seemed right. In highschool he was voted most likely to not make a most likely list. Yeah. That tracked. He wasn’t dirt poor or break-the-bank rich. He had a fairly boring job in which he was perpetually on the cusp for a promotion into middle management. The youngish man wasn’t ugly, but not particularly handsome, either. He had friends of convenience, but none of them were particularly close or knew much about him, not that he felt like there was much to know. Stories about the invisible man, or songs like Mr. Cellophane didn’t apply to Ryan, because those unremarkable people were still remarkable enough to get songs written about their un-noticability. Those bland pop songs about “boy” or “you”, the ones that gave virtually no description of the the singing protagonist's love interest: They very well could have been about him. Or not. Either way was fine. If Ryan had been a more sinister sort, he very well could have made a living in crime. Rob diamond stores. Mug little old ladies. Shoot people in the middle of Time Square. Who would have noticed him? Neither thin, nor plump, nor muscular. His hair was not wild nor short cropped, nor long nor wavy. His eyes were an indistinct color of brownish, blackish, greenish, blue. A Ken doll was less generic than Ryan. God help the police sketch artist trying to draw him from a description or the victim pointing him out in a lineup. He was a living ghost; remarkable in only how unremarkable he was. There were many people who might beg for Ryan’s life. Mediocrity was a blessing when you were low, and a quiet reprieve when you were high. By his own reckoning, though, Ryan was neither low nor high. He just was. And that was the problem. Even living ghosts got lonely. The high and mighty could get whatever they wanted, and even the lowlies got a smidge of pity to help things even them out. Ryan was constantly passed over. If he was a puppy at the pound, he’d be passed over either because he wasn’t cute enough to adopt or messed up enough to get the sympathy save. Everyone was sure that things would be “fine” for him...eventually, but “eventually” wasn’t coming any time soon. Puppies like Ryan got put to sleep. Until two weeks ago, it felt like every time Ryan shook a Magic 8-Ball, the result was “Ask again later”. “More water, monsieur?” The waiter asked, disrupting Ryan’s inner monologue. Ryan nodded and stared as the water flowed from the pitcher into his glass for the third time. The waiter must have been on his A game tonight. Normally, Ryan had to flag down a server at Ruby Tuesdays to get so much as a soda. “Are you sure you are at the right restaurant?” Oof. That one hurt. But hurt felt good, comparatively speaking. And he was indeed underdressed. This place was too rich for him, and his polo shirt, and lack of tie, while nice enough, made him seem terribly college freshman. Ryan had taken a peek at the menu and none of the items had prices listed next to them. Not a good sign. At places like Chez Jeunesse, you either had the dough to shell out, or you didn’t. Ryan didn’t. “Are you sure you have not been how you say, left at the altar?” The waiter asked. Ryan had to fight an increasingly overwhelming urge to reach up and rip out the man’s snooty nose hairs. He swallowed his pride and his temper. “I’m here early, is all.” This was technically true. Heather had told him to arrive at 6:30 and expect her at 7:00. She’d told him to come in an Uber. He wouldn’t need his car tonight. The waiter let out one of those strange caricature laughs that French people only did in the cartoons. “Haw haw haw! A blind date, then?” He winked at Ryan. “Of a sort.” The waiter seemed to take his meaning and left him be. Ryan knew exactly who he was meeting, but felt that he had no idea of what was going to happen tonight. So yeah, he was effectively going in blind. Even his outfit had been determined by Heather’s orders: “Wear a collared shirt, but nothing fancy. Business casual,” her text had read. Looking at the other diners in their three piece suits and fancy dresses, Ryan felt amazingly underdressed. He didn’t have anything close to this in his closet, but if he had at least come in the one nice suit and tie that he kept in the back of his closet for weddings and such, he could have looked like a poor man’s rich man; like he was trying. At present, he felt like an elementary schooler who’d dressed up for picture day. Trying...but not really. The diaper didn’t help, either. That had been another prerequisite from Heather: Wear protection. “Protection” was Heather’s code word for “Adult diaper.” Ryan had been disappointed and confused when he’d learned that last time. “Let me give you some protection to put on.” The medical brief she’d slipped out of her purse was decidedly nothing like the old condom that he’d had in his wallet since freshman year. Nervously, Ryan shifted in his chair, thing padding of the Depends shifting with him. How did old people wear this stuff? His bladder was beginning to feel full, too. Not enough for desperation to set in or for him to need to use the diaper (wait, did she want him to use the diaper?) but enough that he noticed. Not so absentmindedly, he kept tugging at the back of his polo, hoping that the edge of the adult diaper wasn’t poking out the back of his waistband. Heather was a weird girl, but decidedly worth it. And that wasn’t the crushing loneliness talking, either. The waiter was coming back for what felt like his umpteenth pass, when 7:00 hit, and Heather walked in, right on cue. Shiny blonde hair. Perfect skin and teeth and a red mini dress that just barely covered her perfect, perfect ass. “Can I help you ma-?” The waiter stopped and gawked as Heather walked right by him like he wasn’t even there. The way he tilted his head after she’d passed didn’t go unnoticed by Ryan, either. Ryan didn’t stand. He’d been told not to on date numero dos, a date that had baffled the more-average-than-average man for even existing. Ryan didn’t get second dates. He barely got first dates. The waiter threw a look towards Ryan. He couldn’t believe it either. The waiter’s questioning glance was met by a slight shrug of Ryan’s shoulders. Clueless. Both of them. Heather picked up the chair opposite of Ryan and walked around the intimate circular table so that she was sitting right next to him. “Hey,” she said. “Been waiting long?” “No, Ma’am.” The reply had come so naturally that Ryan wasn’t even sure he’d meant to say it. He saw Heather’s nostrils flare and a faint flicker of surprise in her crystal blue eyes when he called her Ma’am. Was she…? Was she turned on by this? Naw. She couldn’t be. She leaned in. “I’ve been looking forward to this,” he whispered. “Me too,” he said. She giggled. “Don’t lie, sweetie. You can’t be looking forward to what you don’t know is com-” “Bonjour,” the waiter interrupted. “I am Francois and I’ll be serving you to-” Heather whipped her head around. “Thank you,” she said, cutting off ‘Francois’. “I’ll have a glass of Champagne, but only the one. I’m driving. And make sure it’s Champagne, and not sparkling wine I can tell the difference.” Nervously, the waiter whipped out his notepad and started jotting down the order. “He’ll have a lemonade, fresh squeezed if it pleases you,” Ryan’s date continued. “We’ll each have the house salad, though his dressing will be on the side. On second thought make mine a Ceasar salad. I’ll have foie gras as an appetizer and the kobe beef with steamed vegetables.” “And the ahem..gentlemen?” Ryan was about to open his mouth when a finger attached to one of the most gorgeous women he’d ever seen slapped itself vertically across his lips. “My boy will have the chicken fingers with fries, and make sure that the honey mustard is fresh and not straight out of a bottle.“ A spasm rocketed through Ryan’s system. Her boy. His cheeks flushed. That was like boyfriend, right? Right. “Madam,” Francois said, his fake-ass French accent starting to falter. “You do realize of course, that the chicken fingers are on the children’s menu, yes?” “If the proprietor of the establishment is concerned about the children’s menu being a loss leader, then he should also know that my entre will more than cover the loss.” There was a pause for the waiter to absorb everything. When Heather wanted something, Ryan had learned, she tended to talk fast. “If you’re hesitant due to worry that serving him a child’s menu item would break some sort of decorum, then perhaps you should not have a child’s menu. Better yet,” she cleared her throat. “N'essayez pas de parler avec un faux accent français lorsque vous ne connaissez pas la langue.” Ryan could see the waiter’s Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “I..beg your pardon madam?” “Don’t talk with a French accent when you don’t know French…” The waiter gulped. “Yes ma’am.” His accent went full, bland, mid-western. Heather took her finger off of Ryan’s lips as the waiter scampered away. “Sorry about that,” she said. “Some people need to be put in their place, and some people need to be put in their place.” “You called me your boy,“ Ryan said, dumbly He was still stunned at that. A devilish smile fell over her. “I did.” She stood up. “Now excuse me.” Carrying a purse that might have been bigger than her dress, Heather walked away in the direction of the ladies room. A moment later, the waiter returned with a glass of lemonade and a glass flute filled with champagne. “Is she still here?” His French accent hadn’t returned. “Bathroom,” Ryan yelped out. “Dude,” he said. “I am so sorry for doubting you. What is your secret?” “What do you mean?” “How did you,” he looked over to the ladies’ room, “get a girl like that?” He paused. “No offense.” “None taken,” Ryan said. “And I have no idea. We met on a tinder date that went really really right and it hasn’t stopped.” The only thing more surprising than getting that first date was getting the second and third. “Do you have like a giant dick or something?” “We haven’t had sex yet...” “THE FUUU-?” The waiter stopped himself when a nearby diner dropped their knife in shock. He leaned in and whispered. “Are you her drug dealer or something? Is she yours?” He gestured to himself. “Like like...I’m not a bad looking dude, but I can’t get someone like that!” Ryan could only echo his own acute disbelief. “I really have no idea.” Even after half a dozen dates, (if he counted this one), he still couldn’t get a read on the woman. Their first date she had him buy two movie tickets to two separate movies. He only stayed in the theatre because kid-centric or not, Disney was good at what it did. His surprise was immeasurable when she was waiting for him outside and bought him dinner. The waiter looked once more towards the restrooms and scribbled on his order pad. “I don’t normally do this,” he said. “But this is my email address.” He slapped a thin sheet of paper down. “If you figure out why and if she knows anybody like her, email me. Please.” The door to the restroom opened and “Francois” was out of sight. Heather walked back up to the little round table. Still standing, she picked up champagne flute and took a swallow from it. Reaching out, she grabbed Ryan’s hand. “Come on,” she said. “Up you go and follow me.” Reflexively, Ryan followed her gentle tug and was standing up before he knew what he was doing. “Where?” Their feet were moving, he was following her lead. “No time to explain.” “But why-?” “There’s no time to explain, I said. Now come along.” She spoke to him as if he were a silly little boy, the thing smile on her face contrasting with her stern tone. Leading him by the hand, he certainly felt the part. He thought they might be leaving the restaurant as she dragged him across the floor, but that wasn’t the case. Instead, Ryan found himself making a bee-line with his date straight back into the women’s restroom. No! Nope, nope, nope! Nope on a rope! Ryan dug his heels in, as soon as Heather’s intentions became clear. Heather turned around and saw the look of pure panic on his face. “I just checked. No one’s in there. Would you rather do this in the boy’s room?” Ryan genuinely didn’t know. He didn’t dare guess what “this” was. On their second date they met at the park. Heather gave him a bag of corn and shredded lettuce and made him feed the ducks. Only he wasn’t allowed to call them ducks, just “duckies.” Then they’d gone to an empty playground, and she wasn’t satisfied until he’d played on every bit of the jungle gym. A small lifetime of internet dating expectations had been shattered by this lady. He’d been told not to stick his dick in crazy, and he hadn’t yet...but why did he keep coming back? “Boy’s room?” Heather repeated. “Yes or no?” When he couldn’t come up with an answer fast enough, she rolled her eyes. “Ugh, boys. Come on.” The ladies room door flung open again and Ryan found himself dragged inside. With the precision and purpose of a military general went for the wide handicapped stall in the back. The rest of the restroom blinked by and Ryan found himself inside the stall, Heather latching the door closed before his brain spoke over his penis. Women’s room. Hot girl. Privacy. Boxes were being checked buttons were being mashed. This was a bad idea, but bad ideas were sounding pretty damn good all of a sudden. Heather walked to a thick slab of plastic mounted on the wall; a decoration of a baby elephant holding its mother’s tail drawn on it. “Changing station or floor?” “What?” She pulled the flap down making it run parallel to the ground. “Changing station or floor?” A massive red flag and 404 error flashed across the computer screen of Ryan’s mind. “But I don’t under-” “If you can’t decide where I’m going to change you, Miss Heather will decide for you.” Miss Heather? Both referring to herself in the third person and as an adult might refer to themselves to a child...that was unexpected, and slightly arousing. “But I’m potty trained!” he yelped. That too, was unexpected. He had meant to just say “no”. Instead he was whining like a three year old. “We’ll see about that,” She got down on her knees and unfastened his belt buckle. It was happening! It was happening! She unbuttoned his pants! Oh God! Oh God, yes! Let it begin! “Awwwww!” Then she let out a condescending giggle. Ryan didn’t know that giggles could be condescending, but Heather had found a way. “Depends? You’re wearing, Depends?” Ryan deflated. “You said to wear uhh...protection.” She looked up at him grinning. “Ryan, sweetie…” she was smiling at him as if he was absolutely precious. “...I gave you that sample last time as an example of what to buy.” “I’m sorry…?” His date let out a sigh. “It’s okay. You tried your best. Go on and sit down on the potty.” Her hand was pushing him back onto the toilet. “Boys…” He was too flustered and confused to wince at the coldness of the toilet seat. He was too blown away by what was happening to care much that he was peeing sitting down while Heather ripped apart the sides of his Depends. His Depends. The fuck had his life come to? “So I don’t have to uh...use it?” “It wouldn’t have done either of us any good,” Heather assured him. She opened her purse and unfolded a blanket from it. “Lay down.” He did, not even thinking to shake it off or flush because she had not instructed him to. Pants around his ankles he laid down on the giant changing pad, feeling the vinyl lining beneath his bare ass. The rational part of his brain already knew that this wasn’t going to end with her mouth around his penis. His penis didn’t much care. It was getting attention from a pretty lady and was in no position to complain. Beggars couldn’t be choosers. “I’ll clean you up.” Even with the coldness of the baby wipe (and that’s what it was there was no denying it) Ryan started to swell as she caressed his member. That same “awww so cute” giggle kept him in check, however. He wasn’t surprised when she reached into her giant purse and took out a diaper. Both Ryan and his penis were well aware of where this was likely headed. What caught him off guard was how damn babyish it looked. Last time, the diaper she’d made him wear looked like something one might find in a hospital. This one had cartoon animals all over it, and even some of them were wearing diapers. It looked like something his little brother might have worn years ago before he was potty trained. Ryan pushed himself up on his elbows. “Do I really have to wear tha-?” “Yes.” She was already unfolding it. “Raise your hips.” “Raise my…?” “Lift your butt up for me, babe.” That word, “babe”, might as well have been a hypnotic trigger for how fast he reacted. His back was down on the floor, his legs spread, his knees bent, and his feet flat and pushing, thrusting his butt up off the pad. She slipped the diaper under him and gave his knee a pat, signalling him to relax. It was as he felt the soft padding and heard the crinkle beneath him that some semblance of second thoughts forced their way into his gray matter. “Do I hafta?” Down below, Ryan felt himself shrivel a bit as blood rushed from one region to another. Slowly, seductively, Heather leaned forward between his legs, her hands on his waist. “Ryan, honey,” she whispered so that only he could hear. “Miss Heather understands. But if you had forgotten and had an accident, those silly Depends would have leaked.” Ryan licked his lips as she paused for an agonizingly slow breath. “And these Crinklz look so much cuter. You do want to look cute for me, don’t you?” Fuck. He did want to look cute for her. He really did. “But with my pants on, no one else will see them.” God please let him keep his pants up after this. He didn’t know if he’d have the internal strength to refuse if she insisted. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll see them...later.” A spasm rocked through him and she leaned back. “All done.” Ryan looked down at his waist. When had she...? Her thin and satisfied smile spread out into a full mischievous grin. “I can be sneaky when I want to be.” That whole pep talk when she’d been whispering sweet nothing to him, she had been pulling up the front and fastening on the tapes. She’d diapered him without even looking! Again, she was helping him stand up, only now his pants were around his ankles. Ryan stopped himself from bending over to pull his pants up and got another thin smirk of approval as his girlfriend (this HAD to count!) bent over and redressed him. Wordlessly she turned him around to make sure that he was tucked in and then made him jump with a muffled swat on his padded behind. Less than half-a-minute later, her (his?) diaper bag was packed. He stood there nervously as she washed her hands in the bigger stall’s built in sink. The moment her hands were dried, they were on his wrist again with her maneuvering him out of the women’s restroom and out into the crowded restaurant. Something was wrong, Ryan knew, and he dug his heels in, again. Heather turned around. “What’s wrong?” He could hear the crinkle, still. Every single step he heard it, and some dark paranoid fear in him whispered that everyone would hear it too. “Nothing,” he lied. The people outside in the dining room would hear, they all would, and they’d know that it was: No one would assume that he had slipped a plastic shopping bag into his pocket. They’d hear it, know what he was wearing a diaper; not a Depends, but a full blown DIAPER and...and...and… And? Heather patted him on the top of his hand. “No one can hear it. It’s like potato chips. Crunchy and crinkly, and unless it’s absolutely quiet no one else will know.” “How do you know?” “Do you want to get caught in the ladies’ room?” He did not and she must have been able to read minds. “Come on. Our salads will be ready.” She was right, of course: Darting across the room, him holding her hand being led back to their table, Ryan kept scanning the room for cases of stink eye or good old fashioned shocked-and-appalled. Oh yeah, and the salads were there too, sitting right next to each other. Ryan slinked into his seat, quietly hoping to disappear as Heather pulled out her own chair and glided into hers. She started eating with gusto, not waiting for him. She paused to wipe her mouth and then looked at his plate, still untouched. “It’s okay. Go ahead and eat up.” Her gaze wandered over to the little bit of dressing on the side. “Oh!” she said. “Sorry. I almost forgot.” In one fluid motion she was drizzling the salad dressing over the bits of lettuce, tomato, and cucumber as Ryan sat there like a helpless idiot with his hands in his lap. “All better. Go ahead.” He didn’t. She stopped and stared. “That is unless you need me to feed you…” That same mischievous grin flashed, more in her eyes than her lips. She seemed a little disappointed when he finally picked up his fork. Gingerly he stabbed a lettuce leaf and placed it in his mouth. It was a good enough salad. The crunching in his mouth made him think of the diaper in his pants. She was right, he told himself. No one would hear the diaper, just like no one could hear the lettuce crunching in his mouth. The blessed relief was short lived. With his current underwear filed away as a “later problem” his mind went on to other things; namely dinner. Foie gras and kobe beef? Ryan didn’t even know what those were, but they sounded expensive. Both his tongue and his wallet was more accustomed to burgers and chicken fingers. This was by far the most expensive “date” they’d been on, and he wasn’t sure he could afford the bill. Shamefacedly, he looked down at his salad. “Heather?” he said. Despite being right next to him, Heather kept eating. “Heather…?” She’d gone deaf to her own name. “Miss Heather?” “Yes, Ryan?” “Um...I’m sorry to bring this up.” Ryan said, feeling even more embarrassed, “but can we go Dutch on this? Please?” Heather cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t be silly.” Ryan’s heart stopped. “I’m paying for you.” ALIVE! His stomach grumbled. “Oh. Cool,” he said. Finally his appetite was coming out. “Thanks for treating me. Can I-?” “No.” “Excuse me?” “Calling it Treating implies that this is a one time thing and that I expect you to pay for me for eating with you. It’s antiquated, sexist, and assumes you have something to hold over me. You don’t.” Ryan practically felt himself shrinking. He wanted to just hide under the table and die. He’d never had a girlfriend before, but this was not what he thought it was supposed to be. He’d just wanted to date a pretty girl. Maybe take her out to dinner at Chili’s or something. Maybe see a movie. Maybe get laid and if he was really lucky, they’d like each other. This...this wasn’t that storybook romance of boy-meets-girl. This was we’re not in Kansas anymore level of overwhelming, ratcheted up slowly over several encounters, like boiling a lobster. Heather’s expression softened. “Hey,” she said. “Sorry. I wasn’t talking about you specifically,” she said. The back of her hand caressed his cheek. Damnit that helped! “Tell ya what, kiddo,” she said. “From now on, when we go out, I’ll tell you whether you should bring your wallet and for how much you’ll be paying. Would you like that.” Ryan nodded. Yeah. He’d like that. He’d like that alot. “Good.” She leaned over and gave him a chaste kiss on the forehead. His diaper was crinkling again, but not because of his shifting weight. Something else was shifting. The salad plates were just being scraped clean when the waiter brought out the next dish: A little brown hunk of meat drenched in a brownish orange sauce. “Your foie gras, Madam,” the waiter said. Heather shot him a look and he quickly self corrected back to his real accent. “I mean, “Ma’am.” “What is that?” Ryan asked, pointing like a six-year old. In reply, his date cut a piece and put it on her fork. She offered the meat up to him, prongs first. “Try it.” He reached to grab and got his hand lightly slapped for his trouble. Internally, Ryan chastised himself: She’d already put baby briefs on him. Of course she’d want to spoon feed him. He opened his mouth and let her slide the food in, closing his lips around it and feeling the metal prongs slide back out from his lips. “Good boy.” Wow! Ryan was taken back. Rich. Buttery. A little slimy, but satisfying nonetheless. Very good. “What is that?!” “Liver of a duck that was force fed to the point of basically diabetes.” A moment of revulsion crossed Ryan’s mind. The moment passed. It was just like when he’d found out how chicken nuggets were made. Appetite beat out disgust. In a strange way, this entire relationship had been a bit like foie gras or chicken nuggets: Gross on paper but he was hungry enough to eat it. And, he had to admit, it wasn’t that bad, was it? What he wouldn’t admit, even to himself, was that he wasn’t quite thinking about food. “Can I have some more?” Heather shook her head. “No,” she said. “But maybe next time you can get your own.” Next time! First a “from now on” and then a “next time”. Holy shit! The fried chicken fingers and honey mustard (fresh the waiter assured Heather) came out just as Heather was finishing the last bite of her diabetic duck liver. Heather was kind enough to eat quickly and without further comment so as not to tease him. Ryan tried to pick up one of the tender pieces and was rewarded with a fork lightly smacking the back of his hand. He squeaked a little as if he’d felt actual pain, even though surprise was a more apt descriptor. Even then...was he really surprised? He jerked his hands backwards and laid them down in his lap, much like how his mother had taught him to do when walking through antique stores or other places where little hands were not supposed to touch big things. “Hold on. Let me help,” Miss Heather said, leaning over to cut up the kids’ meal into even more bite sized pieces. Her entree came while she was still prepping Ryan’s plate as if he were a preschooler. Kobe beef, Ryan surmised, was some kind of super expensive steak. Francois, the waiter, did an actual double take right out of Looney Tunes when he saw Ryan getting his chicken cut by a woman who was at least 3 degrees out of his league. The questioning expression Ryan caught said, “Is this really a thing?” Ryan wasn’t sure and communicated the same with his own baffled expression. He didn’t know if the waiter approved or not. Hell, the waiter might not even know if he approved or not. Regardless, he had the proper mix of courtesy, situational awareness, and fear of Miss Heather to leave her dish and exit without comment. The chicken tenders were sectioned off into something more resembling nuggets. “There ya go,” she said. “You can use a fork, or your hands. Your choice.” Ryan chose hands. The tenders were cut into such small pieces that it was functionally impossible for him to eat without getting sauce on his fingers, instead licking it off with every bite. “Good boy.” One advantage to being painfully average: Ryan might not have been the fastest horse in the race, but he wasn’t the last one to cross the finish line, either. His date was watching him, dare he say ogling him, with every honey mustard filled bite that he popped into his mouth. “Heather, I mean Miss Heather,” he stumbled, “can I ask you a question?” “I don’t know,” she said. “Can you?” Just like in grade school, Ryan huffed. “I mean may I ask you a question?” “You may.” “What are we even doing?” Miss Heather took another bite of far-too-expensive-to-taste-bad steak in silence rather than answer. Or maybe silence was the answer. “It’s just that,” Ryan added, “I feel like this is going somewhere, but I don’t have a map.” Miss Heather dabbed her lips with her napkin and sat up a little straighter. “I’m a maternalist,” she told him. Ryan was now one of those meme dogs cocking his head to the side in confusion. “A what?” “I’m what’s called a Mommy Domme,” she replied. “I...get off...on treating grown men like small children. Babies.” Yeah. That made sense. No it didn’t, actually, but it lined up with the last few dates. “Why?” For the first time ever, Ryan saw her look slightly uncomfortable. “I’m not sure. My psychologist might have something to say about it if she knew. But putting pampers on big boys just does something for me. It makes me happy.” “I mean ‘why me’?” “Oh,” Miss Heather replied. “That.” She hummed to herself a bit. “It’s because you’re average and you know it.” He wasn’t sure why, but he was offended. Only he was allowed to talk down about himself. “If your self-esteem was particularly high, you wouldn’t let me do half the things I’ve done to you.” She reached over and took a sip of his lemonade. “I’m kind of out of your league, and you know it.” “More than kind of,” Ryan heard himself admit. Miss Heather’s eyes brightened a bit. “See? But if you were used to getting kicked around all the time, you might think this was some kind of trap. The abused break instead of bend” There was a kind of twisted logic to it. “No,” Miss Heather told him. “You know a good thing when you see one and you’re desperate enough to hear me out.” She paused. “That, and you are kind of cute.” Ryan wanted to melt away into her lap right then and there. “Not too hot. Not too cold. Just like Goldilocks.” “And I love the fact that your brain went there.” Another thought beamed into Ryan’s skull. “Sex? I mean, do you like it? Is it on the table?” Miss Heather deflated and rested her arms on the table. “I was hoping to ease you into this later tonight,” she admitted. “Kisses and petting are fine, but sex is off the table. For now at least.” “Oh…” Before he could say anything else, Miss Heather was in his ear, whispering breathily. “I know how to make a wet diaper feel reeeeeally good, though. It’s practically a pocket pussy.” Her hand was groping him beneath the table. “Think about it. No risk of getting me pregnant, I’ll definitely get something out of it, and you can be completely selfish. I’ll even let you suck on my titties.” A low moan rumbled out from Ryan’s throat. “All you have to do is call me by my name.” Ryan looked sideways at her. “Heather? Miss Heather?” “Not that name,” she teased. “My special name. The name that I’m only going to let you call me, and no one else.” Ryan took a not-so-wild guess. “Mommy?” She called for the check then said, “That’s my boy. Come on. Let’s go over to my place. I’m driving.” Things had started off oddly enough, but Ryan had a sense that his “average” streak was about to come to an end. It might still be a storybook romance. Just not the kind of stories that Ryan had been used to reading. (Fin)

Hey there babs and bigs. This is a short one-shot I wrote because I was bored and I might have a thing for princesses in diapers! Also, any aspiring princesses out there, pay attention. ^_~ Like always, Like & Comment. Check out our Patreon for a PDF or ePub of this story (along with 45 other stories) at: www.patreon.com/sophieandpudding Thank you for reading! ----------------------------- The Princess Rites By: Sophie Premise: The only way for someone to become a princess is for another princess to perform an unusual ritual. Disclaimers: diapers, forced regression “I seriously have to wear this?” she asked, holding up a fluffy white diaper. The peasant girl was already wearing a frilly pink baby dress, a pacifier clipped to the collar. “You want to be a princess, don’t you?” I asked, my arms crossed. My gown was shimmering white, as elegant as any dress in the kingdom. More importantly, it was long enough to hide the diaper I was wearing underneath it. “You know the rites.” The rites were simple: 1. Lay upon the royal bed, which had a glittering white canopy and pink silk sheets. Everything about it epitomized the words ‘little princess’, and that was the point. 2. The new princess had to be dressed in traditional princess clothes. That meant a fluffy dress and a diaper. All new princesses had to come into this world dressed that way, of course. 3. Once both princesses were laying upon the royal bed, dressed appropriately, they would share a kiss. Princessly powers would be shared from one princess to the other, and both of them would have the title. I waited patiently with a smile on my face, a small blush on my cheeks, as the new girl stripped herself of her adult underwear and taped the diaper around her hips. I kept a small bench at the end of the bed for just this reason. When she was done, she looked every bit a little princess girl. She sure was pretty. They usually were. Truth be told, I didn’t know this girl’s name. She was just another in a long line of peasants that wanted to be a princess. And I was so generous, that I didn’t even charge them for our time together! Most of the peasants couldn’t even afford it. I smiled coyly at the diaper girl in front of me, tapping the bed, beckoning her over. She waddled to my side and crawled into the bed. Every movement made her crinkle. She put her head on one of my pillows and I stared into her beautiful blue eyes. Gosh, I almost wanted to kiss her! She was so cute and vulnerable, a nervous smile on her lips. Lips that were so close to mine. But I had other plans. I rolled off the edge of the bed and pressed a button on the wall. Rails rose up on all sides, trapping the girl on the bed and sealing her fate. The door to the room opened and two guards came in. “What… what are you…?” The girl’s eyes went wide in surprise. Confusion. Fear. I could read them all on her face. Truth be told, I never even knew the girl’s name. I went through so many of them. “Are you comfy in there?” I asked, expecting no answer. “Don’t worry. In a moment you’ll start to feel sleepy.” One of the guards sprayed a mist between the bars filling it with a light aerosol. “I… no, I’m supposed to be a princess!” The girl shouted and struck the rails around her, kicking and fussing like a toddler. Gosh, why were they always so indignant? “You’ll be someone’s princess,” I smirked. “Not a real one, of course. I can’t let anyone have more power than me! But you’ll be regressed to that of a little baby girl and sold off to one of my friends. And they will treat you like a little baby princess for the rest of your life.” “No, you… you can’t…” But already the girl was fading. I watched her eyes droop as her hands slid off the rails, down to the soft silky sheets. “I’m… I’m not a baby…” “Not yet,” I corrected her, as she fell limply to the bed. I pressed the button again and the rails lowered. One of the guards picked her up and carried her out of the room, to the treatment tower. I thought she was cute when she walked in, but she would be so much cuter in a few days. Helpless, unable to form a sentence, and incapable of keeping her diapers dry. “Send in the next one.” The next one was another girl. They weren’t always girls. Boys could be princesses too; there wasn’t a rule against it. And some of my friends wanted good little baby boys! Though my favorites were the boys I would turn into girls. They were cuter that way. But this new girl was unusually gorgeous. She wasn’t cute and young, like most of the lowly peasants. She was older, in her late twenties or early thirties. She had an air of confidence about her I didn’t usually find in these types of dealings. I wondered how she got past the vetting process. More importantly, this new girl was already dressed. Her dress was lilac, fluffed out at the hips, and decorated in ribbons. It was one of the better outfits we had to offer. The diaper between her thighs was expertly taped in place. Maybe she had a kid? But I didn’t take meetings with parents. After all, she wouldn’t be going home. “Would you like to get started?” I asked sweetly, crawling into my bed. “Yes, that would be wonderful.” She approached with unwavering confidence and climbed in beside me. Each step was a chorus of crinkling and she smelled thickly of baby powder. There was something so alluring about her… but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Either way, that allure would disappear when she mindlessly filled her diapers. As we laid side by side, only inches apart, I thought about the hundreds of other people I had in this exact same position. So close to me, so intimate. They were basically in their underwear, and I’d never had a true kiss before. None of them were worthy to be princesses. None of them were on my level. This girl though… maybe it was something about her eyes. She wasn’t nervous or scared. She was calm, like the world was already figured out. Where had I seen the look before? “What’s your name?” I asked. I hadn’t asked for a name in a long time. “Allison,” she said in an even voice. “I’m Princess—” “I know, Princess,” she said with a smile. “Everyone knows you.” I nodded my head. Well… time to get this over with. Just then, the door opened to my chambers and in came one of the guards. I sat up in irritation. When I hit the button, they were notified. But I hadn’t hit the button. “Excuse you!” I said sharply. “I’m with someone at the moment!” “I’m so sorry, Princess,” the guard said nervously, hurrying to the bedside. I wondered what news was so important, something that was worth interrupting me, but he didn’t give me any reason. Instead, he pressed the button on the wall and the rails slid up around Allison and me. I stared dumbfounded at the man. “What do you think you’re doing?!” I shouted at him, climbing to my knees. “I’m so sorry, Princess,” he repeated again. He looked like he might be sick. That’s when it clicked: he was following orders. I turned to Allison, who was still lying on the sheets, diaper fully exposed and entirely unfazed by the railings. “You…” “Lay down, Princess.” “Do you know what you’re doing?” I seethed. “This is treason against the crown! You’re going to be in the dungeons for the rest of your life!” Her babygirl life would be a saving grace at the end of months - if not years - of torment. She would worship the ground I walked on before I was done with her! “Do you remember a girl named Addi?” she asked calmly. “Addi…?” What was she talking about? “Addison,” she corrected herself. “My sister.” Her twin sister, I realized. Suddenly I remembered where I had seen her eyes before. I saw that same look: unwavering confidence, like she was going to make a difference. Addison… she was regressed months ago. “So you remember her.” Allison expertly read my expression and sat upright in the confines of our tiny crib jail. “She came here to be a princess, so we could take care of our family. But we were notified afterward that she took charge of a far-off kingdom and left us behind. But Addi wouldn’t do that.” Note to self: come up with more convincing cover stories. “So I asked around, she wasn’t the only one that didn’t come back. Actually, no one came back. They all went to take charge of some far-off kingdom, and no one even got a name of the kingdom where they went.” “I’m sorry to hear you lost your sister,” I said sharply. “Maybe she just didn’t love you as much as you thought she did.” Allison jumped on top of me and wrestled me to the bed. I was never a very strong girl - I didn’t have to be. It was easier for her to pin me down on the sheets. “LEMME GO! GUARDS! GUARDS!” But the one guard didn’t move to help me. No others came. “I did my research. I got in with the guards. Some I had to blackmail, some I bribed. Some just don’t like you, you know. But they are on my side now.” “Y-you’re crazy! You aren’t even royalty! You have no claim to—” Just then, Allison pushed her lips to mine. It was so unexpected, I didn’t even know what happened until it was over! When she finally broke the kiss, my cheeks were pink and I felt a flutter in my stomach. Oh… “Now I’m a princess too,” Allison said with a smile. “And you’re just a spoiled little brat.” “I… I am not…” She shifted her weight so that her knee was between my thighs, then she pushed it against my diaper. My cheeks went crimson and I let out a sharp exhale. “I bet you’re already wet, hm? The spoiled diaper princess, stealing peasants from the kingdom. But there’s a new princess now, and you’re going to be re-educated.” Re… what? I shook my head and tried to throw her off me, but Allison pressed her knee harder to my diaper. I sunk helplessly into the sheets. “We will turn you into a little baby girl, just like you did with all those other people. I’ll take you under my wing, as a princess in training. It will take years. Years of sipping bottles, years of baby talk, years of stinky diapers. When I think you’re ready, I’ll raise you right, into a proper young lady. But you’ll always be less than me. You’ll always be my little girl.” My heart was pounding… my thoughts were racing. She couldn’t do this! She had no right! But she was a princess now, with a stolen kiss. She could do anything she wanted. And without the guards, I was helpless to stop her. “Please, Allison… I… I’m sorry. Please don’t do this!” Tears formed in the edges of my eyes. “I’m not a baby!” “Not yet,” she corrected me. The lone guard in the room passed a baby bottle over the bedrails and Allison plunged it between my lips. I tried to resist, but a few drops of milk on my tongue made my head foggy. I began to suckle like a little baby girl, and slowly drifted off to sleep.

Okay, here's the disclaimer: This is a one-shot. I have no interest in trying to make a full-sized story out of this, I'm not subverting any tropes, this one is really straightforward and cliché. This is not a work of art, this is not a greater message about the nature of man - if you want character growth or deeper meaning, go read one of my other stories. This is tropey garbage, and it's intended to be just that. @Jj7988582 (come on man, that's too many numbers :P) posted this in the Idea Adoption thread and it tickled my fancy, so here we go. Wishes Do Come True Felicity Morgan hated her birthday. She absolutely loathed it. Every year, her mommy made her wear the poofiest, frilliest, most ridiculous dresses. Every year she invited the same six people to celebrate and every year she had to put up with a clown, or a piñata, or mandatory dancing, or a day at the pool. Her life was bad enough under normal circumstances, but her birthday was the worst. She had been turning three years old every year for the past six years. And tomorrow, she would be two years old again. There was no growth, no advancement, no hope that she'd ever be out of the diapers that her mommy kept her in, day in and day out. She was resigned to it, mostly. She was a Little, she had known from a very early age that this was the most statistically likely outcome. She was born with naturally curly blonde hair and big blue eyes and rosy red lips... she had been doomed from birth. She had actually made it farther than she expected before she had been snapped up. All the way to her twenty-third birthday. Poop, I'm twenty-nine years old now. I'll be thirty next year! But she wouldn't. Next year, she would be three... for a whole day. Just like today. She toddled down the hall, the skirts of her dress flouncing overtop the ruffled petticoat. This year she was Bo Peep and all of her "friends" had been dressed as sheep and they hated her for it. "It's not my fault," she said defensively to Janie in the hall. "My mommy picked the theme and called everyone else's Amazons!" "Yeah well," Janie said in her woolen sheep costume that bulged out at the crotch - the other Littles were all given extra thick diapers to compensate for the fact that no one would be able to see their diapers under the sheep costumes. "You still suck, Felicity." Janie bumped into her on purpose as she walked by, knocking Felicity to the ground... unfortunately, her diaper was so thick and so heavy - she hadn't been changed in hours and had already been fed four bottles - that she couldn't manage to stand up again. And so her birthday continued to get worse. "Mommy!" she called helplessly from her spot on the ground, wiggling and kicking her feet but unable to do so much as roll over in the ridiculous pink monstrosity that was her dress. The dancing sheep on the skirt stared up at her, mocking, as she flailed. "Mommy help!" "Did my little baby fall down?" her mommy cooed. Penelope Morgan was the pinnacle of "soccer mom" despite the fact that her own kids were grown and left years ago and she'd never let Felicity even think about joining a sport. She wore yoga pants year round and whatever blouse style was trendy at the time. Right now it was "cold shoulder" and she was wearing a dark blue blouse with tiny flowers all over it... with big round holes where the shoulders should have been. Her sandy blonde hair was tied up in a high ponytail and her sunglasses rested atop her head, despite the fact that she probably wouldn't be going outside at any point during the party. "Help Mommy," Felicity held her hands out for help, but her mommy only crouched nearby to tease her. "Such a little baby," she cooed. "Are we sure you're turning three this year? Maybe you should be turning one. Cora's mommy decided that she was turning one this year and she got put back in crawler diapers. Maybe that's what we should do with you! You'd be so cute crawling around all the time... " "No mommy, please!" she began, feeling flustered and helpless, but she remembered Penelope's weakness. "If you did that... I wouldn't be able to wear dresses!" "Oh pooh," her mommy huffed, scooping her up. "You're right, my sweet little baby. I guess you're turning three after all. I'd hate for all of those lovely skirts and dresses to go to waste." Felicity hated dresses. She hated frills. She hated the color pink. She had hated it all long before she had been "adopted", she had been a strictly t-shirt and blue jeans woman, athletic, outgoing. A tomboy through and through. But Penelope had put a stop to all of that the moment she had claimed poor Felicity. From that moment forward it had been fussy dresses and fussy hairstyles and pink painted fingernails. She had pierced Felicity's ears and promised that the girl would never have to wear yucky old pants ever again. She missed pants. She missed pockets. She missed being able to walk without skirts bouncing and diapers crinkling. She missed being an adult. And she never missed it more than on her birthday. "Okay, birthday girl," her mommy beamed, setting her down in the high chair of honor at the head of the table. Sheep glared at her from all around, Janie and Cora, Eden and Molly, Paige and Logan. All of her "friends" - the Littles she was forced to play with regularly. She disliked most of them - she felt bad for Cora, she hated Paige... the only one she even liked a little was Molly. Molly had been a tomboy too and had been in diaper-and-dress hell for three years. They commiserated. Paige was the worst, she had started out as Peter but her mommy had decided she wanted a girl instead... but Paige liked it. She was a tattletale and a brat, she declared herself the princess of everything and would scream - literally scream - if she didn't get her way. And then everyone else would get in trouble for making "poor little Paige" scream. "Happy birthday Felicity!" Paige giggled. Felicity often dreamed about wishes. She wished on a star ever night... just last night she had wished that Paige would be eaten by a bear. But that didn't seem likely. "I hope you get the frilliest, most wonderfullest dresses for your birthday!" Felicity begged her mommy to stop inviting Paige, but it got ignored. Paige was a "proper little girl" and was seen as a good influence. With six pairs of sheep eyes on her, most of them angry, she sighed and waited for whatever confectionary monstrosity awaited her this year. The cake was a big green meadow with cotton candy sheep jumping over fences and a frilly Bo Peep standing at the center, wearing an obvious diaper. "It's perfect!" Felicity's mommy cheered, and the other mommies and daddies clapped along as they put the candle - the big number three - on the cake for the sixth year in a row. Felicity remembered how she had hope that first year, that they'd let her grow up. Three was too old for diapers, after all. It had been a terrible shock to wake up the next morning to be told that she was back to being two. It wouldn't be a shock this year. It was how Penelope always started the day after her birthday. With a series of reminders that she was a Little, and that she would be two years old, sucking on bottles and pacifiers, eating in a high chair, sleeping in a crib, and helplessly wetting her diapers... forever. "Make a wish, Felicity dear," her mommy grinned as she slid the lit cake nearer the birthday girl. I wish I were the Amazon and you were the Little, she wished with all her might before blowing out the candle. "Hooray!" everyone cheered. "I hope you wished for new dresses," her mommy grinned, holding up a dress with a skirt so short it may as well have been a belt. "This year's fashion is short short skirts! I won't even have to squeeze your diaper to check, isn't that fun?" "Yay!" Felicity cheered, false enthusiasm in her voice. She would be trying on at least three of her new dresses before the end of the party, before her mommy sat in the middle of the living room and breastfed her in front of everyone. Like she did every year. She knew better than to fuss, she knew better than to groan. She would cheer and bounce at every new dress or she would be punished. And birthday punishments were always the worst. Last year she had to sing the awful teapot song until every mommy said it was perfect, but every time someone had a complaint - a foot in the wrong place, not looking happy enough, her diaper not being messy enough. She had been put to bed in tears, sobbing her heart out and wishing the day would just end. Felicity was already wishing the day would just end. But she had many hours yet to suffer through. When she was finally stripped of her ridiculously puffy birthday diaper, when it was sodden and beyond disgusting, it was bedtime. She was given a quick bath - she didn't even remember what it was like to bathe alone - and put in sheep pajamas, of course, with a think nighttime diaper. "Well birthday girl," her mommy said, hugging her close. "It was another great day. I love you so much, my little sweetie. I'm so glad you're never going to grow up. Three is all you'll ever be, and that is so perfect." "I love you mommy," she said with a smile, hating the woman with everything she was. "I love you too, sweet pea," her mommy kissed her on the forehead and laid her down in the crib, her nightly prison, before pulling up the bars until they did their sickening click. Felicity stared out the window after her door was closed, using the bars of the crib to help her pull herself to her feet. She frowned when she realized her diaper was already wet - her toilet training was long since gone. She looked every night for shooting stars, for one to wish on. Usually she wished for freedom, but tonight she hoped for something else. And she almost cried out in joy - watching for little things, for rays of hope, was the only thing that kept her sane. She saw it - a real shooting star. I wish I were the Amazon and Penelope was the Little, she wished with all she was, from the tip of her nose to the tips of her toes. The shooting star streaked across the sky, twinkling, and she laid back down in her bed, pulling the blanket over her and hugging her only true friend in the world, Murphy the Bear - the one she pretended would eat Paige some day. With heavy eyes and a heavy heart, she drifted off to sleep, not looking forward to tomorrow - when her mommy would welcome her back to being two. * * * She had the strangest dreams, Felicity realized as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She sat up with her eyes clenched shut and stretched a big stretch. She felt around for Murphy... and opened her eyes when she could find them. He was gone. So were the crib bars. So was her nursery! She jolted, looking around... the room was familiar, but the angle was all wrong. This was mommy's room! But she was... It took her a long moment of her heart pounding before she realized that she could get out of bed. ON HER OWN! Felicity swung her legs out of bed and stood on her own two feet, towering above everything - the dresser, the bed, she was a giant! She had grown! She streched, slapping the pull-chain of the ceiling fan easily. "This is the best dream ever!" she crowed... but her voice sounded strange. "Hello?" a small voice came from the baby monitor beside the bed. "Hello? Something's gone wrong... " Felicity blinked several times before rushing to mommy's vanity... and seeing Penelope Morgan in the mirror. "Holy mother of monkeys," she breathed, the strongest swear she knew, "my wish came true! My wish came true!" She jumped for joy and it was only then that she realized... "I'm not wearing a diaper!" She patted her bottom, felt the skimpy underwear beneath the nightie. Her breasts felt much heavier than she expected, they weren't just bumps on her chest, they had weight and they swung a bit when she moved. And for some reason, they hurt a little. "Hello?" the small voice called. "I need help, I seem to be in my daughter's nursery... " A wicked grin spread across Penelope's face in the mirror. Felicity startled herself, she had seen that look on mommy's face before... and it took her a moment to realize that was her face now. And that she was the mommy. With delight, she put on a bra - struggling with the clasp, she hadn't worn one in years and her chest had never been that big, and a blouse, and yoga pants and strode to the nursery on her giant legs. The nursery smelled amazing. The scent of baby powder tickled her nose, the scent was familiar but new at the same time. She walked over toward the crib - seeing it from this angle was bizarre. It seemed so small... and the red-faced baby inside seemed equally as small. That's not a baby, she reminded herself. That's Penelope, the woman who has been torturing me for six years. "Good morning, baby Felicity," the Amazon cooed, attempting the same voice that she had heard countless mornings. "Your birthday is over, congratulations! You're two years old again!" "I'm not Felicity," the Little protested. "I'm Penelope! Something's gone wrong, I swear I'm you!" "Oh we're being a silly-butt this morning?" Felicity teased her tormentor, lowering the bars of the crib and lifting her high in the air. Her mommy's Little-eyes bulged and she quivered in fear at the height. Felicity grinned and threw the Little in the air, laughing. "My bouncing baby girl!" "Stop!" her mommy screamed. "Stop, I'm scared!" "Oh there's nothing to be scared of," Felicity cooed, bringing Penelope in for a tight hug. "Mommy would never drop her precious princess." "Please, something's gone wrong - there's been a mistake!" Penelope continued to protest, tears threatening the corners of her eyes. "I'll say something's wrong," Felicity agreed, relishing the ruse. "Someone has a wet diaper! Let's change your bottom and get you out of your pretty PJs and into a cute dress." "I'm not a Little," Penelope protested. "I'm an Amazon! I don't know what's happened... " "My silly baby and her pretend games," Felicity laughed as she carried Penelope over to the changing table and laid her down, buckling the hated strap over her mommy's Little tummy after stripping her of the sheep PJs. "You look like a Little, and you sound like a Little with an overactive imagination. You just had too much sugar yesterday, didn't you?" Felicity hated that excuse. She didn't ever choose to eat the sugar, she ate what she was given and then her feelings were blamed on the sugar - it was infuriating... but so delightful to use it against the same woman who had tormented her. "I need you to listen to me," Penelope was getting flustered, and it was delicious to Felicity. "I went to bed last night as an Amazon." The Little Penelope winced as Felicity tore the tapes from her diaper and balled the wet thing up, pretending that she wasn't listening. She looked at the stacks of diapers, trying to decide which one she wanted to inflict upon the one person she knew deserved it more than anyone else. On the one hand, she thought, I could go with the thinner one and let her experience what a leak feels like... but she won't know the absolute joyof being unable to walk correctly. On the other hand, I could put her in the thick ones, but she won't leak... "And when I woke up this morning," Penelope continued as Felicity took out the thinner diaper and slid it under her Little-mommy, trying not to grin. It was so different for her, looking from this angle. She powered Penelope and taped - knowing that her Little hands wouldn't be able to remove it - the diaper securely. "I was a Little in a crib! I need to see a doctor or something." "Well," Felicity laughed, walking to the closet and selecting one of her brand new ultra-short dresses, one that she had gotten for her birthday just yesterday. "I put a Little down in that crib last night, Felicity dear - and this morning a Little in a wet diaper was waiting for me. So everything seems normal to me." "You're not listening!" Penelope screeched. Felicity felt an unexpected wave of irritation, an urge to punish Penelope that took her by surprise. She reached down and grabbed a Silencer pacifier and popped it in the Little's mouth, inflating it until her cheeks bulged. Penelope clawed at it helplessly, tugging on the shield, pulling on the ring, trying desperately to deflate it... but she didn't have the strength. Felicity knew all too well that the Little body lacked the power to stop any of the torments the Amazons could bring. "I am listening," Felicity smirked. "I'm listening to a fussy Little who has woken up on the wrong side of bed. You're probably just dehydrated, dear. Let's go fix that." Her heart actually felt a little sad as the first tears began to roll down Penelope's cheeks, her cheeks - the Little cheeks she had worn her whole life. But it was only fair - it's exactly what Penelope would have done to her. She unbuckled the strap and pulled the dress on over the Little's head, working her arms through the sleeves, before scooping her up and grabbing Murphy the Bear from the crib. "Here comes Murphy," Felicity held the bear up, bringing it closer. "Oh, he looks hungry," she teased. Penelope often made her toys 'come to life', the turnabout felt right. "He's going to eat you!" Felicity used the stuffed bear, making growling and chomping sounds as she attacked every ticklish spot she knew that Little body had - the neck, the tummy, the ribs. Soon, Penelope was snorting with laughter behind the pacifier... and the sound brought genuine joy to my heart. The laughter coming from her was... musical, magical, even when muffled by the pacifier. It was confusing. Felicity carried the sniffling Penelope to the kitchen, intending to give her the first of what would be many, many bottles that day. She felt she had so much time to make up for. She has my body, Felicity thought, the body that she ruined. She'll have no bladder control, let's see how she likes it. She plopped Penelope in the high chair, the same one Felicity herself had made her birthday wish from the day before, and set about preparing the electrolyte fluid that Penelope used on her any time she was declared to be 'dehydrated'. Everything was so much easier to reach! Cabinets opened easily, nothing required shifting or maneuvering - for the first time in her life, she was living in a world sized for her. Penelope would take this for granted, she'd never been on the other side. Felicity hoped that the wish was permanent, but if she was only going to get one day, she was going to make sure Penelope understood the hell it was to be Little. Using her Amazon hands, which were able to lift and carry so much more than she was used to, she quickly mixed up the beverage and popped the ring on the Silencer, deflating it. "Plea- " Penelope began, but was quickly met with the nipple of a bottle. She turned her head sideways and spit it out. "Please, listen!" "Felicity Alexis Morgan," Felicity snapped, relishing the feeling of using all three names the same way Penelope did - only the first name was actually hers, Penelope had changed her middle name and her last name when the awful woman "adopted" her. "You are dehydrated. You are going to drink this bottle like a good girl, or I'm going to get your feeder paci. Is that how you really want to start today?" Felicity hated the feeder paci. She was tempted to get it anyway, to make Penelope experience the helplessness and frustration of not being able to control the flow of the liquid or escape it as it filled her mouth over and over, forcing her to swallow constantly until her throat hurt from it. But Penelope took the bottle in both hands and began sucking at the fluid. The rhythmic sucking from the Little's lips was strangely musical. Steady. Sure. Unexpectedly, Felicity's chest began to hurt and her right nipple felt cold. She reached down and felt a wet spot - listening to Penelope suckle at the bottle was making her lactate. She wanted little more than to take the bottle from her and replace it with her own nipple... but one thing she did want more was to have Penelope suffer the effects of the rehydrating beverage. She stood there, staring down at the adorable angel as she chugged, breathing through her nose between gulps from the bottle. She had to admit that the little red strawberry dress with its micro-skirt looked really cute on her body... the way her curly blonde hair bounced on her shoulders as she drank, the tiny click in her throat as she suckled. The way her eyes closed... she was really, really cute and Felicity had an overwhelming urge to snuggle her. Which was bizarre, because she was having those urges about her own body. The second the last drop was gone from the bottle, she released Penelope from the high chair... only to carry her to the couch. She lifted her blouse and fumbled with her bra.. a large wet spot was forming on each one. She unclipped the panel, freeing her nipple. "Wait," Penelope protested in her lap. "I don't want that! I'm really full, I don't want- " "Littles don't get a say," Felicity countered. "Littles never get a say. Amazons just do whatever they want, whenever they want and the Little just has to deal with it." Penelope's eyes widened as Felicity finally broke character - they both knew that Penelope wouldn't go off on a rant like that, but before she could say anything, her lips were around Felicity's Amazon nipple, Felicity's hand on the back of Penelope's head, forcing her forward, tilting her head back to encourage her mouth to open, forcing her to latch. And soon she was suckling contentedly. Felicity knew very well what feelings Penelope was having - conflicted feelings. Feelings of intense pleasure from the flavor of the milk, from the smell of it, mixed with feelings of resentment and helplessness. She wouldn't be able to pull away until the milk was gone. Felicity had never managed it, no matter how badly she wanted to. What she hadn't expected, what she didn't know, was how it felt from the Amazon side. The feeling was intense. Gratifying. Fulfilling. As the milk flowed from her body, as it was drawn out of her by the rhythmic suckling of the Little, she felt her heart flutter. She felt... love. She deeply loved the Little in her lap. The feeling caught her by surprise. She couldn't tell if it was a biological urge, if she was feeling Penelope's lingering emotions, if it was a fondness for herself... the last one seemed highly unlikely, she hadn't been able to look at herself in the mirror without wanting to cry since she'd been adopted. Her breast emptied too quickly. Penelope popped off and sat up, rubbing her eye with the back of one hand. "Felicity?" she mumbled. "Felicity, are you- " Felicity cut her off again, flipping her over and guiding her to the other nipple. She was ready for the rush of emotion this time, however. That same sense of overpowering calm, of contentment, of love, poured over her as her milk poured out of her and she found herself humming. It took her a moment to realize what it was... she had unconsciously begun humming the same song that her mommy always hummed during feedings. She stroked the Little's back - while Penelope was suckling, the feeling of their skin touching as she caressed the Little was electric, enticing... addicting. "Oh wow," Felicity murmured. She had no idea how incredible nursing felt for Penelope - if her mommy had actually had these feelings. Once again, it was over too soon. "Felicity," Penelope said groggily as she sat up again, "I really need to go... " she trailed off mid-sentence and her eyes widened. Felicity felt the diaper grow warm on her lap as Penelope finally got to experience what Felicity had felt several times a day for many years - the feeling of her body betraying her, of wetting her diaper like an infant, against her will. The Little's face clouded up in incredible sadness. "I peed myself!" she wailed. Felicity expected herself to feel bad, to feel guilty... but instead she felt needed. Penelope needed her. It felt... good. It felt good to watch Penelope sob her heart out. And it felt good on multiple levels. Felicity got a malicious, vengeful satisfaction out of it, out of her tormentor suffering the same way she had been made to suffer, but there was also another layer to it. That feeling of being wanted, of being necessary. She wiped Penelope's tears away from the Little cheeks. "Pretty awful, isn't it?" she asked. "You're in for a lot of it, too. Because I'm going to get that feeder and you're going to have another rehydrating bottle." "Please no," Penelope sobbed, her body shaking. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea that it felt this awful being Little." "Oh you've only gotten the tiniest taste, Felicity," the Amazon laughed. She didn't feel the slightest pang of guilt or remorse at the Little's tears. Deep down, somewhere in her Amazon heart, she knew that Littles cried. It was just a thing they did, like breathing. "Because you're Felicity now. I'm Penelope. I'm mommy. And we're going to fill you up nice and full and then you're going to do the teapot dance for ME. Do you remember how many times you made me sing that stupid song last year? It had to be a hundred. I stood there and danced and sang until I couldn't stand any more." "I'm sorry!" Penelope sobbed. "I'm sorry, I was wrong! It was wrong! I swear, change us back... I'll let you grow up... I won't treat you like a baby any more. I'm so sorry!" "Oh, you're sorry?" Felicity laughed a harsh laugh. "You've been me for all of two hours, my little prissy princess. I was trapped under your thumb for six years. You think two hours of drinking from a bottle and breastfeeding gives you an idea of the kind of life I lead? I think you need some time in the bouncer. I think you need to watch some cartoons. I think you need to be left alone in the playpen for an hour. But most importantly," Felicity said, lifting Penelope and cradling her, rocking her gently. "You need to calm down before you make yourself sick." She had done that enough times, and she really had no interest in being responsible for cleaning it up. She walked circles around the living room, rocking and shushing Penelope until she calmed down... only to take her back to the kitchen for another bottle. "Please Felicity," she whispered, her voice hoarse from crying. "No more." "Ah ah," Felicity scolded. "You're Felicity now. I'm mommy. You'll never guess what I wished for when I blew out my birthday candles yesterday. Well... you probably will since you're living it." She felt the diaper growing warm again as Penelope wet herself. "Ask me for your bottle, Felicity." "I don't want another bottle," she protested. "You're going to get another one or you're going to get the feeder - it's your choice. So, either ask me very nicely with your most perfect prissy princess manners for your bottle, or I'll get the feeder." "Please mommy," Penelope said, her eyes downcast. "May I have another bottle?" "You may, my sweet girl," Felicity smiled, preparing another rehydrating bottle. Penelope was a constant fountain now, she was overfull with the fluid and milk. It wouldn't be long at all now... she walked over to the plastic-bottomed playpen in the living room and stood Penelope in it, holding the bottle in the Little's mouth while she drank. "Don't you stop until it's gone, silly girl - or I'll refill it and we'll start again with the feeder." After another minute or so, she guided Penelope's hands up to hold it and stepped back. She was cute. Standing there, sucking a bottle, her diaper swollen and completely unhidden by the micro skirt, her blonde curls bouncing. Felicity went to her mommy's room - her room - to fetch her comm and take a photo... as she walked back to the room, she heard a forlorn wail. "Oh no... " "What's wrong, sweet princess?" Felicity asked innocently, holding up her comm and snapping a picture of the Little looking down as urine ran down her leg. "It leaked... " "What leaked, sweet girl?" Felicity asked with a smile. "The diaper leaked," Penelope said softly. "Whose diaper leaked?" Felicity grinned, leaning down and taking another photo. "My diaper leaked, mommy," Penelope whimpered. "Ask me for a thicker diaper, my cute, soggy-bottomed baby," Felicity laughed softly. "I never made you beg for a thicker diaper," Penelope said resentfully, staring up at Felicity. "Bullpoopie!" Felicity shouted. "You've made me beg for everything, you made me thank you for everything you did to me. Now beg or you're going to learn how much a spanking from an Amazon hurts a Little bottom." "Please mommy," Penelope quailed, "please will you put me in a thicker diaper?" "Of course, sweetiekins," Felicity snapped one last picture before guiding the bottle back into Penelope's mouth and carrying her back to the nursery. She didn't bother with the thicker daytime diapers, she went straight for the extra thick nighttime diaper. She stripped the sodden thinner diaper from the Little and tossed it, wiping her down and powdering her and loving every sweet moment of pulling that extra thick diaper closed and taping it snugly. She pulled the bottle out of Penelope's hands and set her down on the floor. "There you go, one nice and thick diaper. Now, try to take it off." "What?" Penelope looked at her quizzically. "Try to take it off," Felicity repeated. "Undo the tapes, wiggle out of it. Take it off." Felicity watched with perverse glee as Penelope tried with all her might, yanking on the tapes, wiggling her hips, but it was useless. Just as Felicity knew it would be. "Amazons sure do make diapers that a Little can't remove," she smirked. "And that thick diaper should last you a while, even though you RUINED MY BODY." "I.. I didn't know," Penelope stammered. "You didn't know?" Felicity echoed. "You didn't know that if you forcefeed someone liquids constantly and never let them use a toilet that their muscles eventually weaken to the point that they're useless? I don't believe for a moment that you didn't know." "Littles just have weak bladders, everyone knows that... " Penelope said defensively. "I got along just fine before you adopted me," Felicity snapped. "I was twenty-three years old. I had my whole life ahead of me, but I had a hard time - other Littles didn't want to be around me, and do you know why?" "Why?" Penelope asked meekly. "Because I was a target for predators," Felicity growled. "I had curly blonde hair and blue eyes and I was SHORT, even for a Little. And that made me... what, Mommy?" "Cute... " Penelope admitted. "A walking 'adopt me' sign," Felicity pushed Penelope gently on the back. "Walk to the living room," she commanded. Penelope tried her best, but she was obviously having a great deal of trouble walking with her legs spread apart by the massive diaper. "If you can't walk, you know what to do." "Yes mommy," the Little squeaked, dropping to her hands and knees. That heart flutter came as Felicity watched the adorable girl crawl, her butt way up in the air as it shook back and forth from the effort of crawling. She didn't understand these feelings, these urges that she got when looking at... what was essentially herself. "You see," Felicity continued, her gaze fixed on the Little's padded butt... even now, the wetness indicator was alerting her that Penelope was peeing. "No other Little wanted to get close to me. Because if I got snatched... when I got snatched, they might be caught along with me. And no Little wants that. How's that diaper feeling, sweetie? Is it still dry and comfy?" "I think I had an accident," Penelope said mournfully, "I really don't like it. How did you swap us?" "I wished upon a star," Felicity shrugged. "I guess sometimes wishes do come true. Maybe I just made enough of them that the universe felt it owed me one. I wished for freedom almost every night for the past six years." "I thought you were happy," Penelope sat down on her well-padded butt, sitting several inches off the ground from the padding alone, her legs splayed as tears welled up in her eyes. "You always said you loved me. I love you... I give you everything." "You torture me!" Felicity shouted. "You torment me, and if I fight back even the smallest amount, you punish me! You tell me I'm dehydrated or tired or I had too much sugar or I'm just fussy. You minimize me, you diminish me, you ignore me, you... " Penelope had started bawling again, her arms hanging limply at her sides as she sobbed. "Why are you crying?" Felicity demanded. "I don't know!" Penelope wailed. "I can't stop it!" Felicity understood that feeling all too well. Her torment was unending, she found herself crying a lot. She had a lot to cry about. But Penelope didn't, she'd barely done anything to her yet. Again, Felicity felt that wave of satisfaction, that feeling of being needed. She scooped Penelope up and sat on the couch, holding the sobbing Little in her lap and rocking her, soothing her. She was surprised when Penelope fell asleep in her lap. "You won't get to sleep too long," Felicity promised. "We have a lot of ground to cover yet, Penelope Morgan." She let the Little nap for an hour or so, and then delighted in feeding her lunch - puréed prunes. And trapping her in the bouncer and watching her dangle helplessly there. But as the day continued, her glee that was powered by her much-deserved vengeance lessened and she just found herself enjoying caring for Penelope, who was often a sobbing mess. She was taking the whole idea of being Little very hard. By late afternoon, Felicity had given up on revenge and spent most of her time snuggling. She breastfed Penelope again, relishing those amazing feelings. Feeding her just felt RIGHT. Like all was right and good with the world. She prepared a dinner of chicken nuggets and honey, with carrot sticks and apple juice... her favorite. Her favorite when she had been a Little. Now it tasted... wrong. The honey was too sweet, the carrot sticks too bland. "You like spicy food," Penelope suggested. "There should be some left over vindaloo in the fridge." It was so strange to watch her Amazon body grimacing at the chicken nuggets. Amazons hated Little food in general, it was too sweet, too strange. Her diaper felt soggy and awful underneath her and she'd been trapped in it all day. She watched Felicity go to reheat the leftovers... and just enjoyed her own meal. The chicken nuggets were amazing. The honey was equally amazing. The flavors together were better than she had ever imagined. Littles experienced everything with so much more intensity than Amazons. She felt like her emotions had been out of control all day. But the Little comfort food made up for some of that... and she had no idea that her own breastmilk would be so staggeringly good. She still felt the lingering taste of it on her tongue, and she wanted more. She laughed when Felicity's face lit up at the flavor of the vindaloo - it tended to get even spicier if you let it stew in the fridge for a day. "It's good, isn't it?" she asked. "Want a bite?" Felicity offered. "No no," Penelope refused quickly. "If our tastes are switched, if the taste belongs to the body and not our mind... I would hate it now and that would make me... " she paused. Her stomach felt strange. She felt the urge to lift herself off her seat slightly... and gasped as she felt her bowels empty, filling the diaper. "Oh no," she moaned. "That feels awful!" She felt the tears welling up yet again, it seemed like she had spent the majority of the day overwhelmed and crying, but the warm, sticky mess on her behind felt terrible. "Did my princess make a poopie?" Felicity asked with a grin. Penelope quailed - the afternoon had actually been pleasant, she felt close to Felicity and had hope that they could work things out, but that malicious glint was back in her eye. "It's disgusting!" she heard herself say before she even realized it. "Finish your dinner, sweetie, then I'll change you," Felicity grinned. "But it's so gross! Please, change me now!" "Do you have any idea how many times you've said no to that very request, O mommy mine?" Felicity sneered. "I'm sorry, I didn't know... " Penelope whimpered, begging. "You've said that so much today. It's like you never listened to me." Of course she hadn't listened - Felicity was a Little. Littles complained and fussed, Littles didn't know what was good for them. But now she understood how volatile Littles were, how real their feelings were. "Finish your meal, then we'll change you." The chicken wasn't so sweet then, the honey tasted like ash. She was resentful and wished it were all over and done with. And she had no idea that she'd be thankful for a clean diaper. Felicity seemed... almost content as she changed Penelope into a fresh nighttime diaper and a sleeper. The fluffy sheep pajamas. "Well my cute little princess," Felicity grinned as she lowered Penelope back into the crib and raised the inescapable bars. "Today was fun. Let's see what tomorrow holds. Sweet dreams, I'm going to go find some fun Amazon things to do now that my helpless Little is off to beddy-bye." Felicity kissed Penelope on the forehead, lingering for a moment, the kiss becoming tender. And then she left. Penelope pulled herself up using the crib bars and stared out the window, hoping... but there were no shooting stars. Nothing to wish on. And sleep took her faster than she expected. * * * When Penelope awoke the next morning in her own body, she actually leapt out of bed and crowed with joy... only to find that she had a headache. There were wine bottles all over the room... Felicity had really gone to town. She felt a little queasy... but everything was worth it. Still in her nightgown, she strode into the nursery, over to the crib and lifted her still sleeping Little. Little Felicity woke slowly, but with a start when she regained consciousness. "I love you mommy," she said fearfully.  "You don't," Penelope said sadly. "But we're going to see if we can't fix that, my sweet angel."

(Edit: Please note the use of hyperlinks in the text in order to access soundtrack at key points in narrative) Rane Rover and the Nega-Space Nursery Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, space cadets of all ages: Join me in the distant future of the year 2017 for- RANE ROVER: ROCKET RANGER! Now buckle yourself in for tonight’s edge-of-your-seat-adventure: Rane Rover and The Nega-Space Nursery When we last left our plucky heroine, she had just escaped the miserable methane mines of Myrnock IV. But her troubles were far from over, space cadets, as the explosion of her daring escape using the mine’s own methane reserves as a fuel for her trusty rusty rickety red rocket had blown her far off course and deep into the uncharted reaches of space known as “The Forbidden Zone”. Now the difference between being lost and exploring, space cadets, is all a matter of gumption, can-do attitude, and whether you survive to tell people about it, so Rane Rover: Rocket Ranger knew that she wasn’t lost. She was just exploring. But running out of paper to make new star charts was the least of our heroine’s worries, folks. After her mega thrusters had died down, and the joy of one amazing adventure well done, with another one surely well under way, Rane began to notice something was wrong. “Creepin’ comets! Why is everything getting so spinny?” our heroine asked. “It’s like I’ve had one too many, my dance card is all punched up, but it isn’t even seven yet.” With one sultry, delicate hand, all it took was one little tap on the dashboard for Rane to figure out exactly why she was in trouble. With the slightest TAP TAP TAP, the needle reading on her rocket’s oxygen tank plummeted like the stock market on that infamous day in 1929. That’s right, Rangers-In-Training, the red headed Rocketeer had gone from a place with no breathable air, to no air at all. “I knew I was forgetting something,” our heroine chided herself. Those half-life house plants that she’d turned down way back in the Den of Delirious Delights sure seemed like something she should have taken with her. She might be glowing a radiant shade of green, but she’d have plenty of air. Her backup tanks were still filled with methane, the only fuel source available to her on the miserable mines. “Maybe I shouldn’t have stocked on so much,” the scarlet-haired starlet thought as her cockpit began to spin like a merry-go-round. “Air,” she said to herself, “I just gotta find some air. But where?” Almost out of oxygen, but still full with plenty of get-up-and-go, Rane set her jaw, reached to the top of her flight helmet and pulled her Navi-Goggles over her beautiful baby blues. Using her Navi-Goggles, Rane could see a million-fold and was given the miracle of X-ray vision. Surely, she knew that if there was any planet, Opposition space station, or even the dreaded Imperium’s patrol ships within spitting distance, she would find them. She looked portside. She looked to the starboard. She looked to the fore, the aft, the dorsal, and the ventral. There was absolutely nothing; an infinite sea of blackness for lightyears around. Not even a single star to guide her path. “I’ve been in black holes brighter than this” Rane panted as more and more precious air escaped her lungs. “Maybe this place is uncharted…because there’s nothing to chart.” Shaking and wobbling, fists clenched, Rane Rover: Rocket Ranger lost her composure for but an instant. “Well…shucks,” our heroine said. Any other run of the mill thruster jockey would be saying a lot more than just ‘Well…shucks’. Most other space sailors would be cursing up a sonic storm, or at the very least remarking ‘Well that’s a fine how-do-you-do,’ but not our heroine. She was Rane Rover: Scavenger, Smuggler, and Adventurer Extraordinaire, as well as Humanity’s Last Hope against the Imperium of Evil. This fiery little dame had survived the Planet of the Plutonium Pythons, matched wits with the Martian Mind Melters, and butted heads with an entire Battalion of Bionic Brutes. There was no way she was going to let a little thing like a complete lack of oxygen in the never ending vacuum of space punch her ticket, you can bet your bottom dollar on that. No way was she going to buy the hydroponics garden. The only setback was “How?” “If there was a passing meteor,” Rane thought out loud, “I’d be able to hitch a fast ride on one using the magneto grappler.” Tragically, the Forbidden Zone was devoid of even space rocks. “The methane left in my tanks might give my rocket a little extra ‘oomph’,” Rane calculated, “but that won’t make a lick of difference if there’s no place to ‘oomph’ to. I’ve gone from being a fish in a barrel to a sardine in a can.” Speaking of sardines, the walls of her own trusty rusty rickety red rocket seemed to be closing in on her. Our heroine’s chest started to heave with each passing, and increasingly labored breath (and not in the good way if you get my drift, fellas). “I’m not…even wearing…my corset…” Our thrill-seeking space siren wasn’t out of options yet. “Maybe… a distress signal?” she wondered. “More than likely, it’d be intercepted by Imperium Coneheads.” But deep down, faithful fans, Rane knew that might be her only option. Reaching into the patented and well-worn brown bomber jacket handed down by her father, Rane took out the last of the Sleeping Solution she’d gotten from Sylas VII. That little inhaler had a puff so potent, it was guaranteed to knock out an electric elephant. With a mind to match her looks, Rane knew that she’d use up less air and buy herself a little more time if her plan B had her catching some letters at the end of the alphabet. Still, the thought of going to sleep and waking up captured by Coneheads didn’t appeal to Rane at all. It was still preferable to losing consciousness and then waking up in that big Spaceship in the Sky (and I don’t mean orbit), but not by much. Still, she’d already escaped Astro-Alcatraz once. If everything went according to plan, she might even get a chance to break out of the Galactic Gulag. Now there was an adventure waiting to happen. It was definitely better than the twenty-first century equivalent of being buried alive. Or the Imperium Coneheads might just snap her pretty little neck when they found her. If they found her. “Tight,” Rane started to gasp. “Everything…is so… tight!” Suddenly there were two sets of Sleeping Solution in her right hand, and two right hands on top of that. The asphyxiating astronaut was seeing double. Things were not looking good for our high stakes star siren. If she even hoped to survive she’d have to take a puff from the inhaler, breathe deep (but not too deep), and activate the distress beacon before she passed out, and that was the easy part. Now that her vision had decided to pull a fast one on her there were now two inhalers, two distress signal buttons, and two sets of hands to do it all. Pretending the inhaler was a Lucky Strike cigarette (Lucky Strike: Tastes good like a cigarette should) she took a puff from the little tube with the sleeping solution. As she puffed out the little green cloud of space opium, Rane payed to whatever Christian God was out there in the vastness of space that she wouldn’t see St. Peter when her lids next flittered open. “Maybe I can learn to play the space harp,” she joked at her own impending doom. Eyes already half-closed, our heroine prepared for what might be the long sleep as she pressed a button that sent out an S.O.S.- ‘Save Our Spaceship.’ Instead of a space harp, our heroine’s eyes shot open to the sound of alarms blaring as her spaceship’s computer blared out. “DANGER! DANGER! GRAVITY SNARE! COLLISION COURSE IMMINENT!” How long had she been out? Had the asteroid opium in the sleeping solution scattered her senses for minutes or just a few precious seconds? It wasn’t any easier to breathe, Rane could say that much; or at least she could if she had the air. BUT WAIT! A collision course meant that there was something out here in the forbidden zone. A spaceship or a planet, or even an asteroid. Any of them might have pockets of precious, precious air. Determined to live, Rane Rover squinted her eyes past the blurred mirage of her senses and saw an impossible shining light. A star? No, space-cadets, for up close stars are as bright as the sun; brighter even! Instead, shining gently into the endless night was a single gigantic alabaster dot in the middle of an ocean of ebony. This was no star! This was no star! It was impossible, Rane knew, but with nothing but her senses to trust, she could only guess that it was one thing: A White Hole, and it was pulling her in! Fists white knuckled and eyes squeezed shut, the rambunctious rocket ranger pulled back on the throttle. She was going to crash and be battered into so much space debris. Suffocating was one thing, but no space sailor worth their salt would be caught dead in a crash. “Can’t. Slow. Down.” Rane mouthed the words rather than speak them as she yanked back the controls. DOWN, DOWN, DOWN, she went, the gravity of the White Hole drawing her in to her sudden and inevitable destruction. Nothing she could do, it seemed, would slow her descent into oblivion! But as every rip-roarin’-rocket-ranger knows, when the chips are down is when you really shine your brightest. Brighter than a white hole, even; brighter than the sun. Rane looked back at the tanks, and sure as Shirley Temple’s tremendous tapdancing, she got an idea. With the push of a single shiny blue button-the right one she hoped- Rane funneled the remaining methane into her retro thrusters. Violently, the ship shook like one of those new-fangled washing machines with a screw loose as the retro-thrusters fought valiantly against the gravitational pull of the giant White Hole in the middle of space. And valiant they were, all you rough-ridin’ rocketeers, but even the Little Engine that Could couldn’t get all the way to the top of Mt. Everest. With her last bit of breath, our brave and buxom beauty cried out “CREEPIN’ COMETS!” as she plummeted headlong into the White Hole in her trusty rusty rickety red rocket. So it is with a heavy heart, dear space-cadets, that I must inform you that Rane Rover: Rocket Ranger, crashed. BUT she survived! The shattered remains of her ship scattered around her, our heroine’s eyes opened briefly as she breathed in buckets of sweet, sweet, oddly lavender scented air. Was this Heaven, she wondered? Was this what they meant when they talked about the light at the end of the tunnel? An interminable amount of time passed, as she lay there, panting as more and more air rushed in to fill her lungs. Suddenly, much to her surprise, a funny little robot, all torso and arms and no head hovered over her. “Huuuuuman?” it asked in a high pitched buzzy little voice. Exhausted beyond the limits of even her physical endurance and the Sleeping Solution still polluting her mind, Rane managed to meekly nod and say “Yes….Human” before losing consciousness completely as the floating little can with arms and headlights beeped and booped in approval. ************************************************************************************* We will now pause for station identification and a word from this week’s sponsors. You are tuning in to WTCP- Where the Padding is EVERYWHERE (Including the Stories) Bigs, Do you want your little to be even cuter than they already are? Do you crave moments of intimacy? Are you worried that maybe they’ve outgrown you, or perhaps they need to be shown just how little they really are? Then try diapers! Whether it’s a happy smile or a bratty frown, there is nothing quite like the look on your little’s face as you fasten on their very usable and not-so-unmentionable underwear. You’ll be amazed at the feeling both of you have during that special time where they are completely dependent on you for their most basic of needs. They might leave you to go play their silly games but with diapers they’ll always come back when it’s time for a change. The bond you’ll develop will be closer than no other as they surrender control of themselves to you in complete and total trust. Does your little think they’re bigger than they really are and need a very concrete reminder about who’s in charge? Maybe spanking alone isn’t getting the point across? Never fear, diapers are the answer. It’s very hard to claim that you’re wearing the pants in the relationship when you’re peeing in them. And don’t forget the variety of styles. Choose between safety pins, tapes, or Velcro; cloth or cloth-like; plastic pants or plastic backed; thick or thin; white or colored; plain or decorated; wetness indicators for easy checking or festive designs for discretion; covered up or shown off. No matter what, there’s a diaper that’s right for your little one’s needs. DIAPERS: One basic function. So many uses. We now return to the adventures of RANE ROVER: ROCKET RANGER! When we last left our not-so-lucky lady, she’d crashed landed inside the mysterious White Hole, staring up at a strange alien robot before losing consciousness. As our plucky pilot came to, the first thing she heard was the strange tinkling tones of a softly soothing, almost hypnotic lullaby. “Queerest little lullaby I’ve ever heard,” she remarked as her vision unblurred itself. “Something like a cross between a nursery rhyme and those little jigs the Mind Melters used to control the Martian Spiders,” she remarked as she stretched, reminiscing about past adventures. The bed she was in was gigantic and luxurious. Even before her knocked-around noggin started making sense of her surroundings, the Rocket Ranger was keenly aware of just how soft and comfortable her bed was, with her being able to stretch out her entire body from feet to fingertips without touching another. It was a darn sight better than a prison cell in the Astro-Alcatraz, that’s for sure. Rane sat up and took in her not-so-scary surroundings. She was in a bed all right, and a big one, but it was a bed with bars nonetheless. On all sides of her, preposterously huge planks of woods shot up past her head. She was having a truck load of trouble standing up- the softness of the surface caused her legs to go all wobbly- so Rane Rover grabbed onto the bars of her new cell and pulled herself up. Ever gritty and determined, Rane discovered that if she held onto the top of her comfortable cage, she could just barely peek out over the railing. “But where is that strange little ditty coming from?” she wondered. Ears pricked and ever alert for an incoming attack (the music could very well be mesmerizing her, turning into an Imperium Conehead, don’t you know?) the red-headed rocket ranger only had to crane her neck upwards and see an exact replica of Earth’s Solar System dangling just above her head, the strangely sad yet jaunty jig tinkling on and on. “Now what do you suppose that’s for?” the Opposition’s Best Gal said. “Some kind of invasion map?” Finished taking stock of her immediate surroundings, the speedy space siren examined herself. “What kind of getup is this?” she asked. Gone were her Navi-Goggles and flight helmet. Her hair, normally wrapped up neatly in a bun beneath her helmet was now combed out into two pigtails on the sides of her head. Gone was her well-worn brown bomber jacket handed down by her father and her matching accelerator slamming boots. No scrap of her uniform remained. She wasn’t naked though. A pastel pink number covered her slender shoulders, buxom breasts, and tiny tummy while the front end connected with the back end thanks to a couple of buttons that met in the middle of her down below. Her silky-smooth legs were bare, but otherwise her maiden modesty remained intact. Stranger still, she appeared to be wearing layers, at least as far as her hips were concerned. Concealed by the singlet was something that caused her thighs to become strangers to each to each other and caused her backside to bulge like an overripe hothouse tomato at the county fair. And whatever she was wearing weighed a whole heckuva lot, with her underthings bulging and sagging, threatening to burst out the bottom flap of her new outfit like bombs out of a B-52. Normally, any lady worth waiting for will always use the powder room to freshen up, but lacking a proper place and having no eyes upon her, Rane Rover decided to improvise and poked the puffy padding protruding from her petit posterior. Her finger was met with the pushback of wet padding and the crinkle of soft plastic. “Creepin’ comets,” our heroine said, giving it another push. “What gives?” Rane asked. Something didn’t add up. Plastic backing was supposed to keep wetness out like a shower cap, wasn’t it? “It seems like I’m in some kind of bathing suit, except only my backside is wet.” Rane remarked. “Now if only I could find a beach.” Sniffing as she struggled to stay standing, the Opposition’s Best Gal caught of a whiff of something both alien and strangely familiar to her; something fragranced mixed with something foul smelling; something aromatic and something ammonia-scented. “It’s like a powder room next to an outhouse,” the Rocket Ranger said, pinching her nose. “Or maybe it’s the reverse.” Standing on her tip toes, our heroine gazed out past the wooden bars of her pleasant prison to get a better lay of the land. Beyond the caged contraption she was cooped up in was a sight to behold indeed: The walls were yellow, with paintings of little sheep following around a blue-skinned Bo Peep, and a pink shelled Humpty Dumpty plummeting off a whopping wall. Plush white carpet covered the ground ten feet below was littered with landmines of kewpie dolls, rattles, building blocks, and tinker toys. A tremendous rocking chair that no doubt dwarfed her sat in a nearby corner, with a humongous high chair in close proximity. “A nursery,” Rane realized, “and a big one, to boot. That means I’m caught up in a crib. But where’s the ba-?” our normally stoic starlet stopped in her tracks. Ever pragmatic, our heroine wasn’t one to hear hoofbeats in central park and start scanning for zebras. “That means I’m the baby.” Our exciting explorer of space had flown right out of the final frontier and into the pages of an alien story book; Jack (or in this case Jill) and the Beanstalk. Rane had faced down the Hungry Hordes of Hazmo the Hazardous without flinching, scavenged spare parts from a stranded space station seconds away from a supernova’s searing explosion with no sweat, and smuggled food and medicine past Imperium Patrols to the refugees, widows, and war orphans of Weyout I almost every Tuesday, but the shock at her present situation was so great that she lost her grip on the railings and plopped back down onto her padded posterior. “Creepin’ comets!” Through the wooden bars of her booming baby bed lay a substantially sized operating table with shelves of folded white rectangles immediately beneath it. “That’s a table,” Rane recognized, “but not a surgical one. I’m not a mother yet but even I recognize a changing table when I see one. Which means those are diapers stacked underneath.” Ever observant, our heroine took a second gander at her getup. “Which means I’m in some oversized Dr. Dentons. And these plastic panties are…” she paused, “..well THAT’s a fine how-do-you-do.” Rane Rover: Rocket Ranger had somehow ended up playing baby in the galaxy’s most humongous game of house. But where there was giant furniture, there was bound to be… “Giants,” Rane gasped as thundering footsteps signaled her captor’s ominous arrival. Like the shadow on the dark side of the moon, this new arrival was monstrously massive, filling the cavernous passage into the giant nursery as easily as normal folk fill their own doorways. In the space of a few seconds, his large lumbering footsteps crossed the palatial sized place and he loomed over our diapered damsel. “Creepin’ comets!” Rane Rover’s newest fantastical foe towered over the railing of the crib. The Sleeping Solution surely still doing wacky things to the rip-riding rocketeer’s body, Rane felt her already damp diaper get a little less dapper at the sight of him. Her captor had skin as blue as the waters of Lake Michigan and eyes as purple as Pike’s Peak, but the rest of him…was actually quite pleasant, truth be told. With dark, clean-cut hair, well-worn laugh lines around bespectacled eyes, dressed smartly in a sweater vest and slacks, and cleanshaven with just a hint of stubble, he looked like any respectable fella in the neighborhood of Anytown USA. Above his right shoulder hovered the little tin-can robot that Rane had seen just before passing out. “Well hello little, human,” He said in a voice as gentle as can be. “Was your nap restful?” “Y-y-yes it was,” Rane answered. “Thank you. But would you mind telling me where I am and who you are, Mister?” The mountain sized man smiled warmly back and told her. “Why I’m the Caretaker, little miss. This is my home.” He gestured to the hovering hunk of metal over his shoulder. The thing beeped and booped and then said, “Huuuuuuman.” The mammoth-man looked to the little floating can and told it, “I know, robot. I know.” Then he turned back to the Lilliputian-like lady and continued conversing. “My robot found you after you had a nasty fall. So, I brought you in and took care of you. Now who might you be?” Standing a little taller despite her infantile attire, Rane responded, “Why I’m Rane Rover: Rocket Ranger.” “Very nice to meet you, Rane.” The Caretaker said, extending two fingers and reaching out to the childishly dressed do-gooder. Never one to dismiss diplomacy, Rane grabbed the giant’s freakishly big forefingers shook his hand. “Likewise, I’m sure,” she said. “But you haven’t answered my second question. Also, what’s with the Dr. Denton’s and the diapers?” Unfazed by Rane’s brave boldness despite her relatively small stature, the big blue behemoth kept smiling and said. “All will be answered in time, but first let’s see about getting you some breakfast.” Not one to be told what to do, our heroine pointed one finger at her host and prepared to give him a peace of her mind. “Now listen here Cee-Tee, I’m grateful for the rescue, don’t think I’m not, but I don’t take kindly to-“ The courageous cosmo cruiser was cut off as two huge hands grabbed her underneath her armpits and lifted her skyward. “We’ve got to keep you to a schedule,” her colossal captor said. “Breakfast first. Then I’ll explain where you are. Then we’ll see about your clothes. ” Our heroine was used to strapping into her cockpit and blasting off through space, but there was something particularly peculiar about being whipped around just above the waist and then strapped into a waiting high chair. Her diaper, sodden and sagging, squelched as she was strapped into the comically big kiddie seat, a tray pinning her arms to her side before she knew what to do with them. “Creepin’ comets,” Rane commented “My seat is soggier than the swamps of Saturn in Summer.” Unconcerned, the Caretaker unscrewed a lid on a glass jar big enough to hold a whole honey glazed ham. “Don’t worry,” he said, daintily dipping a rubber tipped spoon into some rainbow-colored mush, “you’re a long ways from leaking.” “That’s not why I’m-“ Rane responded before the spoonful of gelatinous goop the zoomed past her lips and into her waiting mouth. The red-haired rocket ranger stopped, swallowed…and then smiled. In all of her hurry she hadn’t been hungry for anything more than freedom, but this stuff was better than Jell-O (and there’s always room for Jell-O, folks). Our normally loquacious lass opened her mouth only so that another scrumptious spoonful of the curious cuisine could be shoveled onto her tongue. Before long she was bouncing up and down with each spoonful of the technicolor treat, her pigtails pogoing up and down while beneath her, her soaked seat squished and squelched in equal measure. The squishing and squelching of her plastic-backed panties were matched only by the clinking and clacking of the spoon stirring and scraping in the glass jar. In no time flat, the jar was empty and the resilient young woman was beginning to feel full. “Doesn’t it feel nice to let someone else do the work?” the king-sized Caretaker asked. With a queen-sized sigh to match her meal, Rane nodded in agreement; her pigtails bobbing up and down. This was the closest she’d had to a vacation in ages. Quickly, with celeritous speed, Rane was removed from the highchair and found herself carried over to the rocking chair she’d successfully spied previously. Beeping and booping, the azure-colored Atlas’s flying robot hovered nearby. The ding of a microwave oven chimed and a compartment inside the robot opened up depositing the biggest baby bottle our heroine had ever seen into the helping hands of the Caretaker. “Something to wash it down with,” he said, sitting down in the rocking chair and placing her on his lap. “I know I should put up more of a struggle,” our normally determined diva thought, “but this is just too relaxing to pass up.” She began to suckle on the behemoth bottle the second it was offered, and was rewarded as a warm, creamy, sweet and delicious liquid lapped onto her tongue. It was so delicious that it was almost as good as the all-natural, soothing flavor of Ovaltine. (Have you tried Ovaltine lately?) As she suckled on the sweet stuff, the stressed-out spacer felt her muscles and mind relax a little bit more with each pull on the rubber nipple. “Better?” her generous giant friend asked while she greedily gulped down the bottle. Her content eyes seemed to be all the reply he required. As the last drop of liquid love dribbled down her throat, Rane released her grip on the bottle and allowed herself to be draped over the fantastic father figure’s shoulder. Soon, she was treated to gentle pats and rubbing on her back as he started to pace around the nursery. “Now to answer your little questions,” he said. “Where…” our heroine, paused as a little burp flew from her throat, “…excuse me…am I?” “We’re in Nega-Space,” the Caretaker told her. “It exists where nothing else does.” “But there’s nothing out here,” the crusader of the cosmos said, before burping again and saying “I beg your pardon.” “Exactly,” the back-patting Brobdingnagian replied. “There’s nothing out here, so here we are. In Nega-Space.” “That doesn’t make any sense, Mister.” With a condescending chuckle, the Caretaker said. “I’m sure it doesn’t.” Our heroine’s attitude started to sour. Being burped or not, she didn’t take kindly to being talked down to. But before she could say as much she found herself staring out the Nega-Space Nursery’s window. “Creepin’ comets!” Just outside the window was the vast glory of space in all of its wonder and splendor, but with the colors reversed. An endless of ocean of alabaster was in front of her, speckled with sparkling spots of black. “Whoooooah!” she cooed in absolute awe. No where in the known universe was this possible. The red-headed rebellion smuggler knew three or four Sylocke scientists who would have given their left antennae for such a stunning sight. “From time to time,” the Caretaker explained, “a human gets lost from their playing and winds up here. And I can’t let you little tykes wander around lost. So, I take care of you until your Mommies or Daddies come and pick you up.” “Little tykes”, the siren of the stars scoffed before burping again. This time she didn’t excuse herself. “Mommies or Daddies?” She pulled back and looked her warden in the eye. “You make it sound like I’m some kind of baby.” “Baby?” said the Caretaker, confused. “What kind of gibberish human-talk is that? The grown-up word for what you are is ‘human’.” “Now you listen here, Buster,” Rane said feeling that old familiar fire rise up in her, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m a fully grown and independent woman and don’t you forget it. I’m almost twenty-three.” (In actuality, ladies, gentlemen, and space-cadets, Rane Rover was actually twenty-six, but it’s a woman’s prerogative to lie about her age, so we’ll allow our normally honest and trustworthy adventurer this one little fib). The jolly giant who held her in his arms laughed as if she had said something perfectly precocious. “Full-grown?! Woman?! And twenty-three no less?” The room rattled with the great goon’s guffawing. “Those things don’t go together. You can’t be a human woman and be fully grown and independent.” He chuckled again and added, “Twenty-three is an adult now. Oh humans. What will they say next?” The Caretaker’s robot helper buzzed with its own form of electronic laughter. “Huuuuuman!” “I was once twenty-three,” the violet eyed villain lectured, “but then I grew up. And one day you will, too. Until then, you’re a human.” Egad, faithful fans! Through some queer quirk of comical cosmic miscommunication, Rane Rover: Rocket Ranger had made first contact with a long lived extra-large extraterrestrial to whom the word “human” meant “baby”. And here she found herself, having been spoon fed, nursed and burped while wearing a wet diaper. Whatever could she do to prove him wrong? “Now you’ve got it all wrong Cee-Tee,” Rane tried to correct the paternal titan. “I’m not out there playing games. I’m fighting a war! And I normally don’t indulge in mashed up mush and bottles and burping,” she said. “And I definitely don’t wear di-“ her rational words were cut off as the rubber nipple of a particularly ponderous pacifier was placed in her mouth by the Caretaker’s scrap heap of a helper. “Huuuuman” it buzzed. “No need to be so cranky,” the Caretaker said. Meanwhile, our heroine tried to tell him the truth, but some kind of sweet sticky sap coated the delinquent dummy lodged in between her incisors, stopping her from spitting it out. Our wonder of a woman winced as the caretaker playfully patted her plastic backed panties. “Well here’s the problem,” he said. “Let’s do something about the wet diaper.” Ladies and Gentlemen, we now advise those of you with weak constitutions to walk away from this unfolding scene and to return in a few minutes once the worst of it has passed. Her muffled moaning mewling out from behind the mouthguard of the pacifier, Rane cried out as she was placed on the cushioned plastic mat of the Nega-Space Nursery’s towering changing table, a strap pulled taught over her stomach and arms. Quickly, the buttons holding together her onesie were undone, exposing her now very mentionable unmentionables. More yellow than white in the middle, the all-but dripping diaper sagged outward, as if trying to run away in fear of the woman who had wet it. Rane caught a glimpse of cartoon rocket ships along the landing zone, a mocking reminder of what the Caretaker intended to strip from her in more ways than one. A full body blush enveloped our heroine, turning her as pink as the baby clothes on her back, as two meaty hands reached for the tapes along her waistline. She hadn’t planned to be in this particular position (sans-diaper of course) until her wedding night. The space sailor didn’t have time to process the intimate invasion as the Caretaker gripped her ankles together with one hand and lifted her legs to the air. Left with no other options, Rane could only lick and suck at the sugar cane coating of the pacifier in an attempt to dilute it enough to free her mouth from its grip. Her pace hastened and slowed with the Caretaker’s cold wet cleansing, as wipe after wipe was dragged across her delicate areas, disturbing her concentration. “Mustn’t miss a spot,” the Caretaker clucked. “I don’t want my little human to get a rash.” Her quivering hindquarters felt the briefest bit of respite as the urine soaked underthing was slipped out from beneath her, only to have a fresh dry replacement slid back before a breath had passed. She shivered as fragrant white flakes of baby powder were sprinkled onto her bare backside. Her legs were lowered down and spread, and before she could blink, the clean diaper was pulled up between them and taped up. “All better,” Rane’s cyan colored captor declared, buttoning her garish garment back up. The scourge of the Imperium most certainly disagreed, and would have said as much if she had been able to, just then. But our buxom beauty was unable to get a word in edgewise, with the pacifier penetrating past her puckered puss. “Now how about a little bit of playtime?” “Mmmmphin mmmmphets!” our heroin mumbled from behind her pacifier gag as she shook her head violently, her pigtails brushing against her cheeks. This was no time to play, she had a galaxy to go out and save. “Well, I can’t have you take another nap,” the titan tutted, before plopping her padded posterior in front of a table small enough for. “You’ll be way up past your bedtime if you go back to sleep.” Rane’s normally pristine pallor went from an embarrassed pink to the red of righteous fury. Rocket Rangers did NOT have bedtimes! Oblivious to his captive’s resounding resentment, the Caretaker slid a poster sized piece of blank paper and a box of colossal sized crayons in front of the onesie wearing woman. “How about some drawing?” “MMMeye mmmmmn’t mmmmannna mmmaw,” our diapered damsel protested from behind the bulbous binky. “”Mmmey mmmmeed mmmoo mmmet mmmmome.” Either the Caretaker didn’t understand, or just didn’t care, instead tapping the table where the infantile art supplies lay. But hey, at least it wasn’t finger painting. With no way to force her way to freedom, and an inability to speak sensibly, Rane Rover felt like she was absolutely out of options. If she couldn’t find a way to clear up this confusion, she’d be trapped in this Nega-Space Nursery until the cosmo-cows came home. That’s when inspiration hit her! Grabbing a club sized crayon out of the box in front of her, began writing. It read in big block letters: I AM AN ADULT. THE GALAXY NEEDS ME. LET ME OUT! It was no Gettysburg Address, but it would do the trick, sure enough. Feeling proud of herself, Rane grabbed the sandwich board sized slice of paper and held it up to her new gargantuan guardian. There was just one thing Rane hadn’t counted on. “That’s some very nice scribbles,” the Caretaker said, smiling with almost grandfatherly affection. “Now how about a picture that I can put up on the refrigerator?” Well that was a fine how-do-you-do! Like most civilized folk, the Caretaker spoke English (with the exception of the mix-up between the words ‘human’ and ‘baby’), but to him Rane’s writing looked like scribbles. Looking around the nursery, Rane realized that there wasn’t any alphabet to speak of, or anything academic for that matter. There were pictures of rainbows and butterflies, but no where on the walls of this toddlerized torture chamber was there anything resembling the three R’s. Flipping the paper over, Rane resorted to retreating from writing and communicating in an even more universal language: Pictures. Ham-fisted and hurried, she sketched out a drawing of her trusty rusty rickety red rocket; the same turbo charged conveyance that had taken her on so many of her misadventures (including this one). “Very good!” the fatherly figure clapped his hands and encouraged her cleverness. “That looks like that little toy that you rode in here on.” Finally! Our heroine grinned behind her soother and bounced and bobbed in bountiful bliss. Now she was getting somewhere. “Can you draw more?“ Happily, she obliged, drawing in a doodle of herself in the cockpit, the stars whizzing by, and of course, good old Earth in the background. Maybe if she could get across that everyone one Earth was as “little” as she was, he’d release her. (Either that, or she’d convince the Caretaker that there was an entire planet of babies that needed to be pampered; and then she’d have two invasions to deal with.) As time went on, her breathing slowed; the normally fraught freedom fighter found herself relaxing with each stroke and scribble. It wasn’t thrilling, but therapeutic. Not the rush she was used to, but relaxing in its own right. Oddly enough, Rane Rover: Rocket Ranger was feeling something she hadn’t felt in a long time: fun. “Well done!” her purple eyed parental figure praised when she’d finished. “This is something very special, I can tell,” he said. “Look at that silly blue marble in the background. I’m going to put this right on the wall where I can look at it whenever I want” he said, taking the drawing over to her crib. Without thinking, our feisty freedom fighter smiled saccharinely, proud of her accomplishment. As the Caretaker pinned the poster to the wall, Rane realized that she’d failed at what she’d set out to do. Her attempt at translation had transformed itself into an art project. She’d have to find other ways to explain the reality of the situation to the Nega-space nanny. “Now what shall we do next, little human?” If anything she had more firmly cemented her status in his enormous eyes as nothing more than a waif needing nourishment. And so it continued throughout the day. Unable to speak, the amazing astronaut told her story as best as she could; using the tools available to her. She recreated the Astro-Alacatraz using blocks with strange alien writing on them. She re-enacted her liberation of the mole men of Morlock X using dollies, and used puppet theatre to explain her daring escape from the methane mines. Stranger still, Rane felt relief with each successive attempt. Each juvenile jaunt into pastimes she’d long ago outgrown brought with them feelings of nostalgia and comfort. She’d never admit it, of course, but her reserves were being refilled with each kiddie corner retelling. Sadly, space cadets, joy was the only thing she was getting from these efforts at diapered diplomacy. Unwilling to listen, the big blue brute, well meaning though he may have been, simply looked to the surface and saw nothing but a tot with her new toys. Frustrated, our padded protagonist stomped her feet in a frenzy, puppets still on her hands. “Oh, I think I know what’s wrong,” the Caretaker concluded, inserting two of his enormous digits into her diaper. “Wet.” It was true. Somewhere in between her miming the massacre against the Martian Mind Melters and the tea party where she had tried to demonstrate the etiquette that had negotiated the freedom of the floating ferrous folk, Rane Rover had felt nature’s call, and answered it without hesitation. Surely, time was of the essence, and so our heroine had temporarily cast aside her pride and potty training in the hopes that she’d steer this freaky first contact towards freedom. Her diaper had been squelching and squishing with every step since. Unfortunately, folks, people everywhere tend to believe what they see and not what you tell them; and the Caregiver now saw a little girl in need of yet another diaper change. “”Mmmmmphin’ mmmmmets.” Rane said as she was laid back down on the changing table, two enormous hands reaching for the snaps between her legs. “Don’t worry,” the Caretaker cooed. “It’s my job to take care of little humans like you and keep you dry and happy. I’ve more than enough diapers for you.” “Huuuuman,” the Caretakers hovering henchbot beeped and booped. Will Rane be able to escape this infantilizing internment? Will she be able to battle across the Milky Way or will she be reduced to bottles bubbling with milk? Has she permanently traded in her red rocket for a rocking horse? Will she ever holler and hoot through hyperspace or must she now be content to quietly coo from her crib? Will she defy the odds or is she doomed to a destiny of downloading detritus into diaper after diaper till the end of her days? Find out after this pause for station identification and a word from our sponsors! You are tuning into WTCP where the ink is wet and the padding is dry. (Or is that the other way around?) Littles, Are you tired of having your playtime interrupted by constant trips to the potty? Are you annoyed or confused at all the complicated and messy steps of toileting? Does the sound of flushing water fill your heart with dread? Do you yearn for a simpler time when you had more fun and less problems? Return to those halcyon days of yore with diapers. With diapers, what goes on in your pants is no longer your concern or your problem. Play the hours away! Finish that seven-season binge marathon! Never have to excuse yourself from the dinner table again! Relax in the safety and comfort in knowing that your special clothing is there for you when you need it. Toilets are exclusive and require special positioning and locations to use. With diapers, it can be anywhere at anytime- sitting, standing, laying down-whatever works for you! They travel and bend and move WITH you. And as a bonus, any horizontal surface can be made into an impromptu changing station. Also, diapers are the only underwear that can double as outerwear! Less layers just means less work, and isn’t that what happiness is really all about? So, go ask your Big to ditch those flimsy useless things hugging your hips and go for the good stuff. DIAPERS: It’s never too late to go back. We now return to the adventures of RANE ROVER: ROCKET RANGER! When we last left our heroine, she’d gone from a rip roarin’ rocket ranger to a diapered damsel in distress. We find her now, sulking in a playpen, left alone with her thoughts and a robot monitor, her pursed lips plugged with a pacifier, the bulbous binkie remaining firmly lodged in her mouth…until now. “Creepin’ comets,” she said as she finally managed to pull out the pacifier, the sweet solution keeping it in her mouth finally gone thanks to the solvent of her saliva. “That Caretaker character is a real basket case. He thinks I’m some kind of baby.” She looked down at her pink onesie, the bulging diaper just underneath. “Not that I can blame him. “Huuuuuman,” the floating trashcan that had discovered her droned far above her head. Good thing too, or else it was likely to get a walloping whack from our pampered paragon. “Yeah, yeah,” Rane sulked at the simpleton of a machine. “You say po-tay-to, I say po-tah-to.” Though even that was an analogy that didn’t work in her favor. No matter how you pronounced it, a tuber was still a spud. Lost in thought, she began walking around her infantile enclosure, a crinkle calling out with each padded pace as she waddled from wall to wall. “The thing of it is,” she admitted, “is that up until the ‘wait here’ part I was kind of liking the whole baby bit.” “Huuuuman.” Irritated and annoyed, Rane ignored the fancy bottle warmer. “The crib was comfortable. The food and drink were good, and it was nice to be waited on for a change.” A shudder shimmied up her spine as she accidentally uttered ‘change’. “Okay,” she admitted to herself. “even the clothes are nice. It’s like lying around in my nightgown all day, without even having to take a powder.” The she-warrior shook her head as she realized she made yet another unfortunate choice of words. She had more powder on her posterior than her pretty puss; not exactly ladylike. “Fine!” she shouted at a stuffed sheep in the corner of the playpen. “Even the diapers aren’t such a fine how-do-you-do!” Then she added, “As long as nobody else in the entire universe knows about ‘em!” “Huuuuuman,” “But my folks aren’t coming to save me,” our waddling wunderkind whined, “and that daffy dope would dress them in diapers too even if they did. All because we’re-” “Huuuuuman,” Then a surge of insight and inspiration ingrained itself into her imagination. “That’s it!” our heroine raised a pointed finger skyward. “As far as the Caretaker is concerned, I’m a lost little baby that came here on some kind of trikey. Sooooooo….” Rane inhaled and held her breath for a hot minute. “WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” She let lose a long and loud wail worthy of a bragging banshee. Thundering footsteps preceding him, the Caretaker ran into the nursery, staring down. “I step out for five minutes to cook dinner, and this is what happens!” He exclaimed. “What’s wrong little human?” he asked, reaching down to give Rane’s bum a parental pat, checking to see if it needed changing yet. Our heroine wasn’t rattled in the least, and instead kept in character. “I WANT MY MOMMY!” she cried, willing rivers of tears to flow down her not-so-chubby cheeks. “I WANT MY MOMMY!” She did her best not to thrash as she found herself cradled in the Caretaker’s cavernous caress. “I know, I know you miss her,” he shushed her, rocking her back and forth and bouncing her lightly. “But we’ll stay right here until she comes to pick you up. That way you’ll be safe.” “I WANT HER NOW!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, her throat rattling with each rumbling roar. “I hope this works,” she thought to herself. “Otherwise I’m likely to get a wallop of a spanking.” Even through the prodigious pillow wrapped around her waist, she didn’t want to end up over the Caretaker’s knee. “But you’re lost, little hu-“ “I’M!” she interrupted with a sob. “NOT! LOOOOOOOOST!” The nursery flew by in a quick blur as the weird warden held her out and looked at her, leaving her dangling by her under arms. “What do you mean, ‘not lost?’” the Caretaker asked, an eyebrow arched in question. Now was her chance. All she had to do is put her plight in language that even the Caretaker could comprehend. “My Mommy is back on Earth!” she cried. “Earth?” “It’s just in the universe!” she sobbed. Pointing out of the nursery towards the negative sky. “Over there?” “Really?” the Caretaker asked, tilting is head to the side. “Is that all?” “Uh-huh,” our heroine played her pathetic part, making sure to add a tiny sniffle and suck on her thumb. Our plucky heroine found herself sitting back on a giant knee as he took a seat on the rocking chair, finally listening. Her plastic backed panties were thankfully dry as a desert this time around. “And how did you end up here then?” Rane thought for a moment to translate her preposterous predicament in terms he’d believe. “I was playin’ a game, Mister, with my friends, and I went out of bounds.” Considering she’d flown into a pocket universe inside a white-hole, ‘out of bounds’ was the understatement of the millennium, ladies and gentlemen, but the Caretaker seemed to consider it. “It was an accident”, she added. “Out of bounds?” he repeated as he ruffled Rane’s red hair. “What game were you little tykes playing? Tag? Hide and seek?” With steely resolve, Rane looked up into the giant’s violet peepers and with grave seriousness, told him. “War.” The mountain of a man sat up a little straighter in the rocking chair. “War isn’t a girl’s game,” he scoffed. “You should be having tea parties and playing with dollies like you’ve been doing. Though I suppose that explains those play clothes, and that toy ship.” Quick as a jack rabbit in July, Rane concocted another explanation to fit the paradigm she’d found herself imprisoned in. “It’s a powderpuff game,” she said. “Girls are the soldiers and boys are the riveters.” If her freedom hadn’t been on the line, the thought of a bunch of Imperium Coneheads all dolled up and working on an assembly line would have made her bust a gut. Then another thought came to the forefront of her brilliant brain. “Play clothes?” Rane realized that she hadn’t seen her brown bomber jacket or her heroic headgear since she’d woken up in this dreadful daycare. “Where did you get those things anyways?” her captor asked, leaning in closer, causing our heroine to break into a sweat under the scrutiny. “Uhh….they were my Daddy’s,” Rane said. That much was true enough. “When he was a….uh…human.” “That explains why it was in such shoddy condition,” the Caretaker said. A lesser (and smaller) man would have been knocked flat- nobody insulted her trusty rusty rickety red rocket in shambles it may now be- but Rane held her tongue and her fists for the time being. Precariously positioned, Rane stowed her pride and looked up at the Caretaker with big puppy dog eyes. “Please Mister! The game is gonna be over soon. And my Mommy is gonna be awful sore at me if I don’t get back home soon.” Now rocking back and forth, in the chair, the Caretaker stroked his chin with his free hand. “Well…if your parents are just in the universe outside….” “Huuuuuman,” the robot beeped and booped, irritatingly. The Caretaker frowned a little bit. She almost had him! If Rane didn’t think quick and speak quicker, the domineering daddy would change his mind (along with her diapers) forever. “What if he came with me?” Rane asked, pointing to the floating robot that found her. “As a…chaperonie?” Rane was careful and clever enough to mispronounce the word, giving her the extra edge of an aura of innocence. “My Mommy could send him back as soon as I get home!” The giant grinned. “That’s a winner of an idea if I ever heard one!” he said. “Alright, human girl. There’s just one thing….” “What’s that?” Rane felt an enormous knot form in her throat. “You’ll need your toys and your play clothes back, won’t you?” A chipper ‘ding” came from the hovering hunk of metal, and out came Rane’s brown bomber jacket, flight cap, and Navi-goggles, all as good as new, the scrapes and scuffs from half-a-hundred battles buffed out. Apparently, this thing was a washing machine, too. “This thing might actually come in handy,” she thought. The Rocket Ranger held out her arms and allowed herself to be dressed in what the oddball alien though of as her ‘play clothes’. Her old jacket resting comfortably over her new onesie. Hair still up in pigtails, she managed to pull on her flight helmet, the pigtails sticking out two little holes in the side. Objectively, she looked more ridiculous than Venusian clown monkey. Still, if it would get her out of here, she’d ride out buck naked like a Galactic Godiva. Speaking of which, Godiva had a horse and our heroine was still in need of some horsepower of her own. “What about my rock-?” Rane sputtered before stopping herself. “My Daddy’s toy?” Setting her down on the floor, the Caretaker took her by the hand and led her out of the strange little house and into the wide open Nega-Space, a pitch white sky dotted with dark black stars. “I fixed it. It was too big to bring inside, but I was going to put it in my garage as soon as the paint dried.” There standing in front of her, good as new, was her trusty rusty rickety red rocket. Only now it wasn’t so rusty, or rickety, and it looked a lot more trusty. Tears of joy in her eyes, Rane looked up to the Caretaker, and for once being at a lack for words, hugged his leg. “Okay, now,” he chuckled. “My roast is in the oven, which probably means your mother’s is too. I don’t want you to be late for dinner.” Not wanting to lie any more than she already had, Rane nodded her head in agreement. “Robot, you take good care of her,” he said to the airborne automaton that was just a few feet off the ground. “Huuuuman.” The robot agreed. “Well off you go little lady,” the Caretaker said, giving our best gal one last diaper check and a pat on the bum to send her on her way. Relieved to be released, Rane swallowed her pride and climbed into the cockpit and turned on the ignition. She sat a little taller than she remembered, likely because of the extra inches underneath her, and she was painfully aware that her “chaperone” now hovered right behind her in the unused co-pilot’s seat, but everything else was as it should be. Everything functioning at peak efficiency, and all tanks (including oxygen) were filled to the top. Without further ado, and frankly afraid that at any moment her ruse would rupture, Rane plotted a reverse trajectory than the one she had taken to get here and initiated the countdown sequence. 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1-BLASTOFF! The rush of the rockets rocking her back into her seat, Rane rose up, up, up into the negative sky, speeding towards a tremendous tear in the fabric of reality itself: a wormhole back into her good old Earth-having Universe. Out into the great wide galaxy they went! Once the rocket thrusters cut and they were safely out into the other half of the once dreaded ‘Forbidden Zone’, Rane took stock of her new situation. “It’s a shame,” the space smuggler sighed to herself. “I kind of liked being a big baby for a little bit. Maybe I can have myself a slumber party over there with a few of my gal-pals after we win the war.” “Huuuuuman” her new robot companion buzzed, it’s tone nagging at her. Rane laughed, realizing that the bucket of bolts had as many screws loose as its creator. “If I can get permission from my Mommy, that is!” With the autopilot set on course to the nearest Opposition territory, Rane got out of her seat and walked over to her supply closet. “Now let’s see about getting out of these ridiculous clothes and into something a little more-“ the Opposition’s Ace Operative found her words cut short as a small mountain of baby supplies, all sized perfectly for her, tumbled out onto the floor, fairly burying her. “Creepin comets!” she yelled as stuffies, frilly dresses, baby bottles, and a not-so-small stack of not-so-small diapers tumbled out of the supply cabinet and on top of her. The Caretaker had restocked more than just her fuel tanks, and as the shock of being buried under a pile of toys subsided, our heroine noticed a not-so-unfamiliar warmth flood into her pants, her disposable undies already starting to puff out as it absorbed her latest accident. “Huuuuman?” the Robot chirped, digging her out of the heap. “Bottle? Nap? Diaperrrrrr?” It inserted two little robot claws into the leggings of her diaper. “Wet!” “Maybe I better work on convincing this hunk of junk that I’m toilet trained, first. Otherwise I’m going to have to learn how to save the star system from the seat of my stroller.” This has been another exciting adventure of RANE ROVER: ROCKET RANGER! &nbsp; Tune in next time where our hero must battle against both the forces of the Imperium of Evil and the crawling creep of diaper rash! Author’s Note: This was done as a request by Dirty Books as part of a request thread. When bringing it to life, I couldn’t stop thinking about the old timey space opera serials and radio shows, and thus it evolved into the story you’ve just read. These request threads are always a tricky thing to me, as part of the art of storytelling is engaging and surprising your audience with twists and turns while giving them something that still satisfies them and gives them what they asked for. After all, if you already know everything that’s going to happen, why read the story, or have someone else write it for you? This turned into a bit of an experimental piece, with the soundbites and the near constant use of alliteration and tone and it took on a kind of life of its own. Even so, it was a blast(off) to write and I am extremely grateful to have been given the opportunity to do so. I hope that everyone who read this (especially Dirty Books who gave me this idea with their request) had a fun little bit of faux padded nostalgia while reading this little mess from the dark corners of my mind.

Hello everyone, I haven’t had a chance to work on my major stories for a while, because my computer has been in the shop. So I decided to write this as a kind of bedtime story for all the babies here who might want one. My goal was to write something that sounded like an old fable, with some diaper content for good measure. I hope you enjoy! As always, questions and comments are wonderful. The Fairies’ Gifts - by Selpharia Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there was a little village that sat on the edge of a forest. All of the people who lived in the village were very kind and good. The adults helped one another when they needed it, and the children all played happily together. And they all remembered to put out gifts for the fairies that lived in the forest, who made sure that the sun kept shining and the bushes were full of sweet red berries, and made the villagers clothes and shoes to keep warm in the cold, cold winter. And everyone was very happy. Everyone, that is, except Annabelle. Annabelle lived in the big stone house at the top of the hill. Her mama and papa had given her all she ever wanted, and everyone did whatever she said. She had toys that whistled and whirred, a pretty riding pony, and beautiful dresses made of silk and satin. But all that didn’t matter, Annabelle still wasn’t happy. She looked around her big stone house, at her toys that whistled and whirred, her pretty riding pony, and her beautiful dresses of silk and satin, and said, “This is not enough! I want more!” And so Annabelle tossed aside her toys and rode on her pony down to the village. When she got to the village, though, she saw all the gifts that the villagers had laid out for the fairies. For Sparkle, who made sure that the sun kept shining bright, the villagers had found a beautiful red stone that sparkled and shined. For Lychee, who kept the bushes full of sweet red berries, they wove a thimble-sized basket of golden straw to carry things in. For clever Cobble, who made them clothes and shoes to keep them warm in the cold, cold winter, they made a soft feathery cushion to rest on when she was tired from all that work. Annabelle looked at all these gifts and said to the villagers. “Why are you giving all these things to the fairies? I want them, and I am much more important than any fairy.” The villagers pleaded with Annabelle. “Miss, we can give you something else later, please don’t take the gifts for the fairies! Otherwise they’ll get angry, and who knows what they’ll do?” But Annabelle didn’t care. She grabbed up the beautiful red stone that sparkled and shined, the thimble-sized basket of golden straw to carry things in, and the feathery cushion to rest your head on, and brought them back to her big stone house on the hill. The villagers didn’t say anything. They were very upset, but they didn’t dare fight with Annabelle’s parents Later that night, the fairies came out of their forest, and saw the villagers beside themselves with sadness. “What’s the matter?” asked Sparkle, straightening her tiny red hat. “Is something wrong?” asked Lychee, smoothing her tiny green dress “It looks like something’s missing,” said Cobble, twirling her tiny brown coat “Oh fairies,” the villagers cried, “we’re so sorry! We had three lovely gifts for you, but Miss Annabelle took them away to her big stone house on the hill.” “Well then, that’s no problem.” said Sparkle. “Since she’s a big girl, we’ll just ask her nicely to return them.” said Lychee. “And then everything will be fine.” said Cobble. The fairies fluttered their wings and flew up to the big stone house on the hill. They squeezed their way under the door, and saw Annabelle sleeping right next to all the villagers’ lovely gifts. When the fairies came in, Annabelle woke up, and saw them standing there. But she wasn’t afraid, they barely came up to her ankle. “What are you doing here?” she asked angrily. “You stole our gifts!” said Sparkle “Please give them back!” said Lychee. “Or we’ll take something from you!” said Cobble. But Annabelle wouldn’t. “All these things are mine now” she said defiantly, “And there’s nothing you can do about it!” “We’ll see about that.” all three fairies said together. But before Annabelle could wonder what they meant, her eyes got heavy and she fell fast asleep in her big, soft bed. Annabelle woke up the next morning, and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She looked around her big stone house and let out a gasp of surprise. The fairies’ gifts, the beautiful red stone that sparkled and shined, the thimble-sized basket of golden straw to carry things in, and the feathery pillow to rest your head on, every single one of them was twice the size they were the night before. But that wasn’t all. All her things that she loved so much had changed too. Her toys that whistled and whirred were replaced by wooden blocks, with letters of the alphabet painted on in bright, happy colors. And next to them was a rocking horse of cherry wood, whose blocky mane and tail looked just like the ones her pretty riding pony had. And last of all, her beautiful clothes of silk and satin were no more. Instead, a cornflower-blue cotton dress, with frilly lace and puffy sleeves, hung in her open dresser. Annabelle scowled a deep, deep scowl, and kicked her her suddenly teeny tiny feet in a terrible tantrum. “How could those stupid little fairies do this to me?” she shrieked. “I’ll teach them not to take my precious things!” She put on her frilly new clothes with a pout, and kicked the rest of her toys out of her way in a huff. Then, she stormed out of her big stone house and started to make her way down the hill to the village. But she was so small now that it was hard going. By the time she made it halfway down the hill, she was all tuckered out. In fact, the only reason she made it to the village at all, was that One of her maids, a sweet girl named Cecily, saw Annabelle toddling along and offered her a hand. “Little Miss Annabelle!”’ she exclaimed. “It’s dangerous for little girls like you to go into the village alone. I’ll go with you, and make sure you stay safe.” “How dare you?” Annabelle replied, glowering the kind of glower that only a little girl subject to the worst of tyrannies, like bathtimes or bedtimes, or no-dessert times, could muster. “I am not a little girl! I am very big, and can walk as far as I want, all by myself!” She stomped off again pridefully, while Cecily let out a little sigh and followed, looking knowingly at her little mistress. Soon enough, Annabelle was so tired that she had no choice but to command Cecily to carry her the rest of the way. “I’m tired. I can walk myself, but I want you to carry me now,” she demanded. Cecily certainly couldn’t refuse without getting in trouble, so she picked up the mistress in her arms, and they entered the village with a sleepy Annabelle cuddled against her maid’s white smock. When they entered the village, though, Annabelle was woken right up by the sound of music. The villagers were playing bright and happy songs to thank the fairies for all that they did. For Sparkle, who made sure that the sun kept shining bright, they played a big brass horn that went “bomp ba da bomp” For Lychee, who kept the bushes full of sweet red berries, they played a tight little drum that went “pat pata pat” And for clever Cobble, who made them clothes and shoes to keep them warm in the cold, cold winter, they played lovely wooden pipes that went “toot doodle oot.” Annabelle listened to all this music and said to the villagers, “Why are you playing all this music for the fairies?” I want you to play for me, and I’m far more important than any fairy.” The villagers pleaded with Annabelle, “Little Miss, we can play something else for you later, but don’t make us stop playing for the fairies. Otherwise, they’ll get angry, and who knows what they’ll do.” But Annabelle didn’t care. She yelled and stomped, until the villagers playing the big brass horn that went “bomp bada bomp,” the tight little drum that went “pat pata pat,” and the lovely wooden pipes that went “toot doodle oot,” agreed to play for her. They played for hours and hours, until they were so tired they couldn’t play anymore. Finally, Annabelle was satisfied, and commanded Cecily to bring her back to her big stone house on the hill. The villagers didn’t say anything. They were very upset, but they didn’t dare fight with Annabelle’s parents. Later that night, the fairies came out of the forest, and saw the villagers beside themselves with sadness. “What’s the matter?” asked Sparkle, straightening her tiny red hat. “Is something wrong?” asked Lychee, smoothing her tiny green dress. “Sounds like something’s missing,” said Cobble, twirling her tiny brown coat. “Oh fairies,” the villagers cried “We’re so sorry! We had three wonderful instruments to play beautiful music for you. But Little Miss Annabelle made us play for hours and hours, until we were so tired we couldn’t play anymore. Then she went back to her big stone house on the hill.” “Well then, that’s no problem,” said Sparkle. “Since she’s a little girl, we’ll just ask her to play with us instead,” said Lychee. “And then everything will be fine,” said Cobble. The fairies fluttered their wings and flew up to the big stone house on the hill. They squeezed their way under the door, and saw Annabelle sleeping right next to a pile of the villagers’ lovely gifts, murmuring snatches of the beautiful music that the villagers had meant for them. When the fairies came in, Annabelle woke up, and saw them standing there. But she wasn’t afraid, they barely came up to her waist. “What are you doing here?” she asked angrily. “You stole our music!” said Sparkle. “Please play with us instead!” said Lychee. “Or we’ll take something from you!” said Cobble. But Annabelle wouldn’t. “All that music is mine now,” she said defiantly. “And there’s nothing you can do about it!” “We’ll see about that,” all three fairies said together. But before Annabelle could wonder what they meant, her eyes got heavy and she fell fast asleep in her big, soft bed. Annabelle woke up the next morning and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She looked around her big stone house and let out a wail of distress. The fairies’ gifts, the beautiful red stone that sparkled and shined, the thimble-sized basket of golden straw to carry things in, and the feathery pillow to rest your head on, every single one of them was twice as big as they were the night before. But that wasn’t all. All her things that she loved so much had changed too. Her toys that whistled and whirred had changed again. Instead of wooden blocks with letters of the alphabet painted on in bright, happy letters, there was a white pacifier, its front shaped like a cheerful butterfly. Beside it was a rattly rattle with rings on the end. And next to them sat a plush horse with a squishy body whose mane and tail looked like the mane and tail her pretty riding pony had. Her beautiful clothes of silk and satin were still the cornflower blue cotton dress with frilly lace and puffy sleeves. But now a matching bonnet had joined the pile, along with the unmistakable cloud-white cloth of a diaper. What’s more, her big soft bed had become a crib, with bars so big she could barely peek over. Annabelle scowled a deep deep scowl, and kicked her suddenly teenier, tinier feet in a terrible tantrum. “Dumb fairies! This is no fair! No fair!” She screamed and cried until Cecily came rushing in. Her maid was so much taller than she’d been yesterday. She towered over Annabelle, and plucked her from her crib with ease. Cecily held Annabelle as effortlessly as she held a stack of dishes. “Baby Annabelle, what’s wrong?” Cecily cooed. “Not a baby!” Annabelle whined in protest. Her whine became an indignant shriek as Cecily stuck two cold fingers down the back of her diaper. “I knew it, somebody’s cranky because she’s a wet little miss, isn’t she?” the maid said in a singsong voice. Only after Cecily mentioned it did Annabelle realize how soggy and saggy her diaper was. But how could a big girl like she was possibly not have noticed? Surely this was the fairies’ fault too. But there was no way such tiny fairies could have such powerful magic, was there? This thought distracted her so much that she forgot to fuss as Cecily brought her to a changing table, (which Annabelle was sure had been a desk recently) removed her wet diaper and wiped her clean. Annabelle only noticed what had happened after her maid had finished pinning on her fresh new diaper. It really did feel much better, and immediately, she knew what she had to do. “I wanna go to the village!” she announced. She tried to wriggle free of Cecily’s grasp, but she couldn’t. “All right, baby girl,” Cecily said. “Let’s get you in your pram, and we’ll go for a walk.” “No!” Annabelle yelled, her face turning cherry red. “I wanna walk myself!” “Maybe when you’re older, cutie pie.”’ Cecily paid no heed to Annabelle’s defiant cries, and ignored her as she flailed her little feet. Soon, Annabelle found herself riding in the stroller down the hill to the village. It trundled along, rattling just a little at every bump in the road. Annabelle was still very angry, especially at those awful fairies, but the gentle motion of her pram quickly lulled her back to sleep. When they got to the village though, Annabelle was woken right up by the smell of baking. The villagers had made fresh, delicious pies to thank the fairies for all that they did. For Sparkle, who made sure that the sun kept shining bright, they baked an apple pie with the crispest apples they had ever grown. For Lychee, who kept the bushes full of sweet red berries, they baked a lemon pie with cream that was the fluffiest they had ever whipped. For Cobble who made them clothes and shoes to keep them warm in the cold, cold winter, they baked a pecan pie, with molasses that was the ooeyest, gooeyest molasses they had ever made. But Annabelle smelled all these delicious pies and said to the villagers, “ Don’t give any yummy pies to the fairies. Mine!” The villagers pleaded with Annabelle. “Baby girl, we can make something else yummy for you later. But don’t eat the pies we baked for the fairies. Otherwise, they’ll get angry, and who knows what they’ll do?” But Annabelle didn’t care. She leapt out of the pram, and used her bare hands to take a big scoop right out of all three pies. She took from the apple pie, with the apples that were the freshest they’d ever grown, from the lemon pie with the cream that was the fluffiest they’d ever whipped, and the pecan pie with the ooeyest, gooeyest molassses they’d ever made. She stuffed heaping helpings of each into her mouth, so big that she couldn’t fit them all at once. By the time she was done, her mouth was covered in sticky crumbs. When Annabelle was finally satisfied, she ordered Cecily to take her back to her big house on the hill. The villagers didn’t say anything. They were very upset, but they didn’t dare fight with Annabelle’s parents. Later that night, the fairies came out of the forest, and saw the villagers beside themselves with sadness. “What’s the matter?” asked Sparkle, straightening her tiny red hat. “Is something wrong?” asked Lychee, smoothing her tiny green dress. “Smells like something’s missing,” said Cobble, twirling her tiny brown coat. “Oh fairies,” the villagers cried, “we’re so sorry! We had three delicious pies for you to eat. But Baby Annabelle came and gobbled them all up. Then she went back to her big stone house on the hill.” “Well, that’s no problem,” said Sparkle. “Since she’s just a baby, we’ll ask her to say sorry,” said Lychee. “And then everything will be fine,” said Cobble. The fairies fluttered their wings and flew up to the big stone house on the hill. They squeezed their way under the door, and found Annabelle asleep next to a pile of the villagers’ lovely gifts, pacifier in her mouth, and her tummy full of the pies the villagers had meant for them. When the fairies came in, Annabelle woke up and saw them standing there. This time, she was a little afraid. They were all now as tall as she was. “Go away!” Annnabelle said angrily, spitting out her binky. “You stole our pies!” said Sparkle. “Please say you’re sorry!” said Lychee. “Or we’ll take something from you!” said Cobble. But Annabelle wouldn’t. “All my pies. Nyah-Nyah!” she said defiantly, sticking out her tongue. “We’ll see about that,” all three fairies said together. But before Annabelle could wonder what they meant, her eyes got heavy and she fell asleep in her big, soft crib. The next morning, Annabelle woke up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She was no longer in her big stone house on the hill. Instead, she found herself on a bed of soft ferns, in the middle of a mushroom circle deep in the forest. Annabelle was about to cry, but before she could, Sparkle put a binky that sparkled and shined in her mouth. The fairy was as tall as Cecily had been yesterday. “There there, baby, don’t cry,” said Sparkle. “We’ll take good care of you,” said Lychee. She popped one of her sweet red berries in Annabelle’s hands. “And we’ll do a better job than those silly humans did. No more being such a spoiled brat” finished Cobble, with a playful swat at Annabelle’s padded behind. She pulled a dress made of gossamer and dew over Annabelle’s puffy diaper, and sprinkled a bit of magic dust on her forehead. The fairies set about their work, making sure the sun kept shining bright, keeping the bushes full of sweet red berries, and making clothes and shoes to keep the villagers warm in the cold, cold winter. As they did, Annabelle floated along happily behind them, giggling. And as the years went by, Annabelle stayed under the fairies’ firm but loving care. She never got quite as big as the fairies, and they still treated her like their little baby. But once she got big enough, the fairies let her help them with their work. Shine let Annabelle hold her beautiful red stone that sparkled and shined, so she could tell exactly where to put the sun in the morning by how the light bounced off it. Lychee let Annabelle hold her thimble-sized basket of golden straw where she kept the sweet red berries for the bushes. And with Annabelle’s help, Cobble made better clothes and shoes than ever before. To the fairies’ surprise, Annabelle was glad to do all these things. They made her feel important, and she liked seeing her mommies happy. When they all went out of the forest to receive gifts, none of the villagers recognized that the baby fairy was Annabelle. They called her Crinkle after the sound she made as she zipped through the air with her three fairy mommies, and were always delighted to see her. And so, finally, everyone in the small village and the forest was happy. Especially Annabelle. The End

I just got a new toy in the mail and @Aries got me thinking on how the scenario COULD have gone. Here's the status update that started it (with a picture of the jacket in question): https://www.dailydiapers.com/board/index.php?/profile/61380-bbykimmy/&status=30933&type=status Caught "Hi mommy," I grinned sheepishly as the door swung open. I had been struggling to get the stupid jacket off for almost three hours - I was really glad I had eaten lunch before the mailman came. "I uh... I just wanted to see if it fit," I explained lamely. "It looks like it does fit," my partner smirked. "It looks like it fits quite well, actually... though you're missing something. And it looks like you had an accident." "I didn't mean to!" I whined. I had felt my bladder give about twenty minutes ago, and I was standing on top of a towel that I had pulled out of a basket of clean laundry using my bare feet... laundry that I was supposed to be folding right now. Well, laundry that was supposed to be folded when she got home. The line of wetness down my tight jeans felt clammy and unpleasant, and it was only made worse by the fact that I wasn't supposed to be out of diapers today. "Why aren't you wearing your diaper?" she demanded, crossing her arms in front of her. "I um," I searched my brain for a plausible reason - I was a writer, dammit, I should have been able to spin up a story! "Because you said I could air out today?" She hadn't, it was a lie. We had "airing out" days frequently. I didn't NEED diapers and wearing them 24/7 irritated my skin, I needed a few days every now and again to let my hips and bottom breathe. My face was in her hands in an instant. I felt my stomach flop at her touch. "Are you LYING to me, Kimberly?" she growled. Shit. "Yes mommy," I whimpered. "I'm sorry - I went potty before lunch and I didn't put the diaper back on, I'm sorry." I held up the sleeves of the pink leather straitjacket helplessly, wrapping my useless fingers around her wrists. I knew better than to try it on, but it hadn't occurred to me that I wouldn't be able to get it off until it was too late. It laced up the back, so it was half-closed as I slid it on. My own slender body was my undoing - if I had been bigger, I might have been able to wiggle my way out, but I had barely loosened the laces in my haste to try it on. And now I was standing in our bedroom, on a towel, in wet jeans and a straitjacket, and I was busted. The world spun as I found myself face down on the bed, the love of my life ripping the jeans and sodden panties from my hips roughly. I felt myself being wiped down with the towel as she held one hand between my shoulder blades, pinning me to the mattress. "I'm very sorry, mommy. Please help me out of the jacket so I can finish my chores?" I asked meekly. It was a long shot, but she hated doing laundry, so it was my best hope. She didn't mind WASHING the laundry, or DRYING the laundry, but sorting and folding and putting things away was strictly my job. I felt the laces on the jacket tighten, and I heard the jingle of the buckles as they closed. "Mommy wait," I begged. "I'm sorry!" "You have been a naughty brat all week," she informed me as the jacket got tighter and tighter. "Which is why we bought some of these toys in the first place. You were especially naughty today, however. Your chores aren't done, you aren't in your diaper, and you're playing with toys were were supposed to open TOGETHER." I winced at the last word. I knew better. "I'm sorry!" I pleaded as she sat me back up on the bed like a doll. "I'll do better, I'll finish my chores and- " I was quickly silenced by the brand new gag I had just bought. The leather was soft and giving as the stuffed ball filled my mouth, the mask going over my face and being similarly laced behind my head. I begged into the gag, but it was effective - even I couldn't understand what I was saying. She drew my arms around my sides and I knew I was beyond doomed. I felt the buckles for the sleeves attach behind the jacket and delicious helplessness flooded my heart. I was screwed. Well, if I was lucky. I wasn't. The moment the second sleeve was secured, I found myself face down again and pain exploded in my backside as her wooden paddle met my tender posterior. I screamed into the gag - not because it hurt all that badly, but because it was fun to just be able to scream primally like that, to know that the gag would keep me from disturbing the neighbors. I writhed and wriggled as the paddle collided again and again. "You are such a naughty brat," she scolded. "What happened to my princess? What happened to my well behaved Little? You get a new toy and all your training goes right out the window. Well... " I panted as she rolled me over and held the diaper up. I shook my head and complained - I was already in trouble for bratting, I might as well enjoy it. "It's diaper time for you little girl, and I'm betting you didn't look any deeper in the box or you might have behaved better. I added something to the cart while you weren't looking." I closed my eyes and luxuriated in the sound of the diaper opening, the rustle, the crinkle of the plastic I would soon find myself sealed in. I delighted in the feeling of her lifting my hips, repositioning me and getting me centered on the diaper, of the powder sprinkling over me before she drew the front up between my legs and secured the tapes. She patted the front twice... and when I opened my eyes she was holding several thick strips of leather. I cocked my head to one side as she stood me up, helpless in the jacket. The first strap was apparently a belt, and the second strap went between my legs and... Oh no. I whined into the gag, twisting my body and tugging at my arms, but it just earned me a sharp slap on the thighs. "That's right, you brat. I bought you a chastity belt. And as long as you're the brat and not the princess, you'll be wearing it." Her voice had a scrumptiously cruel edge to it as she locked the belt closed around me, attaching a pair of thigh cuffs to it as well... there was no way I was shimmying this diaper off. "My princess doesn't take off her diapers without permission, does she? My brat certainly does. And from now on, we'll be putting you in the jacket for diaper changes." My eyes widened as her meaning sank in. "Uh huh," she grinned. "The only time the belt is coming off is when you're good and helpless. When we take the jacket off, the belt will be firmly locked on. You had better get used to begging for changes, brat. When you've been my princess for a week with NO BRATTING, then we'll talk about taking the belt off." My knees went weak as she traced her fingers along my face, wrapping her arms around my helpless body and kissing me on the gag, I could feel the pressure of her lips but not their tender sweetness. I melted in her arms as she guided me onto the bed. "Do you understand?" I nodded agreement as she reached into the toybox on her side of the bed and pulled out the strap-on. I was getting ridden, but I wasn't going to get any stimulation out of it. The idea drove me wild. It was going to be a long, wonderful week.