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Unfair PART 1: The Old Routine Chapter 1: The Facts of Life. The world isn’t fair. This was typically the first morbid thought that crept into my head every morning as the alarm buzzed me awake from whatever dreams I’d been having only moments before. The past six to eight hours had been rendered completely moot in a blur of unconsciousness, not counting a trip to the toilet around three A.M. or so. Today was no different. “Snooze,” my wife, Cassie, said, her groggy tone somewhat a hybrid of a plea and a demand. Almost reflexively, I rolled over and slapped the snooze button, silencing the alarm. “Thankooo,” Cassie slurred before rolling over and resuming a light session of snoring. Damn, I loved the sound of her snoring. The next nine minutes lasted a short eternity, with me likely drifting off just before the alarm sang out again. I’ve always wondered how an entire night can go by with a snap of my fingers and the shutting of my eyelids, but nine minutes feels like forever. The only conclusion I could ever come to was that the world wasn’t fair. Eyes open, but vision still blurry (it looked like there were two overlapping sets of alarm clocks), I groped around and actually turned the darn thing off, not just hitting snooze. It was part of our morning ritual, me and Cassie. Our routine. I always hit the snooze button once, and only once; just enough to feel like we were getting away with something. In its own weird little way, it felt like winning. Little victories. But today was work. So no sleeping in. Time to get up and get out of bed. If my head hit the pillow again, sleep would win. Sleep never won. Not that I could go back to sleep, anyways. I had to pee like a racehorse. I’d already woken up once, about an hour ago, but my lethargy outweighed my discomfort, so I’d just rolled over and drifted off again. Now it was time to get up. Time to go to work and face the dangers of the world outside my house. Time to exist. Stretching out the first of my morning aches, I walked to the bathroom, whispering “The world isn’t fair,” as I crossed the threshold. It’s my own personal “memento mori,” but it served a different purpose than the generals of the ancient and mythical land of “Roam.” Conquering heroes needed to be reminded of their own mortality, lest they become arrogant. My own personal motto reminded me of exactly how lopsided the world was so that I’d stay alert. Couldn’t get too cocky. Couldn’t get too comfortable. When the game’s not fair, you can’t afford to rest easy, and the game started every time I stepped out my front door. That might have been the reason why I never had the master bathroom refurbished. Cassie would grab her phone and shamble to the other side of the house and use the guest bathroom. It made sense, honestly. The seat there fit her, and neither of us were foolhardy enough to go out and buy a potty adapter. Even Cassie, internet whiz that she’d become, wouldn’t buy something like that online. That’s how they getcha. Me? There was a certain thrill about climbing up the stepladder every morning and pissing into a toilet sized for an Amazon. Another guilty pleasure. Getting away with something, again. Another Little victory. Oh, yeah. I guess I should mention in case you haven’t figured it out: I’m a Little. Capital “L.” Noun. Not an adjective. We lived in an Amazon-sized house. Got it relatively cheap with a good mortgage. The old Amazon couple that we’d gotten it from actually seemed pleasantly surprised on the day I showed up to sign the papers. They’d lost their adopted Little girl to old age and cancer- some things even Amazon tech can’t cure a hundred percent- but had modified the spare bathroom to accommodate someone our size. They were the rare breed that believed in “potty training” Littles. And yes, please note the quotation marks to indicate eye rolling irony. You’ll most likely be seeing a lot of them. Amazons were crazy; they were almost determined to see Littles as babies that never grew up, at best, and their own personal dolls, at worst. But if you didn’t trigger their eccentricities, they were otherwise very reasonable. I had made sure to remind Cassie of that when I came back from the in-person signing. In turn, Cassie reminded me if she hadn’t done some careful obfuscation about our stature, (never outright lying, that would have come back to bite us), we wouldn’t have gotten our dream house with such a low mortgage payment. Only “grown-ups” could handle such stressful responsibilities like a job and a mortgage. Littles who fell behind on their payments weren’t allowed to be grown-ups and pay them late. We both knew Littles who’d tried to live the dream and had been pressured into signing more than half of their monthly paycheck away. Some of them were still struggling, working overtime and multiple jobs just to make payments and keep food on their table. Others weren’t… I’m getting off track, though. This isn’t the story of how my wife and I got our beautiful home. This is another story entirely. Still gloriously naked and a little stiff in the legs, a low moan escaped my lips and mingled with the sound of liquid hitting liquid echoing through the master bathroom. Everything in my house was a high-loft, comparatively speaking. There was something luxurious about it. Once my tank was on empty, I looked down at myself- pale flesh and tiny little red hairs all over- and smiled. I liked my body hair. It made me look and feel more manly (though Cassie preferred calling me “fuzzy”). My body hair wasn’t super bushy or massive, but no one was mistaking me for a toddler, either. Good. Good enough, anyway. Leaning over so as not to fall in, I placed one hand on the tank for balance and then flushed. After climbing down from the toilet’s step stool, I did my other morning ritual of looking down and clapping my hands on my belly. Damn. I was getting kind of chubby. Too much candy and late night snacking. That was no good. If a Little ever got too fat, one of those giants (sorry Amazon readers, that’s what you look like to us) might see a beer gut and think “baby fat,” and then their maternal instincts would get triggered. That’s the curse of getting old. Your metabolism starts to slow down on its own, but your eating habits don’t. At thirty-one, I was ancient in Little terms. No, we live just as long as the Amazons and Tweeners, on average. But in Amazon country, most Littles were lucky to remain free and uncribbed past the age of twenty-eight. Amazons were just as likely to “adopt” an eighty year old as an eighteen year old, but if you made it to thirty-five, chances are you’d gotten your shit together enough so that you could make it to eighty. So yeah, I was gettin’ up there. Better old than never being allowed to grow up. Climbing yet another stepping stool so that I could reach the sink, I grabbed my razor and shaving cream and started to lather up. I promised myself that I’d pop in that yoga DVD again as soon as I got home from work. I hated yoga, but having a pre-recorded Amazonian fitness instructor tell me to assume the child’s pose on the yoga mat was better than a real giant telling me to lay down on a changing mat. Jogging as exercise was out, lest some passerby think I was running from something and decide to “protect” me. Weights were a no go, too. A Little with a developed physique was unfortunate, as far as Amazons were concerned. A Little with rippling musculature was a challenge, a dare, or so I reckoned. Yoga was really my best option. Shaving was another kind of balancing act for me. My bright red goatee definitely made me look more “distinguished” and less like a toddler, but with it came more responsibilities. Serious, serious responsibilities. If my chin hair ever got too long or scraggly, someone might think that I didn’t know how to take care of myself, and it’d be all downhill from there. Same principle if I got a five o’clock shadow anywhere before 5pm. It’s why I shaved twice a day, just in case. A big ol’ f**k-off grandpa beard was never going to be an option for me, sadly. The top of my head was its own balancing act. My own hair had a tendency to grow curly- “adorably” curly, which made me a potential target. However, my paranoia never let me feel comfortable going full buzz cut, either. Bald could be just as dangerous. Barbers that cut Little hair (and didn’t offer a lollipop after) in this part of the country were rare. I was lucky in some respects, though: a curly top was bad, but long, flowing hair was worse. You know how I said that Amazons were equally likely to adopt an eighteen year old or an eighty year old? Admittedly, there’s truth to that. What I failed to mention, however, is they also tend to prefer our women over men. There are studies that suggest that as far as “adoptions” go, women outnumber men two to one, closer to three in some locales. And it’s no big secret that when an Amazon can’t find a Little girl to take...they have a tendency to just “make” their own. As a precaution, I learned to cut my own hair and make up for talent or style with a ton of hair gel. I leaned forward and mugged a bit in the mirror. Flecks of gray were dotting my hair. Salt and ketchup. I smiled a little. A typical Amazon might adopt an eighty year old or an eighteen year old Little, but their special brand of crazy was more likely to be triggered by a cuter, younger, more babyish looking Little. Those flecks of gray and white were practically battle scars. “I might just make it to being a silver fox, yet,” I’d think to myself. Body hair. Goatee. Short and neat hair. A penis. Those were all things that played to my advantage out there in the Big Big Amazonian world. Even my name was supposed to be a shield. Oh yikes. I almost forgot. Forgive my manners. Hi. I’m Clark. My last name? It’s complicated. My parents gave me the name “Clark” as its own kind of protection. “Clark” is one of those names that’s just awful for a kid. Like “Dane” or “Glenn” or “Harlan.” Hard to imagine a baby with that kind of name. If you’ve read this far, I think you see my point. I grew up hearing the story about my poor uncle Thomas on my mother’s side, lost to us before I was born. He didn’t die. An Amazon just thought that he looked cute and that “Tommy” was more fitting for him. As far as anyone in the family knows, he’s still being forced to breastfeed and shit his pants. A name wasn’t going to stop any of the giants from taking me, but just like everything else about me at that point, it was another layer to prevent any unhealthy interests in me ever taking root. Just like the carefully ironed dress shirt that I put on everyday, each little piece of my appearance was another button holding everything together. It wasn’t fair. I knew this as I pulled up a neatly pressed pair of slacks and went for my belt. It wasn’t fair that every day I went to work, I was in my own weird way putting myself in a surreal kind of danger. It wasn’t fair that my custom loafers had lifts in them, in the hopes that I might be able to pass as a short Tweener instead of an average-to-tall Little. It wasn’t fair that I had to basically prove myself as an adult every single day while other, bigger, taller people got the benefit of the doubt and then some. It wasn’t fair, but it was fact. I finished tying my tie- a risky maneuver if it ever went askew, but it always paid off. “Breakfast time,” Cassie said, bringing me my breakfast shake. It was high in protein and had a tendency to constipate me, but that was a bonus as far as I was concerned. Didn’t hurt that it tasted like chocolate, either. An artist, Cassie worked from home, never letting anyone know her actual size. Most people wouldn’t believe a Little could do anything artistic beyond scribbling with crayons, but that’s just propaganda there. She had an eye for detail and the manual dexterity to make absolutely beautiful and intricate works of art. She could cook, but neither of us wanted to get up early enough to make or eat breakfast, so we’d developed this little ritual instead. I took my shake, peeled off the seal on the bottle and chugged it down. “Thanks, hon,” I said. “You’re the best.” “I know, hon,” she yawned. We never called each other “babe,” always opting for older-sounding terms of endearment. “Love ya.” A quick peck on the cheek, and then I was out the door and on my way to work. So here’s the thing: looking back on it, I couldn’t tell you the exact date this happened. I’ve long forgotten it. Not because anything made me forget, but that’s because much of my life BEFORE was largely forgettable; blessedly, blessedly forgettable. If anything, the above sequence of events might not ever have happened exactly the way I described them above, but they all happened at some point. This was my morning, most Mondays through Fridays, barring summer vacation or the occasional three-day weekend. Some, I know might criticize or try to discredit me as I write this- call me an unreliable narrator, only with smaller, more patronizing word choices. Typical Amazons. What I am is flawed, just like anyone without a computer for a brain. The mind, especially mine, has a habit of blocking out or blurring the routine together in a jumbled haze, because why would we know every single detail of every single thing that has ever happened to us in our sentient existence? We’re not robots. It’s the rough stuff, the emotional stuff, that we remember. The stuff that even thinking about makes us happy cry, ugly cry, curl our fingers in rage, curl our toes in fright, makes us nauseous or aroused: that’s what sticks out in our mind with crystal clarity. This? This morning could have been any morning. For all intents and purposes, it was my morning, every morning. In fact, do me a favor: Get a bookmark or a highlighter and between every chapter, remind yourself that for the longest time, this was my morning. If, up until a certain point, I talk about “the next day” or talk about any transition in time, a scene very much like what you just read probably unfolded first: a little bit of existential dread and anxiety, a lot of careful preparation, a terrible meal, and then out the door before dawn. It wasn’t fair. But it was normal. Blessedly, blessedly normal. It was routine. It was the facts of life. (If you’d like to read more chapters of this story before they’re released to the public, please visit and support http://patreon.com/personalias.)

Going to use this thread to share some flash fictions over time. At about the same rate that I release them over on my patreon. What Dreams May Come A sound, like rushing water awakens you. You’re awake. You’re in a crib. You’re wearing a diaper. It’s soaked and your bladder is empty. This is not surprising. You went to sleep in this crib. It’s no wonder you should wake up in it. Same for the diaper. It wasn’t wet when you fell asleep, (not that wet anyways) but it’s present condition is just the natural consequence of the passage of time. You sit up and yawn away the last of the dream stuff. Absent-mindedly, you wonder if that squish beneath your bottom is poop or not. It’s so hard to tell first thing in the morning when everything between your legs is wet and squishy. It’s shocking just how routine this all has become. There was time when you would have balked at all of this. Now you just accept it. Mommy comes into the room. “Good morning, baby!” she coos at you through your crib bars. “Did you sleep well? Have pleasant dreams?” You smile softly, demurely, as you give a pleasant chirp of ‘Yes Mommy!” “Wonderful!” she says. “Let’s get you changed and ready for the day.” She lowers the crib bars and you climb out only so that you can climb back onto the changing table. “Such a good baby!” You are a good baby. A very good one. It’s something that you’ve worked hard at. So very hard. You haven’t had any other choice. It’s not up to you. Nothing is. You struggled at first, but Mommy made it very clear very quickly that you could fight as much as you wanted, but it wouldn’t stop you from becoming her good baby. “After we get you dressed for the day,” Mommy says pulling the safety strap over your chest. “We’ll get you some breakfast, and then we’ll go to the park to play. Maybe Margaret will be there!” Margaret is your best friend. Your Mommy and hers had decided it. You didn’t much care for her, to be honest, but you didn’t have much choice in the matter. You don’t feed yourself. You don’t dress yourself. You don’t decide where you go, who you spend time with or for how long. The only freedom you have left is in your dreams. In your dreams you can be anything. When you’re awake, the only thing you can be is a dumb baby. Mommy’s working extra hard on unteaching you your FZY’s. Mommy is a very good teacher… Mommy tears open the tapes on your diaper and starts to clean you up. “Oh wow!” she gushes. “Such a wet baby!” She drags the cold wet baby wipe across your front and between your legs. “I bet someone was dreaming about going for a swim!” You open your mouth to tell her what you were actually dreaming about. You can’t remember, though. It was so vivid, too, you’re sure! Cold wipes on your bottom and Mommy’s cooing makes it so hard to concentrate! Just then, Bobby walks in. Bobby is your big brother, but not so big that you don’t have to share a room together. Bobby has a big kid bed that looks like a racecar. Sometimes Mommy asks him what he wants to do instead of telling him. Billy can feed himself and dress himself. Presently, he’s doing just that. You watch enviously from the changing table while Bobby takes his pajamas off, all by himself. You stare while he strips down and takes out a pair of underwear out of the top drawer of his dresser and steps into it, easy as pie. Suddenly you realize the sound that woke you up was the sound of Bobby flushing the toilet, and your blood turns hot. Mommy is busy unfolding a diaper and slipping it underneath your hips. “Mommy,” you ask. “When will I be ready to use the potty?” “Oh,” she says, pausing for just a moment. “Probably never.” She grabs the bottle of baby powder and dusts your privates with it. “But why?” You ask. “Because you’re just a baby.” Mommy says. “Babies don’t use the potty, do they?” Bobby used to be a baby. You know. You got here first. But for some reason, Bobby’s been allowed to grow up when you haven’t. Again. Grow up again. You already grew up once. It’s weird how you have to remind yourself lately. So much of your old life before Mommy feels like a dream; an elaborate fanfiction that you wrote yourself. Everything from before feels less real as Mommy spreads your legs and pulls the fresh, thick, poofy, crinkly diaper that prevents your knees from touching and forces you to walk with a waddle 24/7. It is only the first of the day. It will not be the last. You can’t remember the last time you got to wear underwear; real underwear; the kind that couldn’t be seen from space. It was only an academic memory by this point. You lift your head up to examine the decorations of the diaper Mommy just put you in. It has balloons on the front. The one you woke up in had pictures of sleeping kitty cats. Depending on what Mommy feels like, you might find yourself in a diaper decorated with nursery rhyme characters or one with fishes swimming. You don’t even get to decide your diaper decorations! Meanwhile, Bobby would get to wear those jungle safari themed undies all day long. “Oh!” you gasp. “Mommy! I remember what I was dreaming about?” “Oh?” She chuckles, “What was your dream, baby?” She undoes the strap and helps you sit up. Your thoughts suddenly feel as crisp as the new padding wrapped around your hips. “I was on safari!” you exclaim. “I was hunting big game!” “That sounds nice,” Mommy says, pulling your sleep shirt up over your head. “What game? Checkers?” “No!” You correct her. “Like I was shooting animals and stuff! Lions and tigers and bears!” “Oh my!” Mommy replies. “Are you sure you were on safari? Maybe you were just dreaming about going to the zoo?” “I’m sure,” you say. Bobby has already gotten dressed and walked away. You’re still nude except for the padding. “It was awesome!” Talking about your dreams was one of the few things you could freely do. “Was I there?” Mommy asked. “No,” you proudly exclaim. “Just me.” “But if you were in the jungle hunting animals,” Mommy teases, “who would be there to change your diaper?” That was the best part about the dream! About all your dreams! “I wasn’t…!” Except you were. You immediately remember the dream. You picture yourself wearing a helmet. A pith helmet, you think it’s called. And one of those khaki button up shirts that people always wore in the cartoons and movies. Boots too. But between the shirt and the boots, was your diaper. Just your diaper. No pants. No belt. Nothing. And right beside you, holding your hand, was Mommy. Even in your dreams you couldn’t get out of diapers. Even asleep you were with your Mommy. There was no escape. No freedom, even in your subconscious. A terrible melancholy comes over you. Were you ever actually an adult? Or have you just been fooling yourself with your dreams and they’re now finally telling you the truth about yourself. “So,” Mommy says. “What do you want to wear today?” “I don’t know,” you mumble, trying not to sob. “I’m just a baby. You pick, please.” “Of course, baby,” Mommy smiles. “Of course.”

This is a sequel to "Fair is Fair" Marion Thompson didn’t believe in Maturosis. She didn’t think that Littles had some rare genetic defect that made it so that one day out of the blue they started acting like babies. That was just some fad pseudoscience meant to dress up a fact of life. Littles NEEDED to be diapered and disciplined and treated like the babies they were both for their own good and for the good of society as a whole. No one questioned why it was best to keep cats indoors with a litter box: If you didn’t they’d end up shitting everywhere, having kittens with no regard for the ecosystem, and murdering birds. It’s just what cats did. The same was true for Littles...except for maybe the bird murder part. The point is, it’s just what was done and needed to be done to keep everyone coexisting happily and healthily. If a cat resisted it’s treatment and cried and begged to be treated like something it wasn’t, vets didn’t invent a new term and talk about how their “Caturosis” hadn’t kicked in yet. Granted, it was more complex where Littles were concerned. There were enough genetic similarities between Amazons and them that they could breed with each other; a thoroughly disturbing idea but Tweeners had to originate from somewhere. The point being, Marion knew, was that some people just needed to be treated as their True Age instead of their Chronological Age and those people were overwhelmingly Littles. Marion had gotten her start in a daycare for Littles when she’d been a teenager. There she’d earned a living changing the diapers of and bottle feeding people who were a quarter her size and twice her age. The new ones were always so rebellious; so fussy; but that only proved that they needed to be treated like toddlers or less. Eventually, usually within a month or two of enrollment, she’d break them into happy Little babies, calling her Mrs. Thompson or Nanny. The right kind of rewards. The right kind of punishments. A few special cartoons just in case, and they’d be good Little boys and girls, babbling, filling their pants and generally being cute. But they never thanked her; usually because most of their True Ages were pre-talking. Mrs. Thompson wasn’t one to cosset, but there was still a decided emotional drain that came with having to deal with the same squalling brats who were completely ungrateful for the gifts they were being given. Even if you were good at taming feral cats, you could only get scratched by them so many times before you started resenting it; even if scratching and hissing is just what feral cats did. It’s why after decades of working in Little care, she’d left New Beginnings and moved out of Oakshire to start her own business. Setting up and running her own small business wasn’t that different than running a daycare. Like a daycare, so much of the hard work was in preparation, maintenance, and maintaining essential supplies. A few years ago, she’d been the heir apparent in terms of chain of command, and had taken all of those skills with her. What was better about running a coffeehouse is that she had the ability to kick troublesome customers out on their ass at the first sign of trouble. Not that she’d had many of those in the last few years. Coffee was just as commonplace as daycares, if not more so, and as long as it was a pleasant and positive experience for her customers and her prices reasonable, they kept coming back: Every morning before work, ordering minor bakery items through their lunch break or working on their never-to-be-published novels, and getting that last caffeine rush to go before an all nighter study session. If anything, her experience at managing tots that would never grow up helped her keep her employees in line: No shiftless layabouts playing on their phones every spare second. No old failures just waiting out the clock until retirement. The people who worked for her cared about their jobs and took pride in it. Motivating employees was just as easy as the tools she used to manage her former charges. Carrots, sticks, vague promises that needn’t come to fruition, rewards and competition; all the same stuff in principle. It was just a matter of making unpleasant employees work unpleasant hours until they straightened up and dangling minor raises and promotions instead of leaving them in messy diapers or promising addictive sweets. Different actions, same principle, identical effects. No. Marion Thompson didn’t cosset. She didn’t miss working in the daycare industry either. Her own small business was enough. And then Gwenny had pooped herself… The Amazon girl laid half in Marion’s lap on the floor, sucking on Marion’s tits. Marion felt the milk coming out of her and into the girl’s mouth. The pills she’d taken had done their job, and Gwenny was such an enthusiastic feeder, that Marion’s breasts produced more than enough milk to keep up with the demand. She probably didn’t need to take them anymore. Probably. Gwenny squirmed in quiet agony. She was completely naked save for the sopping wet diaper she’d worn since last night, and her hair was a brown and tangled bedhead mess. Mrs. Thompson had been completely clothed and her blonde hair perfectly coiffed before she’d entered Gwenny’s room. She looked around the makeshift nursery approvingly, as she unclasped the other cup of her nursing bra and switched Gwenny over to her other breast. Gwenny continued to moan, her hands itching at playing with herself. She’d needed welted knuckles and duct taped oven mitts to finally break the habit. No cumming with Mommy’s permission. It wasn’t quite a proper nursery, Marion knew. The crib was a modified hospital cot for the infirm and senile. The changing table was a second hand massage table. The diapers were FAR too big for a baby, and not nearly cute enough. But the bunny themed wall border was appropriate. The toy box and its contents were real. The air smelled wonderfully of baby powder with just a hint of ammonia and the sheets on the crib and changing table were tastefully pink. A couple packs of stickers from the dollar store would do the job of decorating her diapers, besides. Come to think of it, there might be some cute stencils that with a fabric marker might “Little up” the sheets. Gwenny would do it all of course. One of her chores. “For Mommy.” The poor, wonderful girl would do anything “for Mommy”. She’d debase herself. Humiliate herself. Be teased relentlessly by people who should be her immature inferiors. All Littles were babies. But not all babies were Littles. What was Gwenny? Gwenny was special. Speaking of special; time for Gwenny’s special treat. Leaning back a bit, Mrs. Thompson reached under Gwenny’s crib. “Does baby girl want her zoom zoom?” She dangled the massage wand over her charge’s head. Another carrot. Gwenny’s eyes leered up from her Mommy’s breasts, hungry for release. “Mmmhmm!” She knew better than to take the tit out of her mouth. Good girl. Very good girl. She adjusted Gwenny so the girl was more on her back. More comfortable. Gwenny deserved a little bit of comfort from this. But not too comfortable. “If you’re all done drinking milk before you finish,” Marion said. “I’m taking it away and you’ll have to wait till we get back home to try again.” The younger Amazon took the wand, switched it on and started grinding against the buzzing stick with all her might through the soggy padding. She didn’t close her eyes. She looked up lovingly, at her Mommy. Her Mommy looked back with equal adoration. Thirty seconds later, Gwenny stopped moaning and was gasping for breath, panting in ecstasy. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you, Mommy. Thank you so much…” That. That made this all the more special. Regular babies Gwenny’s age could do everything she’d just done. But they’d never thank her. Marion gave her girl a soft smile and guided her up into a sitting position. She patted her back just long enough to get a single burp out of her and then looked at the hoot owl clock on the nursery wall. Time to get moving. “Up we go, little girl.” She guided Gwenny to her feet. The diaper, now worn for about ten hours, wet, and mashed all to heck, hung from the Amazon girl’s hips like a garbage back. She led her over to the repurposed massage table. “Time to get you changed.” Gwenny boosted herself onto the padded mat and held her breath, waiting for the inevitable relief. Marion obliged her and quickly undid all four tapes. She’d have preferred to take her time, but they were in danger of being late. She’d have to start earlier tomorrow. Marion didn’t have a bathtub in her home, and she valued her own privacy from time to time, so she let the girl bathe herself, provided she submitted for inspection immediately after toweling off. The only time Gwenny wasn’t wearing a diaper was between changes and while bathing (as it should be). “Someone’s a very wet girl,” she cooed down at Gwenny. “Such a soggy bottom! But Mommy will take care of that.” Gwenny blushed, her light and likely embarrassed giggles muted slightly by her thumb. “Up we go,” she said. This was a game as well as a command. Her big baby obeyed and lifted her legs and hips. “Hmmm...no poopies,” Mrs. Thompson said, giving the girl’s backside a wipe. A second pass, and then the old diaper was balled up and gone; tossed into the lidded trash can beside the changing table. The new diaper quickly followed, and Gwenny tried to put her legs down. “Ah-ah-ah!” “Phorry Mommy,” Gwenny said. “That’s okay, baby,” her Mommy replied. She grabbed the tub of rash cream next to the stack of diapers and started spreading it thick and quick on Gwenny’s cheeks. Better a lot of cream than even a little rash. Some extra baby powder masked the scent well enough. “Okay, baby.” Gwenny lowered her hips and sighed as Marion She’d give Gwenny some of her own “special syrup” for lunch if she hadn’t gone number two by then. The liquid training chocolate, even in small doses, could potentially cause bowel incontinence in Littles. She’d used it plenty of time to trick stubborn Littles into liking their diapers and gave them the stuff even after their paper mache adulthood crumbled off their faces. It could very well have the same long term effects on Gwenny too, but the big baby girl probably wasn’t potty trained anymore anyways. A constipated baby was a fussy baby. Couldn’t have that. Like she’d been trained, Gwenny sat up after the diaper change and gave her Mommy a hug. “Thank you, Mommy.” “You’re welcome, Gwenny.” She gave her girl a kiss on the forehead. “Can I dress myself for wor...I mean chores?” Marion looked at the clock. Despite the intimacy, it’d be for the best in terms of efficiency. “You may, dear.” Gwenny waddled off to her closet and began dressing herself for the day. It was a shame, Marion mused, that they didn’t make true baby clothes in Amazon sizes. Gwenny’s padded tush would look absolutely gorgeous. So far she’d made do with tiny t-shirts and frilly nighties at home. Marion was still in the process of finding a tailor to hem some Lolita style dresses she’d found that covered too much of the diaper. Gwenny’s diaper was never completely uncovered, even at work. Gwenny came back out wearing a bra and t-shirt, and a denim skirt that made it so that the younger Amazon would have to be very careful about bending over...or not. “Is this okay, Mommy?” “That will do,” Marion replied. She quickly grabbed a thick brush and dragged it across Gwenny’s head. “Let me help with your hair.” Just like her mother had taught her, Marion quickly and efficiently got the tangles out in rapid and small strokes, patch by patch. “Get some diapers for your bag.” “Already packed my diaper bag, Mommy.” Gwenny was beaming. “Did it before you tucked me into my crib. A bit of genuine pride filled Mrs. Thompson’s breast. “Such a good girl. Now let’s hurry. We can’t keep Samantha waiting.” “Yes, Mommy.” ************************************************************************************* The lights to the shop were already on when Marion unlocked the door and stepped inside. Samantha’s head just barely cleared the countertop, but she waved nonetheless. “Good morning, Mrs. Thompson!” then she added slyly, “Hiii Gwenny.” “Good morning, Samantha.” Mrs. Thompsons replied, warmly enough. She shot a look at Gwenny. “Monin’ Samantha…” Gwenny blushed and looked away from the Tweener. A few months ago, Gwenny would have been attempting to intimidate her co-worker, combined with veiled threats of diapering or tiny jabs at how immature Samantha was. The changing tables had turned, however. “How are you, baby Gwenny?” Samantha asked. “Ready to work today?” “Mmhmmm…” Gwenny mumbled, still not quite used to taking orders from the shorter woman. “Speak up,” Gwenny said. “You know our customers don’t like it when you mumble. Use your words.” Approvingly, Mrs. Thompson watched a bit of extra blush creeped into Gwenny’s cheeks. “Yes, Samantha.” If it weren’t for her height, the girl might’ve made a spectacular Amazon. She was a far better adult than Gwenny, anyways. It stood to reason, though. If ALL Littles were babies and MOST Amazons were adults, then at least SOME Tweeners should have the maturity to make it in the world without a bigger wiser person needing to hold their hand every step of the way. In that regard Samantha was sort of special, too, Marion supposed. “Oh, Gwenny,” Samantha gushed. “You sure do look pretty today, young lady.” “Thank y-” Gwenny was interrupted with an audible sniff? “But are you soggy, already? Poopy?” The big baby started to pale, in part because she might not have completely known. The faintest hint of a smile, just the barest hint of a threat came across the owner’s countenance. “Why do you ask, Samantha? Would you like to check?” Samantha didn’t miss a beat. “Only if you’d like me to, ma’am.” It came so quickly, so automatically. Good. Certain boundaries still had to be respected. Gwenny was a big baby, but she was Mrs. Marion Thompson’s baby. Samantha was clever, especially for a Tweener, but she wasn’t just a Tweener. “I’ll think she’ll hold up till her lunch break,” Marion said. She looked to Gwenny. “What do you think, Gwenny?” Fun fact, not really a question. “Yes, Mommy.” “Good girl.” Marion started walking back to the little room that served as her office. “Ready your station, sweetie. Samantha?” “Yes, Ma’am?” “With me, please.” The Tweener fell quickly into line behind her. “I’ve been going over the books.” “Yes, ma’am?” “We’ve had a steady growth in business the last few months.” This was fact. “Yes, ma’am.” “Even after all the extra highchairs we ordered.“ Another fact. The uptick in their business, not coincidentally she knew, came primarily from parents of Littles, though there was another new form of clientele as well. The parents needed more seats to place permanently padded bottoms. Assuming the shop’s recent momentum stayed constant, the new furniture would be a worthwhile investment. “Correct.” Hmmm...not a ‘Yes, ma’am’. Interesting. Marion walked into the little room that served as her office and took a seat behind her desk. Smartly, Samantha stayed standing with her hands clasped behind her back, waiting to be invited to sit. Marion wasn’t going to invite her to sit; not out of discourtesy but the practical fact that this meeting wasn’t going to be taking long. She opened her ledger where she had left it the night before and looked at her notes. “I see you’ve put in more requests for cream and milk.” It wasn’t a question. “We’re running through a lot more than we used to.” Marion gave her subordinate a look that made it clear that more than ‘Yes, ma’am’ would be required this time. “We’ve been selling milk and cream.” Samantha swallowed, clearly choosing her words carefully. “So that the Littles have something to drink too. In their bottles. Makes their Mommy’s and Daddy’s more comfortable sitting and sipping with them.” Marion kept her face straight. “And Gwenny’s special ingredient? The chocolate training syrup?” She could have sworn she saw the slightest flinch in the Tweener’s mask. Samantha regained her composure so quickly that Marion doubted herself. “I never charge extra for it. And only give it to good Little boys and girls who are behaving.” Ah. So that’s what that mother had meant the other day thanking her in passing for the ‘Special Treat’. “Does the rest of the staff know about this?” “Yes ma’am.” “Even on your days off?” “It helps our tips.” Not what Marion had asked, but good to know. An answer without an affirmative. Marion closed her ledger and stared down the Tweener still standing across from her. “Whose idea was it?” The first real pause. Then Samantha finally said. “Mine.” Accountability. Good. She might learn from this yet. “Put it on the menu.” “Ma’am?” “Put the milk for Littles on the menu. Complimentary still, but let our customers know about it.” She took a moment to let her employee take a relieved breath. “Keep the special add-in strictly under the table.” “Yes, ma’am.” Samantha nodded. She seemed intrigued by the idea, as if she hadn’t thought of the benefits of good advertising before. “You can have Gwenny put it up on the board high where she can reach.” A slight grin pulled at the right corner of her mouth. She pictured Gwenny having to get on a stool to put it on the menu board above the barista counter. No way to hide what she was wearing like that. The same thought must have crossed Samantha’s mind. Why else would she be grinning? “Yes, Ma’am.” She waited until Marion waved her off and then turned around to leave. “Oh, and Samantha?” The Tweener froze. “Make sure that any and all of the syrup we give away goes into Little tummies, and Little tummies only. Is that understood?” A single bead of sweat. “Yes Ma’am.” And with that she was gone up front. Samantha had likely been hoping that her boss didn’t suspect her. There was no suspect. Security cameras had confirmed enough. Gwenny had tried to outwit a Little that was going through an adult phase, and the Little and Samantha had turned the tables on her. Marion didn’t have a problem with this. Served Gwenny right, back then. Try and argue or match wits with a child and it shows how childish you really are when they beat you. It just wouldn’t do for Samantha, any of her employees, to get too ambitious. *********************************************************************************** “Mrs. Thompson?” Samantha’s voice rang in. She sounded slightly rushed and not in the usual way. “We kind of need you out here.” Marion looked up from her desk. It was unusual for anyone to barge in without knocking. She looked at her desk and thought she had her explanation. They were in the middle of the lunch rush. Yuppy interns and twenty somethings were streaming in to get their caffeine rush and some pre-packaged croissants since they were too overworked, time crunched, and cash strapped to get anything more filling. Marion got up and took her own personal apron off a coat rack by the door. “Did Ramon not come in on time? Is Marissa trying to take another break?” “It’s not that,” Samantha shook her head. “It’s Gwenny. She needs you. Badly. Leak. Blow out.” Marion inhaled but didn’t let herself seem bothered, even as every instinct in her told her to rush out. Though often in haste, she must never seem hurried. She finished tying the apron- she’d need it anyways- and grabbed Gwenny’s diaper bag from off the adjoining hook. “Get a mop.” “Marissa is already on it,” Samantha reported. “ Ramon’s holding Gwenny’s hand to stop her from fussing too much.” Then she added. “I came to get you because I had the easiest time maneuvering through the crowd.” So there was a crowd. No matter. Better than no matter; good even. While changing a diaper was never pleasant- an adult sized one that had been ruined beyond capacity acting as a multiplier on said unpleasantness-.the crowd would bring with it certain benefits. Combined with a certain feeling- maybe it was practicality; maybe it was the last vestiges of a proper maternal instinct - and Marion genuinely wanted to change Gwenny. She would have preferred to wait till after the lunch rush to do it, but if such accidents could be predicted, diapers would be largely unnecessary. The crowd hushed as Marion’s heels clicked on the hard floor, signalling her approach. Only the whimpering of one or two fussy Littles not in daycare registered when she came into sight. The dining room was packed. Not quite standing room only, but no one was sitting down. Everyone wanted a view of what was about to happen. Like courtiers in the presence of a queen, they parted for her. By everything holy she loved this part. If she had known that “adopting” a young Amazon woman would get her this level of satisfaction, she’d have done it much sooner. Ramon, who was either a very tall Tweener or an Amazon that could do with a few inches stood holding Gwenny’s hand, patting the back of it in an act of condescending comfort. Marissa was busy behind the counter scrubbing Gwenny’s “spill”. It very likely wasn’t THAT bad, but the optics of seeing someone scrubbing the site were just as important as the actual cleaning itself. People wanted to see certain things; to know that proper action was being taken for them. People wanted justice. And Marion wasn’t just thinking about cleaning up messes. The smell of Gwenny’s backside hit Marions nose over the coffee beans just as she stepped into the girl’s bubble. Marion didn’t flinch. She’d smelled worse. As a responsible adult, she’d started heavily regulating her girl’s diet to lessen constipation as well as odor. Besides, she was used to it. “Gwenny?” The Amazon girl didn’t look up. “Gwenny did you have an accident?” Gwenny nodded, sullenly, but didn’t say anything. “Gwenny I need an answer.” “Yes, Mommy.” The girl’s voice sounded choked, her throat tight. Marion tilted her chin up with her forefinger. “Do big girls have accidents in their panties?” She saw Gwenny blanch and drew a slight thrill from the fact that she could still make the girl wince after all this time. “No, Mommy.” “But you’re not wearing panties, are you?” Gwenny knew how the script went from here. “No, Mommy.” “Why not?” “Because I can’t be trusted.” “To…?” “Because I can’t be trusted to wear big girl panties…” “Because…?” A pause. “Because I’m just a big baby.” There was no applause this time, but she knew the audience behind her were almost universally nodding in agreement with her. She heard a few Mommy’s whispering to their Littles how Gwenny was just like them. “Do you want me to change your diaper?” “No.” A gasp from the crowd. Marion felt a brief jolt but contained her temper. There was no hint of defiance from Gwenny. Neither her tone, nor posture indicated rebellion. No glint of insincerity either; as so many Littles failed to conceal after they learned that direct defiance got them a spanking. “I don’t WANT you to change my diaper, Mommy. I just wanna keep working and making coffee. But I NEED you to change my diaper. And as a baby, I NEED you to take care of me, because I don’t know how to take care of myself. So if you say I need a diaper change, then I need a diaper change.” A chorus of “Awwww” punctuated Gwenny’s statement. The assembled crowd. Were she not the pillar of strength that she was, Marion might have melted right then and there. In her own, bizarre way, Gwenny was showing a kind of maturity that she’d lacked in a previous life. If only Littles were capable of this kind of introspection. She gently took the young woman’s hand from Ramon and started leading her towards the ladies’ room. “Here let me help you, Mrs. Thompson,” a customer said, holding the door open for them. “Thank you.” Marion said. She pointed to a wooden wedge right by the inside door. “Would you mind?” “Not at all.” The pine triangle was jammed underneath the door, letting everyone who wanted a peek inside simply need to crane their neck. Certain edicts from the Health Department discouraged if not outright prevented Marion from laying Gwenny down and changing her diaper right then and there in front of everyone, but that was okay. She didn’t want anyone thinking it was okay to change their babies on her nice clean floor or her otherwise pristine tables, either. Lead by example, and all that. But she didn’t want to change Gwenny in private always, either. Babies had no right to modesty. More importantly, Amazons being permanently diapered was a rare enough occurrence that the business woman in Marion worried that Gwenny might be seen as an actor. Actors slipped fake things into prop diapers and then and “got changed” in private dressing rooms. The local food service industry was cutthroat enough that competitors might say or do anything to discredit each other. What she could do, however, was set up other adult sized changing table in the bathrooms in clear view of the doorway, and leave the door open so that if anyone happened to glance in, they’d see the act of maternal care easily. None of the stalls or safeguards ensuring adult privacy had been compromised, and no one objected otherwise, so there was nothing any government official had to say on the matter. Gwenny walked into the restroom as she had close to a hundred times by now, and hopped up on the makeshift changing table. This one was a particularly strong and sturdy table, padded with multiple repurposed nap mats; the kind marketed for Kindergarteners and Littles trustworthy enough to not need cribs at daycare. The poor thing’s eye twitched a bit as she felt her own mess squish out beneath her. A few of the onlookers pressed certain societal advantages. “Oh, somebody else needs a change,” one of the Mommies said to their Little. “Might as well get in line.” Clever. Anyone else wanting to use the restroom would be expected to find a stall and excuse themselves. A few did, anyways. During one of Gwenny’s changes last week, a woman decided to “go potty” right then and constantly be talking about how great it felt to be an adult. A bit tacky, if you asked Marion, but it wasn’t hurting anyone, least of all Gwenny. The men folk were just out of luck. “Let’s get those shoes off.” Marion instructed. She slipped the sneakers off easily and then honed in on Gwenny’s skirt. She quickly yanked it down off of Gwenny’s legs and inspected it. “Awww, poor baby,” she said. “You leaked on your skirt.” The skirt’s edges were darkened with wet patches and brown stain near the hem. Such stains might have been caused by her laying down on the changing table just now. “We might have to invest in some plastic panties for you.” Hmmm..thinking of the plastic pants, if she could find some adult sized that were colored, she might not need stickers to decorate her baby’s diapers. The main reason diapers had cartoons on them is because adults had to look at them too. Marion gingerly folded up the skirt and shoved it into a large ziplock bag she kept in a spare compartment for just such emergencies. ‘Unfortunately’ for Gwenny, she hadn’t thought to pack her diaper bag with any extra skirts. In the meantime, Gwenny soothed herself by sucking on her thumb. Were there even pacifiers big enough for an Amazon? Marion supposed that the silencing soothers- the kind with the inflatable bulbs so Littles couldn’t spit them out - could work. Would a pacifier clip be too gauche? Something to consider for later. The diaper change went very much like any other. “Someone’s tummy finally caught up to her.” Marion teased. “It’s a good thing Mommy put that cream on your bum-bum this morning or you might have a rash.” Gwenny just sucked her thumb and averted her eyes. “She’s all done growing up too,” the Mommy behind Marion said. “But she still needs her Mommy to take care of her.” There are no whispers in a room tiled with linoleum. Marion paid it no mind, instead focusing on every nook and cranny of Gwenny’s lower body to wipe down and sanitize. This really was quite a load and she didn’t want to risk infection. “You made Mommy a big present, didn’t you baby?” This was true in more than just the obvious. Gwenny had put the coffee shop on the map. With the invention of Maturosis, fewer and fewer people without Little DNA in their blood were being thought to be immature despite all other conflicting data. Tweeners were getting off lighter. Amazons were bulletproof not because they deserved it but because people were starting to think it impossible that their behavior might warrant the proper treatment. It was a slippery slope from there. Babies like Gwenny were proof and a reminder: Proof that Amazon society cared and corrected for individuals in need of care and correction, regardless of size. That Amazons weren’t the crazy tyrants hidden in shades of pleasant pastel that Littles and their allies painted them to be. Gwenny and her societal demotion, besides being the best thing for her, was a reminder to society that Amazons as a whole were nothing if not equal opportunity. Amazon love was tough, but fair. That reminder had been the catalyst for increasing business and profit margins. The store had been doing more and more business as word had spread around the neighborhood and throughout the city that there was a diapered Amazon who worked full time at a coffee shop. A diapered Amazon that was cooed at and teased by a Tweener with near impunity. An Amazon who sucked her thumb and was changed in near-public by her employer/Mommy, and whose face lit up when random strangers thanked her for their coffee by calling her a good girl and leaving notes about it in the tip jar. Mommies with rambunctious Littles would come to prove a point to themselves and their forever children about the world and their own actions. Others came to remind themselves that some people still practiced what they preached. Some people? Some people might have just liked watching. If they gave her money, she didn’t care what their motivations were. “Much more cream this time,” Marion said after she’d wiped away the mess. She said it loud enough that those in the back would be able to hear. “Just in case.” Slightly overstimulated, Gwenny hid her face behind her hands, as Marion caked on the next layer of rash cream. There wasn’t enough powder in a bottle to completely cover up the smell this time. Out of courtesy, she still gave Gwenny a thorough dusting before wiping her hands and taping on the fresh nappy. The diaper went on and like a good girl, Gwenny reached up so that Marion could pull her up to a sitting position. The sneakers went back on. “Ready to go back to work? Gwenny looked down at her diaper and gave it a poke. It was only now just occurring to her that no replacement bottom would be coming “Can I still have an apron on?” “Of course you can.” It wouldn’t stop anyone from seeing the truth when she turned around. At all. “I love you, Mommy.” “I love you too, baby girl.” The two hugged and Gwenny started waddling to the bathroom entrance. Marion didn’t move. “Samantha!” The Tweener’s frame was in the doorway before her name had finished echoing. She already had a full Amazon apron folded like a towel in her hands. Dang, that girl was good. Definitely management material. “Yes, Mrs. Thompson?” “Give Gwenny some chocolate milk for being so good during her diaper change.” The fact that the milk would more than ensure the next change needn’t be spoken. Samantha frowned. “I’m sorry, Ma’am, but I thought…” Marion beat her subordinate to the punch. “Gwenny’s special, Samantha. It’s okay.” It didn’t matter if exposure to the stuff risked incontinence. Gwenny wasn’t ever going to need those big girl panties again; not if Marion had a say in it. “Yes, ma’am.” Samantha said. Then she smartly added. “Better safe than sorry is all.” “Of course.” Marion saw Samantha hand the apron to Gwenny. Gwenny draped it over her shoulders, and Samantha busied herself tying it in the back for her. “Gwenny, aren’t you gonna thank your Mommy for the yummy milk she said you could have?” Gwenny went stiff in the legs. “Yes. I’m sorry.” She turned and looked back to Marion. “Thank you Mommy. For the...treat.” More awwws from the lookie-loos. That. That was when Samantha earned the managerial position. The Tweener had a killer instinct about her. Her worker bees left the restroom and continued to ring up orders. Marion stayed. She pivoted toward the mother and her Little. A blonde bald boy in shortalls that bulged from the inside from all the swelling in his diaper. “Would you like me to change him?” “Oh...um...well sure, if you don’t mind.” The mother replied. The Little looked to his mother as if he’d been betrayed, but didn’t say anything. The soother between his lips prevented him from doing so. “It’s okay,” Marion said. “I used to help manage a daycare. I know how to help babies of all sizes.” The words ‘all sizes’ echoed to emphasize her point. The kid was soaked, but not leaking. Marion was fast and professional, not nearly as sensual or slow as she was with Gwenny. Though she did constantly reinforce what a cute baby he was and how he was nowhere near potty training and how much he needed his Mommy based on the state of his diaper. Just like Gwenny, the Little hid his face behind his hands. So cute, no matter the size. Due to speed and scale, the change was much faster paced, but Marion knew her job wasn’t done yet. While she buttoned snaps on the shortalls up over the fresh Wuvs, Marion’s ears picked up the sounds of quarters rattling down a vending machine coin slot. Another customer. “Here you go. Good as new.” She handed the Little back to his mother. “If you think he’s earned it, make sure to ask my Tweener employee for a milk. On the house. You can make it chocolate if he needs a special treat.” Marion didn’t need to emphasize anything or nudge or wink. “Thank you,” the woman said. “Come on Philly, let’s go get some chocky milk.” The Little gurgled with happiness behind the pacifier. At least it sounded like happiness to Marion. “Excuse me.” A new voice said. Marion turned and looked down but didn’t have to look far. The sound was coming from another Amazon, an inch or so taller than Gwenny by Marion’s estimation. She was dressed very professionally, with wire rim glasses and her hair back in a bun. She looked very smart in her blazer and knee length skirt. All the same, she was still young, twenty-one at most. An intern. A woman-child dressed to look older, more grown-up than she really was on the inside. “What can I do for you, sweetie?” Through her glasses, Marion made out red, cried out eyes and fresh humiliation. Her lips were dry. The mary jane shoes and frilly socks were another hint at what might be going on. The difference between pantyhose that a professional woman might wear and a little girl in tights were subtle, but obvious to anyone who knew to look. The young lady shifted subtly from one foot to another, and clutched an adult diaper in her hands. The protective undergarment in her grasp wasn’t the source of the crinkle everytime she nervously swayed her hips. Even used to it and almost smellblind to the scent of old ammonia, methane and baby powder, Marion guessed that the faint odor she was breathing in wasn’t coming from the lidded garbage can. “My name is Rebeccah, and I was very bad at my work.” She admitted. “I took longer breaks than were mandated by company policy, and blamed it on being in the bathroom.” This had a rote quality to it. A naughty child reciting their lessons. “My supervisor is correcting this problem and has brought me here on my lunch break.” She held out the diaper like it was a shield, or perhaps a steak for a hungry lion. “Would you please change me?” This was the other reason business had ticked up. When young Amazons stepped out of line, her shop was becoming a proper place to give them a much needed dose of humility. Marion looked past the girl and saw a woman about her age standing back with her arms crossed; the corporate mother hen making sure her bratty child did right by her punishment and responsibilities. The two older women locked eyes and nodded. “And why do you need changing?” The intern sniffed and gulped, her eyes begging for not having to be said out loud.. If she was looking for Mercy, Mrs. Thompson was not the person to ask for it. “I...I...I pooped myself.” “YOU WENT POOPIE IN YOUR DIAPER!” Just in case anyone in the back missed it. The young Amazon bowed her head and whispered. “Yes ma’am…” That was enough. Better to bend than snap them immediately. “Of course, sweetie,” Marion beamed. Hop on up, and I’ll be happy to get you all nice and clean, just like Gwenny.” The shudder from the younger lady was subtle, but she might as well have been openly weeping for Marion. She helped the newcomer lift her skirt and shimmy down her tights. “Oh these white tights are so cute on your legs. I bet you wish you could wear something just as adorable every day.” “No, ma’am.” She hopped up, cringing as the mess in her pants squished against her. This clearly wasn’t something she was used to. Marion untapped the diaper. “Oh wow, you really do need a change. You must’ve really needed to go potty.” “Yes, ma’am.” She quickly wiped the twenty-something down. “Good thing you were wearing a diaper. I bet you could be so much more efficient at your job without those icky potty breaks.” The girl didn’t blink, but her cheeks turned a peculiar shade of crimson. “I think I could manage my time just as effectively, ma’am.” She hastily included. “After I’ve earned it, I mean.” Marion decided not to include powder or cream for this one and just slid the new diaper from the vending machine under the girl once she lifted her hips. “That’s very mature.” “Thank you, ma’am.” Rebecca held up her skirt, properly chastised. “Will you please help me get my tights up.” “Of course, dear.” She shimmied it up the young lady’s hips, and considered checking ballet websites to find tights for Gwenny. Other baby girls got to take ballet in their cute tights and tutus. Why not hers? “Thank you, ma’am.” The intern hastened out of the bathroom. While the girl did her level best to disappear into the cafe’s assembled crowd, her supervisor met Marion halfway out. “Thank you very much,” the Amazon closer to Marion’s age said. “You have no idea how effective this is.” Marion searched her memory and thought of a handful of other Amazons she’d changed in the last few weeks. She thought she’d seen the supervisor before, too. “I think I might have an idea.” “If this continues on, it might become company policy.” The other woman winked at her. “Sending them here, I mean.” That made Marion smile. Good. More business. No complaints. “I’m very happy to help guide today’s youth.” She looked out the bathroom. “Of all ages and sizes.” Youth was subjective after all. “May she have some milk?” The woman asked politely. “If you think she’s earned it.” “I think she’s earned two whole bottles of chocolate milk.” “I said milk. Not chocolate milk.” The other woman cocked an eyebrow. “Why not chocolate milk?” Marion pointed out into the crowd to the still blushing woman. “Do you plan to keep...Rebeccah in diapers forever and make her your baby Becky?” The supervisor opened her mouth to scoff and then stopped. Her face took on a less smug and more contemplative look. “That remains to be seen for the moment.” “Then whether or not she gets chocolate milk remains to be seen as well.” “Ah.” The point had been made and taken. ******************************************************************************* A day or two later... “Mommy?” It was getting late. Closing time. The shop was closed and all the java junkies were being quietly persuaded to leave and go out to the places that they would be from. They didn’t have to go home, but they couldn’t stay here, and that was good enough for Marion. Marion was just finishing up the day’s accounting. “I’ll change you in a second, dear.” She didn’t look up, more than capable of multitasking. “No, it’s not that, I-?” “You don’t need changing?” “No, I mean I do, but I-” This time she looked up, feeling the slightest tinge of exasperation. “Are you leaking again?” If so she’d get changed, but then Marion would have to seriously reevaluate what kind of diapers she was using. “No, Mommy. But-” Marion waved her in. “Come in sweetie. Come sit in Mommy’s lap.” Being a full grown Amazon woman, it might become uncomfortable for Gwenny to be on her lap for more than a few minutes, but such bonding was important. Obediently, Gwenny did. Marion only needed to shift her leg and bob the girl a bit to feel just how thoroughly she’d used the diaper. She did need a change. She’d wait, though. “Mommy, I need ta tell you something.” One arm wrapped to steady her, Marion gave a quick kiss to her baby and looked down at her ledger. If only there was a way to further monetize these public changes. Sell tickets? Seek an official contract from the office building that was sending it’s slackers to her for public shaming? Nah. Too risky. “Yes, Gwenny, what is it now?” “Someone just came in, saying they wanted to talk to you.” “Mmmhmmm…” Marion replied. “Why didn’t Samantha come and get me? She’s the manager.” “The lady said it would be best if I did, an’ you say ‘the customer is always right’.” Gwenny lowered her voice to a conspiratorial stage whisper. “That and I think she scares Samantha.” That was something. Samantha didn’t scare easily. She might be short but she easily had more Amazon in her than Little. “Oh really?” Marion remarked. Gwenny might be stretching the truth, however. “And did you ask for this person’s name?” Gwenny seemed uncomfortable, and it had nothing to do with what was going on in her pants. “She told me that I should call her...Gramma.” The cafe’s owner looked up from her work in disbelief. “Gramma?” “Hello, Marion.” The form that filled the door was Marion’s equal in size and shape. Both had the same broad shoulders, wide hips, and buxom breasts. Her full head of hair billowing past her shoulders had lost most of its color, but a few rogue strands still had that golden sheen. Strands of treasure in a blanket of snow. If there was a mirror that showed what Marion would look like in twenty-five years, it might show her. “Mother…” Marion did her best to hide her shock, and her distaste. Her mother had been another reason why she’d gotten out of the Daycare business. It was very difficult to be your own person, even in your mid forties, when you were forever ‘Miriam Thompson’s daughter’. “Please, come in.” Her inflection had none of the geniality that her words did. She shifted Gwenny off her lap and gave her a little pat on the butt, a kind of silent code for ‘go play.” Gwenny made herself quiet in the corner of the office. A pink picnic blanket and some tinker toys were left there for when she got bored or would otherwise be in the way. Now was an excellent example of why such an investment was necessary. Mother walked in and sat down in the chair across from Marion’s desk without being invited. The power move did not go unnoticed. Still...family was family. “What can I do for you?” Marion asked. “I just heard some rumors,” Mother said casually. “And I wanted to see if they were true.” “What kind of rumors?” Oh to ask a question, even when one knew what the answer would be. Such was life. “That your coffee shop was booming, and that some of the more traditional family values were being promoted here.” She stole a glance behind her towards Gwenny. “Congratulations. I’m proud of you.” That caught Marion off guard. If she’d gotten more of that, she might still be working in daycare. “Thank you, Mother.” “Does your employee need changing?” Mother asked. “I can smell her from here. Go ahead. I don’t mind waiting.” The owner felt her jaw click into place. There it was. The same passive aggressive bullshit. “Her diaper will hold up just fine until we’re done. Gwenny is happy playing.” If she did change Gwenny in front of her mother, Marion could expect pointers or how she missed a spot or used too much cream or not enough powder, or perhaps the tapes weren’t going on at a correct angle. It was always something with Mother. “Or she could go change herself,” Mother pressed. “There aren’t any customers, so there’d be nothing stopping her from finding an empty stall and seeing to her own needs.” Mother couldn’t see it, but Gwenny’s head popped up as if it had been just suggested that she be abducted and probed by aliens. “That’s not likely,” Marion said. “Gwenny’s not mature enough to change her own diapers. She’s just a baby, after all.” “Aha!” A finger leveld itself at Marion’s face. “I knew it! You have adopted! You went and adopted without telling me!” Behind closed lids, Marion rolled her eyes and massaged her temples. “It’s not a secret, Mother. I’m Gwenny’s Mommy and she’s realized just where she needs to belong to be happy.” “Yes,” Mother said, “but you could have told me before you did it. We could have had a baby shower. Gotten proper furniture, clothes, the works. Thrown a party for her, for both of you.” She stopped and took another good look at Gwenny. “Granted, some items might be harder to procure than others give her size…” “I doubt you would’ve had time to make it,” Marion said. “Doesn’t New Beginnings still keep Littles overnight? I’m surprised you found the time to trek all the way here.” Mother started ticking items off on her fingers. “One, only the ones most in need. Two, the overnight services are completely automated, now. Three, I’m nearing retirement. Four, I’m allowed time off. You’d know all of that if you just read my emails. Now stop trying to change the subject. Why didn’t you tell me?” For fear of losing her temper, Marion looked past her mother and to her baby girl. It let her heart soften just a bit so as not to turn this into a screaming match. “It’s not something that was planned, Mother. It’s something that just...happened...and became its whole thing. It was just the stars aligning and I...I...did what came most naturally.” Mother leaned back in her chair. “That is love, isn’t it?” She had seemed to relax. “What so few Amazons understand is you don’t find the right baby by going out and looking to adopt one, it’s that the right one finds you and then you give them all your love through adoption. “You taught me well.” Marion didn’t exactly mean it, but figured the compliment couldn’t hurt. “That I did,” Mother agreed. “And you’ve been an exceptional student.” Damn, Marion wished such talk didn’t feel good. Whether it was Little, Tweener, or even the might Amazon, everyone had Mommy issues. “So…” Mother asked after her praise had sunk in. “When are you enrolling her?” “Enrolling her?” “At New Beginnings.” Gwenny’s head snapped up so quickly she might have cracked her neck. “WHAT?!” Neither woman reacted. “To finish up her education,” Mother said. “Teach her how to be a proper baby. Get her a few playmates, too, closer to her own maturity. I think it’d do everyone a world of good. No more having to bring her here to do busy work.. There’s a waiting list, but I could get her past the admissions department. We’re family, after all. “ “But I like-” Mother pressed on. “And it’d do the other babies there a world of good too. So many insist that the only reason they’re enrolled is because of their size and not their immaturity.” She laughed lightly to herself. “At first anyways. Then all the talkies go bye-bye. Having your Gwenny as a role model might smooth out the process.” “But…” “That’s very nice of you to suggest, Mother.” Marion said. “But Gwenny is already serving that function, and not just for your troupe of troubled toddlers all the way in Oakshire.” “But I…” “If it’s the drive you’re worried about,” Mother interrupted, “I’d be happy to help you, Marion. I don’t mind making the drive. It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make for my granddaughter.” “Mommy…” “That’s not the point,” Marion growled. “And you know it.” “Then what is the point, darling?” “BUT I LIKE WORKING HERE!” Gwenny exploded. “Not now, sweetie. Grown-ups are talking.” Both women said the phrase in unison. It came as automatically as a slight kick when one’s knee was hammered in the right place. That didn’t stop Marion from taking exception. “Excuse me,” she said after their voices had rang out in unison. “That’s my baby you’re talking to, Mother.” A sneaky smirk. “And you’re mine, Mary-wary.” Fire ignited behind Marion’s eyes. “That’s not my name, Leery-Miri.” Childish pet names and watercooler snickers came flooding back into both women’s brains. “You’ll always be MY baby girl.” Back in the corner, Gwenny started to whimper, not quite knowing what was going on, but not liking it one bit. The scene was interrupted by the timeline arrival of a certain Tweener Manager. “Um...Mrs. Thompson?” “Yes, Samantha?” “Everything is put away and clean and stocked for tomorrow? See you in the morning?” “Good night, Samantha. Get some rest.” Samantha didn’t need another hint to leave as fast as her legs would carry her. Her retreat was swift and completely silent save for the slight jingling of the door opening and closing. “Mrs.Thompson?” Mother said, darkly. “Since when were you Mrs. Thompson? Did I miss a wedding, too?” “A necessary affectation.” Marion sat up straighter, her spine stiffening. Married, even widowed, women got more respect, or so the reasoning went. “Have you been fibbing?” Mother challenged. “Does Mommy need to teach her little girl a lesson? Do you need to go over my knee?” “You can certainly try, Mirriam.” She didn’t. She got up, turned around, and walked away without looking back. “Mommy?” Gwenny asked after Mother hand showed herself out. “Is that really my Gramma?” “Unfortunately, yes dear.” “Am I going to have to go to daycare? With the Little babies?” “No, baby girl. I prefer that you stay with me.” “Can you change me, now?” “Mommy’s a little flustered right now, Gwenny.” Marion admitted. “We’ll get you sorted out when we get home.” Gwenny grimaced. “Right after we play with your buzz-buzz wand.” she promised. That seemed to make Gwenny perk up. ************************************************************************************************ Almost a week had passed since the most unpleasant meeting between Marion and her mother. That night had been restless. The next day tense, and if Marion Thompson were a more introspective and emotionally honest sort, she’d admit that she’d been more than a little harsh on her employees that particular day. But the day after that was better. And the following one was fine. And now that tense and ridiculous “conversation” was little more than an annoying anecdote filed away in the back of Marion’s mind. When Hurricane Mirriam came blowing in, the only thing to do was to buckle down and ride it out until she blew herself out. She’d run out of strength, and then go back to tormenting people who were smaller and weaker willed than her, until usually around the same time the next year. Sometimes she’d skip a year between landfalls. That’s how Hurricane season worked sometimes. Hurricane season. That was a funny idea. Marion felt particularly clever at having thought it and laughed a bit to herself on the drive home. So proud of her own cleverness was she, that that she didn’t see evidence that the storm had gone back into the ocean and built up strength until it was too late. “Mommy?” Gwenny said from the back seat. “Whose car is that?” Marion cursed under her breath. The navy blue car in her driveway signaled Mother’s approach. “That’s your Gramma’s car,” she said. “We have unexpected company.” She parked the car. “Does that mean I can’t get out of my work clothes yet?” Gwenny asked. Mrs. Thompson thought about that for a second. It’d be quite the flex to make Mother wait while she got her baby girl into my comfortable clothes. Yes. Let’s do that. “I don’t think you need to worry about that, honey.” Her heart started to pick up a tick when she got out of the car and realized that Mother wasn’t in hers. “Come on, Gwenny. Chop chop. Mommy needs to go inside. Now.” “Yes, Mommy.” Mother was sitting on the couch, sipping a glass of red from out of Marion’s wine cabinet. “Hello, dear,” she said. “Surprised to see me?” “Just a second, Mother.” Marion said, barely looking. “I’ve got to get Gwenny sorted out.” She wasn’t going to ask how her mother got in. Never ask questions you didn’t want answers to. She just knew that a call to a locksmith was in her near future. “Don’t you want to know why I’m here?” Mother asked, her voice dryer than the wine in her hand. Marion did not, in fact, want to know. “I brought presents.” Presents. Gifts. Reinforcers. Mirriam’s back up ammo when scorn and passive aggressive praise failed to land. The sugar that tricked you into swallowing her bitter pills. Marion bit her tongue to stop from growling and gave Gwenny a pat on the bum. “Go pick out something to wear. Mommy will dress you up in just a second.” “Or Gramma!” Mother called out as the big baby toddled off to her room. Gwenny did not look back. Good girl. She knew who was in charge. They both waited until the crinkling had faded to the background. “What do you want, Mother?” Mother put the wine glass down on the coffee table. She was decent enough to use a coaster. “Can’t a grandmother spoil her new baby granddaughter? Buy her a few presents?” Marion thought about her own childhood. “I very much doubt you have anything she could want.” The squeal that rang out from Gwenny’s nursery put lie to that. Marion went running. What now? When she got to Gwenny’s room, Marion wanted to scream, too. She wanted to open her mouth and howl so that the whole neighborhood could hear her. The worst part was it was exactly in the same spirit as Gwenny’s shriek. No ironic juxtaposition at all. A new coat of pink paint had been put on the walls and the carpet freshly cleaned. The makeshift crib and changing tables had been removed, in their place were scaled up and intricately crafted variations of the real deal. Wooden drop rails encased Nora the Discoverer bedsheets and a pile of stuffed animals. Where the massage table had been, was now a real sized multi shelved changing table; exactly like the kinds in New Beginnings but scaled up to fit an Amazon. The retractable safety railing and safety strap were largely unnecessary given Gwenny’s behavior but a nice touch to the aesthetic. The toy box that had been in the corner of the room had been added to with so many infantile trinkets that they spilled out of the open lid. Chances were slim-to-none that the lid could even be closed. A playmat had been laid down with alphabet letters and corresponding animals in the middle of the floor. There no rocking chair, and if there had been one it still wouldn’t seat two grown Amazons comfortably. Yet Marion couldn’t help but notice a rather large pillow that had the shape of a chair back. It’d be very easy for her to prop herself up on the floor with that during Gwenny’s morning and nightly breastfeedings. Very comfortable. Very intimate. Damn it. This was...this was perfect. Her mother had just given her baby girl a true-to-life baby’s room despite her adult size. And Marion hated her for it. “Mommy! Mommy!” Gwenny squealed, grabbing a diaper from beneath the changing table. “Look at my diapers!” No medical wetness indicator or ugly medical name brand anywhere on the diaper. “It took some searching online, but I finally found a supplier of...Amazon sized incontinence products.” Mother said proudly. No cartoons on them, but I think a plain white diaper can be very cute and babyish too. They’re like bigger versions of what you wore.” There was a pause. “Before you grew up.” “I love them!” Gwenny said, because of course she did. “If she really wants them to look cute,” Mother added “we can put stickers on them one afternoon. A few packs from a dollar store will go a long way.” “Uh-huh!” Gwenny nodded excitedly. She was practically bouncing. Marion just silently fumed at how perfect this all was. “Mommy, can you change me into one of these? Pleeeease.” “Go pick out your outfit, first,” Mother said, pointing to the closet. “No sense in getting changed if you’re staying in that silly looking big girl costume you’re wearing.” It’s exactly the sort of thing Marion would have said in Mother’s place. Damn her. A second squeal punctated the air from inside Gwenny’s closet. What now? “Mommy! Look! Look! Loooooook!” Gwenny came running out with two plain T-shirts. It took a solid two seconds before Marion connected the dots and noticed the snaps at the bottom. Those weren’t T-shirts. “Onesies?” Marion wondered. “In Gwenny’s size?” “I had to pull a few strings with some tailor friends of mine,” Mother bragged. “Same with a carpenter or three. But I felt that my granddaughter deserved something more...appropriate to wear. No more big girl costumes for you!” Gwenny charged and gave Miriam a ball fisted hug. “Thank you Gammy! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” “Gammy?” Mother remarked. “I think I like that.” She gave Marion a wink. Marion had the sudden urge to turn her mother into a cyclops. “Come on. Hop up on the changing table and Gammy will help you try on some of your new outfits.” Marion just stood there, slowly shaking her head at her mother’s gall while her baby cooed and squealed while she was being changed. “Oh my, my Gwenny is so wet! I think she let out a little more pee-pee when she saw her brand new clothes. Now she’s gonna look so much prettier! So many nice new diapers, and onesies, and pretty dresses and tights!” Mother tickled Gwenny, and a spurt of urine actually leaked out onto the fresh diaper. “Woopsie! Baby Gwenny definitely isn’t ready for big girl clothes, si she? Let’s try again!” Her mother had a lot of stones, that was for sure. Marion excused herself and walked out. She needed more than a glass of wine, and felt the need to check the rest of the house. There was the very distinct possibility that Mother might have tried to convert one of the other rooms. She might be trying to move in….or take over and make Gwenny and Marion ‘sisters’. That wasn’t likely, but Marion wouldn’t have put it past the older woman. The good news was that the coast was clear. Gwenny’s room had been the only thing that had been changed. The bad news was that Mother was in full on smoke when she and Gwenny came back out to the living room. “So, what do you think?” Mother asked. Gwenny crawled, actually crawled behind her. “It’s very nice, Mother.” Marion quipped. “A babyshower that only had one uninvited guest.” Mother was unphased. “And now she’ll fit in with the other kids.” “Not this, again.” This time Marion didn’t bother to close her eyes before rolling them. “Is Gwenny a big girl or a baby?” Mother pressed. “You don’t want her getting confused working in that coffee shop, do you?” “That coffee shop is where I found Gwenny, Mother.” “Even more the reason to take her out of the environment. You HAVE to remove them from as much of their old adult life as possible. If not they might get it into their heads that they’re just a grown-up in diapers instead of the baby they’re supposed to be.” “I’m well aware of the New Beginnings creed,” Marion spat. “I added a few things to it, if you’ll recall.” “But there’s so much more, these days” Mother added. “We’ve got some very special cartoons that will completely get rid of that naughty sex drive.” Gwenny blushed. “Naughty...?” “Yes dear,” Mother patted the girl condescendingly on the head. “Gammy found your grown up buzz-buzz toy. Real babies don’t need that kind of thing, do they? No they don’t. No they don’t.” It was stupid, but Marion saw her baby girl’s face droop and felt sorry for her. “It’s just a masturbation toy, Mother.” “An ADULT toy. She’s not an adult is she? Or maybe it really is an act…” Marion refused to rise to the bait. “It’s a form of stimulus and positive reinforcement, mother. No different than dangling plastic keys. Or should I take her to the dentist and have all her teeth removed too since they’re not her ‘baby teeth’?” Gwenny gasped. clapped her hand over her mouth. “I’m just saying, what’s the point?” “What’s the harm?” “She could get confused.” “She won’t get confused.” Time to throw down the gauntlet. “I’m her Mommy, and I know what’s best for her.” “Then why won’t you do what’s best for your daughter and enroll her?” “What’s best is that she comes and works with me!” Marion didn’t even realize she was standing until a few seconds up on her feet. “Mommy…” Mother crossed her arms. “You just want it both ways. A baby you don’t ACTUALLY have to take care of. One that can see to herself and start being an adult the moment doing so becomes inconvenient.” “Gammy…” No point in refuting it. It wasn’t true. “You just can’t accept that you and your views are outdated, and that not everything can fit neatly into your Little mold. You don’t know the difference between a baby and a coma patient! It’s all the same to you as long as they’re quiet and mess themselves in their sleep!” “Mommy?! Gammy?!” Mother was rolling up her sleeves. “You watch your tone, ‘Mrs.’ Thompson! You’re daughter isn’t too big for diapers, and neither is mine!” Actually rolling up her sleeves. Marion curled up her fists. “In My house? At My age?” she scoffed. “No. Fuck that. At YOUR age? You really think you can try that bullshit on me at YOUR age?” “WATCH YOUR LANGUAGE IN FRONT OF THE BA-!” “GUYS!” All three Amazons- two grown-women and a grown-baby were on their feet. “STOP!” “SWEETIE NOW NOT NOW! GROWN-UPS ARE TAL-” “THEN AAAAAAAAACT LIIIIIIIIKE IIIIIIIIT!” Gwenny stomped her feet and slapped her thighs, her anger threatening to balloon into a full blown tantrum. Tears started flowing down her cheeks, and both ‘Gammy’ and ‘Mommy’ sympathetically clutched at their chests. There was a silence that followed. It didn’t last a minute, but it was uncomfortable for all of them. What to do? Continue the tantrum? Punish the brat for interrupting? Or console the baby because the grown-ups were fighting in front of her. It was Gwenny of all people who acted first. “Mommy,” she said. “Gammy got me some really pretty clothes, and I love them. They make me feel...right. They make me look on the outside like I feel on the inside. And I wanna wear them all the time. No more big girl clothes.” Mother shot the nastiest look at Marion. “Thank you, dear.” “Gammy, I don’t wanna go to any daycare. I don’t like Li….other kids very much.” “That’s nice dear but you’ll make lots of new fri-” “Mommy was nice enough to let me finish,” Gwenny interrupted. “Why can’t you?” Mother looked positively gobsmacked. Marion felt absolute pride in that moment. This. This is why you didn’t try to match wits with children. You deserved what you got when you lost. “I’m a baby,” Gwenny continued. “I was a baby before Mommy found me. I was a baby before I pooped my big girl panties. Working for Mommy just helped me learn it. And I like working for her. But if I’m a baby, then that means anything I do is gonna be babyish. Doing chores for Mommy isn’t gonna or…” she paused and bit her lip. “Playing with a grown-up toy when Mommy gives me permission isn’t gonna make me any more grown-up than I already am.” She stopped and then looked down at the floor before finishing. “I’m really sorry that I yelled.” “Damn it.” Mother hissed. “You’re right.” “Language, Gammy” Marion prodded. “Not in front of the baby. Or do you need to go back in diapers and be given a bar of mouth soap?” “How dare-” “Mommy? Gammy?” Both women froze. “We’re sorry, Gwenny.” “Wisdom from the mouth of babes, eh?” Mother conceded. “She has a point.” “As long as we’re both happy,” Marion said. “It doesn’t matter how I raise her.” “And as long it’s obvious to all that she’s a baby,” Mother added. “But yes. You’re right. Age and size doesn’t matter as much as your love and her needs.” Inspiration and a smile came to Marion simultaneously. “And I think I know how to do that.” ********************************************************************************** “Here’s your coffee, Gammy...I mean, ma’am.” The Amazon girl gave her customer her order. “Thank you, baby girl,” Mrs. Thompson the elder replied, taking a sip of the coffee with satisfaction. Of course Gwenny was called a ‘baby girl’, there was no mistaking her for anything else. The yellow dress she was wearing puffed up at the sleeves and flared out at the waist, and even though there was more than enough padding in the chest for decency’s sake, Gwenny wasn’t wearing a bra, either. Without even a glance, anyone could tell she was wearing a puffy white diaper beneath the crisp white tights. Clicking away in black mary janes, she looked like a giant Little. The pig-tails helped, too. Gwenny no longer wore big girl clothes. She never would again. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t help out around her Mommy’s shop. Good thing, too Customers were now coming in at all times of day to have a cup of coffee carefully delivered by the tiny shops one and only ‘waitress’. Everyone wanted to tease and pat and the fallen Amazon on the behind; to gush over her and tell her what a baby she was. She was lower on the social scale than even the punished secretaries and interns that were ushered in, forced to wear medical diapers beneath baggy pants and skirts, blushing and hemming and hawing at having to be changed by Mrs. Thompson. For some Gwenny was a warning to others. That Amazon maternalism could strike and demote anyone who got in their way. For others she was a symbol of fairness. It really was a matter of who you were on the inside that mattered, and if you were a baby that meant you deserved to be treated as one in front of anyone and everyone; whether you liked it or not, (though if you were honest with yourself, you’d like it). For her, her Mommy, and her Gammy who occasionally visited? The nametag that she wore said it all: “Special Helper.” Gwenny liked it. She didn’t have to think so much about her old life before Mommy, and she could leave the tag. In Mommy’s office before they went home and put it on just before work. More time to play with Mommy. Prettier clothes from Gammy to wear, too. (The End).

Fair is Fair Gwendolyn looked at the name Samantha had written on the coffee cup and squinted. Samantha was a Tweener and as such had terrible handwriting. “Cassandra? Venti latte for Cassandra?” No one in the shop came up to the counter. “Cassandra?” A tiny voice called up from the floor. “Down here!” Gwendolyn had to lean over the counter to spot the Little girl. The tiny thing stood there looking up at Gwendolyn, her face expectant and entitled; a child waiting for their cookie. Littles, they were always such precocious scamps. The Amazon barista looked around the shop, expecting to see the Little’s Mommy or Daddy waiting patiently for their good baby girl to help and bring them their coffee. Some parents were indulgent like that. Oddly, there was no mother or father waiting on the Little. None of the store’s highchairs had been wheeled out. There wasn’t even a diaper bag hanging on a chair. All the other Littles were already in daycare by this time. Maybe her Mommy or Daddy had gone to the bathroom and left their daughter to order...? “Wow,” Gwendolyn said, “this is sure a lot of coffee, Little lady. Think you can drink all of this?” “A benefit of my size,” the Little girl replied, “is that I can make a single order of coffee last me all day.” Her words came out in clipped staccato notes. Little soldiers standing at attention, none of them touching each other. Gwendolyn had touched a nerve. Typical Little. The Little must have sensed Gwendolyn’s doubt. “It’s for me,” she said. The Little girl seemed resentful, uppity even. “It’s my coffee.” “Of course it is.” Gwendolyn plastered on her best fake smile, normally reserved for Amazons complaining that Gwendolyn hadn’t gotten their order right. Gwendolyn wanted to pour it into smaller cups or insist that there was a limit based on size or to just give the cute Little girl a small cup of hot chocolate (she’d like it better anyways). But another opportunity was presenting itself. Littles weren’t technically babies by the strictest definition; the one waiting impatiently for her far too big coffee might have been older than the twenty-two year old coffee-shop employee. But every Little sooner or later needed to be treated like a baby and cared for like one. This one could have been thirty, but she’d never get much past thirty months, if that. More politically correct Amazons called it “Maturitis” or something. Really though, it’s just that they weren’t mature enough to handle being an adult. Functionally, they were all babies and toddlers that could only pretend at growing up. Sadly, whether a matter of childish pride or lack of opportunity, some Littles still didn’t have Amazon Mommies or Daddies to adopt them and give them the care they so needed and deserved. Like pushing someone into the deep end so that they learned to swim, Gwendolyn was willing to help. “Just a second,” Gwendolyn said. She pivoted and turned her back to the Little girl. With quick, skillful hands, she grabbed a lid with her right hand, and dropped something into the order with her left. A special something for the precious, precocious thing waiting on her. She turned around and gave the Little her coffee. “The Lid is so you don’t spill,” she explained. Oh if looks could kill! Gwendolyn would have laughed but then her customer wouldn’t drink her coffee. Instead, Gwendolyn took her own coffee from behind the counter, also with a sippy lid, and took a sip. “See? Amazons do it, too.” Mentally, she patted herself on the back for saying “Amazon” instead of “Adult”. Her red lipstick stained the lid from repeated sips. Cassandra (though to Gwendolyn, she looked more like a “Sandra” or a “Sandie”) sniffed, and then toddled off to a table to drink her very last big girl coffee. Such a Little cutie! Watching Gwen sip from her own drink had sealed the deal; it was just like when an adult pretended to eat a spoonful of mashed carrots to show their baby that it was “nummy”. Something was different about this Little, Gwendolyn thought, as she watched the girl scale her chair with practiced expertise. Maybe it was how she was dressed: Her shirt was tight enough that Gwen thought she could see a (widely unnecessary) bra underneath. The fact that she was wearing jeans was a little odd, as well. The Little girls who lived on the very outskirts of Oakshire- the ones that hadn’t stopped pretending to be adults- tended to wear concealing dresses and long skirts. Gwendolyn always suspected it might be because they were already wearing diapers beneath; they were just still too proud to let a real grown-up help change them. There was definitely no diaper crinkling underneath those pants, though. Not yet. But a few sips from that coffee and a couple hours time would do the trick. Unless Little baby Sandie was already at home when the laxative Gwendolyn slipped kicked in, she’d poop those pants, an Amazon would catch her, and she’d get rightfully adopted. Happy endings for all. Greedily, she wondered if the Little girl would hang out long enough for Gwendolyn to witness the inevitable oopsie occur. Gwendolyn had never been present when one of her additives took hold, but she imagined it must be a bit like live birth. Lots of screaming and crying; some poop and pee; then the baby gets cleaned up and taken to a loving home. “Miss Gwendolyn?” Gwendolyn turned around. “What?” she said to the twerpy Tweener. Tweeners. They were part Amazon, but they were almost as immature as Littles. “The orders are still coming in,” Samantha meekly pointed to the upside down cups that Gwendolyn had to fill. Gwendolyn bit back an impulse to yell at the silly Tweener, obviously the orders were coming in, but the girl did have a point. Quickly, she began to fill orders, making specialty coffee after specialty coffee; sparing every possible glance to look back at the Little sitting near the front. Had she drunk any of it yet? Only a little would do. But no, this “Cassandra” wasn’t even touching her coffee. Instead she kept playing with something on her finger. Was that a wedding ring? If it was, Gwendolyn surmised, she’d lost it if she kept playing with it like she was. The girl was sliding it off and on her finger, and looking awful sad about it; a deeper more horrid sadness than Gwendolyn could truthfully comprehend. So she didn’t… Poor Little thing was confused; playing dress up; maybe her boyfriend had broken her heart and not given her enough flowers from out of some adult’s garden. She probably just realized how hard it was to be an adult was agonizing over that fact. One tiny sip from the coffee and things would be a lot better for her. “A little faster, please!” An older man in a power suit said. “Some of us have real jobs!” He tapped his watch to make her point. Gwendolyn hopped to it and got lost in the moment, and attended to the momentary surge in pumpkin spice lattes. When she was finally able to breathe, she saw Samantha walking away from the Little’s table. “Hey,” Gwendolyn asked the Tweener. “What was that Little talking to you about?” “Nothing Miss Gwendolyn,” Samantha replied. Even with her platforms on she barely came up to Gwendolyn’s breasts. “She just asked where the bathroom was...” Gwendolyn didn’t need to look in her co-worker’s eyes or listen too closely to hear the same bit of anticipation, even marked suspicion in Samanth’as voice. Even Tweeners knew the truth about Littles. Gwendolyn looked at the clock on the wall. It hadn’t been quite an hour, but that might have been enough time for certain things to take effect, especially if the girl had a delicate constitution. She pursed her lips in order to hide the smirk as the Little girl tentatively placed a hand on her stomach. Wouldn’t be long now. Not long at all! Practically on cue, the girl hopped down from her seat and started dashing to the ladies’ room. Any worry that the Little might make it in time raced straight out of Gwendolyn’s mind as soon as she glimpsed the girl slap a hand between her cheeks. Poor thing was trying to physically hold it in! Slowly, a leopard on the prowl, Gwendolyn walked to the restroom. Slowly pushing the door open and slinking in to make as little noise as possible; let the girl think she was alone and could still pretend to be an adult. Really though, it was all over but the crying. Right next to the public changing table a vending machine had been inserted into the wall. A common enough convenience, it was good for when a Little went through too many diapers too fast for an inexperienced mother to pack; or when a Little’s potty training started to slip showing they needed to be adopted. Near the top of the machine there were a few selections of training pants for boys and girls; for the rare Little that merited a degree of potty training. They had beloved cartoon characters on the front, easy open sides, and fade when wet designs so that the toddler/Little might have a visual cue if they were wet. The second row contained all the diapers commonly worn by Amazon babies and “adult” Littles. No wetness indicator, because what would be the point? Littles wet their pants so often they must’ve loved it. Gwendolyn had seen enough fussy ones kicking in screaming as they were taken away to be changed, they must’ve been really upset to get taken out of their wet and messy diapers. Lots of cute decorations, though. There were enough variants in style to consider a Little’s diaper some form of aesthetic. Near the bottom middle were bigger diapers sized for Tweeners; one never could tell if a Tweener would lean more towards their Amazon or their Little ancestry. These ones lacked the festive and babyish decorations that most Baby/Little diapers had, but they were still very childish: Solid pastel colors, mostly. One or two with some cartoon characters on the front that were aimed at older Amazon children; Ensign Luna or Arachno Man. Good for the Tweener that needed to be in diapers or had a bed wetting problem, but not purposefully humiliating to them. At the very bottom, on a rung so old it was collecting dust were diapers sized for Amazons. No selection there. Big. Plain. White. Four tapes instead of the usual two. No frills. No Amazon that she knew of actually needed or wore diapers past (maybe) kindergarten. Any adult Amazon immature enough to still need diapers wouldn’t need a vending machine to supply their padding for them. Too rare. Never really happened save as a prank or a punishment. These were there for the pure purpose of being fair. If Amazons were going to say that Littles needed to be put back in diapers after they had been “potty trained”, and that Tweeners occasionally needed a sort of “adjustment”, then it was only fair to have diapers big enough to fit the REAL adults of the world on hand. And it was fair. The amount of dust on the bottom row testified that “fair” wasn’t always the same thing as “equal”. Gwendolyn fished some loose change out of her apron and made a selection. A perfectly cute Coddles decorated with bunny rabbits with a small packet of wipes dropped down into the bin. As Gwendolyn kneeled down to retrieve the fresh diaper she listened to any of the tell tale signs about where this Little girl might be. Rude noises or messy plops as possibly the last bit of mess miraculously made it into one of the toilets? Nope. Nothing of the sort. The panicked flushing of underwear to cover up the accident? Nothing there, either. The restroom was oddly quiet, in fact. It didn’t even sound as if one of the tanks was refilling. Crying as the Little girl finally realized what a baby she was supposed to be, giving into her deeply buried feelings against her silly Little will? No, of course not, that’d be far too easy. She sniffed, hoping that scent might lead her to the scene of the accident. Save for the nearest trashcan, the bathroom still had a relatively clean, if not sterile aroma.. The trashcan! Maybe she pooped her pants and ditched them in the trashcan! Feeling more than a tiny bit crazy, Gwendolyn started pawing through paper towels like a racoon and a garbage buffet. For all her digging, she only found a single balled up diaper. Oh yeah...there HAD been a woman and her Little girl in here earlier this morning. That’s why Gwendolyn had so easily remembered how fussy Littles could get when they were taken away for a change. Why had she allowed herself to go such lengths? Simple, really. Gwendolyn needed proof! She needed proof that the Little girl had pooped her pants. You didn’t give a kid coal for Christmas if you couldn’t prove that they’d been bad, and you didn’t put a Little back in diapers if you couldn’t prove that they’d had an accident in their pants. So what if you carefully read the kid’s letters to Santa, or gave the Little something to help her bowels along? If the kid REALLY was good (or clever), there’d be nothing to report. Conversely, if the Little REALLY was potty trained (or clever), she’d make it to the toilet on time. In that case, no harm, no foul, and the only thing wasted was time, a powerful but subtle laxative, and the cost of a Little sized diaper from a vending machine. That was fair. But where was the Little darling? “Helloooooo?” Gwendolyn called out. “Is anyone in here?” Slowly, she opened up the nearest stall so that it wouldn’t squeak. Nothing. Darn Littles were so small she didn’t have the luxury of just looking for dangling feet. On most normal stalls a Little girl would have to do a real balancing act (yet another reason they shouldn’t bother to try out adult underwear). “I’m just making sure I’m alone,” Gwendolyn said, opening up the second stall. I’m something of a nervous pooper. “Sorry if that’s too much info.” Nothing more to go. One more to go! Either she’d find the stall locked, and then just have to wait the Little out, or her quarry had forgotten to lock the stall door, and in it’s own way that proved she wasn’t big enough to go potty all by herself. Resisting the urge to literally kick open the door, Gwendolyn restrained herself, holding her breath as she opened the final stall. Nothing. Completely empty. “Where the…?” Her question was answered only with the echoes of her own voice. Disappointedly, she stuffed the baby diaper and the mini-packet of wipes in her apron. “Samantha?” she asked when she got back behind the counter. “Did you see where that Little went?” She looked over to the table where the Little had been sitting. Her coffee still untouched. The Tweener cocked an eyebrow. “Uhh...she just walked out while you were in the bathroom.” She thumbed to the shop’s entrance. “Why?” Impossible! There’s no way that the Little could have gotten away! “I was just in there! I didn’t see.” Her coworker looked distinctly uncomfortable, like she was on the verge of being caught in a lie. “Maybe she went into the men’s room?” Something about this news jerked Gwendolyn’s chain even worse. That Little twerp! She wasn’t supposed to go into the wrong bathroom! That wasn’t fair! That wasn’t fair, at all! “You know Littles, heh heh.” Yes. Yes, she did know Littles. Silly baby probably went into the wrong bathroom by accident. Well darn. Oh well. She got away. Whether she made it to the toilet or not, she wouldn’t last long. That laxative was powerful; meaning the incident Gwendolyn had just missed was just round one. Someone would find the Little girl and she’d end up adopted and in a happy home, likely by the end of the day. “She left her coffee for us to clean up.” Gwendolyn shook her head disapprovingly. “Such a Little.” “Lots of people leave their cups,” Samantha said. Samantha fairly withered under Gwendolyn’s stare. “At least she paid..?” “Good point,” Gwendolyn allowed. A few more patrons shuffled in for coffee, and Gwendolyn looked at the clock on the wall. Only a few more hours left till the end of her shift. Reaching under the counter, Gwendolyn took a few hearty gulps from her cup, applying a fresh coat of lipstick to the lid’s spout. ************************************************************************************************ “I’ve got a Grande, iced, sugar-free, vanilla latte with soy milk for…Linda!” Gwendolyn called out. An Amazon woman came and took the coffee. “Triple, venti, non-fat, salted, caramel macchiato for...David!” “That’s Daveed,” the man said, taking his order. “Sorry,” Gwendolyn apologized. “I didn’t write the name,” she was loud enough so that Samantha could hear. More importantly, she hoped she was loud enough that Mrs. Thompson, the owner, could hear. There was a position for manager opening up, and Gwendolyn wanted it. Same hours, increased pay, only slightly more responsibilities. “Venti iced skinny hazelnut macchiato, sugar-free syrup, extra shot, light ice, no whip!” She squinted. Samantha wasn’t even trying on this last one. A young woman about Gwendolyn’s age came forward. “That one’s mine!” Thank goodness someone knew their order. The customer reached out for the coffee and stopped. Her nose twitched. “Do you smell that?” The barista frowned. “Smell what?” “Gwendolyn?” Samantha said. The Amazon ignored her. The customer’s nose twitch mutated into a full out “Smells like shiiii…” her eyes went wide realizing she almost cussed in front of the Tweener. “Like a Little with a messy diaper.” “Uh...Gwendolyn?” Absentmindedly, Gwendolyn batted her coworker away, and kept sniffing. “I don’t smell it.” She shifted her stance a bit, feeling a strange weight in the back of her underwear. “Are the coffee beans over roasting? “MISS GWENDOLYN!!!” Gwendolyn whirled around. “WHAT?” she screamed down at her Tweener assistant. “WHAT IS IT?!” “You’re pooping your pants.” Gwendolyn let out a laugh. “I’m what?” “You’re pooping your pants,” Samantha repeated herself. “Like a baby…” Like a Little. Gasps from around the counter as Gwendolyn briefly became a dog chasing her own tail; contorting and twisting to see the dark stain on the back of her pants. No! This just wasn’t possible! Trembling hands reached back and poked at the warm sludgy mess in the back of her panties; a mess that was still seeping through thin silk that had no absorbent backing and spilling out past leg holes with no leakguards. Snickers and jeers from the customers wafted into the air, mingling with the stench of her own feces. “She can’t even tell,” one said. “Just like my Little sister growing up!” Others were more disgusted. They changed their mind about ordering or even threw their cups away, afraid that they’d catch whatever Littleness that had suddenly afflicted the barista “GWENDOLYN!” Mrs. Thompson shouted. “OFFICE! NOW!” Gwendolyn took a step forward and tensed up, locking her knees as some of her own muck started dribbling down the back of them. “What?” she scoffed. “Do you want me to carry you, now?” Shaking and shook, Gwendolyn gritted her teeth and shuffled out from behind the counter and did the Little walk of shame into her boss’s office. Truth be told, Mrs. Thompson’s office wasn’t much of an office. It was more of an unused storage space that he’d converted into one so that he had a quiet place to order fresh ingredients and go over the accounts. No windows; just the lightbulb, door, desk with a computer on it, and a single chair. Even for an Amazon, Mrs. Thompson was big; everything about her was big. Sitting down she didn’t look much shorter than Gwendolyn. Her big flowing hair added to the effect. Bigger frame, bigger hair, bigger breasts… Gwendolyn wasn’t used to literally looking up to people anymore, and the fact that Mrs. Thompson was old enough to be her mother only added to the effect of feeling like a child in loaded underwear. There was no place for Gwendolyn to sit, (Not that she would have wanted to.) The place was stuffy too, which wasn’t helping the situation with her nose. She was the last to smell her own accident, but it was sticking with her much longer. “Explain,” her boss said after a tense moment of silence. “I...I…” she stuttered. “I pooped my pants…?” The last part came with the inflection of a question. Gwendolyn still couldn’t believe it herself. “Obviously,” Mrs. Thompson growled. “But why did you poop yourself?” Gwendolyn blinked. She hadn’t had time to ask herself that. Her mind instantly flashed back to a few hours ago. That Little! “I saw a Little,” she said. “In the store today.” “And you wanted to be a Little? Poop your pants like one?” Gwendolyn took a hand off her backside and held it out defensively. The mess was starting cool now. Starting to settle. “No, no. This was one of those Littles that still thought she was mature, but then I thought she was pooping her pants so I followed her to the bathroom to catch her, but she gave me the slip and and…” something clicked. “She must have poisoned me! A laxative or something!” Mrs. Thompson’s face was made of stone. “So let me get this straight,” she sighed. “You filled your pants up with poop because there’s a non-diapered Little wandering around trying to make Amazons have bathroom accidents?” “What?” Gwendolyn laughed. “No! That’s not what I meant! I slipped something into her drink. She must have put it back in mine, or something! She poisoned me!” Slowly, like a shadow, Mrs. Thompson rose from her desk. “You poisoned a customer?” Her voice was low and grim. She didn’t dare shout that last part out. “NO!” “So did you just lie to me?” “No...I mean...yes…but...I mean...um…” If Gwendolyn’s cheeks weren’t already pink, they were certainly rosey now. A light knock on the door. “Excuse me, Mrs. Thompson?” It was Samantha. “SAMANTHA! GET OUT!” Gwendolyn demanded. “You’re in no position to be making demands, Little girl,” Mrs. Thompson chided Gwendolyn. “But I’m not-” “If the diaper fits,” she cut Gwendolyn off. “What is it Samantha? We’re kind of busy.” Meekly, Samantha edged in a large, plain white, Amazon sized diaper. “One of the customers went to the bathroom and bought this out of the vending machine…” Her voice was trembling. Clearly, this wasn’t her idea. Caught in a world filled with giants and dwarfs, Tweeners were resented by the latter as no better than the former, while threatened by the former lest they be treated like the latter. Samantha was just the messenger. Silently, Mrs. Thompson strode out from behind his desk and took the adult diaper and wipes from the Tweener. “Thank you, Samantha,” she said curtly. “You did a good job. Go see to the customers.” “Yes ma’am!” The Tweener couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Now blocking the door, Mrs. Thompson looked square at Gwendolyn “Take your pants off, dear.” “Wha-?” “You heard me,” she said, her voice even. “Take them off. I’m not going to have you finish your shift in messy pants.” “I have to fini-?” “Of course. You’re mature enough to do that, aren’t you? Or did you poop yourself on purpose to get out of work?” “No, I-?” “So it WAS an accident.” “NO!” Gosh darn it! Why wasn’t he letting her get a word in edgewise? Standing there in poopy pants, she felt so helpless, so small. So Little. “Oh yes,” the older Amazon countered, “You were poisoned by a magical Little that ran around putting special laxatives in people’s coffee. Or was it that you were trying to poison someone who was a paying customer and your prank backfired?” Gwendolyn opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. A diaper in one hand, her boss placed the other on her shoulder. “Gwen, if a Little had an accident in front of everyone, what would we do to them?” Her voice was softer; gentler; like a mother patiently explaining responsibility to a pre-schooler. It was no less intimidating. “Put them in a...a…” she couldn’t even say it now. “And what if Samantha made a piddle in her pants?” Gwendolyn didn’t even reply. “So when an Amazon has an accident, what should we do?” She didn’t want to say it! She knew the answer but she didn’t want to say it. “But I’m twenty-two!” She was begging, and she knew it. “I know plenty of others who are older and still aren’t mature enough for big girl panties.” Mrs. Thompson replied. “And it would be terribly irresponsible of me to let you walk around in dirty pants. Wouldn’t it?” The air leaked out of Gwendolyn, along with her will to fight; at least for the time being. Her boss was right. Of course she was. Even if the barista had been poisoned, she’d just been beaten at her own game. “Fair is fair,” she mumbled. “This isn’t going to be permanent, is it?” A shadow came across the older Amazon’s eyes. “That depends on whether you can act like an adult in a diaper instead of a whiny Little brat that got caught pretending to be more mature than she was.” The twenty-two year old’s fear of wearing a diaper was only surpassed by the fear of wearing one forever. It had been at least two decades since she’d worn one. She’d never even been to diapered detention back in high school! She was an adult! A big girl! Stepping back, she slipped out of her shoes and with jerky non-fluidity, pulled her pants and underwear down to the floor and stepped out of them. Her top lip curled in disgust upon seeing the massive loaf. “Apron too,” Mrs.Thompson commanded. It wasn’t dirty, but she removed it anyways. “Bend over,” Mrs. Thompson told her. “Turn around and touch your toes.” Gwendolyn obeyed, closing her eyes. The first cold wipe that touched her might as well have been a taser, she shook so much. The second one wasn’t as bad. Nor the third. It was something of a localized cold shower. Chilly at first, but refreshing in a strange way. If it weren’t for the fact that someone else was wiping her ass for her she might have started to enjoy it. “Ugh,” Mrs. Thompson grunted. “What have you been eating, anyway?” Her voice was more joking than disgusted, but it caused Gwendolyn to nervously chew on her tongue all the same. “There needs to be baby powder in that machine too.” A frown pulled Gwendolyn’s lips down so that the corners felt like they had anchors hooked to them. “Whooof!” Great. She was being humiliated and Little-fied; her superior was cracking wise. “Stand up,” she told her. Once again, the young woman obeyed, hearing the diaper crinkle behind her as her boss unfolded it. “I don’t have a spot to change you on the floor,” she explained. “So we’re going to do this standing up.” That last part made Gwendolyn tense up. She wasn’t being changed. She was being diapered! If she was being changed that would mean she’d have worn more than one diaper over the last twenty years! Out of one diaper and into a clean one. Even more worryingly was the lingering lack of finality in Mrs. Thompson’s tone. Se might as well have said, “I don’t have a spot to change you on the floor YET!” and “We’re going to do this standing up FOR NOW!” The diaper was lifted up between her and fastened on while Gwendolyn stood statue still; afraid that something awful would happen if she didn’t obey. Why was she obeying, though? Couldn’t she just quit? Quitting would mean no money, though, wouldn’t it? No money meant no rent. No rent meant moving back in with her parents. And how would THEY react to having a failure of a daughter that had to fly back into the nest. Knowing her parents, she might very well end up back in diapers, anyways. Wouldn’t it be best to just bite the bullet and get this over with? It was a clumsy thing, having the diaper put on her. Mrs. Thompson clearly wasn’t all that practiced in this. Tired of being seen naked, she even did her part and held the front end while the older woman fiddled with the tapes. That earned her a “good girl”. Four tapes instead of two, and they needed to be adjusted, but by the end, Gwendolyn stood there in the musty room looking very much like a Little. Naked from the waist down save for her puffy white padding, the barista let out a small helpless mewl. She even had to adjust her gait a little like a toddler that hadn’t quite figured out how to walk. “Do you have anything else I can wear over...this?” she asked. Her boss scoffed. “Why would I need to have a change of clothes? This isn’t a daycare, is it? No one past kindergarten worries about changes of clothes” She squinted at Gwendolyn a bit suspiciously. “You don’t have a change of clothes, do you?” This was so unfair! One accident! One tricky Little bitch, and her entire adulthood was coming into question. She wasn’t a Little! She was an Amazon! An adult! The older Amazon waved off Gwendolyn’s indignation and helped by slipping on her shoes for her. She gave her back the apron, too. It did little to hide the bulbous thing taped around her hips, but it did something. As long as she stood only behind the counter, only facing towards the customers, and not moving too much; she might be able to get through the rest of the day with a smidgen of dignity intact. A smidgen of dignity, that is, until Mrs. Thompson pointed to the pile of ruined clothes off to the side. “Go throw those out.” A new wrinkle. “Throw them out?” “Unless you want them to stew in your car.” “No no no…” She stuttered. “I’ll throw them out.” Powered by adrenaline and shame, Gwendolyn became a crinkling blur. Bagging up her once pristine clothes, rushing out the side of the shop and tossing her ruined clothes in the dumpster. Tunnel vision and the pounding of her own heart blurred and muted the outside world to her. There could have been a marching band directly to the right of her, and an explosive and gorey military coup to the left, and Gwendolyn wouldn’t have noticed. The only thing she kept hearing was the plastic rustling that plagued every step. It followed her everywhere, even to the front of the store. The moment she stepped in to the front to retake her position, everything stopped. Everything. “Here you are, ma’-,” Samantha cut herself off mid sentence handing a customer their order. She stepped off her stool, shrinking down behind the barrier. Despite the initial revulsion of watching a grown woman shit herself, business had not slowed down much after all. Those who left had been quickly replaced by new customers. Those who had stayed weren’t unbothered as much as morbidly curious. They’d stayed around to gawk. The sea of faces and their reactions were fairly varied: Some looked on uncomprehendingly; either because they were at just the right angle to not see the diapered Amazon for what she was or they thought it was as impossible as Gwendolyn did until five minutes prior. Others looked away; somehow embarrassed by the barista’s predicament. One kid (and it was a kid, not a Little) guffawed, thinking she was about the funniest thing he’d ever seen; never mind that the paper thin waistband poking out of his pants wasn’t from a Pull-Up. And Gwendolyn was sure she could hear whispers of “Big Baby” and “Immature” and maybe even “Maturitis” or “Maturosis” or whatever it was that Littles had that turned them into forever children. A tug on her elbow brought the Amazon out of her stupor. “Gwen,” Samantha hissed. She’d maneuvered her way over to her co-worker. “Say something!” The Amazon closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Fair was fair. “I apologize, everyone.” she said, loud and clear. “I had an...an...I pooped my pants uncontrollably. It was very immature of me. I shouldn’t have done what I did. Now, for the rest of the day, I’ll be wearing this,” she lifted up the front of her apron. “for my protection as well as the furniture’s. I acted like a naughty toddler and now I’m being treated like one.” Deep down, Gwendolyn knew she wasn’t just talking about her accident either. “I’m very sorry, and will be back behind the counter to help you shortly.” She did not receive silence to her reply, however. To her surprise, and utter horror, they applauded. All of them. Clapping and smiling. Little cheers of “good girl” and “good for you” mingled in with “hurrays” and whistles. It wasn’t rowdy, per say, but far louder and more supportive than it needed to be. It was like in the movies when someone admits that they’re an alcoholic or something. The pats and rubs on the back she received on her way to the counter were just shy of the hugs at the end of those classic movie scenes. The pats and rubs on her backside only reinforced what she was wearing and why she was wearing it. The quiet giggles resumed as soon as she turned to start making more fancy flavored bean water. For crying out loud! She’d just admitted to having AN accident; singular; and the diaper was the only thing in the store that might fit her. It’s not like she NEEDED it. “Please just let this day be over,” she whispered to herself. If Gwendolyn had known what would come the next day, she might not have wished that for herself. ****************************************************************************************** “You wanted to see me, ma’am?” Gwendolyn asked, poking her head through the door but leaving the rest out in the doorway. Yesterday had been humiliating, but she’d gotten through it well enough. The diaper she’d been forced into yesterday now lay crumpled up at the very bottom of her wastebasket at home (and still clean to boot). Yet she was still more than a bit shell shocked through, hence why she was creeping around like Samantha tended to do instead striding proudly and confidently around as was her tendency. “Gwen,” Mrs. Thompson said. “Yes. come in.” She had a smile on her face. Gwendolyn immediately did not like that smile. It was the smile Mrs. Thompson wore right before she fired someone; or so it seemed. “You wanted to see me ma’am?” Gwen repeated. It was still early. Prep time. The sun hadn’t even come up yet. The lights in the front of the store had just buzzed on. The young woman wasn’t surprised she’d been told to come in early today. She’d royally screwed up and been allowed to keep her job; some kind of extra punishment or grunt work was in order and that included lugging around heavy bags of beans and some monotonous cleaning and prep work for sure. What surprised her was what she’d been told to wear. Mrs. Thompson saw the short denim skirt Gwen wore and her smile spread even further. “Good.” she said. “That’ll make it easier to check you, today.” CHECK?! That didn’t sound right. She followed her boss’s gesture. On the right side of the office, a worn but thick pink blanket was spread out. Near the edge was a packet of wipes, a bottle of baby powder and a clear plastic package filled with diapers too big to fit even a Tweener. “Go lie down.” Gwen wanted to cry; scream was more like it. She did her best to keep her voice level. “I don’t think that’s necessary.” “I think it is,” Mrs. Thompson replied. “You failed to take responsibility for your actions and your body yesterday; just like a Little.” She walked over to the blanket and kneeled down on the floor. Her outfit was different too. Instead of the light blue pantsuit she tended to wear or the business casual blouse and khakis when she deigned to take a shift serving customers, the older woman now wore a simple, yet feminine rose colored dress. Very maternal. “So until you can prove to me that you don’t need to be treated like a Little…” she patted the blanket, and let the silence speak for itself. If Gwendolyn had had any sense, she would have run just then. But to her own thinking, her boss did have a point. If Littles deserved to be babied because of the way they acted; then they just needed to act differently to avoid it. She could prove it. She could prove that she was an adult. Fair is fair. Before she stepped onto the blanket, she shimmied her panties down off her feet. So that’s why she was told to forego the usual dress code today… “That’s so helpful,” Mrs. Thompson teased. “Thank you! You’re already well on your way to proving what a mature young woman you are!” Gwendolyn took the hint and flipped her skirt up just before she laid down. Mrs. Thompson took her time unfolding the bulky adult diaper; really wanting to get it right this time, it seemed. A little pressure on the back of her legs, and Gwen lifted them up in the air and raised her hips so that the padding could be slid under her. She was told to keep them there for a bit longer than was comfortable so that a fresh cloud of baby powder could be dusted on her bottom. This was stupid, she thought to herself. No way was she going to need baby powder; yet alone a second diaper. She wasn’t going to be poisoned twice. Her breath shook as the diaper was pulled up between her legs, each tape being pulled snuggly over the front of her waist. Even with four tapes, now that she was laying down it still felt different. More babyish. More Little. Like she couldn’t even be trusted to stand and do it. The older Amazon diapered Gwen much more easily this time. Either because it was easier putting a diaper on someone when they were laying down, or perhaps Mrs. Thompson had more experience using this method. Once it was on and secure- much more secure than it had been yesterday, come to think of it- Gwen stood up and pulled down on her skirt. Much to her dismay, the tiny piece of denim that she used to catch boys’ eyes didn’t even come close to covering the offending padding. Anyone standing behind her would be able to see what she was wearing. “How long do I have to wear these?” she asked her boss. “Until you prove you don’t need them anymore.” Gwen’s face now was a near perfect match for Mrs. Thompson’s dress. “Alright. Off you go. You’ve got a full day ahead of you.” Gwen scurried out of the office as fast as she could; just not fast enough to avoid the light swat on her backside, the sound of flesh on plastic making a distinctive THWAP sound. ************************************************************************************************* “I’ve got a salted caramel macchiato for-” Gwen’s announcement was cut off with her own “EEK!” as she felt fresh air hitting the crack of her ass. Twirling like a twister, Gwen peered down at Samantha, grinning cheekily. “Just checking,” Samantha said. “Making sure you didn’t have an accident...again.” Nostrils flaring, eyes wide and unblinking, Gwen stared down at the Tweener willing her back into her submissive place. Nothing. Even as she loomed over her, the Tweener was completely unphased. It was as if all of her adulty Amazonness had been canceled out by a single not-quite undergarment. “”I’m not going to have an accident, again,” Gwen growled. It was true. This morning Gwen had gotten rid of her secret stash of Little Laxatives, and wasn’t even drinking any coffee, just in case. The only thing she’d had was water directly from the tap. Not that it mattered. For all her bluster, Gwen might as well have been a Great Dane and Samantha a crafty kitten. Two animals that didn’t- couldn’t- recognize their dramatic size difference. “Are you sure?” Samantha teased. “Big babies don’t know when they have accidents. That’s why they need-” “Are you wearing a diaper?!” The customer near the front exclaimed. Gwen’s knees locked and her back straightened. Her arms.shot back in a childish attempt to pull down the hem of her skirt. It was too late, though. She’d stepped too far away from the counter; she’d bent over way too far. Everyone who cared to look (and somehow she felt that everyone WAS looking) knew what was going on downstairs. “Oh wow….” Samantha whizzed around (a poor choice of words) Gwen and got on the step stool to look the customer in the eye. “Yup. Baby Gwen-Gwen had an accident in her big girl pants yesterday, so the owner is making her wear diapers until she can prove she’s a big girl again.” Every word from the Tweener’s lips was honeyed venom: And everything she said was exactly like what Gwen would have said had their situations been reversed. “Don’t worry, though,” Samantha added, “I make sure she washes her hands and stuff.” There was a general nodding of agreement from the customers; even the people sitting at tables and clacking away on laptops seemed to be at least half listening and bobbing their heads. “Seems fair.” “Very responsible.” “Good.” “Reasonable.” And so the murmurs went. Gwen clenched her fists. “I’m going on break.” A hand reached out and grabbed her by the wrist before Gwen had taken a full step. “Where do you think you’re going?” Samantha said with an air of authority up on her step stool. “It’s ten o’clock,” Gwen thumbed to the digital on the wall. “I’m taking a bathroom break.” “You don’t NEED a bathroom break,” Samantha said. “You’ve got a diaper on.” Gwen felt her blood boil. “I am NOT going to use this diaper.” She crossed her arms defiantly. The Tweener mimicked her. “Are too.” “Am not!” “Are too!” “Am NOT!” “ARE TOO!” “AM NOT!” The Tweener inhaled deeply. “MRS. THOMPSOOOOOOOON!” Gwen was an only child but if she’d ever wanted a bratty younger sister just then, Samantha would have fit the archetype perfectly just then. Now if only she fit the dress code for her behavior… Heavy footsteps signalled Mrs. Thompson’s approach. She was all smiles, how-do-you-do’s and excuse-me’s working her away around to the counter, but as soon as she got to the girls her expression turned serious. “What’s going on here?” “Gwenny’s trying to go to the potty!” Samantha’s choice of infantile vocabulary was nails on a chalkboard to Gwen’s ears. It was then that Mrs. Thompson regarded Gwen and asked her the strangest question. “Why?” “Because I have to go…?” Gwen said, feeling uncertain. “Do you know how expensive those diapers I bought you are?” The older Amazon’s hands were on her hips now, her foot tapping impatiently. “And the tapes aren’t great for more than one use. I’d have to put another one on you as soon as you were done. Do you want me to waste money on perfectly good diapers for you? Do you?” She took a moment to address the crowd. “I’m not even taking the cost out of her paycheck.” There was an approving “Awwww”. Gwen’s head might have been a rotary fan turned up to eleven. “No. That’s not what I.” “Then just go in your diaper like a good girl. Be grateful that I’m looking out for you, and use what I’ve provided.” “Fine,” Gwen said. “I’ll hold it until lunch.” “You most certainly will not!” Mrs. Thompson proclaimed. Without waiting she added, “If you can hold it till lunch, then that means you were just trying to get out of work.” “But-!” “Either that or you’re going to damage your body holding it in too long. That’s not very mature, is it?” “Yes...I mean no...I mean-!” “So are you trying to harm yourself or were you lying about your need to go?” More eyes. An unsympathetic ocean. Everyone was waiting. To be mature, she had to wet herself? To prove that she was an adult she had to pee her pants in front of everyone, just like a Little? It didn’t make any sense.This logic seemed to gel perfectly with the assembled looky-lous, however. Feeling defeated, Gwen buried her face in her hands and relaxed her bladder, a slight hissing sound filling her inner ear like when she chewed. No one else could hear it, she was sure of that. The moment she buried her face- like an embarrassed toddler-Samantha lead the shop in a chorus of cooing, “Awwwwwwwwwwww’s”. It was such a strange sensation, wetting herself like that: It was almost the exact inverse of going on the toilet. A quiet hiss instead of a loud tinkle; the feeling of expanding warmth instead of the coolness of the seat; the added weight as her disposable panties sagged and expanded to accommodate; the lack of privacy; the fact that she was going to be carrying this around with her instead of flushing it all down a whole right away. “Okay...I went.” Her voice came out as almost a sob. “All done?” Mrs. Thompson asked. Peeking through her fingers, Gwen nodded. “Check her.” Her hands still up by her face, Gwen was too slow to stop Samantha from groping her right between the legs. “She’s just a little wet,” Samantha reported. “A tiny tinkle. Could definitely hold more.” Their boss nodded approvingly. With a single finger crooked, she beckoned Gwen to lean over the counter. “Good girl. I’ll change you at lunch,” and then walked off. Gwen felt more confused than she ever had before in her life. The positive feedback was even more disconcerting. One by one and two by two, customers took their coffee and chose just then to compliment her, as opposed to the usual silence, grunts, and complaints. “You’re doing a great job!” one said. “Good girl!” said another. “This looks very yummy!” “Thank you very much, Gwen!” It was as if just because she was wearing kiddie underwear that everyone decided they should treat her with kid gloves, too. And what’s more, she was having trouble telling the difference between those jeering at her and those who genuinely meant their praise. Based on facial expressions, it was about 50/50. “Your boss and manager must be so proud of you!” Another said, indicating Samantha as the ‘manager’. “You’re a very good helper and employee!” And by the very nature of her the line, she never got a chance to decline or rebuff. Gwen just did her best to tune them out and try to fill out the orders... Sadly her best just wasn’t very good. “But MOMEEEEEE!” A Little girl in a pink onesie whined nearing the front. “I have to go potty!” It wasn’t the same girl from yesterday, though that would have made Gwen feel so much better. “Please let me go, please please please PLEASE!” “Now sugar,” the mother patiently replied. “That’s what your diaper is for, isn’t it?” “But you said-!” “This girl right here went pee-pee in her diaper, and she’s a big girl, isn’t she?” The Little stared at Gwen, her expression a mixture of disgust and awe. “Now just go and make yourself comfortable like her...” The Little was not convinced. “But I don’t wanna-!” “That doesn’t sound like the mature young woman you claim to be, does it?” “Will you change me?” “Only if you need it.” A lightbulb seemed to pop over the mother’s eyes. “Gwen here has no problem working in her wet diaper. You should have no problem playing in one. Her Mommy will change her when she needs it, and I’ll change you when you need it.”. Gwen couldn’t tell when the Little had wet her diaper; she only had a feeling that that was why she was now burying her face into her mommy’s shoulder. In so many other ways the mommy and daughter echoed Mrs. Thompson and she. Oh, God! Was she commiserating with a fucking Little? That didn’t make any sense! ************************************************************************************************* It was another two hours of pacing, sweating and peeing before lunch rolled around. The constant pressure of newcomers coming into the shop and noticing her diaper, followed by a round of gleeful explanation from Samantha, made Gwen want to tune the world the fuck out. This made her pace more and work more. This made her thirsty, resulting in taking more and more sips of tap water; she could at least do that without any hassle or comment. But all the water she was drinking was making her have to pee more. It was a vicious cycle. So pee Gwen did, with almost no hesitation. She’d already humiliated herself once; made a big scene out of it. It was actually easier to just squirt a little more into her padding whenever she felt the urge. She was drinking more, and peeing more, but going to the bathroom less; arguably getting more work done, and her bladder didn’t ache besides. At noon, Samantha groped her again. “Whoah!” she half-yelled. “You really did a number on your diaper, didn’t ya?” “Mmm-hmmm,” Gwen replied through gritted teeth. Without waiting, the Tweener zipped behind her and pulled open the back of her diaper. Her panties had become almost swampy, sauna like, and the rush of air conditioning to her backside made the contrast all the more apparent. “What are you doing?” she whisper-squealed. “Checkin’ for more boom-booms.” Samantha told her with a kind of nonchalant arrogance. “If I pooped my pants,” Gwen did her best to whisper, “I think I’d know about it.” “You didn’t yesterday…” That certainly shut Gwen up. In her confusion and frustration, Gwen allowed herself to be led by the hand towards the back; towards Mrs. Thompson’s office. “Pardon us,” the Tweener called out loud and clear. “Baby Gwenny needs to go get her diaper changed!” “SAMANTHAAAAA!” Gwen wailed. “Hmm?” Samantha feigned being unconcerned. “I just wanted to let people know where we were going so I didn’t worry them,” she said. “It’s nothing for you to be ashamed about…” Gwen heard the lie, yet she couldn’t prove it. Gwen was left by Mrs. Thompson’s door; Samantha knocking and then fleeing like a zookeeper leaving steaks for lions. “Come in, come in,” Mrs. Thompson said. She was already positioned by the makeshift changing mat on the floor. “Don’t be shy,” she cooed. “You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.” The sodden padding swaying between her thighs with every step. This time, she forgot to lift her skirt up, and Mrs. Thompson had to instruct her to lift her hips first. She’d been so eager, so relieved to get out of the wet diaper and into a fresh one that she’d forgotten the first step. “My my my!” her boss said after undoing the tapes. “Looks like someone was very close to leaking! Yes she was! Yes she was!” She threw in little tickling motions towards Gwen’s belly-button, and her voice went up nearly an octave. “Let’s get my girl all fresh and clean!” She started wiping Gwen down. “Fresh fresh fresh! Clean clean clean! This is the way we wipe wipe wipe! Gwen swallowed hard. “Um...ma’am…?” “Yes Gwenny?” “You’re talking to me like I’m a baby or something. Like I’m a Little. I’m not…” “Oh, sorry dear.” Mrs. Thompson smiled. “I didn’t notice.” The real question though, was what didn’t Mrs. Thompson notice? Her talking, or that Gwen wasn’t a Little? The rest of the diaper change, the wiping, the powdering, passed silently. The new diaper being taped on expertly with only minimal effort from the barista. Even with all of the cool, cleansing powder sliding around in her fresh diaper, Gwen couldn’t shake the feeling that spots had been missed; that she still smelled slightly of pee...like a baby. Gwen was still made to go throw out her old diaper in the dumpster. That made her feel more Amazon; more grown-up; she supposed. ************************************************************************************************* Gwen drove home exhausted that night, having been pressured into another double shift. All day long people were noticing and commenting on her padded underwear peaking out from her too short skirt. Samantha never hesitated to explain for Gwen, telling the tale with relish. The Amazon had heard the story of her pooping herself so many times today that it almost felt like she was never potty trained. She couldn’t argue or debate without getting cut off- and all of the strangers took the non-diapered barista’s word over her own. The entire endeavor had been emotionally, mentally and physically draining. So draining that after Mrs. Thompson changed her the second time just before closing, she neither objected, nor tore the damn thing off as soon as she got home. She sat on her bed, running through the day over and over again. It was only the added warmth spreading out that Gwen remembered that she didn’t HAVE to wet herself at home. The diapers were supposed to be for the store, only... “Awwwww,” a voice that was not quite memory flared in her brain “Is the widdle girl havin’ an accident in her baby panties?” No one had said anything like that to her today, but somehow there was truth to the statement. Even if no one had said that, clearly every person she’d interacted with today had thought that on some level. Even the Little riding on her Mommy’s hip saw her as having more in common with Gwen than her grown-up Mommy. Another kind of warmth spread in Gwen’s diaper. Shit. Something was happening. She needed to get off, in the worst way. Lifting her skirt, she squeezed the front of her diaper. “Not THAT wet” a figment of Samantha declared. She could take care of that... Briefly, only briefly, Gwen considered going to the shower to clean off her muscles ached so; the shower might as well have been a million miles away. All she really wanted to do was lie down and get off. Laying back and closing her eyes, she grabbed her vibrator from it’s trusty drawer from her nightstand. Part of her considered untaping the diaper first, but that would just mean she’d have to clean her fingers and vibrator after all. Maybe wash her sheets. No. Let’s keep the sheets clean. The gentle buzz filled her ears and mingled with her breathy moans as she worked on herself. She tried to relax and tense up in all the right places and think of cute boys from movies and T.V. and past dates that had ended particularly well. Insead, amidst the crinkle and squishing and buzzing and moaning, she got another image. “Looks like someone was very close to leaking! Yes she was! Yes she was!” An imaginary Mrs. Thompson cooed. This time, with her eyes closed, Mrs. Thompson looked much bigger...and Gwen felt much smaller...weaker...more helpless. This time, when the older woman threw in little tickling motions towards her belly-button, and her voice went up nearly an octave, Gwen allowed herself to giggle and squirm. “Let’s get my girl all fresh and clean!” The young woman started to grind her hips. “Fresh fresh fresh! Clean clean clean! This is the way we wipe wipe wipe!” Gwen wasn’t on the floor this time; she was much higher. Gwen didn’t even make it through the mental diaper change before she reached her first climax…. ************************************************************************************************* “Gwen!” Mrs. Thompson almost shrieked the next morning. “Why are you already wet?” Whether it was disgust or delight, Gwen couldn’t tell. After the delight of last night, Gwen woke up especially disgusted with herself. “I was just trying to be good,” Gwen lied. “You got mad at me for taking the diaper off yesterday...so I thought…” she let the fib trail off. What had actually happened was that she had collapsed under the weight of her own orgasms and fallen asleep on top of her bed. Gwen hadn’t remembered to set her alarm. In her panic from waking up so late she’d forgotten to change back into panties for the drive over. She was still wearing the same skirt as yesterday. The diaper now sagged and squished heavily, even worse than the first one; Gwen having decided to pee on her way into work rather than hold it and have the need to wet immediately after being changed. Mrs. Thompson tisked and shook her head, her luxurious bottle blonde hair seeming to flow like a river. “What am I going to do with you?” she wondered around. Instead of moseying over to the changing blanket, she snuck a finger under Gwen’s chin, causing her to look up. “Maybe I should leave you in that wet diaper until you leak, silly girl. Would you like that?” “N-n-n-no?” Gwen felt the finger withdraw as her boss’s other hand squeezed the padding oozing out from her skirt. “That would be very long, though.” “I was trying-” “To be a good girl, I know,” the older, more powerful woman finished the sentence. “You just didn’t think things through.” That much was true. “No, ma’am…” Mrs. Thompson strolled behind her desk and opened a drawer. She took out a canvas tote bag; a simple promotional item from a charity drive. “This will have to do.” “Do, ma’am?” Gwen asked. “Before you go home tonight,” her employer instructed, “I want you to pack this as your diaper bag. Wipes, powder, diapers, everything. Take it home with you.” She paused a moment to let it sink in. “And before you go to bed, I expect you to call me and tell me that you’ve changed yourself.” “Call-?” “No need to thank me. These grown-up diapers are expensive, but there’s almost no way you could go through an entire package of them in a week if you only got changed at work.” Gwenny felt the full weight of her employer’s accusing gaze. “Unless you want to spend all of tonight in a wet or dirty diaper?” “N-n-n-no ma’am…” She had to fight the urge to hide her face in her hands again. Somehow this one woman had the effect of an entire shop staring at her. Mrs. Thompson smiled. “Good.” “Yes, ma’am.” “And Gwenny?” “Yes, ma’am?” The older woman had moved over to the changing blanket. “Come lay down and get changed, silly girl. You’ve got a full day ahead of you.” “Yes, ma’am…” There was more pep in her step on her way over to the blanket. *************************************************************************************************** That night, when Gwen found herself masturbating to the idea of getting her diaper changed, she was no longer on a changing pad or table; but out on a park bench. Mommy Thompson had packed her diaper bag, and was changing her front of everyone. And everyone watched. And they clapped. Some giggled. Some cooed. Some cheered. Some jeered. And only the Littles who shared her situation could appreciate it. Only they understood her excitement and plight. And even they didn’t fully get it. They were just babies in a big world. She was big, but...but...but…. **************************************************************************************************** It was eleven on a Thursday and Gwenny was hurting. Her stomach wanted to murder her just then Being diapered since Tuesday and not daring to use the toilet even at home for fear of upsetting her boss, Gwenny hadn’t pooped since the incident on Monday. Her bladder, she had gained a new degree of mastery over. She was becoming increasingly comfortable with wetting her diaper; despite (or because of) the coos and teasing from customers and coworkers alike. Her ass was another matter entirely. Gwenny was backed up. It hurt. Alot. “Heeeeere’s your order, sir.” Her face became a mask of pain. She couldn’t poop her pants on purpose. She just couldn’t. Doing so would be to willingly throw away her adultness in its entirety. But would it really? She wasn’t allowed to take the diaper off. Wouldn’t it be MORE mature to just focus and get the pain over with? Wouldn’t it be MORE adult to recognize the limitation that had been placed on her and just make get it over with? She’d seen plenty of Littles, early in the stages of their adoption, struggle and clench and cry as they voided their bowls into their pants; completely unable to accept their new reality. That’s how one knew they were babies. Sadly for Gwen, while such circular logic might work on her mind, her bottom wanted nothing to do with it. Her body just wouldn’t let it. “F-f-f-f-fuck iiiiit!” “Excuse me?” The Tweener picking up his coffee asked. Gwenny didn’t respond. Unable to fully close her eyes she squinted like a cat and started to squat. Squat. And push. Muffled farts started pouring out… “What the fu-” The Tweener caught himself. “What the fudge is she doing?” he asked Samantha. “Oh, Baby Gwenny? She’s pooping, I think.” Samantha waved her hand in front of her face. “Yup. She’s making boom booms...a present for her Mommy. Her Maturosis must be flaring up hard!” Maturosis. That was the word that was being used to described baby Littles these days. “She’s not a Little, though.” The male Tweener said. “It happens sometimes,” Samantha said, nonchalantly. “She must have a Little somewhere in her family. It’s rare. But it happens.” The Tweener boy seemed mystified, curious even. “No kiddin’?” “That’s what the doctor’s note says. Don’t worry, she can still work and make coffee pretty good. She just needs me to keep her from getting too distracted.” All of this was, of course, complete and total bullshit. Gwenny had zero Littles in her family tree and there was no doctor’s note to speak of. She didn’t contradict Samantha, however. She was too busy pushing and savoring the rush: The physical relief of pushing a load out and voiding herself, while relishing in being talked about and talked over mixed with the self loathing and shame of doing something that she knew good and well that she was too old to be doing. Too old. Too big. Too mature. Too grown-up. Too Amazon. And yet… Gwenny hadn’t quite reached anything too untoward when she stopped pushing and let gravity and a muscle inertial take over; but she was panting from more than just the strain and sighing from more than just the relief of finally emptying herself out. “Phew…” “I’ll say…” Gwenny ignored the comment’ didn’t even see which Tweener it came from. She simply turned back to her work station and started making the next order. “What do you think you’re doing?” Samantha asked. Gwenny shrugged. “Workin’. Why?” Samantha took her hand. “Come on stink butt, let’s go get you changed.” A small jolt sparked in Gwenny’s brain. “But I’m not s’posed to get changed till lunch!” “Not when you’ve got a full load,” Samantha countered. Gwenny followed her co-worker, seemingly so much more mature and aware of the rules of diapers than she felt. “Pfft...babies…” She was being called a baby...by someone who barely came up to her chest. She knew how she felt about that, but she didn’t know how to feel about feeling that way... “You poopied?” Mrs. Thompson asked. She didn’t even wait for Gwenny to confirm; instead pressing her hand against the back of her diaper, feeling and mashing the mess up against the younger woman. “You certainly did. That’s a lot.” “I haven’t pooped in a few da-” Gwenny stopped herself; shut her mouth so quickly her teeth clicked. Why would she admit that? What businesses was it of her boss’s? Then again, what business was it of her boss’s to demand a phone call when Gwenny changed herself before bed. She’d still called, though… Mrs. Thompson guided the younger, smaller Amazon to the old pink blanket. Instead of kneeling beside it, The older Amazon sat down. Gwenny was made to lie down, too, but instead of flat, she was sat down and cradled in the older woman’s lap. She flinched as she felt even more of her mess spread and shift around. It still wasn’t as bad as Monday’s mess. This one stayed in place more and wasn’t dripping down her legs or ruining her skirt. “I didn’t think you had it in you,” Mrs. Thompson said. “That was a very brave, very grown-up thing you did.” Gwen arched her brow. She was a grown-up? For pooping her pants on purpose? “Most Amazons would have held it in, struggled, hurt themselves. Maybe even try and make it to noon so they could use the potty in between changes.” She chuckled, her eyes. “I would have let you if you’d just asked. But instead you made the choice to go potty in your pants like a good girl.” A knot formed in the back of Gwenny’s throat. Good girl? How was she supposed to know that there were workarounds to this diaper punishment thing? She’d never been diaper punished! “You didn’t tell me I could have asked to use the potty for...for...” “You never asked.” The matter seemed closed. Mrs. Thompson got a far off look in her eyes. “I used to work in a daycare, you know? Here in town.” Gwenny didn’t know. “I left because I got tired of whining Little brats who were ungrateful for all the love being given to them. Littles don’t know how easy they have it.” She looked down at Gwenny. Sitting in the older woman’s lap, Instinctively, Gwenny curled her spine as she was slowly rocked, bringing her at about eye level with Mrs. Thompson’s breast. “I think.you deserve a treat.” Mrs. Thompson pulled down her top. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Gwenny stared at the tit, engorged and dripping in milk. It wasn’t uncommon for Amazons, even ones Mrs. Thompson’s age, to take special hormone pills; but they typically only did it when they were nursing a Little...or a baby. “Will this make me more grown-up?” Gwenny asked. “No.” Head propelled forward, Gwenny felt no choice but to take the tit into her mouth. Five minutes of moaning, blushing, rubbing, and squirming later; she was finally changed. Her baby pants had been even fuller than when she’d started. She’d struggled at first; screamed a bit. But only at first. Only a bit… ************************************************************************************************ “Baby Gwenny!” Mrs. Thompson scolded. “Already? It’s not even nine!” Standing in a drooping, shit filled diaper, Gwenny hung her head low. “Sorrry Mo-...” she corrected herself. “Ma’am. I really had to go.” Even with the scolding, Mrs. Thompson didn’t seem all that upset. Or surprised. “You KNOW that I would have let you use the potty during your change this morning to make boom-booms!” Gwenny was frowning, but didn’t feel all that sad. “I know. But I couldn’t control it this time.” “I hardly think two poopy accidents would make you lose control again, little miss.” “The laxative,” Gwenny pleaded. “I took some more of it.” Mrs. Thompson cocked her head to the side. “You what?” “It’s just that I was hurting so much yesterday,” Gwenny tried to explain. “I didn’t want it to hurt that much again so I-” “Skirt! Off! Now!” Thompson ordered. Today’s too-short skirt, a silky, almost see-through number, was sliding off Gwenny’s hips before “Now” had been barked. An iron grip came, not for Gwenny’s wrist, but for her earlobe “OW OW OW!” she screeched as her employer dragged her in nothing but a t-shirt and diaper by the side of her head to the front of the store. “TELL THEM WHAT YOU DID!” Mrs. Thompson screamed. Everyone in the cafe looked up from their phones and drinks. “i pooped my diaper…” “Pfft,” Samantha rolled her eyes. “Everybody already knows that.” “SAMANTHA! NOT! NOW!” The color drained away from the Tweener’s face and for the first time all week she more closely resembled her meeker, mild mannered self. “TELL THEM WHAT YOU REALLY DID!” All eyes were back on Gwenny “i poisoned myself to make myself go poopy. on purpose.” “WHY?! THE TRUTH! NOW!” “because i wanted you to change me. and feed me. and cuddle me.” “AND?” Gwenny looked around the room. “and i wanted everyone here to knooooooow….” tears were starting to flow down the not-so-big girl’s cheeks. “DOES THAT SOUND MATURE? DOES THAT SOUND GROWN-UP? DOES THAT SOUND AMAZONIAN?” Gwenny was silently crying. “DOES IT?” “nooooooooooooooooo….!” her voice was just as choked and squeaky as any Little she’d seen after they’d been taken down a notch or two. Mrs. Thompson pulled a chair out from a table and sat down. She pointed to her lap. Baby Gwenny, knowing better, sprawled herself over it instead of sitting directly on her lap. She heard a note of glee come to the older woman’s eyes. “New special! For every dollar that people put in the tip jar, this big baby, this pitiful excuse for an adult, gets a swat right on her messy diapered behind!” Mrs. Thompson announced. “Samantha. Keep count.” Baby Gwenny didn’t look up. She did however, here many hurried footsteps towards the tip jar. By the clinking sounds some people were even emptying their pockets. THWACK! The sound of the swat, of hand smacking plastic and pulp and mush, broke the girl’s concentration. Baby Gwenny flinched. THWACK THWACK! Baby Gwenny itched, the lump becoming more of a paste. THWACK THWACK THWACK! Baby Gwenny squirmed, the padding thinning from abuse and onslaught. She was starting to feel the blows. THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK! Baby Gwenny wriggled. THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK! Baby Gwenny thrashed. Baby Gwenny cried. THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK! Baby Gwenny screamed and grasped THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK! Mrs. Thompson started talking. “YOU DESERVE THIS!” “Yes ma’am!” Baby Gwenny couldn’t help. It didn’t help THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK! “YES WHAT?” “YES MOMMY!” THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK! “HAVE YOU BEEN YOU ACTING LIKE AN ADULT?!” THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK! “NO MOMMY!” THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK! “DO YOU DESERVE THIS?” Baby Gwenny was crying and gasping for air. “YES MOMMY!” THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK! “WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN ACTING LIKE?” THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK! “A LITTLE!” There was a pause, just long enough for Gwenny to gulp some air. “WRONG ANSWER! LITTLES DON’T POISON THEMSELVES! EVEN THE IMMATURE ONES!” THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK! THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK! “WHAT! HAVE! YOU! BEEN! ACTING! LIKE!” “A BAAAAAAAAAAAAABY!” THWACK! As she orgasmed into her mushy diaper with the final swat; Baby Gwenny came face to face with an uncomfortable truth about herself. She wasn’t ready for this to end. She was loving this. She NEEDED this. The applause from the onlookers nearly matched the number of swats Baby Gwenny had just received. Trembling, Baby Gwenny crawled off her employer’s lap, sitting on her knees. Mrs. Thompson cleared her throat and wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead. “It’s a good thing today is your last day of punishment.” “NO!” “What?” The older woman seemed surprised; just not that surprised. More like she hadn’t quite heard the younger Amazon correctly. She’d have to beg for it, Baby Gwenny knew. “Please! Don’t stop it! I need this!” “Need what?” Still on her knees, Baby Gwenny gestured down to her disheveled, messy, diapered, sub-Amazon state. “this…..” Then she added, “please...Mommy…” Mrs. Thompson smirked and stared cooly down at the wreck that Baby Gwenny had become. “You’ll have to wear diapers full time.” “Yes, Mommy.” “You’ll still be working here, too. You’re a baby, but you’re not a Little. You’ll still have to do chores.” “Yes, Mommy.” “And you’ll be moving in with me.” “Yes, Mommy.” “And no more pants or skirts. It’ll be easier to check and change you.” “Yes, Mommy.” “And I’m taking your diapers out of your paycheck from now on.” “Yes, Mommy.” “And when I’m not up here, it’ll be Samantha who’s in charge.” That gave Gwendolyn pause. She looked over to a smirking, eager, and triumphant Tweener, still counting tips behind the counter. “Yes, Mommy.” Baby Gwenny said. Mrs. Thompson stood. She opened her arms wide. “Come to Mommy...baby girl!” “AWWWWWWWW!” For that tense moment, Baby Gwenny had forgotten people were watching her. They’d always be watching her, now. She’d never escape this. She’d never want to. That Little spiking her drink was the best thing that had ever happened to her. And the worst. And the best. Fair was fair. ********************************************************************************************** Samantha smiled to herself. Switching those coffee cups (and their lids) was the easiest hundred bucks and a promotion she’d ever earned. The Little who’d bribed her had had a good idea. Give that bitch Gwendolyn a taste of her own medicine. Samantha just hadn’t expected the giant to like it. (The End) Special

Author's note. This is a sequel to Middle Management It was difficult being an Amazon; more so than the Tweeners or Littles could possibly understand. Amazons were the standard. The norm. The default. It’s why they were Amazons, and why everyone else was described in relation to them. Littles got to be irresponsible and immature, and Tweeners could dip their toes into either pool as long as they kept their noses and bottoms clean, but Amazons? Amazons were made of sterner and stronger stuff. Always. The smaller people thought that Amazons cosseted Littles and disciplined Tweeners out of some bizarre genetic defect; an overpowering nurturing instinct, perhaps due to a declining birthrate and fertility. Rubbish. The fact that there were always more Amazons around was proof that such norms were so much more than the last gasp of a dying race. If anything, Littles and Tweeners were the genetic throwbacks. Weaker and more capricious; needing infinitely more care and guidance to live quality lives. Others among the peanut gallery thought their treatment might be something similar to a twisted and soft form of control. In that regard they might be closer to the truth, if Jessica was being honest with herself. As justifications went, however, it didn’t stick in her mind. Fair was not the same as equal. You didn’t ask a goldfish to climb a tree, so why ask a Little to act like a true adult? You didn’t. The fact that Littles and Tweeners who couldn’t cut the mustard were whisked away to lives of padded underpants and doting daycares was almost a kind of accommodation; a luxury even. Amazons got no such accommodations; not as far as Jessica understood it. Diapers and such were a white badge of shame around wide enough hips. It was simply the way things were meant to be. Amazons were the standard. They were strong. They were adult. Not just physically, but socially, too. Strong like a top of the line vehicle right off the assembly line. There might be different paint jobs and some different bells and whistles; one might have a spoiler while the other a hood ornament; but under the hood it was always the same high performance vehicle. If only there wasn’t something wrong with Jessica’s engine. Hmm...poor analogy. More like her navigation system was off compared to adult models. For you see, Jessica, an Amazon in her early forties, liked to wear diapers. Wear AND use them for their intended purpose- number one and number two. She wasn’t incontinent; there was nothing physically wrong with her. She just got a certain kind of thrill when she filled her pants. One therapist suggested it was because she’d been toilet trained too early. Another too late. A third had literally written her a prescription for enrollment at a daycare and if not for her being on equal footing with the staff that prescription could have become highly involuntarily. “I don’t want to be a baby,” she’d told the fourth; an older Tweener she could easily overpower if the fiasco repeated itself. “I don’t think of myself that way.” The fact that that’s what so many of the shorter folk said too was irrelevant. “I hate the idea of being cooed at or fussed over.” Her nose wrinkled up a bit. “Don’t even get me started on Little fashion. Onesies and skirts that don’t work? My hair tied up in ribbons? No thank you. Same for furniture. No cribs or highchairs. No toys. None of that.” “But you find something attractive about the sensory aspect?” The counselor asked. “The feeling and texture? Perhaps the juxtaposition between clean, dirty, and clean again? Maybe even just the idea of breaking a societal norm yet otherwise retaining your independence?” “Yes, yes, yes!” Jessica had the distinct feeling that the smaller man had been reading her mind. The fellow removed his glasses and cleaned them gingerly with a handkerchief. “It seems to me, Ms. Stoneman, that you have a fetish.” A fetish? A dirty sounding word. Most mental diseases were dirty. “For whatever reason, your mind has latched onto these sensations and associated emotions with them and inflated their importance to your well being.” “How do I cure it?” Jessica had asked. “Hypnosis? Conditioning? How much therapy would I need to make these feelings go away?” The therapist put the glasses back on his head. “Quite simply,” he had told her, “you don’t. Psychologically speaking, those methods are ethically dubious at best, and I don’t think you’d truly be happy with the results.” “Then what do I do with-?” “You live with it,” the Tweener said plainly. “You either learn to live with it and accept it as one of your basic psychological needs and incorporate it into your lifestyle, you go overboard with it and make it a dominant characteristic of your personality and neglect other parts about yourself, or you hide it from yourself and others and learn to live with being unhappy.” “But what about sex?” Jessica had asked bluntly. “Do you realize how-? How do I-? Do I explain…?”” She didn’t quite have the words for it, but in general it was an unspoken fact that people confined to going potty in their pants did not tend to find the kind of love- romantic or sexual-that true adults were privy to. “You’ll just have to find someone that you trust not to take advantage of you or misrepresent the situation.” Jessica had paid the man double his usual rate that day. The first half for his admittedly valuable insight; the second half for his discretion and to make up for the fact that the first session would most certainly be the last. She had known what she’d had to do, and the Tweener couldn’t give her any extra help it seemed, so all there was left to do was fix it herself. She was an Amazon after all That had been over a decade ago. Her girlfriend at the time had been less than understanding. Breaking up with her because she didn’t want to make love to a diaper wearing baby. Her next boyfriend had seen it as an opportunity to discipline and correct, and lovingly pulled her over his knee to spank her regularly until she’d decided to grow up. It hadn’t corrected the problem. If anything it had made it worse. A part of her reveled in the shame and the endorphin rush from her bottom getting smacked was like a runner’s high. Great. Now she had two fetishes. He’d ruined it when he’d suggested feeding her in a highchair he’d ordered special just for her. Damn. So close. Yet so far away. Had to cut it off before she got tricked into being adopted. Better a free freak than a regressed one. That relationship was five years ago. Going on six. Jessica had since resigned herself to a life of being an old maid. Perhaps by the end of the year she’d complete it and adopt a shit ton of cats. Milling’s Medical Supply was a good place to work for her purposes, too. Quiet most of the time. Good hours. Decent pay. The clientele tended to lean away from the babying sort. They either cared for the adult but infirm, or were infirm themselves. The shelves were stocked with bandages, bedpans, shower chairs, canes, colostomy bags and the like. Diapers were present, too, but none of the tiny cutesy stuff that babies and Littles needed. Nothing with cartoons on the crotch and what have you. Just good performance medical supplies. Best of all, she got an employee discount, and the owner genuinely didn’t give a toss who said adult diapers were going to as long as the money was all there and accounted for. Milling’s used to have a jar full of lollipops for the odd man or woman who brought their child gauze shopping. Said jar was always placed under the counter and out of sight when Jessica was on duty. No need to reinforce return visits from certain people. Of course, with so many baby Littles out there, the old fashioned Mommying Amazon with more cosseting urges than common sense was inevitable. DING-A-LING! Jessica looked up from her phone and saw the Tweener power walk in. Based on the bright lime green shirt, matching shorts and sneakers, Jessica wasn’t surprised when she caught a glimpse of a Pull-Up peaking out. The girl looked around just long enough to catch sight of the restroom signs, and then honed in and skidded to a halt at the threshold holding herself like a three year old might. The clerk didn’t even bother to greet her. Any true adult that might need such protection would go to much greater lengths to conceal such a need. No juvenile clothes. Baggier pants that concealed any tell tale bulk or pulpiness. The baggy cargo pants, belt, and tucked in top that Jessica was wearing spoke to such precautions. The real power was likely just behind the girl... DING-A-LING! “Hello,” Jessica said before one foot was in the door. “Welcome to Milling’s!” The woman who stepped through was exactly what Jessica expected. Early to mid forties, around Jessica’s age. Flecks of gray in her hair that she could politely joke was stress from permanently raising a child. A tasteful but conservative floral patterned dress that hid any middle aged tummy that might exist and somehow accentuated her breasts. Well worn navy blue flats that had seen much use, and a diaper bag which likely doubled as a purse. And like most Amazons who adopted even a Tweener, the woman had an air of power; likely an empty nester who couldn’t let go of that feeling, or someone building their first nest later in life. The bright pink leash, likely attached to a Little who was deciding to brat it up right then confirmed any and all biases Jessica might have had. “Excuse me,” the woman asked, still only half way in, “where is-?” Jessica didn’t wait, pointing to the naughty Tweener. “Thank you.” That’s when Jessica’s world went on its ear. The woman stepped in and dragged her permanent baby girl in, but when Jessica couldn’t see the top of the girl’s head, her breath retreated from her. The girl was dressed like a Little, but she wasn’t little at all. She was younger than her Mommy, perhaps with an age gap wide enough to imply biological relationship -maybe an errant college student being shown that she wasn’t too grown-up- but Jessica didn’t see it. What Jessica could see was the bulging white disposable peeking out from beneath the fully embroidered and frilly dress that perfectly complemented the bows in her hair. Based on the droop it was well used to boot. The dress was well washed and slightly faded from use, but ironed and well cared for. Definitely not something made recently to humiliate. This was the kind of thing that got hung up in a closet and taken down regularly. Incredible. Jessica had heard of such things, mostly on the internet and always happening elsewhere, but she’d never expected to see it with her own eyes. An AB; an Amazon Baby. The baby girl made brief eye contact with Jessica and her cheeks flashed crimson, meaning she wasn’t completely regressed from too many cartoons. Something in her posture and body language, though, and the hints of a smile creeping at the corners of her mouth. She was enjoying this, being out in the open. A therapy appointment buried under a decade’s worth of baggage since jumped up and down in Jessica’s brain. A...a...fetish? Is that what was going on? “Samantha! What did I tell you about-?” “I’m sorry Mommy, but you said I could use the bathroo...I mean potty and I really gotta gooooo!” The Tweener was dancing around on the balls of her feet like a pre-kindergartener with timing issues. “I...I…!-” She stopped and gasped. “Never mind…” She slumped and looked down at her shoes. The woman rolled her eyes at her daughter. She looked to Jessica for a sympathetic nod and her expression reeked of ‘Kids! Amiright?’ Naturally, Jessica shrugged and tilted her head to one side as if to signal ‘I know, right?’. “You see, Samantha?” The woman said. “This is what you get when you don’t wait. If you’d waited for me to unbuckle Gwenny and then fasten her harness like I told you to, then we wouldn’t have had to have this conversation and I could have put you on the potty in time.” Defeated, the Tweener sighed. “Yes, Mommy. I’m sorry, Mommy.” “Nothing to be done about it, now,” the Mommy replied. She reached for the restroom door knob. “We’ll just have to sit you down, and hope that you…” The woman looked inside the bathroom and blinked away confusion. “Sorry,” Jessica apologized. She walked from behind the counter, making sure to talk as she walked and use the sound of her voice to cover up her own crinkle. “The bathrooms aren’t very big.” Milling’s didn’t have a whole lot of frequent foot traffic. The customer base was steady, but never more than two to three people at any given time and they didn’t tend to linger. Large bathrooms to accommodate multiple people weren’t a concern. They had restrooms, but they were closer to stalls in size. Each one had enough room for a single toilet, a sink, a garbage can and the requisite wiping and drying paper, but not much else. No changing stations either. A body could change a baby Amazon or a Little Baby on the floor, but they’d have to do so on their knees. Changing or a Tweener or another Amazon? Honestly, Jessica had never considered. Jessica had enough caution and sense to show up to work fresh, not mess while at work, and to have a heavy duty enough diaper where leaking wasn’t going to be a threat. Changing while at work was something she’d never had or wanted to do. She supposed it could be done. “I’m sorry to impose,” the woman said to Jessica. “But would you mind looking after one of my daughters while I sort the other out?” She was already handing the leash over to Jessica before she’d finished the sentence. Out of habit, Jessica took it. “Not at all, ma’am. It would be my pleasure.” No further transaction was needed. “Come on, Samantha,” she said to the sulking Tweener. “Maybe we can get some poopies out of you.” The Tweener in soggy trainers looked over her shoulder. Not at Jessica, but at her ‘sister’. “Gwenny’s wet, too. Can I-?” “Not this time, young lady.” The door closed, and Jessica was left alone holding the big baby’s leash. Just not for long. The girl took a few nervous half steps backward. The poor clumsy thing wasn’t looking where she was going and bumped hard into a shelf, almost knocking it down. Jessica ran to catch it and righted the shelf before it reached critical unbalance. “Ooops!” the girl yelped, as packets and packets of colostomy bags and bandages fluttered down like fall leaves. She froze up, and just stared at the ground helplessly, like a Little. “You’re going to pick that all up, right?” Jessica asked. “Me?” the big baby replied. “But I’m, I’m...I’m…” she really seemed gob smacked at the notion of accountability. “I…” “You made a mess,” Jessica countered. “Now be a good girl and clean it up.” The girl opened up her mouth to reply but before she could, Jessica jammed in. “Or don’t you pick up your toys at home?” Something clicked behind the girl’s eyes. A kind of desire, or hunger. Strange yet familiar. “Yes, Ma’am.” With Jessica behind her, holding the leash, the big baby shuffled and waddled down the aisle she’d almost ruined and started picking up the mess, bending over and squatting down; picking up packages by armful and hastily putting them on the shelves. It was a sloppy job and Jessica would have to tidy up more after they’d left, but it was good enough in the short term. The fact that she was reading the shelf labels signaled that the twenty something still knew how to read. Jessica got a nice peek at the girl’s wet and padded bottom every time she knelt or bent, too. Admittedly, it was a nice view. She even knew the brand. Had some in the store, for the rare adult incontinent that was neither adopted nor bedridden and could change themselves. Jessica was wearing her own pair just then; good thing the girl couldn’t hear the crinkling over her own. “Very good, Gwenny!” Jessica jumped a bit, startled. She hadn’t heard the girl’s Mommy or the Tweener in trainers come out of the bathroom. Didn’t stop them coming. “Here you are, ma’am,” Jessica handed back the toddler leash. “Thank you very much,” the woman said. She looked at her Tweener daughter, and then to the girl, Gwenny. “Thank you for looking after my baby. Would you mind if…?” Jessica grabbed the Tweener by the hand. “Not at all.” That’s all it took to send the two Amazons back into the restroom. An uncomfortable half a minute later, the sounds of tapes coming off a plastic landing zone sounded off through the quiet store. Minus the other accoutrements, Jessica found herself ever so jealous of the odd not-so-Little duck getting changed. A dejected sigh; this one from the Tweener. Jessica looked down and cocked an eyebrow. She suspected the shorter girl resented having her hand held, but in the half instant before the girl made her expression go unreadable, Jessica caught a glimpse of something familiar. Hunger. The kind of hunger that had gnawed in Jessica’s brain for untold years. Jealousy. The kind that had just panged against her right now. Tweener girl had an almost identical expression. Intuition whispered to Jessica that the Tweener wasn’t secretly wishing that was her on the floor getting wiped, however. Different craving...same hunger. “Want me to help organize the shelves?” the Tweener asked. Jessica looked straight ahead. It was still a mess. Ironically enough, it really did look like an eighteen month old had restocked the shelves. “No.” A cocked eyebrow. “I can do it, you know. Just because I’m shorter doesn’t mean I’m-” “I know,” Jessica interrupted before the Tweener could ramp up into a full blown whine fest. “But you didn’t make the mess, so you don’t have to clean it up.” The girl seemed a tad surprised. “That’s...a really nice way to look at it. Thank you.” “You’re welcome.” Jessica resisted the urge to call the adoptee something condescending like ‘sweetie’ or ‘honey’. Even in someone who didn’t particularly want kids, cosseting was still a thing. “Samantha, right?” Samantha nodded. “Right.” Her gaze traveled down Jessica’s arm. “You don’t have to hold my hand if you don’t want to. I can be good.” A light and quiet chuckle came out of Jessica. “I have no doubt, young lady. I don’t know if your Mommy would approve right now. Especially because you just disobeyed her and ended up wetting your pants for it.” The girl responded by looking away. Not beaten. Perhaps encouraged? Different flavors, same hunger? Yes. Jessica was beginning to think so. “Your um...baby sister.” Jessica started. “Gwenny.” “Yes, Gwenny. How did she…?” How did Jessica even ask something like this? That was the real question. Samantha shrugged and smiled. “It’s...complicated.” “And you?” The smile wilted slightly. A resigned sigh hid a shudder of ecstacy. “That’s VERY complicated.” Girl still had her mind, too. Same for her pride. Jessica opted not to pry. “Alrighty then,” and Jessica decided not to say anymore. Samantha wasn’t done yet. “You know I can help anyways. I don’t mind. I’m a manager at Mommy’s coffee shop.” Poor thing wanted her hand free. Poor thing wasn’t gonna get it till her Mommy came out. Jessica was in no mood for a tongue lashing from the sort of woman who very likely called managers on the regular. “Mmmhmm…” Jessica looked straight ahead, hoping the big baby changing would be over. At least the woman wasn’t cooing loudly or baby talking. The sound would have bled through the door if she had. At least the semi-child was smart enough not to press her luck. Jessica shifted in the quiet. And immediately regretted it. The Tweener’s ears wiggled and she turned her head towards the bathroom. Uh oh. When the bathroom didn’t open, she looked down at herself. She worked her knees trying to replicate the same crinkle that she’d heard seconds ago. Oh no. When that failed to produce the exact results, the Tweener followed her gaze up Jessica’s arm...and then down to her waist. “Are you…?” “All done!” The Mommy and her big baby came out of the bathroom. “What do we say, Gwenny?” “Thank you…” the baby said. “For?” “For letting me use your bathroom to get changed in.” “And?” “Also for letting me clean up the mess I made out here.” She got a quiet pat on her head for it. More hunger. Different flavor. Whether it was chocolate, strawberry, or vanilla, an ice cream lover was an ice cream lover, (and to further muddy the metaphor none of them were Littles). The adult of the trio took her Tweener child by one hand and held the leash for the other. “I’m so sorry for how my children came in and how they behaved themselves.” “Nonsense,” Jessica waved the apology off. “Kids will be kids. No harm done.” Talking about fully grown people as if they weren’t; otherwise known as small talk among two dominant Amazons. That kind of patter was far easier for Jessica than interacting with the Tweener who had potty accidents. “You’re very gracious to say so,” the Mommy replied. “Marion Thompson,” she introduced herself. For obvious reasons she did not offer a hand out. “Jessica,” the clerk replied. “Stoneman.” “Miss Stoneman,” the woman said. “Is there anything we can buy to compensate you for your time and effort?” When Jessica gave her a polite but slightly confused expression. “If someone were to come into my shop and use the restroom, I’d at least want them to buy a cup of plain black coffee.” The look on Samantha’s mug was very proud. As if any admittal that her Mommy ran a coffee shop was the same thing as crediting her with running the place. “I think we have some diapers in your daughter’s size that are plain and white.” “Which daughter?” Mrs. Thompson asked. “Samantha wears extra protection at bedtime.” Samantha threw a pleading look to Jessica. Jessica ignored it. “I meant Gwenny, but I think we have some in stock that would fit Samantha just fine as well.” The expression on Samantha’s face looked like she’d just been slapped. Sorry kid. A job was a job. Bagging the two packs of diapers, one adult and one Tweener, Jessica smiled contentedly on the inside. What an afternoon this had shaped up to be. Something to share over dinner with close friends or cats (if she had any). The big baby, Gwenny, looked all around the ceiling as if the tiles were clouds, lost in her own thoughts. Samantha crossed her arms and huffed quietly through her mouth. Not quite pouting, but using it as a way to self soothe. The girl seemed adjusted enough to pull-ups, but obviously dreaded the thought of being diapered, how appropriate to her heritage. What an interesting...family. In a way, Jessica was a little sad that they were about to take the incontinence supplies and walk out of Milling’s and her life. Perhaps fate had other plans. “Before we go,” Marion Thompson asked, “You don’t happen to babysit, do you?” Jessica blanched. “What?” “Everyone is so keen on Littles these days. There are very few people I’ve come across that interact with my children as appropriately as you have.” She paused to look at Jessica’s beffudIement. “The doors are very thin. I heard you talking with them and liked what I heard. You’re a natural. A way with children regardless of size. You could be a teacher.” “Sorry,” Jessica apologized. “I’m not a teacher.” A card found it’s way sliding across the counter. On one side was a phone number. “Then just be their nanny for a night.” On the card’s flip side, she wrote another number. “I can make it worth your while.” She looked in Mrs. Thompson’s eyes...and for the first time in several years, felt a different kind of hunger. ******************************************************************************************** “You’re not my Mommy, you know,” Samantha said. The Tweener was in full pout mode tonight. Admittedly, it was still a refreshing change from the average adoptee’s behavior, swearing that they were really an adult despite the state of their dress. The girl at least had the good sense not to try that. Though by the average Amazon’s standards, Samantha’s underwear was still more mature than Jessica’s, for now at least. “It’s just a diaper,” Jessica coaxed. “Just a bit of nighttime protection. Doesn’t mean you’re not a big girl, it’s just so that you don’t have to get up and go potty.” The sun had gone down. She’d just gotten Gwenny changed and put into pink Jammies that she had no hope of escaping before morning. The girl had been unusually quiet, but her face gave away all the intimate feelings she was experiencing while Jessica had powdered her and rubbed soothing lotion all over her body. She’d even dared to pop a pacifier into the big baby girl’s mouth and plant a kiss on her forehead before saying goodnight. Seconds after closing the door Jessica had heard rustling and a crinkling that she was willing to bet was more than just the average tossing and turning of someone trying to get to sleep. Jessica had heard that kind of crinkling before in her own bed, and the vibrator on the bottom shelf of the changing table had not gone unnoticed. Now it was half an hour later and time for ‘bigger’ of the two sisters to be put down. Samantha wasn’t going full brat, but she was putting up slightly more than the token resistance. “But I know how to go…” Samantha stopped herself, flustered. “I just, it’s just...” Jessica took pity on her. “Your Mommy locks the door and won’t let you out at night, will she?” The pull-up wearing woman stared in disbelief as if Jessica had shared a great but unspoken truth with her. “Yeah…” They might be bigger than most people their age who end up in diapers, but Marion Thompson’s children still had a great deal in common with the Littles: Most of this wasn’t really their idea to begin with. Jessica held the diaper and lightly clapped it against her open palm; almost fanning herself. “We both know that your Mommy wants you to wear this, though. I heard her say as much yesterday. If you’re not wearing a wet one of these tomorrow, I won’t be babysitting you again, but you’ll be the one getting in trouble.” That hit home. Reluctantly, Samantha looked over her shoulder, toward the hallway that led to the shared nursery both adult children were forced to share. Slowly she dug her fingers into the waistband of her shorts, and Jessica wasn’t sure if she’d hike them up harder or pull them down like a good girl. Thinking quickly, Jessica walked to the front door and dug the changing mat out of Gwenny’s diaper bag. “I can help you get dressed here so we don’t wake Gwenny.” She was already laying the mat out on the floor and unfolding the diaper. Samantha seemed confused, and her fingers clutched on the waistband of her shorts and disposable panties even tighter. “Huh...?” “It’s simple,” Jessica said. “You’re the big sister. That means that you have certain privileges. You might get to see the baby get changed, but the baby never gets to see you.” The pants came down. Jessica guessed right. Point: Stoneman. Another hurdle presented itself just as quickly. “I can put it on myself…?” “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sammy,” Jessica took a chance at a cuter nickname. “These things are hard to put on by yourself. You could leak.” Samantha didn’t object, though a second later Jessica wished she’d had. It would have been a better distraction. “How would you know?” Jessica shouldn’t have worn that night. Wearing the diaper was stupid. Even with the baggy pants and a layer of granny panties to try and muffle and restrict the crinkling sound. Wetting it while feeding the girls dinner had been even dumber. If Mrs. Thompson caught her she’d already proven herself to be the type that didn’t make exceptions based on size... Thankfully the older Amazon was mentally quick on her feet. “I work for a medical supply company, honey,” she said. “Most of my regular customers are nurses or nursing home attendees. People talk. Need I say more?” This seemed to satisfy the girl’s curiosity. Reluctantly she sat down on the open diaper and laid back. “Can you at least skip the powder, please?” she asked. “I don’t want to smell like a baby.” “Suit yourself,” Jessica shrugged, already pulling the diaper up and taping it on. “But don’t come crying to me if you get all hot and chafing.” Jessica had a feeling that Samantha wouldn’t mind that much at all. True to her word, she put the Tweener down in the big toddler bed and tucked her in. Then woke Gwenny up just long enough to change her in her crib with the railing down. Wet, but not soaked. Jessica made sure to say a lot about how tiny and babyish Gwenny seemed, unable to make it even an hour without wetting. Soon after she closed the door, Jessica heard two sources of rushed crinkling... ************************************************************************************* “So,” Mrs. Thompson asked when she returned. “How was it? How were they?” “They were good,” Jessica reported. “We’re still in the honeymoon stage, but I think they were trying to find where the line was and if they could cross it with me.” Marion Thompson seemed interested. “How so?” How to explain this tactfully? The girls honestly were very good. As adults, there had been hints of challenges throughout the early evening. Judged on the merits of children, they were very close to being perfect angels with only minor and understandable missteps. “Oh Gwenny was being very passive whenever it came time to pick something up or get changed. I think she was hoping I wouldn’t notice something or forget.” “That sounds a lot like Gwenny,” the Mommy conceded. “I think she likes the attention of getting noticed.” “Me too.” “What about Samantha?” “A little more bratty,” Jessica conceded. “Nothing deserving of time out or a spanking. Just not immediate or enthusiastic cooperation.” Mrs. Thompson sighed. “Yes. I think she’s going through a phase. She used to be much more careful in how she spoke. I think she sees her new place as a demotion of sorts, poor thing.” The tone of the woman’s voice signaled that she thought nothing could be further from the truth. “Sammy’s a good kid,” Jessica agreed. “She just wants to feel like certain things are her idea.” The lady of the house cocked an eyebrow. “Sammy?” The babysitter’s lips retreated back over her teeth. “Sorry. I tried the nickname on for size and she didn’t object.” “Interesting,” Mrs. Thompson’ tilted her chin up. “Very interesting. You have a good point though. I don’t think she’ll ever be truly ready for big girl panties ever again, but that doesn’t mean she needs to be babied as much as her sister. Thank you for the insight.” “How was your dinner, by the way?” Jessica asked. She didn’t really care, but it was polite to inquire. That and some part of her just wasn’t ready to go home yet. This strange yet oddly conventional family was some kind of beautiful trainwreck in her psyche. Not wanting to look away, but not entirely because of how awful it was. Living art? The smile on the lady's face became thinner, and retreated from her eyes. “It was fine,” she said. Just nice to get out of the house and have a quiet breather. You know how it is.” She didn’t. “I do, indeed.” Everything was a quiet breather. “Sometimes it’s just good to gather your thoughts and reflect…” “Thank you again,” Mrs. Thompson repeated the sentiment. She started digging into her purse when her nose twitched. “Before you go, however.” “Yes?” Jessica asked. Mrs. Thompson’s eyes flitted over to Gwenny’s changing pad, still there on the living room floor. “Why don’t you lay down?” “Lay down?” Jessica’s heart started pounding. “You’re wet, dear. I can’t very well let you go home soggy. It would be irresponsible of me.” Run! Run! Jessica’s brain was screaming at her to run. She knew! Somehow she knew! Despite the bagginess of her pants. Despite the extra layers to hide the crinkle. Despite wearing the max odor control brand, another Amazon knew she was wearing a diaper! If she laid down on that changing mat, there’d be a third occupant of that nursery by the end of the night. Mrs. Thompson’s hands launched out and gently cupped Jessica’s cheek. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “You don’t have to panic.” The words had the opposite effect and Jessica felt herself starting to hyperventilate. “I...I...I...I…!” “Shhh-shh-shh-shhh-shh.” The other woman’s voice was calm and reassuring, but not cooing or condescending. “It’s okay. I know all about it already.” “You do?” Jessica’s voice was almost a whisper itself. “Of course I do. The baggy pants? The light crinkle? I figured it out the other day. Samantha, too.” “I need to...I should…” “You should lay down and let me do you the kindness,” the beautiful lady said sensually. “Then you should take your pay, and my phone number, and go home.” Jessica laid down the mat. It was big enough for Gwenny, so it was big enough for her. She didn’t remember, stepping over to it, but she must have been guided that way as she was being talked down. “Okay…” Mrs. Thompson shuffled over to the Amazon sized diaper bag and took out the plain white diaper. “I’m guessing you didn’t bring your own, “ she said. “You’re much too careful for that.” Hearing it made Jessica feel good and tingly. “You’re very lucky,” Mrs. Thompson continued. “All of the diapers under Gwenny’s changing table already have cute colorful stickers put on them.” “I noticed…” Jessica blushed. “That wouldn’t do anything for you, though.” This was stated as fact. Good thing, because it was a fact. “Pants down please.” “Oh, yeah.” Her blush deepened and she planted her feet and boosted her hips so she could shimmy all the barriers out of the way and down past her knees. “An extra layer to muffle things,” the other adult noted. “Clever.” “Thanks…” Thompson kneeled down beside her. “You needn’t bother with it next time.” “Next time?” In reply the tapes ripped off and Jessica sucked in her breath. Oh goodness this was amazing! She’d been toilet trained so long ago that she’d forgotten what it was like to have another pair of hands reach down and pull open the front of a soaked diaper. It felt so strange to have someone else calmly take a wet wipe and caress her most delicate of areas and sensitive parts. Even more amazing was that there was no accompanying baby talk or motherese. Jessica had never known an Amazon to not talk to their Littles and babies during a diaper change; it’s like they had to rub it in the smaller one’s face about how babyish they were. Jessica wasn’t a baby, though. Yet she was not-so-secretly loving this. Her eyes dared not close, but she kept herself calm and allowed herself the chance to enjoy this as she stared up blankly at the ceiling. The leisurely pace and the gentle instructions of “Hips up, please. Okay, now down,” gave Jessica the hint that this was more than just a bit of friendly business. Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking... “No powder, please.” “It’s alright,” Mrs. Thompson assured her. “This is my own bottle. Powdered cornstarch without the scent.” “Your own?” Thompson must have known what Jessica was thinking. “I don’t wear anything like that, but it makes for good deodorant and prevents makeup from smearing without smelling like a Little.” Jessica wasn’t sure how to feel about that. “Don’t tell Sammy, though,” she winked. The slight hiccup of a giggle that escaped Jessica made the other woman’s eyes light up. The part where she drew the fresh diaper up and taped it up came too soon. For both of them. “All done.” She reached down and offered Jessica her hand. Jessica took it and stood back up. “Next time,” Mrs. Thompson said. “Leave the concealer panties at home.” She went back to her purse, and took a large amount of money.from a clip. Jessica finished tugging her pants back up her hips. “Next time?” “Of course,” Mrs. Thompson replied. She handed a wad of bills to the clerk playing sitter. “You’re the first sitter I’ve had that’s managed to get both girls down to bed without screaming or yelling at them.” “How did-?” “The live nanny cams I have don’t record sound, but I’m very good at reading body language.” The woman replied confidently. “Including when someone is unconsciously yanking at the waistline of her pants during feeding time. A nice flowing dress might serve you better in the future.” Jessica would have been offended had she not busied her eyes counting the money. “This is more than we agreed upon!” Jessica gasped. “Much more!” “A tip for a job well done.” “I can’t accept this!” In reply, the other woman bent over and picked up the balled up used diaper. She turned around and walked off to the nearest garbage can in the kitchen. “If you think it’s too much, you can give it back to me...” Her back was turned as Jessica peeled off a few bills and put them in her pocket, determined to give the rest back. “...by taking us out to dinner…” “Dinner?” Jessica echoed dumbly. “Us?” The diaper went in with an audible thunk. “If you’d like. You. Me. And the girls.” “Like a...a...date?” “Do you think it’d count as a date even if there was a baby and a potty trainer along for the ride?” “Yes!” The swiftness and enthusiasm with which she replied, surprised even Jessica. “Then yes.” Mrs. Thompson said. “Let’s call it a date.” “And will we do,” she felt herself huffing, “this again?” A trickster’s smile and a goddess’s glare. “Probably not in the restaurant,” Mrs. Thompsons said. “Definitely not in front of my daughters. They need to still see you as an adult. But I’ll never let you go home wet.” Jessica dry swallowed and closed her eyes. “What about...messy?” The owner of the house led her to the door and gave her a kiss on the lips. “Goodnight, Miss Stoneman.” *********************************************************************************** Two months. Two glorious months. Had it really been that long? It seemed like just yesterday the Thompsons had stumbled into Milling’s and she’d taken the babysitting job on the whim. Now so much more than a whim. Two months. Only two months? Was it really only so short? She felt like she’d known Marion and the girls forever and that lonely sad woman in desperate need of either friendship or cats was another person entirely. It certainly felt like she was talking about a time long ago. She looked up at the coffee shop’s entrance and admired the sign. “Le Grand Bebe Cafe,” she liked the way the words rolled out of her mouth. The renaming of the place had been her idea. She’d been thrilled when Marion agreed to it. “It’s what we’ve become known for,” Marion agreed. “Might as well snatch up the name and embrace it before the imitators turn into competition.” Wow! She was thinking of her girlfriend as Marion, instead of Mrs. Thompsons. Double wow! She was thinking of Marion as her girlfriend! It’s amazing what things one took for granted. Nervously, she smoothed out the pleats in her ankle length skirt. Today might be the day. Correction: It would be the day, just the day of what, Jessica wasn’t sure. Was self-sabotaging as nervous as proposing? It definitely felt like it. “Good morning, Jessica,” Samantha called from the counter as Jessica walked in. The girls were working today. On work days, Samantha wore adult clothes over her Pull-Up and acted as the front’s Manager, ignoring the snickers and sneers from the bigger employees. If someone in Pull-Ups was bossing them around, what did that make them? “Good morning, Samantha.” Jessica returned the greeting. A bit of a mechanism that Jessica had thought to introduce to the dynamic: on the clock, she was Samantha. Off the clock, she was Sammy. It wasn’t quite an adult courtesy; more of a desire not to make the poor girl’s life any harder. It had the added bonus of acting as a warning system to the girl when she was getting overconfident. Being called “Sammy” at work warned her that if she wanted to remain at work she’d mind her manners while a full blown “Samantha”’ off the clock signaled that she might be acting a bit too big for her britches. Samantha had adapted well to the signals and no formal explanation had been required; the girl was quite intuitive after all. She also seemed to accept Jessica’s place in their lives. Having another trusted adult around made it so that she had someone else she could ask to take her potty and avoid wetting her pants. Gwenny waddled out in her skimpy dress and drooping diaper, handing coffee to a customer. “Good morning, Jessica!” Jessica blanched almost comically. “Jessica?” “Sorry!” Gwenny said, looking abashed. “I mean, Good Morning Auntie J!” Sammy didn’t have to use the infantilized term of address no matter what. Gwenny did. The difference between pre-kindergarteners who could behave themselves and babies who didn’t know any better. Jessica suspected that Gwenny messed the moniker up on purpose, enjoying the feeling of being corrected. The giggling whispers of patrons who witnessed the exchange signaled that at least someone was enjoying it. “Mommy’s in the back.” Jessica looked over to the Tweener for confirmation. “She’s right,” Samantha said. “Our Mommy is in the back. I think it has something to do with rebranding and advertising?” Whenever possible, Gwenny always said ‘Mommy’ and Samantha said ‘My Mommy’ or ‘Our Mommy’. A name versus a title. Oh, the nuance! Nuance was something Jessica deeply craved. The past sixty days or so had been wonderful. Just not perfect… “Uh ohhhh!” One of the customers practically shouted. Jessica glanced away from the counter to witness Gwenny; knees starting to bend, fists beginning to clench, and the first hints of that far away look. “I know what that look meeeeans!” Everyone with two mature brain cells to rub together knew what it meant. Gwenny’s morning coffee had caught up to her and she was pushing a load into her pants. Overlapping choruses of “Awwwwww,” mixed with giggling “Peee-yoooos,” as Gwenny defecated and desecrated herself. Despite her size, everyone wanted a baby just like her. They wanted her. Not Jessica, though. She already had Gwenny (or at least borrowed her for a few hours a week) so she wasn’t staring from a form of wanting the girl; but out of jealousy of wanting to be her. She didn’t want the pacifiers or furniture, or cute clothes, or lack of agency. But the freedom she had? The freedom to just fill her pants in front of everyone, humiliated and on full display, only so that Marion would lovingly change and rediaper her? That was hot. It was also the one thing that Marion hadn’t given her...yet. Jessica kept hinting that it was something she’d like to try, but her girlfriend kept missing the hints. Not quite, actually; more like ignoring the hints. Marion was uncannily perceptive. She had to know that Jessica wanted more. When Jessica had pressed the issue, her girlfriend had replied, “I already change one messy diaper. I’m not terribly interested in another.” Yet, here she was at this crossroads, ready to see where things landed if rubber met the road. “Good baby, Gwenny!” She gave the baby a pat on the head. “I’m sure your big sister will change you just after her potty break.” “Yes, Auntie J,” Gwenny replied submissively. Jessica took the box of training chocolates and removed the lid. “Open up.” The baby did so and she popped one of the numbing yet bowel irritating candies into the girl’s mouth; rather like a trained seal. It was something that Jessica had been experimenting with. If she was going to do this, she wanted to have an excuse, and Gwenny was a fantastic test subject to figure out how much an adult sized Amazon could take without being properly and irreversibly incontinent. The other advantage to drawing this out was that neither Gwenny nor Samantha had a good opportunity to count how many of the drugged chocolates were missing. Jessica hoped the half chocolate that she’d bitten into would be enough. It wouldn’t be the same if she couldn’t feel it coming out! She wanted to enjoy it. The slight rumbling in her gut informed her that time might be running short if she wanted the right person to see it. “See you in a minute, girls,” Jessica called back as her skirt elegantly swished behind her. This was going to be so hot. Marion would be flabbergasted to the point of infatuation when she saw this. In the fantasies leading up to this, she always pictured Marion being so overcome that she’d take Jessica right over her desk. “Hello, honey!” Jessica said as she popped in. Marion didn’t look up from her ledger. “Hello, dear.” Her faint smile and near monotone belied the way her eyes subtly lit up when the two were alone together. “How has your day been?” “Oh, it’s been…” Jessica froze. It was happening. Her cheeks were spreading. Her guts were pushing. “Ooooh….” she moaned. “What’s happening?” She knew what, but to make this work she wanted to make it look like an accident. A look of concerned.measure from Marion. “Hmmm?” The burbling and disgusting noises coming out her backside came in reply. “Ooooooooooh!” Jessica tried to sound distressed and disgusted as the first wave of mush exited her and started to fill the back of her already wet adult diaper. This was particularly difficult because of how much she was turning herself on. So intense! So sudden! Almost like an orgasm. Watching Marion take it all in made it all worse in the best possible way. Jessica had to clutch her stomach, not out of pain, but.out of necessity. Feeling the mess pour out of her and into her diaper and it spreading around against the back as she was...if she didn’t do SOMETHING with her hands she’d give the game away and start masturbating right there on the spot. Feeling weak, her knees started to buckle, and she collapsed on the ground. “Jessica!” Marion moved to catch her. Too late. “Mmmmmmm!” The feeling of sitting in the dirty diaper: having it break her fall and the contents travel down down down between her legs and smoosh up between her cheeks all while sliding and oozing up towards the crack of her ass and out and around her lower cheeks, threatening to coat her hips. It was too much. It was all too much! She’d done this at home, alone, but just having the woman she loved there witnessing it caused her to hum in something besides feigned fatigue and anguish. Her ruse came to an abrupt end as her bowels emptied and her first climax approached. Jessica hadn’t meant to, but two whispered words escaped her lips. “Ooooooh….yyyyyyeah…” “.....” She laid there on the ground, panting. The sound of her own heart thundering in her ears drowned what Marion was saying “...et ….p!” “GET UP! GET UP, GET UP, GET UP YOU STUPID GIRL! GET UP!” Marion yanked her up by the roots of her hair. “Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!” One hand on Jessica’s hair, the other one roughly yanked down her skirt, leaving her fully loaded backside out and obvious for any employee who happened to walk in. “My desk! Now!” In short, hurried breaths, Jessica tried to lift her leg and swing her hips over Marion Thompson’s desk; to use it like a makeshift changing table. That’s not what her lover had in mind. “Grab the other side, Jessica!” she barked. “Bend over!” Marion sounded much less like her lover right then. She sounded furious; a howling hurricane ready to bring down the wrath of an angry irrational goddess. Terrified, yet thrilled, Jessica bent over. The slight scraping of the long, thick wooden paddle against the floor was the only warning she got before it thundered against her messy bottom. THOCK! “FUUUUUUU-!” THOCK! The second swing cut her off and knocked the wind out of Jessica before she could finish swearing. THOCK! Words, even swear ones, left Jessica and her body produced instead a series of wails when she had enough lung capacity to scream and muffled grunts when she didn’t. THOCK! THOCK! THOCK! Marion let up just enough to ask a question. “Is this it? Is this what you wanted?” “YES!” Jessica gasped. THOCK! “What?!” “YES, MARION!” THOCK! “Excuse me?” “YES, MA’AM!” THOCK! “Come again?” She was about to! “Yes! Yes Mm... M...Mah…….” No. Jessica couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t call the woman who she was desperately in love with ‘Mommy’ “Yes, Marion.” The sigh that flapped in Jessica’s ear was one of utter disgust. “I can’t believe this is happening again,” she heard Marion mutter. “Lay down. Now.” Jessica oozed down to the floor, feeling too weak to reach it any other way. The room was spinning. Her vision was blurry. To top it all off, Jessica was just close enough to a second orgasm to be in a special kind of frustrated agony. The sound of ripping tapes as someone else peeled them from the landing strip was no longer foreign to Jessica. Marion had given her that gift long ago. She luxuriated as once again, her beloved started cleaning up her shame. Something felt different about it though. Less sensual. More business. It was probably just the adrenaline numbing her. “Thank you,” she whispered and got no reply. She’d make this up to Marion, she promised herself. Later on tonight, when the children were bedded she’d fuck Marion’s brains out. Or do that thing she liked so much with her tongue. Marion had earned it. “There we go,” Marion sighed, hiking the front of the fresh diaper up over Jessica’s pelvis. Something was off in her voice. “Baby’s all fresh and clean.” Baby?! Jessica looked down past her breasts. It wasn’t a plain white diaper taped on. It was a baby diaper; or as close as one of Gwenny’s sticker decorated nappies could get. “Huh?” Jessica frowned “Marion? Baby, what’s-?” “Baby?” Marion interrupted. “I’m not the one wearing a diaper. I’m not the one who just got changed out of my messy Monkeez.” Jessica’s attempts to stand up were cut off with Marion cornering her and pulling her shirt right off of her. Somehow, her girlfriend managed to unhook Jessica’s bra, too. Nipples turning rock hard, Jessica found herself in the middle of the floor, naked save for the fresh and infantile undergarment she’d just been put into. Only then, looking at herself, did the forty something Amazon realize that she may have gone too far. “Marion, please! This is a mis-” “I’m not misunderstanding anything, baby girl.” Again, Marion cut her off. “Just because I had an accident doesn’t mean I’m a baby. I’m not a Little.” “Oh, I’m aware of that.” She reached into Gwenny’s diaper bag and pulled out a rattle. Jessica felt stupid when she was handed it. “It wasn’t an accident. I wished for you to restrain yourself, and you didn’t. THAT’s what makes you a baby in my eyes.” “Honey I-” “Mommy,” Marion corrected her. “It’s Mommy now. Or do you need another spanking?” Jessica opened her mouth, and felt genuinely unsure of what she should say. Dare she try another dose of pain and see how far down the rabbit hole she could go? Did she really want to make Marion angrier? She was already risking adoption, as ludicrous as it sounded. Dumped would be better… The door opened behind her. “Mommy,” Samantha called in. “The supply truck is running late and we’re almost out of WHOAH!” Jessica knew she was being looked at. “WHAT in the…?!” The clerk’s body heated up despite the air conditioner being on full blast. This time it wasn’t nearly as pleasant. “Samantha,” Marion said, flatly. “Meet your new baby sister.” “Oh…” It was the only thing out of Samantha’s mouth. The girl sounded just as confused and shocked as Jessica felt. “She’s decided with her actions that she’d be a better baby then a babysitter.” “Oh…did she poop?” The fact that the girl so easily predicted what happened stung more than the paddle, and not in a good way. “I think she’s going to be even more of a LIttle than Gwenny. Perhaps kept in just swaddling, I haven’t decided yet. She’ll be coming home with us tonight and missing her job tomorrow.” A pause. Samantha’s snotty frown infiltrated her very words. “Is she gonna be in our room?” “Perhaps I can rig something up so she stays in my room. A bassinet of sorts.” “Okay…” They were talking over her; talking like she didn’t have any say in her fate. Did she? An Amazon in any kind of diaper was pretty damning evidence. If she couldn’t do the run of shame out the door... “Actually come to think of it, I think she will be a newborn,” Marion changed her tone. There was now a cruel playfulness in her voice. “Samantha, go up to the counter and get the special chocolate milk. If little Jessica wants to just fill her diaper with mush again and again, the best thing we can do is help give her what she wants.” Samantha’s voice likewise mutated. “Do I get to help change her, too? Since I’m big enough.” “Yes,” Marion agreed. “If you’re good.” “NO!” Jessica leapt to her feet. She didn’t care that her tits were bouncing. The rattle clattered to the floor and she turned around. “Samantha,” she said, mustering all the dignity that she could. “Your mother and I need to talk. We need to be alone, please” “You’re not my, Mommy.” Of course Samantha took the opportunity to say that. Marion shooed her away before Samantha had a chance to redirect. “Go manage the front, big girl. I’ll deal with this. Keep everyone out until I say so.” “Yes, Mommy.” The door creaked closed and they were alone. Marion had her hands on her hips and was staring Jessica down. Jessica mimicked her, not caring as if she was naked. They’d already seen each other naked before. “If you’re going to say something, you better say it,” Marion spat. “You need help,” Jessica said plainly. “Lots of it.” The owner of Le Grand Bebe Cafe scoffed. “Says the woman in a diaper.” “Says the woman who just put me in one,” Jessica clapped back. “You’ve got a problem.” Marion actually seemed taken aback. “I’ve got a problem? I’ve got a problem?!” The words sounded unnatural and foreign coming out of her girlfriend’s mouth. “You were wearing diapers like a...like a...sicko before I even met you.” “And you’re a total control freak, even by our standards,” Jessica countered. “And that’s saying something!” Her girlfriend blanched. “Control? Control?! You started today by pretending to be a two year old who got caught behind the couch! And you were getting off on it, too! I could tell!” Jessica stepped forward unafraid. “And you’re so determined to make everyone who gets the least bit close to you to call you Mommy that you try to mold and force everyone into a role that they wouldn’t have otherwise filled! If Gwenny had any other employer she would have been punished or fired! Not adopted! Same with Samantha. I might have just shit myself, but you’re the one who is well and completely ANAL!” “No one talks to me that way…” Marion rubbed her jaw as if she’d been socked in the kisser. “Face it, hun,” Jessica said. “You have a control fetish. Maybe even a Mommy fetish. A cosseting fetish if that’s even a thing.” Hearing those words come out of her mouth seemed...odd. Bitter tasting. Like she was suddenly channeling the psychologist from a decade ago. “No…” Marion didn’t seem too convinced herself. “I don’t. I’m not.” .“And I’ve got a fetish for…” Jessica’s tongue felt cracked and dry. “...for occasionally losing control. And that’s okay.” “What about the girls?” “We’re not talking about the girls,” she half-lied. “We’re talking about us right now.” “What do you want to do about it?” The strangest, most bitter laugh came out from the diapered clerk’s mouth. Then she said, “I want to quit dancing around the subject for once like we’re supposed to, and to just talk about it. Like adults!” “You went against my wishes,” Marion steeled herself back up. “How was I supposed to react?” “You were refusing to meet all of my needs when I was meeting yours. What should I have done?” Marion Thompson tried to say something, but no words seemed to come out. So Jessica took the opening. “I think I’m falling in love with you,” Jessica said plainly. “You make me feel strange wonderful things that I don’t remember ever getting to feel with someone else.” The barest hint of a blush.haunted the owner. “I may have that talent.” “I want to be part of your life,” Jessica pleaded. “But I want to be a part of it on my terms. As an adult.” “Adults don’t wear diapers….” “You lost that offense the moment after you came home from my first time sitting.” Marion’s lips twisted sideways. “True enough. But I can’t have you just shitting yourself to get your jollies off. It will confuse the girls.” “So what? If I indulge you’ll dump me?” Jessica was on the edge of pure incredulity. A glint in the other woman’s eye. ‘No dear,” she said. “But I WILL punish you.” “You’ll…?” The gears slid into place. Even in her anger and fury, Marion Thompson was nothing if not observant, if slightly manipulative. “Oh…” She pursed her lips. “Oh…punishment how?” The throbbing sensation inside of her was beginning to get good again. “Oh I think you just got a taste of what that punishment will be.” Marion picked the paddle back up from her desk and swatted it lightly in the palm of her hand. “Diaper rash will be the least of your worries with regards to your seat.” “Deal!” Jessica realized she sounded a bit too excited. Part of the fun of it for her, she was realizing, was the taboo aspect of it all. Earning a punishment felt so much better than asking for one; even if by the developing rules she’d be literally asking to get her ass paddled. Perhaps that’s why Marion was like she was... “But,” Mrs. Thompson held up her finger. “If you have a poopy accident again and you’re not the one to tell me first, you’ll get worse than just the spanking. It will be back to the nursery for you.” “For how long?” Miss Stoneman asked. Marion slumped a bit and leaned against her desk. Jessica had seen through the oncoming loophole and instead of flinching had called her girlfriend’s bluff. “The day,” Marion said. “Just the day. Or when I need someone to do that trick with their tongue. Whichever comes first, I suppose…” Jessica didn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around the other woman. “I love you!” “I love you too.”The clerk bent over to pick up her bra and her blouse. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” Marion asked. “I’m getting dressed...” “Ah-ah-ah!” Marion wagged. “You still owe me the day. It’s Gwenny’s play blanket for you, remember.” A gasp of indignation. “That agreement was not retroactive!” Marion wasn’ flinching however. “Fine...but only because I owe you. Doing that right in front of you without warning was rude.” “And the tongue thing?” Jessica waddled over to the blanket and sat down as well as she could. “And the tongue thing,” she promised. The end of one story, but not of a relationship… (Fin)

This is a sequel to "Fair is Fair" and "Special" Samantha hated being a Tweener sometimes. Tweeners: Caught between two worlds. To the Amazons, people like Samantha were children; not quite babies like Littles, but not true adults, either. More like Elementary or Middle Schoolers at best. Trustworthy, but not dependable, and certainly not too big to be cut down to size and put back in diapers. (Though as far as the crazy giants were concerned, anybody could be put back in diapers). To the Littles, the Tweeners were either allies of convenience or stooges to the giants. Sometimes allies. Sometimes adversaries. Never really friends; not in a way that mattered. Yeah, there was that shared bond of being terrified of the giant people, and there were no only children or atheists in foxholes. But if push came to shove, an Amazon would much prefer to baby a Little than to settle for a Tweener. Samantha would know. She had a few Little friends growing up in her neighborhood. When one of them got snatched up by a random Amazon, due to a failed pantie check, Samantha had been given a choice: Reach into the giant woman’s diaper bag like a good and responsible girl or get put back in diapers herself. After all, only babies tried to help other babies be naughty and wear big girl panties. Her Little friends had stopped talking to her after that. Screw them. They’d have done the same thing. Tweeners and Littles couldn’t really protect each other from the Amazons and the Amazons would never accept a Tweener as a “true adult” or whatever rationale they used to justify their behaviors. Too much Little in them to be respected by Amazons and too much Amazon in them to be loved by Littles. That’s what the rationale was anyway. Tweeners: The Third People. Born out of when Littles and Amazons bred with each other. Samantha didn’t completely buy that line, either. She’d never seen a pairing of Amazon and Little where the Little wasn’t cast as a baby. Her own parents and grandparents were Tweeners and all the Tweeners she knew had Tweener parents. She was aware of a few rich and famous pairings between an Amazon and a Tweener, but as far as she could tell, the status of the child was largely determined by the mother; either a tall-ish Tweener that was a head or two taller than their mother, or a short Amazon who was a head or two shorter. Little and Tweeners pairings were even rarer and Samantha had heard of it only in theory. The entire Littles community did its level best to isolate itself socially. An understandable reflex when it seemed that eight out of ten interactions with the taller folk resulted in firing from one’s job and permanent enrollment at a daycare somewhere. A Little and an Amazon though? In love? Boinking?: The physical mechanics of sex, pregnancy, and birth were both hilarious and horrifying. Samantha couldn’t picture that ending well. Pain and possibly death for the woman if Little, and just complete and utter lack of satisfaction if an Amazon with a much smaller lover. But that’s where Tweeners originated from. So said the Amazons, and the Amazons made the rules, including history. And according to the rules, the best and only way to survive as a Tweener was to throw the attention on someone else. Be the world’s middle child. Better to make the short ones envious and be overlooked by the big ones. Speaking of “big ones”... “Oh, I think you’re so much better like this, don’t you?” Two Amazons: Both in their forties at least were in the Ladies’ Restroom. The one currently speaking was in a gray pantsuit, her hair the kind of blonde that only came out of a bottle, and her graying eyebrows all but testified to it. Samantha had a decent eye for detail, and rarely forgot an Amazon’s face; mostly as a survival technique. This particular woman had never been in the shop before, Samantha was certain, but there was something familiar about her nonetheless...a family resemblance of sorts. The second woman, Samantha definitely remembered seeing. Only last time she was the one in the business suit. Now? Not so much. Nothing about her current state of dress could be considered business,or a suit. The light pink shirt looked like something that would be sold at a Mega-Mart; something that would be a casual sleep shirt or part of a lazy weekend wardrobe when you didn’t care what you looked like...the kind that people wore to places like Mega-Mart. Even with the Carpet Mice picture on the front, it wasn’t anything that might be considered scandalous for an Amazon to wear. It was something an Amazon Mom (or more likely Mommy) might wear when playing with their kids. The cartoon about adopted Littles and their bratty Tweener friend had been around long enough to be retro-chic and nostalgi However when taken in context with the rest of her outfit, that big baggy t-shirt was hands down the most grown-up thing the other Amazon was wearing. The white bonnet looked like something out of a costume shop, or maybe a period piece about Easter in the Old West. The pink tights being yanked down to her ankles might have come from a ballet shop. The matching plastic pants that followed were largely unnecessary save to add bulk and a bit of extra infantile aesthetic to the very soaked and very messy adult diaper that was just now showing itself. Amazons had yet to invent a pacifier that could effectively gag one of their own, but this one was doing its job well enough. The woman on the changing table looked like she was sucking on the dummy just to prevent herself from screaming; preserving her dignity and cementing her image as a giant toddler. The usual crowd of gawkers were already gathering in to watch the latest show. Ever since the owner, Mrs. Thompson, had taken a new managerial style, more and more locals were turning on each other. Were untaken Littles that scarce or were Amazons just that crazy? Maybe the big ones getting laid out on the changing table made the ones still standing feel superior or justified in how they treated the little ones? Both? Neither? It didn’t matter as long as Samantha wasn’t the one crinkling. Regardless of the reason, every time an Amazon was laid down, the looky loos would want to peek inside and casually have a look. Go figure. Four out of five times, the Amazon getting changed was Gwenny, Mrs. Thompson’s toy and pet project. Gwenny used to be Samantha’s bossy co-worker and a nightmare to deal with, (like most Amazons). Samantha helped take care of that. And for whatever reason, the stars aligned, and a switch flipped in either Gwenny’s and/or Mrs. Thompson’s brain. Gwenny was proof that Amazons were really no better than Littles...just not in a way that kept a single Little out of a crib. Lately though, more and more were following Mrs. Thompson’s lead. An office park was sending interns over for a more than healthy dose of public shaming and humiliation; a way to turn the pressure up and remind them that even they weren’t as grown-up as the people signing their paychecks. The lady who was about to get changed now didn’t look like a stereotypical intern, however. “Yes,” the more powerful, more adult woman cooed down. “I definitely think you look much better like this, Baby Tricia.” She lifted the other woman’s legs and gave her messy bottom a pat. “Muuuuuch better.” ‘Baby Tricia’ (though she was probably Patty or Patricia before now) just moaned pathetically and sucked on her pacifier, trying not to cry. Oooooh. Samantha knew that face. Last time, this woman had been changing diapers instead of wearing them. Oh, how the tables had turned. Samantha weaved in and out of the Amazon bodies, making sure to quietly say “Excuse me” just in case. The customers were too busy sipping on their lattes and/or watching the free show to take much notice of her. Sometimes it was good to be a Tweener. The woman in control ripped all four tapes off the diaper. “Poor Baby Tricia,” she taunted, “thought you could shape company policy, and you did. But you forgot something: Adults ask for permission. Children ask for forgiveness.” The babied woman lifted her legs so that her tormentor could wipe her bottom with baby wipes. “Yush Ma’am,” she mumbled around the pacifier. The Tweener had wormed her way to the front and walked into the bathroom. The words she was hearing sent a jolt straight to the pleasure centers of her brain. Littles in this situation were either completely overwhelmed, brain dead, or just plain dead inside. All Littles know the day they went to daycare might come. If they hadn’t been mentally broken, this was just what would be another day to them; no different than the children they were forced to pretend to be. Not interesting in the least. Samantha couldn’t bear to look at the odd Tweener that found themselves on a changing table. Just another failure. Someone who’d failed at the balancing act between Little and Amazon and tilted towards Little. A real Don’t Let This Happen To You. But Amazons? Ooooh, that was something special. To see the humiliation in their eyes. The realization that they were no better than any of the smaller folk. The cognitive dissonance and embarrassment when they’d been told that they’d objectively failed at the maturity and adulthood that was supposed to come so naturally to the giants. To see that realization and moment when they finally realized how badly they were screwed. Samantha just HAD to see that. Every time. A rare few, like Gwenny, found that they liked failing. To them, an Amazon’s absurdly high expectations were just.a matter of projection; a literal case of treating others like they wanted to be treated. Those rare few tended to be better people once their needs were met. Gwenny was infinitely more pleasant to have around the shop than ‘Gwendolyn’ had ever been. Most were just humiliated that they’d fallen so far and found themselves stuck in their own personal horror story. Samantha liked that, too. Oh how awful it was for them! At the very least, when (not if) they earned their big girl panties back, they’d be less brazen bullies. That bit of humility force fed to them was damn near intoxicating. And then there were the rare few...but more on that later… “You also forgot to do your research,” the woman doing the diapering mocked. “Like who’s daughter it was that you dragged down here.” Oh that! THAT! That’s where she knew this poor crazy bitch from. The lady on the changing table had brought over an intern to do the ol’ song and dance. There was even mention that this ritual might turn into a matter of disciplinary policy in the office across the way. Poor not-so-Little girl had been brought in and given nearly the full treatment. Becky, her name was. If the contours of the older woman’s face were any indicator, Baby Tricia had pissed off Rebeccah’s flesh and blood mother, and Mother Dearest must have outranked her to boot. Now the forty-something Amazon was getting a big heaping helping of her own medicine. Oh how the mighty had fallen! Samantha was almost drooling. She had to do something! She had to! She couldn’t resist. “Excuse me, Ma’am.” Samantha said, her voice amplified by the near empty bathroom. She stood up, back straight and head up with her arms folded behind her back. Perfectly at ease. Perfectly mature. “Can I offer some assistance?” The Amazon in charge looked at her own eye level first, then plummeted down to Samantha’s mid section, before adjusting to her eye level. A scowl turned to a smile turned to a quizzical look. That’s how it usually went with Amazons and Tweeners. “I’m quite capable of doing this myself, thank you young lady.” There was the slightest edge of ‘go away’ hinted at in there. Samantha should have gone away and scurried off. She had other matters to attend to, being manager and all. And yet… “Oh, I have no doubt about that, Ma’am. I just noticed the baby’s diaper and-” “Oh yes,” the woman interrupted. “Baby Tricia is such a stinky bum! Yes she is! Yes she is!” She leaned over and pinched the woman’s nose. “That’s why we came here. This is the only place that has a changing table that’ll fit her and I wouldn’t think of changing her on the dirty ol’ office floor!” The prone woman’s whole body started to turn pink. “But if we need to, I have no problem buying her a special changing mat!” Samantha caught a flare of surprise and panic in the babied woman’s eyes. Potty probation hadn’t been assured, yet. “Absolutely,” Samantha agreed. “I just noticed that the baby’s diaper seems a little...adult…?” The woman balled up the dirty diaper and tossed it in the trash. She rolled her eyes, good naturedly. “That’s because Tricia is a VERY big baby, and baby diapers don’t come in her size.” The Tweener looked down at the ground. “Not necessarily…” “What...?” Samantha bit her lip. “I might be able to get a diaper or two that would look positively adorable on her.” She was already starting to feel all tingly. “That way she could show off her diaper and no one would be confused about what she was. No need for tights and plastic pants.” Then she tacked on. “If you wanted of course.” A bemused smirk on the towering giant’s face. “And what would this cost me?” Nothing. Samantha wanted to say nothing. She’d do this kind of thing for free. But it wasn’t her diapers she was offering. “Three dollars..” she said. “A diaper, I mean.” The matron stroked her chin in thought. The punished middle manager shook her head ever so slightly, begging for mercy. The one in charge must have seen it. “Deal.” She reached into her purse and took out a ten. “Get me three and I’ll pay you once I’m done putting one on her.” “MmmmNo!” The cry rang out so that everyone could hear. Samantha had to bite down on her tongue to force herself not to shudder. It wasn’t a shudder of revulsion, either... “Hush, Tricia,” the woman replied. She started stripping the tights and plastic pants off the woman. “If you’re as big as you think you are, you’ll only need to wear one of them. Just no more accidents the rest of the day and you can use the big girl potty at work.” Samantha rushed out of the bathroom, the gears in her head being propelled with sparks of delight. “ Excuse me, pardon me, pardon me. Customer service.” She took a breath and looked at some of her Amazon co-workers. “Veronica, don’t forget to restock. Manny, I think you missed a spot on the floor.” In one breath she was scraping and bowing towards the customers who assumed she must not be in charge. In the next she was giving orders to co-workers to prevent them from gawking (or noticing what she was up to). All the while she was planning three steps ahead just so that she could indulge in a bit of scheming. Such was life. As a Tweener anyhow. “Gwenny,” Samantha said as she pulled aside the lowest ranking member of the staff. Gwenny technically didn’t get paid anymore. Gwenny wasn’t technically a grown-up anymore. An adult, yes. But the giant poofy diaper that was not at all covered up by her custom toddler dress and pastel socks that went, broadcast who she really was on the inside. Gwenny was the first. The first time that Samantha got to experience victory and control...even by proxy. Gwenny was proof that Amazons practiced what they preached; and that they weren’t nearly as high and mighty as they thought. “Yes, Samantha?” Gwenny asked. “Did I spill a drink again?” Her hand ran down her backside and between her legs briefly. “Or did I leak? Oh gosh, I’m sorry!” Gwenny also hadn’t used a toilet in a long time. She was almost incontinent these days. “Can you check me?” Under normal circumstances, Samantha would have taken the opportunity. She loved making the giant baby squirm and blush with the slightest pat to her bottom (and a very loud exclamation about the status of her diaper). Under normal circumstances, she didn’t have a bigger payoff waiting in the bathroom next to an impatient matriarch type. “You’re fine, Gwenny. Go get your diaper bag.” “But you said…?” “They’re not for you.” Samantha corrected. “But they’re too big for y..ow!” Samantha had to pinch Gwenny to quiet her down. Damn, she wished she was just a smidge taller. “A lady is changing her baby in the bathroom,” Gwenny said. Then she sprinkled a little white lie. “But she’s a new Mommy and the vending machine is broken.” “Oooooh!” Gwenny said. “That makes sense.” It did, didn’t it? “Okay. I’ll be a good helper!” Gwenny waddled over behind the counter and got out her diaper bag.. Mrs. Thompson did all of the changing where the overlarge baby was concerned, but Gwenny still kept her diaper bag behind the counters where the rest of the ladies kept their purses and such. Gwenny said it was because she liked pretending to be big while she was helping. Samantha suspected it was the owner reminding the rest of the staff that a similar fate might await them if they ever fell too far down the ladder. There were worse things than being fired… “Here you go, boss!” Gwenny said, picking up a folded diaper out of her bag and waving it around for all to see. Samantha walked up and took the diaper. “Two more, please,” she said. “For just in case.” “But…” Samantha rolled her eyes. “I’ll pay you ten whole dollars. You can buy yourself a dessert” Fuck it. This wasn’t about the money, anyways. Two more diapers found themselves stacked in Samantha’s arms. Kids. No matter how big or old, they were always bribable. “This better be worth it,” the head Amazon said. “I’m sure Tricia’s getting...oh!” She took the diapers from Samantha and examined them with the same intensity as an archeologist pouring over a mysterious artifact from the fabled lost city of Atlanta. Gwenny wasn’t just an Amazon on punishment. Mrs. Thompson had gone all out. Instead of an obvious medical diaper, something that might be used for the infirm but otherwise grown-up, Gwenny wore special all white padding. It was almost exactly like what babies and Littles wore. The stickers that Gwenny added on in her free time for decorations more than made up the difference. ‘Tricia’s’ boss/Mommy let out an audible gasp. “This! This! Oh yes!” She wasted no time in unfolding and fluffing the top diaper “Do you approve, Ma’am?” Samantha really needn’t have asked. She could tell. Samantha approved too. The look of humiliation and realization dawning on the other woman’s face. Realizing that she’d have to wear something that babyish. Without tights. Without any sort of covering or obfuscation. She’d just have to tug and tug and tug on the t-shirt, even though it wouldn’t come down nearly far enough. And she’d be constantly thinking about it with every bit of movement, hyper aware that at any moment someone could just come up and check her. She probably avoided that little indignity because of the multiple layers. Not anymore. Not as the new diaper was slid underneath her and she was powdered and oiled back up. Samantha wasn’t wearing a diaper, and she didn’t have to pee, but she was definitely feeling wet. Far too soon, Tricia was all taped up and back on her feet. Samantha wished she could have taken just a little bit longer. “Oh this is much better,” the head woman said. “My compliments to the Manager.” “Thank you very much.” Samantha replied. “I am the manager.” She pointed to the pin that the other woman clearly hadn’t bothered to read. “Oh that’s wonderful. Say thank you, Tricia.” “Fankyoo,” the humiliated giant blushed and mumbled past her pacifier. Oh how to make this moment last? Another bit of inspiration. “Would you like to give your baby a fresh bottle of milk?” Samantha asked. “Complimentary? As a treat?” The woman finished packing Tricia’s two remaining diapers away into her bag. “That sounds lovely.” She fished out a baby bottle that had only been filled with water. Clearly this punishment was straight amateur hour over at the office. Samantha took the bottle. “Wonderful! I’ll meet you and Baby Tricia,” just saying the name out loud gave the Tweener the best kind of chills. Another round “Excuse me’s” and a quick hassling of her fellows to do routine maintenance while filling out orders for the post lunch rush later, Samantha was behind the counter again. She dumped out the baby bottle and gave it a quick wipe with a clean towel. She reached into the tiny fridge and grabbed the milk. When the bottle was halfway full, Samantha’s eyes settled onto Gwenny’s special syrup...another infamous concoction...a little something something that did more than turn the milk chocolatey. A brief scene played back in Samantha’s eyes. “Why not chocolate milk?” Patricia/Baby Tricia had asked Mrs. Thompson when she’d been the one diapering instead of diapered. “Do you plan to keep...Rebeccah in diapers forever and make her your baby Becky?” Mrs. Thompson has asked. “That remains to be seen for the moment.” “Then whether or not she gets chocolate milk remains to be seen as well.” Then the promise that Patricia would get out of diapers as long as she didn’t have any more accidents… “Here’s your baby’s milk!” Samantha chirped. “I even made it chocolate for her!” “Oh chocolate! Babies loooove chocolate! Don’t they?” ‘Baby Tricia’, knew exactly what was in that bottle. “Please…” she whimpered. The pacifier fell directly out of her mouth. “Not that. Not the chocolate milk.” Oh how the tables had turned! It was delicious. Sweeter than chocolate! “That’s not very nice,” her supervisor said. Tears started rolling down Baby Tricia’s face as the nipple was placed between her lips and she began to obediently suckle. Maybe the relatively low dosage wouldn’t affect her compared to a Little. Maybe… Gwenny crinkled past Samantha and grabbed the next few drinks, reading out names and then toddling out the tables, squeaking and squealing when she was given a pat on the butt and a “good baby”. Then again... If this woman was as ‘nice’ as Mrs. Thompson was, maybe Baby Tricia would get a new job passing out mail or whatever someone with the body of a forty something and the authority of a two year old might be allowed to do. Samantha was handed a twenty. “For the diapers and a tip for going the extra mile.” She gave a winning smile and burned the image of the crying baby woman in her mind. With the pairs leaving, and the practical baby blood frenzy dying down with the rest of the customers, Samantha opened the cash register, broke the twenty, and gave Gwenny half. Fair was fair. She turned her half of the tip into ones and slunk off yet again to the ladies’ room. “I’m going on break,” she said to no one in particular. “Won’t be long.” Using the wooden triangle wedge, Samantha blocked the door from opening and checked all the stalls. She’d need privacy for this. First she put the money in the diapered vending machine and pressed the buttons at the top, for the Amazon/Adult diapers. Three of them. She’d decided to replace the ones she’d sold from Gwenny. Just in case Mrs. Thompson checked and realized the bag wasn’t as full as it should be. Chances are she wouldn’t notice, or care. She’d get the diapers later. Next, she unplugged the machine. It was “Out of Order”, officially. That was her backup excuse. Obviously that naughy baby Tricia had managed to unplug it to try and escape getting changed. That was Samantha’s alibi. Alibis could wait... It was a bit of a jump to get on the changing table, but nothing Samantha couldn’t handle. She felt the warmth of Baby Tricia still on the mat. Could still smell the traces of baby powder and oil that hadn’t quite made it into the diaper… This. This is where Amazon pride came to die. This is where they were crushed and made to feel as small and helpless and embarrassed as the rest of the world. Samantha laid back and snuck her hand down the front of her pants. This wouldn’t take long. Not with the memory so fresh in her head. Samantha almost wished she had a pacifier. It might be nice to have something to moan into while she masturbated. Instead, she exercised a modicum (but just am modicum) of self-control as she softly climbed into orgasm. Total elapsed time? Three minutes. Maybe four. Five by the time she washed her hands and snuck the plain medical diapers in with Gwenny’s remaining Amazon Baby ones. Such was life for a Tweener. Life was good. For her anyways. ********************************************************************************************** Just after closing time that night. Samantha sent everyone home and stayed behind to clean up. She just finished mopping the bathrooms. “You wanted to see me, Ma’am?” Samantha asked before she was all the way in Mrs. Thompson’s office. It was a strategy of sorts. Sooner asked. Sooner out. Seem both on the ball and appropriately nervous and subservient. Even with all of the progress she’d made over the last half a year, Samantha was still properly terrified of the shop’s owner. Amazons were predators. Crocodiles and sharks. Littles were their prey. They’d run and hide, but it was always a matter of ‘when’, not ‘if’. Samantha got as far as she had by being one of those tiny animals that formed a symbiotic relationship. The birds and fish that cleaned the bigger meaner animal’s teeth. The food chain’s middle management position. “Samantha,” Mrs. Thompson said without looking up. “Come in.” Samantha’s legs trembled. This time it was because of dread. She went in anyways. A sideways glance towards Gwenny off in the corner. She was playing with some dolls on a heavy blanket with plastic tea-cups. A chalkboard was propped up on the wall. It was just big enough to write the word ‘coffea’ on it. Which Gwenny did. Used her non-dominant hand, from the absolute atrocious handwriting. The big baby worked in a coffee shop for no pay, being constantly talked down to...and pretended to do the same thing while her Mommy finished working with the books. Gwenny either had no imagination or the absolute best imagination. Gwenny was a reminder that predators would kill and eat other predators. They’d also snap up the little birds and fish that cleaned their teeth if they were hungry enough or if the poor animals weren’t fast enough to avoid the jaws of death. Samantha’s sideways glance lingered, perhaps a moment too long. Gwenny’s diaper was flashing each and every way as she crawled around and bent and stood filling imaginary tea cups full with imaginary ‘coffea’. It looked clean enough, but it had the same colored stripe and ugly font that was common with adult diapers. Uh oh. The Tweener took a seat on the chair across from the owner’s desk. “Yes, Mrs. Thompson?” “What happened to Gwenny’s diapers?” Mrs. Thompson did not look up. Already? It hadn’t even been a full day. She’d been careful to replace them and put them near the back of the bag. Had Gwenny needed changing that badly? Samantha took a deep breath. No time to play dumb. That wasn’t the play here. “A customer n-n-needed one from the vending machine,” Samantha choked out. “And the vending machine was out of order.” Mrs. Thompson put down her pen, but still didn’t look directly at Samantha. She was an ambush predator lying in wait. “Go on.” “And they were in the middle of a change and so…” “So you decided to help an inferior Mommy who didn’t have the appropriate supplies for her child?” That was a question more loaded than the back of Gwenny’s pants just before lunch break. Most people would freeze here. Samantha wasn’t most people. “Only in the same way that I help an inferior forager who doesn’t have the appropriate supplies for their own coffee…?” She let the final inflection of a question creep in, just so that her retort wouldn’t be mistaken for defiance. “So you sold the diapers?” Mrs. Thompson looked up for the first time. “You didn’t just give them away?” “No ma’am. It was umm... transactional…?” “That’s right, Mommy.” Gwenny called over from her fake tea party. “I got ten whole dollars!” Samantha wanted to vomit. Instead she powered through. “And I made sure to replace them.” “Replace them, how?” Mrs. Thompsons said. Slowly, deliberately, she stood up. “I thought the vending machine in the restroom was broken?” “I fixed it…” Like a snake coiling around a juicy mouse, Mrs. Thompson circled around her desk. Like a mouse transfixed by the cobra, Samantha sat, frozen. “Fixed it and then unplugged it again? I found it unplugged. Funny, because if it was unplugged or broken as you said, you couldn’t have replaced Gwenny’s diapers.” Shit! She knew! Inside her own head Samantha screamed at herself. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Of course she knew! She should have either replaced OR unplugged the machine! Not both! She could have blamed incompetence on the customer and say that she didn’t know how to use the vending machine properly, and so Samantha expedited things along. Or she could have not replaced the diapers and pretended she didn’t know that the damn thing was unplugged. She would have gotten flack for it, probably a not-quite empty threat, but such an oversight could be overlooked. She was a Tweener. She had a bit of Little in here. These things could happen. It was almost like...almost like... “Really,” Mrs. Thompson said, “it’s almost like you wanted to get caught…” Giant hands began to reach down for the Tweener. “Men’s room.” The whisper came out of Samantha so fast and so quiet that Samantha barely heard it herself.. “I got those out of the machine in the men’s room. After the customer left. When there was no one else there.” They stopped. “Beg pardon?” The lie came so naturally to Samantha. “Replacement diapers. Men’s room. I paid Gwenny for her diapers. Gave some to the customer, and then replaced them with some from the men’s room machine when no one was in there.” It was amazing what a natural shot of adrenaline could do for the brain. “I didn’t think to see if the ladies’ room was plugged in. I didn’t want to question the customer!” The men’s room saw just about as much foot traffic as the ladies’ room, but not nearly as much as the new changing traffic. Daddies would bring in their Little boys and Little girls, sure enough, but the vending machine was about as unused as ever. Diaper vendors weren’t supposed to see as much use in general. Most parents had a fully stocked bag, with the machine in case of unexpected blowouts and such. But with the uptick Amazon on Amazon punishment, most weren’t prepping far enough ahead to have a fully stocked bag. And for whatever reason, the ones doing the diapering were disproportionately women. The men’s changing vendor could be full to bursting or derelict. Samantha was gambling that not even Mrs. Thompson knew. “Clever girl.” Mrs. Thompson said. “Almost too clever.” She shouldn’t have, she knew, but the Tweener felt herself relax a tiny bit. In a weird way she took the remark as a compliment. “Thank you.” “Are they your diapers?” Samantha jolted. “What?” “Are they your diapers?” the owner repeated. “To give away? To sell? To trade? Did you pay for them? Were they gifted to you?” More fear. More panic. “Gwenny said it’d be-!” “They’re not Gwenny’s to give away! She’s a BABY!” Samantha could feel the intense heat radiating off the older Amazon. “She has no say about her diapers. They are hers only in that she wears them, just like you’re a manager only in that I pay you to be! I pay for them! I say how they are to be used and who they are to be used by. Is that clear?!” Samantha’s reply came out as a most pitiful squeak. “Yes Ma’am. Sorry Ma’am.” “Good. Now get up and bend over.” The everything rushed away from Samantha’s face. Color. Blood. Heat. Everything. “Excuse me?” “You heard me, you bratty little girl.” Mrs. Thompson said. “Stand up and bend over across the chair, or you're fired.” She might as well have been stating the law of gravity, her voice was so definite. “But...but!” “You stole from me. I can forgive it because of the good intentions and the lack of evidence to the contrary...” she paused. “But you still deserve a lesson.” Samantha wanted to swallow her own tongue. This is how it started. This is how it always seemed to start. That or just being snatched up. “But-” “Your choice. Admit you made a mistake and bend over, or admit you’re lying to me and be fired.” “I’m not a…” Alarm bells! Don’t say the B-word around the Amazons. “I’m an adult!” “That’s why you’re getting a choice.” Mrs. Thompson said, her hands on her hips. “Would you like to lose that choice and go over my knee?” She should quit. Samantha knew she should quit. She should just politely say that she was keeping what small morsel of dignity she had left, walked out, cried into her computer at home and started job hunting tomorrow. She’d already hung up her apron for the night. It would be easy enough to find a new job. Amazons liked having a Tweener or two around to boss around. To boss around. She’d be starting back from the bottom. And there were very few jobs around here that let a Tweener advance. None of her friends her size had a management position. And rent was coming due. The uptick in pay she’d received had only resulted in an uptick in spending habits. She had nothing saved yet. Samantha needed this job. The young woman steeled herself. She turned around. Closed her eyes, and bent over the chair, gripping onto the far legs to brace herself. “Pants and underwear down.” Samantha’s eyes shot wide and she suppressed a question or an exclamation. If she spoke up it’d just escalate. Best to just take the licks and pretend this had never happened tomorrow. Mrs. Thompson probably had a paddle somewhere around here, just waiting to be swung. She did as she was told. And looked back down. This was better than most Littles got, she told herself. This would hurt (and it was going to hurt), but at least she could brace herself and stare at a wall. Littles had to look their tormentor’s in the eye when they were being violated. Better bent over than on her back. Fire! A thousand massive flames enveloped her backside. This hurt! More than she could have prepared for! It did more than sting! The blow rocketed all the way through her spine! Again! More pain! Torture! The kind that could drive someone insensate! Ritualistic pain! Exquisite pain. When an animal bit you it was to kill or else get away. This pain served no such purpose. Pain for the sake of pain! A third blow! And a fourth in rapid succession! Still, Samantha did not scream. She did not cry. The breath was all but knocked out of her from the first blow and she had to inhale in gasping little bursts through her nose. She was too afraid to open her mouth. Don’t cry. Don’t be bawl. Don’t wail. Don’t be like the Littles and the disgraced Amazons who ended up on the changing table. Finally, on the fifth blow, Samantha let out a noise. It was entirely involuntary. Less a scream and more of a grunt; her body’s automatic response of needing to exhale rapidly but lacking the capacity to get it all out through her nose, her vocal chords rattled instead. Her mouth stayed closed. It was more a hum of pain than a cry. But it was seemingly enough. “You’re done.” Samantha stood up. Her head was spinning, her brain buzzing. To counter the pain, her body was releasing adrenaline and endorphins (were those even separate things…? She couldn’t think clearly). Her whole body shook even as the tenderness of bruises was starting to form. “Thank you…” she whispered. “What was that?” It had less of the angry matronly tone Mrs. Thompson adopted, and more of a slightly bewildered tone. “Nothing…” The giant’s hand maneuvered underneath Samanth’s chin and made her look up. “No. What did you say?” “I said...thank you.” “For what?” Mrs. Thompson seemed confused. Samantha wasn’t entirely sure what to say either. “For letting me keep my job.” Mrs. Thompson blinked. A tinge of disappointment in her face. “You’re welcome.” The way her upper lip curled up a bit made Samantha think she didn’t quite mean it. Remembering herself, Samantha hunched over and started to pull her pants back up. Two giant fingers hooked themselves in the waistline, halting her. “Hold on.” Mrs. Thompson said. “What’s this?” “What’s wha-?” Samantha stopped and looked down between her legs. A spot. The tiniest bit of discoloration on her otherwise pristine underwear. A bit of off blue, in a field all but absorbed and evaporated by the cotton. Something even she wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t already known what to look for. “Did someone have an...accident?” Amazons must have blacklight vision! The owner’s face twisted into an almost euphoric yet sinister grin. A junkie was getting her fix. The cat just realized that the bird cage was open. The Tweener fell all over herself, tumbling to the floor and yanking her underwear back over her, clutching it like a life raft. “Mrs. Thompson!” She squeaked. “It’s not what you think! I didn’t pee myself! I...I…” “Oh I know what you did to yourself, young lady. The real question is ‘when’? Did you spend all day in dirty panties? A bit of big girl fun before bed and you couldn’t even be bothered to change when you got up?” “No!” “So you did this while at work? Very naughty!” She reached down, her hands aiming for Samantha’s pants. “I know just what to do with naughty girls.” “Oooooooooo!” Now Gwenny was adding in her two cents. NO! NO! Not like this! “Mrs. Thompson!” Samantha begged. “Please! Mercy!” The hands froze. Something else clicked in the big woman’s face. She stopped. She stood up straight, her back stiff and her eyes only half open. “Mercy?” she said. “Mercy?” Samantha shifted her hips and shimmied her pants back up herself. Not standing. Not daring to look away. “Yes, please!” A smirk. “Very well. You may go. We’ll discuss this in the morning.” A pause. “If you decide to show up...in clean panties.” The Tweener woman had nothing else she could say. She couldn’t even manage a ‘Yes, Ma’am’ or a ‘Thank you’. Or a scream or a panicked shudder. She just ran out of the office, out the door, and to her car, praying that Mrs. Thompson or her baby weren’t on her heels. ********************************************************************************** “You wanted to see me, Mrs. Thompson?” Samantha did not look at her employer’s face. She just stared at her sneakers, every muscle in her body tensed and ready to flee. She shouldn’t even be here. In a just world, she’d have quit. In a just world, she’d have been fired. Fuck that. In a just world, she wouldn’t have the legitimate fear of being spanked and then babied by her employer. The world wasn’t just. “I have a gift for you.” Mrs. Thompson said. She held out the package expectantly until Samantha looked up and took it. “You’re welcome.” Samantha stared at the package: “Bloomerz” Samantha read the package aloud. “For Tweeners and Amazons potty training late. Now, with fade when wet designs and easy open sides.” She gulped. “Diapers?” It was very difficult to tell the difference between Littles, Tweeners, and Amazons without a decent sense of scale. That definitely wasn’t a child model on the front, grinning in her pink shirt and matching padding. “Disposable training pants,” Mrs. Thompson corrected. “The kind that you can pull up and on all by yourself.” She rotated the package and pointed to a diagram on the back. “With a clothlike cover and decorations, just like big kid underwear. Isn’t that wonderful?” “Um…” Samantha knew she had to couch her response very carefully. “I appreciate the thought. Thank you.” She took a half step back. “I should start prepping…” “Put them on.” It was not a request. “Excuse me?” Samantha had heard the command. Her brain just didn’t dare process it. No wiggle room was being given. “You can put them on like a big girl,” the owner repeated. “Or I can put you in something else.” Samantha felt her jaw go slack. “I’ll not have my manager walking around in dirty panties for hours at a time.” Her glare intensified. “Or doing naughty things in public.” The Tweener’s face sank. She shouldn’t have come in today. She might be able to run out now if she bolted and didn’t slow down. Did she lock her car or leave it open? She wouldn’t be able to outrun an Amazon if she had to waste those precious few seconds unlocking her car. “You still are my store manager, aren’t you? Still my big girl?” Something about that phrasing did something to Samantha. She was being condescended to and given a compliment at the same time; as much as an Amazon tended to compliment one such as her. “Do you need my help?” “Can I do it in private?” Samantha asked. “How would I know you did it then? That I can trust you?” The (for now it seemed) Manager gulped. “I meant, can I do it without Gwenny here?” Gwenny looked up from her dolls, still sucking on a pacifier to keep her quiet. “You don’t have anything Gwenny hasn’t already seen.” Samantha shuddered. To have been spanked in front of the woman she’d surpassed, that had arguably been the worst part. “Am I still being punished?” she asked. “No,” Mrs. Thompson lied. “These are just to help you. Remind you. Just because you’re not being punished doesn’t mean you’ve earned trust.” Samantha looked back towards Gwenny. “Then I’d like some privacy, please.” She said. “No babies.” Her throat was forming a lump, and she couldn’t tell if it was out of fear or anger. “I understand modesty.” Gwenny’s face collapsed around her dummy. Perhaps the girl had a smidgen of pride left in her, despite the number of times she’d been changed in public. The expression doubled over when Mrs. Thompson said. “Gwenny, go set up your serving station.” “But Mommy-!” Gwenny whined. “No buts,” her Mommy interrupted. “Or are you also a bad girl that gets naughty seeing her friends get embarrassed?” Scarlet rose to Samantha’s cheeks. Mrs. Thompson had guessed certain motivations. Was she that easy to read? Or was her boss guessing her motivations so easily because she had them herself. It would explain a lot. With the quietest huff, Gwenny crinkled out of the office, mumbling pseudo-obscenities around her pacifier. “There,” Mrs. Thompson ripped open the package of pull-ups. “No more stalling. Gwenny should only be left alone for so long. Get to it, missy.” It was like being at the doctor’s office. Or the hospital. It was just changing into a hospital gown, metaphorically speaking. Just kick off her shoes, drop her pants and underwear, and slip on the new garment. It was a bit like a maxi pad, this new Pull-Up. A bit thicker, but not too terribly much. Certainly not as bad as a diaper. She went to get her pants, but Mrs. Thompson reached out and snatched them. Oh no...please no! “But-!” “You’ll get to wear them.” Mrs. Thompson said. “I just want your attention first.” Samantha froze. “You’re a big girl, but you’re going to be wearing these just in case…” The Amazon didn’t specify ‘just in case what’. “And because you’ve been naughty in my store, you’re going to need permission to go to the potty.” Images of her co-workers -mostly Amazons and a handful of Tweeners- the people she was supposed to be giving order to holding the permission over her, “Permission from whom?” Gwenny wouldn’t think to. A few of the others might just tell her to hold it for spite. Then she’d end up peeing herself, then she’d end up just like Gwenny. Just. Like. Gwenny. “Mine, of course.” The owner said. “And I’ll be watching you. Making sure you don’t have any accidents.” Samantha grit her teeth. “And what if I have an...accident?” Better to ask now. Amazons had a habit of making up the rules as they went along, but they tended to stick to rules that they’d already made up. Best to know the rules now. “That depends.” Mrs. Thompson said. “Are you a big girl, or a baby?” Samantha didn’t answer. She didn’t like that ‘adult’ wasn’t a given option. “If you’re a big girl you’ll come tell me right away. Accidents can be forgiven. But if you try and hide it from me, I’m going to assume you’re either too immature to be a big girl, or that you generally don’t know what’s going on inside your pants. In which case…” She let the threat just hang there, before handing Samantha her pants back. She kept the panties, though. “Yes, Ma’am…” The Tweener didn’t even ask who would be monitoring. Back when she had been Gwendolyn, Gwenny had had a keen eye for detail, and would watch the Littles she casually poisoned like a hawk. Even in her reduced status, Gwenny still had that skill set. Most of the mush still ended up in her diaper instead of her brain. Samantha pulled her pants back over the training panties. It wasn’t too bad. There was a bit of a lump around her groin where none had existed, but it was the kind of thing that someone only noticed if they were looking for it. It’d be doubly hard to notice as long as she kept her shirt untucked and her apron on. Super easy. “Oh, and one more thing.” Mrs. Thompson said. “I’m going to expand your responsibilities.” Uh oh. “Yes?” “As manager, it’s going to be your specific job to help any and all of our clients with changing their little ones. Make sure they’ve got the appropriate supplies. Offer to hold or hand things to them. Change them yourself if they ask you to. You’ll be an attendant of sorts.” Samantha’s jaw had yet to unclench. “And if they ask me to leave?” “Then leave, of course. But if they don’t, you make sure you’re there. Watch them. Make sure everything is cleaned up properly in the aftermath, and ready for the next one. That kind of thing.” Images of Baby Tricia and Baby Becky and Baby Gwenny. “And the babies that are bigger than me?” The idea still excited her, and that terrified the Tweener. “Especially the babies that are bigger than you.” This was going to be a loooooong shift. ************************************************************************************************** It wasn’t quite two and a half hours in when the first hammer dropped. “Okay, Manny,” Samantha said. “You take orders, and I’ll make them Gwenny, keep passing them out.” There was a bit of a lull, and most of the customers were now idly sitting, sipping their coffee. Manny was coated in a light drizzle of his sweat from the heat of the machines and the pace he’d been forced to work. Morning rush was always a bitch. It was necessary for him to man the crafting and brewing station, while Samantha did the relatively easy job of taking and ringing up orders. Samantha was no Little, but she still needed a footstool to reach the highest shelves and ingredients. Manny was the wiser choice for the rush. A place scaled to Amazon (pretty much every place) worked best with Amazons running it. That and Samantha really was better working the register. Mrs. Thompson had run the numbers a while ago and found that Amazons tended to buy the more expensive stuff when Samantha was manning the register and taking orders. The Tweener was the master of the upsell. The big people tended to take her recommendations as a kind of challenge. Of course they’d get the next size up for only fifty cents, instead. They could afford that much. They could drink that much. Obviously, they’d get a pastry for two dollars extra. Did she, a not-quite-adult think they were too poor or too fat to merit a croissant or blueberry muffin? (Never did Samantha ever suggest that, but Amazons could be oddly insecure around the smaller folk. Big World Problems.) Now that the rush was well and over, Samantha could afford to dawdle a bit and take her turn. Give Manny a break. She traded places with him, and the slight rustling of the pull-up sounded like a dentists’ drill in her brain. The rush had been busy enough that Samantha almost forgot this morning...almost. Just as they were switching and Manny was wiping his brow, Mrs. Thompson came out of her office and to the counter. “Okay, Samantha. It’s time.” So much for the blessing of forgetfulness. “Time?” “Time to go potty, dear. It’s been almost three hours, and I didn’t make you go first thing this morning.” Samantha felt Manny’s eyes. The customers’ too. “But. I don’t have to go!” This was partially true. Samantha’s bladder definitely had something in it, but it was far from bursting. Like hunger, answering nature’s call was something that came in degrees that varied based on space and other distracting stimuli. The constant taking of orders, making change, and swiping credit cards had easily distracted her from the need to urinate along with the thoughts of what she might be forced to urinate into. Much in the same way that someone could eat, the Tweener could pee. But she was nowhere near starving or bursting. Mrs. Thompson walked behind the counter and took Samantha by the wrist. “Just try for me, big girl.” With her other hand she undid the young lady’s apron. That got a muffled, grunting laugh from Manny. The kind of snorting laughter that sounded a bit like radio static. “Heh.” “Something funny, Manny?” Manny’s eyes widened. “No, Mrs. Thompson.” “Good. Handle the counter.” Mrs. Thompson didn’t look back on her way to the bathroom. “Time for your potty break.” Samantha did. Manny was looking at her. So were the customers. Heads were cocked. Eyes were squinted. A few were nodding in tacit approval. It was mostly in her head, she was sure, but for some reason the relatively discreet pull-up felt a lot more like a puffy, bulky, bulging diaper, one that made her pants seem that much smaller by comparison. It was in her head. But they knew. They knew… Mrs. Thompson opened the bathroom door. Samantha held her breath and only released it when the old wooden wedge didn’t prop the door open. The nearest stall was already open. Samantha waddled...no...walked...just walked into it. She’d only just turned around when the Amazon hooked her fingers into the sides of her pants. In one fluid motion, both her pants and her not-quite underwear were down to her ankles. Samantha inhaled for a gasp, and by time she’d exhaled, she was lifted and sat down on the toilet. She had no trouble sitting herself on the toilet, but the act surprised her, bringing back long forgotten memories from when she was two or three. Her real mother had been bigger (relatively speaking), but there was something...just something about being backed and seated onto a toilet as if one didn’t know what to do. The last time this happened, the receptacle hadn’t been connected to plumbing. The owner of the shop didn’t move. She didn’t close the door to the stall, and stood there. Watching. “Go on.” she said, sweetly. “I’m here. Go potty. You’re safe. Go potty.” Samantha looked down at her lap. No choice. Not really. She had to see this hell through. The changing table wasn’t so far away that she couldn’t end up there. The Tweener inhaled, and relaxed her bladder. The tinkling sound as liquid hit liquid was so common as to be white noise in the soundtrack of Samantha’s life. The audience member turned it into a cacophony. “Good girl!” Mrs. Thompson praised. She leaned down and inspected the pull-up “And you’ve still got your flowers! So big!” Ah. That’s why they were called Bloomerz. Besides being a reference to underwear, the designs were flowery. Blooming. That and Amazons tended to consider women such as herself “late bloomers” at best. Not babies though. “Do you need help wiping?” “No.” Samantha took that as permission to clean herself up. Mrs. Thompson still watched her. Watched her like a hawk eyeing a field mouse. “There’s such a thing as wiping too much, you know.” Samantha flushed and then pulled her pants up. When the sound of rushing water subsided, the sounds of tapes being ripped off of plastic backing took its place. Someone was being changed! FUCK! When her pants were finally buttoned back up, Mrs. Thompson finally made way for her. On her best behavior, Samantha was clever enough to walk straight to the sinks. The owner loomed over her and leaned forward. Strong hands grabbed her by the wrists and guided her fingers into soaping up, rubbing and rinsing. “Just in case.” Out of the corner of her eye, another Amazon. “Yes,” the Mommy cooed to the Little boy. The sky blue onesie was already unbuttoned, his diaper open, and his ankles crossed up over his head. “See that? She’s a big girl. She’s used the potty! She’s a big girl. Unlike you Mr. Poopy Pants!” The Little boy giggled and sucked his thumb. Oh thank goodness, it was just a Little. Samantha half pivoted to leave, but caught the expectant gaze of Mrs. Thompson in the reflection. Oh yeah. She was a monitor and attendant now. She leaned into her pivot until she was heading over. Two wrongs might. “Excuse me, Miss,” Samantha said in her best talking-to-a-customer voice. “I see you’re changing your baby. Is there any way I can help? Wipes? Powder? Oil? Cream? Perhaps you’d like a fresh diaper from the vending machine?” “I’ve got things well covered here, young...” She turned just enough to recognize the employee uniform. “Can I talk to your manager, please?” The shadow of her employer fell over her. “Samantha is the manager. I’m the owner, however.” “Oh!” The new Amazon gushed. “I’m sorry. I thought you were her Mommy.” No reply came to that. “Just give me a second finishing up this little guy.” She finished diapering the poor Little man and put him on her hip. “How can I help?” Mrs. Thompson asked. Her hands were on Samantha’s shoulder. “I just wanted to compliment you on how good your um...Manager was doing. The offer for help was unneeded. And she’s being such a good example. Such a big girl! Going potty and everything!” “Thank you,” Mrs. Thompson said. “We try.” Samantha thought quickly. “Could I interest you in a complimentary bottle fill up for your Little one, ma’am?” Anything to get her out of the bathroom. “Yes, that would be very nice.” The woman replied. Samantha caught her mouthing the words “So big” to her employer. Ears burning hot, Samantha scurried out of the bathroom and to the dining area. All the way to the counter, customers looked at her. They smiled at her. The smiles were condescending and infantilizing. Just like. “Good job,” some of them whispered. “Big girl.” She’d been beneath their notice moments ago. Now she was a ‘big girl’. “What are you looking at?” She asked, looking at Manny. Manny smirked. “I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me.” “Just...get back to work!” She snapped. She bent over to get something from the fridge and tugged her shirt down, just in case. “Manny, go clean the toilets in the men’s room.” Manny kept smirking. But as Samantha kept glaring...he stopped. He didn’t say ‘Yes, Ma’am’. But he went and scrubbed the toilets. Despite needing the prerequisite permissions Samantha never got the chance to ask. She had three more ‘just in case’ potty breaks that day. Each with head pats, smiles, and ‘good girls’. Manny got none. Fuck Manny ************************************************************* Samantha shuffled around in Mrs. Thompson’s office. Her legs were cold. She wasn’t fool enough to come back to work the next day without one of those ridiculous pull-ups on. But the only thing that sufficiently covered up the extra padding were shorts. It wasn’t even a physical cold as a psychological one; it was like how her legs always felt a little cooler right after she shaved them. It bothered her because she was used to having everything below her elbows covered up at work. The shorts were a deliberate choice on her part. Her pants fit well enough, but there was always that feeling that if someone stared close enough, they’d know the truth about her underwear. The regulars in the coffee shop knew the truth, anyway. This locale had become home of a sisterhood of sharks just waiting for the waters to be chummed. In a small way, she supposed she should be grateful to her employer for taking her in and out of the bathroom . A Tweener in training pants was very likely to get written off and diapered. The shop’s apex predator kept the others to the periphery. At least they hadn’t gone about trying to pat her bottom like they did Gwenny’s. “I want to show you something.” Mrs. Thompson began. Samantha made no reply. Other than to walk away, she had no choice other than to go along with this. On the leftmost wall from the entrance, far away from where Gwenny played on her blanket in the corner, a bit of posterboard had been gridded, labeled, and placed at Samantha’s eye level. The left column was simple enough, the days of the week. The rest was just empty grid spaces. All except for the title. “Samantha’s Potty-Chart”. “What’s this for?” Samantha asked. Darn it all. Never ask an Amazon a question that you didn’t want to know the answer to. “I thought ‘potty chart’ was kinder than ‘punishment chart’.” Mrs. Thompson said matter of factly. “Every time you use the potty like a big girl, you’ll get a sticker. If you have an accident, you’ll get a different kind of sticker. When this chart is all full up, we’ll look at it together and have a discussion about where to go from there.” There was the barest hint of relief in Samantha’s brain because of that phrasing. Had the older woman said ‘When this is filled up, you’ll be all-done potty training,’ it might have set Samantha more on guard. Words like ‘all done’ didn’t always mean progression where Amazons were concerned. On the floor was a small book of stickers. The Amazon knelt down, and peeled a few off. “Let’s see,” she said. “Yesterday, you went to the potty four times at work with no accidents.” She put four smiley faces on the chart. “Did you have any accidents at home?” “N…!” Samantha stopped herself from blurting out. That would only make her feel more guilty. “No.” She said in a more subdued tone of voice. Then added, “Ma’am” for good measure. “How many times did you go potty at home?” Fuck! Samantha hadn’t counted. Why would she have? After she’d gotten home she tossed the damn pull-up into the garbage, and stayed in her clothes just long enough for the pizza to arrive. Then she poured herself some wine and masturbated out of stress and boredom. She didn’t go looking on her computer, fearing it would be traced. Someone looking for diapered Amazons might get listed somewhere. Either as a pervert or a seditionist. Besides, no amount of acting could replace the crushed look of desperation in an Amazon’s eyes as they were forced to suck on a bottle. She’d literally beat off to the thought of Amazonian tears. “I believe you. We’ll just give you an extra one.” The Amazon put the sticker on. “No accidents at night? You didn’t wet the bed?” Samantha remained mute and shook her head. She did not get another smiley face for the reply. “Are those the same pull-ups you wore yesterday?” “No, Ma’am.” She’d been forced to take the remaining pack of Bloomerz home with her. It had stayed at the foot of her bed with a towel tossed over it until this morning. Without asking, Mrs. Thompsons pulled down Samantha’s baggy pants, and her eyeballs stared directly between the Tweener’s legs. “Hmm…” she mused. “Daffodils instead of Roses. Okay. That is a different pair than yesterday But how do I know this is only the second you’ve worn? No naughty accidents at home?” The mention of the word ‘naughty’ made Samantha blush. The answer raced out of Samantha. “You could count the number of pull-ups left in the pack,” she suggested. Damn it! Why was she helping? By all laws and common sense, her boss’s dominion over her ended when she stepped out of the shop and went back home. If this was a penalty for the other day, that was fine, but the punishment stopped when she was off the clock. Didn’t it? The Amazon reached into the brown paper bag Samantha had hidden the pull-ups in and counted them. “Very good! But how do I know you didn’t wet your bed?” She leaned in a little closer. “Or do something naughty?” “Mrs. Thompson?” Samantha raised her hand as if she were in class and the giant woman wasn’t already looking her in the eye. Whatever. It distracted her from the fact that her shorts were still around her ankles. “I thought this was because of something I did to your property, or in your store? Not because I was having trouble making it to the potty.” The owner stood up to her full height and frowned down at the Tweener. “You’re right,” she said. There was an unspoken ‘unfortunately’ Samantha felt. “My apologies, Samantha.” Samantha didn’t ask if she could pull up her own shorts, but she did anyway. Still, she didn’t feel safe enough. “If there’s nothing else…” “Oh,” Mrs. Thompson said. “There is, though.” She looked down at Samantha and her entire demeanor changed. “You’re going to need to be on your A-Game today.” she said. “I shipped out a load of coupons around the city. We should be seeing returns soon.” The Tweener stood a little straighter and put her hands behind her back. “I understand. Get them in with a deal, and then keep them with the product.” “Exactly.” The smile was anything but condescending. “I’m going to check and change Gwenny before we get out there.” “Mommy-!” Mrs. Thompson ignored her baby girl. “Then we’ll join you up front at the counter. You’ll take orders and upsell to try and make up the difference from the coupons. I’ll work the station with Veronica, and Gwenny can help bring people their orders. We’re going to need all hands on deck today.” Samantha nodded. All business. Finally. “Yes, Ma’am. I’ll get right on it.” The Manager turned around to leave. “Oh, and Samantha?” The Tweener froze. “Yes?” Mrs. Thompson dug into Gwenny’s ginormous diaper bag “You’re not going to have time for a water break today. I”d suggest you drink up…” The sippy cup was purple with a lime green lid on it. Mrs. Thompson sloshed it around to show how full it was. And Samantha knew from experience that Gwenny only drank from bottles. ***************************************************************************************** Dying! Samantha was dying on the inside. Four hours into the shift, and she hadn’t gotten a break. Not a quiet break. Not a coffee break. And certainly not a bathroom break. Her everything ached. It felt as if acid was consuming her from the inside? The customers kept coming in, and not in the usual slow trickle...trickle...why trickle? Instead they were flooding the store. FLOODING…?! Another poor choice of inner monologue! “Would you like to make your espresso a double?” Such pain. Just keep smiling. “How many pumps of spicy chocolate mocha would you like?” Grin through the pain. Her throat was dry from talking so much. But Samantha dared not even a sip of water. She had too much to drink as it was. Something was in that sippy cup besides grape juice! It was the only explanation as to why it felt like her bladder was either half its size or double its capacity. No breaks though. Never a lull. “Mrs. Thompson?” Samantha had asked sometime between hour two and three, “May-I?” Mrs. Thompson didn’t even let her finish. “Sorry dear. No time for potty breaks. The rush hasn’t died down. You’ll have to hold it like a big girl.” Samantha bristled at the words ‘dear’ and ‘big girl’. Meanwhile, Gwenny’s diaper was drooping from everything she was putting in it. It was almost as swollen as Samantha’s bladder, but the girl showed no signs of physical discomfort. All of the patrons gave her headpats and cheek pinches, causing her to blush, but not much else. Presently, Samantha wondered if she might be able to sneak away and use the ladies room using her ‘other’ managerial duties that had been foisted on her. Follow some Mommy or Daddy into the bathroom. Quickly sneak into the toilet, then help whatever insane Amazon had a poor unfortunate on the changing table. There was even a precedent considering yesterday. She might even be bold enough to ask Mrs. Thompson outright, in a ‘as long as I’m there’ way. So it wouldn’t be sneaking around or breaking the rules. Shifting from one sneakered foot to the other on her footstool, Samantha was caring less and less about whether or not the big woman watched her pee. She just didn’t want to pee herself. No one was changing any diapers, however. Not a single person had a baby, Little or otherwise, in tow. And the place was crowded. If any of the usual public shamers wanted to show up, they’d have to elbow through the ocean of java junkies. There was a very good reason for this. The coupon. After she’d tucked the first two dozen in the register, Samantha took a second to read it: “Adult Swim. Present this coupon and have no children, adopted or otherwise, with you to receive fifty percent off your order. Leave the kids at home and just enjoy!” Leave the kids at home… That’s why there was only one person wearing a diaper; two if you counted pull-ups… That meant that when..if Samantha had an accident, all eyes would be on her. “No…” Gwenny whimpered and frowned. She stopped right after handing someone their iced coffee and planted her feet. Her hands went down to her stomach. “Uh oh.” “Uh oh’s right,” one of the customers said. “I know that look.” A chorus of nods and knowing laughter rippled its way from table to table. Gwenny’s breathing picked up and her hands knotted into fists. She’d gotten used to wetting herself like a dumb baby well enough. But pooping... “It’s okay, baby,” Another said. “Make your poopies, then you can get my coffee.” Gwenny obeyed. From the looks of it, her body wasn’t giving her much of a choice. Maybe her Mommy had given her a bit of special syrup again; not enough to catch her by surprise, just enough to make it inevitable. “But...I…” and it was too late. The mess started coming out of her and all she could do was suck her thumb and squat as the crowd looked on while her pants filled up. Samantha’s mouth hung open. If her tongue wasn’t as dry as it was, she might drool. Gwenny, a once proud and powerful young Amazon, dressed up like a baby and forced to pee and poop herself while everyone looked on and teased her. The deliciousness of the situation almost made Samantha forget about her own aching bladder. Almost… Almost was too much… A sharp but silent gasp came out of Samantha’s mouth as the first splash of wetness filled her disposable panties. So shocked was the Tweener that she let the stream continue for a solid two seconds afterwards. Panickedly, she gripped the edge of the counter, and dug her teeth into her tongue to suppress the screaming sob threatening to well up inside her. What to do? What would she do? There was no way she was getting out of this. No damn way. Not when Mrs. Thompson had inspected her pull-ups this morning. Not when she’d counted them. Not when she’d gone so far as to inspect the decoration on the fade when wet design. Even now, the training pants were drooping a bit from the weight. They didn’t swell and bulge like a diaper, but they sure sagged away from her. She hadn’t emptied nearly all of her bladder, but the pull-up wasn’t designed to hold as much as a regular diaper in her size. Briefly, less than the span of a full thought, Samantha entertained the fantasy of escaping. Of somehow slipping out, finding a corner store that sold Bloomerz in her size, buying a pack with tip money and then changing into an identical pair that she hadn’t soiled. Roses? No, daisies! What flowers had she just watered away? Running away wouldn’t do her any good either. She’d wet herself. She was a lone antelope on the savannah surrounded by hungry lions. Even if she quit right now, the Amazons would just pounce on her and adopt her; call her immature or babyish. Then she’d wish she’d stayed in the training pants. It’d be a tight squeeze into the nearest playpen...but she’d fit. Just because she could climb up and down off the changing table by herself didn’t mean she was too big for it in their eyes. Keeping quiet and waiting wouldn’t help her either. Big girls didn’t just squish around in wet panties and not tell anyone. It wouldn’t take long for Mrs. Thompson to justify putting her in something thicker. Something that even baggy shorts wouldn’t conceal. There was no way out of diapers. Except… “Mrs. Thompson,” Samantha heard herself squeak. “WIll you please take me to the restroom?” “I already told you, big girl,” Mrs. Thompson said. “We’re too busy. Veronica, hand me-” “I PEED!” The words squealed out of Samantha. The whole room froze. All eyes were off Gwenny. Now they were all focused squarely on her. No escape. Just charge right through. The Amazon Owner came right up to her. She grabbed Samantha’s wrist and guided her off the stool. “Do you mean to tell me you went pee-pee in your panties? That you had an accident?” Exhale. Deep Breath. Exhale again. “Yes, Ma’am.” Samantha was sure she was going to have to repeat it. Louder for those in the back. Make a real spectacle of herself for the enjoyment of the big folks. Talk about what a little baby she was that couldn't even hold her bladder after a spiked drink and four hours without a bathroom break. That’s not what happened. With one hand still holding Samantha by the wrist, Mrs. Thompson bent over behind the counter and dug into her diaper bag. Samantha had to resist the urge to scream or run away, not that either would do. She cut herself short, when Mrs. Thompson stood back up with both one of Gwenny’s diapers and a fresh pull-up. “Gwenny!” she called. “Time for a diaper change, baby girl!” “Yes Mommy.” The relief was palpable in Gwenny’s voice. She did a little dip and curtsied. Then she fell in behind her Mommy and Samantha who were already en route to the bathroom. “We’ll be back in a moment everyone,” Mrs. Thompson told the waiting audience. “Just have to take care of a bit of family business. To punctuate her point, she closed the ladies’ room door and wedged it shut. Just the three of them. No peeking. Samantha felt herself lifted by the armpits and dangle carried over to the nearest toilet stall. Down came her pants around her ankles. Mrs. Thompson didn’t even wait for them to hit the floor before she started opening the sides. Too much like the sounds of tapes being ripped off a diaper. Samantha found herself seated on the toilet “Okay, Samantha. If you have any more in you, go ahead and get it out.” “Mommeeee,” Gwenny whined. “Can you change me now?” “You can wait, Gwenny.” her Mommy spoke behind her. “You’re a baby. Babies can wait to get changed.” She looked down at Samantha. “Big girls go potty.” That settled the matter. The tinkling as Samantha emptied the rest of her bladder was louder than the last time. Possibly because there was still so much. Possibly because she felt like she was trying to get it out faster. Was it even possible to push with bladder muscles? Samantha didn’t know. “All done?” Samantha looked down at her lap. “Yes, Ma’am…” “Try to go poopy, since you’re sitting there,” her boss said. “Just try. For me.” It was sweet. Like a parent trying to coax good habits out of a toddler. Then, “You might not get another chance…” Eyes slammed shut, Samantha grunted and groaned, and attempted to shut the world out. No one was watching. No one was here; certainly not a woman old enough to be her mother talking to her like she was some kind of- She was rewarded with the sound of a second splash and the feeling of a slightly less empty gut. The Tweener sighed as a single bead of sweat dripped down her forehead. “I knew you could do it. Such a big girl!” To show what a ‘big girl’ she was, Samantha was allowed to flush the toilet herself and then bent over as her front and bottom was wiped for her. At least it wasn’t as messy as if she’d shat herself. At least she didn’t have to look Mrs. Thompson in the eye. “Thank you…” she mumbled when the last wipe. “Left shoe,” the older woman’s voice called back. “Huh?” “Take off your left shoe.” Samantha did. “Now step out of those shorts, but only with your left foot. Her shorts remained in a puddle, but only encircled her right ankle. She felt lopsided standing with only one shoe. Mrs. Thompson popped open the Bloomerz, so close to actual underwear, but so very far away. “Step in. Left foot first, please.” Again, the Tweener obeyed, taken out of her element. The first foot and sock when through. The leg cuffs stretched more than enough to let her sneakered right foot in. The shorts were just a floppy ring around her ankle, easy enough to get through. Then it was just a matter of pulling the training pants up around her hips and putting her left leg back into the shorts. Other than her shoe, no other article of clothing completely left her body. She might as well have had snaps along the inseam. “And that, my dear Manager, is how you change a pull-up.” The older woman patted Samantha on the shoulder and then walked away. “Wash your hands. Gwenny, get on the changing table.” Samantha went and quickly washed her hands, actually relishing the small bit of independence given to her in the simple act. She only forgot herself when she started to walk towards the restroom door. “Where do you think you’re going?” Samantha pivoted. “Oh,” she said. Her so called changing station duties. “I’m sorry. How can I help with your baby?” A small, more pleasant tingle returned. She shouldn’t have called Gwenny a baby. After her humiliation, it felt good to talk down about someone else, even if it was just Gwenny. “Yes,” Mrs. Thompson said. She stepped aside and set a stepping stool down next to the table. “I want you to change Gwenny.” Gwenny sat up. “MOMMY! YOU CAN’T!” There was a grimace in her face from sitting up in her own mess. “SHE’S NOT AN AMA-...! SHE’S NOT A GROWN-UP!” “She’s more grown-up than you.” Gwenny opened her mouth to complain, but a look from her Mommy made her lay back down. She crossed one arm over her chest and popped the opposite thumb in her mouth. Samantha was almost as gobsmacked as Gwenny. “You want me? To…?” She stuttered. “But you never…” About half a dozen dirty thoughts jumbled together with six more terribly dark and paranoid thoughts. This was a trap. This was a treat. This was a test. But for who? “Go on, Samantha.” Mrs. Thompson coaxed. “Change the baby.” The little security camera in Samantha’s mind switched on. Her legs felt numb. Her face felt hot. A moth to a flame. A bug to a flytrap. She couldn’t resist. She dare not. “Okay Gwenny,” she heard her cooing. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” She tore the tapes off one at a time. It sounded better to her ear than when she heard someone else doing it; perhaps because when someone else did it there was always the lingering thought that it might be her with her back down and legs up. “I’m not as strong as your Mommy, so I’m going to need you to help me. Can you be a good girl and help me?” Gwenny’s eyes shimmered a bit. She must have been fighting her pride. Samantha was fighting something else. She undid the tapes on the Amazons diaper, pulling it back. “I’m going to wipe you down with these baby wipes. They’re gonna be cold, but they’ll get you niiiice and clean.” Samantha licked her lips. “Good baby. Now lift your legs for me so I can clean off the mess.” The Tweener was breathing through her mouth, and it had nothing to do with the stench coming from Gwenny’s backside. “Good baby. Now just hold it. I’m working as fast as I can. That’s good. Maybe you’ll get a treat for being such a good girl.” Samantha would never admit it, but she’d practiced this kind script just last night. It was the kind of thing she’d whispered to herself just before orgasm, and it was having similar effects right now. There was no bathroom anymore. The periphery outside of this scene ceased to exist. Mrs. Thompson was only in the back of the Tweener’s mind. “I’m gonna ball it up. Up with your hips. Oops! Missed a spot. Got it. Good baby.” Despite not having a drink in a few hours, Samantha’s mouth was getting moist. Despite having just gone to the bathroom, her pull-ups were getting more than a bit wet. Just not from her bladder. “Okay,” Samantha continued to narrate just as much for herself as for Gwenny. “Up one more time. Good girl. Nice new diaper. Oh, this has unicorns on it! So pretty. DId you decorate it yourself or did your Mommy help?” Even the Amazon baby was starting to blush in a way. “Such a clever girl!” Moist Gwenny was starting to giggle, despite herself. She cooed and gurgled around her thumb, starting to accept the experience as Samantha had. Something about that drove the Tweener crazy. She’d have to go back to work, but she’d remember every moment of this for later tonight. “You don’t have a rash, and your skin isn’t too dry. So I just dust on some baby powder so you smell just as pretty as you look. Baby likes her powder, doesn’t she? I bet she does! Yes she does! Okay okay! Stop squirming.” Soaking She drew the diaper up between her sort of co-worker’s legs. “Let’s count the tapes. One...two...three...four! All done!” She gave each tape one last push. It didn’t make the tapes stick any better, but it reminded both of them what Gwenny was wearing. So hot! Her training pants were now a swamp. “Thank you, dear.” Mrs. Thompson burst back from the periphery. In reality she’d been watching the whole time. Like a mother hawk. It only just now registered to the Manager. “Gwenny, you can hop off.” Crinkling and waddling, Gwenny did. “Yesh, Mommy.” Her thumb was still in her mouth. “Back to work,” she told Gwenny. “ I’m sure even without us, Veronica has been doing her best. Go hand out orders.” The big baby took her thumb out of her mouth and wiped it on her dress. “Yes, Mommy.” The diaper change all but forgotten, Gwenny skipped out of the bathroom. It must be nice sometimes, Samantha thought, to have that little pride and to so easily forget such things. Meanwhile, she wasn’t crinkling as much. Something had activated just a tiny bit of the absorbent core and pulp. A heavy hand fell on her shoulder. Samantha looked up. “You did a very big thing back there,” Mrs. Thompson said. “Good girl.” The Tweener blushed. “Just doing my job. You asked me to change her.” “Not that,” her boss corrected her. “Admitting when you had an accident as soon as it happened. A less mature young lady might try to hide it or run away. You were a very big girl just then.” Samantha only blushed, and continued to do so for the next hours as random patrons told her more or less the same thing. The sticker on her potty chart wasn’t a frowny face indicating the accident…but a star. *********************************************************************** A week later, Samantha stood in Mrs. Thompson’s office, pretending to examine the potty chart. She already knew what was on it. She had a greater sense of object permanence and memory than a child. It wasn’t pride that she felt, but rather relief. The nightmare was almost over. A full week and the chart had almost told its story: Mostly smiley faces. Samantha had gotten quite good at peeing in front of someone else. A few stars where she had an ‘accident’. Samantha was really starting to get a good read on Mrs. Thompson. No more sippy cups filled with goodness-knows-what to send her bladder to bursting. If Samantha allowed herself to pee a bit into the padded underwear every other day, that’d be enough to slake Mrs. Thompson’s hunger for humiliation. It was enough to give the appearance of potty training...but not potty trained. Also, and likely not-coincidentally. Every time Samantha had had an accident, she’d been allowed to change Gwenny. Clearly, her boss was trying to condition her. Obviously, knowing that, should render the temptation ineffective, but that’s the thing about addiction: Every alcoholic knows deep down that they shouldn’t take that drink. But being an alcoholic means they do... “Would you like to have that discussion now, or after work?” Mrs. Thompson asked. Samantha was snapped out of her reverie. “Now would be fine,” Samantha said. She really wanted out of these stupid things. Then she remembered herself. “If you have the time, that is.” “We have some time. I asked Manny to come in early.” Samantha’s expression soured. Was Manny trying to undermine her? He’d been a cheeky bastard all week. Was he setting himself up to take Samantha’s place. Or was she just being paranoid? “Okay,” she swallowed. “Let’s talk.” “How do you feel about this past week?” Mrs. Thompson asked. “Pretty good,” Samantha answered. “So you think it was a good thing that you got put back in pull-ups?” Trap! “I think a form of recompense for my past behavior was just.” “And what about your potty training? This chart has an awful lot of stars...for a grown-up.” Trap! For Amazons, one accident was too many. It’s why Samantha had allowed herself a few more. In for a penny, in for a pound. The fact that she’d never had an accident prior wasn’t a good defense. Plenty of Littles never had an accident before they were put back in diapers and whatever flimsy logic the giants could grab onto was used to keep them in them. There weren’t many ways to get out of this regardless. She made a show of holding her chin. Deep in thought when she’d somewhat rehearsed this already. “I think it’s a matter of pens and pencils.” A curious expression flashed across the giant’s brow. “Pens and pencils?” “People tend to make more mistakes with pencils than with pens. Knowing they have the erasers makes them more careless. Knowing there’s that safety net makes them sloppy and imprecise.” “And you’re saying you’ll be more careful when you get your big girl panties back at work?” “Yes. Provided that I only drink food and water from home.” Accusing the boss of poisoning her...a bold move. She couched it with. “Since I’ve proven that I can monitor and identify my own needs and hold myself accountable. I wouldn’t want to waste your resources.” Mrs. Thompson bit her lip. A tell perhaps, that her next line of loaded questions had been shot down. “How would you say being back in training pants has helped you?” Truth? It hadn’t. Lie? “A greater sense of...scale.” “How so?” “A greater sense of what is being babyish and what is not. Babies can’t control themselves. That’s why they wear what they do. It’s not their job. Pull-ups are...more an opportunity for a second chance.” “Do you think you deserve a second chance?” Time to roll the dice. “I do.” Mrs. Thompson stared at the chart on the wall. Then back down to Samantha. Back and forth her eyes went, like she was watching a tennis match that only she could see. Where would the ball land? “I happen to agree.” Samantha almost squeaked with joy, but contained herself. “Thank you.” “No more pull-ups, big girl. You get another chance.” She extended out her hand. Samantha took it. “I’d like to celebrate and congratulate you, too.” Samantha let go of the handshake. “Oh there’s no need to-” Mrs. Thompson didn’t let go. “Oh, but I insist. Come and have dinner with us tonight. My house. I’ll even let you take half a day off.” The last day working in pull-ups felt longer than the first. **************************************************************************************************** Samantha hiccuped, actually hiccupped, as she finished her cup. It wasn’t from a fancy wine glass like the one Mrs. Thompson was sipping from, but it wasn’t a sippy cup or a baby bottle either. Gwenny had to content herself with sparkling grape juice from her ba-ba. The dinner was oven roasted chicken coated with panko bread crumbs and dipped in ranch, with and steamed vegetables. Considering the portions, Samantha didn’t mind that her bird had already been cut up for her. Just meant more time eating and less time cutting. Gwenny had to settle for dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets. Mrs. Thompson took time between bites to spoon feed the young woman in her highchair. To be accurate, it wasn’t exactly a highchair Gwenny was seated in. Samantha’s feet dangled more than Gwenny’s, but the diapered Amazon’s chair had a tray and buckles that locked her in place. Definitely a custom job. Meanwhile, Samantha ate in a normal chair, not even needing a booster seat to see over the table. Between the two of them, Gwenny might have been larger, but Samantha was decidedly bigger. “Thank you very much for the..” she paused and hiccuped again. “meal, Mrs. Thompson.” She wiped her mouth with a cloth napkin. “My apologies.” Samantha was feeling it. Amazon wine was strong! She wasn’t slurring her words, but her face felt sort of numb and she had to speak very deliberately and slowly so as not to. “Perfectly fine, dear. Can’t be helped.” She took a bite of her own chicken and then skewered a piece of broccoli to put it in Gwenny’s mouth. The grown woman was keeping pace with Samantha, but she was much bigger than her. The wine wasn’t affecting her. “However, I’ve been thinking…” The last bite of ranch chicken went down hard. “Yes?” “I could use some help around the house. Gwenny is a joy, but she can be..be..” Gwenny beamed. “I’m a handful!” “Yes dear, now finish your broccoli.” Mrs. Thompson looked across the table, expectantly. Samantha wondered where this was going. “I know,” she said. “Sometimes at work, she’ll be yapping and yapping to the customers, and will miss drink orders, and it takes me or Manny or Veronica - usually me - to get her back on track.” Wow, this wine had really loosened her tongue. “Not her fault though, she is just a baby after all.” She delighted in Gwenny’s eyes darting around. That would never get old. Not until Gwenny grew up...and knowing Amazon Mommies, that probably wasn’t going to happen. Mrs. Thompson took a swig of wine. “Exactly. Can’t be helped. It’s not her fault she’s so Little on the inside.” She reached out and gave the girl a cheek pinch. Samantha took her hands out of her lap and rested them on the table to avoid temptation. Those hands had gotten her into pull-ups… “Babies,” Samantha grinned. “What are you gonna do?” “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Mrs. Thompson said. “So initially I was thinking about adopting a little sister for Gwenny. Someone her own maturity to play with and get some of that energy out.” Samantha clenched her cheeks a bit, adrenaline fighting with alcohol to maintain sobriety. She wasn’t talking about adopting Samantha, was she? The girl was just tipsy enough to find it hard to differentiate between little and Little (it was all a matter of context more than pronunciation, honestly). Quietly, Samantha’s hand drifted over to the fork; not clutching it, but readying to stab a certain giant in the thigh if she needed to. “But then I realized that would only create more work for me. And most people with Gwenny’s maturity are Littles. Daycare? No thank you! And two babies is just too much for me. Then I thought about hiring a babysitter, but good help is so hard to find. And not everyone is as good with Gwenny. I can’t trust everyone. I need someone who is big and mature, but capable of of...” “Communicating with her on her level in a way she understands?” Mrs. Thompson was a lightbulb. “Exactly!” Gwenny spit out a bite of broccoli. “MOMMY!” “Gwenny, hush.” From top to bottom, the Tweener tingled. Was this going where she thought it was going?” She imagined herself, bossing around her former tormentor. Infantilizing her. Talking down to her. Changing her. Bottle feeding her. Tucking her into bed. In a word: ‘babying’ her. “Gwenny likes to be naughty at home, and I admit I indulge her from time to time.” Gwenny whimpered as her dirty laundry was aired at the dinner table. The two adults ignored her. “I can see that. I don’t know what goes through her baby brain, but I can tell she has alllll kinds of naughty thoughts.” “Speaking from your own personal experience?” That shut Samantha down. But then she was lifted up/ “In a way I feel like it may have been a kind of fate, this past week. You’ve proven yourself trustworthy, and you’ve always been a good manager.” For once Samantha wanted to blush from something besides horniness or embarrassment. “You can also follow a schedule. You can communicate your needs. Much more mature than a baby. Very big.” Samantha practically felt like she was swooning. “And since you’ve had a few accidents yourself this week, I think that gives you a special kind of empathy that many grown-ups lack.” The fork was out of Samantha’s grip. She didn’t want it anymore. In her mind’s eye she just kept imagining a thousand fun and terrible ways to babysit the giant toddler. Oh this would be so sweet! “I’ll do it!” Her acceptance was punctuated by one last hiccup. It did nothing to dampen her enthusiasm. “I’ll do it! I’ll do it! I’ll do it!” Speaking of things dampening… The Amazon (the grown-up one) clapped her hands together and stood up. “Wonderful!” “Mommy!” Gwenny squealed! “NO!” I don’t want this!” Samantha stood up, too. “It doesn’t matter what babies want. Your Mommy is right. You do need supervision!” Maybe it was the wine talking… Or not. “Wonderful!” Mrs. Thompson said. “Why don’t we start playing right now!” Alcohol was winning out over adrenaline. “Sure thing, Mrs. Thompson.” Her boss unbuckled Gwenny from the seat and let her out. Gwenny whined some more but got a swat on her padded behind for her stubbornness. She jumped a bit, but probably not because she felt any real pain. Her butt practically had a pillow on it. Gwenny’s Mommy looked at the Tweener. “No need to call me that anymore, dear.” “Oh...okay...M-M-M-” She stuttered. “Marion.” Saying her boss’s first name just sounded wrong. The woman’s lip twisted...not quite a sneer. “We’ll work on it, sweetie.” The big baby and the Tweener were escorted to another room. A guest room, Samantha would have guessed. Or at least she would have guessed if she hadn’t seen it with herself. A giant crib. Piles and piles of stuffies. A changing table. A rocking chair. Bins of toys. If not for the sheer scale of the room, Samantha would have guessed that it was a nursery for a Little. A breathy “Wow…” came out of Samantha. The exact measure.of her immaturity laid out to strange eyes, Gwenny just plopped down in a pile of stuffies and tried to bury herself. Cute. Playing peekaboo. “You like?” Mrs. Thompson said. This would be the perfect place to ‘play’ with Gwenny. “You really go all out, don’t you?” The older Amazon smiled, clearly proud. “Nothing but the best for my children.” Samantha blinked. “Wha-?” “Samantha. You be good for Gwenny. Mommy’s going to do a little shopping while you two play.” And before Samantha could say anything more, the door was closed. A slight clicking noise told Samantha what she needed to know. “Gwenny?” she asked. “Why did your Mommy just lock the door?” The big baby just buried her head in her stuffies. “Iff noff fair!” She mumbled. “Noff fair affal!” She couldn’t have any idea how ridiculous she looked wit her padded rump in the air. The Tweener went over. “What’s going on?! Gwenny? Gwenny?” No response. The Tweener did her best to put some bass in her voice. “Gwendolyn!” That did it. Though still on her knees, Gwenny snapped to attention. “What’s going on?” Samantha demanded.” “You just got Adopted.” Gwenny moaned. “She’s been talking about it all afternoon.” Heart. Chest. Explode. “What?!” Samantha yelled. “But I’m not a baby!” “No,” Gwenny sulked. “You’re a big girl. And you’ve got the potty chart to prove it.” She pointed to the wall farthest from the door. “See?” The owner had moved it. But it was the exact same chart. “Samantha’s Potty Chart.” “That’s probably where your toddler bed will go,” Gwenny huffed. Samantha felt dizzy with panic. “But? But? I…” She breathed in. This wasn’t happening! She was out of diapers! “I was supposed to be your babysitter! I’m in charge!” “You are in charge,” Gwenny huffed. “Of me. Mommy told me that big sisters look after the babies and the babies hafta do what they say. It’s no fair. I don’t wanna big sister! I got adopted first! I should be the big sister!” Samantha’s ears were ringing like a hand grenade had just gone off nearby. She was an adult! A grown-up. Not to Amazons though. Not lately. She was just a ‘big girl.’ “Now I gotta share my room…” Gwenny was absolutely oblivious to Samantha’s pain and discomfort. Speaking of which, it wasn’t completely emotional. That wine was going right through her and the seal was about to break. “Gotta share my closet too,” she muttered. “She got you more of those dumb pull-ups and a potty and everything. I don’t get a potty. At least I don’t gotta share my changing table with you.” A beat. “Unless you have a poopy accident.” The Tweener’s hands shot down to her privates. On one level this was so hot! On another level, she really had to go and was prisoner of a crazy giant! And when horny and scared butted heads, scared tended to win. There was no point in talking to Gwenny. No point at all. She might as well be talking to a Little: Gwenny was either legitimately regressed or just so selfishly locked in her own predicament that she had zero empathy for Samantha. She was drunk! She was caught. And she had to pee! She did her best to remedy the first situation. Running into the walk-in closet, Gwenny found the potty chair and pulled her pants down. Samantha closed her eyes, sat down and let go. After a week of having to sit on a toilet and pee and poop in front of an actual Adult, doing it in a closet while Gwenny moped ten feet away. It was a tad small, being designed for an Amazon toddler, but Samantha could fit. The stream came out fast. No more reassuring tinkling sounds, though. Not until the potty chair had filled up enough… Gross! “Uh oh! Looks like somebody found their first present!” Samantha opened her eyes. Mrs. Thompson hadn’t been gone long. “Surpriiiiise!” “Mrs. Thompson!” Samantha started to say “There’s been a mistake!” Samantha’s pants were off her ankles in one fell swoop along with her panties. “I’ll say. For starters, I think someone needs their trainers on, don’t you?” “No, that’s not what I-” But Samantha’s pleas went on unheard. A fresh pair were threaded onto her legs in a second. She looked just like a potty training toddler sitting on the potty...and she had the chart to match! “It’s just in case, dear. I know you’re a big girl...most of the time.” “But I-!” A finger went to her lips. At least it wasn’t a pacifier. “I know, I know,” Mrs. Thompson said. “You feel tricked. But you don’t have to be. Stay here. With me. With Gwenny.” “But...but…” “But what?” the giant woman asked. “But you want to be a grown-up? How has that worked out? Struggling to survive. No authority. No privilege. Not Little enough to be fawned over and not Grown-Up enough to be given anything of lasting value.” “I...I…” Pull-ups around her ankles and her own urine sloshing beneath her, Samantha was losing this fight. She wasn’t even embarrassed about being in this position anymore. That’s how quickly she’d been desensitized to it. “You’re tired. And you’ve had a taste.” She leaned over, seductively. “I know how you think, big girl. I know those naughty thoughts haven’t gone away. You’ve lost more fade when wet decorations, but nothing to do with you going pee-pee.” Samantha shuddered at being called out so brazenly. “But if you’re my daughter...my big girl...well...big girls shouldn’t get naughty in their panties. Ruins the material. But if your pull-ups are gonna be tossed anyways. What’s the harm?” Samantha could feel her heartbeat in her ears. “What’s the harm of going potty...and then changing your baby sister...then coming back to Mommy’s office and finding a nice quiet spot to get those thoughts all out.” “Would I…” Samantha asked, her voice a whisper. “Would I still get to be Manager?” “Better,” the giant woman hissed. “You’d be my big girl. Big enough to take care of yourself juuuust a little bit. Big enough to tell me when Veronica and Manny and any of the other employees are slacking off.” “Would I…” the Tweener gulped. “Would I have to wear a...a diaper?” The older woman thought for a second. “Maybe at night, after I tuck you in. That potty was supposed to be for my office, and I don’t want you getting up in the middle of the night. But that’s it.” “Promise?” “Pinky swear.” Then her tone deepened. “I just printed out the forms. All I have to do is fill out a few more bits. But, when I’m done. Or,” she said. “You could get up. You could pull your trainers up and flee the house. Get in your car and drive away, keep what little dignity you have left, and start looking for a new job. Gain everything by admitting who you are, or keep your pride and lose everything else.” When she put it like that... And so Samantha said the one option that made sense. “Yes.” “Yes?” Samantha sighed. Why fight it? “Yes, Mommy.” (The End) ******************************************************************************************

? Hello~ I'm Popokin, you can simply call me Popo, I'm an ABDL myself and a professional artist focusing on Diaper, wetting, and ageplay story. I'm going to share some of my art, and comic page. I have 2 comics so far, ? Nappy Boarding House Chisa, a 21 years old mangaka (comic artist) who one day became incontinence due to heavy work, rent a room in a mysterious boarding house that offers free rental cost and food in exchange of you becoming the landlady's baby ? The Princess is a Baby An adult girl from a wealthy family is forced into diapers and act like a baby by two alien entities disguised as her parents who wants to raise the girl as their own offspring If you're willing to support me, for a weekly page, my Patreon is https://www.patreon.com/Omocomic Or read for free to give it a try at www.Deruupanda.art

“Greetings, Master! What is your first wish?’ The genie asked. Allison stepped back and gasped in shock. “A genie?!” Her knees buckled and she fell back onto her queen sized mattress. “You’re a genie?!” She pinched herself as hard as she could on the top of her hand. “It’s pronounced ‘Genie’, actually.” The teal skinned woman in the puffy pants and curly toed slippers said. “Geeee-nie.” It sounded exactly the same to Allison’s ears, even though the mystical entity slowed it down and enunciated. The twenty-seven year old stopped pinching when tears came and a nasty bruise started forming just below her wrist. This really wasn’t a dream! Baffled, Allison kept looking back and forth from the genie to the lava lamp she’d been dusting moments before. Her light brown ponytail swished back and forth like a horse’s backside batting at flies. “I…I…I…! You’re a genie!” The woman (did non-human entities have gender in the same way humans did?) smiled. “Yes, Master. I am. Though it’s pronounced ‘Genie’. Nevermind. What is your first wish?” Her bluish-green brown furrowed. “You know about the wishes, right?” Open mouthed, Allison nodded. “Uh-huh…I know. Three, correct?” “Yes, Master. Very good! What do you wish for?” The way she said ‘Master’ was like how some women said ‘sweetie’, or ‘pumpkin’, or ‘princess’ or some other affectionate yet diminutive nickname an adult might call a small child. That was probably just Allison’s adrenaline and crazy brain kicking in. Literal ‘wishful thinking’. “Can I wish you free?” she asked. The genie seemed mildly confused. “You can, but why would-?” “That.” Allison blurted. “I wish that. I wish you free, Genie.” “It’s ‘Genie’.” “Okay,” Allison said. “I wish you, however you pronounce your name, free.” An audible gasp and then a brief silence. “You really mean it, don’t you Master?” Allison found some courage. “Yes. Absolutely.” “And you don’t want to use two other wishes for yourself first?” the genie asked. The human woman blanched. “Do you like granting wishes?” “Not particularly. I don’t hate it, but-” “Do you want your freedom?” “Yes.” “Then I wish you free.” The genie sat down on the bed next to her, discombobulated. Allison saw the golden manacles on the being’s wrists. “But…why? Why not use the first two for yourself?” “That would make me a terrible human being,” Allison said. “What kind of person would give another person their freedom but only after they got something for themselves first?” “A lot of them,” Genie replied. “All of them. Most of them lie about using the third wish for me so that I’ll be more cooperative. Or they hold onto that last wish as a ‘just in case’ and somebody else steals the lamp.” “Those were bad humans,” Allison said, not moving. It was as if she could feel the genie’s hope and sorrow traveling through the air between them. The dark haired, teal skinned woman draped an arm over Allison’s shoulders. “No. They weren’t. They were very good at being humans. But you are a very good person, Master.” She pulled Allison in and gave her a light hug. It felt like an embrace from a long lost but very close friend. “Can you tell me your name, Master?” Allison took a deep breath. “Allison.” The genie stood up and took her place across from Allison. She raised her biceps parallel to the floor and folded her forearms over on top of each other. “Then, Allison, I am happy to grant your request. Your wish is my command!” She bobbed her head, and the golden bracelets shackled to her arms dissolved into thin air. “Thank you, Allison. I will never forget you.” Then in a flash of light, the mystical being was gone. The only sign that she’d ever been there was the now useless lava lamp, devoid of its teal colored goo. (The End) ********************************************************************************************** Allison spent the rest of the day and all into the night locked in her bedroom. The next roughly twenty four hours. Stage One: Panic attacks and existential crises. A genie! A genie was real! That meant magic was real! That meant everything she believed on a fundamental level had been wrong. She was just a speck in an infinite and unknowing universe with no understanding or significance whatsoever. Stage Two: Fear. She’d been telling the truth when she wished the genie free. She did believe it was wrong to keep another intelligent being imprisoned and enslaved against their will. She’d also read plenty of fairy tales about wishes going wrong or being misinterpreted or wasted or otherwise monkey’s pawed…ESPECIALLY in ABDL stories. Even two wishes could be dangerous to her, so she just ripped the band-aid right off and set the genie free. But what if she phrased the wish wrong or there was some unknown rule about genies that would come back to haunt her? Stage Three: Regret. She’d just chased away a genie! For nothing! Who did that?! Aladdin at least got to marry princess Jasmine. It’s not like there was a time limit on the wishes! She could have taken a few hours to breathe and research! Could have written something down. She had at least two acquaintances online who had been through law school and more geeks than she knew what to do with. She literally could have told the genie to go back into her lamp, gotten and proposed it as a thought experiment. Between the rules lawyers and the actual lawyers she could have come up with three dynamite wishes, at least two of which could have been carefully worded and wonderfully selfish! Stage Four: Denial. It had been a dream. A fantasy. An impossibility. Alisson would go to sleep. Wake up in the morning, and find her same old normal life she’d always had just as she’d left it. There never was a genie, it was just a silly dream she’d concocted because she’d bought a used lava lamp at a garage sale and found it defective. Were she a writer, it might make for some interesting FAP fiction on DailyDiapers or ARArchive that she’d never get the guts to write, but that was it. Stage Five: Acceptance. Fantasy or not. Hallucination or real, the genie was gone now and both the risk and opportunity- however much there had been- was firmly past. She could live with the regret or rationalize it away, but she would live, and that would be that. And so it was. After tossing and turning all night, Allison woke up the next morning. She showered, brushed her hair, and dressed. She ate some breakfast, watched Tiktok, and checked her Twitter feed. “Damn,” she sighed. “I missed Big Diaper Friday.” She thought about the sample Alphagatorz crammed into her underwear drawer. “Someday,” she promised to herself. “Someday…” she promised herself. “Someday.” She should have wished for courage. Or enough money to buy diapers besides the occasional twofer. Courage and enough money to move out of her tiny apartment, get her own nursery and stock an entire closet full of diapers and cute outfits. Those would have been two really solid wishes. Her stomach gurgled from hunger already. The granola bars in her pantry weren’t very filling but there wasn’t much else at the moment. Time for grocery shopping. “Guess I’ll have to get them the old fashioned way,” Allison moaned wistfully on her way out the door. ************************************************************************************************* Overcome with curiosity and goodwill, Genie lingered at the edge of this particular reality. Never before had she come across such an interesting, and selfless human! She didn’t want anything, anything at all! No, that wasn’t quite true. Everyone wanted something. But this delightful mortal just didn’t ask for it. She’d never encountered anything like this from one of the more three-dimensional beings since the beginning of time! “Maybe it’s a trick…” she supposed to herself. Just because humans spoke with that linear speech impediment, that cute little lisp and called her ‘Genie’ or ‘Genie’ or ‘Genie’ instead of ‘Genie’ no matter how many times over the centuries she corrected them, didn’t mean they didn’t possess a peculiar sort of cunning. That’s how she ended up in her containment vessel all those millenia ago. One could only count on common sense traps from people who were possessed of common sense. Yet when Genie looked into the girl, Allison’s, timeline she saw nothing but good intentions and minimal results. That was typical of the mortals she’d met, but she hadn’t particularly liked them or how they treated her. That’s why she’d playfully twisted their wishes to teach them a lesson. It was so easy to do with mortals, with their languages that used words to crudely convey thoughts instead of directly communicating what they wanted. It was all such silly fun to see them get frustrated! Served them right, too! There wasn’t any malice on Genie’s part. Emotionally speaking, one such as herself, getting trapped for thousands of years in containers of various shapes and sizes while being forced to grant wishes was quite like a parent agreeing to play tea party and dress-up with the little ones while being expected to be a good sport when they also wanted to do your hair and makeup for you;. So naturally Genie ruffled some feathers while playing the game! Couldn’t let the mortals have all the fun! Altering reality to her was as easy as flipping a light switch or covering a mortal’s eyes and asking “Wheeeeere’s Genie?”. Corrupting a wish was as silly and harmless as a cosmic ‘Dad Joke’. “Genie, I’m hungry.” “Hi Hungry, I’m Genie.” “Make me a sandwich.” And poof, they were a sandwich. Now, finally, the game was over and Genie could get back to work, to her real job. But the way it had ended was so sweet, and so sincere that she felt herself getting misty eyed just thinking about it.. She wanted to keep playing. She’d really gotten to liking it. And the cutiepie human girl deserved a treat. How was humanity supposed to grow up if they didn’t get rewarded when they did the right thing for once? “You know,” Genie supposed to herself, “nothing says I can’t grant wishes anymore. I just don’t have to.” She waited for Allison to leave, slipped back into the girl’s room and started to poke around. “What present can I give her?” Genie wondered to herself. “Make her a princess? Or a powerful sorceress?” She looked around the tidy bedroom and the rest of the apartment. “Do girls even still want to be princesses or to possess the power of destiny and fate?” Genie asked. Who even knew anymore. “Maybe I could give her her one true love?” That didn’t feel right. ‘One true love’ was the Genie equivalent of a restaurant gift certificate. Nice, but even a leprechaun could do that. It wasn’t special. And what if she didn’t like Thai food? “Ooo,” Genie snapped her fingers. “She has a lot of stuffed animals. What if I brought them to life?” The thought soured as soon as it had hit the air. “Gee, thanks Genie, the gift of unasked for responsibility.” She sunk down into a nearby chair facing a glowing box. This is why wishes were better: she could at least get a general idea of what the mortal wanted, even if their babbling imprecise language couldn’t fully express the idea. Genie looked at the glowing box. “Glowing box, do you know what present I should get for that nice little human named Allison?” “01001001 00100000 01100001 01101101 00100000 01100001 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101101 01110000 01110101 01110100 01100101 01110010,” the glowing box said. “Oh! A computer!” Genie corrected herself. Then, realizing she wasn’t up to date on the latest slang and lingo, she asked, “What’s that?” “01001001 00100000 01100001 01101101 00100000 01100001 00100000 01100100 01100101 01110110 01101001 01100011 01100101 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101110 01101110 01100101 01100011 01110100 01100101 01100100 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01101001 01101110 01110100 01100101 01110010 01101110 01100101 01110100.” “And the internet is…?” “01000001 00100000 01110110 01100001 01110011 01110100 00100000 01110010 01100101 01110000 01101111 01110011 01101001 01110100 01101111 01110010 01111001 00100000 01101111 01100110 00100000 01100001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01101111 01100110 00100000 01101000 01110101 01101101 01100001 01101110 01101001 01110100 01111001 00100111 01110011 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101100 01101100 01100101 01100011 01110100 01101001 01110110 01100101 00100000 01101011 01101110 01101111 01110111 01101100 01100101 01100100 01100111 01100101 00100000 01100100 01101111 01110111 01101110 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01100001 01101110 00100000 01101001 01101110 01100100 01101001 01110110 01101001 01100100 01110101 01100001 01101100 00100000 01101100 01100101 01110110 01100101 01101100.” Genie tapped her chin. “So you’re a book that contains all books?” “01011001 01100101 01110011.” “And humans made you?” “01011001 01100101 01110011.” Genie smiled and clapped her hands. “How clever of them! Very cute!” What would those little rascals think of next? “Do you contain books not yet written?” If so, Genie could just figure out what she got Allison by flipping ahead a few pages. ”01001110 01101111.” So much for that idea. “Well don’t worry. You’ll get there eventually.” Then, Genie got another idea. “Can you tell me what sort of things Allison likes? What does she spend the most time reading about?” The easiest ways into a mortal’s wishes were to know what their fantasies were. The computer took on a sterner tone. “01010000 01100001 01110011 01110011 01110111 01101111 01110010 01100100 00100000 01110010 01100101 01110001 01110101 01101001 01110010 01100101 01100100.” “Password?” Genie repeated. She supposed it wouldn’t be ‘Open Sesame’. Then she remembered the magic word. “Please?” The computer paused in contemplation. It wasn’t the password, but it was still magic, and polite besides. It rolled its eyes so that they looked like two spinning beach balls and said, “01001111 01101011 00101100 00100000 01101010 01110101 01110011 01110100 00100000 01100100 01101111 01101110 00100111 01110100 00100000 01110100 01100101 01101100 01101100 00100000 01101000 01100101 01110010 00100000 01001001 00100000 01110100 01101111 01101100 01100100 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101.” Genie wrapped a tiny cord around her pinky finger. “Your secret’s safe with me.” Allison would be too happy by the end of this to care who her computer told. Genie then flipped through a series of pages. “Oh?” She said, then, “Awwwwww!” then, “Oh!” then, “Hmmmm…” Granting wishes for immortality, or endless gold, or making entire geopolitical entities appear into existence so someone could be a sultan were all par for the course, but Genie had genuinely never considered this wish. Not that it would be hard, she just hadn’t thought of it before. “Huh. Well alright then. If this is what she wants,” and it clearly was, “then I’ll make it happen for her.” With a blink and nod, it really was that easy, Genie sent ripples through reality to make the wonderful little human’s wish come true. ********************************************************************************* Allison’s shopping method was deceptively simple, emphasis on deceptive: Go down every single aisle of the grocery store and stare at everything like a hawk searching for a field mouse. This served the dual purpose of making it so she never forgot anything without the need for a shopping list, and it covered for her neurotic insecurities regarding her fetish, her shame, and the paranoid belief that everyone could tell that she didn’t belong there. Case in Point was Aisle 13. 13 Baby Formula Pet Food Baby Products Pet Toys Baby Diapers Kitty Litter Allison had neither a child, nor a pet. She didn’t even have a relative with one that she knew about. But she strolled slowly along the aisle with her cart like she did every other aisle, staring at the packages of Pull-Ups, Huggies, Pampers, and Luvs like they were works of art in a museum. She’d done it her entire life, until her parents had called her out on it…but picked the habit up again when she’d moved out. Logically speaking, no one who worked at this store even cared or noticed, but the extra bit of subterfuge. The one slip in her mask was that she didn’t ever bother to look at the bags of dog food or the rawhide bones or kitty litter. She didn’t even really want to wear the diapers. They’d be too tight of a squeeze and wouldn’t hold any of her accidents. (Just the thought of thoughtlessly going in her pants and it being labeled an accident instead of a horrifying embarrassment gave her the best shivers). But she had too much childhood baggage and too much real life responsibilities. Brick and mortar stores for her kink were rare and if they weren’t, Allison questioned her courage to walk into one. She hadn’t even attended a munch and lurked online more than anything. The fantasy would have to suffice until she had enough money to get cute diapers and outfits that fit her and the time to actually enjoy them. Then maybe she could work on finding a caregiver… But for the time being, this was her day off and she needed to use the time to do laundry and buy food. Tomorrow would be back to the grind as always… Allison stiffened her lip and rounded the corner. Time for a quick gaze at the boring, adult incontinence granny panties that people with her interests actively mocked online. Aisle 14, for her, functioned as a kind of cool down and a reminder of what most people thought of when they heard “Adult diaper”. She rounded the aisle and turned her head to the left, expecting to see a shelf full of pee-pads that old men shoved in the front of their pants, and ruffled eggshell colored panties with women’s crotches on display in the most unflattering way possible. Instead, Allison’s cart slowed to a halt with the picture of a grown woman at a chalkboard wearing a schoolgirl outfit. The camera was at just the right angle and the skirt was just short enough so that anyone could see the diaper underneath. According to the package, these were Alphagatorz. The color plummeted from Allison’s face. “What the…?” She snatched up the pack and gawked. Just gawked. The back had a not-so-little boy in the same position, only his diaper was peaking up out of his shorts above his elastic waistband. At the bottom was a tagline, “Keep your little learner covered from A to Z” “No way…” The sides had diagrams of the diaper and a list of features like the number of tapes, diaper capacity, leakguards, breathable cloth backing, and core absorption. The count was the same, but the packaging was very…very different. Overall it was more aesthetically in line with the rows of Huggies and Pampers that she’d just left behind. Feeling like this was a joke, Allison looked up and to the left to the aisle where she’d come from. Just as expected, she thought she saw the same sign as before. 13A Baby Formula Pet Food Baby Products Pet Toys Baby Diapers Kitty Litter She wasn’t on Aisle 14, however. When she looked up towards the middle of her own row, the sign read: 13B Adult Baby Formula Dietary Supplements Adult Baby Products Weight Management Adult Baby Diapers Femine Products . Somehow, the grocery store had added in an extra row, and filled it with the kind of things she’d seen online. Allison pivoted around looking for hidden cameras and observers. None could be found. This was a dream. She was still asleep in her bed. This was impossible. Stuff like this didn’t happen. But as her feet carried her step by step towards the end of the aisle, and her eyes took in more and more diapers- ABU, Rearz, Crinklz, Tykables-all of them packaged with smiling models and taglines like “Take care of your tyke’s tush,” and “Bottomz Up!” The lower shelves had entire boxes of the stuff. Not individual bags. Boxes. Allison felt that something was a bit too real for all of this. She didn’t touch them. Didn’t dare. It would set off an alarm or signal a trap. This was a prank. This was a prank. This. Was. A. Prank. One wrong move and her face would be all over the wrong side of the internet. “Excuse me,” a woman’s voice called out and drove Allison out of her own head. “Excuse me!” Allison, swished her ponytail back and forth. “I didn’t touch anything!” she practically screamed. “I was just curious and I thought they were regular diapers and I thought maybe they were in the wrong place or something and then when I looked…I…I…I…” The woman’s expression immediately softened. She looked to be only a few years older than Allison and wore an employee’s vest and a nametag. “Stephanie.” “Where’s your Mommy or Daddy, honey?” The grocery store employee asked. “Are you lost?” Allison gripped her cart’s push bar till her knuckles became as white as plastic backing. “Lost?” she echoed the question. “I’m not lost.” The blood skyrocketed to her face when the first part of of the lady’s question hit her brain. “Mommy? Daddy? What are you talking about?” Her question went unanswered. Rather, the woman smiled, pointed her to the nametag on her breast and said, “I’m Miss Stephanie. What’s your name?” “Alli-” “Hi, Allie!” She cut Allison off. “How old are you, hun?” Allison simultaneously wanted to both correct the woman about her name and to say that she was almost two. Still pink in the cheeks, she told the truth. “Twenty-Seven…’ “Twenty-seven,” the woman chirped back. My that’s sooooo big! And are you here with your Mommy or your Daddy?” She’d been caught. This woman knew. She’d fallen into a trap. Every neuron in Allison’s head screamed at once for her to deny, deny, deny, double down, and above all ,play it cool. “I…don’t…I…I…don’t…I…” That was about as cool as she was capable of playing it in the moment. “Maybe a sitter?” The stranger offered. “I know what you’re talking about?!” The mouths ran right out of her mouth. “I don’t need a sitter I’m an adult I haven’t needed one for years!” Oh the things she never dreamed she’d have to or get to say. Stephanie nodded in the way that adults tended to when they were feigning understanding. “Uh-huh,” she said. “Miss Stephie is looking for your Mommy or Daddy. Do you wanna help her look for them?” “Loo-oooook?!” Allison hadn’t gotten the echo all the way out when the store employee grabbed her wrist and ripped away from her own cart. “Good! Let’s go, sweetie!” Allison tried get her hand away but some mixture of a lack of leverage and her own body resisting her commands made it so that she couldn’t. The stranger was dragging down the adult sized diaper aisle back towards the way she’d come and all Allison could do was skid helplessly on her back heels towards the checkout counter. The woman grabbed a walkie talkie from her belt and spoke into it. “This is Steph. We’ve got a Code Rosé here.” Her tone was deeper and flatter than the higher pitched happy chirping noises that she’d been using to talk to Allison. “Mid to late twenties. Thinks she’s twenty-seven. Says her name is ‘Allie’. Not sure if it’s short for Allison.” She halted and code switched to the same syrupy tones as before. “Honey, is your name ‘Allie’ or ‘Allison’?” “Allis-” “Honey…are you wearing a diaper?” Her eyes were narrowed and suspicious. Allison gasped and reached behind her, both disappointed and relieved when she only felt the pants she’d put on this morning.. Her panties were too thin to feel beneath the denim. “NO! OF COURSE NOT!” The woman frowned and bit her lip. “I didn’t think so,” she said in a tone closer to what had to be her natural speaking voice. It didn’t last long. “Don’t worry, hon,” she cooed. “Miss Stephie will fix it.” Into her walkie talkie she said spoke more formally. “Need to take her to the restroom. She’s not wearing a diaper.” “Wait!” Allison protested. “I said I’m not wearing a-!” then something clicked. “Do you want me wearing a-?” The black box squawked something back, to which Allison’s near peer replied, “I didn’t see any, but you know how Aybies can get.” Her eyes darted back down to Allison’s crotch. “No wet spots or leaks on her pants. Send somebody with a mop to Aisle 13B just in case.” The woman holstered her walkie talkie and continued to drag Allison back the way she’d come, leaving her cart abandoned. Allison stammered and stuttered protests but her words didn’t get much past “What-?”. Likewise, her body was completely inept at getting out of the woman’s firm yet easy grip. Seamlessly, the store worker grabbed a package of Little Kings off the shelf while passing by, and Allison was helpless to do anything other than gawk. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where this was going. “ATTENTION SHOPPERS,” the overhead announcement boomed, “WE HAVE A LOST ADULT BA-...” The rest of the message was garbled out as the door to the women’s restroom closed behind them. Allison’s eyes were about the only thing she felt she had full control of when they glanced from the heavy sound insulating bathroom door over to the folded up changing table on the wall just inside the bathroom. “Koala Kare Baby Changing Station” it read with the all too familiar sticker of a cartoon mother koala holding its smiling diapered baby in its lap. She’d seen enough pictures on twitter of girls (and some boys) much more petite than her squeezing onto the apparatus as a kind of fantasy flex. Anyone past puberty would have to be in the same size and weight category of an Olympic gymnast to even pretend about getting changed on one of those. But it seemed like that was exactly what was about to happen to Allison. No! This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen! This was wrong! This was so wrong on so many levels! “I AM NOT GETTING ON THAT THING!” She yelled loud enough to make her captor wince. The empty bathroom acted as a kind of microphone to her wails of protest. The woman put on a fake smile. “That’s right, Allie,” she said quietly. “You’re much too big to lay on a baby changing table!” Allison didn’t get a second of relief before the other shoe dropped. “We’re going over there!” The woman held out the bag of Little Kings and pointed her index finger to the open handicapped stall. Inside, Allison could see a much bigger changing table bolted to the wall. It read, “Koala Kare Adult Baby Changing Station”. It had the same logo too, only the smiling diapered baby koala was the exact same size as the Mommy whose lap it sat in. “NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Allison shrieked. This only made the woman pick up the pace. A relatively gentle perp walk turned into a quick, almost violent restraint. The bag of diapers was dropped; the table unfolded from the wall; and Allison was dragged and boosted onto it; and then straps were pulled across her upper body and arms. Total elapsed time: six seconds. Panicked and claustrophobic, Allison kicked, but the woman who’d snagged her blocked and redirected her attacks as if she were a martial arts master, using the momentum to remove Allison’s sneakers for her. That or just as likely, Allison’s body was still misfiring, making all of her panic translate as impotent squirms. Her pants and panties came off her far too easily, almost as if they’d been put on incorrectly and were ready to fall off with a stiff breeze. “Now who thought it would be a good idea to put you in big girl panties?” The woman with the walkie talkie said, mostly to herself. “I did!” Allison’s tone accidentally came out as a shrill whine. The woman dropped the panties and started opening up the package of adult diapers. “Are you sure you’re twenty-seven, baby?” she asked. “Didn’t just have a big girl birthday? Maybe Mommy or Daddy said they were bringing you here for a surprise?” None of that made any sense to Allison. “I’m not a baby!” The words sounded so hollow coming from her. She’d heard more convincing acting on pornhub. “Of course you’re not a baby,” the woman said, unfolding and fluffing a diaper with measured haste. She pushed back Allison’s legs to her stomach and slipped it under her hips before releasing her. “You’re an adult baby!” Hearing her kink said aloud made Allison’s face start to burn off. “No!” she pleaded. “I’m not an adult baby! I’m just an adult! I’m normal! I’m not an adult baby!” Her cries went unnoticed and the grocery store worker pulled the diaper up between Allison’s thighs and taped it up one hook and loop tab at a time. “Honey,” the worker sighed and clicked her tongue. “Anybody with two eyes can tell you’re an adult baby.” Allison’s mouth hung open and she felt her tongue go arid. “How…?!” Was the scrunch she chose today too much of a soft pink? Was her cute Minnie Mouse t-shirt that much of a giveaway? Everybody liked Disney! She picked her head up and looked at her feet. Had she been tempting fate by putting on ankle length socks with little frills on them? Her eyes ran up her legs back to the diaper. Allison had been diapered by someone else; something she’d fantasized about for as long as she could remember. But now that she lay restrained on a changing table, with a lion gently smiling up at her from her waist, and the faint yellow wetness line running between her legs, something about this felt so very wrong. Much too real. “How?” The lady who’d done this to her took on a more conciliatory tone. “Awww, it’s okay to not understand,” she half-whispered to Allison. “Maybe your Mommy or Daddy will explain it to you in a way that will stick.” Gently, she unbuckled Allison and helped her to her feet. “Come on. Help me find them.” “What about my pants? And shoes?” Allison whimpered. “Don’t worry,” the woman said. “Miss Stephie will send someone to get them. I don’t think those skinny jeans are big enough for you; not with that diaper on.” Allison’s knees locked and toddled on without her consent as the bathroom door was opened and she was led back out into the grocery store. Out of the bathroom…in public…in just a t-shirt, frilly socks, and a diaper…and everyone could see…! A round of “Awwww!”s assaulted her ears from both sides. An old woman shopping for sea food looked right at Allison and smiled knowingly at her. A woman who might have been younger than her, smiled brightly at Allison and gave a little wave, beckoning her to wave back. Far off in the dairy aisle, a four year old with a ragdoll tugged at her father’s pant leg and pointed directly at Allison. Dad just nodded gently and said something back; both were too far off for Allison to hear, but she knew they were talking about her! “We’re gonna go up to the front,” Miss Stephie said. “But if you see your Mommy or Daddy you let me know, okay? All the way to the front of the store. Allison would have preferred to be shame marched through the streets naked than to have to crinkle to the front of the grocery store. “Okay?” “Allison?” A strange yet vaguely familiar voice pierced the fear fog of Allison’s mind. “ALLISON!” “Huh?” Allison turned her head slightly to the right just in time to see a flash of teal colored skin engulfing her in a smothering embrace. “Where did you run off to?” Genie’s voice carried through flesh and fog while Allison struggled to breathe with her head landing firmly in between Genie’s breasts. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again, little girl!” Allison’s head was peeled back and she stood up so that she was nearly eye to eye with the technicolored being she’d released from that old lava lamp not twenty-four hours prior. She was dressed in a white tank top and bell bottoms instead of something Barbara Eden might prefer, but she was unmistakably the genie. The greenish bluish skin was kind of a giveaway. “Genie?!” “‘Genie’, dear,” Genie said as if she were correcting the girl. “Or ‘Mommy’. ‘Mommy’s’ better, actually.” “Ma’am,” the worker said to Genie, “Is this your little girl?” Genie grabbed Allison’s other hand. “She most certainly is,” Miss Stephie released her grip. “I found her in the Aybie diaper aisle by herself.” “I am so sorry about that!” Genie gushed. “I was putting some wipes and powder in our cart and took a phone call, and the next thing I knew she was gone!” Allison caught a sly conspiratorial wink from the mystical being, as if she were in on a joke. The grocery store worker nodded. “Yeah, they can get tricky about that when they want to. Did you know she was wearing panties?” Genie let out the lightest gasp. “Panties?! At your age?! Have you been sneaking into Mommy’s underwear drawer again?” “N--n-n-n-no..?” The wires in Allison’s brain were fritzing at the sheer absurdity of the situation. “Mmmhmm…” “You know how little ones can be,” the grocery store worker said to Genie, “Sometimes they like pretending so they put on big kid undies.” “Yup,” Genie replied, “but they have accidents every time. I’ve seen the videos that parents post online.” Gears were slowly clicking into place for Allison. Some of her favorite videos and stories started with the main character having an ‘accident’. “Genie…” “Mommy’s talking, darling,” Genie shushed. “The real shock is that you figured out how to get your diaper off. I thought those jeans were a little too skinny for you.” Miss Stephie pointed at Allison’s diaper and said “Uh-oh. Looks like I got her in one just in time.” Allison followed the finger and felt her eyes fall out of their sockets. Her Little Kings felt heavier than they had a few seconds ago, and the pale yellow line running from front to back had been broken up by a streak of blue. She hadn’t even felt it. Not the need to go or the act of wetting herself. There was no arguing with the wetness indicator, however. “I…I…I…I went pee-pee?!” Genie started petting Allison. “Yes. That’s why good Adult Babies wear their diapers. So they don’t make a mess on the floor.” “I’M NOT A BABY!” “We know,” Miss Stephie said, condescendingly. “You’re a very very big girl.” Genie finished the thought. “You’re an Adult Baby. And such a cutie too!” She planted a kiss on Allison’s flaming cheek. “Someone who is old enough to be an adult but is still a baby.” “Oh, just in case,” Miss Stephie said. “Can I see some I.D.?” The teal skinned woman reached into her pocket and pulled-possibly from nowhere- a wallet. “Of course. Here you go.” Allison watched the store clerk flip open the wallet. In the front left pocket, there was a picture with what appeared to be- for lack of a better word- Genie’s driver’s license, turquoise exterior and all. And in the bottom right corner was a little doodle of a teddy bear. “How does that prove any-?” Allison began. Then she saw the clerk flip the driver’s license flap up and over, revealing a second one. It was Allison’s driver’s license, alright. She’d looked at it enough times and thought about how bad the picture looked. The baby bottle insignia on the right hand corner was different, but it was hers. Squinting her eyes, there was one important difference. In the photo, the yellow t-shirt she’d worn that day-the one that didn’t look nearly as cute with the flashbulb turned to maximum-had shoulder snaps. Allison’s driver’s license had her in a onesie. “I’ll just pop back into the restroom,” the worker said, handing Genie back the wallet. “Code Rosé all clear,” She said into the walkie talkie. “We found Mommy.” Allison’s heart didn’t stop thudding in her ears before the lady’s room door closed. “Genie!” she yelped. “What are you doing?” “It’s ‘Genie’.” “Genie.” “Genie.” “Genie!” “Try Mommy.” Allison stomped her socked foot. “Argh! Mommy!” “Much better.” The grocery store worker came back with the mostly full bag of diapers and Allison’s pants, underwear, and shoes neatly stacked on top. “Here you are ma’am.” “I’ll make sure to pay for the diapers up front with the rest of our stuff,” Genie said. “They really need to put some powder and wipes in the Aybie aisle too. Less hassle.” “Mmmhmm,” Genie took the bundle in her free hand and started to drag Allison away, just as this otherwise normal woman had before. Normal… Something suddenly occurred to Allison. “Stop! Wait!” Allison said. “Look at her! She’s not my Mommy! She’s a genie, can’t you tell?” “Sure she is, darling,” the normal woman chuckled at her. “Allison,” Genie spoke as if addressing a two year old, “just because Mommy takes very good care of you and has different colored skin doesn’t mean that she’s a fifth dimension non-linear being who can alter what you call reality as easily as someone flicking a switch or a left over species from when the Earth was young and thus not fully tied to the laws of nature as you understand it.” She and Miss Stephie exchanged looks and laughed pleasantly as if this were any kind of common occurrence or misconception. “Kids,” the human woman said. “Even in their twenties, what an imagination!” “Don’t you know it!” Genie agreed. Allison could only let herself be led back into the aisles to find a shopping cart loaded with milk, sugary cereals, macaroni and cheese, Spaghetti-O’s, disinfecting and baby wipes, and jars of ‘adult baby food’. The pack of Little Kings went on top of the pile. “We’ll have to buy these,’ Genie tutted. “But we’ll get some use out of them.” Attached to the cart proper was an extender, the kind meant for children too big to fit into the basket seat but with parents who didn’t want them walking around. This one was more than big enough to accommodate Allison. It even had a toy steering wheel. She found herself in it shortly and winced at the wet squish beneath her bottom reminding her what she had on and what she’d just done to herself. “Ge-...Mommy!” Allison said, flustered. “What are you doing here? I set you free!” “I know,” Genie smiled. “And I love you for it.” The cart started moving towards the checkout. “So I decided to grant you your greatest desire, for free! Unconditionally!” Allison’s heart fluttered and thumped rapidly in her chest. Everyone at the store was looking at her, even when they weren’t, they were. And why wouldn’t they? Everybody loved a baby…but that gave her both the best and worst feelings. “Mommy, what are you talking about? I didn’t want this. I didn’t wish this!” “A little birdy showed me pictures online,” Genie said, stocking up. “All those other adult babies had Mommies and Daddies taking care of them and posting up just the most darling pictures online for everyone to see.” The cart inched closer to the cashier and Allison sunk down deeper into the child’s seat so as to avoid eye contact. “I still don’t see what’s the big deal with this Big Diaper Friday thing.” “Me neither,” the cashier butted in. “But you know how trends are. Some people dump ice water on their heads, other people post pictures of their adult babies in big diapers. People are just silly sometimes.” “You said it,” Genie laughed, producing a credit card that likely hadn’t existed prior to this morning. “Big Diaper Friday?” Allison gasped. “Have you been online?” That got more good natured laughter from the adults. “Sweetie, of course I have,” she gently pinched Allison’s blushing cheeks. “How else was I supposed to find out what you most needed?” “The internet isn’t just for big babies and little kids, sweetie,” The cashier informed her. “I’m not a little kid!” “That’s right. So which one does that make you?” Allison was about to argue but recognized a losing battle when she heard one. While groceries more in line with something a preschooler would enjoy or need were being tirelessly packed into brown paper bags, something clicked in Allison’s brain: ‘Adult Baby’ meant something completely different to the genie. However she’d found out about Adult Babies, Genie had only interpreted ‘adult’ in terms of age, not in terms of appropriateness. That’s why the aisle that had spontaneously manifested for her had been filled with familiar products whose names she’d known about since forever. Those had been adult baby diapers, and to Genie ‘adult babies’ just so happened to be babies who were old enough to be adults. There was no context of kink or ageplay. Huggies and Pampers were for babies. Tykables and Rearz were for Adult Babies. “Mommy!” Allison said as the automatic doors spread themselves into the parking lot. “There’s been a mistake!” Genie pushed the cart over to an SUV that Allison definitely hadn’t driven there in. “I think it’s called an ‘accident’, dearie.” “No, no, no.” Allison rapidly shook her head. “You don’t understand. There’s been a mistake.” She’d wanted the money and space to have her own dream Adult Baby house and nursery, not to be a literal adult baby. “This isn’t what I wanted!” For her part, Genie seemed unperturbed, and talked while she stacked sacks of groceries into the back of the car. “What mistake could there be, darling? I saw all those adorable pictures of those big babies, and realized that you really wanted to be one. So I decided to help.” “Those weren’t adult babies,” Allison tried to explain. “They looked like adult babies to me,” Genie countered. “Strange that so many of their Mommies and Daddies posted pictures of them pooping, but…no, those were adult babies.” “Those aren’t adult babies,” the human repeated. “Those are adult baby diaper lovers. They’re people who like wearing diapers and who like to pretend to be babies.” Genie blinked. “I thought the diaper lover part was just a way of saying that they couldn’t be potty trained…are you sure?” “Yes!” It took everything for Allison not to scream that last part. “So how do real adult babies and their Mommies and Daddies feel about people playing dress up as them?” Genie asked. There was a storm brewing behind her eyes. “And why were you looking at all of those pictures? Are you the type of person who would want to hurt or make fun of a baby?” Allison’s heart went from thudding to nearly full stop. “That’s just it!” she rattled out. “There’s no such thing as an adult baby! It’s all people in costumes! It’s all people wanting to act like babies so we play dress up and pretend! We don’t want to hurt anybody, it’s just…it’s just…something we want…!” “All of you?” “Yes!” Allison almost cried out of fear. “And now you’ve just used magic to make me the only literal adult baby in the entire world! Now either all of those companies that make those products are going to go out of business, or there’s going to be tons of people feeling like creeps for buying what they think are actual baby products to wear for fun! You’re singling me out AND hurting people!” Genie shut the hatchback of the SUV. “Oh no, that won’t do at all.” Allison felt a surge of hope. “It won’t?” “Not at all.” She seemed to think for a second. “So there isn’t anyone else in the world like this? There aren’t any other Adult Babies? All of those pictures and stories I found are just sad people playing pretend like you wanted to?” “Yes,” Allison nodded. “I’m the only one! Now if you could just-” “That is so sad!” Genie interrupted. She gently cupped Allison’s face with one hand. “I know what to do now. Don’t worry, sweetie. Mommy will fix it.” Then nothing happened. The pair just stayed there in the parking lot. “What did you do?” Allison asked. “Mommy made it all better,” Genie smiled. Allison looked down between her legs and saw the blue line racing up the middle of her diaper. She very much doubted it. Genie slipped the sneakers back on overAllison’s frilly socks and unbuckled her from the massive children’s seat. “All done. Come on, let’s go.” The diapered woman rose up on shaky legs as a mini-van pulled up in the spot next to them. A woman got out of the driver’s seat and walked around to the sliding side door. “Come on pumpkin, let’s go shopping!” she chirped. She reached in, her arms fiddling with straps and buckles. A decidedly deep “Yes Mommy!” answered back. Allison stared awestruck as a rather big man, almost a head taller than her, got out of the van. He was dressed in a baseball themed onesie and cap, and sucked his thumb timedly while the woman closed the door. The woman sniffed and wrinkled her nose. “Come on,” she grabbed the man’s hand but only walked him so far as the hatchback. “Let’s get you sorted out before we go shopping.” “Yes, Mommy.’ Allison watched, gobsmacked, while the woman opened up the hatchback, laid out a changing mat, took a Tyakables Waddler out of what Allison had mistakenly thought was a purse and waited for the big guy to lay down. “Mommy!” Allison exclaimed, even as she herself was being maneuvered into an extraordinarily large car seat in the back of Genie’s SUV.. “What did you do?!” The door slammed shut, and the teal skinned woman walked around to the driver’s side. “What did you do?!” “I fixed things,” Genie said simply. The car started and backed out into the parking lot. Allison got one last curiously horrified glance as the onesie was being finished unsnapped and revealing a thoroughly used Tykables underneath. “Now it’s all better,” they started driving off. “How did you make it all better?” Allison demanded. “I’m still in a diaper!” “Yes you are,” Genie confirmed. “Adult babies need diapers. All of you do.” The implications were not lost. “All of us…?” “Most people pretending to be something that they weren’t would just want to keep the fantasy all to themselves,” Genie all-but-sang. “Genie, make me thinner. Genie, get me the girl. Genie get rid of Pompeii. But you immediately realized how getting your fantasy might be hurting other people.” She sighed contentedly. “You really are the most special little human I’ve ever met.” “That doesn’t explain anything.” There was more than a twinkle in Genie’s reflection. “Baby girl knows how to share.” Oh no. “You didn’t…!” “I did,” Genie laughed. “If only that street rat had wished that every homeless person could be a prince, the world would have been a lot nicer, I think.” Allison craned her neck and gaped at the world outside her car window. The surrounding city wasn’t cartoonishly overcrowded but the few people walking around in onesies and rompers on the sidewalk-their caregivers holding their hands or their toddler leashes- stuck out like sore thumbs. Same for the passing cars with similarly sized car seats in them. Right as a light turned green, Allison caught sight of a family whose dynamics had undoubtedly switched; now that the father was openly being pushed around in a stroller by his wife and his daughter gleefully skipping behind. “This must be the entire city’s munch population,” Allison said out loud. “Wait, is that Jillie? I didn’t Jillie was…” A terrible thought. “Are all these adult babies people who were pretending before or…?” “Don’t worry about it,” Genie waved her question off. “Now you’ve got tons of a little friends who are all getting the same wish that you wanted and they’re being cared for and loved just like you.” “Not everybody has a Mommy or Daddy,” Allison tried to squirm out of her seat, but her body just wasn’t cooperating. “Are you inventing adult baby orphanages or something?” “Goodness know,” Genie said. The car was slowing. “Don’t worry about it dear. All the adult babies will find someone.” “But,...” the car slowed to a full stop, and so did Allison’s argument. They weren’t home. Or any kind of home. It was a local park. Genie opened the door and helped Allison out. “There’s a very nice playground with some very hungry ducks, and none of the groceries are going to go bad if we let them sit for a bit.” “But-” “No buts young lady,” Genie cut her off. The tiny hairs on her back stood on end when she had her diaper pulled back. “Yours is clean enough.” Great relief came with ‘clean’ but then coupled itself with humiliation at ‘enough’. She’d almost allowed herself to forget that her diaper was wet. “Come along.” Her hand entrapped in Genies, Allison could only follow along and look at the park with fresh eyes. Ducks swam and quacked to each other. People walked their dogs. Cute boys tossed the football to one another while their girlfriends chatted to each other on the side lines. Middle schoolers scrimmaged in soccer. It was common enough to be boring, but Allison couldn’t help but hunch her shoulders up to her ears in her anxiety. Best not to look too long lest she be looked at. This was normal this was normal this was normal this was normal….except it wasn’t at all. Not even close and she just couldn’t make peace with it. “HAAAAAPPY BIRTH-DAY TOOOOOO YOU. HAPPY BIRTH-DAY TOOOO YOU. HAPPY BIRTH-DAY DEAR ELLIE! HAAAAAPPY BIRTH-DAY TOOO YOOOOU!” Allison’s attention was drawn to the sound of off key singing, the smell of burgers on the grill, and the sight of balloons and party streamers. Someone was having a birthday party beneath a pavilion. Presents were stacked up on picnic tables and somebody’s uncle (it was always somebody’s uncle) was flipping burgers. The majority of the people were all crowded around a young blonde girl gazing as if hypnotized at a large pink birthday cake. She wasn’t actually a girl in the strictest sense, she’d clearly gone through puberty and such. Allison thought ‘girl’ just because when you’re closer to thirty than twenty, everyone who looks too young to rent a car suddenly reads as ‘kid’. A bit ageist, she’d admit, but when she was twenty one, anyone more than five years her senior was unconsciously grouped into ‘old’. To be fair, the braided pigtails weren’t doing the girl any favors in terms of maturity. The party decorations were a bit juvenile, too. Lots of crate paper and streamers for an older high schooler’s or young college kid’s party. No peers either; just family. No. Check that. There was another girl about the same age, holding a present. A sibling maybe? Or a cousin? There didn’t seem to be any familial resemblance, so perhaps she was just a family friend. “Oh, let’s go have a look!” Genie said, leading Allison closer to the gathering. “Maybe they’ll share some cake. Or you can play on the playground and make a new friend!’ New friend? About thirty feet away from the pavilion was a playground, the kind that was big enough for both kids and adults to enjoy, though she’d never have been caught dead goofing around on one. It was empty however. “Here Ellie,” a relative, possibly her mother, said. “Before we get you set up with cake, why don’t you open this?” Almost ceremonially, the bright pink package that the other young girl had been holding was shoved in Ellie’s face. She took it half-mesmerized. Because of the package’s dimensions and how today had been going, Allison had a sinking feeling. “No…” She trudged closer anyways, her Little Kings still sagging beneath her. “Oh!” the girl, Ellie gasped. “Are these what I…?” She started panting and tearing up slightly, gazing at the rebranded package of Rearz Princess diapers. “Guys! How did you know?!” Her mother pecked her on the cheek. “You don’t think I know my own baby girl?” “Or that I don’t know my own adult baby girl?” The only other teenager said, giving a peck on the mirrored cheek. “Come on, let’s get you out of those yucky big girl panties.” They’d come close enough so that Allison could see everything. The changing mat on the spare picnic table, and the girl’s family lying her down and undressing her there in the open air in front of everyone while packages of onesies were ripped open and a fresh diaper- the first of an uncountable number- was fluffed. Allison only found her voice once they were practically on top. “STOP!” Allie screamed. “STOP! THIS IS WRONG!” “Oh don’t worry, Allie,” Genie said, tapping the top of her hand. “They’re just getting the big baby girl nice and comfy.” There was a curious staring from the group towards them. They’d clearly intruded, but such intrusion wasn’t stopping the girl whose birthday it was from getting her butt covered in baby powder. “I’m sorry,” Genie apologized. “My little one has a very big imagination. We were just getting ready to go over to the playground over there.” Whether the apology was accepted or just mystically enforced, the tension left the family’s gaze. “Oh that’s alright. Kids will be kids.” They looked over at the empty playground and back to the cake. “Would you like to join us? Ellie doesn’t have any adult baby friends yet.” The older woman smiled condescendingly towards Allie. “And we’ve got a loooot of caaaake.” “Genie,” Allie whined, “you can’t do this to her!” The birthday girl’s Rearz had just been sealed on, and the other girl (her girlfriend? Mommy?) was sitting her up and tying a bib over her that just barely covered her breasts. “She’s just a kid!!” “No she’s not,” Genie shook her head. “She’s eighteen. That was very clear from everything I learned about adult babies.” “Just turned today,” A middle aged man with a mustache nodded proudly. “That’s my girl!” “Then how do you know she’s really an adult baby?” Allie whined. “Just look at her. It was obvious this morning, as soon as she got up.” “The wet bed was kind of a hint too,” Ellie’s mother chimed in. “Don’t think I didn’t see you trying to do the laundry like a big girl early this morning.” That made the new big baby’s skin start to match her fresh padding. “Aybies…always trying to hide it, even though it’s obvious.” She smiled and clicked her tongue. “Such an imagination.’ “Sowwy mom,” Ellie said, waddling over. She wrapped her arms tight around the older woman. “Fankyou!” “You’re welcome, baby.” “But…how do you know?” Allie persisted. “How did your family and Mommy know?” Ellie asked. Allie immediately tried to avoid eye contact. Ellie was better endowed than her and it was hard not to stare, even with the bib. “Grown-ups just…know.” It was just like the grocery store. “But I was wearing jeans and panties,” Allie sulked. “And if you saw a baby walking around in jeans and panties, would that fool you?” Genie asked. “No…” “So why would it be any different with adult babies?” The other girl, now seeming much more grown-up and mature, even compared to Allie, came up and hugged the new adult baby from behind. “And after we graduate from highschool, you can move in with me. The college I was looking at has a great Aybie daycare program that’s free to students and I can probably get a special dorm. Won’t that be neat?” Family members nodded in approval and also pledged to help ‘Aybiesit’ if needed. “Graduate?” Allie found herself saying. “Why would an adult baby need to graduate anything? Or know anything?” “That’s a good point,” the mother said. “We’ll have to inform the school and have her drop out. Get things added to her identification.” “A very good point,” Genie agreed. “That’s not what I meant!” Allie yelped. “How old are you, baby girl?” the new Mommy said. “What’s your name?” “I”m Allie,” Allie said, not realizing how foreign yet right it felt to say it out loud. “And I’m…I’m…twenty-seven.” “Wow,” the high school senior said. “That’s super old. I’ve never been that old before. Can you count that high for me, Allie?” Hm? Of course she could. “One….two…three…four…” There were other numbers. What were they? “One, two, three, four,” she repeated. “One, two, three, four.” She really felt like she was gaining steam. “One, two, three, four.“ Yes! That was it! “One…two…three…four!” All around nodded approvingly. “Wow, that’s really good! You almost got there, too!” “Got where?” Allie asked. “Don’t worry, baby,” Mommy patted her on the head. “You did a good job of counting.” That made Allie feel a little better but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was suddenly very very off. Noses around wrinkled. “Ellie,” her new Mommy said. “Is that you?” she stepped back and gave the pink diaper a pat. Ellie popped her thumb out of her mouth. “Is that what, Celeste? I mean, Mommy.” She giggled trying the title out. “Nope,” Mommy said, letting the back of Allie’s waistband snap back into place. “It’s mine.” “What?!” Allie squealed! “That’s impossible!” She hadn’t even felt herself going! “When? How?!” “Must’ve been all that counting,” someone chuckled offhandedly. “But I’m not poopy!” This poopy diaper disagrees,” Mommy said, giving her bum a pat. “Or did someone poop your diaper for you?” “You did,” Annie sulked. “You did, Mommy.” “Oh the freedom, to lash out and still be loved,” Mommy replied. “Truly a treasure greater than all the gold of King Solomon.” She started leading Allie out of the pavilion and towards the public restrooms. “Come on, sweetie, let’s get you sorted out.” “You can take care of her here,” the middle aged man with the mustache said. “It’s nothing we haven’t seen before. She’s just an adult baby. Go ahead and change her.” The new Mommy practically shot her hand up in the air. “Oooh Oooh! Can I change her? I need the practice!” Allie’s heart nearly leapt up into her throat. The idea of being changed, in public, by someone almost ten years her junior made her everything go on high alert. Mommy placed her hand on the mall of Allie’s back. “I think I’ll take this one, ma’am. But if our girls hit it off maybe we can talk about playdates and babysitting.” The younger woman blushed. “Sorry,” she said. “New Mommy syndrome. I’m just really excited.” “Think nothing of it.” Allie winced sitting down on the top of the empty picnic table, her body almost automatically lying down, while Mommy rummaged through a diaper bag and got out wipes, powder, and an Alphagatorz. “What am I doing?!” Allie said to herself. “You’re getting a diaper change,” Mommy said. “Just like you always do.” Allie didn’t have time to object when the tapes to her old stinky diaper were ripped open. She moaned and gasped as nice cool baby wipes were pressed against her flesh, caressing away the warm and icky residue and leavings that her body had pushed out. “Doesn’t that feel better,” Mommy asked. “No responsibilities. No worries. No having to clean up after yourself! No need for all those silly grown-up thoughts like spelling, and reading to worry about….” “I’m a biburl,” Allie mumbled around her thumb, while her Mommy balled up the used diaper and set it aside. She should be hating this. There should be goose pimples poking out of her flesh. Getting her poopy butt wiped in public! In front of strangers! She should be panicking. She should be trying to escape or fight back. She should be begging to learn how to use the potty, or to get her knowledge back…she was sure she’d lost those skills but only because she’d told people she’d had them. She should be crying and in misery. Why should she…again? “Yes you are a big girl,” Mommy agreed. “But that just means that you’re allllll done with the hard work of growing up.” She slid the new diaper deftly beneath her and dusted her privates. It could have been her zillionth time doing something like this. “This is your reward.” “Okay, birthday girl!” Came a call closer to the presents and food and away from the diaper changing supplies. “Who’s ready for some smash cake?!” “CAKE?!” Only Mommy’s hand on her chest stopped Allie from leaping off the makeshift changing table. “Hold on hold on. You’re not all taped up yet,” she chuckled. “And it’s not your cake. So we’ll have to be patient.” Allie harrumphed back down and let her Mommy finish diapering her. Admittedly, it did feel better to have the diaper on nice and snug instead of only half taped on. Then, like a good girl, Allie raised her arms up over her head so that her Mommy could take her shirt off for her. “Looks like someone forgot to take off that silly bra,” Mommy clucked. “Oh well. We can take it off now.” Somebody’s uncle came up with a piece of cake. “Here you go, little one. Here you go, Mama.” Allie didn’t wait before cramming as much as possible into her mouth at once, hands first. “Hey, Ellie! You could learn a lot from your new friend!” It wasn’t Allie’s birthday, it was her new little friend’s, but for some reason it felt like she’d been given the gifts too! (The End.)

Friends, Magic is real and all around us; we just fail to grasp it and take its powers for our own. Most hucksters and snake oil sorcerers would tell you this and add in the phrase “Believe it or Not!” But that particular colloquialism is one hell of a misnomer. You have to believe, friends, you have to. Belief is the thing that generates magic, that breathes life into it like air to a flame. Belief latches onto that power and Divine Spark of creation like a fishhook into a trout and reels it to the surface. You get enough people to believe something and all of reality will bend the knee and bow to that belief, instantly retconning itself because magic told it too. Do you really think that dragons never existed? Or that man was not meant to fly? Or that the United States of America was founded before 1958? If so, that’s just magic retconning your memory thanks to belief. For as long as mankind has been around, those who wield magic have been the editors of reality and by my count, we’re on at least the one thousandth and sixteenth draft, give or take a fairy tale. One thing I will add, however, is that the belief need not specifically come from you. Not initially anyways. Ever hear of magic artifacts? Monkey’s Paws? Four Leaf Clovers? Ginsu Knives? Chia Pets? If enough people believe something is magic- if they invest that little bit of their own tiny portion of belief into it-then it becomes magic regardless of the individual belief. A clover is lucky and a knife will never ever dull. You just gotta be careful of what the belief is and who uses it, is all… An excerpt from “Do You Believe in Magic? 2nd Edition” By Cornelius Crowley. **************************************************************************************************** Road trips are super boring. Always have been. Always will be. And you can’t convince me otherwise. Travel, in general, is super boring. You’re stuck in some kind of box, either by yourself or with other people, and you’re not where you want to be. It’s waiting and being mobile at the same time. Vacation? Moving? That’s exciting! New places, new diversions, new people, new everything! Traveling? Suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck! You can bet your ass that if the Pilgrims didn’t have to cram themselves in a big wooden boat to get to Plymouth Rock, they wouldn’t have. If traveling circuses and carnivals could get a reliable cash flow without going from town to town to milk their marks, you bet your ass they wouldn’t. Traveling sucks, road trips suck, and Nickelback sucks. That last example has nothing to do with the first two but it needed to be said. It just sucks. It’s always sucked and always will suck. It’s just as our trains, planes, and automobiles have gotten faster, we’ve gotten less tolerant of the suckitude of it all. It sucks even when you’re with the love of your life and she’s driving. “Almost there,” Crystal said. I stared at my Twitter feed, not reacting. We were nowhere near Disney World. We’d just crossed the state border not even an hour prior. With the detour we had to take and stops for dinner we probably wouldn’t be in Orlando until sunset. “Lola? Lola?” I looked up from my phone and over at my girlfriend. “Huh?” I asked. “I said we’re almost to the next rest stop,” she said. Her right leg was on the pedal, and her left one was bouncing up a storm. Most people would see that nervous energy on her slim, athletic build, and assume that she was a runner, antsy to stretch her legs or something. Nope. Crystal just had to pee. She wasn’t even all that athletic. My girlfriend had been blessed and cursed with many things; chief among them was a hummingbird’s metabolism. She could wolf down a whole cow’s worth of ground beef and not gain a pound. This was balanced out by also having a humming bird’s bladder. “Cool cool,” I said. I sat up and dug around for change in the passenger side armrest “Do we got any change?” Nothing but three measly pennies. I looked at the pastures and backwoods cowfields. “I bet vending machines don’t take credit cards here.” “I don’t think this stop will have a vending machine,” Crystal said. She pointed at the sign and turned onto the dirt road. “Gift shop, maybe.’ A thick wooden sign had the words “Ponce De Leon Wishing Well” carved in it. This is what happens when you realize that driving is still cheaper than taking a plane and an interstate pileup makes taking back roads more palatable. “”Oh hell,” I said. “Do you think I need to find some Confederate money?” Crystal tried to stop herself from laughing, and failed. “Lola! Stop! I’m gonna pee here in the car!” I stopped. That didn’t keep the smug shit eating grin off my face while we pulled into the parking lot next to what looked like nothing more than an old timey well and a stone hut of a visitor’s center. “I’m going to the bathroom,” Crystal said, turning the engine (and air conditioning) off. “You coming with?” “Naw,” I replied. “I’ll see if I can’t snag a bottle of Sprite or something. I’m kinda thirsty.” We got out and stretched our legs in the balmy southern heat. Both heading towards the lone standing structure. “This might be our last rest stop for the next couple of hours,” Crystal said. “You sure you don’t gotta go?” Inwardly I rolled my eyes. Just because I made Crystal ‘in charge’ of our travel plans, she was acting like she was my mom or something. I shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m good.” “What if you drink all that Sprite and have to go?” We made our way inside. “If I have to go,” I said, “then the bottle will be empty, won’t it?” “Ugh,” she groaned. “I’m dating a child! A literal child!” I giggled at my own cleverness, making sure she’d hear me all the way to the tiny unisex bathroom. Meanwhile, I bought my soda, (they did accept credit) and meandered to see what exactly at this place could possibly trap a tourist. The well, as it turned out, was it. Just the well. I took a sip of Sprite and stared down into the abyss. There wasn’t even a boundary keeping me from getting too close. No grate stopping someone from falling in, either. “Someone could really get hurt messing around with this thing,” I said to no one in particular. “...this thing….” Came my own voice back to me.. “How deep is this well?’ “It doesn’t say,” Crystal’s voice made me jump. “But it’s got a plaque.” Riveted to the side of the well was a bronze plate that read: “Dug by Spanish Explorers in 1600, this well was thought by Ponce De Leon to contain the water of the Fountain of Youth. Local legend has it that anyone who throws a penny down it will have their deepest wish granted should they but speak it.” “Whoah,” I whispered. “There’s a lot to unpack there.” Crystal took her phone out and googled something. “Yeah. Pretty sure Ponce De Leon died before 1600.” “And why would a magical Spanish wishing well accept American pennies?” I wondered. “Why would explorers dig a well?” Crystal added. “Nobody digs a well and just leaves. Shouldn’t it be colonists or settlers or something?” I nodded to her and shook my head at the well. “And is it the Fountain of Youth or a Wishing Well?” I let out a chuckle. “Pick a lane, guys.” “Maybe it’s both?” Crystal suggested. That got us both grinning at the absurdity. She elbowed me and pointed to the bare bar above the well where a rope would typically be wound up for a bucket to be lowered. “I bet it used to be a fountain, but then they lost the bucket.” I dug around in my pocket. “One way to find out,” I said. One at a time I tossed them in, waiting for the telltale plunk of them hitting water or the jingle of them hitting rock bottom. “Nothing?” Crystal asked. “Must be deep,” I said. “All the way to the fountain of youth.” I took my girlfriend’s hand and we started walking back to the car. “Should we go and tell them what’s wrong with their local legend?” “Nah,” Crystal replied. “Let the local yokels have their fun.” She nuzzled me and purred like a kitten. “You don’t wanna lose your three wishes do you?” I nibbled on her ear and parted so I could slide into the front passenger seat. “How good could a wish be if it only costs a penny?” We buckled up. Crystal’s Subaru backed out and then surged back down the dirt trail. “Only one way to find out,” she teased. “Fine,” I grinned. “I wish you got those curves May inherited from your Mom.” My girlfriend pretended to be offended. “Lola! Rude!” “What?” I teased. I had invoked both her mother and her little sister. Crystal had gotten her father’s body. “You told me you were jealous!” “I was drunk!” “Still counts, babe,” I winked. I reached out and petted her hair. “You know I love you and think you’re hot as hell, right?” Not that I’d ever admit it, but I’d been making eyes at May when we first met. Lucky timing and her boyfriend stopped me from striking out, so I hit on her big sister. I have a type, but Crystal isn’t unattractive, and natural chemistry goes a long way. The past year or so made me so glad that I hit on the big sister instead. “Well that’s one wish,” Crystal said after a slight pause. “You got two more. What are they?” “We’re still doing this?” I asked. We’d just turned back onto the paved road. “Unless you want me to turn on the radio or something.” Crystal reached for the dial like it was a threat. “No, no,” I said. “Just didn’t realize this was turning into some kinda thought experiment.” “We can always play I spy.” “No.” “Then wish, girl.” I inhaled. So we were playing this game. I liked games and thought experiments. There were no wrong answers, but it still felt like there were definitely ways to win or lose. “Freedom,” I said. “I want freedom.” “Pretty sure you already have that,” Crystal said. “Or close enough.” “Naw,” I said. “I want total freedom. Do what you want, when you want.” “So The Purge. You want the Purge.” I frowned. “Not like that. More like. I want as much freedom as humanly possible as can be handled. If I wanna walk around topless, I can. Or if we make out in the middle of a sidewalk, people will mind their own damn business. That kind of thing.” I was on a roll and knew it. “I want everybody to have that kind of freedom. I wish everybody got as much freedom and power as they can responsibly handle. No more or less.” “From each according to their ability to each according to their needs, eh comrade?” I folded my arms. Some people read a few articles on Marx and they think they know about communism. “When you put it that way…” I said. “Shut up.” “Is that a wish?” Crystal teased. “No,” I said, “I’m saving my last one for later.” “Laaaaame,” my girlfriend said. “You have to finish.” “They’re my fake ass wishes,” I said. I took a sip from my half empty bottle of Sprite. “I can do whatever I want with-” Time stopped. The Subaru wasn’t moving. The air conditioning had turned off. I wasn’t even breathing. I couldn’t feel my heartbeat or move my eyes. Only my consciousness kept going. There was no pain. If there had been, I wouldn’t have been able to scream anyways. My lungs weren’t contracting. The world was pulling away from me, the front seat getting further and further away. Dying? Was I dying? I didn’t know. I was helpless to do anything while I sank away from the world like it was quicksand. Falling. Falling. Falling. I was being yanked against my will, but the gravitational force was moving me backwards not downward. The world went black but only for a second. Suddenly, I was gazing at the back of the passenger seat, with my legs still partially inserted. Was I moving through things? Like a ghost? My peripheral vision expanded to see Crystal’s eyes from the rear view mirror. If my heart had been beating, it’d be close to exploding at that moment. Was I going to pass through into the trunk? Then out into the road? Then what? But no. My back touched something solid and soft. Something started hugging my chest. And just like that, I exhaled, and God pressed play on the world again. “Bah?!” I blinked and breathed and let out a surprised scream. ”AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” My heart and lungs started catching up to my brain and making up for lost time while my limbs spasmed in panic! What the fuck had happened?! I opened up my mouth to ask what was going on: ‘Why am I in the back seat?’ ‘Did you see that?’ ‘Are you okay?’ That sort of thing. What came out? “Blagabargag!” I looked down past my nose at my mouth the way I used to whenever I played a wrong note in marching band, as if it were the instrument’s fault. Huh? Okay. No big deal. Clearly I’d had so many questions overloading my brain that they all scrambled together at once and just came out. My brain registered my own bare legs and the feeling of something pressing against my chest so that I couldn’t learn forward more than an inch or so. What had happened to my pants? Why were my legs shaved? Was I in a roller coaster seat? How did a roller coaster seat get into our car? None of this, neither the questions popping into my brain at a mile a minute or the assumption that I’d just tripped over my own tongue was analysis. Analysis takes time. This was just pure justification; my mind racing and grasping at straws while other parts couldn’t help but keep taking in new data before the first set was fully processed. That’s why people see their lives flash before their eyes before they die. A panicked brain really can outpace the clock. In real time, it was maybe a second before I tried again, only to get another round of babbling, that time something like, “Gagagarobbububub!” I gasped. Oh fuck! Maybe my heart really had stopped! What if I was brain damaged or something?! Did I have a stroke? Had I lost time and years had gone by with me only now regaining a form of lucidity as my girlfriend was driving me out of whatever nursing home or therapy center years later? I wiggled my arms and legs around experimentally. It was easy enough. Vaguely, I registered the feeling of extra cushioning on my seat and the slightest crinkle when I moved. “Agah?” My eyes narrowed and I focused everything on my mouth. “Wwwwwwhaaaa?” It was like my speech centers were bogged down in pudding and I had to focus every spare thought on making my rubber lips cooperate. A pleasant wetness spread beneath me, warming and cupping my bottom and crotch. It was like I’d sat on a wet bench that hadn’t quite dried after a sun shower, except the wetness didn’t spread to my thighs. For the split second I was thinking about it, I lost focus and smiled slightly. I wriggled in my seat and a giggle spilled out of me after the babble. It tickled down there, but in a good way. “Finish your baba, Lolo,” Crystal said, sounding oddly calm considering that I’d pretty much teleported. “Baba?” That word came more naturally to me. I looked over and in my left hand where the Sprite Bottle had been was an honest to goodness baby bottle filled with an amber colored liquid. “That’s right,” Crystal repeated herself. “Make the juice-juice all gone.” New emotions flooded my brain. Crystal had told me to do something! She wanted me to make the juice-juice all gone! I had to! I had to in the same desperate way that a girl does whatever stupid thing to make another girl laugh just so she’ll like her and go out on a date. With almost no hesitation I put the rubber nipple to my lips and started to suck. My eyes widened after the first drops of juice hit my tongue. It was SO GOOD! Better than the finest wine! Better than the smoothest whiskey! I never got to sipping because my lips and tongue took over and I went to full-on gulping the stuff down, tilting my head back, pacing my breathing between swallows for maximum, practiced efficiency. “Good girl!” Mommy said. I kicked my feet and jiggled uncontrollably in my seat. Giggling even as I sucked. The praise from Crystal was like cocaine to my brain. Just the gleam in her eyes and the smile in her voice was enough to make me melt. Then I stopped. Mommy? Where had that thought come from? “That’s right, girly-girl,” Crystal praised. “Make the juice-juice alllll gone.” Girly-girl? That phrasing caught my attention. I wasn’t exactly a butch dyke with a buzz cut and Doc Martens, but I wouldn’t have described myself as particularly “girly”. I ripped the bottle from my lips and looked at myself. My legs were bare, but at the end of my feet were pink sneakers with velcro instead of shoelaces. My plain yellow t-shirt seemed to be intact, but it had decorative frills on the sleeves, which perfectly complemented the sudden frills on my matching colored socks. “Gah huh-maka?” It was the closest I could manage to ‘What the fuck?’. I hadn’t been wearing a denim jumper dress before but it was roughly the same material as my jeans had been. “All done yet?” Crystal asked. “Nope. Just a little bit more, Lolo.” Oh no! Not done yet! I popped the bottle back in and started sucking again. Had to finish! Had to finish for…Crystal! My…girlfriend. I felt a slight twinge in my bladder, but the moment I considered whether or not I had to pee, the feeling vanished. Coincidentally, a bit of warmth made itself known in my panties and a giggling moan escaped my lips for some reason, and I felt a bit of hair brush against my ears and tickle my cheeks. One hand still on the bottle I reached up and patted my head. My hand searched around and found two bushy pigtails, one on either side of my head. What was I, two? My eyes widened, and I gulped down the last of the juice-juice. In slow, gasping breaths, I looked down at the harness keeping me in the massive roller coaster seat. It connected just above my breasts and then ran all the way down to a buckle between my legs. I couldn’t get a good look at myself or see past the buckle very well, but I thought I saw the barest puffy hint poking out from underneath the denim dress. The extra cushion in my panties made a lot more sense, as did the slight crinkle. But… I still had my breasts and hips. My voice hadn’t changed or gotten any higher, and the world was the same size as it had been since my growth spurt ended. Yet for some reason I could barely talk, was drinking apple juice from an adult sized baby bottle (and loving it), was dressed like a toddler and sitting in a massive car seat. What the fuck was going on? Oh no! My brain caught up with the rest of me and as I dropped the bottle to the side, I reached down between my legs and grabbed the diaper-my diaper-and felt the wet squish beneath my fingers. I’d wet myself! I’d wet myself and giggled! I’d wet myself…and kind of liked it. “Ah-ah-ah Lola!” Crystal tutted. Her voice had an edge of seriousness to it. I yanked my hands up all the way to my breasts, trying to keep them away from my diaper and retract them back into myself at the same time. My cheeks flushed like I’d been caught playing with myself. Oh gosh! Why was THAT turning me on? Mommy kept driving and talking. “You know the rules, young lady. No humpies in the car. You’ll just end up breaking up all the padding and then leak when you pee-pee again. Wait till we get somewhere so Mommy can change you right after.” Just hearing Crystal talk about humpies was making me want to do it more. I whined like a puppy dog and jiggled in my seat, gasping as the wet padding grinded and rubbed up against my pussy, letting myself gasp and giggle. “Lola….” Mommy Crystal warned. I stopped and did my best to look embarrassed and ashamed. I wasn’t, though… WHAT WAS HAPPENING TO ME?! I should have been having a panic attack and trying to explain things, not acting like a toddlerized bimbo! I opened my mouth to talk, but not even babble came out; just the whining scream of a child who was angry they didn’t get their way. “WEHHHHH! WEH! WEH! WEH! Bluurgh!” I kicked and kicked and kicked the back of the empty seat in front of me. Hating it and loving it at the same time! Normally I’d have to be articulate or clever or have some kind of snappy one-liner if I was upset. Not in this fever dream I’d found myself living in. Something about screaming felt right. Felt normal. Same for trying to dry hump in a wet diaper. My body tried to lurch forward but was held in place by the baby seat’s harness. Crystal was pulling off to the side of the road. The idea of being spanked flashed across my brain, and my heart started to race in a bad way. Something in my brain signaled I’d pushed too far too fast. Crystal put the car in park, but didn’t cut the engine. Her arm dug around a bag in the front seat that hadn’t been there. I caught glimpses of pastel pink. Then she turned around and looked at me in the back seat. My jaw dropped. That wasn’t Crystal! Or it was, she still had the same eyes and voice, but her body had been completely transformed. Her breasts heaved out in her tank top, barely contained by her bra. Just leaning over I could see the curvature of her hips and tiny bit of tummy that stopped her from looking like a cartoon character. She looked like something of a cross between a slightly older version of her little sister and a much much younger version of her mother. “Mama?” A line of drool came out the corner of my mouth. “Suck on your binkie, baby girl,” she commanded, ignoring me and popping a pacifier in my mouth. I was helpless to obey and sucked on it. “Good girl.” We kept driving while my brain reeled from the simplest of pleasures: Sucking on a pacifier, endlessly. Hearing Mommy call me a “good girl”. Lightly rocking in my seat. Bouncing ever so much in my wet diaper. Marveling at Mommy’s body. It was all so completely overwhelming. If I hadn’t been restrained I might be rolling on the floor. I sat there, lost in my own little world while the car plowed ahead and eventually got back off the detour and onto the highway proper. Meanwhile, in the back of my mind I managed to keep questioning and wondering through the bouts of sensory overload. Why was I dressed and acting like a baby? Why was it overwhelming me? Why didn’t Mommy think this was strange and why did she look so…so…different? I was desperate to know. I wished… Wish… ‘I wish you got those curves May inherited from your Mom.’ That had happened! Crystal’s body had literally changed into what she would have looked like if her genes had been slightly tweaked around puberty. My own words came back to haunt me. ‘I wish everybody got as much freedom and power as they can responsibly handle. No more or less.’ No, that couldn’t be. How could this be freedom? I didn’t have the bladder control to make it to the potty on time, I could barely move and I was dining on fake nipples. Why, though? Why? ‘And is it the Fountain of Youth or a Wishing Well?’ Both. It was both. And I hated it and was loving it simultaneously. I turned my head to the side and was just barely able to see past the massive headrest that doubled as blinders. “Ga ma blurg?” Just barely pulling ahead of us on the highway, a big red minivan with untinted windows was crawling steadily by us. In the backseat, same as me, I could make out another car seat with another baby in it. And that baby was just as big as me. Another trickle entered my diaper. I’d unselfishly wished this on everyone… not just me. All around the world, there must have been some magical force going around and deciding who could handle adulthood and how much they could handle. Evidently I wasn’t the only one who needed babas and binkies past two. I sucked harder on the paci, drawing calm from it and wondering half-drunk. How fast was this happening? Was it a fifty fifty split? Would everyone now be magically divided up into Mommy or Daddy and big baby? How was this freedom? I kicked and fussed impotently in my seat, wanting so many things that I couldn’t have. Freedom. Normalcy. Food. Humpies… I slammed my eyes shut and let the pacifier fall from my mouth. Just doing that made me feel like I’d chopped off a limb or something. I bit down on my lower limp and did everything I could to force my mouth to obey my commands. “I…wwwwiiiish…” Mommy glanced at the clock. “I think we should get something to eat. It’s about that time.” “Blah?” My mouth went haywire at hearing her voice and the sharp exit back off the highway. Less than a minute later, we were in the parking lot of a nearby restaurant. I saw other people getting out of their cars and walking past ours. An older woman made eye contact with me and waved, smiling. Oh no! I was seen! My face flushed, and, instinctively, I buried my face in my hands. It was stupid, I realized, but not being able to see made me feel calmer. Almost as calm as when I was sucking my pacifier. I heard the car door open. “Awwww,” I heard Mommy coo at me. “Somebody wants to play peekaboo! Two powerful hands tore my palms off my face. “Peekaboo!” Instant comical hilarity invaded my brain looking at Mommy’s face. “HAWWWW!’ I covered my face, pretending that I was somehow invisible. “OH NOOOO,” Mommy called back in a theatrical falsetto of panic. “WHERE’D MY LOLO GO? HAS SOMEBODY SEEN MY LOLO? WHERE’S MY BABY GIRL?” Her hands busied themselves unbuckling me from the massive car seat, and then teased and tickled at my sides. I let out muffled giggles, trying to hold my breath. Gingerly, I peeked out from behind my hands. “THERE SHE IS! THERE’S MY BABY GIRL!” In an instant, I was laughing and up on her hip, my legs wrapped around her shapely waist to stop from falling; her arm beneath me supporting my weight as if I were little more than a feather. Damn, but it felt good to laugh in a non-cynical way. It felt good to be silly. I hugged Mommy tight and started planting wet sloppy kisses all over her face. “Someone’s feeling very affectionate!” she laughed. Not thinking, I grabbed and groped at her chest. “Hungry, too.” She peeled my hands off of her and squeezed my bottom. “And wet.” At feeling her touch me back, I let out a low moan and my eyes rolled back in their sockets. So good! For an instant, the sound of car engines ceased to matter. People were watching us grope each other and no one cared; certainly not me. We started moving but the journey wasn’t far. Mommy popped open the hatchback and laid me down inside with my legs dangling out past the knee caps. “Mama?” “Let’s take care of that wet bottom first,” she declared, hitching up the skirt and laying down the pink diaper bag she’d already fetched from the front passenger seat. Modesty overcame me, and I struggled to work my mouth in time. “Nnnnnn-!” SCRITCH-SCRITCH The velcro tabs on my diaper came loose, and I was paralyzed by shock. I didn’t dare move as the fresh air gusted over my privates and Mommy started wiping me down between my legs. “Such a wet, wet little girl!” she teased. “Yes you are! Yes you are! That apple juice went right through you! No wonder you wanted to make humpies so bad! If I was a little girl like you and got that wet, I’d want to make humpies too!’ My skin heated up into a full body blush while she cleaned me and lifted my legs to wipe my bottom and slip out the diaper from beneath me. She was talking to me like I was a simpleton, and it was loud enough for anyone passing by to hear. And people were passing by! I saw shadows and outlines passing over Mommy’s shoulders, heard footsteps and voices of nearby conversations and babbling and the sounds of stroller wheels rolling on the concrete. All of them could see me, too! All it would take was a turned head to see my legs up in the air and Mommy going to town with baby powder. All it would take is the slightest pause in conversation to hear my girlfriend turned caregiver talking about me peeing myself and wanting to hump things as if it were perfectly natural and mundane. In a way, part of me realized, it might be. Maybe not “natural’ but the wish might make it seem mundane. I let out a sigh of relief when the fresh diaper was taped up around my hips, feeling oddly comfortable. Cleansed, powdered, and refreshed, it was like a mini spa in my panties. I wiggled my butt and grinned to myself. It still didn’t make the idea of getting wet again any less appealing. I took a moment and tried shaking off the cobwebs. What was happening to me? Did I really enjoy this…this…exhibitionism? More of my words came back to bite me. ‘Or if we make out in the middle of a sidewalk, people will mind their own damn business.’ I’d groped and kissed her and had my underwear removed in public, and people were just going about on their way.. Upon entering the restaurant, basically a Denny’s analog, I saw more and more of the fruits of my labor. In line waiting for a table before us, a woman snoozed topless in her stroller, sucking on her pacifier. I popped my thumb in my mouth and sucked on it, feeling a kind of jealousy, wishing that Mommy had remembered my binky. At the nearest table, a man in a onesie munched on applesauce fed to him by what might have been his wife. On our way to our table, a couple with a baby just as old as them scooted out of their booth to take their babbling not-so-little one to the bathroom. The Daddy fished out a single massive diaper and wipe packets before embarking, making no secret or pretense on what was about to happen. This should be turning heads. This should be causing screams and nightmares. It just wasn’t. “Will this do?” the hostess asked us, showing us to a table that was smack dab in the middle of the floor. I was plopped and buckled into a highchair before Mommy replied, “This is fine.” Words literally failed me while she dug a bib out of the diaper bag- my diaper bag- and fastened it around my neck. “Gah!” “Gotta keep those pretty clothes of yours clean, lil’ Lolo,” Mommy said, pinching my cheek. “The ones that’ll stay clean.” “Mama!” I whined, loving the attention despite it. I was the center of her attention and nigh invisible to everyone else. Likewise with the other massive infants and toddlers and their newly acquired parents. “MAAAAAAAAAA! AH AH AH AH AH AH! A few of the diners turned their heads towards the source of the noise. Mommy just shushed me, giving me a rattle to keep me occupied while she ordered lunch. It dominated my attention, and I instantly started shaking it, enchanted. I’d wanted this…I just didn’t know it until I’d gotten it. I had freedom. Freedom to scream and thrash and kick, knowing no one would be hurt or overly bothered. Freedom to dress in completely ridiculous clothing. Freedom to express my affection and pee my panties and get my butt exposed in front of everyone. “Heeeeeeere’s num nums!” Mommy said, interrupting the rattling and my reverie. “Gah?” I looked down from my rattle and to the warm tray of tomato sauce drenched spaghetti in front of me. How much time had passed? Had I distracted myself with a simple rattle for that long? “Go on, Lolo,” Mommy said, taking out her phone. “Eat your sketti!” She was getting ready to film me. I knew enough about kids to know what was expected. This was going on Facebook or Tiktok or wherever embarrassing cute wholesome kid vids went. “Go on. Eat up!” Mommy wanted me to eat and make a mess all over myself. No one else in the world would care. Those who did care would think it was cute. I got a flash in my mind of the people closest to me (my family, Crystal’s family, maybe friends from college or work, who could tell?) and thrilled at the idea of them seeing my face smeared in spaghetti sauce. That, and Mommy was telling me to do something. Giving me permission to make an ass out of myself. Freedom to obey! Freedom to get messy! Freedom to eat with my hands! I tore into the plate of spaghetti, shoving noodles into my mouth at mach speed and pretending they were bloody worms. Some of it got down into my stomach and slid down my throat. Others smeared themselves on my face. Still more dropped out of my lips and onto the bib. The bib only caught so much… “Wow!” Mommy praised, clapping by slapping her thigh. Between the yummy pasta and Mommy the quiet ecstasy of making an ass out of myself in public, I was on cloud nine. Enough so that I was content and babbling while Mommy ate her salad and wiped my face with a baby wipe. But I hadn’t had my second course yet. After she finished her salad, Mommy picked me up and placed me sideways on her lap. “Let’s get this mess off you,” she said. The bib came off. So did the jumper. So did my shirt. “I swear, you got more on you than in you,” she laughed at her own lame joke. Her mom joke. Meanwhile, I sat on her lap feeling hotter than ever despite being naked save for the crinkly padding wrapped around my bum. I babbled happily and didn’t care that I sounded like an overjoyed toddler. “Bababababababa!” “Let’s get your tummy alllll filled up,” she said quietly. She lifted her top up and opened up the front of her nursing bra. I didn’t need her hand to guide me to her breasts and press on the back of my head. I still enjoyed it. My lips latched onto her and I started nursing, drawing her milk into me, moaning while kneading her titties like a kitten. If the apple juice was whiskey, the milk was purest ambrosia; nectar of the gods. Our breathing synced up, and she petted me while my eyes drooped, and I tickled and explored with my tongue. My mind knew I should savor this experience, but my body refused to listen, greedily suckling with a hunger that wouldn’t be sated. A full tummy would stop me, but it would never satisfy me. This was the sweetest of desserts. Liquid love. I was feeding from Mommy; taking her very essence into myself! In those moments that stretched out for eternity but didn’t last nearly long enough, I stopped being Lola and she stopped being Mommy or Crystal or whatever the fuck the two sides of my brain were battling to call her. We were one; bonded more intimately than lovers could be. I stopped thinking of us as lovers right then and there. Loving was an act. It was something you did and could stop doing. This was something deeper, more intense, and (hopefully) more permanent. We were Mommy and Baby. “That’s right,” she whispered to me. “Such a good little eater.” OH GOD! I shivered and shuddered and let the back half of my apple juice from earlier flood my pampers! If anyone was looking right now they’d see me filling my pants (except I technically wasn’t wearing any pants). This was why babies wore diapers, I decided. They needed to get the refuse out of their bodies as quickly as possible so that they could make more room for the liquid love their Mommies poured into them. It was just that simple. Far too soon, I was switched over, sucked her other tit dry and was being burped. I could have drifted off to sleep and hope to never wake up to my old life again… But the best part hadn’t happened yet. Mommy slid forward in her chair and repositioned me so I was straddling her knee, my wet diaper squishing anew on her thigh. “Ready for a horsey ride, Lolo?” she said brightly. Then she leaned in and said quietly, “Wanna make humpies?” That woke me up! Mommy started bouncing me on her knee and I started riding her like leg like a pony, shamelessly grinding up against her in the middle of the restaurant. “Ooooooh,” I moaned. “Oooooooh…gaaaaaaaa!” Turns out the verbal difference between ‘Oh God!’ and ‘Oh ga’ is pretty minimal. Some things don’t get lost in translation. “That’s right,” Mommy told me. “Let it all out.” My moans went low and my breathing went shallow. This was wrong! This was so wrong! But it felt sooooo good! “Here’s the check, ma’am,” the waitress, who couldn’t have been older than me, said. Mommy slid her credit card over without breaking eye contact with me. “Here you go.” “Looks like somebody’s having fun!” The waitress giggled as if me grinding against my partner’s knee in broad daylight were somehow cute. Oh god why was this hot?! “Blurgaaaaa!” I squealed. Freedom to cum in front of everyone. Freedom to have my tits bobbing up and down. God this was amazing! Wishing Well, this was amazing! My stomach lurched, and my body tried to reposition itself. I raised my bum off Mommy’s knee. I was about to poop! I had to stop! I had to clench down! The last bits of modesty that I had were fighting to take control back of the narrative I’d written for myself. “Gaaaaaa-” Mommy wouldn’t let me stand up. She placed her hands on my shoulders and continued to stimulate and tease me, prodding me closer and closer to orgasm with just gravity and her knee. The bouncing was speeding something else closer, too… “Nah-ah-ah,” she said. “Not until you’re all done. It’s gonna be a loooong car ride and I want my precious baby girl nice and tired.” I couldn’t…I couldn’t disobey her. I didn’t want to. I wanted that delicious praise. That delicious release. That…that… Even my inner monologue failed me as my cheeks spread and a mudslide emptied itself into the seat of my diaper. Right after my body took control of itself away from me and I started pushing, I screamed when an honest-to-god “the-earth-moved” orgasm shot through me like a bolt of white hot delight, better than any other orgasm I had ever hadt, and I gripped Mommy’s shoulders and leaned into her while the mess and muck spread around. “Oooooooo….”I moaned, unable to even babble in anything that wasn’t a vowel. “Eeeeeee….aaaaaaa.” “And poopies too?” Mommy beamed. “Good baby! Getting it alllll out for Mommy. You’re gonna sleep real good when we get back in the car.” I’d pooped myself and orgasmed nearly at the same time in front of everyone. Even then, I knew that my brain had accidentally made the connection. If I ever got out of this, I’d always associate doing one with the other… and the association would be entirely positive. For the time being, though, the only thing I was getting out of was my diaper in favor of a new one. “Let’s get you changied, Lolo.” Somewhere in the back of my mind I remembered a factoid that a baby on average goes through six diapers a day. My mind tickled itself at the idea of cumming in public half a dozen times. The waitress came back and placed the credit card back. “This will be here for you when you get back.” Mommy was getting my own supplies ready for the restroom. “Do you want me to change her?’ My eyes popped open. Oh yeah…more than just a baby’s Mommy changed her. I’d probably be having lots of sitters in the future, all playing with me and telling me how cute I was. A girl could get real used to that. A new fear came into me. What if someone somehow unwished this at the well? I’d accidentally wished the world this way. What if someone accidentally wished it another way? It wouldn’t be hard for someone to idly wish for their big babies to grow up. Then I remembered that I still had one wish left. As Mommy laid me down on the changing station in the bathroom and started to undo my tapes, I focused on my mouth to control it with all of the remaining will I had in me.“I wish…” I said, listening to the echo of my own voice, “for no more wishes…for anybody.” Time stopped for a second. Then it picked back up again. Mommy kept changing my diaper. Just like she always had. Just like she always would. And me and every other big baby in the world would be as free as we needed to be, and every Mommy and Daddy would have as much power as was needed to love us. (The End)

“Hey Makayla!” Tammy called out. “Wait up!” Nova rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. “That’s not my name, Tammy.” the goth girl said. “You know that.” Despite herself, she let Tammy catch up to her instead of picking up the pace. “It is, legally,” Tammy said, breathlessly. “That’s what it is on your birth certificate. On your social security number. Driver’s license. It’s what’s going to be on your diploma in a couple months.” “Still not my real name,” Nova countered. “Not who I am on the inside. Not who I want to be.” “Then why haven’t you changed it?” Tammy asked, sounding like a teasing brat. “Hm? Hm?” “Because that takes money I don’t have yet,” Nova said frankly. “And I don’t have my own place yet.” Nova could list off two or three more reasons why, but she didn’t need to. “Yeah,” Tammy admitted. “That’s fair. Sorry, Nova.” “Don’t worry about it,” Nova said. Tammy wouldn’t. They’d be having this exercise next week. It might last longer depending if Tammy wanted to find a way to really mince words. It didn’t help that Nova’s parents kept insisting that her Goth aesthetic was ‘just a phase’. Such was life. They’d had this conversation at least once a week since 9th Grade. Tammy didn’t forget, she just liked being obnoxious sometimes. Okay a lot of times. Most times. Tammy Greene was the annoying little sister Nova never had asked for, but they’d been stuck together since Kindergarten. Nova attributed Tammy’s less flattering qualities to the fact that she was something of a brainiac academically. Straight A’s, all Honors and AP courses, and being in the running for Class Valedictorian came at the cost of Tammy having next to no social skills. Some might say that Nova didn’t have room to talk, but there was a difference between not having social skills and not liking most human beings. Nova dressed in all black not because she was depressed, but because she found a deep beauty in the macabre and the sad. Humans were often their truest selves when they were at their lowest points or thought no one was looking. Everything else was just fake. Speaking of Fake, yay for College Fairs. County wide, all the highschool seniors were allowed to skip as long as they submitted proof that they were at the Fair. The grounds were dotted with booths and tents from every college in the state and a few that were right on the border. Highschool kids milled around talking to recruiters and college folk about the different programs, tuition costs, and scholarship opportunities. They were all the same to Nova: Come to our school. Here’s our colors. We have a mascot. Behold our pamphlets containing racially and ethnically diverse models wearing our school colors and smiling. You can get good degrees if you pay us money, or kinda good degrees if you pay less money. If you order now we’ll also throw in a set of steak knives. “Worst. Fair. Ever.” Nova snarked. “I know,’ Tammy agreed. “Mostly community colleges.” Tammy had already been accepted to Yale during her junior year. She didn’t need to be here. Frankly, it blew Nova’s mind that she was even here. “Why are you here?” Nova asked. “What else was I gonna do?” Tammy replied. “Teach Mr. Stowers how to actually do calculus? No. No, no. Never again.” In truth, Nova suspected it was because Tammy had imprinted on her. They’d known each other since Kindergarten, declared each other BFF’s and Tammy had taken it to heart, no matter how wildly their paths diverged. Nova had gotten into poetry, theater, and art. Tammy was still the rigorous academic specializing in the STEM fields. They had almost nothing in common anymore, but Tammy was just still drawn to Nova like a lightbulb battered bug. Three more familiar faces worked their way through ever mingling tides of eighteen year old bodies. “Hey, Nova,” Charlie said. He winked at Tammy. “Sup Lil Sis?” “I keep telling you, I’m three minutes older!” Tammy flustered. “Mom said so too!” Charlie was Tammy’s twin brother, and the brawns to her brains. Big and muscular, but surprisingly fast, Charlie had played Varsity since freshman year and had already broken the school record for most interceptions in a single season. He had at least three separate colleges from different conferences making offers but he’d yet to accept one. Nova didn’t much care for Charlie since they’d both gone through puberty. He’d become a different kind of cocky from his sister that Nova didn’t much care for. That and he had a very particular odor about him that never seemed to fade. Charlie wore his letterman jacket everywhere, because of course he did, and he never washed it either, because of course he didn’t. Chloe, his girlfriend, didn’t seem to mind the smell too much. She hung onto his every word, and as of this very moment, was hanging from his arm. With as big as Charlie was and with how petite Chloe was, he could probably carry her around in his arms if he wanted to. They were almost a cute couple. Almost. “Hey Nova, hey Tammy,” Chloe waved. Her voice was much too high, almost squeaky. That had to be an act of some kind. So fake. Faker than the cheap costume pearls she wore around her neck. She also had an annoying habit of checking her makeup every five minutes. Not that Charlie was any better. He was constantly combing his hair and peacocking. “So,” Charlie said. “This place kind of sucks, right?” He moved his arm to indicate the entire fairgrounds. It was a big sweeping gesture, because everything Charlie did was big. He’d turned man spreading into a conversational art form. Case in point, he and Chloe fell in line with the girls and draped his arm over Tammy’s shoulder. “No spinny rides. No roller coasters. No face painters? Nothing. I don’t think these guys know.what fair means.” Nova stepped to the side so she could get away from the pungent odor of uncontrolled glands, ax body spray and unwashed jacket. “A fair can be a gathering for commercial purposes instead of entertainment,’ Tammy grumbled. Charlie scoffed. “I don’t see any commercials. Not even a T.V.” Chloe giggled like she thought Charlie was being clever. He probably wasn’t. “Learn what words mean!” Tammy shouted. Nova tried to take another step sideways, lest anyone see her associated with this bad comedy act, and almost slammed directly into Jane. “Whoah!” “Sorry!” Nova yelped. “Didn’t see you there.” “It’s cool,” Jane said. “No harm done.” Jane was the school’s token lesbian, and had the butch haircut and clothing to prove it. Most people assumed she was a boy before she opened her mouth. “What are you losers doing here?” she asked jokingly. Jane had moved in from out of state, and she and Nova had clicked with their mutual disdain for most people. “Free day off and nothing better to do,” Charlie answered. “Yeah. Same.” Nova wanted to argue the point, but truthfully didn’t see any. It’s not like she was seriously looking at any of these universities. Nova wasn’t sure if she wanted to go to college at all. If she did, it would primarily be to get as far away from this place as she could and none of the colleges advertising here fit that criterion. She had a feeling Jane was in the same boat, albeit for different reasons. “Mind if I hang?” Jane asked. No one objected and so she slinked in among them. For a time they meandered about., doing what came naturally: Gossipping. Gawking. Pretending to show interest in things that they weren’t even remotely interested in so that they could mock it later. They were all eighteen, but they were teenagers all the same. Highschoolers too.. “You’d think they’d have a food court,” Charlie said. “Turkey legs or something.” “It’s not that kind of fair,” Tally said. Chloe laughed and hugged her boyfriend closer. “He’s just joking,” No he wasn’t. But Nova kept the thought to herself. They lingered on the very fringes of the fair grounds. Sadly it was on the edges that were farthest away from the fairground parking lot. They’d seen all there was to see, but no one was quite comfortable with leaving yet. No one wanted to be the first to leave the party, even if it was a bad one. Jane pointed to something that didn’t quite fit in. “What’s that?” The group looked in the direction she’d indicated. It was a double long trailer, the kind commonly seen being pulled by semi-trucks all along the hallways. It rested at the very edge of the parking lot, its sides painted to make a stunning mural of the same woodland scene multiple times but in different seasons. Winter blossomed into spring, intensified, into summer, and faded into fall. The trees were in the same location, but the color palettes, position of the sun, and fauna changed. Furthermore, Nova noticed, the seasons seemed to bleed into one another. Near the border of Winter and Spring, the snow seemed patchier, with little sprouts sticking up out of the ground. Truth be told, it looked more like the kind of thing that would be hauling things to and from the kind of carnival Charlie had desired. What signaled its inclusion in this particular gathering was the banner hanging from its side. “Arcadia Academy of the Fine and Vulgar Arts,” Nova read the banner aloud. Tammy harrumphed. Folding her arms over her plain white blouse. “Never heard of it.” “Me neither,” Jane agreed. The way she said it, made it sound like a good thing. “I like paintings,” Chloe said. “Do you think they have some paintings?” Charlie answered for everyone. “I dunno. Looks less boring than every other fucking place. Let’s check it…” Nova was three steps ahead of everyone. This looked interesting! The rear end of the trailer had been converted so that in place of a drop down sliding metal sheet, a false wall had been installed with steps leading up to a door. Whatever this thing held, its contents were small enough to fit through a regular sized door. The door was open with a welcome banner draped above it. Nova was first up the steps. She found herself possessed of a strange giddiness. What strange kindred spirit would she find inside? To her slight confusion and disappointment, waiting for her was a girl about her age, maybe a tad older, sitting behind a desk. Unlike the other college students peddling pamphlets with the recruiters, this one was dressed infinitely more casual. She wore paint splattered overalls, and her hair was dyed bright neon pink. Actually…this might not be her particular aesthetic, but it was still a sign of a free spirit. The others caught up to Nova as she walked up to the desk. “Hey hey,” The girl said. “I’m Erin. May I have your name?” “I think I’ll keep mine, but I’ll tell you,” the goth girl joked. “It’s Nova. College girl got the most sour expression on her face at a harmless fucking dad joke. “Thank you for telling me. Come to check out the exhibition?” “So…is this like a fancy art college or something?” Charlie asked. “For freaks and geeks and glee kids?” He looked at Tammy and Jane. “Some taken,” they said together. Even adoring Chloe felt a need to peel herself off of her boyfriend. “You are such a guy, sometimes,” Chloe said. It did not sound like a compliment. Charlie immediately turned into a kicked puppy dog. “My bad…” “Are there brochures,” Nova asked, “or…” “This is more of an art exhibition,” the girl behind the desk explained. She thumbed behind her to a black velvet curtain. “Was kind of hoping we’d get a better spot, if I’m being honest. But we’ve got some really cool pieces. Interested in taking a look?” Nova felt her face fall. “So you’re not recruiting?” “We’re always recruiting,” Erin said. She removed a clipboard from the desk and slid it across to Nova. “Just put your name here for our attendance logs, and see what I can dig up while you’re in there.” “Attendance logs?” Tammy asked. “Why?” “To prove we had visitors, mostly. Justify the funding. All that.” She tapped the clean piece of paper. “Just put your name down here and you can go on in, and take a look.” Nova sniffed and wrinkled her nose. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something didn’t feel right. Also she could swear something foul. It wasn’t rotting corpse foul; closer to the odor that seemed to come from Charlie two inches in every direction. Something unclean…but natural. “Fine,” Nova said, and scrawled some illegible gibberish on the clipboard. The others followed suit, deciding it was better than nothing. Their host didn’t move from her seat. “Okay,” she said, jerking her head. “Go on back. Have fun and play nice.” Nova pushed back the curtain and went in. “Play nice?” Jane said as soon as the curtain had closed. “What was that about?” “Maybe this is a modern art or experimental exhibit?” Tammy supposed. “Looks like a boring old art museum to me,” Charlie said. He was right. It was dimly lit and air conditioned, but as far as any of them could tell, it was just a long hallway full of painted pictures. Chloe was already checking her makeup in the new, slightly dimmer lighting of the trailer. “It’s not that bad.” Hard to tell if she was talking about her makeup or the exhibit. “Let’s check it out,” Nova said. “Maybe something will speak to us. Or like there’s a hidden theme or something.” Gosh she hoped so. There was definitely a theme, if an unexciting one. Location,Location Location: Lots of landscapes and depictions of static places. Nova noted paintings of cabins in the woods, Roman-esque ruins, jungle settings, cityscapes both modern and futuristic, tropical islands, and so forth. Admittedly, the one that looked like the inside of a dilapidated farmhouse from pretty much every horror movie ever held Nova’s interest, but there was no action. None of them had any people or animals or whatever in them. Everything was static and still life; the most uninteresting fictional travelog. “What’s with the titles?” Tammy wondered. Nova hadn’t even remembered to read them. “Lumira? Vente? Arachne? Strata? Raksha & Pavo?” Tammy shook her head. “They sound like proper nouns, but the pictures are all empty?” “Places can be proper nouns,” Jane said. “That, or maybe they people in the paintings are all invisible.” She joked. Speaking of invisible… “Where’d Chloe go?” Charlie asked. The teenagers all did a double take, looking left and then right. It’s not as if the mobile gallery were big enough to get lost in. Yet, Chloe was nowhere in sight. “Hey!” Nova said. “That’s her purse!” Sure enough, Chloe’s purse was lying neatly by its lonesome on the floor, directly in front of one of the mobile gallery’s paintings. As if drawn to it, the four of them gathered around it. Tammy picked it up. “It looks too neat to have just been dropped,” she said. “Maybe she put it down and forgot it?” Chloe was bubble headed enough to do that, hypothetically. “Where’d she go, though?” Jane asked. “Maybe she went to the bathroom?” Charlie guessed. Nova rolled her eyes. “Why wouldn’t she take her purse with her?” Charlie shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe she looked at all the water in that painting and had to go.” Again, he shrugged. “Maybe? Or maybe it was girl stuff or whatever. I dunno.” “Dude,” Jane called him out. “You can be such a tool.” “Whatever,” Charlie grunted, I’m gonna see if there’s a bathroom over here at the end. The three young ladies shook their heads at one another. “Don’t look at me,” Tammy said. “I’m only genetically connected to him.” The group forgot about Charlie and went back into the painting where they’d found Chloe’s purse. A placid beach scene if there ever was one. Fairly boring, really. “Sedna,” Nova read the plaque. “What’s a Sedna? Is it the name of the beach? Or the artist or what?” “Not relevant,” Tammy replied. “It’s just a pai…” Tammy stopped. What’s that sound?” The three stayed completely still, and in the silence they heard the faint cawing of gulls and the dull whooshing sounds of waves crashing on the beach. “Sound effects?” Jane wondered. “Maybe they put speakers behind the painting or something?” Nova squinted her eyes. Looking at the painting from a certain angle made her eyes hurt, almost like she was staring at the sun. Her skin tingled, albeit not in an uncomfortable way, reminiscent of the feeling of heat reflecting off of white sand. “What…is…?” WHOOOOSH! A powerful force, like a riptide, yanked Nova off her feet towards the painting. She let out a scream of shock and surprise. Two skinny arms wrapped around her waist with Tammy instinctively reaching out to save her, but the extra weight failed to anchor either of them. Nor did it save Jane. A flash of blinding light engulfed them, followed by a subtle yet distinct change in the air around them. Cold recycled air conditioning was replaced with warm breezes that whipped through their hair, causing Tammy and Nova’s skirts to flap, as well as Jane’s baggy shirt. “The fuck was that?” Jane asked. She turned to face the ocean. Tammy looked up and adjusted her glasses. “Those are seagulls…” she said, more to herself than the group. “No shit,” Jane said, still entranced by the ocean. “Last I checked, we don’t have any oceans nearby. So where fuck are we?” Before Nova had dived into the works of beautiful self-torturing despair by Edgar Allen Poe, she had taken a swim through the silly absurdities of Lewis Carol. Their works were not so dissimilar, she found. Carol simply chose to externalize nihilism where Poe internalized. “Guys…” she said. “I think we’re in the painting.” Tammy looked down from the sky. “Impossible! That’s just impossible.” “Yeah,” Jane. “There weren’t people in the painting.” She pointed and the group followed her aim. In the middle distance, farther along the shoreline, were what were very obviously people who appeared to go about their business. “What do we do?” asked Tammy. “We…we…we’re not at all dressed for beach weather.” In lieu of being unable to wrap her brain around the impossible, Tammy’s mind leapt to other reasons to disengage lest she shut down completely. No one was buying the flimsy excuse, however. “Go say hi,” Nova said, simply. “Maybe they’ve seen Chloe.” When in Wonderland, don’t stop to wonder. “But…but…but…” Tammy was already leaning back, digging her heels in the sand. “The further we get away from the…the…” she didn’t want to say ‘portal’, such dreck was for science fiction. “We popped up here. If we’re going to leave, shouldn’t we stay in proximity?” Jane was unusually quick to point out, “Doesn’t mean there’s only one way out.” “But those people…” Tammy pointed to the figures in the distance. Nova took her oldest friend’s hand. “Come on,” she said. “I didn’t hear any screaming. Nobody saw us. We can walk right up, ask where we are, ask how to leave, ask if they’ve seen Chloe.” That was just barely enough for Nova. The walk along the shoreline was longer than it seemed at first. What they hoped would take one minute, took closer to ten. Even that was more of a rough estimate. The walk gave them plenty of time to check their phones. Painting or not, wherever they were didn’t have any kind of cell reception. They might as well have had rocks in their pockets. Their pace slowed as they drew closer. The waves were further up the beach the more they closed in. The sand was becoming wetter and darker, almost muddy in some places. All around their feet, shallow ankle deep pools started to dot the landscape and waves threatened to overtake their sneakers. None of them knew enough about the ocean to guess whether the tide was rising or falling, and it didn’t much matter, they supposed. They wouldn’t be here long enough for it to be a factor. The tide and the state of their shoes was the least of the group’s concerns, however. As they drew closer, and the silhouettes grew sharper, they realized that something was dreadfully peculiar. Building sandcastles, running around giggling, and splashing in the shallow pools were young adults; men and women roughly their age. They weren’t exactly dressed for the part, however. Many wore bright bucket hats with straps fastened to their chin. Sunscreen was slathered on thick and pasty over many a face. Nothing inherently wrong with that, but a glimpse saw more than a few paraded around with inflatable water wings on their biceps, or bulky life jackets on their torsos. “Who our age needs floaties?” Jane scoffed to herself. “Is this a joke or something?” It was Nova who spotted the biggest reddest flag. “Is that a diaper?” Nova grimaced. She motioned to a young man with his back turned to them, squatting in the sand on his haunches and digging a hole with a tiny shovel and bucket. Out from under his baggy swimsuit, peeked something blue and padded. Nova didn’t have any little brothers or sisters but she had been to the public pool enough times to recognize a swim diaper when she saw one. This one just looked a lot bigger. “If that isn’t,” Tammy gasped, “I bet that is.” Beside them a young lady lifted up her baggy white t-shirt to prevent it from getting splashed by an oncoming wave. It was very clearly a pull-up style swim diaper, decorated with little fishes. That’s what was off: Every single person around them, playing happily in the sand and shallows, was dressed like a toddler might be on a day at the beach. Extra sunscreen and shade protection for sensitive skin, bright and cute colors that made them easy to spot should they toddle away. Bathing suits adorned with children’s cartoon characters, flotation aids to prevent drowning, and padded bottoms to make sure that no nasty surprises were left on the sand. Across the shore, everyone the three of them laid eyes on was very obviously diapered. Even the girls their age wearing bathing suits- gaudy frilly one pieces mostly- had a tell tale padded bulge along their backside and a hint of aquamarine peeking out around the legs that clashed with the rest of their outfit. The boys who wore bathing suits were more discreet, but it didn’t take more than a glance to see the waistband of the diaper poking up out the top of a seawater drenched pair of trunks. Most of the boys (and some of the girls) didn’t bother to wear bathing suits at all, instead choosing to tromp and splash along happily in nothing but colorful swim diapers. “We are definitely not in a painting,” Jane said. “This has gotta be some weird convention or something.” “How do you know?” Tammy asked, oddly curious. “I’ve seen some shit online,” Jane answered matter of factly. “Just…not to this level.” “Hey guys!” A familiar voice called out, causing the group to jump. “Tammy! Jane! Nova! Over heeeeeeere!” “CHLOE!” They ran towards their friend, waving to her, ready to embrace her and tell her how worried they were. They stopped dead in their tracks when they saw what she was wearing. Save for the fake pearl necklace, the clothes she’d been wearing were gone, not a trace to be found. In their place, Chloe was wearing something that might be deemed by the locals as ‘appropriate’. Chloe’s makeup had been washed off, with gobs of sunscreen smeared on her face. A bright, neon pink bucket hat rested over her curly red hair with decorative sunglasses laying over the brim. Her bathing suit was a two piece, but it was hardly what one would call ‘sexy’ or even ‘mature’. Like her hat it was bright pink, with the covering Chloey from her shoulders down to just above her belly button. Needless frills ran along the shoulder straps and the hem, and cartoon starfish were painted over her petite breasts. The bottom half was much the same, frills wise, and the girls wondered to themselves how Chloe could possibly move around without having the inside of her thighs constantly tickled. Had Charlie been there, he would have noticed that it looked like she’d suddenly gained a few extra inches of junk in her trunk. The bottom was less of a bathing suit and more of a diaper cover. Nova recoiled back a step, but in the recesses of her mind, an intrusive thought wormed its way inside her: It really was a very good look for her. It showed off her femininity, but kept her cool in the sun, and the bottom would be easy for a Mommy or Daddy to remove whenever she needed a change. The goth girl cringed. Where had that thought come from? “I’m building sandcastles,” Chloe said. “Wanna play?!” “Hun, why are you dressed like that?” Jane asked. “You look like you’re two or something.” As always, Chloe giggled as if a joke had been made. She grinned big and wide, and bounced a little, like a child barely able to contain their excitement. “Nuh-uh!” Was all she said. “Where’d you get that stuff?” Tammy asked. “Why are you wearing that?” Chloe looked down at herself, clearly confused. “I’m wearing them because it’s not bathtime, silly. Naked time isn’t allowed when I’m not getting washed.” “Naked time?” Tammy and Jane parroted. Nova found her voice. “Who put you in that outfit? Who dressed you up like that?” Strange how Nova phrased it, she realized. Why ask that question as if she didn’t or couldn’t dress herself? From the lack of stares from her companions, no one else thought the phrasing was strange either, but even that was strange in its own way. “Mommy got me this swimmy suit,” Chloe said proudly. “Isn’t it pretty?” “And the diaper?” Tammy asked, unable to take her eyes off of Chloe’s bulging bottom. Chloe pouted out her lip and blinked. “Mommy did, too. She gets all my diapers. Why? Who gets yours?” “Mommy?” Jane asked. “I don’t think that word means what you think it means. “Who the hell is ‘Mommy’? “I am!” a deep yet feminine voice bellowed and a shadow fell over them. Looming over the reunited quarted, still dripping from the waves, was what could only be described as a giant mermaid. With breasts wreathed in coral, and hair wrapped in seaweed, the woman stood high above them. Despite her bottom half being decidedly fish-like, she sat on it perched and strong, muscular like a sea lion instead of flopping pathetically on her belly. Chloe clapped her hands together and squealed. “Mommy!” “Hello baby girl. Mommy just had to run back and make sure your nursery was all ready. Do you want to go see it, or do you want to stay here a while longer and finish your sand castle?” “Can my friends come play too, Mommy?” Chloe asked innocently, oblivious to the horror on her friends’ faces. “Can I show them my nursery?” “Awww, I’m sorry, my little guppy. Your friends aren’t quite ready to visit yet. Maybe later?” “Mommy?” Nova spoke up. “You’re not her ‘Mommy’. You’re…you’re…what are you?” The mammoth mermaid looked down at her as if seeing Nova and the others for the very first time. “Of course I’m Chloe’s Mommy,” she said sweetly. “I adopted her, didn’t I? People call me Sedna. ‘Miss Sedna’ to little boys and girls like you. Chloe’s Mommy if that gets too hard.” She seemed to bubble at the thought of being called that last one. “You can’t adopt her,” Tammy pointed up at the giant fish lady. “She’s eighteen! An adult! You can’t adopt an adult.” The mermaid chuckled good naturedly. “Oh, aren’t you precocious? I just know somebody is gonna loooove you, little eel.” “Sedna?” Nova thought out loud. “Like the name of the painting?” “Painting? Painting?!” the mermaid laughed as if Nova had just said something adorably funny. Chloe laughed too, but it was the empty hollow laugh of a child who didn’t get the joke. “What’s so funny?” Jane demanded, trying to sound tough and failing. “I’m so sorry, little ones,” the mermaid spoke over them. “I would have happily adopted any one of you, but Chloe washed up into my arms first.” As she said this, the foamy waves gave way to other merfolk, all titanic and monstrous in size, slithering up. In lieu of screams, the diapered young adults threw up their hands and shouted with joy, as if witnessing the return of a loved one. Nova’s jaw fell and her head went on a swivel at the madness practically engulfing them. People their own age were scooped up and hugged, or had their lips brought up to behemoth breasts which they happily began slurping and suckling on. Still more got their bottoms pat and the back of the swim suits pulled back for inspection. Beach towels were being flapped out and used as changing mats while people only a year or so older than she (if that) laid down to have their bottoms wiped. “Babies!” It was Jane who said it. “They’re all babies!” The disgust and fear coming out of her was palpable. It was almost a slur the way she intoned it. Only children whose ages were still in the single digits could have such open vitriol for something they used to be. “Oh, I think that’s enough excitement here,” the mermaid, Sedna, said, grabbing their attention. She picked Chloe up, and the already petite girl looked like an infant cradled in the giant’s arms. “Off you go. I hope you find your Mommies and Daddies soon.” She placed her free hand under her chin, inhaled, and puckered her lips. From out between them, a hurricane blew, hurling them through the air back the way they came. The trio of highschool seniors screamed. Like a roller coaster, they were flipped end over end until they didn’t know which way was up. Nova sat up from a mulchy dirt covered floor and grabbed at a painfully bruised ankle. It felt like she’d caught her foot on a door frame or something. Or a picture frame. “I think we’re in another painting,” she moaned, rubbing at her ankle through stark white socks that went all the way up past her knee. She stood up and looked down at her feet. A stray thought: Hadn’t she chosen all black, eight down to her socks? And why were her shoes so shiny? They were still black, but Nova could practically see her reflection in them. “Snap out of it,” Jane said, jostling Nova for the shoulder. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this place.” The sounds crowing and the chittering of monkeys rattled from behind impossibly tall trees. “It looks like a rainforest,” Nova said. Tammy indicated a bit of paved ground. “Rainforests don’t have sidewalks,” she said. “And the sounds sound automated. Canned.” An identical round of monkey chattering coming from the exact same place, gave truth to Tammy’s hypothesis. “ It’s more like a zoo. A poor imitation of real wildlife.” “Okay,” Jane said. “But then where are the animals?” “There,” said Nova. Not thirty feet away from them, they spied an elaborate network of cages made of elaborate bamboo, with tiny creatures flitting about in them. “Those aren’t animals…” Tammy said. Without realizing it they began to move closer, drawn deeper and deeper by the sidewalk. “They’re people.” They swung from the tops of branches. Pushed each other on tire swings. And slid splay legged down inclined planes. Others ran after one another in intricate games of tag. Encircling the cages were rows of monstrous sized benches. Titan sized creatures with the brown feathered legs and wings of a bird, but the torso of a woman sat upon them, keeping careful watch of their happy prisoners. “This isn’t a zoo,” Jane realized. “It’s a playground.” Indeed, it was. The people running around were giggling, having the absolute time of their lives from the look and sounds of things. None of them looked the least bit afraid of the sharp toothed monsters just on the perimeter. They all walked with a familiar yet foreign wobble, too. It was a toddler’s waddle, legs spread wide by thick poofy padded underwear. None seemed bothered by it. Disgustingly they watched a game of tag abruptly pause when an effeminate looking young man clad in drab dirt colored shortalls stopped, popped a pacifier into his mouth and then squatted right there in the middle of everyone. On one side of the playground, a row of strollers big enough to fit people in them sat, with occupants loading and unloading at a regular pace; each of them pushed there by a drab colored bird woman. Nova looked over at a bench and almost gagged. One of the harpies openly vomited into an empty baby bottle, screwed the lid on and then fed it to a gurgling baby girl in a bonnet and indigo baby dress that was barely a curtain for her bulging wet diaper. “Fucking sick!” “You think that’s sick,” Jane pointed to. “That chick is getting her butt wiped in front of everybody.” It was true. A little girl in a frilly green dress hiked up way past belly was in the middle of being changed, and no one seemed to mind. “I don’t think that’s a girl,” Tammy said. “See?” When the not-so-little girl’s bottom was lowered down onto a fresh diaper and her legs were spread, the three young women got a good look at a penis. “Tammy!” Nova said, shocked. “Transphobic much?” “Hm?” Tammy blinked, adjusting her glasses. She glanced at her companions and took notice of their faces and back to the full grown adult getting their privates powdered by a feathery hand. “No, not that! That!” She pointed again and Jane and Nova finally saw the diaper bag the harpy had been taking the changing supplies from lying on the ground next to the bench. It was just as intricate and ornate as the dress the big baby was in, but it had a name stitched into it that they hadn’t expected. “How many girls do you know named Jonathon?” Tammy asked. She jerked her head to a plain brown one. “Or boys named Kimberly?” “Mommy! Mommy!” A deep voiced adult dressed like a kewpie doll reached out for the girls like a child wanting to pet a puppy. “Play?” The harpy pulled the baby man back by just a single wrist. “No, no, Scott. Not till they’ve been adopted. You know better, little boy.” She still had a soft, indulgent smile that cut down on the severity of her butch haircut. With fresh eyes and a new perspective, the girls saw things in a new context. All the strange men and women were dressed like babies and toddlers, but the gender aesthetic was completely swapped. Girls had short haircuts, some even buzzed, and wore baggy clothes in muted colors that hid their womanly curves. Boys’ hair had been grown out and filled with ribbons and bows, and wore ornate festive dresses straight out of a beauty pageant. But in all other ways, certain gender stereotypes still played out. Short haired, butch girls played jump rope with a vine and hopscotched on sidewalk chalk. Boys still rough housed and played war games yelling “Bang!” and “You’re dead!” The trend didn’t end with the ersatz babies. “Come to think of it,” Jane whispered to herself. “These bird ladies do look kind of…like me.” The Harpies likewise had what would be referred to as ‘butch’ haircuts. It was easy enough to assume they were women because all of the diapered humans called one ‘Mommy’. That, and they all had their naked breasts on display. A pair of talons came down on Jane’s shoulders, and yanked her into the air. Her screech of shock made every other resident of the playground look up in alarm, but only momentarily. As soon as they saw what was happening there was a collective shrug. “HEEEEEEEELP!” Jane cried out, in the harpy’s grasp. She let out another shriek while the bird thing flipped her up into the air, caught her and cradled her just as it landed. This Harpy looked very different from the others. The human parts were lithe and fit with rippling abs and long flowing blonde hair, and carefully applied makeup on his face reminiscent of the powders and markings that the aristocracy of various cultures had used for time immemorial. His (and it was decidedly a he) bird parts were bright and colorful, and as he stood to his full glorious height, his bright and shining tail feathers spread out in a fan. “Worry not, my beautiful bouncing baby boy!” the peacock of a man crowed. “For you have been chosen, by the one, the only Pavo!” He paused as if waiting for applause. Jane kicked in his arms. “I’m not a boy, you jerk!” “Now, now, now,” the peacock said. “I’m not falling for that one again. I know how you little ones work.” He let loose Jane’s legs and dropped her to her feet, but only so he could use his other hand to yank her baggy shirt up over her head. “You dress backwards because you don’t know any better. But that’s why you need…” Jane’s shirt came flying off, exposing her. “Boobs?” Tammy and Nova blushed slightly and looked sideways. Something inside them was telling them not to interfere. Little girls shouldn’t bother grown-ups… Braless, Jane covered herself with her arms and practically roared up at the bird man. “Told you, you idiot!” “This isn’t fair!” the peacock harpy whined. “I wanted a boy! And the one time I got a clear shot, I picked a dull little girl that somehow managed to dress herself properly! What are the odds?!” The two remaining girls snapped out of whatever trance of shock and spectacle they’d been placed under and made a mad dash towards the peacock thing and their friend. “Grab Jane and run. I’m going for the shins!” “Right!” Jane shouted back. The pair ran straight towards the towering feathered grown up. They should have been faster than they were, but it was like the air around them worked against them. Perhaps it was some mesmerizing power peacocks had but neither girl’s legs moved quite right. A blur of orange and black crossed their path and snatched their friend off the ground and away from the peacock creature. “Mine!” the muscular woman tiger creature proclaimed. “Mine!” She cradled Jane in her arms and cooed down at her. “Don’t worry, baby girl. Mama won’t let that icky peacock man adopt you!” She lowered her head and nuzzled Jane. “Raksha,” the peacock harpy screeched. “No fair! That was supposed to be my baby!” “Get bent, Pavo.” The tiger Mommy growled. “You snooze, you lose.” The male harpy puffed out his chest, in an attempt to be intimidating. “But I saw her first, Rakasha!!” Unconcerned, she turned her back on him. “Pavo, you were disappointed with her the second you found out she was a girl. You want a baby with Daddy issues?” She looked down at Jane and regarded her. “Especially when she’s so very obviously a Mama’s girl .Isn’t that right my widdle cubby wubby?” Despite the impossible circumstances, or perhaps because of them, Jane showed little fear and less patience. Even half naked and cradled in a monster’s arms, she remained more indignant than scared. “I’m not your baby you maniac!” She shouted. “I’m not your baby. Not anybody else’s baby! I’m! Not! A! Baby!” The peacock man stepped back and folded his tail feathers away. “Nevermind, Raksha.” He said. “She’s a better fit for you.” He flew off with little pomp. Nova and Tammy regrouped. “How are we taking on a tiger lady?” Tammy asked, at a total loss. “No clue,” Nova admitted. Meanwhile, Jane was staring down the tiger with a woman’s face and not blinking. “Not a baby!” “Really?” The tigress cooed. “My baby girl isn’t a baby?” She set Jane back down on her feet. “Explain this, then!” Clawed hands quickly tore Jane’s pants asunder, leaving her completely naked save for her pink tennis shoes. That and her diaper. “Huh?” Jane gasped, turning several shades of crimson. Forgetting about her breasts, she tried and failed to use both hands to hide it. “No! I don’t wear these! I don’t” It didn’t even look like an adult diaper. It had cartoonish jungle leaves, the kind of foliage tigers stalked in, printed all over the front and back. “Mommy! I don’t!” “Is that so?” the tiger Mommy said. She used a claw to pull back the waistband of Jane’s diaper. “Not poopy,” she said. Nova and Tammy gawked at Jane and one another. “I didn’t know Jane wore diapers,” Tammy said. “Is that why she wore those baggy clothes?” The goth girl looked at Jane's pink sneakers and considered her buckle shoes with the frilly socks. “She doesn’t. Or didn’t…” “Guys!” Jane called out pathetically. “I’m not a baby! You gotta believe me!” Raksha reached around and stuck her fingers inside the leakguards of Jane’s diaper. “Wet,” she said. “But not too wet.” Jane’s face sank. “Wet?! I’m not! I mean I’m not that wet…! I’m still a big girl! Right?” Her friends didn’t shake their heads, but they were inclined to disagree. Instead of properly terrified, the girls were more disappointed than anything else. “Go on,” the tiger lady gave Jane’s padded butt a gentle pat. “You can go play on the playground for a little bit.” Jane whirled around and clenched her fists. “I don’t wanna go on the playground!” She stamped her foot. Her new Mommy stroked her chin. “I think you’re right. Maybe a nap first.” “No!” Jane stomped her foot again. “No nap! NO! NAP! MOMMY!” She collapsed on the ground and started flailing. Plenty of bawling sounds came out, but none of them were words. The tigress seemed unimpressed. “I know, I know,” she cooed over the now insensate girl. “Mommy’s so mean for making you take a nap. Maybe this will help.” She moved the girl over to a naked, and decidedly human looking breast. Jane’s cries ceased as she latched on to the nipple and started nursing. “Now as for you two rascals,” the tiger woman stepped over to the cowering girls. “My new baby needs some time to adjust. Go play somewhere else.” Her free hand was a blur when it connected with the two of them. It should have killed them; broken both their necks. What it did this time was hit them with so much force that they were knocked sideways and at such a velocity that when they landed, they almost didn’t realize that they’d been knocked into another painting. “Ooooooh…” Tammy groaned. “That shouldn’t be possible.” “None of this should be possible,” said Nova. “People don’t go into paintings,” Tammy said, rubbing her head. “That’s the least weird part,” Nova replied. “You mean with Jane and Chloe?” Tammy asked. “Yeah. Finding out they were big diaper babies all along was weird, but I think the painting thing is worse.” Nova thought about it, and despite herself couldn’t think of a decent way to argue the point. “Where are we now?” Wherever they were was dark and mist laden, a quiet woodland scene in the middle of a moonlit night; a dark cabin being the only sign of humanity. “Maybe we should go into that cabin?” Tammy suggested. “The lights are on.” Nova yanked on her tightly braided pigtails. “That’s probably the last place we should go,” she said. “Do you want to deal with whatever’s inside?” “No.” The two crinkled into the mist, but no matter how far they got, the cabin seemed to be the same distance away, like it was following them. Or maybe, they weren’t really going anywhere. A figure in the mist caused the girls to freeze. Everything they’d met so far had been too friendly for their tastes. “Hold on,” Tammy said. “I’d know that stupid jacket anywhere.” She dashed forward. “Charlie! Charlie!” “Tammy!” Nova called out. “Wait!” Tammy chased after her brother, and Nova ran after Tammy. With a sticky, sickening ‘thuck’, the pair collided with something invisible yet sticky. The collision didn’t hurt and the phrase ‘baby proofed’ popped into Nova’s mind uninvited. It peeled off their skin sickeningly when they backed away from it. Part forcefield, part cling wrap, it prevented the girls from going any deeper into the non-existent forest without hurting them. “Look!” Tammy said, putting her palm and pressing against the extra thick chunk of reality. “It’s Charlie!” Whatever was penning them in here also seemed to be part window, too. When Nova and Tammy pressed their hands against the spot, they found they were able to peer into the trailer gallery where this whole mess had started. Charlie walked around the narrow walkway, his head turning this way and that. His body language suggested that he was more lost in his own thoughts than anything, neither looking at the painting, nor for his friends. “Hey Charlie!” Nova called out. “Over here! Look! We’re in the painting!” Tammy slapped the invisible wall too. “Charlie! Can you hear us! Get us out of here! I’ll let you call yourself the big brother!” Charlie walked on, oblivious. The barrier between this one and the real did not seem to transmit sound, only sight. So it was particularly painful watching as a brightly colored feathered peacock hand reached out from a nearby painting and groped at the air. “Turn around!” “Run!” It was too late. Charlie was grabbed by the scruff of his letterman jacket and yanked into the painting they’d just come from. Nova felt her last desperate hope go up in smoke. “NOOOOOOOOOO!” “That…that…that…!” Tammy hopped up and down. “That dummy head!” “Dummy head?” Nova repeated, feeling the word an odd choice. “All he had to do was turn around! Big dumb poopy butt dum dum! Now he’s gonna get put in a diaper and get turned into a baby! Just like Jane and Chloe!” A switch flipped on in Nova’s head. “I thought you said Jane and Chloe were always babies.” “They are,” Tammy stated with absolute certainty. “And now my poo-poo pants brother is gonna get turned into one, too.” Tammy’s eyes widened in recognition. Whether she recognized the logical fallacy she was reciting or just that her choice of swear words were incredibly juvenile, Tammy knew something was wrong. “It’s not just them! It’s us too! Look at your clothes!” Nova looked down at her black babydoll dress and her pretty black shoes with the socks that were patterned along the ankles after Victorian doilies. She made sure that hair was still nice and neat and woven into a braid. Everything seemed in place. A naughty thought entered her brain yet again, and she thought to lift the hem of her dress, even though she know she shouldn’t. Just as always, Nova was wearing an extremely comfortable diaper with cloth backing made of the finest silk so that even when she was wet and soggy and saggy, her bottom cover was still soft to the touch. DIAPER?! “We’re babies!” Nova shrieked. Somehow, her skin managed to become even paler. “This place is turning us into babies!” “I know!” Tammy shrieked back. She was no better off. Her plain, ordinary, styless clothes had mutated into a brown romper with the subtlest hints of gray and darker brown splotches. The thick diaper sagging between her legs was more covered up than her friend’s, but it was no more obscured. “Brown!” Nova pointed, thinking back to the fate they thought they’d just avoided. “Does this mean I’m a peacock?” Tammy asked, crying. “Am I a peacock baby? Wait. Peacocks are the boy birds.” “What are the girls called?’ “I DON’T KNOOOOOOW!” The creak of a cabin door and the light fluttering of wings. “There, there, Tammy dear,” A kind sounding voice said. “It’s alright. You don’t need to cry. Mommy Lumira’s here.” Nova gazed up at the pixie-like giantess with moth wings and compound eyes. She tried to scream, but all sound left her throat. “What am I?” Tammy bawled. “What am I?” For the first time in her life, Tammy Greene didn’t know the answer to something. The giantess fluttered all the way down. “You’re not a peahen, my little caterpillar.” She took a knee and reached behind her. “You’re my darling baby girl.” Tammy looked up and the first thing she saw was not the monster, but the stuffed caterpillar she’d brought with her. The last of Tammy’s willpower melted away and she looked at the stuffed toy and the oddly beautiful, oddly terrible thing that gave it to her with only love. “Mommy!” “That’s right,” the moth woman’s voice said, just above a stage whisper. “I’m your mommy and you’re my little caterpillar. She unsnapped the girl’s romper and inspected her diaper. “My my, you’re soggy!” she gushed. “I think we’ll have to switch you to extra thick nighttime diapers all the time!” Tammy’s eyes lit up. “Oh! Nighttime! Mommy! Can my friend, Makayla, spend the night with us? Pweeeeeease!” She hadn’t lasted even a week without slipping. That was okay, though. Babies like her were allowed to make mistakes and be wrong. Lumira fluttered back into the air, holding her padded prize. “I’m sorry, Tammy, but your friend needs to find her Mommy before we make any plans” Tammy hung her head. “Oh,” she said. “Okie, Mommy.” “Now to send her along to…” the moth Mommy paused and looked around. “Where’d she go?” Nova laid on the ground of the trailer gasping for hair. She’d almost suffocated clawing and scratching through that invisible barrier, but she’d gotten through. As soon as she’d realized what a baby Tammy was, the big girl had started digging her way out of the painting. She wasn’t about to let herself get blown or knocked about into another painting. Except it wasn’t ‘realized’. Not really. Tammy hadn’t been a baby before today. None of her classmates had. There was just this naggingly persistent voice that kept whispering to her that she and her friends were just babies and had been all along. The most insidious part was that voice sounded so much like her own voice. It felt so natural. So right. “I’ve gotta get a grown-up,” Nova hissed to herself. She stood up, and smoothed the dress over her diaper. “Adult,” she corrected herself. “I’ve gotta get an adult.” Much better. When you need help, always find an adult. That’s what Mommy always told her. She thought of Edith, the girl at the front of the exhibit. Edith was a little older than her! In college already! Surely, that was close enough to start looking. The goth baby waddled unsteadily towards the front. “Lady?!” she called out. “Miss Edith?! Art lady?!” Nova pushed her way past the black curtain at the entrance and froze. The college girl who’d invited them to look at the paintings hadn’t changed, but Nova’s view of her had. There’s nothing wrong, or particularly scandalous about wearing shortalls. Among young women around Nova’s age it was often quite popular in the warmer months. All the same, most shortalls for adults didn’t have snaps in the inseam. Nova knew that her host’s clothes had snappies because when she poked her head through the black curtain, she saw the other woman laying spread eagle on her desk with the snaps popped open, an absolutely vile diaper balled up on the floor, and a fresh one being taped up by what could only be described as a giant woman made of paint splotches. Something clicked into place for Nova. This whole thing, from beginning to end, had been a trap made for people like her. This place was an angler fish and Edith was the dangly little bulb meant to bring the prey in. The only reason this place was on the fringes of the fairground was likely because too many people would notice that no one was coming out in a more crowded section. “You…you…meanie!” Nova screamed in blood curdling rage. She couldn’t remember any other meaner, more accurate, but ‘inappropriate’ words. Edith turned her head to the sound of Nova’s voice.. “Huh? You’re not supposed to be out-” The other diapered girl was cut off by Nova’s ramming tackle that spilled them both off the heavy oak desk and onto the cold metal floor. “Dumb! Poopy! Meanie!” Her words were cut short with Edith’s hands wrapped around the goth girl’s neck. That did not stop the attack. They rolled around the floor for a moment, the hostess wrapping her hands around Nova’s neck, with Nova sincerely trying to claw the other girl’s eyes out. Regardless of her murderous intent, Nova was never much of a fighter. If she had been prior to today, she didn’t remember how. Within five seconds, the girls had been separated, with Nova finding herself pinned to a wall by the paint creature. “Mommy! Mommy!” Edith said. “It’s okay! It’s okay!” She held up her hands in a calming defensive gesture. “We can play nice. We can play nice.” Like hell they could! Nova struggled against the scary grown-up, not caring at the moment whether or not her brain was turning to mush. She wanted this brat dead! Something changed when she looked at Edith's face. A few of her scratches had hit home and drawn blood. Blood wasn’t seeping out of the cuts, though. Bright splotches of green, yellow, and blue paint were. Fury transmogrified into dread curiosity. “What are you?” A look to the paint creature from Edith got it to back off. It quickly opened the desk drawers and handed out plastic tea cups to the girls. Evidently it served less of a desk and more of a combination changing. Nova noticed that the paint creature’s outline looked vaguely feminine; ever shifting but always having the faint silhouette of a woman in a dress with her hair done up. A quilt was laid out and a plastic tea set was made ready. Edith wiped away the paint on her face, and her wounds immediately started to close. It looked less like she was healing and more like the top layer of her skin was seeping over the scratch marks, painting over them. “Come on,” she said to Nova. “Let’s have a tea party.” Nova took a seat on the quilt and felt a sodden squelch as soon as she did. Her eye twitched and her face flushed. She didn’t know when she’d wet her diaper, but it was obvious that she had. Several times, possibly. Edith took a sip from her empty cup. “Do you need a change? My Mommy can give you a change if you need it.” Nova gulped for real as she pretended to sip imaginary tea. “No thank you,” she fibbed. “I’m fine.” Her eyes flitted towards the entrance. Maybe she could get to it.” Edith shrugged and pretended to pour some more tea. “Fine by me. The whole point of diapers is so that babies like us can keep playing for longer.” There was so much to unpack about that statement. Unpacking it wouldn’t get Nova closer to knowledge or escape. “What are you?” she repeated herself. Edith looked mildly uncomfortable. “I’m an artist,” she said. “Or I used to be before all this.” There was a thought Nova hadn’t considered until just now. Maybe the girl who’d dragged her and her friends into this was just as much of a victim as she was. “What happened to you?” In answer to Nova’s question, Edith gave a completely different answer. “Their fairies, you know.” she said quietly. “Fae. Arcadians. Muses. Powerful beings. Responsible for inspiration, passion, and madness.” She motioned with her head towards the paint woman. “My Mommy has personally touched the greatest paintings of all time, giving them her blessing. She doesn’t talk much, but the grown-ups call her Mona when she takes me on playdates.” Nova looked over at the brightly colored mishmash, and got a friendly little wave. It didn’t stop until Nova shyly waved back. “They kidnapped you?” “Not exactly,” the girl in the shortalls sighed. Her shortalls were more of a skirt at present. Her Mommy hadn’t had the time to snap the legs back together, and Edith, Nova guessed, no longer knew howl. “They offered me a deal, and like an idiot, I took it.” Nova leaned forward and barely noticed the squish. “What kind of deal?” “Eternal youth in return for creating portals to their different realms. I was born in 1948.” Nova forgot to blink. “Yeah. I’m old enough to be your grandma. That part has a bigger effect every year I tell it.” “So what was the catch?” Nova asked. “There’s always a catch.” Edith put the tea cup down and unfolded her hands right in front of her diaper. “This. I’m a baby. Forever. And babies don’t get to decide what they do or where they go. If Mommy and her friends want to go on the road and round up more people to adopt. I have to do what they say.” She sniffled. “Because I’m a good girl.’ It turned out that even the woman’s tears were rainbow colored. “Why the scratches?” Nova asked. “Why do you bleed paint?” “They treat us like children for a reason,” Edith squeaked, her throat sounding tight. “Any human who spends long enough around a Fae will start to change and be like them. We’re growing up, Makayla. We’ll just never finish. And it’s all my fault!” She buried her face in her hand and continued to sob. There was a light clicking sound that Nova thought was the crinkling of her babyish underwear. She paid it no mind and leaned forward. “Hey,” she whispered. “It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.” The girl frowned. “Wait. How do you know my real name?” “Because you gave it to me,” Quiet sobs turned into muffled laughter. “You put it down when you scribbled nonsense on the paper. Slipped right off ya. I picked it up!” Edith looked up and wiped away her dazzling crocodile tears. Makayla recoiled like Edith was a snake. Why couldn’t she think of herself as anything but Makayla anymore? “Why are you-? How are-?” “Like I said,” Edith giggled. “I’m a good girl. Except for one part,” she grinned. ”I lied. I knew this would happen. There was no trap.” Makayla was stunned into silence. “Do you know how much humanity sucks?” Edith went on. “We never really grow up anyways. We just act like a bunch of selfish brats as soon as someone can’t tell us what to do. We’re not really adults. We just got really good at playing dress up!” Makayla felt her hopes sink and her fear rise. “Why are you telling me this?” “Stalling,” Edith smirked. She pointed high above Makayla’s head. “Waiting for your Mommy to come getcha.” The goth baby felt herself yanked up as if she were a puppet on a string. “Gotcha!” a new voice announced. With her feet dangling, Makyla looked down and saw eight spindly legs clicking on the floor. She was turned around and gazed eight loving eyes on an otherwise human face, blinking out of unison so she would never not be looking at the girl. “Come to Mommy, sweetie!” Pure terror washed over Makayla and she made to scream, but a pacifier was jammed between her lips and pulled taught with spider silk. “Mmmmph!” “Thank you so much for keeping Makayla, company, little Edith.” The woman-spider clicked and cooed down to the artist. “I’m so glad you and your Mommy were here to stop her from toddling off. Who knows what would have happened then?” “You’re welcome, Miss Arachne,” Edith beamed like a proud little girl. The air whipped through the goth girl’s hair and the rows and rows of paintings swept by her field of vision. When the world stopped again, Makayla was looking at a portrait of a very creepy haunted house. “Home sweet home,” the spider with a woman’s face said. Makayla screamed into her pacifier, but the silk that tied it around her head held fast and her strength was no match for the. She could feel herself going and her guts starting to rumble. Her eyes darted around the old gray house with its loose floorboards and dusty cobwebs showing the decay of man’s time on this world. It was…pretty awesome actually. “It’s okay,” Mommy shushed. “You’re home now. You’re with Mommy. That’s speeding it up. It’ll all be over soon.” Over. Her life was over. The spider-woman tossed Makayla over her shoulder and started rubbing her back as if she were a fussy toddler. “Just let it all go. Let it all out.” Whether she was still something of a rebellious teen, or had just been propelled back to her terrible twos, being commanded to something made her want to do the opposite. Makayla clenched her cheeks together and grit her teeth, practically biting through the rubber bulb of the pacifier. “I knew you would be the perfect baby girl for me,” Arachne whispered to her “the moment you put your name down and I got a whiff of your essence. All except your name…” That gave Makayla pause. She stopped struggling as much. Her cheeks loosened slightly, despite herself. Simultaneously, she forgot how to get them that tight ever again. “But we can let go of names, can’t we?” her new Mommy whispered. “Fresh start? All you have to do…is to let everything go.” The words were hypnotic, weaving a spell that was too potent to resist. “Finish the transformation like a good girl. Give in. Let your true nature take its course. Get everything you don’t want out of you.” She patted Makayla’s diaper. “Put it right here for Mommy. Then when you’re done, I’ll get you a new diaper.” She paused. “And a new name. How about…Nova?” Spell complete, the embers lit inside the girl, she not only relaxed her muscles but actively pushed, forcing all the mess inside of her to fill up into the seat of her pants. As the baby did, she felt better and better. She lost her inhibitions. Her shame. Her past. Her future. Her cynicism. But the love of all things dark and macabre she kept. It would serve her well in her black nursery. The last thing that ended up ballooning her diaper with all of the mush, was the name she’d tried to get rid of since freshman year she couldn’t really remember anymore. “Good girl!” Mommy whispered to the baby changeling. “Very good baby.” She took the pacifier out of her new daughter’s mouth. “Isn’t that better?” “Yuh-huh!” Nova said. “Mommy, can I play with my friends now?” Mommy Arachne kissed her precious on the cheek. “Maybe later. First, though, I think its time to change your diaper. The first of infinite.” Nova felt a little sad, but that was mainly because she didn’t want to get her diaper changed just yet. She was just starting to enjoy the squish. A short eternity later, a most peculiar playdate was going on as a group of tiny eighteen year olds babbled and played with one another. Among them were a petite little girl who was just starting to grow her gills, a kitten baby who was going through a scratching phase, a beautiful baby boy in the most elegant dress and bonnet that complimented (not outshone) his feathers, a moth girl who was constantly squeezing her caterpillar for comfort, an eight eyed goth baby he flounced around clinging to her Mommy’s silks, and an splotchy little artist made of many different colors. “How do you guys wear these every day?” Chloe wondered, marveling at the piece of plastic between her legs. “I feel so…dry.” Her Mommy had gotten a pack of land diapers that she had to wear for trips away from her domain. “That’s kind of the point,” said Jane. Her Mommy was just glad her diaper tapes were extra strong. Jane squatted down into a pouncing position. Either that or she was pooping with her but up in the air. Maybe both? Charlie did a twirl so that his layers of skirts rustled about and opened like a flower. “Their point is to make you look cute.” “No,” Tammy said, looking down at herself. “I get it.” She poked her padding in her romper and looked worried. “How do you wear daytime diapers without being worried you’ll leak?” “You think that’s bad?” Edith joked. “You should have been around before disposables were a thing. All that cloth and safety pins and extra layers.” “I wear cloth,” Nova said. “It’s comfy.” “Cloth,” Edith corrected. “Not cloth-backed. Completely different. Yours is just like a facsimile of the old style. Not washable. Doesn’t need safety pins. It’s still basically a disposable.” A mockery of a past aesthetic? Something worse for the environment but containing the shell and vague appearance of something more wholesome and benign? All in the name of convenience?. How…wonderful! Nova giggled While the other babies played, Edith was still stuck in her own head. Break or no, there was a part of her that was always creating, ever the artiste. She’d heard a demoness, Lady Sousa, had become a patron to a coven of infantilist witches. Maybe she’d paint a portal to her next. Just imagine what she might give in return for some fresh forever children?! (The End)

War. War never changes. On October 23, 2077 the United States and China began and ended the Great War. In the span of two hours, all of human history had cultivated in the sky lighting on fire and the world being turned to cinders. But humanity did not die and join the ashes. Hundreds of Millions perished instantly. Billions died the slow agonizing death of radiation poisoning and starvation from nuclear winter. Thousands lingered on as something else entirely. But thousands more escaped the onset of holocaust by heading deep underground, into isolated and shielded facilities known as “vaults”. What these denizens did not know, could not even conceive of, was that they were merely guinea pigs for a series of unorthodox and highly unethical experiments. Vault-Tec, the company that had anticipated (perhaps even provoked) the Great War created these safe havens to preserve humanity, that is true, but they only endeavored to save what they considered the “best” or the “most necessary” sections of humanity. Everyone else was just fodder. A relative handful of vaults operated as advertised. They provided safety and shelter to those who dwelled inside, re-opened once the radiation had dropped to acceptable levels, and supplied humanity with the tools necessary to rebuild civilization. Every other vault was a grand social experiment meant to operate without concern for the physical and mental well being of its inhabitants. Vault 27 packed in double the intended occupants to see how a random selection of people would deal with dwindling and insufficient resources. Vault 95 consisted entirely of chem addicts and alcoholics who were forced to get clean…just to see what happened five years later when a massive cache was introduced. Vault 11 forced its occupants to sacrifice one of their own each year under threat that they would all die if they did not comply. And then there was Vault 159… ****************************************************************************************** Rebecca woke up early that morning, bright eyed and bushy tailed as Coddlesworth often said. Though she didn’t really understand that expression- her eyes didn’t glow and she didn’t have a tail to wag-but she liked the sound of it. She liked it so much that she decided to play with it in her mouth a little bit while waiting for Coddlesworth to get her up for the day. “Bright eyed,” she said. “Briiiiiiiigh-tuuuuuugh! Eeeeeeyeeeee-duh! Bushy. Buuuuusssssshhhh. Sh-sh-sh-sh! Tail-uh-duh! Tay-tay-tay-tay-tay-tay!” She stopped to make a few spit bubbles and kept on babbling, all while batting at the Nuka-Cola mobile dangling from the head of her crib. Rebecca could have clobbered the dangling soda bottles and rocket ships if she just sat up slightly, but that wasn’t as much fun. It was more amusing to graze them with the very tips of her fingers and make them make the music sound off. What if there was a place with all the zip of Nuka-Cola? Wouldn’t that be the cheer-cheer-cheeriest place in all the world? Where the rivers flow with Quantum and the mountaintops are fizz? With fun and games and rides for all the moms and pops and kids? Played slowly, it was a soothing lullaby to drift off to sleep to after a rousing day of play. Played fast, it was Rebecca’s ideal wake up call to start said day of play. That’s why it was her favorite song. When she was smaller, she’d cried and screamed until Coddlesworth and all the other Mr. Handies and Miss Nannies taught her every single word. What was a ‘mom’, anyway? She assumed that it was another word for soda, like ‘pop’, but she wasn’t sure. “A vacation that refreshes,” she sang quietly to herself. “A trip you won’t forget. A park with every minimum acceptable safety standard met.” She didn’t know what most of the words meant, but that didn’t stop her from saying it. ‘Vacation’ was particularly fun to say. She didn’t know what a ‘bongo-bongo-bongo’ was or a ‘congo’, but liked singing that song, too. Especially the part at the end. “Civilization! I’ll stay right heeeeeeeere!” That was also her favorite song. The door to Rebecca’s nursery whooshed open and Coddlesworth hovered inside. Three hundred years prior, the floating mechanical octopus would have been something terrible to behold; an abomination of science spitting in the face of nature. Approximately, two-hundred years ago, it was an exciting cutting edge piece technology that created so many opportunities and convenience. But Rebecca had known Coddlesworth and his manufactured ilk all of her life, and thus the robots that cared for her and her playmates were natural and normal. Rebecca didn’t even think of Coddlesworth as a ‘robot’. To her, he and every other person who took care of her was a Grown-Up. “Good morning, Miss Rebecca,” Coddlesworth said through his speakers. “Had a restful night’s sleep, I trust?” The Grown-Up wasted no time in going over to Rebecca’s dresser and fetching powder, washcloths, a onesie, and a fresh diaper. All part of the morning routine. “Yuh-huh,” Rebecca nodded and smiled up at the floating ball of chrome. Coddlesworth always made sure to keep at least one retractable eye on her when he was changing her. “Excellent!” Coddlesworth replied. “Then let’s get you changed, shall we?” Rebecca laid still as Coddlesworth lowered the side of her crib and unbuttoned her blue Vault-Tec footie pajamas all the way down starting at the shoulder and slipped them off her legs. The second the first fiber of fabric hit the hamper metallic tendrils and pincers gently attacked the safety pins holding her diaper together. “Oh dear!,” Coddlesworth tutted. “It looks like someone was dreaming of going for a swim!” This was Coddlesworth’s way of emphasizing just how close to leaking Rebecca had been. Rebecca playfully popped her thumb in her mouth and giggled in reply. She sucked and giggled on her digit while her metallic caregiver cleaned her sensitive and delicate areas with a specially warmed washcloth “Thumb out of your mouth, Miss Rebecca,” Coddlesworth said. “That’s what your binky is for, dear.”. “Coddlesworth?” Rebecca asked while her ankles were crossed and her legs were raised for her so that the soaked diaper could be removed. “Am I an educated savage?” “What?” Coddlesworth replied. “Where did you…?” There was a sense of pause in the Mr. Handy’s voice but his mechanical arms had no hesitancy in disposing of the soggy bit diaper and slipping a nice thick clean one beneath the girl. “Oh, that song,” he said. “I really do disagree with the decision to let that so-called radio station be broadcast in the main playroom, but the Overseer saw no reason to object to the entertainment. I prefer a good old fashioned nursery rhyme, don’t you?” Rebecca had kept nibbling on her thumb while her caregiver dusted clean smelling powder on her caramel colored skin. “You didn’t answer my question.” “And you’re still chewing on your thumb, silly girl.” Rebecca pulled her thumb out of her mouth and whined “Coddleswoooooorth!” “Fine, fine,” Coddlesworth said. “No need to get so fussy.” With precision that could best be described as machine driven, Coddlesworth pulled the fresh diaper up between the girl’s legs and started to gently fasten it on with safety pins. “No, Miss Rebecca, you are not an educated savage. Quite the opposite, frankly.” “What am I?” This question Rebecca already knew the answer to, but she loved hearing it. With the dry diaper fastened on, the machine was free to pull Rebecca’s prone form up into a sitting position. “I think the answer should be quite obvious, Miss Rebecca,” Coddlesworth replied. He waited until he pulled the clean Vault-Tech onesie over Rebecca’s head and unbunched the sleek yet breathable waterproof fabric down over her breasts “You are a precious, adorable, baby girl!” “Yaaaaaay!” Rebecca clapped her hands in celebration. “Not just any baby girl either,” Coddlesworth announced. “You’re a birthday girl as well! Congratulations!” A bit of confetti shot up into the air and. Rebecca clapped her hand to her cheeks in delighted surprise. “I am?” She started bouncing on her fluffy bottomed seat. “How old am I? How old am I?” Coddlesworth gathered up Rebecca’s long black hair and started bunching it up together into two bushy pigtails tied in yellow ribbon. “Assuming my internal chronometer is still functioning, and I’m sure that it is, you are twenty-one years old today!” The baby girl grinned with pride. “That’s the oldest I’ve been so far!” “Quite right,” Coddlesworth agreed. “It seems like just yesterday I was playing peekaboo to make you laugh and giving you a nice warm ba-ba before naptime to help you drift off to sleep. “Coddlesworth!” Rebecca laughed. “That was yesterday!” “Oh,” Coddleswroth remarked. “So it was!” Specially designed reinforced metal tendrils cradled the girl and lifted her out of her crib. “Let’s get you some breakfast, birthday girl, then we’ll start our day of play!” ************************************************************************************************ Samantha woke up on the wrong side of the bed. She didn’t know what that meant, because she’d never seen one, but she knew it had something to do with sleep since the Grown-Ups used ‘bed’ and ‘sleep’ interchangeably. Still, it begged the question: How could somebody sleep wrong? The light brown, almost red haired, little girl wasn’t sure, but she felt she’d accomplished the feat of operator error. She’d tossed and turned in her crib all night and no amount of repositioning or rolling over helped her doze off. Some silly stubborn part of her didn’t want to call out for help and cry. It’s not like she’d been sick or had a bad dream. Her toys hadn’t been moving and there weren’t radroaches under her crib. She just couldn’t get comfy. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” Poppy cooed down at her. “Did you have a practically perfect visit to slumberland Miss Samantha?” Samantha grumbled something incoherent as Poppy’s warm washcloth bathed her backside. She rubbed her eyes and the first thing that came into focus was her own crossed ankles hoisted high towards the ceiling. “I think someone must have really enjoyed getting their forty winks to sleep so long.” Samantha grumbled a bit more, while the old diaper was swapped out for the new one. “It’s been ages since you’ve slept through your morning change!” Samantha wanted to roll over and go back to sleep, but she was literally not in a position to do so. “Poppeeeeeee,” she whined. “Staaaaaaahp!” One prehensile camera-eye lowered itself and stared directly at her bare bottom. “Oh dear, is that the beginnings of a rash I detect? Someone must have made those stinkies late last night in their sleep.” Samantha assumed the Miss Nanny was talking about her. Maybe that’s why she had been having such trouble sleeping, she supposed. She knew there was something uncomfortable keeping her up, but an itchy bottom hadn’t occurred to the girl. There had been a time when she was two or three…maybe four…when Samantha could tell she was making stinkies in her diaper, but that was a distant memory. At the time, she thought she heard the Grown-Ups say something about ‘Poppy Training’ but that didn’t sound right to her. Anyways, that was a long time ago, and like a good baby Samantha’s brain had long forgotten any correlation to how her body felt and how her diaper felt a few minutes later. Samantha winced out of her memory while the egg colored Grown-Up smeared thick white cream up and down her backside. Her nose wrinkled at the gross chemical smell. She hated the smell of diaper rash cream. The smell of a stinky diaper was almost preferable in that at least it was natural. “Poppy?” she asked, “Can you remember to use extra baby powder?” Anything to cover up that unnatural chemical scent. Dutifully, Poppy shook an extra cloud of the sweet smelling stuff all over Samantha’s rashy bottom. “Hmmm,” she said as she lowered Samantha’s hips down to the thick fresh padding. “It seems the irritation isn’t just on your bottom. Were you up late playing naughty games last night, Miss Samantha? Is that why you didn’t cry out?” Samantha blushed all over. Come to think of it, she had been playing the naughty games that the Grown-Ups didn’t want her playing, rubbing between her legs all the way through the layers and layers of jammies and thick diapers. “Maybe…” she admitted. “I was just trying to get to sleep.” That part was true. Samantha always felt good and sleepy after she got to play her naughty games with Mr. Buzzy every two weeks. But it was too late for Mr. Buzzy, so she did it herself and pretended her hands were Mr. Buzzy. “Oh never mind, dear,” Poppy said. From the sound of her voice, and the way her octopus eyes blinked and waggled back and forth, she would have been shaking her head if she were a kid. But Samantha also knew her caregiver would be smiling, too. “Little girls will be little girls.” She finished diapering Samantha, nice and thick so that she probably wouldn’t need a change until at least naptime, and dressed her in her regulation Vault 159 onesie, same as everyday else. “Oh, and I know I’m practically perfect in every way,” Poppy said, putting the finishing touches on Samantha’s hair with a loose and comfortable ponytail. “But lest I forget. Happy birthday, darling!” Samantha woke up, instantly, chasing all the sleepiness and grumpiness away. “It’s my birthday?!” She sat up a little straighter. “Yes darling, you’re a whole year older and none the wiser!” The way she said it made Samantha feel good all over and bubble up. “How old am I?” “It’s been twenty-one years since Mr. Stork delivered you and your little friends to Vault 159!” “Oh my gosh!” Samantha clapped. She was going to have to play extra hard today! Mr. Stork tended to deliver babies in bunches of bundles all at once to Vault 159, so at any given point five to ten different babies all had the same birthday. What none of the babies understood was that this was fairly unusual outside of the vault. What none had any reason to suspect was that Mr. Stork and Mr. Buzzy were very good friends and had an intimate working relationship. ************************************************************************************************************ “HAAAAAAPPY BIRTHDAY TOOOOO YOU!” The Grown-Ups finished warbling the birthday song as the last empty breakfast bowl was taken away. All the other kids who didn’t have the pointy birthday hats on clapped and cheered for the ones who did. Rebecca leaned back in her highchair and let out a hearty belch, her matching dark blue bib catching some oatmeal and prune laced spittle. Samantha fiddled with the elastic string under her chin. Other Grown-Ups started releasing kids from their highchairs and shooing them off to play rooms. Those kids, both older and younger than today’s birthday batch, crawled and toddled as their full tummies and (for now) empty diapers allowed them. For Rebecca, Samantha, and their agemates, there were a few more steps to attend to. “Because we want your special day to be extra special,” Coddlesworth said, “we decided to give you your presents early!” “Yes,” Poppy said, her various arms filled with gift wrapped boxes. “Let you have the entire day to enjoy them instead of waiting till after dinner and cake.” “CAKE?!” a cry rose up from over half-a-dozen highchairs. Despite having gone through this ritual over twenty times now, and witnessed it even more, the fact that they got cake AND presents excited the boys and girls just as much as if it were the first. Coddlesworth grabbed a few more boxes. “Oh, I told you not to mention the see-ay-kay-ee.” Neither Rebecca nor Samantha knew what see-ay-kay-ee was, but they would have leapt over their feeding trays if it meant they could get cake. “Oh hush now” Poppy replied. “Everything that can be done should have at least a little bit of fun. You’re being neurotic, dear.” “Well I never! The Overseer will be hearing about thi-” “Not in front of the bee-ay-bee-eye-eez,” Poppy quickly interjected. The babies were already starting to wiggle in their seats. Despite having very full tummies, they were eyeing the gift wrapped boxes like hungry puppies after a bone. Samantha and Rebecca, in particular, were fighting to keep their smiles up. They hated it when the grown-ups argued. Even if Coddlesworth didn’t like new things and Poppy tended to talk down to everyone. “Quite right.” Coddlesworth sighed. “We have more important things to do than to peck at each other like a couple of old hens.” A beat. “LIKE PASS OUT BIRTHDAY PRESENTS!” Another cheer went up and the Grown-Ups started handing out presents. One by one, the gift boxes were passed out to each of the twenty-one year old babies, each one carefully wrapped and done up with a bow. It was hard for Samantha because she was the last in the row to get a gift. It was even harder for Rebecca because she was first. “Remember, dears,” Poppy reminded, “Good little boys and girls wait to open up their gifts until everyone has one.” When finally everyone had a present laying on her tray, Coddlesworth gave the signal.“Three…Two…One,...GO!” Had the falling scene consisted of anything other than wrapping paper and cardboard, it wouldn’t have been appropriate for children of any age. “A dolly!” Rebecca cooed as she pulled the most adorable dolly out of her box. It was the cutest little ragdoll with a blue onesie on it just like hers, and a big puffy diaper pinned on just like hers, and it had beautiful blue. Rebecca fell in love instantly and hugged it so hard that if its tummy were as full of oatmeal and prunes as hers, the dolly would have needed a change right away. “A box?” Samantha said with a frown. Who put a box inside of another box and called it a present? “Coddlesworth! Poppy!” Samantha started to whine. “I think my present is…” The lid of the polished oaken box popped up and Samantha’s face froze. A little blonde boy rose from out of the box, wearing a suit similar to Samantha’s onesie, except it covered his arms and legs too. He sat in front of a black piano, playing it while the pedestal he was on slowly spun in a circle. Both the Vault Boy and the piano were so tiny that its jaunty little tune came out in tiny tinkling chimes. “Ooooooooo!” Samantha gasped, mesmerized. She didn’t know the words to the song, but loved it all the same. In olden days, a glimpse of stocking Was looked on as something shocking But now, God knows… Anything goes. Rebecca knew the words. It was her favorite song. She stared longingly and sang along with the little Vault Boy on his piano. “Good authors too who once knew better words, now only use four-letter words writing prose…anything goes.” Truly, it was her favorite song! Samantha turned her head towards the sound of the singing and gasped. That dolly that Rebecca was squeezing! It had blue button eyes just like Samantha and its yarn hair almost perfectly matched Samantha’s reddish brownish mop! It even had the same dark blue onesie and poofy diaper underneath! It was her but in dolly form, and Samantha fell instantly in love. Neither tot realized their arms were reaching out for the other’s present and that only distance was stopping them from getting what they wanted more than anything in the world. “Alright kiddos!” Coddlesworth announced. “Now that we’ve got all of that present business out of the way, let’s shuffle off to a playroom and party down as they say! Safely and responsibly of course!” he added. Even after the trays from their highchairs were taken away and they were placed down on the kitchen floor, Rebecca and Samantha were too busy staring greedily at one another’s gifts to notice that the group was toddling slowly but surely away from them. “Come along my little ducklings,” Poppy coaxed them back into the present despite their presents presence. “You can play with your birthday gifts as much as you like after we get you all tucked away and out from underfoot.” She gestured with a tendril to the other, less personable Grown-Ups who were already beginning to clean up after the babies; washing dishes, mopping floors, and whatnot. The girls eyed one another’s toys, adjusted their party hats, then each other, and nodded silently. The only thing moving faster than their bare legs were their minds. Rebecca wanted Samantha’s music box. Samantha wanted Rebecca’s dolly. And being twenty-one year old toddlers, neither one even considered trading. War. War never changes… ******************************************************************************************************* “Alright kiddos,” Coddlesworth announced. “Who’s up for a good old-fashioned game of Pin the Tail on the Donkey?” Hands shot in the air immediately and a chittering of “Me-me-me-me-me-me-me!” filled the nursery style play room. “Excellent!” Coddlesworth said. “That’s the spirit lads and lasses! Now which good little birthday boy or girl should I pick first?” Immediately hands went down and every baby sat up as straight as they could, looking positively angelic. “Oh this is going to be very difficult,” Poppy noted, scanning all of the toddlers suddenly on their best possible behavior. “But I think…Rebecca is being particularly good.” Rebecca beamed and cheered for her own good fortune. Immediately, all pretense was abandoned and every other baby hung their heads in disappointment and let out an “Awwwww!’ The sound of a certain best song in the entire universe caused Rebecca’s ears to wiggle. No longer worrying about going first, Samantha had decided to occupy herself by re-opening the delightful music box. Rebecca’s face started to heat up in jealousy and she squeezed her dolly with all her might. Suddenly, she had an idea. “Actually, Poppy,” she said in her best good-girl voice. “Can I give up my turn and give it to Samantha as a present?” Samantha’s mouth opened in honest to goodness surprise. “Really?” she asked. “Really really!” Rebecca promised, crossing her fingers behind her back. Samantha was overjoyed at getting to go first. That is, until she saw Rebecca’s new dolly. That was the present she actually wanted from Rebecca. She’d take what she could get, however, and climbed to her feet. “How do I play?” “It’s very simple, Miss Samantha,” Coddlesworth said, wasting no time in fastening the blindfold over the girl’s eyes. “First we blind fold you like so. Then we spin you around like so until you’re good and dizzy!” Samantha turned and turned with the shiny metal Grown-Up’s guidance again and again until she was so wobbly she might as well have been one of those funny inflatable clowns that she bopped around. “Whoah-whoah-whoah!” All the other boys and girls giggled. “I did it!” “Not quite, luv,” Poppy corrected. Samantha found something long and pointy with a floppy end placed carefully into the palm of her hand. “Now you have to pin the tail on the donkey.” Due to her outfit and general lack of coordination, Samantha was already fairly wobbly. Add in the spinning and blindness, and Samantha might as well be just learning to walk all over again. “Go Sam-Sam!” Rebecca cheered. “You can do it!” “Oh that’s right,” Coddlesworth remembered. “Do cheer her on and give her hints!” “Go Sammy!” “Left! Left!” “No! Your other left! Haha!” “Up! Up! WHOAH! Dooooown!” “Haaaaa! You’re going the wrong way, now! Spin around again!” All of this happy noise was perfect cover for Rebecca’s true goal. With the shouting and laughter filling up everyone’s ears, no one could hear the joyful tune of Samantha's music box. When the Missus Ned McLean, God bless her Can get Russian reds to yes her Then I suppose… Anything goes. Which, of course, meant that no one heard it when Rebecca closed the wooden box, dragged it to herself, and used it as a chair for her dolly. She might have felt bad about the trick, but it was like the song said. Anything goes. “Ooops!” Coddlesworth said. “Terribly sorry, Miss Samantha, but the tail most certainly doesn’t go there!” Samantha lifted up her blindfold and laughed so hard she didn’t notice her diaper getting wetter. How silly! If donkeys had their tails there they wouldn’t need to blink! “Go sit down, dear. Now who else is being a good little birthday boy and girl so that they can try pinning one on!” Zigging and zagging from dizziness, a very giggly girl fell to her knees and crawled the rest of the way back to her spot on the carpet. She wondered if the little Vault Boy on his tiny piano got dizzy from all the spinning. It probably wasn’t fast enough, she knew, but she thought she could get a good idea if she stared at him a little… Where was her music box?! Samantahs lifted her rump and looked underneath her. Then she spread her legs extra wide and looked between them to make sure she hadn’t misplaced it. Her present had been right in front of her before she stood up and then…and then…and then Rebecca… Rebecca! Samantha leaned over and stared at Rebecca, clapping as the next kid got blindfolded and cheering him on. The other girl’s dolly was sitting on a wooden box. Samantha’s wooden box! “WAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Samantha cried and pointed at the thief. Crocodile tears flowed freely and the little dangly ball in the back of her throat jiggled while she banged. No fair! No fair! Samantha was going to do that too! Rebecca had just thought of it, first! “Oh dear!” Poppy said, hovering up close. “Samantha, darling, what’s wrong!” “BECKY TOOK MY…MY…” “Your what, poppet?” A moment of terrible inspiration struck Samantha. “REBECCA TOOK MY DOLLY!” “What?!” Rebecca gasped, clutching her present even tighter. “It’s not your dolly! It’s mine! I got it as a birthday present!” “Nuh-uh!” Samantha lied. “It’s my dolly! Coddlesworth and Poppy put it in my highchair special! That’s why it looks like me! Her name is Samantha Junior!” “It! Is! Not!” Rebecca gasped. “Her name is…is…I hadn’t named her yet, but she’s still my dolly!” Rebecca cursed her rotten luck. She should have hidden her precious dolly first and started crying like Samantha had stolen the music box. Samantha had just thought of it first… The floating Grown-Ups turned a camera eye on each other, keeping the other on one of the bickering toddlers at any given time. “I don’t remember who I gave what to,” Coddlesworth said. “Do you?” “Goodness no,” Poppy whispered. “Do you know how many birthdays we’ve had in the last two hundred years? My servos have more important things to keep track of.” They both turned their attention to the birthday girls sending death glares each other’s way. “I hate it when they’re going through their terrible twenties.,” Coddlesworth moaned. “Me too,” Poppy agreed. “Let’s just give Samantha the doll and go from there.” “But it’s not hers!” Rebecca objected. “Now, now.” Poppy said. “I won’t have any tantrums on your birthday. Not unless you need a turn on the naughty stool.” The naughty stool wasn’t nearly as fun as the naughty game. Reluctantly, Rebecca gave up her brand new dolly and watched in silent agony when it was given over to Samantha. “Oh Samantha Junior!” Samantha gushed, giving it a cuddle like it was really her dolly. “I missed you so much! Don’t you ever leave me again!” Both girls had gotten the gift they had really wanted. Both of them had done so using misdirection and deceit. That should have settled the matter and they considered it even. But as far as the big babies were concerned, this was war. And war? War never changes. *************************************************************************************** “Ninety-Nine! One hundred!” The boy with his hands covering his face shouted. “Ready or not, here I come!” “Master Brian,” Coddlesworth said. “You’re supposed to count to one-hundred and one-two-skip-a-few doesn’t quite pass muster if you know what I mean.” The boy shook his head and giggled. “Nuh-uh.” “Oh very well,” Coddlesworth said. “We’ll settle for a slow twenty. Now repeat after me.” Pin the tail on the donkey had ended, and a rousing game of Duck-Duck-Goose had followed. Unfortunately, both girls had had the same idea and ran with their ill-gotten presents when it was their turn to dash around the circle. Hide and seek, however, presented new opportunities and both girls, normally the best of playmates, scoured the nursery for not one, but two hiding places. One for them and one for the birthday present that they hadn’t gotten. By the time Brandon reached ten, Rebecca had found the perfect spot for her new music box. Likewise Samantha had found the perfect hiding place for Samantha Junior. “Nineteen,” Coddlesworth said. “Twenty! Alright, now. Off you go!” Thus, while Brian was searching in toy boxes and looking under blankets, Rebecca and Samantha slinked around, searching for each other’s stash. “If I were Rebecca,” Samantha whispered to herself, slinking along the wall, being extra still so that Brian didn’t notice her, “Where would I put my music box.” She frowned. “I mean my music box, not my music box…” her nose wrinkled. She knew what she meant, that was the most important part. She bumped her head against a bookshelf, with an audible “oof!” and then had to hold her breath when Brian whipped his head around. The search might have continued, but bumping the bookshelf had knocked something slightly loose; or rather, open. When Rockefeller still can hoard enough money To let Max Gordon produce his shows… Anything goes “Huh?” Samantha said, peeking around and taking a much closer look at the books on the shelf. Turned on its side and crammed between a copy of ‘You’re S.P.E.C.I.A.L’. and ‘Grognak The Baby Barbarian’ was Samantha’s music box, jostled slightly ajar so that the little Vault Boy inside was playing his piano again. “Got it!” she whispered. At last, her real birthday present was in her grasp. Now all she had to do was sneak back to where she’d left her dolly and hide it there! Everything was going according to plan. Meanwhile, Rebecca was shimmying on the carpet, looking high and low (mostly low) for where Samantha might have hid her dolly. Not her dolly, she reminded herself, but her dolly. “Where is Samantha anyways?” Rebecca asked herself. She covered her face so that Brian would think she was invisible while he passed by, then started carefully scouting the room. Brian was stomping around the room yelling “I found you!” at everything he saw. Amanda was hiding in the toybox. Rachel was disguising herself with a lamp shade. Johnny was being a Stealth Boy with his hands over his face. Samantha was very very small and laying on top of the changing table. “Wait a minute,” Rebecca said to herself. “If that’s Samantha getting a diaper change, why isn’t a Grown-Up helping her?” The realization hit her like a megaton bomb! “That’s not Samantha!” She ran over to the changing table with full speed and snatched the dolly up, giving it a hug. “I’m never losing you again,” she promised. At last, her real birthday present was in her grasp. Now all she had to do was sneak back to where she’d left her music box and hide it there! She might have felt bad for Samantha , but just like her favorite song said: “Into each life some rain must fall.”. “Hey!” A voice called out. “Drop my dolly!” Rebecca spun on her heel. “Your dolly! It’s my…!” Rebecca’s guts started to rumble. Her morning oatmeal was catching up to her. “My…my…my…” Rebecca stopped talking, bent her knees, started grunted, and stared out into the middle distance, barely aware of her surroundings while the back of her diaper expanded and her onesie struggled to contain the oncoming mudslide. “Your what?” Samantha started to ask. Suddenly it dawned on her. With lightning fast hands she snatched the Samantha Junior out of Rebecca’s thieving hands! “Poppy! Coddlesworth!” Samantha crowed. “Rebecca’s making a stinky and needs a change!” Samantha might not have realized when she was straining and adding her own bits of fallout into her pants, but the clever girl easily recognized it when another baby was doing it right in front of her! Music box and dolly acquired, Samantha hurriedly ran away, snickering back over her shoulder. “Oh dear!” Poppy said, patting Rebecca’s mushy backside. “Where do you put it all?” As if awakening from a trance or coming down from a dose of jet, Rebecca blinked and became aware of her surroundings a tad too late. “But..but…but…!” “Yes,” Poppy agreed, leading the girl back over to the changing table she’d just recently visited. “Let’s get yours up on that changing table, young lady. I won’t have you getting a rash.” Rebecca grimaced, picturing having that yucky ointment Poppy loved smeared all over her bum. That and the idea of Samantha getting both of her birthday presents filled her with a rage she hadn’t felt since the last time a Grown-Up had told her no. She slipped the surly bonds of the Grown-Ups metallic appendages and charged straight for her retreating playmate. So sure of her victory was she, that Samantha forgot that she was supposed to be playing hide and seek. “Found you!” Brian pointed and yelled, finally correct in his accusation. “You’re it!” “Am not!” “Are too!” “Am not!” “Are too!” Rebecca caught up to her and grabbed for the dolly. “That’s my dolly!” Rebecca said. “Give it back!” Samantha clutched both toys to her chest. “No! She’s mine! Get your own birthday dolly!” “I’ve got a yo-yo” Brian offered. “Do you wanna play with my yo-yo?” “You stay out of this!” The girls said in unison, sending the boy into a fit of tears.” Rebecca grabbed for the doll, but Samantha, in equal stubbornness held tight; each girl gripping the bit of cloth and fluff with both hands and pulling as hard as they could. “Mine!” “Mine!” “Mine!” “Girls! Girls!” Coddlesworth tried to intervene. “That isn’t very ladylike,” Poppy scolded. But neither twenty-one year old toddler was capable of listening at the moment. The music box fell from Samantha’s grasp, the last chorus of Rebecca’s favorite song tinkling for a precious few notes before crashing onto the ground, the little Vault Boy’s head coming clean off and the music going silent. Now neither would hear that wonderful song again until the next time it played on the playroom radio! “NOOOOOOOO!” They yelled in unison over the loss of one precious present. But neither one was willing to give up their claim on the dolly. If anything, each girl only gripped harder. And so it was with sickening rip that stitches came loose and cotton puffs that were never meant to see open air spilled out into the light of day. Both girls fell backwards, tripping over their own heels and landing onto their thoroughly padded backsides. Rebecca landed and the shock sent her bladder into overdrive, spraying into her thirsty diaper so fast that not even the advanced fabric could soak up the liquid quickly enough, causing her to leak and dribble down her thighs. Samantha landed and kept sliding as her momentum sent her on her back with her legs up in the air. She didn’t know what happened next, only that she felt incredible shock and relief as one-by-one the poppers on her onesie snapped open, the mass her body pushed into her diaper causing it to expand well past the point of no return. The Great War of 2077 lasted two hours. The Great War of 2287 less than two minutes. One resulted in nuclear annihilation. The other ended with two adult babies being put in time-out for five whole minutes. The scope of each conflict couldn’t be more different. But they were still very similar in some respects. Both sides wanted everything and lost it all. And by the end of the hour, both girls had forgotten why they were mad and were cuddling with each other during naptime, not even missing or caring that they’d be without a particular toy until their birthday next year. They’d truly learned nothing. But that’s war. And war? War never changes. But diapers do… (The End?)

There’s no justice for Littles. Sophia knew that. Every Little did. Experiencing a particular brand of injustice was a lot different than just hearing about it, however. Sophia sat naked in her cell in the JBRC: The Juvenile Behavior Retention Center. She and every other Little there had been tried and convicted in an actual factual Amazon Court of Law of committing actual factual crimes. Her and her fellow dead men and women had committed real crimes; nothing so pedestrian as shoplifting or jaywalking. Nor was it the harder crimes of drug possession with intent to distribute, driving under the influence, burglary, or attempted bribery. They definitely hadn’t committed one of the non-crimes of wetting their pants, losing their jobs, or being the wrong combination of cute and independent at the same time. All of those could be washed away with an excuse about how they weren’t ‘raised right’ and needed to ‘start over’. It was the same thing with white collar crimes. Littles got convicted of embezzlement, blackmail, fraud, and extortion all the time and at a much higher rate than other types of crimes. Communication, information technology, and data manipulations were something of great equalizers as it stood. Whether the Littles convicted of such offenses were guilty of those crimes or just victims of Amazonian and Tweener sabotage was another matter entirely. For anyone who could fit on an Amazon’s hip, becoming a victim of a frame up would be just as bad as doing the deed anyways: poor Little things needed protection from the big scary world all the time. All of those people likely found themselves Adopted or put into an orphanage until their will was sufficiently broken. Guilty or not, Littles didn’t tend to sleep behind bars unless cribs were involved. There was a reason why even small town police stations had overnight nurseries for their smallest offenders. Littles could be criminals, same as everybody else. It’s easy to be a criminal in a world where every law and social norm is stacked against you. Few people become criminals for the fun or thrill of it. People become criminals when the system they live in can’t meet their needs and so they operate outside and against that system. For most Littles what they needed and what non-Littles decided they needed were at complete odds; so crime became inevitable at some level. For example, most Littles weren’t allowed to drive cars that were too big for them or to modify homes that they didn’t own. But most cars and homes weren’t sized for Littles, and the ones that were put a target on their back. Why live in a Little sized apartment or drive in a Little sized car when that just advertises to baby crazy Amazons where you’re sleeping and let them know of the treasure they’ll find inside once they sweet talk your landlord. Littles got strapped into car seats in lieu of speeding tickets. Better to ;live and drive in out of the way places and roads and invest in heavy window tinting. Everything was legal when the cops weren’t around. Cops or not, most Littles didn’t see the inside of a jail or a prison cell. Amazons wouldn’t have it. It hurt their own narrative that Littles were children who didn’t really know any better. Better (for the Amazons) to pretend that the Littles were just naughty children acting out for attention, subconsciously wanting a Mommy or Daddy to take care of them. That’s what made being in an actual JBRC such a grim accomplishment. JBRC’s were a relic of the past- a bygone age when Littles, Tweeners, and Amazons were supposedly equal in adulthood. Littles were still put in padded pants and ended up strapped in strollers, but it was punishment not predestination. Slowly but surely the pendulum had been swinging to a kinder, gentler, and altogether more insidious form of forced regression, but places like these still existed despite polite society not liking to acknowledge it. Along either coast, Maturosis had taken hold of the public consciousness as the primary and ‘acceptable’ reason to kidnap small folk and shove a nipple between their lips. The farther inland one traveled, the flimsier the pretense got and the more the mask of giant society slipped. Amazons wanted to turn Littles into babies so that they always had someone to lord over, dominate, humiliate and punish for the sake of their own projections and insecurities. Some were just more honest about it than others. There were states where being “immature” or “bratty” or “not making boom-booms and tinkles” on command for a stranger in the bathroom were enough of a reason for someone Sophia’s size to get their panties ripped off, bunched up, and tossed away in a diaper pail forever. The cruelty didn’t end there. Sophia couldn’t remember how many times she’d overheard Amazons bragging to each other how many Little boys and girls they’d kidnapped like they were freaking pets or trophies. Or how many times she’d heard lines like “My little Mary Sue is such an angel now that we’ve gotten her all sorted out. She only needs thorough spankings three or four times a week to remind her and otherwise she’s a perfect sweetie.” Deep down, it had all worn on Sophia. Made her numb. Not even afraid anymore. That’s probably why she did what she did. That’s probably why she’d done what she’d done. The Littles here had been convicted of real, actual, violent felonies: The kind of crimes that made normal people shudder and decent people squirm. Terrible shit. Morally inexcusable. The stuff that might get one a documentary played by an A list movie star if only they were more physically imposing or if there were Little actors that didn’t talk to puppets. Whether the other Littles had actually done what they’d been accused of didn’t matter. What Sophia had or hadn’t done didn’t matter, either. The kangaroo courts that had bounced them here were just as swift and awful as any Amazonian Adoption Agency. What mattered was that this last month of her life was one of the only times Sophia could remember that she had felt like an adult. Like an Amazon. Like a threat. She’d confessed, tearless, after a thorough spanking. No amount of thrashings, enemas, mouth soapings, or days spent in dirty diapers without rash relief would get her to change her story that she’d done that awful thing. There was no one-armed Amazon man like in the police and media theories. According to all official documents, she was a monster of the most sadistic and unrepentant kind. She’d stared dead-eyed at her federally mandated foster parents, and said that she would do the same thing to them that she had supposedly done to that poor Tweener and her Little brother. The mittens and the booties with the spikes on the insides didn’t come off until after sentencing and transport. The top bars never came off the crib. Every diaper change and highchair feeding had maximum restraints. Her pacifier bulb only deflated when they were trying to shove something else in her mouth or get her to change her story. Truly, Sophia had never had such a splendid time in all of her short life. To see and hear the looks of fear from people so much bigger than her. To know that her very existence was unnerving to them. If she was going to die, she was going to do it as something anathema to the giants. And she was going to die. She’d been sentenced to full on Ego Death. The Amazons called it something else; a “Reset:” or something, but that was just a nice way of saying they were going to fry her brain. Her body would live on, but she’d stop being herself, stop being Sophia. She’d be nothing more than a bundle of neurons incapable of growth or learning; the perfect Amazon babydoll. She could shit herself for days on end without a change and gum applesauce until her eyes closed for good and she drew her last breath. She could be shaved hairless and be shoved up a rich Amazon’s vagina and forced to undergo unbirth and rebirth. They could give her a stupid name to replace her old one. Fine. Whatever. She wouldn’t know it. She’d be dead in all but name within the week. She’d made her peace with that long before the gavel fell. There’d be no stay of execution. There’d be no appeal. The week was just enough time to select, screen, vet, and prep Amazons who didn’t mind having mind wiped scum under their roof. The waiting list was still disturbingly long as far as Sophia knew. Sophia shook her head and closed her eyes at that thought. It wouldn’t be her problem soon. Nothing would. She’d have no problems. Her body was about to be someone else’s. Her stomach rumbled and she shuffled on bare feet towards the hole in the floor that doubled as a toilet. A pained, but delighted groan came out of her and she dumped her load, letting herself smile ruefully. The food was still laced with laxatives- the giants didn’t want their future babies to get constipated- but the drugs weren’t nearly as strong as some of the products whispered about online. “I hope I get some kind of infection” she whispered to herself, though she didn’t have the courage to do anything unsanitary to ensure it. The cells were padded, monitored and temperature controlled. The prison uniforms could be removed and the interaction with the guards was minimal. There were no other default restraints unless the prisoner showed signs of attempting self-harm; didn’t want any would-be parents to be deprived of their prize. As a result the prisoners were given an unprecedented amount of autonomy. They were allowed to feed themselves, go to the bathroom as they needed, and shout across cells to each other. In the short time she’d been here, she’d seen Littles curse out guards and smear their own shit on the glass dividers between their cells and the main walkway that ran between them. Sophia settled for slowly pacing her cell nude while flicking her bean after lights out. Some of the other damned didn’t wait for that long and actively talked dirty to each other while masturbating. This treatment was all so incredibly unreal to her. The Amazons didn’t want to baby her lest they develop some kind of false sense of security for her to exploit and in doing so gave her arguably more freedom than she’d had in her entire life. They were going to fry her brain and in the lead up were being completely honest with her and allowing her to be completely honest with them. Every Little should get this opportunity. CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK Sophia wiped herself and trotted over to the glass partition. The clicking of plastic wheels on prison tiles was practically a siren alarm. Every Little stopped what they were doing and ran up to see who’s time had come. No one had been here very long, but some form of social inertia had created the protocol of standing at attention and gawking at the person who was about to be ended. She saw a pair of guards pushing the pink umbrella stroller past her cell roll out of view. One of the monsters threw her a wink and drew her attention to the pink diaper bag dangling from the stroller’s back. The Littles in the cells across from her all looked relieved while they turned their heads to look away. That meant that todays’ victim was on Sophia’s side of the aisle. From a guess, Sophia figured it was the girl in the next cell over. Poor Elizabeton. ‘Elizabeton’ wasn’t the prisoner’s actual name. She’d just overheard snippets of conversation about where the girl had come from before here. Weird to think that a Little from all the way out in Elizabeton was shipped here, but it showed how rare JBRC’s were becoming. It also showed how willing the Amazons were to bend their own rules, regardless of jurisdiction. Commit a big enough crime and it didn’t matter what false enlightenment the local Amazons pretended to subscribe to. They’d just ship you somewhere else to kill you softly. Total silence reigned in the hall. Sophia didn’t know if Elizabeton had been gagged yet, or her relative proximity to her neighbor’s padded cell just muted sounds of struggle. Sophia hoped that when it was her turn, she’d maintain the dignity not to struggle. “Oho!” One of the guards crowed. “That was a bad last decision, Little girl! You’re not getting changed until after.” That answered one question, at least. “Hope you feel proud of yourself sitting in your poopy diaper!” There was the meanest edge in one of the guard’s voices. Sophia instantly hated it. “Dumb baby trying to stall. Too bad you can’t stall happiness!” A few minutes and an eternity later, the stroller started rolling back out past Sophia, back to the way it came, back to the door at the end of the hallway. LIttles went in through that door and didn’t come out. That stroller might as well have been a ferry on the River Sticks. Sophia saw her neighbor prisoner. Blonde. Pretty even though her hair shaved incredibly short. Naked save for the extra thick diaper she’d just been taped into. Every Little that had been wheeled through that back door into nowhere had been given only that sliver of modesty with the only variation being that boys were wheeled away in blue strollers and girls were confined to pink. Why? Sophia swallowed, knowing she’d find out soon. Elizabeton was the only remaining Little who in this purgatory from when Sophia had been tossed in her cell. The passing guard, the one who had commented on Elizabeton messing her diaper, threw another wink towards Sophia and mouthed something. Sophia couldn’t read lips but she thought it was “See you tomorrow…” “Hey, Elizabeton!” Sophia called out. The stroller stopped and backed up. “Someone wants to say bye-bye, I think,” the guard taunted. “Okie dokie.” The Little girl turned her head and made eye contact with Sophia. Her mouth was gagged with a pacifier, its bulb likely filling her mouth to the point where her jaw hurt. But her eyes were fierce and tearless, like Sophia’s. “You messed to try and stall?” The condemned woman nodded her head. No point in denying it. “I get it. No shame. It was worth a shot.” “Oh, it wasn’t on purpose,” the lead guard taunted. “Pooping their pants is just what Littles do!” Sophia’s nose wrinkled and her lip curled in disgust. As soon as the Little woman-someone considered a legitimate threat and had been treated as such-had been diapered, the giants put their motherly masks back on. “Fuck you,” Sophia spat. “Go fuck yourself,” the guard spat back. “It’s what you do at night anyways.” To her prisoner and her coworker the guard loudly proclaimed, “Alright, Little girl. Let’s go meet your new life. Time to be happy!” Then she mouthed some same words as before Sophia. “See you tomorrow.” CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK The mechanical sounds of a heavy door opening and closing could be heard and the sound of stroller wheels were no more. But the Littles didn’t return to their own individual confinements. There was one more step to this horror show. A wave of static crackled in the air as ancient speakers switched on. From out of them came the dirge that played every time one of their number was lost. It started with a tick-tock sound, the seconds on a very loud clock calling out to them to remind them what they were all going to lose sooner or later. Then synthetic sounding keyboard joined in to the rhythm, like tiny tear shaped raindrops. “Does anybody know what time it is?” A child’s voice asked. A boy? A girl? It was hard to tell, but it definitely was a real child. “Yes!” came another child’s response. Little? Tweener? Amazon? It was really hard to tell. Enough could be done with technology to pitch voices up and down regardless of the size of the vocal chords. Technically, they could have been two adult Littles whose voices were modified enough to pass for children. “It’s the time to be happy!” Then came the chorus. “The time to be happy is now! And the place to be happy is here! And the way to be happy is to make someone happy And we’ll have a Little Heaven right here!” Every damn time… Sophia had abandoned all hope since she entered this place, but she had one final one: That that creepy ass song wouldn’t be the last one she ever heard before her mind was erased forever. ******************************************************************************************************** Sophia didn’t sleep that night. Guilty or not, who would be able to? When your remaining time as yourself could be measured in hours instead of days, sleep seemed like a waste of time. She’d literally sleep when she was brain dead. That didn’t stop her from quietly masturbating in the dark. There was nothing else that seemed better to do than to plunge her fingers into herself and pretend they belonged to somebody else. In the back of her mind, Sophia knew that she must still be being watched. Night vision cameras and the like monitoring her to make sure she didn’t do anything drastic. That just made her pinch her nipples a tad harder and tease herself, giving her captors a show. Let them be disgusted. Let them. Let… CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK The slight grinding sound of a clear glass partition sliding away made Sophia jump. Too late, she opened her eyes and shook herself to full consciousness. She hadn’t been dreaming or in anything restful enough to label “sleep”, but she had lost track of time. The guard from yesterday was nearly on top of her, bending over with something uncomfortably close to the Little’s face. “Wakey wakey, baby Sophie! It’s time to be haaaaaa-!” Sophia reached out with her hands and lurched forward. The Amazon had been to strong to bat her hand away but as luck and surprise would have it, the stiffness of her arm made it exceedingly easy to grab onto and pull herself up. Sophia bent her head sideways and bit down on the giant woman’s thumb just past the pacifier gag. Sophia clenched her eyes and jaw and didn’t stop until her tongue tasted the coppery flavor of blood. “MOTHER FU-!” The guard yanked her thumb out of Sophia’s mouth hard enough to make the Little’s teeth rattle. An open palmed slap to the face knocked her back prone while a second pair of Amazon hands charged in and squeezed the joints of Sophia’s jaw, forcing it painfully open. “You’re supposed to feed the bite,” the other guard lectured. “I know! I fuckin’ know, goddamn it!” A rubber bulb penetrated Sophia’s mouth and inflated it. The guard didn’t release her grip until Sophia was incapable of spitting the pacifier out. Her jaw was practically unhinged, but from here on out, no sounds would be able to come out of her saved muffled groans and any attempt to spit the offending object out would just look like the gentle suckling of an infant on their favorite binky. “Do you even read the case files?”, the second guard lectured her companion. “This Little bit into her original Mommy’s jugular in the woman’s sleep!” “Yeah, yeah,” the first guard cradled her bitten and bleeding hand. “I know, I know.” Did she? Biting a giant’s jugular was so far off from what Sophia had been accused and convicted of that she genuinely wondered what these women thought they knew. Was this a prison or a lobster tank? Sophia ignored the voices and rising indignation inside her. It didn’t matter anyways. She’d be dead soon. Dead was dead. The pretense why didn’t matter, did it? She stopped struggling and let herself be diapered this one last time. The first guard dug around in the pink diaper bag. The entirety of Sophia’s bite only regarded two band-aids. “Hope you liked the taste of that, baby Sophie,” she chirped venomously. “That’s gonna be the last solid food you ever have! Nothing but baby food and Momma’s milkies from here on out!” Sophia didn’t bother to reply. No sense in giving the bitch a sense of satisfaction. She went full ragdoll as the massive diaper- the last one she would ever realize she was wearing- was slipped under her and fastened on one agonizing tape at a time. This one was the thickest diaper yet. Fuck the restraints, she wouldn’t be able to walk in this with how far her legs were spread apart. She didn’t look around at the other cells to see if the other Littles were watching her. Her eyes were straight forward while she was strapped into the stroller. It was weird how comfortable it all was; how quickly she got re-used to having a thick and crinkly pillow encasing backside. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. It was game over for Sophia. It was time. Time to be happy. The massive door opened and groaned like it had every other day; a massive beast roaring for its dinner, ready to consume. The stroller she was in click-click-clicked all the way in- a lamb to the slaughter- until she passed the threshold and the monstrous gates slammed shut behind. How much longer would it take? Seconds? Minutes? Would she hear that awful song one last time, or would it not follow her back into the cradle grave? These were the questions she asked in the darkness of that tunnel, squinting as she was glided out into the blinding light. There was no bright color in the JBRC wing she’d been staying at. Everything had been grays, blacks, and muted dingy greens with just enough fluorescent lighting to cast unpleasant shadows along the walls. The jumpsuit that she hadn’t put on once had looked like something a janitor or sewage worker might wear. It was refreshing, to be honest. Still, it was no surprise that as soon as she could see, Sophia’s senses were assaulted with every color of the rainbow that she’d been deprived of. Floor tiles were bright yellows, reds, and oranges. Walls were sponged over in pinks and blues in sloppy and disorganized patterns. Hot lights like miniature suns dangled overhead. It was like an army of kindergarteners swallowed a bunch of finger paints and then vomited all over an execution chamber. That was as good an explanation as anything in this fucked up world. Sitting somberly in a row of fog hat gray folding chairs, a gathering of strange Amazons sat staring at Sophia in her stroller. Their eyes narrowed and faces struggled contorting into full on scowls. Who the fuck were these people? “Come on baby girl,” the guard with the band-aid on her hand sneered. “Let’s get you set up.” The stroller was wheeled backwards so that Sophia was forced to gaze at the row of dour looking old Amazons until the wheels snapped into place. The stroller was being added to part of a larger apparatus; one that necessitated even more restraints on her arms and limbs. Sophie’s head was held firmly in place while a strap pulled over her forehead. “I can’t wait to look into your eyes,” the guard whispered, as a small metal cylinder was lowered over the Little’s skull. Sophia looked up with her eyes. She couldn’t get a full view, obviously, but from where she was placed, she imagined it kind of looked like a hair dryer that women sat under when they were getting their hair done, only Little sized. Now if only she had a magazine, Sophia thought darkly. The shield of the fake pacifier and her own taut lips concealed the smile. A male, balding Amazon wearing a guard’s uniform stepped in front of Sophia’s view. The man was so fat that he practically blotted out the strange lookie loos there to witness her final moments of coherent thought. “Sophie Lockhart,” he said. “For the crime of Adoptive Fratricide in the first degree, you have been sentenced to undergo a Full Cerebral Reset.” Lockheart? Fratricide? She could forgive the infantilizing of her first name, but who the fuck was Sophie Lockheart? And Fratricide? Hadn’t the guards been talking about her biting out a Mommy’s jugular? Fratricide meant killing one’s father though… Something clicked inside of Sophia! They literally had the wrong Little! She was about to have her brainstem shorted out, and they thought she was someone else entirely! The people serving as witnesses to the execution were an entirely different clan of giants than the ones who had witnessed her sham of a trial, too! They were about to watch her lights get snuffed out and didn’t even realize that she wasn’t who they said she was and she had no way to inform them of their blunder! This really was a lobster tank! Not only that, but just out of sight, Sophia could hear that damn song being played. “The time to be happy is now! And the place to be happy is here! And the way to be happy is to make someone happy And we’ll have a Little Heaven right here!” There was something deeply, darkly, nihilistically funny about all of this that the Little woman started cackling into her pacifier. To the assembled witnesses, it came out as nothing more than the meager and weak groaning of a pathetic baby wanting her milk. “Now.” Sophia’s world erupted in static and bright lights. No more sound. No more vision. She convulsed uncontrollably writhing in the stroller seat and restraints. She couldn’t hear but she could feel body exhaling in screams. No pain, however. She was as far beyond pain as she was beyond control. Any moment, now. Her diaper started warming up as her bladder and bowels confused and released, pushing a mudslide into the seat of her pants. Her jaw convulsed and she unsuccessfully and involuntarily tried to bite through the thick rubber bulb of her gag. Any moment, now… Her chest hurt and her lungs burned, unable to breathe, even while her muscles racked themselves in their restraints, screaming for oxygen. Any moment… Foamy spittle dribbled out her lips and started running out the corners of her mouth, snaking down her chin. Any…! AIR! Sophia started breathing again, her exhales coming out as low grumbling moans. Sophia’s eyes fluttered open and she kept moaning. Her eyes darted around, taking in the sights. She hadn’t moved from her spot in the executioner’s stroller, but the chairs and the witnesses had been removed. The wet and sticky mass in her diaper was still there and had started to cool. Time had definitely passed. But why was Sophia still here? Why was she still thinking of herself as Sophia? Why was she still thinking?! Her eyes kept looking around, probing randomly; a final body part that had yet to stop seizing up. Sophia tried to get them to focus, to slam her lids shut, but her body wouldn’t listen to her. She tried to stop moaning into the gag, but her throat wouldn’t obey her, either. “There we are!” An evil, sinister face popped up in front of Sophia’s eyes. “Where’s the baby?” A blindfold made of the giant’s palm forced Sophia’s eyes closed. Sophia’s body laid still on autopilot. “There she is!” Like a doll, Sophie’s eyes opened on their own. This time, they stayed still. “You in there, baby girl? You in there?” Her eyes seemed to pierce right into Sophia’s, peering deep into her soul Yeeeeeah,” she grinned. “You’re in there.” The remaining fog started to lift from Sophia’s mind. She was still there! She was still herself! But she couldn’t move a muscle. They’d paralyzed her! Trapped her in her own body. Her heartbeat didn’t even speed up. “Run the checklist,” a voice on the outside of Sophia’s periphery ordered. She couldn’t even direct her eyes towards the sound. The guard unbuckled Sophia one strap at a time. “Roger that,” she called. Sophia willed her body to reach out and slap her captor, but her limbs wouldn’t listen. The smallest, weakest glimmer of hope sparked up in her when her right arm came loose, but the naked limb reached out and probed pointlessly and uselessly as if pulled along by aimless invisible strings. Her head lulled uselessly from side to side once it was free and only stilled itself when she was picked up and laid on the cold hard floor. She wouldn’t really need a crib to keep her contained anymore. Sophia couldn’t even roll over. The Little’s inhaling nostrils picked up the rising stench of stale ammonia and cooling feces. The contents of her diaper shifted around and sagged away from her, making her skin start to crawl as the mess half-peeled itself off of her backside. Yet as far as her face was concerned, the Little couldn’t tell the difference between clean and dirty. She wanted to throw up, but her body was incapable of listening to her commands. The moaning, groaning, huffing stopped when the pacifier was deflated and removed. Her body started breathing through its mouth, too, which made the surrounding stench more bearable. There was no time for relief, however. The guard took one pointy finger and started to tickle at the right corner of Sophia’s mouth. “Coohie coochie coo!” Like an automaton, Sophie’s head turned towards the source of the tickling, her mouth opened and her lips puckered like a donkey braying for a carrot. The tickling on her right stopped and switched over to her left. “Coochie coochie coo!” With the same involuntary drive, Sophie’s head changed course towards the teasing tickling feeling just barely on her cheek. Then she did it again. And again. And again. It was a finger now. It would be an Amazon’s nipple later. “Rooting reflex checks out!” The guard said. “Checking suck reflex!” Sophia felt her head turn again, only this time the bait was switched instead of snatched away from her. Her lips touched her own fingers as her hand was nudged into her own mouth. The instant the roof of her mouth felt a stray finger she started suckling uncontrollably. There was no sense of joy or fulfillment; no soothing wave filled her. No itch was being scratched. Her body just continued to suck on the loose digit without cessation. It was like a reflex hammer was tapping her knee cap again and again and again, only the spot was at the top of her mouth. The guard sat back and watched Sophia helplessly chew her fingers. “In a few months you should be limber enough to where you’ll be able to munch on your toes,” she mockingly cooed down at Sophia. “Suck reflex is active!” Sophia was left there on the floor, alone, and sucking on her finger. She saw the shiny black sides of the Amazon’s shoes step away from her and then heard only unintelligible speech garbled by distance. She was unattended, but not alone. “BOOGA BOOGA BOOGA!” Sophia’s fingers shot out of her mouth. Her arms and legs splayed out and spasmed in every direction each pulled by a different invisible horse trying to quarter her. Just as quickly, all four of her limbs retracted and pulled in close to her helpless body, futilely and inefficiently curling into a ball of flesh. “WAAAAAAH!” That was the first time Sophia had heard her voice today, and she had no more control of it than anything else. She was screaming, but it was as involuntary as anything else. “Moro reflex is a go!” Next the Little found her head turned to its left side. Without thinking about it, her left arm shot out, her legs went slack and her right arm bent up. Seen from above, she might look as if she were pantomiming a fencing match. Her head was turned to the right, and her arms alternated. “Tonic neck reflex! Check!” “WAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” The shortest growl burbled up in the Amazon’s throat. “Tickle-tickle-tickle!” Finger tips dug into Sophia’s ribs. “Hawwwww!” The scream mutated into a pained giggle. “There’s my happy girl!” Inwardly, Sophia was cursing the woman out. Outwardly, her breathing came out in stifled, laughing gasps. The space between her legs warmed up a little more as her bladder continued to dribble out into her diaper. “Let’s check out your fingers and toesies!” The Amazon’s digits started brushing the soles of Sophia’s feet, causing her toes to fan out uncontrollably. Her toes! She couldn’t even control her damn toes! A gigantic finger traveled up to the Little’s palm and Sophia felt herself lightly take hold of it, tiny fingers gently wrapping around the one big one. “That’s a very good grasp reflex, baby Sophie! Your new Mommy and Daddy are gonna think that’s so cute! Like a puppy shaking hands!” Puppies needed a command. Sophia didn’t have that much control going for her. In a much deeper and more professional sounding voice, the guard called back. “Grasp reflex detected!” Looking down at Sophia, she switched to her faux motherese and cooed, “Almost done, sweetie pie!” The world went upright for the first time in a short forever. Sophia was being held up, supported at her waist. Just like with her grasping palms, the second the soles of her feet touched the floor, her legs started to weakly move up and down in alternating fashion. “Look baby girl! Somebody’s dancing! Yes she is!” Lacking the coordination to hold her own head up, Sophia witnessed the phenomenon as if she were outside her own body. If only she were on the outside. She was very much in herself; a prisoner aware of every feeling and sensation, but unable to act on her own desires. She hadn’t expected to exist as herself today; now she was trapped; buried alive in a Sophia shaped tomb. The world went topsy turvy again with her being lifted all the way off the floor and cradled in the Amazon’s arms. The speed of which made her arms flail out and retract again. This was her body’s default fear or surprise reaction it seemed. “WAAAAAAAAH!” “REFLEXES CHECK OUT!” the Amazon bellowed over Sophia’s involuntary wailing. “TRANSPORTING TO VIEWING!” “WAAAAAAAAAH!” A bottle full of milk brushed Sophia’s cheek and her head got to turning so that her mouth could get to sucking. It only took a second for her mouth to work into a steady rhythm of sucking down the warm creamy liquid. “Poor Sophie,” the Amazon guard mocked. “Did you think you’d get to stop thinking you were a big girl after this? Watch some special cartoons? Listen to a special song? Go to a daycare?” Eyes that Sophia couldn’t control honed in on the source of the sound, no matter how badly Sophie wanted them to go away. “That wouldn’t be justice, would it? Those nice things are for good Little boys and girls who just pretended that they were grown-ups for so long that they forgot who they really were!” From underneath her, Sophia felt the guard squeeze the back of her diaper, pressing the muck and mess back up against her skin. Her body didn’t stir, content with the milk and the nice sounding tones, even if the words were getting nastier and nastier. They were moving too, with ceiling lights whizzing by her. “You were bad,” the guard hissed. “You wanted to be an adult so much that you made the worst possible choices.” She leaned in and kissed Sophia on the forehead. Sophia’s body didn’t react. “Choices are like toys. They can be taken away.” Another kiss drove home the point. “So now all of those nasty choices have gone bye bye, and in their place are all those nice, simple, baby behaviors that you thought you’d outgrown.” They stopped just long enough for the guard to open a door. “Now they’re back and they’re never going away.” A door opened and a fresh gust of air smacked Sophia in the face. The ceiling overhead went from the painted over industrial gray to bright and soft lights. Past the bottle of milk, Sophie was able to decipher clean white walls and passing figures wearing scrubs. The name of the prison made a terrible kind of sense now. a Juvenile Behavior Retention Center. Everything that wasn’t a reflex, a behavior that could be predicted and controlled had been removed from her. The only thing that had been ‘retained’ were the basic instincts that newborns came with right out of the womb. A doorway crossed her vision as another threshold was crossed. A light padded surface rose up to greet her nearly paralyzed form. The Little had already been on enough changing tables to know where she was laying. Cool air seeped in between her legs while the giantess quietly changed her diaper, wiping her between her legs and cheeks. It would have been refreshing if it weren’t so violating. More distressing, neither the cream, powder, or fresh diaper being slipped beneath her stopped her body from finishing the bottle. She’d gotten a grip on it that refused to let go. The sucking continued and devolved into sickening slurps. Her body wasn’t stopping just because she was out of milk. The reflex to suck overrode anything else. “You’re a very lucky Little girl,” the guard said. She took the bottle out of Sophia’s mouth and lifted her. “Those diapers can hold a lot. You wouldn’t need a change for another eight whole hours, at least.” Up and then back down again. Sophia was picked up and put back down, her body lightly encased on a semi-flat surface that still cupped her body.. It bobbed at first with her added weight; a strange amalgamation between a hammock and pogo-stick. “But without a clean diaper on,” the Amazon smirked down at her, “it’d be hard to get your exact weight.” A scale! She was on a massive baby scale, getting weighed and measured like she was every bit the newborn her body had been debilitated down to. “It’s very sensitive,” the Amazon said, looking down at the scale. “With even a tiny change in weight, it shifts.” The slightest tickling around Sophia’s belly button made her body start to giggle. “Just like that!” A tiny trickle leaked out into the formerly fresh diaper. Sophia might not have noticed it without the prompting. The Little could still feel her face contort as an all too familiar pressure built up in her tummy from the milk, and only whines came out of the girl’s mouth. “Poor girl’s getting gassy!” her tormentor said, picking the living ragdoll up and draping her over her shoulder. Sophia felt every pat and rub acutely with her increased helplessness. With every burp and belch, the guard chuckled to herself.” “You were a very bad bad girl.” “Urp.” “Don’t worry though,” the Amazon said. “Your new Mommy and Daddy are going to love you very much.” “Urp.” “They’ll give you all the love that you don’t deserve even though it won’t matter a bit.” “Urrrk.” “You’ll get lots of milkies and naps and changes and burpies and cuddles.” “Urp. Eck.” “Maybe a nice playmat where you can accidentally bat around shiny things. Some tummy time just to change things up.” Never before had Sophia hated someone more than she hated the woman talking to her. She really wished she’d committed half of those crimes attributed to her. “URRRRRRK.” The room spun around with more walking. Sophia’s eyes started to droop, her body exhausted and content despite how much screaming her brain was doing. The briefest blink revealed that they weren’t alone. The room they were in had nearly a dozen plastic cots- blue for boys and pink for girls. Each was already filled with a Little, swaddled in blankets, breathing peacefully with their eyes closed no matter how their brains might be begging to be put out of their misery. “You’re really lucky, baby girl,” the Amazon taunted. “Viewing day is tomorrow. Some of these other babies have had to wait for their Mommies and Daddies to come pick them out. But not you!” Pink plastic walls rose up around Sophia. She was laid down on something thick and fleecy. Her weak and uncoordinated body was pinned, and swaddled in a few rapid steps. A matching cap was pulled down over her head. Her eyes closed all the way, her body feeling completely relaxed and comfortable. Another rubber bulb brushed against her lips and her body suckled on it reflexively. Her captors would never need a gag again. Her lips and tongue worked the pacifier ceaselessly and her mind tried to do anything it could to pass out. The guard wouldn’t let her. She just kept taunting her. “If you're lucky, you might make it a full year before you go bye bye from all the boredom. I’ve heard some Littles who get Reset can make it close to five! But don’t worry. You’ll be happy…” Gently, that same damn song was piped in over the hospital air conditioning. “The time to be happy is now! And the place to be happy is here! And the way to be happy is to make someone happy And we’ll have a Little Heaven right here!” Heaven, Sophia thought. Heaven for who? *********************************************************************************************** Sophia woke to the sound of babies crying all around her. It was a good few minutes before she realized she was one of the cries that had so offended their ears. Her body thrashed impotently in the swaddle. The noise had activated her body’s fear response, and she was now screaming while her limbs did everything they could to bundle up against her torso. So it hadn’t been a dream…. Her diaper was wet. She’d continued to dribble throughout the night. Possibly more than wet. She couldn’t tell because she couldn’t move and she couldn’t focus outside of her own body to smell enough. Someone had pooped their diaper in the middle of the night, that part was certain. Diaper changes and bottles were not forthcoming, however. Nothing that even passed for relief was in store for her. More ceiling tiles passed overhead and a semi-familiar click-click-click-clicking sound registered over the din. The cots were being rolled up to a glass window. Peering down at Sophia was a small horde of eager, smiling Amazon faces pressed up against the glass. Fingers tapped on the window. Hands waved, vying for attention. Insane toothy grins on one side of the wall juxtaposed ironically with the open mouthed wails on the other. Now Sophia really was a lobster. These latest intruders were the hungry diners there to decide who they would get the pleasure of devouring. They either couldn’t hear the Littles’ cries or they just didn’t care. Flashes of white caught Sophia’s attention. A nurse, practically a waitress followed hands pointing down and over to Sophia’s caught. Just a moment later, Sophia was picked up and cradled again. Her body calmed at the added warmth and support. Her mouth was forced closed with the addition of a fresh bottle. “Baby gets some brekkie!” the nurse chirped. Sophia’s eyes were drawn again to happy sounding voice. Thank goodness it wasn’t the guard from yesterday. Two new faces came into view. “Mr and Mrs. Olafson? Congratulations. It’s a girl!” “Henry!” A middle aged Amazon woman gushed, snatching Sophia out of the other Amazon’s arms, blanket, bottle and all. “Look at her! She’s perfect!” Then to the nurse she said. “We’ll take her!” This is how it ended. Auctioned off to the first or highest bidder. Nothing more than a pet. A porcelain baby doll to care for an neglect as a couple of fifty somethings saw fit. . A knot formed right in her stomach. Unfortunate that it had nothing to do with the torment she felt. The added milk had woken up something else inside the Little’s body. “She sure is, Harriet!” the giant man agreed with his wife. “Thank you very much.” The nurse gushed back. “Oh don’t thank me. I’m just the stork. It’s my favorite part of the job! Y’all are the real heroes, taking this Little one in!” “What’s her name?” Sophia’s new Mommy asked. “Whatever you want it to be.” “How about Abigail-May? After both of our mothers,” Sophia’s new Daddy suggested. The couple of tyrants looked down at her. “What do you think? The pressure in Sophia’s stomach was increasing and bubbling up rapidly, a balloon that was growing and growing inside her, ready to burst out of her stomach like a horror movie alien. The pressure built and built and built until she involuntarily added more mess to her diaper. “Awww! She’s smiling, honey!” the giant man said. “That means she likes it!” Really it just meant that she had gas. Her body lacked the control and wherewithal for social smiling. “Looks like you’ve got yourself a very happy baby!” The nurse praised them. And poor Sophia lacked any capability to disagree. That was all there was to it. Sophia stayed there in the stranger’s arms, sucking on her bottle while bundled up in a blanket; her wet and messy diaper squishing with every shift. Her husband was handed a clipboard where he signed some forms and then she was whisked away. She never thought she’d see the sun again or feel the fresh air on her face. In a way she wasn’t. Sophia wasn’t the blob in the stranger’s arms. She wasn’t being strapped in the backward facing car seat and having the bottle replaced with a pacifier. Nor was she adding a steady trickle of urine into an already wet diaper. Her body was doing all of that, but not her. Sophia hadn’t done anything since biting that bitch’s hand. She never thought she’d see the outside of prison; not as herself. How wrong she’d been. Instead of erasing her, the Amazons had just shrunken the prison into a perfectly Sophia sized casing while the real Sophia could only cry in despair from behind a wall of preprogrammed responses and instincts. “Look Henry,” her new Mommy said. “In her file they included a CD of children’s songs for her nursery.” “Heh. Well let’s make it official,” the older man behind the wheel said. “Put it in.” “The time to be happy is now! And the place to be happy is here! And the way to be happy is to make someone happy And we’ll have a Little Heaven right here!” Sophia was not now nor ever would be free. But given enough time, one to five years according to that guard, she might be happy.

Author's Note. A Story Trade with Just4n0th3rUs3r and a sequel to their story, "A Humiliating Visit from Mommy" P.S. This isn't canon without the original author's approval. “Good morning,” Mom sang as she opened up the door to my nursery and walked in. “Mowning Mommy,” I yawned, wiping the sleep out of my eyes. Niamh was dead asleep beside me, not stirring. “I hope my two little girls had a good night’s sleep,” Mom said, lowering the railing to our crib. Oh, she had no idea! Niamh and I had been up late last night, kissing, groping, doing humpies, and making cummies in our diapers until we passed out. My girlfriend-even after all this time it still gave me warm fuzzies to think of her like that-was still passed out. I felt a certain kind of pride looking at her lightly snoring next to me. I’d done that. Speaking of things I’d done, Mom poked her fingers into the leg holes of my Bunnyhopps and felt around. “Someone had a very soggy night,” she praised me. “Let’s get my princess changed.” She picked me up like I was nothing, something I still hadn’t gotten completely used to, and carried me over to the changing table. I laid there staring up at the swirling mobile above my changing table, sucking on my supergirl paci while I batted up at the unicorns and fairies that dangled just out reach. Meanwhile, Mom unbuttoned the supergirl onesie she’d dressed me in after bathtime and examined the state of my diaper. “Oh wow, Kara!” she exclaimed. “You did such a good job wetting your diaper! I’m so proud of you!” I blushed and sucked happily on my pacifier. It felt so good being praised for something so simple as going pee pee in my sleep. In truth, it had taken a lot of work to become a bedwetter again. Even with Niamh’s magic, unless she specifically wrote it down or snapped her fingers, I would occasionally have bouts of control as my potty training tried to reassert itself. Getting to the point where I went pee pee and poo poo in my diaper without thinking took a lot of work. The only reason real babies were able to do it so easily had to be a case of beginner’s luck. Before she started changing me, Mom took my pacifier out of my mouth and gave me a bottle. “Drink up, princess,” she cooed. My stomach rumbled with hunger as I reached out for the baby bottle and started sucking on the rubber nipple. This was new! I suckled on the milk, alternating between tiny sips and big thirsty gulps while Mom undid the tapes on my Bunnyhopps and started wiping me down the same way she did every morning. Normally she’d change me and Niamh and then breastfeed us before putting us in the car. I would have been worried, but getting to drink yummy milk while getting changed was a fun new distraction and blushy distraction. “There we go!” Mom said, after powdering me and taping me up into a fresh diaper. “Now let’s get you ready for the day.” She took my bottle away and sat me up on the changing table so that she could take the rest of my Supergirl onesie off of me, leaving me naked in just my diaper. I didn’t mind it. It wasn’t the first time and wouldn’t be the last. I looked down at my diaper and frowned. I wasn’t wearing a BunnyHopps. But I almost always wore a BunnyHopps. The plain white diaper I wore was still very comfortable, puffy, and crinkly. But it wasn’t my favorite, or what I normally pictured myself wearing. “Wianh?” I called over to my girlfriend, still dozing in the crib. I focused and corrected my lisp “Rianh?” She let out a tired groan, but just rolled back over away from me so that she was facing the wall. Mom pulled a plain black t-shirt over my head and slid a short but frilly purple skirt that was closer to a tutu and didn’t really cover my new diaper at all unless I sat in just the right way. Next she slid up purple and black striped socks all the way up to my knees, followed by a pair of plain black strap-on shoes. After she put me down on the floor, I looked at myself and poked the fresh diaper. This was weird. I looked cute, and babyish, no doubt, but this wasn’t what I normally wore. I loved superheroes, so almost every outfit I wore had some kind of theme to it. If it wasn’t superhero themed, it was sure to be super cute, extra babyish, and show off my diaper so that there was no doubt to anyone that I was a blushy baby girl. This morning’s outfit? No crotch snaps, nothing extra frilly or babyish, nothing embarrassing written on it-I couldn’t read anymore but I could still recognize numbers and letters. Yeah it showed off my padded butt and it left no modesty, but if I switched the diaper out for panties, I’d just be indecent instead of cute. I decided to just go with it and finish my baba. I reached up to the changing table, snatched it off the top shelf, laid back on the floor and kept sipping, enjoying the pleasant sensation of my morning breakfast on the comfort of my nursery floor. I let out a loud belch and smacked my lips. The milk tasted odd. Not bad. Just odd. Not like how my Mom’s milk normally tasted. “Is this…” I asked and took another sip. “Is this cow milk?” “Uh oh,” Mom said back over at the crib. “Did my precious little girl spring a leak?” She started to immediately strip Rianh of her Frozen nightie and carried her naked form over to the changing table. The crinkle when I sat up was practically a record scratch. Rianh? Leak? Rianh never leaked! Ever! Her magic kept her as soggy as she wanted to so that her diaper could hold even more than a Trest! “Nooooo….” Rianh moaned on her back, still sounding groggy. “Yes, yes, yes,” Mom said, untaping the pink Princess diaper. “Don’t wanna change…” “Too bad.” My jaw hung open watching my witch girlfriend get her diaper changed. Rianh never got her diaper changed unless she wanted it. But now she was getting her privates wiped and powdered against her will. And just like me, she was put into a plain white diaper and given a bottle of milk. Was that an ABU Simple? A Trest? Some other plain white model? It was so hard to tell without the decorations! Just like me, Rianh was still sucking on her bottle while my Mom finished changing her. Mom pulled a plain red t-shirt over her and stopped. Nothing else. Nothing Witcher or Frozen theme at all. Just a T-shirt and fresh padding. “Mommy,” I whimpered, “What’s goin’ on?” “Mommy’s just finished Rianh’s diapee,” she said simply as if that explained everything. She ran a brush through Rianh’s tangly hair and then boosted her onto her hip. Next she reached down and picked me up and impossibly started to carry us out into the living room. “Oooof, y’all are getting heavy!” The words burned in my ears. Mom had never said that since the day Rianh started using her magic on me. “Wiahn,” I said. “What’s going on? Awe you sick?” Riahn looked at me and her face fell. “Worse…” What could be worse than her being sick? My dad came into the living room and gave each of us a kiss; my mom on the lips, me and my witchy girlfriend on the cheek. “Happy Halloween, honey! Happy Halloween, princess! Happy Halloween, sweetie!” Every time he said “Happy Halloween” Rianh flinched like she was hearing a literal curse word. Mom gave Dad an extra kiss. “Rianh leaked,” she said. “Do you mind throwing the crib sheets in the wash for me?” “Sure thing honey,” Dad replied. “Their diaper bags are already packed and in the car.” “Awesome.” Mom took us out to the car and put us into our adult sized car seats. “What’s wrong?” I asked Rianh again. I’d never seen her like this. My beautiful girlfriend who gave me everything I ever wanted looked like death warmed over. She looked like she was struggling not to vomit. “It’s Howl-O-Ween,” she lisped. “Not a good witch day.” Her eyes started to droop like she was ready to pass out. I grabbed Mr. Bunbun, my stuffed rabbit from the space between us and cuddled him close. It didn’t make me feel much better, but it was better than nothing. “Whaddya mean?” “I’ll tell ya later,” she said and drooped her head. I gave Mr. Bunbun another squeeze, just in case, while Mom drove me to my job at the grocery store. “Has she been changed?” my boss asked as he opened up the back passenger door and unbuckled me from my car seat. “Yup,” Mom said. “Full tummy of milk and a clean diapee,” she reported. “No poopies yesterday, so she’s due.” “Maybe we’ll get lucky,” my boss replied, and took my diaper bag from the front passenger seat. I looked down at my Mary Janes and stuck my thumb in my mouth. Hearing my mom and my boss talk about me pooping my pants like it was a good thing just…did something to me. I still wasn’t completely used to thinking of them as ‘Mom’ and ‘boss’ either. That is to say, there was a mental block that prevented me from learning or remembering most people’s names. Everyone in my immediate circle was identified by their relationship to me instead of any kind of proper noun, including my toddler nephew. That was an extra touch Niamh had tossed in. Babies, even big ones, didn’t really know much in the way of proper nouns. Mom was Mom, Dad was Dad, Teacher was Teacher, and so on. Other babies were just that, too. As far as the magic was concerned, I was too little to know most names but my own. So it made sense in a way. “Her father will be here at the usual time after her shift,” my mom told my boss. “As usual.” I followed my boss inside the grocery store, being led around gently by the hand. From the outside, it was still kind of weird, going to a grocery store where I did absolutely nothing constructive. I literally followed co-workers around by the hand all day or was put in a kindergarten style corner of the break room. For some reason, magic obviously, I still got paid. ********************************************************************************************** The first few weeks, I had guessed that this arrangement was some kind of life hack. A grocery clerk’s paycheck could buy a good amount of diapers if that was the only thing it was being spent on. That didn’t hold up to scrutiny, however. Magic took away the need for money. It would have made more sense, headspace wise, if I just went to my Mom’s preschool to spend more time with Rianh. But that didn’t happen. I asked Rianh once why that was and she cryptically replied “Then we wouldn’t be us, silly. We’d just be babies.” I didn’t get it at first, but I think I’d finally figured it out. Going to this job had been part of my identity; part of who I was. It wasn’t the only part of me; I was also a big huffy baby girl that liked cuddles, crinkles, and making all sorts of messes in her diapers; but it was a part of me. Rianh had used her magic to forcefully bring out the other parts to the forefront, but she hadn’t taken anything away. That’s why I most likely kept going to my old job, even if everyday was just ‘bring your big baby to work day’. That’s why Niamh and I spend at least a few hours apart every day: To remain ourselves. She didn’t want me to be just a big huffy baby and for her to just be my witch baby girlfriend. She wanted us to still be our own people; she wanted to avoid ego death and to still be us. That’s why before today almost everything I wore was from a comic book and everything she wore was either extremely gothic or extremely Disney. I thought about all this while I looked up from my coloring. I let out a yawn and stared down at the coloring book I’d been scribbling all over. I looked up at the clock, then back down to my book and kept coloring. Then I looked back up at the clock again to see if any of the hands had moved. Huh? Was I…was I getting bored? That never happened! I could do any repetitive babyish activity and be completely enthralled as if it were the very first time and I was the one discovering it. The magic that kept people seeing and treating me like a baby also affected my mind just enough so that I wouldn’t get bored and would find toddler activities incredibly stimulating. Bored was something I hadn’t been in months! “What’s happening to me?” I asked Mr. Bunbun, sitting across from me, plopped and propped up on the coloring table. My boss interrupted the conversation before it began. “Kara,” he said brightly. “Your Daddy’s here to pick you up.” I got up feeling the diaper sagging between my thighs and waddled out of the break room with him behind me. Thank goodness I was still having accidents! Before we went through the swooshing artificial doors and out into the Texas heat, I felt a finger hook into the back of my diaper and pull it open. “No poopies,” my boss said. Then he asked, “are you wet, princess?” Blushingly, I nodded. “Do you need a change?” “Daddy will change me,” I mumbled, and that seemed to be enough. My Dad was outside, waiting in his car. When my boss told him about my wet diaper he started changing me right away. My nephew’s car seat was with my brother so he laid me down in the back seat, the my head pressed up against my own baby seat and my legs dangling out. “She knew she was wet,” my boss told my dad. “Said she wanted a change and everything.” “Fantastic!” My dad said, wiping my bottom and between my legs like he did almost everyday. He cooed down to me. “Someone’s getting to be a big girl,” he said, every syllable loving and syrupy sweet. “Yes she is! Yes she is! “ He slipped a fresh white diaper underneath me, no powder. “She doesn’t want to sit in a wet diaper all day! No she doesn’t! Nuh-uh! Nuh-uh!” After he taped up the fresh diaper, he lifted up my t-shirt and blew raspberries into my tummy, but my laughter was cut short with my own thoughts. No one in my family ever talked about me getting heavy, or being a big girl. “I’m notta big guwl!” I insisted. “Just give it time, honey,” Dad said. “Just give it time.” Just behind his shoulder, I saw my boss nod appreciatively. “I think someone is almost ready for potty training.” “Baba!” I said. “I’m thiwsty!” Dad handed me a bottle as soon as I was buckled into my adult car seat. I sucked it down like I was dying of thirst? Potty training? Not likely! I was going to make sure I was good and soaked as soon as possible. ************************************************************************************************* “Wow!” One of the kids at my Mom’s preschool pointed at me. “She’s wearing a diaper, too!” The forced and mocking yells of children purposefully trying to be mean rang out before my mom could shew them off. I wanted to rip my own face off and hide it under a rock so no one would see it. Normally the dumb little twerps at my mom’s preschool just thought I was another baby. They might say something if me and Niamh kissed; or tell on me if I really needed a new diaper; or brag to my mom about how big they were because they didn’t need a bottle or to have their diapers changed; but they didn’t laugh at me. Why were they laughing now? “Mommeeeee,” I whined. “Why awe they bein’ mean ta me?” “I have no idea, Princess,.’ Mom said, brushing my cheek. “They’ve been like this all day, picking on Niamh. Something must’ve gotten into them.” As an afterthought she added, “Maybe it’s a full moon Halloween…” Halloween! I ran as fast as my bowed out legs would carry me over to Niamh. She was sulking and hiding in a corner with a blanket over her head. “Niamh! What’s happening? My Daddy talked about potty training me and the kids all laughed at me.” It was getting harder to talk with a cute lisp. Niamh sniffled. She looked like she’d been crying. Those preschoolers had probably been relentless. “It’s Halloween,” she said. “I’m sorry.” “For what? Why? What’s wrong with Halloween?” I asked, lowering down so that we were on the same eye level. “I thought Halloween was when witches got stronger or something!” She shook her head. “Nuh-uh. It’s kind of the opposite.” I leaned back in surprise. “Huh? Why?” “Magic is like water. It’s all over and reusable, but there’s only so much of it,” she explained, still sniffling. She’d definitely been crying. I wanted to go and beat some four year old upside the head. “People think magic is strongest at Halloween because real witches spread that rumor. That way most people won’t even try to use it and it frees it up for us. But on Halloween every amateur, hobbyist, poseur, and tourist tries to cast magic at the same time.” “So it’s like when everybody in the house tries to take a hot shower at the same time. Everybody gets cold water instead.” That’s why the outfits were getting plainer and everything had been slowly edging closer to ‘toddler’ instead of ‘baby’. My girlfriend nodded. “Uh-huh,” she sniffed. “It’s taking everything I have to keep the spell going. That’s why the little kids are bein’ so mean. Kids always see through the tricks first.” “Okay,” I said. “Then why not just let the spell go? Take a break. I can be a grown-up for a night.” I scooted in and cuddled up close to her, draping my arm over her shoulders. She shook her head. “It doesn’t work that way, princess. Everybody will know we’re big girls, but they won’t forget everything that’s happened the last couple months. That would need another spell.” She paused and turned almost as red as her t-shirt. “That and…the lack of potty training isn’t entirely magic. We’ve just gotten too used to usin’ our diapees.” My heart felt like it stopped. My Mom and Dad had changed my wet and messy diapers more times than I could count. Last summer, me, Niamh, and my nephew all got changed on the floor together. If the spell slipped too much…they would know. They would all know! This wonderful secret life I’d been living, first in my head and then in real life would all be found out and I’d be ruined. I’d never be able to even look at any of them ever again. Not even for a minute. “What do we do?” I whispered. “Just gotta…tough it out,” she said, blinking away fresh tears. “Honey,” I asked. “What’s wrong? Does it hurt?” Niamh shook her head, “No…” “Then what’s wrong?” “I’m leaking again…!” ************************************************************************************************** “Trick or Treat!” My brother and sister yelled for us. Niam, my nephew, and I were standing in the middle of a Texas suburb, with plastic jack-o-lantern buckets out, waiting for candy. The sun was still up. We were trick or treating before dinner because we were so ‘little’. There was no passing on trick or treating. Riam didn’t have enough magic tonight to make anybody listen to her. Mom guilted me into going along by saying that my sister wanted to go. My nephew was in a full body tiger onesie with a hoodie for the ears. My mom had added on a pointy witch hat on top of my head, making me a witch, ironically. Niamh got a waist belt with a pointy tail just above her diaper, and a headband with horns. “Oh, what wonderful costumes!” The old lady at the door greeted us. “A ferocious tiger, a baby witch, and a naughty baby devil! Here you go, sugars.” I flinched. I was a baby witch. Niamh was a baby devil. My nephew was just a tiger; no baby. Having the ‘baby’ aspect be considered part of the costume stung. Granted, my nephew didn’t have a big white diaper showing off, but I bet I wouldn’t have been a ‘baby witch’ if we’d done this yesterday. ‘Cute’ or ‘little’ yes. But not ‘baby’. ‘Baby’ would have been assumed and not part of the outfit. “Say thank you,” my sister told us. “Fankyoo,” I parroted back, trying to avoid eye contact. “Fankyoo,” Niamh copied, looking equally uncomfortable. We walked back to the side walk and went to the next house. All around us, other little kids were walking by, laughing and pointing. “Mommy! Mommy! Look! They’re wearing diapers!” Beads of sweat were forming on my brow and it had nothing to do with the Texas heat. “Mmhmm. Yes they are Susie. But you’re much bigger than they are.” Niamh sighed with relief. Bullet dodged. We were herded up to the next stoop. My nephew took his place between us and looked up at us, smiling a big pumpkin tooth grin. Did he see through the magic too? Was he even old enough to know that it would be considered weird for two girls our age to be dressed like him? Or was he just happy to be here? “Trick or Treat!” A middle aged man greeted us, our buckets out. He squinted at me. “Aren’t you girls a little too old to be trick or treating?” His eyes went down to our padding. “Oh. Guess not.” My girlfriend and me exchanged worried looks. “Happy Halloween.” “Fankyoo,” we said in unison. My stomach started grumbling on the way back to the sidewalk. I held my tummy with one hand. “Kara?” My sister called. “Are you okay? Do you need a diapee change?” She reached to pull back my waistband, but I smacked her hand away. I was not going to get changed on the sidewalk when at any minute the Niamh’s magic might run out. “Kara!” “Sowwy…” I really wish we’d brought my stroller. At least then I would have something I could sink into. I felt a cramp coming on. “According to online,” my brother said, “a lot of times when they start getting sensitive about their diapers and wanting privacy, it means they’re almost ready for potty training.” He patted my cousin’s head. “Can’t wait.” Except my big bro was gonna think I was a lot older a lot faster if we didn’t make it through. “Trick or Treat!” “Oh ho!” How clever, a woman in her early thirties mused. “What wonderful costumes to make your little brother feel big.” My mouth went dry. “Cousins actually, ma’am.” My brother corrected. “And he’s a little bit bigger.” my sis added. The woman laughed. “He certainly is tonight. Here you go…kids.” She gave a conspiratorial wink like she was in on some kind of joke. My guts were doing flip flops on each other. “Trick or Treat!” The door flung open. A familiar space stepped out onto the doorstep. It took a moment but I recognized them. We’d gone to high school together. Then the worst thing possible came out of their mouth. My name. My real name. No ‘Kara’. My real name. Something I hadn’t been called in close to half a year. Something I hadn’t expected to hear for as long as I was in diapers. Speaking of which. “Is that you?” I felt my mouth go dry. “Y…y…yeah…” Their jaw dropped and they dug around in their pockets for their cellphone. “And are you actually wearing an adult diaper?” I was being filmed! I nodded meekly, my knees shaking like jelly. “Uh…huh…” I squeaked. “Why?” “Um…you see…um…I just…I don’t…I…” “Ohmygod, is it wet?! Did you actually piss yourself?” If I had I hadn’t even realized it, and it had been out of stress and fear.’ Piss myself’. I wasn't used to hearing what had become so natural to me referred to so vulgarly. “I don’t know…” my voice came out like a tea kettle. My big sister came up and put her hand on my shoulder. “What do you mean why is she wearing a diaper? What kind of question is that? What are you? Some kind of sicko?” “I think it’s a pretty obvious one,” my former classmate said. “Like is this a fetish thing or something?” I heard something snap. It must have been my big bro doing everything he could to not make a fist. “Okay kids,” my brother said. He picked up my nephew and whirled us around back to the sidewalk. “Come on Kara.” “Kara? Why are you calling her tha-? OH MY GOSH! ARE YOU SHITTING YOURSELF?!” I was. My knees had bent, my guts had given up from lack of practice, and I was solidly filling my pants right there in somebody’s front yard. And they had already gotten a picture of my face and were presently recording my diaper ballooning out and drooping from what I was putting in the back of it. “THIS IS PRICELESS!” Through my tear streaked vision I saw short little blurs pointing and laughing, talking about how it looked like I was pooping my pants. As soon as I finished, a switch flipped and I ran for it. “Kara!” I heard a voice call. “Wait!” I was too busy crying and screaming to realize who it was. “It’s a tri-!” I didn’t hear the rest over my sobbing. I ugly cried and ran the short distance home, my fists balled up and clutching at my loaded diaper. “Mommeeeeeee!” I yelled when I burst through the door. Mom heard my crying and asked what was wrong, but I was too overwhelmed to do anything but blubber. She picked me up, easy as anything, and took me to my room. I braced myself, while she changed my diaper and wiped my privates and bottom, shushing me the entire time. At any second she’d realize that she should have been done taking care of me like this long long ago. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s okay. The monsters outside aren’t real. They’re just costumes. They’re just silly costumes.” I sniffled and wiped my eyes as the new diaper got fastened up around my hips. “I don’t like my costume,” I cried. “I don’t wanna be a grown-up again!” “Oh silly girl,” she said, wiping away my tears and snot with a baby wipe. “Just because you’re dressed up like a witch doesn’t mean you’re actually a grown-up. It’s just pretend!” I looked down at my legs. “That’s what you….Bunnyhopps?!” My diaper! My plain white, almost medical diaper had been switched out for my favorite baby diapee! I started cackling like I’d won the lottery. “Wow,” Mom said. “I guess someone really did need a diaper change.” She kissed me on the forehead and stuck me in my crib. “You just rest here, princess. Mommy’s gotta go finish cooking dinner for the big people.” A few minutes later I heard my brother and sister through the nursery door. They were trying to explain to Mom what had happened. The door creaked open and a sight for sore eyes crinkled in. “Hey…” Niamh said. Even though it was Halloween, I lit up like a Christmas tree. “Niamh! The magic is working again!” The only thing sagging more than my witch girlfriend’s diaper was her face. It had turned a shade of crimson but it didn’t look like it was from embarrassment- not the fun kind anyhow. “Um…I kind of have a confession, princess. I goofed.” “Goofed?” I asked. “Goofed how?” “You know that thing about Halloween I told you about?” Without waiting for me to respond she pressed on. “I kinda made that all up.” “YOU WHAT?!” I shrieked. I leapt to my feet and grabbed the crib railing. For the first time in my life, she looked less than all powerful, skulking beneath my shadow. “I wanted to play a trick on you for Halloween; make you scared and squirmy like you were when we first met. So I’ve been slowly letting up the enchantments I put in place, peace by peace.” My jaw unhinged itself. “Why would you do that?” She shrugged half heartedly. “I thought you’d get a kick out of toeing the line. Like playing chicken with getting caught.” She lowered the crib rail and climbed in next to me, both of us sitting on the newly remade Supergirl duvet. “Tease about taking our costumes off.” I was so mad, but I wrapped my arms around her anyways. “These aren’t the costumes, you dummy,” I reached between her legs and gave her sopping wet diaper a squeeze. “They aren’t for me anyways. Everything else is.” My girlfriend was crying. My girlfriend who could literally warp reality with a snap of her fingers was crying. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to play a joke. Or maybe make sure you weren’t getting bored with this…bored with me. Not everybody who gets everything they want lives happily ever after…” “Oh Riamh,” I whispered. “I could never get bored of you. Ever. You gave me my fantasy and you’re a part of that fantasy.” “Promise?” “Promise.” We held each other and fell back into our crib. After a couple minutes, when we were breathing normally, she said. “Don’t worry. Everything is back to the way it was. Nobody is going to remember anything we don’t want them to know.” We. She was saying ‘we’. Not ‘I’. ‘We’. That really was a treat of sorts. “Thanks,” I said back, our arms still wrapped around each other. “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?” She asked. “Anything?” A terrible thought crossed my mind. I might never get this chance again. “Anything?” I asked. “Anything,” she said. I pressed my forehead against hers and opened my eyes that I was staring directly into hers. “You don’t get to make cummies for a month.” Her eyes widened in horror. “What?!” “You said ‘anything’ .” “I didn’t think you’d say THAT! What if…what if I gave you an orgasm every night? For the rest of the year? And make it as intense as the first time!” “Okay,” I said. “That too. None for you and all for me! But just for a month.” “Oh come on!” She pouted. “I hear one month. Do I hear two?” “Fine,” she said, playfully slapping me on the shoulder. “Fine. I’ll endure my own personal no-nut November or whatever the boys do.” Then she tacked on, “It’ll just make it so sweet when I finally let loose anyways.” “And you have to stop using your magic to stop your diapees from leaking.” “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Riamh’s screams could be heard all around the block. It was so loud, Mom thought she’d hurt herself. Instead Mom determined that her other baby was about to leak and needed a nice new Rearz Princess put on her. So she had that going for her. I just laughed ,watched the whole thing, and started teasing myself just before dinner while my girlfriend got her diaper changed right in front of me. (The End)

Any sufficiently advanced magic is completely indistinguishable from science. That’s just the way it is. Savages will look at a perfectly fine tuned summoning circle or a gate into an extra dimensional first draft of reality itself and suppose that there is some sort of fine tuned and knowable mechanism behind it all that can then be easily replicated and mass produced once sufficiently understood. And that kind of unenlightened attitude is exactly why magic is so rare across the various planes and timelines. It takes a certain level of humility to know that there are forces wiser and greater than mankind out there in the twisting nether and that they have more than a little say in how the universe works. That is a rarity of character that is only compounded when one realizes that in addition to humility a particular flavor of brains, wisdom, and ambition is required to find and wield magic. Like true love, the fabled ‘oneness with the universe’ necessary to find, harness and practice magic is exceedingly rare and requires passion, humility, and hard work over many years. It is so statistically unlikely that the odds of wielding magic with any modicum of skill are less than getting attacked by a shark in the middle of a desert, or lead turning into gold. Yet it does happen. Alexandria and Markus were proof of that. They stood facing each other in their bedroom, smiling bashfully at the foot of their king sized bed. Their clothes from the day’s trials and tribulation lay puddled in the hamper, their skin freshly bathed, and both wore nothing but the nervous grins on their faces. They’d been planning this for weeks purposefully negotiating and whispering their fantasies to each other each night before sleep took them, shooting off ideas and temptations just before drifting off; all while stockpiling arcane energy and scavenging the perfect spells for tonight. Tonight was their anniversary. Better than birthdays which was supposed to be about the celebrant and the celebrant alone, and much better than the half a dozen semi-holy days they shared with an uncountable number of people; tonight was supposed to be all about them. Their own high holy day. Their own cosmic equinox. Their own renewal and replenishment of the mana that was their love for each other. While like any healthy married couple, the duo of magicians had a good sex life, Markus and Alexandria wanted to make tonight particularly special. No experimentation. They weren’t bored with each other; far from it. Rather they wanted to show how much they loved one another by playing each other’s greatest hits. “Ready, Ria?” Markus asked his lovely bride. “Ready, Mark,” She replied, feeling both empowered and oddly stilted by the ritual. There was something about planned sex that both inflamed the passions of imagination while threatening those of spontaneity. But that spontaneity was kept alive with simple anticipation of this evening. Markus gestured over to the bed. “Lady’s first,” he said. Alexandria rolled her eyes and plopped down, spreading her legs ever so slightly for him. Trembling with his own anticipation, Markus walked over to his wife’s nightstand and opened the top drawer. From it he removed a single, solid purple hued adult diaper. There was only one in there, but that was the wonderful thing about magical drawers. There would always be only one in there. And it would always be in his wife’s size. “Butt up,” he instructed as he unfolded the special undergarment and fluffed it for her. She bent her knees and planted her feet flat on the mattress so she could boost her hips up. He slid the diaper underneath her and nodded “Okay” when it was positioned correctly. “Any powder?” he asked. “Mmm-mmm,” Alexandria said, closed lips. “Don’t like the smell.” “Suit yourself,” Markus replied, and he began gently pulling the diaper up and fastening it on one tape at a time. When the last tape was secure he gave the landing zone a final push and was pleased to see the glowing runes reveal themselves. He shuddered at what he’d just done. Now, no one but him could take Alexandria’s diaper off. Not even her. Now it was his turn. He laid down and she rolled over to fetch a similar diaper, though in his size and colored black. The reminder of what he’d done, what she’d just committed to for him, echoed in his mind with every crinkle of Alexandria’s that reached his ears. “Butt up,” she said. He copied her movements and tossed his pelvis towards the ceiling, bridging it until she gave him the okay. He winced when she grabbed his penis and quickly stroked it. “Ria!” he whined. “That’s cheating!” “Sorry,” she said, but she didn’t really mean it. “Just figure I’d tease it while it was out. Powder?” He considered it, but declined. “No thanks.” She hated the smell. He laid there and held his breath while she brought the diaper up. “Penis up, or penis down?” she asked. “Up,” Markus answered without hesitation. His diaper had the exact same spell on it that hers did. If he didn’t put it on, he wouldn’t be able to take it off, and adjusting himself mid coitus as he grew erect would be just this side of wearing a chastity cage. Alexandria must have been thinking the same thing; hence the wink while she adjusted him and then taped his diaper on for him. The runes glowed to life with the fourth and final tape. They were now officially each other’s prisoners, at least when it came to matters of underwear and toileting. Markus sat up drew Alexandria into a tender embrace. “I love you,” he said. “I love you too,” she whispered back. “What now?” They considered the mattress; contemplated getting right to business as it were, crawling beneath the comforter and getting amorous, but it was a fleeting thought. Diaper sex was just no fun while dry. While not uncomfortable, far from it, Makrus felt he would rub himself raw if they started the night’s festivities in earnest; especially without baby powder. “How about we get a drink and watch a movie?” he suggested. Alexandria traced a circle around his nipples and ran her hands down his chest. “I think one of those would be a very good idea. The movie that they started watching wasn’t important. They weren’t even paying attention to it, really. It was a romantic comedy. Something light and airy like hot popcorn. An attractive man falling in love with an attractive woman, both insisting that they weren’t that attractive, or whose lives didn't have time for love when suddenly converging onto one another. It probably had some kind of pithy title; a play on the word love, or perhaps a reference to the general premise or setting in which the romance took place in. ‘Bushes of Love’ or something. If you’d seen one you’d seen them all. It didn’t matter in the slightest to the loving couple. It was really just a more interesting timekeeper than staring at the clock in the kitchen. What was important was how the love birds sat there on the couch, naked save for the diapers they’d just put each other in, cuddled up like teenagers still scared to go past first base. They basked in each other’s presence on the couch. To either side of them was a wine glass drained dry of its contents…twice. Arcadian wine: It was practically grape juice to the Fae Folk and the Children of Twilight. To those with more mortal and tangible constitutions, however, it was incredibly expensive, potent, and rare. Even the incredibly wealthy only broke open a bottle of the stuff on special occasions. They’d just finished the last of theirs. Six months of patience well spent, all things considered. Now it was just the old waiting game while their minds raced ahead of what their bodies would likely do to one another. The delightfully peculiar thing about Arcadian wine is that it was not a proper wine or spirit in the traditional sense. One could guzzle the stuff by the barrel and the room in their stomach was the only limiter to consumption. You would not get drunk on it, your reflexes would not be slowed, nor your senses dimmed nor your speech slurred. Sexual performance certainly wasn’t negatively impacted. No amount of memory loss would occur, you wouldn’t pass out, and there was zero chance of dying from drinking too much. People had died from Arcadian wine, of course, but that was for indirect reasons entirely. Arcadian wine carried none of the physically debilitating effects of alcohol, but a single glass would hit your inhibitions as though it were hundred proof whiskey. People died on Arcadian wine as a direct consequence of acting out what they normally thought were bad ideas. Nothing about the body was impacted but the judgment was just as quashed and the inhibitions just as unburdened. There are scholars who believe that the stuff is responsible for alcohol in general being called “liquid courage” and every other brew is simply a cheap imitation of the original recipe. So the couple drained their glasses twice over, cuddled on the couch, and were waiting for it to fully kick in. Not that they needed courage, but a lack of inhibition certainly helped communication and exploration. It was hard to be embarrassed or worried or hesitate with the stuff of Faerie muddying up your blood. For them Arcadian wine was less ‘Liquid Courage’ and more of a ‘Potent Passion Punch’. The wine from the vines of Faerie had one other thing in common with its more terrestrial variants: Drink enough of it fast enough and the second place it would hit you was your bladder. Both husband and wife felt the powerful twinge in their bladder, aching and begging for the release. It had really gone right through the both of them. Without hesitation, each relaxed and flooded their crinkling undergarments, flashing Mona Lisa smiles to the air and humming lightly while the wetness splashed and spread between their legs causing their diapers to swell and subtly forcing their legs apart. There was no hesitation. No disgust or cognitive dissonance. No thinking about anything other than the warm wet squishiness caressing their skin and not being concerned at all about the source or the hygiene involved. That would all come later if it came at all. “Oh yeah,” Markus whispered. “I’m feelin’ it.” Alexandria leaned over and laid her head on his shoulder. “Me too,” she purred. And so without further preamble they began the night’s festivities. There on the couch Alexandria started by swinging her leg over Markus’s lap, straddling him, grabbing the back of his head and shoving her glorious naked tits in his face. Markus felt himself grow hard inside his plastic prison and leaned forward into her, kissing her breasts and running his hands down her shoulders and back while she started to rock and grind into him. Determined to prolong the main event until it was just the right circumstances, Markus grit his teeth and stood up, carrying his lady wife with him, forcing her to wrap her legs around his waist and be carried like a child to the nursery rather than a bride to the bedroom. They weren't going to spend their anniversary on the couch. Ria teased him kissing his neck and shoulders while he carried her back into the boudoir, television be damned. They probably wouldn’t remember what the plot was, anyways. There would be neither Netflix, nor ‘chill’ this blissful night. Markus dumped Alexandria back on the bed and rammed himself up against her, the pulpy wet masses taped around their waists colliding with each other while they gyrated and teased one another. Under other circumstances, such absence of penile penetration might be referred to as ‘dry humping’, but given what they were wearing that would be far from accurate. The language of eroticism and romance is so imprecise at the best of times. That’s why they have bards. Mark played with her breasts. Ria clawed at his back. He gave her a love bite on the neck that would last for three days after tonight and she kissed him so deeply and ferociously when she was done she was nibbling on the bottom of his lip. He rolled over and grabbed her hair. She grinned and pulled back, throwing more of her grinding thrusting gyrating weight onto his pulsating excited manhood, with him bucking back, both of them working even harder than usual to compensate for the wet warm barriers between them. Oh how their loins already ached for release! Oh how the simpler, more unrefined parts of their brains wanted to immediately give in and leap over the edge of lust until they were both spent in under five minutes like a pair of jungle cats or a younger inexperienced flings in a cheap hotel the night of junior prom! It was not to be, fortunately. Anniversaries were for better memories than fumbling and rutting around like animals and virgins. Alexandria and Markus were better lovers and better mages than all of that. “Hold on,” she warned, slowing his pace and putting a finger to his lips. She crawled off of him, giving the front of his diaper a playful squeeze, enjoying the feeling of his member through the padding. Markus wiggled and grinned at the touch, but was just a tad impatient. Good. He was riled up enough to be bothered by the pause. “I’ve got a better idea,” Alexandria said, bending over to grab something from under the bed. It was time for her first surprise. “What are you doing?” Markus asked, deeply curious and wanting and fighting the urge to keep masturbating right in front of her. Out from under the bed Alexandria pulled a linked pair of cuffs, each cuff sparkling with engrained enchantments. It had been a while since they’d used this toy, but she remembered how much he’d enjoyed it. “Paddle,” she said. A nova of light flashed out from the dangling restraints, and after the spots had cleared from the couple’s eyes, in her hand rested a firm spanking paddle. “Off and bend over,” Alexandria commanded. Markus was only too happy to obey, shimmying down off the bed and then splaying himself face down on the mattress. “Safeword is tofu,” she reminded him. “Tofu,” he repeated. Some people used colors for their safewords, others had more specific words; spells and incantations that prevented any and all harm. Mark and Ria chose ‘tofu’ because there was ironically no organic way to work it into any conversation, sex play or otherwise, and so it rang out to the ears and was easy to remember. Speaking of ringing out… WHACK! “FUCK!” The piece of wood, long hard rectangular wood (or rather an incredible facsimile of the stuff) collided full on with Markus’s padded backside. Whether by an extra enchantment, or that she was just that damn good at swinging it, the paddle sailed deceptively fast through the air and stung like all get-out. Those eight years of girl’s softball from highschool through college had only been a start, but they’d been a very good start. “You know I don’t give warm-up swings,” his wife reminded him. WHACK! WHACK! “And that extra one was for swearing,” she said. “Now Count!” Even with the extra cushioning of his padded underwear, Markus winced and squirmed beneath his wife’s gaze. With the hot stinging on his thighs reminding him just how intense his lady love could be, Markus was regretting that the bedroom lights were still on and that they cast the perfect shadow of Alexandria’s silhouette, paddle in her grip. He might as well be looking into a mirror. He closed his eyes and braced himself. “One…” WHACK! “Don’t close your eyes.” How did she know?! He opened them in time to watch the shadow puppet on the wall make its next delightfully painful stroke. WHACK! “Two!” he yelped. His head was already starting to buzz as the pain endorphins flooded his brain. What a rush. WHACK! “Threeeee!” His vision spun and he squealed. He was so thankful that he was wearing the diaper at that moment. It was doing more work than just keeping the bed dry. He felt her weight on the bed as she sidled up to him, reaching her arm over and grabbing his hips and hugging him to her for added control and leverage. “Smaller,” Ria whispered to the paddle. Another flash of light and the big slobber knocker had shrunken itself down to a more manageable one handed model. Uh oh. WHACK WHACK WHACK! Left, right, left! Alexandria bypassed the padding completely and went straight for the backs of her husband’s thighs. He started sweating bullets, just imagining how he’d likely wince sitting down, tomorrow, but was thankful that any resulting bruises would easily be covered up by pants. “Three-four-five-six!” he screamed out rapid fire. WHACK! Right on the right thigh and it was somehow harder than the previous five strokes. “No,” she said, “THAT was six. Do we need to start over? Did baby forget how to count? Does he need a new lesson?” He gulped. Yes? No? He didn’t know if he could last another six strokes like that. More to the point, if she started over once, she’d start over again. It was intoxicatingly maddening. Being taunted and talked down to, pulling his psyche into a stinging morass of sub and little space. She really had his number. Perhaps that’s what love was. “No. No start over,” he said. “Please no start over.” He was breathing so hard that it was getting difficult to form a coherent sentence. WHACK! That one thankfully, came down squarely on his bottom. The diaper absorbed most of the impact but he still felt it. “Tofu?” she asked. “Tofu.” “Okay,” he could hear the smile in her voice. “I’ve got another idea.” He felt her fingers worm their way into the back of his diaper’s waistband. Oh no, and yet, oh yes! He hadn’t considered the full ramifications of the spell! “Let me give your thighs a break.” She was the only one who could take off his diaper, but nothing about the built in enchantments said that it had to be with her undoing the tapes! His pulse quickened as she grabbed the back of his diaper and hiked it down to just above his knees. Instinctively he tried to squirm and get up, but it was a simple thing for her to throw her weight down on his back and use the leverage against him. “What are you doing?” he asked, excited and slightly afraid at what the answer might be.. “You’ll feel it,” she teased. “Trust me.” Then he heard her command, “Open!” “Open?” he echoed, confused. But she wasn’t talking to him. The top dresser drawer rattled, and through the shadows on the wall, he could make out her placing the paddle down so that two cylindrical shaped objects could shoot out and land squarely in the palm of her hand. An airy popping sound registered in Markus’s ears, pressure release and air wishing out of the container like soda gushing out of a half full two liter. Then he heard his wife repeat herself. “Open,” she said. Curiously, nothing rattled or reacted. Then he felt her finger plunge inside of him. This time, Alexandria actually was talking to him! Markus’s eyes bulged in surprise and she went deeper and deeper into his anus. What was happening? Surely her fingers couldn’t be that long, could it? It had to be his imagination multiplying the sensation by the surprise! He let out a brief exhale when she pulled her finger out, but the relief was short lived as a self-lubricating plug took the place of her digits. “That should keep it in long enough,” Alexandria tutted. That hit home! The first cylindrical object had been a pill bottle, no doubt. “You put something inside me?” FWAP! A bare handed smack on his exposed rear was the response Markus got, both stimulating his pain receptors, flooding his brain with more endorphins and pumping the plug into him ever so slightly. “SEVEN!” he yelled, clenching his teeth and refusing to blink even while her hand gently caressed his bottom. “Very good. You didn’t lose count,” she cooed. FWAP! FWAP! “Eight-nine!” Instead of spanking further, she started to gently massage his buttocks, kneading at the muscles much in the way a cat gets comfortable on a fluffy pillow. The contrast and relief made him growl out in lust. He could feel something dissolving inside of him. Something powerful. And potent. And completely, mindnumblingly arousing. FWAP! “Ten!” Markus’s already erect penis felt like it was vibrating; pulsating like the top layer of Vesuvius minutes before destroying Pompei. FWAP! FWAP! FWAP! “Ten! Ten! Ten!” He’d lost count and was too focused trying to maintain some scrap of control. “Ten! Ten! Ten! Ten!” Impotently he kicked the air as she smacked and slapped his buttocks, each impact seeming to push the, potent concoction even deeper inside him while he quietly foamed at the mouth. “TEEEEEEEN!” FWAP! He was going to do it. He was going to cum. He was going to lose all control all over the nice satin bed sheets! “Tofu!” He yelled. “Tofu! Pull my diaper up. Please!” Alexandria needed no second plea. “Okay, hon,” she whispered. “Okay. Hold on.” Quickly yet gently, she took her weight off him. The potent aphrodisiac had had enough time to melt away and do its work, so she spared a millisecond to remove the plug keeping it in just before she yanked the now cooled but still soaked padding back up over her husband’s hips, providing a safety barrier between his manhood and the mattress. He dived back down face first like a champion prizefighter that had been paid off by the mob. “Now!” He told her. “Now!” Again, she did not need a second request. Her bare hand thudded with sturdy plastic backing. THUNK! And that last concussive force was enough to send him hurtling over the edge into full orgasmic pleasure. Everything shook as the dam broke and he helplessly came into the front of his diaper, his penis tickling and tingling with ecstacy. If his body hadn’t been so wracked with exhaustive pleasure, he might have started humping the mattress like a puppy and thank her for the privilege. For her part, Alexandria simply took her spot beside him and gently caressed his back while he spasmed all the way to the carpet, practically melting off the mattress and lying on his back while his base bodily functions spiraled delightfully out of control. The intensity was such that if they hadn’t done this so many times before, one might assume that it was their first. “Thank you,” he gasped, panting as the last of his seed leaked out into the sopping wet padding, his cock pulsing and throbbing in time with his pulse. “Thank you. Oh gods. Thank you!” “Welcome,” she chirped smugly. “Very welcome. Now what abooooou-?” The thought lay unfinished as the moment Markus caught his breath, he pounced on her. Holding her down, pinning her by the wrists, he scrambled on top of her, putting just enough of his weight over her so that no matter how hard she struggled or kicked and squirmed around, she couldn’t get free. “No…hrrnnn…fair!” Alexandria grunted, trying to escape his grasp, failing, and loving every moment of it. Now it was her turn to be teased and restrained. Now it was her turn to be selfish. Her turn, as some call it, to ‘brat’. “No…fair, Mark!” Markus slowed his breathing, taking back control and thoroughly enjoying it, but not as much as the wild and anticipatory look on his wife’s face. “How is it not fair, Ria?” he asked tauntingly. “Because you’re not winning anymore?” Neither had known they were playing some kind of game with winners or losers until the idea had sprung forth from his mouth. Funny that. But now that it had happened, it sounded like good fun and both started slipping into their roles. “Seems like you already won,” Ria taunted from underneath him. “You already finished.” A playful fire lit up between her husband’s eyes. “Not with you, I’m not.’ “What are you gonna do?” she whispered seductively. “Go for twosies? Try to grind through both of our diapers and lap me? Or are you gonna take mine off and cheat?” She waited for the idea to sink in and take root. “If you beg me nice, Mark, I’ll take yours off and I’ll let you play with yourself while I watch.” It was a challenge. A tempting one at that. But he wanted to play a different game. He straddled Alexandria and forced her wrists together. He leaned back, putting more of his weight on her abdomen, enjoying the now muted crinkle and the wet squish beneath him. Using one hand, he leaned forward and kept both of her wrists out of the way. Then like the mighty god Thor, he held his free hand out and spoke. “Come.” Just as it had with her, the charm inside the implement responded to his voice command and leapt up from the carpet, depositing itself safely into his palm. “I thought you already did,” Ria joked. He gave her nothing but the terrible, lustful hunger, the hunger to see her squirm and writhe; begging him for something he would not give. Arcadian wine had that effect on him. She wasn’t much for spankings, but she did love the sound they made and the sting of the paddle on her thighs could be most pleasant when done right. “Whatcha gonna do?” Alexandria asked, “Flip me over and give me a taste of my own medicine?” It was half a question and half a hint. Her husband answered, but did not take the hint. He had better plans. Squeezing the handle and with intent, he spoke not to her but to the item in his hand. “Wand,” he said. “Vibrating.” The same white hot aura erupted from the paddle and when the corona had faded, the diapered man now wielded a rapidly shaking rod where the still yet flat paddle had been. Alexandria’s eyes widened in delight and horror. “You wouldn’t dare!” “Wouldn’t I?” Before she could retort, he swung his leg back off of her abdomen while still keeping her wrists pinned, staying to her side and profile. And like Captain Ahab stabbing from the depths of Hell, he thrust the vibrating wand straight on between her legs, its shaking resonating all the way through the layers and layers of soaked pulp and padding, causing her to start breathing in quiet little gasps. She’d stopped kicking. She’d stopped struggling all together, for in truth, she wanted this. The pinned wrists were all for show. She reveled in the intensity of the wand pleasuring her without her direct say so. And ever so tauntingly, she gasped and let out little mewling growls while he moved the wand back and forth over her padded crotch, staying in just the right spot long enough to please her before purposefully moving it somewhere else. He smiled while she planted her bare feet and gently started bucking and grinding into the wand, her pelvis thrusting and moving into it and with it; a puppy dog hungry for her treat. “Ooooooooh,” Alexandria moaned. “Ooooooooooooh. Marrrrrrrk. Mark. Mark!” He did not join her, though he knew she would have loved him to; to hear his voice mix and mingle with hers; losing all control and composure. It wasn’t time for that. Not yet. Instead, he prepared the most gruesome of incantations he’d learned. “Esto sicut virgo ante noctem nuptiarum.” The vibrating of his wand continued, unabated. Ria’s moaning did not. Her eyes, which had drooped pleasantly closed, shot open. “What did you?” she asked. The only thing that was wet between her legs suddenly was her diaper. “You talked about lapping, my love, but I need more time to recover.” An almost playfully cruel smile sprouted. “So I just started you over.” ‘Nooooooo!” she screamed, kicking and struggling once more. Her wrists broke free of his grip and she bounded the mattress by her side in frustration. He pressed the wand back into her sex, just enough to tease her so that she gripped the bedsheets in frustration and ecstacy. Then he pulled the wand away. Just pulled it. Left it buzzing and dangled the handle by his thumb and forefinger high up above her. “No-o-o-o-o-oooooo!” Ria whined and pawed at it like a kitten. The whining lasted only a few seconds as horniness and impatience got the better of her. Her arms plummeted downward towards the waistband of her diaper, with fingers desperately peeling away the tapes. The runes on the landing zone held firm and so did the tapes. The spell was intact. She did not put the diaper on, so she could not take it off. Still, Markus thought, it was cute watching her try, watching her struggle. Watching her fail to so much as get her fingers down past the waistband. She knew better, of course, but part of their play was desperation and helplessness, and he was only too happy to help her along. Wand hidden behind his back, out of reach, Markus took his free hand and started teasing her nipples; gently caressing them one at a time, and then adding in little pinches until they became hard and erect. Lovingly, Markus leaned over and used his mouth to suckle at one teat while he used his free hand to tease and pinch the other even harder. Meanwhile, Ria’s hands feverishly pawed at the front of her diaper, rubbing and grinding while her hips boosted up again and again and again into her own palms, huffing for release that wasn’t quick to come. Markus waited until her moaning renewed and approached apex and then stopped sucking. “ESTO SICUT VIRGO-!” “No!” she yelped. “No. Not again! Not again! Tofu!” She kept rubbing herself, trying to finish before he could complete the spell a second time. “Beg me,” he hissed. “Beg me to let you finish.” “Pleeeeeease let me finish,” Alexandria pleaded. “Please!” Markus waited until her hands stopped. “No,” he growled and watched her face drop. “I’ll do it myself.” He plunged the wand back where it belonged, sending her into shrieks of delight. She gave up trying to resist and started screaming as she repurposed her hands into teasing her nipples until she was bucking now. “OH! OH! OOOOOOOOOOOH!” And then a pleased sigh as the last of the air leaked out of her lungs. He watched with utter love and satisfaction as she went limp. “Off,” he whispered to the toy, making it still. He tossed it to the side, not taking his eyes off her, but was still wonderfully caught off guard when she leapt up and wrapped her arms around him, peppering him with kisses and dragging him down to the mattress with all his weight. “Thank you,” she panted. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…” In the moment, there was nothing left to do but to pepper back with a thousand more sweet kisses until they were both still and warming each other with nothing but their bodies. Time stretched out in the silence of their bedroom; their heartbeats in sync, making beautiful music together. Okay. Time to clean up. Gently, he pried her arms off of him, disentangling himself and nudging her head off of his chest. Like getting a particularly comfortable cat out of one’s lap, it was more difficult than it might seem from the outside, with her moaning and whining for his flesh on hers in their post coital daze. Arcadian wine tended to have that effect on her. “Come on,” he coaxed. “Come on. Let’s get cleaned up.” Several rapid kisses and cupping her left breast in his hand got her to open up like a flower for him. Standing up from the bed, he arched his back and groaned, feeling the full sagging weight of the diaper between his legs now that a good chunk of the abused pulp had broken off and settled at the bottom. Standing at her bedside, he looked to the left towards their shared chest of drawers to the right towards her nightstand. “Diapers or panties?” he asked, his voice registering just above a whisper. Eyes still closed, she inhaled through her nose and exhaled in a light purring hum. “Diapers, please.” She couldn’t see it, but he was smiling. Good. He’d wanted to properly change her. Even if they didn’t go any further than they already had, even if they just cuddled in bed the rest of the night as they drifted off, there was something that made it feel so much more intimate when they were both padded up. He opened up her nightstand drawer and got out another diaper for his beloved. “Scooch over to the side?” he asked as he fluffed the new garment out. Her eyes remained closed. “Mm-mm,” she said. “No.” It was a cute, playful squeak. She was far too comfortable laying spread eagle in the middle of the mattress. He shook his head and smiled. “Fine. Have it your way, love.” He climbed back into bed and knelt between her thighs so he could start changing her. The runes on the landing zone glowed bright white at his touch, sensing it was him. He skillfully peeled back the tapes so that barely a sound was made and opened the sodden padding. She shuddered as the fresh hair swooped in on her genitals like an aftershock. But she kept her eyes closed still, luxuriating in the cool clean feeling of his touch as he gently wiped her down. “Knees up,” he instructed, and reluctantly, she obeyed, retracting and pulling her knees all the way to her belly button so that she didn’t accidentally clock him upside the head with the heel of her foot. She shuddered again as he gently swept his hands over her buttocks and hole. A little boost below let him leverage her hips up enough to slip the used diaper out and slide it off to the side and slide the fresh one beneath her. “No powder please,” she said, still in a post orgasmic haze. He took a moment to ball up her used diaper and place it in a nearby lidded garbage can. “I know,” he smiled. “We’re out of unscented…” She finished the thought. “And I hate the smell.” “Guess I’ll have to find another way to dry you out,” he teased, taking his position back between her legs. In truth, she was probably already dry enough to be sealed in. The residue from baby wipes tended to air dry quickly enough. Still, he took the time to gently blow upon her mound and on her lower lips, tickling her with the very air from his lungs. “Ooooh,” she moaned. “If you’re trying to dry me out,” she said breathily, “You’re doing a bad job.” He simply said, “I know.” And finished rediapering her, pulling the garment snugly up between her thighs and locking her in tape by tape by tape by tape. A slight glow and a humming tone that only she could hear, and once again, she was his prisoner, and he hers. Freshly changed and feeling renewed now that her nethers had been so lovingly cleaned and dried, she gazed softly up at him from the bed, bending her knees “Happy Anniversary, dear,” he gave her an almost (almost) chaste peck on the lips. She opened her eyes, sat up, and grabbed the back of his head. Her tongue probed into his mouth once more, a low moan humming through her while she reached between his legs and groped at the soggy padding he yet wore. Almost immediately, she felt his manhood stiffen and begin to throb through the padding. Kiss unbroken, she rolled him over onto his back, before finally allowing herself to come back up for air. “Happy Anniversary, Mark.” She returned the delicate kiss. “I love you.” “I love you too, Ria” “Wanna go again?” Beads of anticipation formed on his forehead. “Yeah,” he panted. “Yeah, I really do.” She took one of his spare diapers out of his nightstand drawer and started to fluff it. “Me, too. Let’s get you changed, hydrate, and then see where things take us. Deal?” Unblinkingly, he gazed up at her while she undid the tapes, his mind filled only with love. “Deal.” In any sufficiently advanced enough relationship, purest love is indistinguishable from the most tainted of lusts.

(This is a sequel to a story of mine entitled "The Virus" “Okay folks,” the meeting leader said. “Let’s start with the affirmation.” “I am an adult. I am not helpless. I am not stupid. I am independent. I did nothing to deserve what was done to me. What happened was not my fault. I am worthy of respect. I am worthy of being equal. I am worthy of autonomy I will build back up, one brick at a time.” It came out as the same tired, droning cadence as lapsed Catholics at Mass. Which was fitting considering they were in a church. Fellowship halls and side buildings of religious institutions had long been common meeting places for meetings such as these. People often needed quiet places together and share their struggles with one another free from judgment- or at least with such a pretense in place. Alcoholics, drug abusers, trauma and the families of all of the above: Everybody needed a space sometimes to make that connection and fight the isolation lest they despair. Rhyse never much wondered why these types of meetings always happened at churches. He never thought he’d need to go to one of these things. He figured he knew why the churches were willing to host them- free advertising for the J-Man and all that- but he never bothered to wrap his brain around why those sites seemed to be the only option available. Close to two years into recovery and Rhyse knew with all the stale bitterness in his heart why: No other place could or would make room for them. Few other spaces could or would let them. Regardless of the trauma or the healing involved. Floorspace was money and money wasn’t a luxury most of these folks had anymore. Almost all were living on some form of dwindling government assistance. Facebook and other online forums were a poor choice of meeting, since so many of their traumas originate from the internet; that and the jackasses and the sickos seemed attracted to those message boards like their ordeals had been a fun ordeal. They’d met at the public library a few times, but then Stu had had a breakdown and was found in the baby storytime nook with a load in his pants and crying for his Mommy. Abuser, Rhyse reminded himself, Stu was calling out for his Abuser. Presently, they all sat in what served as the old Methodist Church’s primary building outside of the primary chapel itself. It was a large multi-purpose dining and meeting area. Wheel the folding tables away from the wall and you’d have the layout for a potluck. Take the steel chairs and put them in rows in front of the stage, and it’s time for the Christmas Pageant. Clear everything out, and you had a decent dance floor for a very uneventful cotillion or sock hop. Take those chairs and put them in a circle right by the stage far away from the front door, and you had a recovery meeting. Rhyse grit his teeth and looked around tonight’s circle of chairs. Lotta these faces had become awfully familiar to him, but he’d be able to recognize them for who and what they were even if he’d just seen him for the first time out on a public sidewalk. All of them wore plain, baggy, form concealing clothing. Chubby, rain thin, curvy, thick; it didn’t make a difference, everyone strived for the same quasi-amorphous blob shape to conceal the adult pull on style briefs they wore. Women who opted for dresses and skirts kept them long and flowing down to their ankles. People who felt particularly bold opted for cargo shorts that still went down well past their knee caps. That was a tactical choice. The color schemes, the plain and boring printless swathes of beige, tan, white, gray, black, and dark green had been a psychological one. Dark reds and blues were bold and confident choices. Sky blues and ballet slipper pinks were all but formally forbidden. Someone in sunshine yellow was playing with fire. Shoes were simple: Sensible loafers and flats, lazy flip flops and ugly ass crocs. Nothing with with laces due to a communal struggle with them. Nothing with velcro for fear of triggering a relapse. No one wore ties or earrings save for clip-on. A successfully buttoned up shirt was considered a flex. All waistbands had a bit of elastic in them and belts were a no go out of necessity. Zippers were but a formality. Anything with a cartoon character on it, childish or otherwise, was right out. That actually was a group rule. If you wanted to recover, you had to show discipline and commitment to yourself. “So who wants to begin? Tell us about your week.” Mike, the group leader said. Mike was something of a role model. He had fully Recovered before Rhyse had found the group, but had stayed on to act as a coach to others trying to regain their adulthood. He looked like the stereotypical principal in an old highschool movie, with his tied on tie, and tweed jacket with patches on the elbows. Rhyse opened his mouth to speak, but then silenced himself when he felt the urge to sit in Mike’s lap and ask for bouncies. “Yes? Sheryll?” Sheryll stood up and smoothed out her dark denim skirt. “I cooked for myself yesterday. All day. I didn’t ask help from nobody…anybody…anyone.” Her nostrils flared. “Take a deep breath,” Mike instructed. “I was independent,’ Sheryll said. “And I cared and cooked for myself all day. No takeout or delivery and I cooked everything for myself and cleaned up afterwards.” Rhyse felt his eyebrows arch. He’d ask Sheryll for tips later. “What was it?” “Microwave pasta.” “For all three meals?” Mike took on a somewhat disapproving tone. “Yes…” “Was it Chef Boyardee…?” “Store brand,” Sheryll said proudly. “It was store brand. And I threw it away. Didn’t leave the can out and forget about it.” Mike softened and nodded. “Cool,” he said. “Cool. I’m very happy for you.” He offered no further praise and Sheryll sat down. Emerging data was showing that praise for ordinary things tended to have the opposite effect on someone’s recovery making celebration at small victories moot. “Who else?” “I’ve woken up and gone to the bathroom instead of wetting the bed the last two.out of three nights,” Todd volunteered. Mike seemed genuinely impressed. “Interesting. What have you been doing? Any tips?” Todd set his jaw. “Right before I went to sleep, I would remember how my Mommy used to tell me how I was too little to get out of my crib and use the toilet like an adult, but then I imagined that I was telling her the affirmation and all the things I wanted to say to her.” Todd took a breath. “And then that would kind of become a dream and I’d wake up from it needing to pee.” “Your…Mommy?” Mike asked. “Was your Abuser your mother?” “Wife,” Todd blushed. “Ex-wife. Actually, we’re separated. The divorce hasn’t finalized yet.” “Got it.” Another awkward silence. “Who else?” Rhyse shot his hand up. “Excuse me…” “Rhyse, you’re an adult you don’t have to raise your hand.” “I gotta go potty,” Rhyse said without thinking. “Excuse me?” Mike sounded almost offended. Rhyse felt the weight of the group’s stare at him, taking him apart. Words were live grenades in this setting. Shouldn’t have said the P-word. At least half of everyone’s Abusers did something to damage or weaken their bladder and rubbed their inability to go…to go P-word in their face. “I mean….may I go to the restroom?” “You don’t need permission,’ Sheryll spat. “Just go.” Rhyse stood up and verbally retreated. “I was just showing that I had control and was considering others feelings.” He started exited the circle. “Didn’t want people to think I’d been triggered.” He glared at Sheryll. “Or think that I was about to have an accident.” Sheryll blushed beet red. She fluffed her skirt and broke off eye contact. From her body language, Rhyse would have expected the woman to cross her legs in discomfort. She probably couldn’t, though. Even if her pull-up…protective undergarment…even if her protective undergarment couldn’t get so big and puffy as to prevent her from doing so, it would likely still squish; might even leak. That was assuming Sheryll had had an accident. That was assuming Sheryll knew one way or the other. She might not be potty trai…incontinent..she still might be incontinent. Hands in his pockets, and still not running, Rhyse rushed into a back hallway towards the restrooms. Mike would give them a stern talking to about that, he was sure. They were all here to keep each other in check and to help one another; not to bicker like preschoolers. Mike was a hypocrite. Thought he was so big and bad because the program had worked for him. He was a toddler that got into big boy undies early and thought that made him smarter than everybody else. This stupid program didn’t work for anyone else that Rhyse knew, either online, or in real life. Most of the crew there were just lonely and pathetic and didn’t have anyone to talk to. People who missed two many meetings were assumed to have graduated or not needed the help anymore, but Rhyse had other thoughts on that… He opened the men’s room door, turned on the light and locked the door behind him. The bathrooms in this building were just single person restrooms. The only difference between the men’s and women’s restroom was that one was tiled blue and the other tiled pink. That and how with how small they were- just a toilet and a sink-there really wasn’t much point in differentiating them by gender. “Might as well try,” Rhyse said to himself. He hadn’t actually felt the need to pee. He just wanted out of that hazing ritual disguised as therapy. He pulled down his baggy slacks and grimaced as he felt the weight of his pull-on style protective brief separate from him. He sat down on the seat and stared at the light yellow stained padding between his legs. He poked the insides with his finger and felt the squish as if for the first time. It wasn’t even warm. He’d been sitting in it and not even noticed… “Damn…” He hadn’t brought any extra protection because the recovery group had decided that that was too much like a carrying around diaper bag. For a while, it had become routine for people to go to the bathroom as soon as they arrived at the meeting, but that resulted in a line for the bathroom and people doing the p-word dance and then everyone was just overgrown three year olds waiting for teacher to tell them when to go. For half a second, Rhyse fantasized about tossing the flimsy granny panties out and just going back commando, but what would happen if he had another accident? It was enough to make him want to cry and call for Daddy…Sky…his Abuser…ex-Roommate…friend…Da-....damnit! Rhyse sucked his thumb and rocked himself gently until the threat of a panic attack subsided. He did his best to remind himself that it was him doing the rocking, not sky. After much too long, Rhyse stood up, pulled his pants up, wet padding and all, and left without flushing. He should have turned right, but his feet took him left. Right would have taken him back to the meeting. Left took him to where he really wanted to go. With amazing stealth, Rhyse opened the door at the very end of the hall and slipped into the empty room. He flipped on the lights and took a second to take the wonderful sight all in. The church’s nursery wasn’t very big. All told, it was probably as big as the common area of his old apartment. Two, maybe three adults could inhabit the space comfortably without getting in each other’s way. It had a couple of rocking chairs, a couple of simple cribs, a low table with tiny chairs to sit around and color in, and shelves of not-so-neatly stacked toys. The metal changing table was flimsy and only stocked with baby wipes and lysol, which made Rhyse a little sad, but it made sense. This wasn’t an all day babysitting place. This is where old grannies sat and watched little ones for just an hour or two while their parents went over to the next building to hear about the sky man. Diapers, bottles, and such would all be dropped off with the babies each week. Even with the bare bones bum bench, Rhyse still liked this place. It was full of gentle feelings, and soft textures and bright happy colors. He could have done without the pictures of Adam and Eve, but he still liked it. Daddy had been in the process of repainting Rhyse’s nursery before…before…not Daddy…Sky….Rhyse didn’t have a nursery…he wasn’t a… Anyway, the nursery made Rhyse feel calmer. The only things sized for him were the rocking chairs and even a big dumb baby like him knew that he’d probably break any of the toys if he tried to play with them. The crib and changing table were right out, and he wouldn’t have taken a leftover diaper even if he found one, but just being in this place helped to center the traumatized young man. The place felt right. Like it was meant for him. Like he was supposed to be here. This was Rhyse’s church. Against his better judgment, Rhyse sat down on the carpet, closed his eyes, inhaled deeply. He was sure he was dreaming it, but he swore he caught a faint trace of leftover baby powder lingering somewhere. “Get up, Rhyse,” Mike’s flat, stern voice broke into Rhyse’s trance. “You shouldn’t be in here.” Rhyse sat up off the floor with a jolt! He’d fallen asleep! The cold damp feeling screaming against his thighs indicated he’d done more than that. Pull-Ups just couldn’t hold as much pee-pee as his old diapers could . “Huh?” Rhyse feigned confusion. “What? How did I get here? Ga-ga?” Mike stood in the doorway and didn’t move. “Stop,” he said. “No institution would have let you out if you were still prone to any kind of fugue state.” “I didn’t mean to...” It sounded so pathetic coming out of Rhyse’s mouth. “Yes. You did.” Mike said. “You made a choice to come in here. You’re an adult. You have that capability again.” Rhyse walked up and hung his head. “I know…” he nervously rubbed his thumb and forefinger together and felt how pruney his thumb had become. “I’ll go back to the group.” “Group’s gone,” Mike said. “Everybody’s left. Go home, Rhyse.” “Okay…” Rhyse sulked. “See you next time?” “Actually…” Rhyse snapped his head up. “Actually? Actually what?!” “Maybe it’s best if you take a break from the recovery group,’ Mike said. “I’m having some concerns about your progress. I think that being around the others is bringing out the worst in you. Them too.” Rhyse wanted to scream. So he did. “What?!” he shrieked. “Have you been listening to yourself, lately?! I still need Pull-Ups because I don’t know when I’m pissing myself, but I can’t bring extras to change into because that would be like a diaper bag, but I can’t wear real diapers that don’t need changing as much because that would be somehow more babyish! I can barely take care of myself, but I’m not supposed to ask for help! I can’t encourage people when they’re doing better than me because that would somehow be condescending to them and reinforce bad feelings! And to top it all off, when you catch me sleeping in a nursery, you send me away! I NEED HELP!” Mike listened to the entire rant and didn’t blink, even as Rhyse increased the volume with every syllable. “They’re called briefs.” “How many people have you actually helped grow back up?” Rhyse accused. “What’s the success rate of this bullshit program? How many of us are back to being adults?“ In full clinical deadpan, Mike replied, “I can’t help you. That’s the point. You’re already an adult. You have to help yourself.” Rhyse screamed like an animal. Mike didn’t flinch. “You asshole! I’m not even fucking allowed to talk about my fucking ex-roommate who did this to me!” “Your ex is a victim too. The virus altered certain people’s brain chemistry so that they engaged in some extremely questionable behaviors.” “He hypnotized me and put me in diapers! Made me think I was going crazy!” “Yes,” Mike lectured. “Many different conditioning techniques were used. Sleep deprivation. Gaslighting. Emotional abuse. Addiction and chemical conditioning. Subliminal messaging and hypnosis. The methods varied but the results were all the same.” “You’re missing the point!” Rhyse howled. “Why am I here in some bootleg AA shit, living on food stamps, and Sky is free to walk about and not in jail…or in a psych ward? Why is he still getting help and I was cut loose as soon as I could walk and talk again? He! Regressed! Me!” “In your case,’ Mike said, “It’s probably because we still don’t know why he regressed you. Doctors need to figure out exactly how the virus affected his brain and what lasting damage there’s been to him so that subsequent variants don’t affect other unsuspecting victims.” “And what about me?” Rhyse cried. “What about my lasting damage? What about my life?” Mike stepped aside and showed Rhyse the door. “You know what they say about hypnotism: It can’t make you do anything you don’t already want.” ************************************************************************ Rhyse sat in Daddy’s lap, bouncing and squishing happily while Daddy made silly noises at him. “Babababababa? Babababababba?! Ba-ba-baaaaaaa! Ba-ba-baaaaaaaaa!” “Bababababababababa!” Rhyse babbled happily back! In truth, Daddy was saying something much more different, but Rhyse was so little that he didn’t understand even the concept of words. Not so deep down all the baby knew was the concepts of sights, smells, sounds, touch, and taste. Daddy looked happy and sounded happy, so that made Rhyse happy. So Rhyse looked and sounded happy right back. Daddy felt nice and warm to him, so Rhyse leaned into him and snuggled into Daddy’s chest and neck face. This made Daddy get alllll huggy, and Daddy gave the best hugs that made the baby boy feel so tiny and safe. He loved it. He also loved the feeling of squishiness in his diaper and how warm his onesie kept him while still letting him look at his own wiggly toes. The smell of Daddy’s deodorant, shampoo, and cologne clung to him like a special flower that made the baby want to smell and smell and smell. Sometimes he knew Daddy was looking over his crib before he even opened up his eyes. As for the other smells, the ones come from Rhyse, the baby didn’t notice them very much, though being the clever boy that he was, did notice that Daddy’s nose wrinkled up whenever he was about to change Rhyse’s diaper. Daddy’s nose wasn’t wrinkling right now, however. Daddy was reaching over to the other side of the couch to grab something. Baby Rhyse’s eyes got big and wide he saw what it was. “Ooooooooooo!” Daddy smiled and gave the yummy bottle of milk to Rhyse. Rhyse started drooling right away, hungry for the num-nums inside. A wave of pleasure washed over him while the wave after wave after wave of Milk splashed into Rhyse’s mouth and down his throat. Rhyse leaned back in Daddy’s lap, almost going limp as every last bit of energy was dedicated to drinking the sweet creamy liquid. Daddy petted his head and made quiet happy sounds for Rhyse to suckle too. Rhyse made his own happy sounds,mewling and grunting with the bottle while his eyelids started feeling heavy. Daddy shifted him over so that he was lying down, on the couch, his head still resting comfortably in Daddy’s lap. The baby’s grunting got a little louder and his lifted his knees up to his tummy, not even realizing that he was pushing because of how focused he was on literally everything else. The only thing that distracted him from his bottle was the warm sticky feeling in the back of his diaper after his knees went back down. Daddy’s nose wrinkled up. This was the last day that Rhyse could remember feeling happy. ************************************************************************ Sky sat in a stiff backed office chair across from a man in a white coat. Diplomas adorned the walls. Combined with the large bookshelf filled with impressive tomes on virology and psychology and the sturdy oak desk made for a stoic, professional, and highly professional looking environment. That was all just for show, Sky knew. He was smarter than this hack doctor. He’d get more use out of this desk with some vinyl padding to lay on and use the drawers to store wipes and spare onesies and rompers. Get those useless books (which he totally had never read) out of the way and stack them with fresh dia- No! Stop it! Not right now! Much like the doctor, Sky was also dressed for show. His clean pressed raincloud gray suit and slicked back hair gave the impression that Sky was at a job interview. This was no interview. All conclusions had already been reached. The only factors that were truthful were the ankle monitor underneath Sky’s left pant leg, and the police officer standing passively in the corner. If the pig wasn’t here, Sky would have been able to regress this quack back down to size. If the quack wasn’t here, he could have hat that pig well on his way to padding. “How have you been, Sky?” “Well. Thank you, Doctor.” “Still holding down a job?” “Yes, Doctor.” “What was it again?” “I’m in accounting,” Sky said. Smartly he barged ahead and added, “Taxes mostly. Closed system. No internet. Minimal interaction with the customers.” “Good!” The doctor nodded. “Very good.” He opened a folder and pretended to peruse Sky’s folder. “Still taking your medication?” It wasn’t working. “Yes.” “And how do you feel?” Like he wanted to slip the most powerful yet subtle laxatives into the man’s coffee, lock him out the bathroom, then spank him when the inevitable accident occurred, pamper him up just in time for some sedative laced milk once his will had been broken and then put him down for a nap and some special lullabies. “Fine.” Oh god why was he like this?! “Just fine?” Nothing was fine. This virus had turned him into some kind of monster. Or maybe it was something that had been inside him the whole time. Sky shrugged all of it off nonchalantly. “I won’t lie, I feel pretty ‘meh’ most of the time, but considering the circumstances I’d say ‘meh’ is pretty fine..” It was a believable fib. The doctor jotted down something. “Making any new friends?”. “No, sir.” Kind of hard to do these days with the ankle bracelet monitoring his travel and no internet access allowed at his apartment. He couldn’t even have a smartphone. “And the um…paraphernalia.” Poor little guy was too scared to say “diapers” and “crib” and such. Ew…! Was Sky that desperate? “Gone.” A word here that means “mostly hidden where possible.” “What about your um…your acquaintance?” The doctor flipped back a few pages. “Friend? Your roommate?” Both the doctor and the police officer scrutinized every aspect of Sky’s posture, body language, and facial expression. Sky just let their stares wash over him like a cool breeze. “My…” His roommate. His friend whom he had betrayed. His precious sweet baby boy that needed him so and had always needed him before either of them even knew it… “I don’t think it’s appropriate to give titles to a relationship that doesn’t exist. Rhyse, yes. What of him?” “Have you been in contact with Rhyse?” Hearing Rhyse’s name made Sky ache all over. “No. Not since police intervention…” destroyed the best, most fulfilling thing that Sky had ever had in his life. “...rescued him.” “Are you curious about how he’s doing?” “Whether I’m curious or not doesn’t matter, Doctor,” Sky said evenly. “I hurt him and have no right and no business being around him. It wouldn’t be healthy. For either of us.” That was the most truthful thing Sky had said so far, even if it hurt him so. The doctor closed the file. “That’s remarkable. Yes. You’re quite right.” He motioned to the officer who relaxed and opened the door. “We’ve got a long way to go, I think. But according to your bloodwork, urine and mucus samples, your viral load has significantly decreased. How about we take some more and then you can go home?” A question that wasn’t really a question. Sky gave one slow blink to contain his rage. Talk to him as if he were a child, would he?! Sky immediately knew more than ever that he was going to find a way to knock this man down a peg, even though he was still working on the ‘how’. “Of course, Doctor. Let’s get to it.” “I’m also prescribing you a mood elevator.” “Wonderful.” ********************************************************************************* “Pop-Pop-Pop-Pop!” Sky cooed down at his baby, narrating each unsnapping of the onesie with a “Pop!” until the full diaper was in plain sight. He lifted Rhyse up by the back of the knees and lifted up the onesie off the back of the diaper and all the way up the belly button, “Upsie-daisy!” Rhyse’s giggles were muffled by his sucking on the baby bottle. Cute little guy couldn’t be stopped for anything. Before Sky had fixed him, his roommate couldn’t be bothered to clean up after himself or do much of anything. Now Rhyse could giggle, drink, cuddle, pee and poop all at once. He still was a terrible mess, but now it was all contained in a neat little package. A vast and much more adorable improvement. Rhyse took the changing pad and slid it under Rhyse. His sweet boy was so special that boosted his hips to help. “We really should use that new changing table of yours, kiddo.” Sky said. He grabbed a fresh diaper off the coffee table and started unfolding and fluffing it up. “But Daddy doesn’t feel like walking allllll the way into your nursery with you to change you so that you can come all the way back out here.” A funny thought beamed into Sky’s nogging. “Now who’s lazy?” he cooed. “Daddy is! Daddy’s a lazy butt!” Little bubbles of gas made their way into Rhyse’s baba as he giggled. He probably didn’t appreciate the irony, but at least he liked the way his Daddy said it. Daddy. Just thinking of himself gave him such a thrill! With the baby wipes just out of Rhyse’s grasp, and the fresh diaper ready, Sky peeled back the tapes and went to work. “Peeee-yew!” Sky crooned. “Such a stinky boy! Yes you are! Yes you are!” Just like the videos had suggested, Sky dragged the front of the diaper all the way down between Rhyse’s but to wipe the maximum amount of solid waste in one go. Then like lightning he went to work on his boy’s front, and worked his way to the back. His boy. His baby boy. This should have disgusted him. Half a year ago, the very idea of this would have sent Sky vomiting to the toilet. There was something special about this. It was like in the gangster movies when the mafia boss had someone who hated them shave them with a straight razor. There was power and intimidation in making yourself so vulnerable and fearlessly pushing the blade up to your throat. But this was better. Sky wasn’t the vulnerable one. His precious Rhyse lay there nursing and powerless, his balls literally in the palm of Sky’s hand at some points. And there was no hate or intimidation or fear. Only love. Power and love. Damn, this had been an inspired plan! Sky had, of course, read the reports suggesting that the mind altering virus that had been spreading- in a certain percentage of the population- caused delusional megalomaniacal beliefs and the strange desire to dominate people by regressing them and treating them like infants. That was all propaganda from the mainstream media though. Sky wasn’t infected with anything other than love and a glorious sense of purpose and power. He gave Rhyse’s hairless groin one last inspection to make sure he hadn’t missed any spots. “Good,” he said. “All clean.” It had become so much easier to keep the baby clean after he got that special cream to remove all of his big boy hair. “Good.” Half a minute later, the old diaper was balled up tighter than Fort Knox, and the new one was tugged up snugly between the little boy’s legs. He used to keep baby powder by the coffee table too, but Rhyse had gotten into it one afternoon and sprinkled it all over the floor. Lesson learned. “Let’s count the tapes,” Sky babbled at his boy. “One bottom….two bottom…one top…two top.” Four was probably a bit advanced for Rhyse these days. Then with a final “Snap-Snap-Snap-Snap!” Rhyse was all sorted out and almost done with his baba. Sky could already see his baby boy starting to drift off, and felt his heart melt. The Daddy just knew that his baby would be passed out asleep on the couch by the time he got back from tossing the dirty diaper. And that was fine. Some days, Sky was perfectly content to watch Rhyse just dozing on the couch, standing over him and marveling at his own good work and good fortune. This was the last day that Sky could remember feeling happy. *************************************************************************************** “We now return to our post virus anniversary coverage. A world heals after traumatic and strange events. Listen to the stories of the afflicted, their strange uncontrollable urges, and the people whose lives were changed forever.” Rhyse took a gulp of beer. “Can you please turn that crap off?” He called out. The bartender grabbed his remote and pointed it at the T.V.. “Sure my man. What do you want?” “Cartoon Network.’ The bartender frowned. “Seriously?” Rhyse hid his blush behind his mug. Damn it was a good afternoon to go day drinking. He didn’t need to make that job interview anyway. “I meant ESPN.” The bartender barked out a laugh. “Ha! Got me, dude. Got me!” He switched the station to footage of two teams Rhyse didn’t care about playing football the night before and men in suits talking about what they could have done better in hindsight. “Thanks.” “Not a problem, Boblem.” No meeting for Rhyse tonight. He wasn’t allowed. He’d bombed out of the last three job interviews. The only reason he’d managed to get to the in person interviews, was because employers weren’t technically allowed to ask if he’d been regressed. Once they met him in person, they knew. They just did. Something would happen, or there’d be some slip of the tongue, or he’d move the wrong way, or they’d ask about his employment history. And he never got a call back. Rhyse couldn’t afford a lawyer, and the only free legal advice he’d gotten was that technically being regressed and struggling to get back up to full adult performance was not a recognized disability or protected class of people. So yeah. Getting drunk good and early seemed like a plan. “I don’t blame you for not wanting to watch that crap,” the bartender intruded on Rhyse’s melancholy. The joint was empty save for the two of them, and Rhyse speaking up had given him some kind of tacit permission to engage with him. Damn. “Yeah,’ Rhyse said noncommittally. “Bunch of nut jobs,” the bartender shook his head. “Kinda says something about the world, huh? About what isolation can do to a guy.” Rhyse finished his beer. “Yup.” The bartender refilled the beer without Rhyse having to ask. He hoped it meant it was free. “You ask me? Those sickos with the diapers and the baby shit? There was something wrong with them to begin with. The virus just brought it out.’ Rhyse thought of Sky. Daddy was a little anal retentive, but he hadn’t been that controlling before. “Mmmhmmm..” “There oughta be some kind of list,” the bartender said. “Fuck it. They should all be locked up. Keep ‘em the hell away from other human beings. Let ‘em do that fucked up shit to each other, not me.” A sad, soft, but genuine smile came to Rhyse’s lips. “Amen, brother.” “That or the little freaks they found.” The regression victim’s blood ran cold, but he didn’t respond. “You ask me, they were asking for it. Somebody tried to put a diaper on me? I’d fuckin’ knock their teeth out. That’s if they were lucky.” “Didn’t they get hypnotized and drugged and shit?” Rhyse said. He was genuinely afraid of confrontation but was trying to pass off defending himself as playing Devil’s Advocate. “And a lot of them at first didn’t even know it was a thing. Nobody did.” If Rhyse had any body hair left, it’d all have been on edge just then. “I mean…maybe,” the bartender said. “Just seems kinda sus to me. Like you’d have to really like shitting your pants to let it get that far, I’d think. Pretty sure most of them wanted it if you ask me. It’s just common sense.” There was nothing ‘Common Sense’ about what had happened to Rhyse. “Maybe…” “And even if it wasn’t, they’re a bunch of whiners,” the bartender went on. “Wah, I had an accident! Wah I had to learn how to walk again! Wah, I want free shit and handouts. Wah, wah wah! Buncha losers.” Rhyse leaned forward on the bar stool. “You victim blaming?” “It ain’t victim if it’s the result of natural consequences. I say cut off all their funding. Make them buy their own diapers and they’ll re-toilet train themselves and buy and cook their real fucking quick. No more of this group home shit.” Rhyse instantly took a great disliking to this man. “Most of ‘em are living in nursing homes,” Rhyse said. He was. “That’s a step up more dignified than fucking daycare,” the bartender said. “Better than what they deserve.” “Yeah,” Rhyse grunted, pretending to agree. “They’d probably be happier in a big fucking daycare or something than an old folks home.” “Yeah, you’re probably right,” the bartender agreed. “Buncha losers.” Rhyse saw the guy’s nose wrinkle. “What’s that smell?” Rhyse sat back down on the bar stool and felt the warm mush spread out beneath his bottom. “What smell?’ “You don’t smell that? It smells like…it smells like…like…” His eyes widened in recognition. This was his last job interview all over again. You!” “I’m sorry!” Rhyse yelped! “I didn’t mean to! I hadda accident” The guy looked like he was ready to deck Rhyse, but he pointed towards the door instead. “Get the fuck outta here!” “Yes Daddy!” That’s how Rhyse got a black eye. ****************************************************************************************** Sky sat home with the television turned off and unplugged. It was another one of those specials on the virus, how it affected people and what the affected actually DID to people. Rhyse didn’t want to watch any more of it. It hurt too much. Not because it reminded him of what he did, but because of what he’d lost. He looked out at Rhyse’s old nursery and felt another terrible pang of loss. It was just an empty room now. An empty tomb to the baby he’d lost. “I’m not crazy,” he muttered to himself. “I’m not. I just…I just…I need to…” He got up off the floor and walked over to the nursery “Close…this-” he didn’t fall, but his feet tripped over themselves because of the baby doll on the floor.. “Fuck!” It wasn’t just one baby doll. Sky had bought a dozen. They lay scattered around, the living room floor, with diapers taped on them bought from the grocery store. They were poor replicas of the real thing and only wet at semi-random intervals. Sky had tried buying these as a kind of nicotine patch. It’d only made things worse. They were nowhere close to the real things. Their skin was too hard. THeir bodies too cold. Their diapers too small. Everything was too small. “It’s just not the same,” Sky heard himself say. Then he whispered, “Damn, there really is something wrong with me.” He stood there looking at the pathetic shambles his apartment was turning into. Then in the quiet he said. “I need a new roommate.” It tasted like a lie. He didn’t need a new roommate. He needed a new baby boy. But that was a lie too. He didn’t want a new one…just the one he’d lost. ********************************************************************************************** “Paints almost dry kiddo,” Sky chirped to his baby boy crawling on the floor. “Pretty soon, you’ll have a pretty blue sky and pretty red birds flying around it! Won’t that be nice? Won’t it?” Rhyse rolled towards the sound of Sky’s voice and looked up at him adoringly. “Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba!’ “Yes it is!” Sky lowered down to all fours and kissed the baby on the forehead. “It sure is!” That got more delighted babble and Sky kissed Rhyse from the top of his head all the way down to his belly button. Then…. PHBTBTBTBTBTBTB! Daddy’s lips buzzing of tummy made baby Rhyses’s entire body light up with happy feelings. That and made both his face and the front of his diaper feel warm and squishy at the same time! It was so wonderful to just lay back and let Daddy push his buttons and flail helplessly around. Life couldn’t get better than this, and as far as Rhyse had remembered, this was all life had been or could be. And he was ha- THUNK! THUNK! THUNK! “Open up!” A voice called in.. “CDC and Police!” Sky popped up to his feet, adrenaline going on overdrive. Logically he knew this would happen eventually. He’d been too sloppy in the beginning. Eventually someone would trace the orders he’d made and his I.P. address. Eventually someone would rat him out. He just figured he had a couple more months to prepare for it. Eventually always came too soon. “Do you have a warrant?” he was already looking for some kind of escape route. But how to get away with Rhyse? Rhyse couldn’t take care of himself on the best of days. What would he do without Sky? “WAAAAAAAAAAAH!” ’Rhyse cried out, confused and scared. The loud noises and mean voices bothered him worse than a thousand loud barking dogs. “Shhhhh,” Sky shushed his boy. “It’s okay. Don’t worry. Daddy’s here…Daddy’s here.” Next came the police breaking down the door. And the shouting. And the panic. And the men in hazmat suits. And the screaming. And the crying as they were forced apart. And many, many months of programming and deprogramming disguised as “Therapy”, and heretofore empty promises that either of the young men would ever be the same again. ***************************************************************************************** THUNK! THUNK! THUNK! Panic and adrenaline shot into Sky’s heart. The dolls! He had to hide the dolls! They weren’t illegal for him per se, but any bastard cop could look at them and see that as probable cause for a wider search. Then they might find his real stash! THUNK! THUNK! THUNK! “Uh….just a second,” Sky called. “Coming! I’m coming!” He scooped up the plastic headed infants and tossed them into Rhyse’s empty old nursery. The painted clouds and birds that he couldn’t bother to smear over more proof of his guilt. Please don’t come in please don’t come in. THUNK! THUNK! THUNK! “Just a minute!” More tear gas would come soon. And men in hazmat suits…drag him to a rubber room. His blood work was coming back showing he was dangerous or his psych profile showing what he was really thinking! “Just a minute! THUNK! THUNK! THUNK! Sky tossed the dolls and quietly shut the door. Pleasanton’tcomeinpleasedon’tcomein!” He put the mask on that he’d grown so adept at wearing. Maybe it would just be his parole officer. The ankle monitor shouldn’t have seen anything wrong with his grocery store trip where he’d bought the baby diapers in cash. And he’d stolen a co-worker’s phone to get on Amazon and ship the dolls to his apartment. No way anyone was suspecting anything. This was just a routine visit. Just a routine… Steeling himself, Sky threw open the door with a happy face. “Hello…baby?” Pale faced, black eyed, and wearing ill fitting clothing, Rhyse stood in the doorway of their apartment smelling like shit. “Hi Daddy…” “Rhyse?” Sky asked. “What are you doing here?” He noticed the black eye. “And who did that to you?” Someone was going to pay for that….Sky was already reaching in the back of his brain for one of those recipes he’d found guaranteed to destroy bladder control.. “Can I come in?” He shouldn’t…both of them knew that. “Yes. Please, come in.” Sky backed up two steps for every waddling, sagging step that his ex-roommate took. “Thanks.” “What are you doing here?” Sky asked. Rhyse looked down at the ground. “I…hadda accident,” he admitted. The smell followed the man-child into the apartment. “I can tell,” Sky said. He didn’t sound disgusted. In fact, he was doing his best to hide a smile. “I hadda accident…and too much to drink…and an owie…” Rhyse sniffed. “And I didn’t bring any protective briefs to change into…” “Diapers,” Sky said, reflexively. “They’re called diapers.” Rhyse’s lips quivered. “Sky? Daddy? Can you change my diaper?” There was going to be a bartender with wet pants in his future, Sky decided. But that was a future plan. He had to get Rhyse out of here. “No, baby boy,” he said though it broke his heart. “I can’t. I’m not allowed to. Daddy did a bad bad thing to you. And if he does it again, he’ll get in trouble.’ “Oh….” Tears started dripping down Rhyse’s cheeks. “Sorry to bother you, then. I just thought…I hoped…I…I…” A single loud sob exploded out of him. “I missed you!” He didn’t mean to, but Sky ran up and gave his roommate the biggest hug he’d ever given. “I missed you too, baby! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to ruin your life! I didn’t mean to hurt you! I didn’t mean to break you!” The smelly, stinky, overgrown baby in the baggy pants hugged back. “I’m sorry, too, Daddy! I didn’t want you to get in trouble!” Sky broke off the hug. “I know. It wasn’t your fault.” “It wasn’t yours either.’ “Well, kidnapping and regressing people against their will is kind of against the law,” Sky said. Rhyse pouted out his lip. “What if it’s not?” “Not against the law?” “No,” Rhyse shook his head. “What if it’s not against my will?” Like a two year old he wiped his snotty nose all over the forearm of his sleeve. “Can’t…can’t hypnotize someone to do something they don’t really wanna do.” “What are you saying?” Sky asked. He wanted to hear it. Need to. “Daddy,” Rhyse repeated himself. “Will you change my diaper?” Sky pressed his forehead up against his baby boy’s, and started crying tears of joy. “Lay down on the couch,” he instructed. “And pull down your pants if you can. Daddy’s gonna get your wipes and a changing pad.” “And a fresh diaper?” “And a fresh diaper.”

Daniel sat behind the reception counter in the combination lobby and gift shop, staring blankly at the wall. The Playground was dead tonight. It’s never a good sign for a kink dungeon when the monitors outnumber the guests. It’s an apocalyptic portent when it happens on a Saturday night. The owner and proprietor didn’t stare out of boredom, but anxiety. Bills were coming in and loans were being called due. This had been a very bad investment of Grandpa’s money. A very bad one. Going in, he thought owning a kink dungeon would have been kind of cool. Easy money. No stress. Sit around. Hand out waivers. Let people fuck around for fun. It’d be like owning a brothel in the old west. He thought himself a genius spending his inheritance buying this place. Daniel was very, very, wrong. He’d bought himself a massive albatross to hang around his neck. When he bought it, The Playground consisted of two large ‘play spaces’, a lobby that doubled as a gift shop, a tiny ass locker room, a tinier bathroom, and a room that served no practical purpose whatsoever beyond giving new customers a place to fill out membership forms. There hadn’t been new members for quite some time. How was he supposed to know that the sex toys and whatchamacallits didn’t come with the place? A guy bought a gym and he expected treadmills. What Daniel had really bought was an ugly building with some empty rooms in a bad part of town. He’d bought a place called the playground and only got the ground. All the ‘play’ elements had to come out of pocket. Pile onto that all the things that he hadn’t taken into account- rules, insurance, vetting, pricing structure, advertising- and this goldmine was sapping him dry financially and emotionally. Contrary to his own misconceptions, this business neither sold nor ran itself. Then there was ‘The Racoon Situation’, may it never be repeated… The initial boom from “Under New Management” had lost its shine less than half a year in. Now in year three, Daniel didn’t think he could make it another six months. The buzzing alarm from someone entering broke him out of his anxiety induced paralysis. In through the door walked a man in a too perfectly pressed charcoal gray suit carrying a black briefcase. That part didn’t disturb Daniel. He’d seen mostly leather dudes and chicks come through the door, but ‘masters’ in suits wasn’t a foreign concept to him. There was something different about this one. His dark hair and goatee looked more greasy than slick, and he had an aura about him and his body language. His footsteps clicked across the floor like hooves, even though his snakeskin boots looked well worn and broken in. In the back of his brain, Daniel’s fight or flight response readied itself, knowing that the suit was little more than camouflage. This was a predator. Predator or not, as long as he showed his I.D. at the door, he was a potential customer. “Hey there,” Daniel said. “Welcome to The Playground. How can I help you?” The briefcase was placed down on the counter. “The real question here, Danny boy, is ‘How can I help you?’.” Daniel’s face paled. “How do you know my name?” The stranger in the suit thumbed back to the way he came in. “Asked the guy at the door.” He paused for a second. “Don’t worry, I’m not a cop. This isn’t a sting. What I really want to talk to you about is-” Daniel held out his hand to stop. “I’m sorry, I’m not in the mood to hear any solicitors.” The stranger flopped his arms to the side and lackadaisically turned in a circle, looking around at the empty lobby and rows and rows of unsold sex toys sitting on shelves and hanging on hooks in the gift shop. He put a finger to his ear and leaned like he was listening for something. The rooms were soundproofed, but even if they weren’t, there wouldn’t be much to hear. It was close to midnight and they only had a throuple using the main play area to drip wax onto each other. He was paying his DM’s to basically do nothing all night. “Yeah, Danny,” the solicitor said. “I can tell you’ve got a lot going on, what with the failing business and all.” Fuck this guy. “Whatever you’re selling, buddy, I literally can’t buy.” “Levi.” “Excuse me?” “I’m not your buddy,” the stranger said. “I’’m Levi. And I’m not selling you anything. I don’t want your money, I want your partnership.” Daniel cocked an eyebrow. “I’m not looking to sell.” “I am, though.” Levi smiled. “I said I wasn’t looking to sell anything to you. I’ve got a great product, I just need a distributor.” “Is it meth?” Daniel asked sarcastically. “Better.” Levi opened up the suitcase with a flourish. Daniel looked down. He would have laughed if he had thought it was a joke. “Diapers,” Daniel said flatly. “You want me to sell diapers?” “I do,” Levi said. “I want you to sell my diapers. It’ll save your business.” Daniel had been around long enough to know that some people were into diapers. He’d also been around long enough to know that some people were into anything. “I don’t think this place is your market.” The stranger in the snakeskin boots didn’t relent. “I think it’s exactly my market. It’s practically a blank canvas. Perfect place to set up shop.” “With diapers…?” “Not just any diapers. These diapers are that perfect mix of absorbency and aesthetics.” Daniel scoffed. “They have cartoons on them.” “Exactly,” Levi pointed at him as if he’d just stumbled onto something great. Hepicked up two of them like they were bricks of cocaine. ‘And they come in plastic or cloth backed! They are the best at what they do.” “Soak up pee?” “Headspace, Daniel. Headspace. The ultimate high!” That one did make Daniel laugh. “I think you’re confused.” “Hear me out, Danny boy,” Levi said. “Why is that couple in there pouring hot wax on each other? Because something about the pain and the sensation and the simulated danger of it all gets their endorphins pumping like crazy. It alters their minds, no different in principle than cigarettes and booze. It’s what humans have done throughout history. They crave an altered state of being. My product does the same thing, is addictive, isn’t regulated by the FDA, and is disposable.” He threw an arm back towards the gift shop. “If you sell a paddle, you sell one paddle to that person and probably won’t ever sell that same paddle ever again. If you sell my product, you will sell it again and again and again.” “But people don’t like diapers around here,” Daniel said. “There’s no market.” “There will be,” Levi half-whispered. Louder and more casual he said, “Look, Danny boy. Here’s what I’m proposing: Let me give you some sample packs. I’ll send in some people to generate interest and do my own advertising around town. Let people know that The Playground is the only place to get them. Then you sell the diapers, keep ten percent for yourself plus the interest fees. If I’m wrong, you lose no money” Daniel chewed on his lip. It looked like a dumb novelty gimmick, but it was a novelty gimmick that had almost zero risk to him. As long as it wasn’t like the Raccoon Situation… “Deal.” He offered Levi his hand. Levi shook it. “Deal, Danny boy. You won’t regret this. Expect the first box when you get here tomorrow. ” It wasn’t until Levi left that Dan wondered how he knew about the throuple in the other room. ************************************************************************* Not quite twenty hours later, a flash of bright white drew Daniel out of his nightly anxiety paralysis. Two new customers, the first two in a while, came out of the changing room holding hands. He hadn’t changed or removed his clothes at all, and was still wearing the same gray t-shirt and blue jeans that he’d come in with. The only thing that might pass as ‘kinky’ was that he was carrying a pink satchel bag over his shoulder. She’d been carrying it when they came in and signed up. Now he was. A man carrying a purse wasn’t anything to write home about, in Daniel’s opinion. His partner, however, was topless, and barefoot, but not nude. Daniel had seen plenty of naked people. What he hadn’t seen was someone wearing such thick crinkly padding wrapped around their ass. Levi’s people, no doubt. “Ready, Squirt?” he asked. “Ready, Daddy!” Daniel couldn’t help himself. “Excuse me,” Daniel called over to them. “Can I ask you a question?” The more adult of the two spoke up. “Yessir? How can I help you?” Daniel’s nose wrinkled up and he thought about it. “You’re not doing any kind of like…incest play, are you?” The girl’s eyes brightened up when Danny said the word ‘play’! Shit. This might be The Racoon Situation all over again. “No, sir,” the man referred to as ‘Daddy’ said. “Squirt, here, just wants to play on the playground. Run around. Climb. That kinda stuff. He gave her bottom a pat. “This,” he said, “is to keep the rest of the playground dry.” This was going to be another Racoon Situation… Daniel struggled to find the words. “You know that the stuff in there isn’t…really….a playground right? It’s just a name.” “Anything can be a playground if you know how to use it,” Daddy gave a wink. Daniel ran his hands through his hair. He was desperate for new customers. Max was on DM duty, too. He’d stop shit if people were getting freaked out. “Okay,” he said. “Just checking. Go have fun.” ******************************************************************************************* Daniel kept waiting for the couple to exit, but they didn’t leave until just before closing. That must have meant they were behaving. No Racoon Situations tonight, it seemed. Good. They walked in and out of the giftshop, going from room to room, same as anybody else. No complaints from the handful of other guests. And at the end of the night, they went back into the changing room. Daniel jumped in his chair a little when he heard the sounds of tapes ripping, but quickly recontextualized. Nothing was being broken, that shouldn’t be. ‘Squirt’ was just getting back into normal clothes. They came out a few minutes later. Squirt was dressed in pink shorts and a Minnie Mouse t-shirt. She’d worn it coming in, but Daniel hadn’t thought anything of it at the time. Shame though it was, Disney Adults happened. With what he had seen, Daniel suspected there was more to it now. Her Daddy hadn’t changed anything about himself and was still holstering the pink purse. He did, however, hold in his hand a bulging tightly wrapped mass of plastic. “Is there anywhere I can…?” Gears turned and clicked in the proprietor’s head. Ew! Gross! She’d used it? Squirt was not just a nickname. Embarrassment and surprise kicked Daniel into autopilot. “Oh. That?” he stammered. “Sure.” Daniel offered up a tall lined trash can normally used for tossing away chip bags, candy wrappers, and other snacks Daniel could upcharge to half-naked people. His customer slipped it casually inside and let the loud thunk once it hit the bottom testify how full it was. “Thanks,” he said. “No problem,” Daniel replied, still on autopilot. The couple walked out hand in hand. “Fankyoooo….” Squirt called just as they approached the threshold. She was waving her free arm so wildly as to be flapping. Daniel’s gaze shifted downward and he noticed both the rounded lump from beneath her shorts and the bit of white plastic poking out the waistband. “Huh…” Guess she wasn’t done ‘playing’. Max came out of the main play area with the final four or five stragglers, just in time to see the new odd couple leave. While they went into the changing area to put on street clothes, Max leaned against Daniel’s desk. “They were nice,” he said. “Who?” Daniel asked. “The baby people?” “Yeah.” Daniel had a more than mild curiosity. “What did they do?” “Hide and seek,” Molly said. “Peekaboo. Played catch with some stuff in the diaper bag.” Max ground his teeth in thought a little bit. “She climbed up on the cross like it was a jungle gym. Kinda wholesome in a weird way.” Wholesome schmolesome. Daniel was peeved that he hadn’t sold anything like that Levi hack had promised. A resalable product wasn’t so great if everybody brought their own. “Anybody else bothered by it?” Daniel asked his best monitor. “No,” Max told him. “Some people were kinda curious.” Daniel arched an eyebrow at his employee. “How curious?” On cue, the last customer of the night came out of the changing room. He was tight lipped and blushing, but the tightly wrapped ball of plastic and pulp in his hands told the tale. Daniel thumbed to the garbage can, and the man dropped it in. The second thunk wasn’t as loud as the first. “They shared,” Max explained. “Called it a free sample.” “Right there on the floor?” Daniel asked. “Well I’ll be…” Max looked at Daniel and misinterpreted Daniel’s expression. “Is that okay, boss? I didn’t think that broke any rules…cuz he wasn’t wet or poopy.” “No,” Daniel said. “It’s cool.” *********************************************************************************** The next night Daniel saw three times as many people in diapers as the night before. That still wasn’t a lot but weird that there was more than one. The couple had come back and brought a friend with them, and the regular that had experimented had come back to get his diaper on. “Thank you,” he said, handing Daniel the money in exchange for the two-diaper sample pack. “Thank you so much!” He stared at the plastic rectangles like they were heroin. “You’re…welcome?” Daniel said. That was weird. Normally, if he was gonna get repeat business, Daniel would have to wait at least a week. Were the diapers that good? Daniel tore a spare pack open and turned one over on his hands like it was a puzzle box. When he breathed through his nose he caught a whiff of sweet smelling perfume, like honey with a touch of lavender. It wasn’t overpowering but it was faintly…nostalgic? Was this what people were after? Daniel didn’t think much more of it than that. He was just happy for the slight increase in business. ***************************************************************************************** The night after that it had doubled again up to eight padded bottoms. New business and old. After that, it was close to twenty diaper butts. On a weeknight, no less. The Playground was lucky to get ten customers on a weeknight. The people who came in wearing padded pants seemed to want to change diapers in the locker room, and if they weren’t wearing when they arrived, Daniel would see them blushing and tossing out a used one on their way out. He’d already had to dedicate a dedicated covered can for the task of disposal. “How’s it looking?” he asked Max at the end of that night. Max smiled. “Awesome!” he said. He immediately corrected himself. “I mean kinda boring. Most of them are crawling around, climbing on stuff, talking baby talk. “Their CG’s are keeping order with stuff like duck duck goose, but nobody’s violating consent or doing anything risky. They're all being good little boys and girls.” Daniel gave Max a look. “Excuse me?” “You know. Littles. It’s what they call themselves.” “Oh. Sure.” Sounded like Max was getting something out of it too. “Excuse me,” a bleached blonde woman walked up. She wore scrubs decorated in nursery print designs: rattles and bottles and safety pins and such.. Medical play? Daycare play? Both? “Do you have any extra diapers for sale? My little guy had an accident.” Being held by the wrist was the very first ‘convert’ from earlier that week. The one who’d gotten diapered up by Squirt and her Daddy, and embarrassedly tossed in an extra wet diaper. Presently, he stood barefoot with a dark patch on his crotch that dripped all the way down to his legs. “Crud,” Max said, “I’ll get a mop.” “Don’t worry,” the scrubbed lady said. “I already took care of that part. I just need to get him cleaned up. “I..I…tried,” the customer stammered. He was a good six inches taller than the blonde lady, but looked like a pathetic three year old who’d gotten too excited. “Jakey, say you’re sorry.” “I’m sowwy,” the grown-ass man said with a toddlerish lisp. Daniel smiled, trying to seem good natured and paternal. “It’s no big deal, bud.” He placed a sample diaper on the counter. Jakey’s date or nurse or babysitter or whatever paid for the diapers and took the man back into the changing room. Damn, that designation had taken on a completely different meaning lately. A few minutes later, they came out again, with Jakey not wearing anything over his fresh crinkly diaper. “Thank you very much,” the woman in the nursery scrubs said. “May I make a suggestion?” The woman had just given him money, so Daniel was more inclined to listen. “Do you think you could put a changing table in there? It’d be a lot easier to change the babies without having to lie them down on the floor. The Playground’s Owner immediately thought of that old massage table that rarely got use. “I think I can rig something up.” “Thank you,” she said. “That’s much appreciated.” Max waited until the pair had left. “Why didn’t you say anything?” “What would I say something about?” Daniel asked his right hand. “Water sports? Going out in fetish gear. We don’t want a Raccoon Situation, do we, Danny?” Danny waved it off. “The guy peed himself on accident and his girlfriend cleaned it up, Max.” “And the diaper? Outside? We don’t let other folks wear their gear. It’s vanilla clothes only past that door.” “It’s just a diaper,” Daniel said. “And what other folks?” Max huffed and crossed his arms. “Point taken…” ***************************************************************************************** “Excuse me?” A skinny pimply faced kid came up to him the next week. “Are you the guy I talk to?” His eyes jittered around, nervously, like he was afraid he’d get caught or something. “Let me see your I.D. again,” Daniel said. Did Rory need new glasses at the door? He looked at the guy’s wallet. Eighteen according to the driver’s license. It didn’t look like a forgery. “You a senior?” “Freshman,” the kid said. “In college!” he quickly yelped. “In college! No class tomorrow.” That had been Daniel not too long ago. He just had better skin and filled out quicker. “Sorry sir,” Daniel said, handing it back. “Needed to double check. Who are you looking for?” “I’m looking…” the young man said haltingly, “...to buy…” The kid was low on nerve and Daniel felt like messing with him. Paddles? floggers? Dragon Tails? Anal beads? Vibrators?” “Diapers!” Daniel felt like a drug dealer, making the man-child squirm. “Last pack.” “Thank you!” The spindly eighteen year old dashed to get changed. “Shit,” Daniel cursed to himself. That really had been the last pack. He scraped at the bottom of the last box and found nothing. These crinkly rectangles with cartoons on them had really sold themselves and people kept coming back for more. Much to Daniel’s profit, coming back meant they had to pay the entry fee, too. The door buzzed with yet another arrival. Daniel didn’t look up right away. He’d quickly gotten very used to people coming to the Playground. “Seems like I’m right on time,” Levi said. “How’s it going, Danny boy?” Daniel leapt up with joy. “Great,” he yelped. “It’s going great. Business is really picking up!” Daniel’s guardian angel looked pleased, but not surprised. He held up an open cardboard box. “Just ran out!” That joy was tempered by the huge wad of cash he handed over to Levi. “Thaaaaank you,” Levi took up the money. “Pleasure doing business with you, Danny boy.” He extended his hand. “See you around, bud.” The stranger turned on his heel and a jolt of panic found its way to Daniel. “Wait. I’m out of diapers! I need more!” Levi stopped and hung his head. “Yeah, about that. I’m out of samplers. All I have are bigger packs. Ten, twelve. More. I’m losing money otherwise.” “That’s fine,” Daniel said. “I’ll sell bigger packs.” The words turned to ash in his mouth as soon as he said them. “But that’s a lot of diapers…” “Yup,” Levi agreed. “Enough to last them a couple days.” “At least.” “How do I keep people coming back, if they don’t need to buy diapers as often?” The greasy thug in a business suit looked like Daniel had grown an extra head. “Danny,” Levi said. “Danny, Danny, Danny. Danny boy. Are you listening to yourself? You’re not selling diapers.” “I’m not?” “You’re selling a lifestyle. Look.” A guy who could have been a pro-wrestler came out of the changing room and waddled among the paddles and ropes like a kid trying to figure out toys that were too old for him.. For a beat, Daniel thought he was wearing some kind of leotard, but most leotards didn’t have farm animals decorating their tights, or a diaper bulge underneath. “Hey, little boy.,” Levi asked him. “What’s your favorite toy?” The big man looked up and wiped a line of drool off his chin. “My wattle. I forgot to bwing it though…” From his pocket, Levi produced what was essentially a maraca painted baby blue and given a bunny face. “Here you go, kiddo…” “WATTLE!” It was disturbing to watch the giant shake the big baby rattle and laugh like like hyena after a fresh kill. “See what I mean, Danny?” He didn’t., though. “McDonald’s isn’t really a burger company. It’s a real estate company. The Playground wasn’t a dungeon, and it’s definitely not a store. It’s a playground, just for really really big babies.” Daniel looked beyond the doors to the play spaces, thinking about the menagerie of bondage equipment he’d splurged on filling up the place. Sex swings, spanking horses, stocks, inversion tables, crosses and what not. “Um…I don’t think The Playground’s got that kind of equipment. Levi clapped Daniel on the back. “Then let’s reinvest, my friend. Let’s reinvest.” Danny thought of the business he’d been getting. He didn’t dare say no. ********************************************************************************************* Two weeks later, The Playground had rebranded itself as specifically catering to people who enjoyed wearing diapers and acting like children. It sounded like a bad idea, being so niche, but nightly attendance didn’t drop. Night after night, people waddled in off the streets, to put on a diaper and play in a literal indoor play place and nursery. Daniel walked the new facilities with a strange sense of pride. He’d built this. With some guidance and a new investment from his business partner, he was starting to climb out of the mountain of debt he’d accrued. “Pretty crazy, boss,” Max said. “Pretty crazy.” There were yelps and laughs and the sounds of bare feet running. ‘Hey! No running!” “Sowwy!” Max shook his head. “I’m turning into a babysitter,” he grumbled. “Look on the bright side,” Daniel joked, “you’re not having to change any diapers.” As if illustrating his point, a handsome young man in cardigan was busy unsnapping what Daniel guessed was his boyfriend’s onesie. “Shit…” “Yeah,” Daniel agreed. “Looks like it.” The brown stains on the baby man’s backside were kind of hard to miss. “Alright,” Max said. “They’re out of here!” Daniel put his hand on Max’s shoulder. “No. Let them stay.” Daniel noticed a bare spot on the wall where he’d been thinking of putting in some bouncers. “In fact, let’s move the changing table from the locker room to over there.” Most of his customers were coming in pre-diapered anyway. “That’s gotta be some kind of health code violation,” Max said. “Nope,” Daniel said smugly. “And nobody else seems to mind.” Everybody else was so deep in their own personal headspace that the public floor change could have been inside an invisible bubble. Another caregiver doing the same thing to their little girl might have contradicted that theory. “Max,” he said. “I think I’m gonna make a new rule. Caregivers get in free with a Little.” Might be a good way to get some free help managing these tykes. “Mistuh Danny! Mistuh Danny!” A scruffy faced middle aged toddler caught his attention. “Do you have any diapees?” Time to go back to the real work. “Sure do, bud! Let’s go to the giftshop. Maybe find some cool toys for you too.” Daniel waved his right hand man away, and hustled to go make a sale. He could see that there was an appeal to this whole baby thing, but Daniel couldn’t see it.” Maybe he should try, though. Maybe he should try… **************************************************************************************** The end of the night was becoming Danny’s favorite time at the Playground, and for more than the usual reason of getting to go home. It was also when his customers were most likely to reload up on diapers. That little bit of consistency, that new development in routine, always lifted Danny’s spirits a little. Business was booming. Buying more of Levi’s wonderful diapers meant that people would keep coming back. Things had been too good to be true, and the little consistencies allowed Danny to keep telling himself that the bottom wasn’t dropping out anytime soon. “That’s the last of them,” Max said. “Good,” Danny said. He eyed his way to the main playroom. “Good night, yeah?” “Yeah,” Max agreed. “It’s kinda like having kids. It’s not so bad once you get used to - ARE YOU WEARING A DIAPER?!” Danny looked down at himself. The stretchy sweatpants he’d put on over the diaper had fallen down so that they only covered the bottom half. He’d been so busy that he’d forgotten to hike them back up over his diaper. Or that he was wearing one. “Oh yeah,” Danny said. “I guess so.” “Is this your new thing, boss?” Max asked. “Because if it is, that’s fine, but…” “But what?” “Things are making a lot more sense.” Danny laughed at that. “Don’t worry about it, Max. I’m just blending in. People wanna buy from people who are like them. Part of their clique. Right?” Danny didn’t think he was lying, but he still felt wrong all the same. “Have you been wearing those for long?” Danny shook his head and laughed. “Naw. I just put this one on before coming into work.” Technically not a lie. He’d only been wearing that diaper after he woke up and had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for breakfast. He had worn others, though, so it also was a lie of omission. This was the first one he’d worn at work, however. Every other time had been at home. They came in handy after he’d started wetting the bed. And he’d been able to get so much more done tonight because he didn’t have to stop to go potty. Bathroom…he didn’t have to go to the bathroom. That was a weird random thought. So was the quiet realization that he was peeing and talking to Max at the same time. Max didn’t notice, or didn’t say anything. “Okay, man. Just don’t get in too deep. You’ve kind of got an addictive personality.” Danny said the best thing he could. “I hear ya, Max. Thanks for looking out. You go ahead and head out. I’ll toss out the garbage.” “You sure?” “Positive.” Max didn’t need further convincing. Danny waited until Max had left The Playground, and counted as high as he could twice to make sure Max wasn’t coming back. Then, feeling strangely guilty considering it was his building, he toddled into the main playroom. It looked like a nursery with its indoor jungle gym, its foam floor puzzle pieces; its shelves decked out with toys, blocks, train tracks, and marble runs. The only swings were the scaled up harness ones that Levi had snagged from a special needs school auctioning off old P.E. equipment. It smelled like a nursery too. Danny wandered over to the changing table, and rested his hand on it. Formerly a massage table, Danny had paid a pretty penny to have it broken down and built back up into a proper changing station. The Mommies, Daddies, Nannies, and Babysitters definitely appreciate it. So did their babies, but only when they were reminded too. Lucky bastards. Like magic, Danny found himself going from laying his hand on the table, to leaning on it, to climbing up on it, and laying down on it. Just to see what it was like of course. He rested his eyes and exhaled. It wasn’t as good as he imagined a crib would be, but it still was very comfy. Feeling naughty, he shuffled the sweatpants off his feet and let them drop down to the floor. He reached one hand down to his diaper and gave it a squeeze. He stopped himself from moaning using his opposite thumb. Sucking on his digit, Danny decided to just close his eyes and let his mind drift. A wet diaper felt so good! It squished and caressed him with every movement. And he imagined he looked cute too, lying there in nothing but a t-shirt and baby pants. No wonder it was so hard to potty train kids. The alternative objectively sucked. That absurd notion made him giggle. Good thing Max couldn’t see him now. The sound of ripping tapes made Danny jump! He quickly found that someone had pulled the safety strap over his chest to keep him from rolling off. “Hey there, Danny boy,” Levi said. The cold wipe dragged across Danny’s privates woke him the rest of the way up.” “Levi?” The man in the snakeskin boots kept wiping Danny’s penis, pubic area, and taint, showing no signs of disgust or distress. “You looked like you were about ready,” Levi casually said. “So I thought I’d help.” “What are you do-?” Levi shushed him. “Hold on, hold on. Or do you want me to talk to you while I’m powdering your butt?” He crossed Danny’s legs for him and hoisted his legs up to his stomach. Danny lay there feeling paralyzed while a man he barely knew wiped his ass for him. Danny told himself it wasn’t happening. But the feeling of the old diaper being balled up and slid out from beneath him, and replaced by another one told him differently. A little powder on his front and back enhanced the trance instead of shaking him out of it. And the feeling of the fresh diaper taking form around his hips, being tightened and secured tape by tape was somehow blissful. Danny had just started getting used to diapering himself and now he never wanted to do it again. “Th-th-thankyou,” he whispered, feeling incredibly vulnerable yet fulfilled. Levi let him off the table. Danny felt so wobbly legged that he sank down to his knees. “What are you doing back here?” Levi asked. “I…I…” Danny was going to ask Levi the same thing, but he still felt so overwhelmed, so good and overwhelmed and safe, that he forgot what he was going to say. “I…” he looked at the jungle gym. It had no stairs on it, by design; only ramps and tubes for easy crawling access. “I just was tired and wanted…” “Oooof, those diapers are hitting you hard, ain’t they kid?” Danny blinked. “Huh?” “Nevermind,” Levi chuckled. “You’re sad because you want to play but never have the time. Too busy taking care of everybody else.” Like a hypnosis victim, Danny nodded at the suggestion. “Uh-huh.” There was never enough time. Now that he was actually making money, he didn’t have the chance to enjoy himself. He owned a candy store but never got to taste the chocolate. He made a near perfect Playground, but the only time he got to play was after all the other kids…customers?...kids…got away. Levi stroked his beard theatrically. “That’s a bummer Danny boy. Real bummer. If only there was a way to make more time for yourself. Time to play.” Danny’s eyes lit up at hearing the word ‘play’. “I know!” A wry, knowing smile came to Levi. “Do you now, kiddo?” ********************************************************************************************** A week later, Danny presented his new vision to Max and the rest of the staff. He would have told them sooner, but he kept forgetting the finer points and needed to wait for Levi to coach him. Max had to pick his jaw up off the floor when he was done. The other employees all looked distinctly unsure and uncomfortable with the idea, though Danny didn’t know why. “Okay everybody, we’ll brainstorm this a while later,” Max said. “Suzy, you should work the counter tonight. Try to push the onesies and the pacifiers. Rob, you’ve got the door checking ID’s. Everybody else, do what we’ve been doing.” Like a well oiled machine, the crew broke. When did his staff become so organized and focused, Danny wondered. Maybe he should hold more staff meetings in the playroom. It was certainly more comfortable. “What do you mean we’re going twenty-four seven?” Max asked when they were alone. Danny remained spread eagle on the playroom floor, his diaper bulging out underneath his onesie. “We treaf iff lika dayshere”. He frowned and took his paci out of his mouth. Maybe that’s why the others seemed so confused. “We treat it like a daycare.” He leaned back and grabbed his toes. “An adult daycare?” Max said. “Are you crazy? We’ve already super specialized. Now you want to keep the lights on longer and have people show up at all hours?” “We just raise our prices like a hotel,” Danny said. “We get more cribs, turn our aftercare room into a sleep room, and the babies can stay here as long as we keep getting paid. It’s easy money. Levi said he’d get the cribs and offer me free diapees if he got a cut of the service fees.” “Daniel…” Max sounded exasperated. “This sounds crazy, my dude. That’s a butt ton of work you’re talking about.” “Why?” Dannie asked. He leaned his head back and saw the ballpit and suddenly wondered if they could continue the meeting there. “I thought you said it was easy to Monitor all the little boys and girls. I’m just paying you to stand around most nights.” “Yeah,” Max said. “It’s easy in small doses. But things are getting weirder. They’re still peeing their pants and sucking their toes. Some of them don’t even talk. I’m starting to wonder if they can understand me!” “We’ll be…they’ll be good,” Danny said. “Pwomise!” “A lot of them aren’t changing themselves unless one of the Bigs volunteers,” Max said. “It’s bad enough that me and the guys are spending so much time taking out garbage bags filled with dirty diapers. Do you want us to start changing them too?” Yes. “Um….?” Danny said instead, “We can hire people to do that. Levi says he knows some people.” “He better,” Max said. “If we’re going to be charging hotel prices, we gotta have hotel level staff and hotel level cleanliness. Sheet washing, cleaning the playground equipment. We’d have to triple the staff, minimum, and find a whole bunch of people that were really cool with treating you and everybody else like they were under two. Real Mommy and Daddy Doms. Do you know how much those cost, Daniel? I don’t even know if it’s legal. That might be considered sex work or something.” “To change a diaper?” Danny asked. He didn’t notice how he’d been lumped in with the other babies. His mind leapt to another part of Max’s analysis. “Why triple?” “Because people have lives outside of this place, Daniel,” Max said. “Even the clients. We can’t sleep here. Where are we gonna get that kind of money? We’ve just barely started to break even and we don’t know how long that’s gonna last.” “It will,” Danny said. Daddy had promised him. Levi…Levi had promised him. “Where are we going to get that money to hire people and keep the lights on?” Danny pressed. “More debt? Sell the whole damn thing to Levi?” Max demanded. “Oh,” Danny remembered, “That’s right. We need more highchairs and yummy food, and ba-bas.” “How?” Max repeated himself. Danny shifted his weight to all fours, concentrated, pushed a load into his diaper, and sat back down. Much better. Another great idea popped into Danny’s head. He’d sell his house! That way he could stay here, and all his friends would pay money to visit him. “I know! I’ll just sell my house.” That would get him a lot of money, Danny figured. Then he wouldn’t have a reason to leave and he could just sleep in the cribs. He’d just make money playing and having fun! “Did you just poop?” Max asked. Danny popped his pacifier back in, and nodded proudly. “Uh-huh!” That’s how he knew he wasn’t a baby. Real babies didn’t know when they pooped. Danny did. He stood up and started walking over to the big rocking horse. He bet the squish would feel really good on the rocking horse. Max grabbed him by the wrist. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked. “No vare,” Danny mumbled. “Horshie.” Max growled. “Okay,” he said. “I think you’re done.” “But I wanna pway!” Max whined. “Yeah,” Max said. “That’s the problem. First you wanted to sell diapers and make money. Now you’re wearing them. Now you’re using them. Now you just wanna play.” What was so wrong with that? Danny started trying to pull away and wriggle out of Max’s grip. “Uh-huh.” “DANNY!” Danny froze in his tracks. “You wanna act like a little kid like all the others, you’re gonna be treated like one.” Max led Danny over to the changing table and boosted him up on his hips. As a matter of reflex, Danny laid down and started sucking harder on his binky. “Yeshir…” “You wanna play here all the time? Wear your own product? Play with your toys?” He unpopped the snaps on Danny’s onesie. “Fine. I’m taking over the books though. Whatever you made is getting spread out to the rest of us to deal with your bullshit.” Danny didn’t flinch when his right hand man took the tapes off his diaper and pulled it open. “Otay.” Max went for the wipes, “This thing gave you an itch you wanna scratch? Fine, but you’re not the boss anymore. Bosses wipe their own asses. Bosses don’t play with baby toys. You wanna go twenty-four seven, you’re going twenty-four seven.” Danny shuddered in delight at that. Finally! Max was coming around. “No responsibility means no power. You might own the place, but you don’t work anymore. Anybody who does, is in charge of you.” The owner’s eye twitched, but that was just because of how hard Mister Max wiped. “Yeshir.” “Can’t believe I’m doing this,” Max muttered to himself. Danny’s was the first diaper in the pail that night. It wouldn’t be his last. Max roughly but firmly yanked up the fresh diaper between Danny’s legs and taped it on. He forgot the powder, but that was okay. Not every change had to have powder. His altered state of mind was very firmly intact. “The things I do for…” Max didn’t finish that sentence, but in Danny’s heart he knew the word was going to be ‘love’. “Fankyooooo,” Danny said. He was so excited he was practically flapping his arms like a chicken. Max smiled despite himself. “Just…just go play. Your little friends will be here any minute.” Danny couldn’t wait for that. *********************************************************************** It was close to midnight when Levi sauntered in through the front door. By coincidence. Max walked out of the playroom, lugging yet another garbage bag filled with used diapers. So Max my man,” Levi asked. “How’d Danny boy take it?” Max put down the bag and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Just like you said he would, sir. He’s pretty much gone.” Levi flashed a positively devilish grin. “I’d say that he’s finally ‘here’, myself. But I get your meaning.” There was a tense pause as bits of guilt threatened Max's conscience. “So? Satisfied?” Max was the boss now; the owner and proprietor in all but name. The Playground was finally going to be profitable, and was being run by somebody who did more work than sit behind a counter and stare at a wall all night to the point where shit like the Racoon Situation happened. It wasn’t how Max had envisioned it going down when this strange motherfucker and his fancy boots approached him a couple months ago, but it was good enough. “Yeah,” Max said. “Yeah, I am.”

This was the day that Takayama was going to die. He knew it with a level of certainty rarely found in life; at least not until the very end. Not that he wanted to die, mind you, but after the screaming and flailing and flipping it was hard to reach any other conclusion. He was pretty sure he’d wet himself, too, which in a way was darkly funny. He’d always heard that the bladder and bowels released after death, but here he was proving them wrong. Not that he’d be able to tell anybody about it…he was going to die in about two seconds. Two seconds would take an eternity. They say one’s life flashes before their eyes as they are about to die. It’s accurate; or accurate enough, anyways; adrenaline kicks in, the senses sharpen, and the brain kicks into overdrive trying to process a way out or at least find an answer to what went wrong. Takayama was no different, and the instant replay on the last twenty-something years was anything but satisfying. Taka was born unlucky to a less than wealthy family. A series of unfortunate events had compounded issues and led him to make bad choices. Not that there had been good choices available; sometimes it was just a matter of picking a bad choice and hoping it was the least awful one. “Life has many opportunities for hardship,” his grandmother had quietly lamented when he was young, “but few for prosperity.” Sobo had been right on the money about that, one. One thing had led to another and so on and so forth had the dominoes of this dreary life toppled. When he was little, Takayama thought he’d get all the power and control when he grew up. He was going to die before thirty but he’d never tasted the promised power of age; he’d only lost the comforts of childhood along the way. Such was real life. By junior high he’d learned that most adults were just faking it; trying to look happy or at least resolved because it was the only way one could function. Money and power were given, not earned, and the only thing that didn’t cost money was dying. Ironic. He’d been hiking along the old and nearly forgotten mountain path because it was free. He’d been bored and depressed and thought the fresh air and exercise would have done him some good. He didn’t think that old ledge would give way on his way back down. It showed no signs of instability on his way up. No such luck. Now, with his body tumbling through the air, a second or so away from being dashed on the rocks, Takayama caught one last glimpse at Machi, the city where he’d spent most of his terrible life. Its cold skyscrapers jutted up to Heaven higher than even the mountain, but lacked the natural beauty of what was about to be his doom. He thought he could make out the building where he’d just bombed his latest job interview. If there had been any air left in his lungs from the screaming, Takayama would have laughed. He was about to die penniless. Literally penniless. He had a negative balance in his bank account and had thrown away his final few scraps of pocket change into the offering bowl at that old overgrown shrine near the top. Call it superstition. Call it nihilism. Call it whatever you want. It’s not like he had enough to take the bus back home when he got back to town. It’s not like he’d be going back to town ever again. Not in this life. Time to find out if reincarnation was real or not. Takayama spent his last milliseconds in this life looking up, his body limp so that the ground would have a nice clean break. At least he’d die viewing the sky. A serpentine blur above him, a jet stream of pure blue, like the sky getting in front of the clouds instead of the other way around. Jutting, zig zagging tree branches with no trunk to call home. A roar more fearsome and primal than any tiger’s. A gust of gold air. Then…darkness. ************************************************************************************************************ Birds chirping. Air stirring. What? Power lines humming. Rail cars rumbling. Car horns honking. Huh? Footsteps in the hallway. People talking on their phones. Walls just thick enough to obscure what is being said, but not that someone is talking, or moving, or eating, or having sex. Faint smells of mildew that the brain quickly filtered out in order to keep its own sanity. How? Home. Takayama was home. He knew it before he even opened his eyes. How was that possible? Why wasn’t he dead? Or if not dead, why wasn’t he bleeding out on the ground or at least in the hospital? Why was he home?! As he opened his eyes, another, more important question came to his mind. Namely, ‘who was this lovely, brown haired woman smiling down at him and why was his head in her lap?’ “Good afternoon, Takayama-kun,” she said. “Did you enjoy your nap?” It sounded so familiar in tone, as if this stranger here in his apartment cradling his head was the most natural thing in the world. Dumbstruck, Takayama gazed up into her eyes, entranced by their unreal beauty. One would expect someone with such natural looking brown hair to have matching eyes, but two dazzling blue orbs stared down at him. The eyes captivated him for only a moment before his own wandered up to her forehead. “Yaaaagh!” he shrieked, and jumped to his feet. His feet were bare. He’d have to deal with that later. Right in this moment, he couldn’t take his eyes off of the jutting protrusions coming out of her skull. “Horns?!” he yelled. “You have horns! HOOOOOOOOOORNS!” They were closer to antlers, in actuality. Twisted, branching, almost gnarled things, like what a proud stag might have in its first spring. Somehow, atop the slender brown haired woman, they seemed almost dainty. It was bizarre, in a way. She sat there comfortably on his futon, wearing a white shirt and a bright blue jumper dress that came down to her ankles and ended in comfortable looking white sneakers. Her plain brown hair came down to her shoulders, and framed her face in a way that made her bright blue eyes pop. She had a beauty to her, but nothing that would drive men wild; more of a comforting girl next door, or a nurturing big sister vibe. Takayama could vaguely remember being in preschool and having a teacher around the same age. He didn’t know how old she was; when you’re three everybody that can pick you up reads as an adult. But he remembered really liking her over the old granny types and it wasn’t until much much later that he realized that she was probably his first bout of innocent puppy-love. This strange woman sitting on his futon gave exactly the same kind of vibes. Except for the horns…. “Hm?” the stranger said. She reached up with a delicate looking hand and touched the bony growths as if she’d forgotten they existed; much like how it was easy to forget one’s belly button until directly reminded. “Why yes, sweetie, they are,” she chirped softly. “I do have horns. Very good!” Evidently, the fact that she had them didn’t disturb her. If anything they were just a teachable moment. Utter disbelief bubbled up inside him and what felt like a thousand questions spilled out. “Who are you, how do you know my name, what are you doing in my apartment, how did we get here, am I dead, why am I not dead-?” They all came out as one giant runaway of thought. At the prospect of being dead, Takayama’s eyes managed to finally pry themselves away from the mysterious woman and down to himself. Just like with the fall, time slowed down for an instant while his adrenaline soaked brain processed all of the sensory data available at once. Was he bruised? Bleeding? Transparent? It was still very possible he was dead, after all. Being dead would explain the chill around his legs. But he had to pee. Dead people didn’t have to pee, did they? In less than a breath even more information flooded his synapses yet again. He was wearing his same light red breezy t-shirt from his hike up the mountain, but he was barefoot. And not wearing pants. What he was wearing, however, was white and puffy and crinkled when he moved even a little bit. “WHY AM I IN DIAPER???” LIke an incantation the words spoken red faced and aloud caused time to speed back up to its usual pace. Takayama found himself standing bow legged thanks to the diaper taped snugly over his hips. Not knowing what else to do, the young man did his best to cover his shame, crossing his hands over the massive diaper. The gesture did nothing to hide the undergarment. He’d tried to close his legs, but the padding was so thick that his knees couldn’t even touch. The only thing he succeeded in doing was covering up a few of the embarrassing cartoon prints around his crotch! How?! Why?! He didn’t even know they made baby diapers this big! He didn’t know that there were babies this big! The strange woman giggled quietly behind her hand, as if his humiliation and shock was merely quaint; endearing even. “You don’t need to be embarrassed,” she told him. “You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.” It was like something his mother would say when she walked in on him in the shower growing up. “BUT WHY?!” Takayama wasn’t normally so loud, but extraordinary times called for extraordinary volumes. The fact that he had a diaper on also made him uncomfortably aware of how much he needed to go to the bathroom. Remaining seated, and perfectly calm yet cheery, the horned lady spoke up. “My you’re a curious little thing!” she said. “So full of questions. Even for a human you’re an inquisitive little chatterbox.” A bead of uncomfortable sweat formed on Takayama’s brow. “Human?” The designation implied that she wasn’t human. “Oh dear,” the woman giggled. “I guess It isn’t obvious.” “What isn’t?” Takayama asked. Instead of clarifying, the woman opted to show him. She stood up from the futon, took a deep breath, and then… POOF! A cloud engulfed the tiny apartment, and the smokey, flowery scent of incense invaded Takayama’s nostrils. The boards groaned with the added stress of sudden weight and a current of warm wind blew past his face as new mass rapidly expanded and pushed air particles out of the way. Just as quickly as it had appeared, the smoke dissipated, and Takayama’s eyes beheld something even more unbelievable than a pretty girl with horns or a comically big diaper. A dragon- a massive serpent with legs and a fearsome maw that belonged on something prehistoric- now stood where the young woman once was. More than that, it was also in the tiny kitchenette in his apartment, and its tail was in the bathroom. The massive, sky blue scaled monster wound and coiled around the whole of Takayama’s apartment. “I had to take another form so I could fit into your home.” In another bizarre twist, the same dainty, feminine voice came out of the dragon’s mouth. The jagged, branch-like horns seemed more appropriate to this form. “I’m Kurai, by the way.” “Kurai?” Takayama echoed. He reached around in the back of his brain. Why did that seem familiar? That was the name of the trail he’d just watched. No… “That’s the name of the mountain!” “Mhm,” the woman chirped. “That’s right. I’m the spirit of that mountain.” The embarrassed color drained from Takayama’s face. The great beast surrounding him, staring did not look like a ‘Kurai’. “Oh,” he whispered, suddenly very, very quiet. What else could he say? He could deny it, and shout that dragons were not real, but why deny his senses? POOF! The smoke coalesced around the serpentine spirit beast and collapsed in on itself. A second later, standing in front of the futon in her plain white shirt and blue jumper was the same pretty brown haired woman before. “So I think that answers that question,” she said. “What were the other ones?” Seeing the impossible happen right in front of his eyes had an oddly calming effect on the young man. His mind gripped even harder to the calm and rational to counterbalance the existential panic that was looming up in the back of his mind. “Why are we back here?” he asked again. “I thought I was going to die back on that mountain.” The dragon-woman (wow that was so weird thinking of her like that) nodded patiently and smoothed out her dress. “Why wouldn’t I save you?” she asked. “You left an offering at my shrine. So I caught you.” Something so amazing and impossible spoken so casually. Takayama nodded, feeling so overwhelmed that he was oddly calm. “And my apartment?” “Your wallet had your address on it,” the dra…-Kurai, she had a name- said. “I took you home. Next time, your Mommy should just pin a note to your shirt.” The sudden burst of gratitude burst past his pride and bewilderment concerning his state of dress or little jests implying he was a child. Instead, incredibly bravely considering the circumstances, Takayama waddled up to the woman and threw his arms around her shoulders. “Thank you,” he almost sobbed. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! You saved my life! I’m so incredibly grateful!” The Buddhist proverb about the tiger and the strawberry came to mind. His life wasn’t much, but it was still his, and knowing how close he’d been to losing it all made him. Kurai petted his hair and quietly guided both of them back to the couch that doubled as Takayama’s bed. When he’d calmed down enough, he had the wherewithal to physically separate himself from his mystical savior. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t usually get so emotional.” “It’s okay,” Kurai replied with absolute care and kindness. “Emotions can be hard at first.” She added, “You’ve had a really eventful day.” She had no idea. Literally. How rare was it for a human to meet a real life dragon? Rare enough that they were considered mythical fairy tales. The stuff for children’s puppet shows and storybooks. His eyes tried to dart down to his feet, but zeroed in again on the diaper instead. “Why the diaper, though?” he asked. “And where’d you get it? Kurai cocked an eyebrow. Her beautiful blue eyes unblinking. “Hm? When I caught you I saw that you’d had an accident,” she said simply. “Your pants were soaking wet. I thought you’d wriggled out of yours or something so I decided to help you.” She smiled and said, “It was no bother at all. I just had to pop into a store. They didn’t have any in your size but I fixed that.” To illustrate her point she reached over the back of the futon and pulled out a package. It was vaguely rectangular and covered in flimsy plastic. The package had a picture of a smiling baby on it, and the label indicated that there were meant to be twelve diapers total inside. It was just a travel pack, the kind sold in gas stations and convenience stores for emergencies. Unlike something meant for babies, however, the package was so large it could have doubled as a large throw pillow or a small couch cushion. That was because much like his horned savior shortly before, the package’s contents had dramatically increased in size. The top had been shredded open and two diapers wilted out of the hole like tissues in a box. They were still tightly packed in a glance, but at least one was missing and it didn’t take a genius to figure out where it was. Takayama’s jaw almost came unhinged. So this really was a baby diaper he was wearing! He wouldn’t have believed it but moments ago the woman sitting next to him had been covered in blue scales and could have crushed him beneath her claws or gored him on her horns. “What do you mean ‘pop into a store?” he whimpered, cursing himself for asking. “I carried you in and asked.” Kurai shrugged. “There was a nice older lady who helped me pick them out. Told me everything I needed to know. Helped me get the most absorbent and comfy brand. She told me those are the kind her grandchildren wear. No safety pins needed. Isn’t that just neat? She walked me through changing you and said you looked very peaceful and cute after I put it on.” Immediately, Takayama knew he’d be spending the rest of his life hiding his face around little old ladies in convenience stores. The only words that he could muster were a stammering “I…I…I…I…” Oblivious to his emotional distress, Kurai’s head started turning as she carefully scanned the room. “Though I’ve been looking around and I haven’t found any more since we got here. Do you not have any more diapers, Takayama? Are you out?” Mortified, Takayama rose to his feet and stood as straight as he could in an attempt to salvage his dignity. “I don’t wear diapers! I’m not a baby!” “But you were wet…” Kurai countered. Again, she said it so simply, so much like it was a matter of fact; a minor inconvenience at best instead of something he should be ashamed of. He wasn’t ashamed, but not in the way she was implying. “I fell off a cliff! Who wouldn’t pee themselves?!” Brilliant blue eyes blinked and Kurai stroked her human chin. “Hmmm, I guess that's a fair point.” She looked around the tiny, admittedly cluttered room. “But why is this place so messy? She asked. Are you sure you’re not a little boy who’s just playing house?” Not for the first time since he woke up, did Takayama feel intense shame. He was never the most organized or particularly cleanly. “Ummm?” “Even if you’re not a baby,” Kurai said, “you’re definitely having trouble taking care of yourself.” He felt the full weight of her gaze on him and looked away. She gasped and the sharp intake of air turned into another girlish giggle. “Look at you!” she explained, “You say you’re not a baby, but you’re already wet!” “Huh? No I’m-...” Takayama looked down at the diaper. He suddenly realized that he hadn’t felt the urge to pee since Kurai had transformed into a giant horned monster. She’d scared him so badly that he’d wet his pants again. “The-line-turned-blue!” Kurai said in a sing-song voice. “I-know-what-that-means! The lady at the store told me.” She rose and started taking steps toward him. “Looks like a lot, too. Let’s get you changed, okay?” Changed? Takayama did not like where this was headed. “Um…that’s okay,” he said, taking a step back. “That’s not needed Miss dragon lady ma’am.” “Please,” she said, still coming closer. “Call me Kurai. How about you lay down? We can talk after you’re dry and clean.” His apartment was so small that he had no hope of getting away from her. His back was pressed against the door. “Th-th-that’s really not necessary, Kurai.” “Oh?” Kurai said, clearly not believing him. “Do you mean you’re really okay with sitting and talking and playing in a wet diaper?” “What? No!” “That doesn’t sound like something an adult would say,” she teased. “For a second I thought you might be a big boy and that you didn’t have any diapers left because you were potty training. But if you’re so determined to stay wet…” The young man felt his heart jackhammering inside of him. “That’s not what I mean at all!” “We can keep playing and talking,” the horned woman said firmly. “After I change you.” THUD-THUD-THUD! The pounding from the other side of the door was so hard that Takayma felt his sternum rattling around. “Takayama!” a growling, deep throated voice thundered, “open up! You’re three days past due!” “It’s my landlord!” Takayama yelped. “Land? Lord?” Kurai frowned, as if the very concept was foreign to her. Being a dragon, it very well could have been. “I thought you humans would have been done with feudalism by- Hey! Where did you go?” Takayama poked his head out from behind the futon. “We’re not here! Hide!” He shouldn’t have been able to sneak past the dragon in humanoid form, especially not in a bulging, sagging, sopping wet diaper. It’s miraculous what can be accomplished when one is afraid and the rent is due. The diaper itself was providing extra incentive. “I can’t let him see me like this…” he hissed. “Oh silly!” Kurai shook her head. “Wanting to play hide and seek?” THUD-THUD-THUD! “Takayama!” His landlord shouted. “I can hear you in there! Come out or get thrown out!” “Hmph. Someone needs to learn some manners,” Kurai said. She reached for the doorknob and Takayama’s blood ran cold. What was she going to do to his landlord? Eat him? Set him on fire? Put him in a diaper, too? Takayama was pretty sure any of those options were illegal. “No,” he called from his hiding spot, not brave enough to step forward, “don’t.” Too late. The door flung open, revealing a balding middle aged man with a beer gut and a bowling shirt, stinking of cigar smoke. “Takaya-!” The landlord stopped when he saw Kurai. “Who are you?” “I’m sorry,” Kurai said, folding her hands in front of her, politely. “Takayama can’t come out to play right now. He just woke up from a nap after almost falling off a cliff.” The landlord looked flabbergasted, hearing his tenant referred to, as if he were a small child, understandably caught him off guard. “Huh?” “I was about to change him and get him an afternoon snack,” Kurai said. “Come back later with a note from your Mommy and you can play if you want to.” The man’s face fell for an instant but he quickly recovered. “Look, lady, I don’t know who you think you are, but I’m here for Takayama’s rent. I heard you and him talking and if he doesn’t pay me my rent I’m throwing his deadbeat ass out on the street.” “Rent?” Kurai said, curiously. “What is rent?” A landlord being asked what rent is is like a baseball player being asked what a bat was. It’s such a part of their daily lives that the concept of people not knowing the word was confusing to him. “What do you mean ‘what is rent’? I own this place, and if that loser doesn’t pay me what he owes me, he’s in for a world of hurt and a night of cold air!” The horned woman nodded. “Pay?” she said. “You want money?” “Yes! Pay!” the landlord barked. “Money! Now!” “Can I pay you the money instead?” “I don’t care if the friggin’ Queen of Sheba gives me my money. I just want my money!” “And you’ll leave us alone if I give you money?” The dragon didn’t sound afraid or angry; more like an adult trying to understand the rules to an overly complicated and nonsensical children’s game. The landlord smacked his forehead. “For a month, yeah. Then the rent is due again.” “Ooooooh!” Kurai said, seeming to finally understand. “Okay. I can do that.” From behind the futon and inside the hallway, respectively, Takayama and his cantankerous landlord watched as Kurai’s mouth opened wide. “Ug…ug….ugh…” Both men stood and watched, perplexed while uncomfortable gagging noises came up and out of the girl’s mouth. “Hey…what are you?” but the landlord cut himself off when Kur reached down her own throat down to the elbow. There was a sickening wet sound when her arm came back up, and in her hand was a gleaming white pearl the size of a ping-pong ball. Takayama’s landlord looked like he was about to have a heart attack. For the first time that day, his countenance was of someone who had just witnessed the impossible, yet his gaze was fixed solidly onto the massive pearl in Kurai’s dainty hand and not her horns or mouth. “Is…is that thing real…?” Kurai placed the still wet pearl in his hand. “Yes. Will this be enough so that Takayama doesn’t need to play rent this month?” The landlord looked down at his palm and back up to the woman who had just regurgitated. “Uh…yeah…” “Good,” Kurai said. “See you next month.” She didn’t wait for a reply. Instead she slammed the door right in his face. If the grouch objected, he didn’t say anything. Takayama jumped back over the futon, not caring how ridiculous he looked “What was that?!” he asked. Not understanding, Kurai restated the events that had just transpired. “He wanted money, so I gave it to him so he would go away.” “Yeah, but where did you get that money from?!” The brown haired woman with antlers waved the question off. “Oh, I have lots of pearls. They form naturally in me, so it’s no trouble getting rid of them. I hope it makes him happy.” “But that pearl must have been worth a fortune!” “Silly Taka-chan,” Kurai laughed. “I’m a dragon. A spirit. Spirits don’t care about money.” “Then why did you care about the money I left at that shrine?!” he demanded. Kurai laughed again. “It’s not about money, it’s about sacrifice. People who have a lot must give a lot. An emperor has so much, he’d have to give up his country for someone like me to notice. But the poor and unfortunate have so little to give that they lose so much more when they do.” She walked towards him and tickled him under his chin with her index finger. “Those coins were among your last worldly possessions, so it was a very big tribute!” Her voice went squeaky and she pinched his cheeks. “Yes it was! Such a big tribute! One that I’m enthusiastically honored and bound to repay!” Takayama pulled back away from her pinching fingers. “How big?” he rubbed his sore cheeks. “Honestly?” Kurai said, grinning. “I thought you might have been a child at first. Usually those are the only ones that have tributes even close to that level, since they don’t own anything. Yours felt much much bigger, though.” “See?!” Takayama said. “That proves I’m not a kid! So all this talk about babies and diapers is unnecessary. Kurai leaned forward and gave him a playful, mischievous grin. “I know you’re not a child. Not just any child. I figured it out.” Takayama allowed himself a sigh of relief. “Oh. Good.” A weak smile started to form on his face. “You’re an orphan!” The twenty something man was so taken aback that he fell down to the floor, his fall broken by the fluffy padding taped to his bottom. “Wha-?!” “That’s why your gift was so good!” Kurai explained. “You’re not just a baby, you’re an orphan baby! You don’t have anyone to take care of you or love you. No toys or allowance. You probably had to beg in the streets for those few coins that you gave me. It was so precious and sweet!” She was starting to tear up with joy. “My parents are both alive!” Takayama insisted, feeling quite offended. The river of tears pouring from Kurai’s sky blue eyes suddenly doubled. “Oh no! An abandoned orphan! That’s even sadder! You poor thing! It all makes complete sense, now!” She was more than just a spirit or a dragon. She was also a crazy person. Her tears stopped as quickly as they’d started. “Don’t you worry now, little Taka-chan! You’re not alone anymore. You’ve got Nanny Kurai to take care of you!” Her playful grin turned evil. “Now let’s get you changed.” Pride and panic coalesced into a moment of inspiration. Takayama looked towards a laundry basket a few feet away. Then he looked to the open bathroom door. “Um…okay,” he said. “But do you have baby wipes?” The dragon lady standing over him tilted her head? “You mean those flimsy rags that you throw away after wiping?” “Yes!” he yelped. “Those!” Kurai snapped her fingers. “Darn it. You’re right! I forgot to get some at the store. They seemed very convenient, too.” She leaned over, but at least her hands were aiming for his armpits and not his diaper. “You’re wet, but your diaper will hold for a quick trip to the store.” “Or…” Takayama said, finally a step ahead. “You could just use a washcloth.” She followed his gaze over to the bathroom. “Yes,” she smiled. “That’s a very good idea for the short term. So clever!” Kurai stood up, leaving Takayama on the floor and she walked towards the bathroom. “I’ll make sure to warm it up, too,” she clucked. “I’m sure that will feel much nicer.” She found a wet washcloth at the bottom of the tub and rinsed it in the sink, adding a healthy amount of soap. A slight puff of air from her lips warmed the water enough so that it would be pleasant on his delicate skin. She rang the rag out, careful to use only enough force so that it wasn’t dripping. “Okay,” she called. “Let’s get you sorted-” But when she turned around and exited the bathroom, the boy was nowhere to be seen. The only clue left was an open window leading to a fire escape. “Hm? Where did he go?” ***************************************************************************************************** Out on the streets, Takayama was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. “This is all crazy,” he said to himself, running as fast and as far as he could while still trying to seem inconspicuous among the milling crowds of people going about their business. “I’m hallucinating. This is a fever dream.” Even he didn’t believe the words he was saying. On some fundamental level he knew everything that had happened was real. Denying helped. “Or I’m dead and this is Hell.” He took a moment to stop looking over his shoulder, and down at his pants. “Maybe not Hell. Limbo?” That didn’t sound quite right either. “Maybe this is one of the Samsara Realms and I am preta…” He sounded crazy. Felt crazy, too. He certainly looked crazy enough. His hair was disheveled, and he was running around on hot asphalt completely barefoot. The baggy red shorts he slipped on over the diaper weren’t baggy enough and anyone who looked at him with any kind of scrutiny could likely see just how puffy and round his crotch and backside were compared to the rest of him. He’d been too hurried to grab his shoes, and too afraid that the crazy dragon lady would hear him ripping the tapes off his diaper. Velcro was very loud and dragons probably had excellent hearing. So he was left ducking, weaving, and waddling, while looking over his shoulder looking every bit the toddler who had run away from his mommy. “Mom!” Takayama said to himself. “I can go to my parents’ place! They can hide me!” He looked back over his shoulder anyways. “But where do I go,” he wondered, “to take off my dia-?” OOF! For the third time that day, Takayama fell. This time it was because he’d smacked himself straight into a brick wall in human form. For the second time that day his fall was broken by the cushion of pulp and padding he’d been forced to wear. “Hey!” the stranger said. “Watch where you’re going you…! Takayama?” This was no stranger. Splay legged on the ground, Takayama gazed up at who he had just collided with. A mountain of a man with a chiseled chin and a scar on his face. Beside him were young men close to or only slightly older than Takayama, dressed much more nicely than he or most people his age could afford to. Just as he had with Kurai’s horns, Takayama couldn’t help but stare at their left pinkies; each one missing the tip down to the first knuckle. These were not friends. “Hey Itsuki,” Takayama gulped. “It’s good to see you.” The men circled around Takayama, wolves cutting off a prey’s escape. The biggest one, Itsuki, reached down and yanked Takayama up to his feet. “You too, bud. You too.” He held Takayama close to him, draping his tree trunk arms over Takayama’s shoulders. “We were just over at your place but you were out. Let’s catch up.” They were already walking into an alley. Itsuki’s lackeys in front and behind them, providing a screen. “Sure,” Takayama mumbled, feigning that he had a choice. Getting the attention of a magical spirit beast was beginning to look very tempting right then. So was falling off a mountain cliff. Life was filled with opportunities for hardship, and too often the best choice still wasn’t a particularly good one. Getting in deep with loan sharks so he could pay rent and still eat had been one such choice. It would have been fine, he’d told himself, as long as he kept his job. The company had decided to make cutbacks a month later, leaving Takayama to pay the loan back with part of their own money. There was always the matter of interest. A cinderblock of a fist made its way into Takayama’s gut the second they were all in the alleyway. “That’s for making us look for you,” Itsuki said, his voice glacier-cold. Takayama almost collapsed but the other thugs held him up. A second fist upside his head made Takayama go deaf for a moment, leaving him unable to hear the mean spirited snickers of his assailants. “That’s for bumping into me.” Itsuki said some more but it was hard to hear it past the sudden ringing in his ears. Stupidly, Takayama turned his head this way and that, hoping for a miracle. To his right was the way he’d been dragged in. To his left was a dead end. That was fitting. "Yo,” one of Itsuki’s little henchmen snickered. “Is this guy wearing a diaper?" Takayama wasn’t given the benefit of a rebuttal. No sooner was the question posed than it was answered the old fashioned way, leaving his shorts puddled around his ankles. He was hurting too much to feel humiliated, and was too dizzy and weak to look away. He couldn’t even pull his shorts back up as his arms were being held. "Doesn't the Kageru gang run one of those weird kink brothels?” Another of the street toughs asked his friends. “How much you wanna bet he was there?" The man mountain, Itsuki, shrugged. "Hey kid, no judgment. You can get your kicks however you want.” He wagged a finger that was the size of Itsuki’s nose. “But you should be paying back what you owe first. With your interest you can't afford to be getting your ass powdered." He grabbed Takayama’s face and started pressing the back of his skull up against the alley. Takayama thought he could hear his bones cracking. “Can you?” “No, Itsuki,” Takayama said. “I can’t. I’m sorry!” “‘Sorry’ don’t pay my bills, kid.” Through the spaces between the gangster’s fingers, Takayama saw his assailant reach into his pocket. The knife he produced looked more like a scalpel in the man’s ham hock fists. “‘Sorry’ don’t keep your kidneys, either.” Takayama slammed his eyes closed. Falling off that cliff would have been better… "Yo guys,” one of Inati’s minions said. “We got company…” Standing in the alleyway, head held high, wearing a white shirt and blue jumper dress was a pretty brown haired woman with the most piercing blue eyes and oddly enough a pair of horns protruding from out her forehead. One fist was tightly clenched. The other held a new pack of baby wipes. “What is this despicable display?” Kurai demanded, marching forward. She was fearless, because of course she was. “Who are you,” Itsuki asked. “His mom?” It wasn’t funny but it got a laugh from the assembled underlings. “Nah,” Itsuki said. “You’re too young and pretty. His girlfriend?” That earned even more laughter from his band of sycophants. He took his hand off of Takayama’s face and swaggered over to her. “Let me guess. Little punk skipped out on paying you, too.” “If you must know,” Kurai spat, “he ran away from home when I was about to change his diaper.” The alleyway erupted with laughter; so much so that Takayama was allowed to slink back down to the alley floor. The horns started to pulsate with crackling energy, but the gangsters kept right on laughing. TheWhy did no one but him seem to notice the horns? More importantly, why hadn’t anyone noticed her shadow? There in the alleyway, with the sun spotlighting her perfectly, Kurai’s shadow did not match her silhouette. Itsuki waved the knife tauntingly. He was a head taller than her in her present form and had no idea that she had others. “Look lady, I don’t know what he owes you, but I”m damn sure he owes our boss a lot more. So why don’t you piss off and let the men talk? We’re not gonna kill him this time, but he needs a reminder to keep up with his payments. You can have what’s left of him after we-” DON! Itsuki didn’t get to finish his sentence. With a single, openhanded slap thundered like a cannon and sent all three hundred pounds of Itsuki’s pure muscle flipping end over end like dime through the air until he left a man mountain sized dent in the dead end wall. The only thing that signaled he might be alive was the low rumbling groan he emitted while his body skidded down to the floor. Takayama looked up and over at Kurai. The woman’s bright blue eyes glowed hot red and her horns sparked with lightning. Before he lost consciousness, Takayama heard the dragon lady say one word. “Unacceptable.” ************************************************************************************************** Takayama was falling again, tumbling through the air. Any second now his body would be dashed upon the rocks. But as time slowed down he realized how miserable his life had been up to that moment. Instead of the sad acceptance of his fate, a different, almost content feeling washed over him. Something warm and cozy. Pleasant even. It was almost as if he was swaddled in warm comforting blankets. “Come on,” a now familiar voice coaxed him. “Can’t have you sleeping all day, now.” Takayama opened his eyes and saw a perfectly cheery and content Kurai smiling down at him. His head was back in her lap with her deadly yet delicate fingers running through his hair. “That’s right. Two naps is more than enough for one day, I think.” “Where am I?” Takayama asked. That’s what he’d meant to ask, but the massive rubber bulb of the pacifier he’d been suckling on impossibly slurred his speech beyond recognition. Kurai seemed to understand him, anyway. “It’s okay,” she cooed at him. “You’re safe back home. Your Nanny Kurai made those awful men go away. They won’t be bothering you anymore.” She sat him up enough so that she could wrap her arms around his torso and pull him in for a hug. Unlike Itsuki’s embrace, this one had no malice behind it. “Fankoo,” he mumbled. Looking down at himself, Takayama realized that he was no longer in a diaper. Correction: He was no longer in just a diaper. He was also wearing a light blue onesie that matched her jumper, a yellow bib was tied around his neck, too. Then there was the pacifier. Interestingly, he noticed, his tiny apartment looked cleaner than it had ever been; possibly cleaner than it had before he’d moved in. “Your life is very troublesome, Taka-Chan,” the dragon in human form said. “I think you need someone to look after you.” She hugged him a little harder and that warm cozy feeling washed over him again. Takayama hugged her back. What choice did he have? It might be nice to have a pretty Nanny Dragon to help him keep awful people away while he put his life together. “Mkay,” he slurred over his pacifier. Like his impending doom, that moment of contentment stretched out longer to him than was scientifically possible. Also like his earlier brush with death, it was not meant to last. Takayama’s nose twitched. THAT SMELL!!! Only one thing smelled like that! And it was coming from Takayama! Kurai stood up from the futon, and brought Takayama with her. She was so strong that she held him out away from her, keeping his feet dangling. “Uh oh!” she cooed. “I think I’ve got a stinky silly baby on my hands!” She looked absolutely proud and ecstatic just in saying it. The humiliated young man spit out his pacifier. “What? Why?!” Then he asked, “What happened? What did you do?!” With no effort, she transported him down to a changing mat on the floor. She’d done even more shopping while he’d fainted. “You seemed really stressed. I just wanted to help you relax,” Kurai told him. “And then I realized that somebody tried to teach you to go potty before. That’s why you’re so confused and fussy.” She laughed, mostly to herself. “How silly! A baby doesn’t need to know how to go potty!” With one hand she reached for a fresh diaper. With the other she popped open a package of baby wipes. “So I just did a little magic and pop, pop, pop,” each utterance of pop accompanied the unfastening of his onesie, “and bye bye potty training!” “Why?!” he asked. His indignation did nothing to stop her from shimming the onesie up past his belly button, revealing a thoroughly used diaper. “Why would it be a problem? You don’t use the potty anyway.” “My potty training was one of the few things I had!” Takayama shrieked. “Practically the only thing!” To his horror and frustration, Takayama realized that he couldn’t even remember the steps used in going to the bathroom. He was a literal blank slate as far as toileting went. “It was!” Kurai agreed. “That’s what made it so sweet!” She blew raspberries into his tummy. Much to Takayama’s, he felt a little more pee sprinkle out of him. “Don’t worry. You’ll get it back when you’re ready. Until then, my widdle Taka-chan is gonna have his Miss Kurai to take care of him.” The sound of giant velcro tapes coming undone could be heard through the paper thin walls of the apartment complex. So could Takayama’s ensuing tantrums. Some little ones just hated getting their diapers changed, Kurai supposed. That day was the day Takayama experienced a very strange backwards form of reincarnation? In a figurative sense, it felt that everything before today no longer mattered in Takayama’s life. He was starting life from the beginning again. Everything before this moment no longer really mattered, and that there would be many more changes- both literal and figurative- to come. (The End)

Things Work Out Jem finished the stitching on his latest creation: A blue bunny stuffie that was going to a good home. He’d add on button eyes and few other finishing touches so that it looked nice and clean that afternoon and then ship it off. He took a moment to take a picture at the almost completed work, and then sent a message to his client to inform them of the progress. Standard operating procedure. Jem was careful to keep any part of his body or clothes out of frame; along with any environmental clues that would give away that the person making Mr. Bun Bun was a Little. Also standard operating procedure. Like most average Littles, Jem’s life tended towards the quiet, cautious, and cloistered. He had what he felt was a solid network of friends, mostly other Littles and a token Tweener, but they never went anywhere; opting to just visit each other’s homes. There were larger Little communities where people of his stature knew how to get the most out of their size using society’s scraps; but they were almost always on the move and skittish to boot, like the old stories of circus workers and carnies. Spending one’s whole life looking over their shoulder, afraid of giants, was no way to live, or so Jem reasoned. If Adoption was the death of self that so many Littles seemed to think it was, then Jem would do what most people did and just live his life with that knowledge and not think about it. With black medium length hair, hazel eyes, and a rather unremarkable build, Jem might or might not have been adopted. A giant Mommy might not take any interest in him or she might see a blank slate upon which to paint; a real coinflip. What tilted the odds towards Adoption were the light freckles on his cheeks that had never fully faded from childhood. A mad giant could certainly see that and jump to conclusions. The Little craftsman caught his reflection in an empty glass of water and shrugged at the thought. He was only twenty. Unless he was extremely cautious, he wouldn’t make it to thirty outside of a crib. But why worry? Like most Littles, he was ambitious, happy, and had found a niche to excel in. To be fair, how ‘most Littles’ felt depended on one’s search radius. There were neighborhoods, towns, cities, counties, states, regions, and countries where the majority of people Jem’s size had had their potty privileges permanently revoked and the only dates they went on were playdates arranged by their massive adoptive parents. Jem saw no reason to dwell too much on it. He’d seen more than enough people his age and older being pushed around in strollers or getting their butts wiped for them in the back of somebody’s minivan. Most of them seemed to like it; like it or had at least learned to live with it. ‘Jeremy Meadows’s Joyful Mementos’ was something of a mouthful, but the Artsy account was paying Jem’s rent and putting groceries in his refrigerator. Jem had unusually dexterous fingers, even for a Little, and good spatial awareness and fine motor control. He’d applied those skills and created an at home custom baby clothes and stuffed animal business. Jeremy Meadows was his real name; very professional sounding. His mother lovingly called him Jem, however, and the name had grown with him. He was Jeremy Meadows according to the banks and online customers. Jem was for his friends and his own inner monologue. Standing up and stretching Jem went to get his shoes. “Laundry time.” A few times a week, Jem would run some of his creations through the apartment complex’s coin operated washers and dryers (on low of course) just to give them that comfortable worn in feeling before shipping them off to his customers. It was a nice touch that many reviews noted and praised him for. More than a few of his creations and alterations were going to babied Littles, Jem knew. He had one customer who had ordered eight different onesies or rompers in as many months, and the measurements always stayed the same. Real children grew faster than that, and the shipping address wasn’t listed as a daycare. Jem just did another mental shrug. At least he knew whatever Little was wearing his outfits would be comfortable. Sometimes, he tried his creations on for himself in the privacy of his own room to see how they moved and felt in different positions. No diaper of course, but he’d experimented with layering every pair of briefs on top of one another or using a pillow and a belt. Not quite the same he was sure, but he figured it gave him the right gait. Close enough to simulate a dry diaper. Sometimes Amazon Mommies and Daddies would send him pictures of their ‘babies’ playing with or cuddling the plushies he’d sewn. They all seemed genuinely happy, cuddling the stuffie or mid giggle. Jem made sure not to put any mind control tracks into the stuffies; not even those bells that threw off a Little’s inner ear while stimulating their pleasure response. He tested each bell ordered from a craft supply site himself, just in case. His conscience was clear. Every now and then, a satisfied customer would send a picture of their Little one cuddling the stuffie, and their Mommy or Daddy would be cuddling them in their laps; a regular nesting doll effect of laps. Those bothered Jem for some reason and yet he lingered on those photos longer than he felt was proper before deletion. Jem got his shoes on and grabbed his keys, a mesh laundry bag, and a laundry card before heading out of his apartment. It was an Amazon sized space, with Amazon sized doors that needed to be retrofitted to accommodate Littles. It was nothing that a pull rope on the inside and a step ladder bolted into the cement on the outside didn’t fix. He whistled tunelessly and boldly walked to the public laundry room, sounding everything like the chipper birds in the trees above. His whistling seemed to get louder in the laundry room. All the machines were at rest and so there was only concrete, tile, and metal to dull the high pitched air moving out of his lips. Other Littles would have avoided making unnecessary noises, fearful that it might attract attention. Others might put such boldness as a strategic risk to blend in. Jem had no such forethought or motivations. He just didn’t like the sound of silence. The room was divided into two halves. Washers on one side, driers on the other. Both were side loaders, so there was no having to climb and dive in to fetch anything. Jem didn’t know how he would have managed otherwise. A button push unlatched the lowest dryer near the back. “Timed it perfect,” Jem complimented himself upon feeling the blast of hot hair from the comparatively massive porthole. There were few things as simple and satisfying as nice hot laundry fresh from the dryer. Opening his white mesh laundry bag he started putting the latest batch in, being careful to check each shirt, onesie, romper, and sundress, to make sure that it wasn’t damp. His friends in real life and the ones he kept in contact with on the net wouldn’t approve of the idea of him handling Little sized baby clothes in public. Too great a risk. To Jem’s mind, there was no risk. If an Amazon wanted him as their baby boy they’d find or invent a reason. Paranoid precautions that interfered with life were pointless. In lieu of coins, every appliance had a card swipe that only accepted a special kind of card given to tenants. Jem kept a hefty balance on his because he always made sure that his products were completely dry before ironing, folding, and packaging for shipment. Hot and damp was not a great combination. Trouble was the heat could sometimes disguise the dampness, and a romper that needed another ten to twenty minutes would end up a wrinkled mess. It was always a gamble with these metal behemoths. Jem took one such romper, a tie-dye alteration that when it was done would say “Mommy’s Little Crinkle Butt” up to his face and towards an open window, hoping that the sunlight would illuminate any patches of moisture. “Oh! Hey there buddy!” An unfamiliar voice rang out. “What are you doing here? Where’s your Mommy?” Time slowed down for Jem. He’d read about this sort of thing on MistuhGwiffin.web. An Amazon would see a Little in a potentially compromising position- a rattle picked up off the ground, a headband or other clothing accessory that was a bit too ‘immature’, just really bad gas-and things would escalate from there if the Little wasn’t quick. Jem calmly lowered the romper away from his face and started neatly folding it. His pulse barely picked up speed as he gently placed it in the sack and then looked way up at the intruding Amazon like he had barely registered the deep booming masculine voice. “Hm?” As soon as he made eye contact with the newcomer, Jem felt his pulse start to pick up. All Amazons are giant compared to their Little counterparts: Bigger, stronger, faster, the works. The man in front of Jem with his short brown hair and day old stubble, looked like an Amazon among Amazons. It’s not that he was any more massive than your average amazon- not a whale among elephants- but he was decidedly more physically fit than the average pram pusher. With that physique and definition, Jem could tell that this stranger pushed more than strollers. Probably did more cardio than just slow paced leisurely strolls through a park or pushing a shopping cart aisle after aisle at the supermarket. An errant, uninvited thought jumped into Jem’s mind: A shame The Amazon took Jem in: Jem’s jeans weren’t the most professional looking, but the black collared polo shirt should have done the trick. He was certainly more ‘mature’ looking than Mr-Basketball-Shorts-No-Shirt-So-You-Could-See-His-Abs-Beneath-The-Laundry-Basket. The bigger man puckered his lips a moment and then looked ashamed. “Oh. My bad. Sorry dude. I thought. It’s just I saw the…and you’re…” He placed the basket full of dirty clothes down and scratched the back of his head. “You know what. My bad. Sorry. Carry on and ignore me. I’ll just mind my own business.” He looked older to Jem, but not by much; late twenties, maaaaaaaybe early thirties. It was the subtle difference of a few years that only young adults really noticed, regardless of physical size. High school was filled with baby teenagers. Anybody over thirty was old. Anybody older than twenty five was somehow mature but accessible. Or perhaps that was just how Jem’s brain worked. At the moment, this mature yet accessible looking Amazon had all the awkward mannerisms of an adorable puppy who’d just been caught tearing at a slipper. Good, Jem thought. Sensible. An Amazon that admits when he made a mistake. “It’s cool.” Jem heard himself say. “Honest mistake.” “Awesome. Appreciate it.” And so the two occupied the otherwise desolate space for a few more uncomfortable minutes. It should have been over more quickly, Jem had figured. It didn’t take very long to dump in dirty clothes, throw in a laundry pod and then bounce. But things took longer, because the stranger was also picking up a load of laundry from the drier. Like Jem, he seemed determined to fold every single article of clothing, underwear included. “Can I ask you a question?” the giant said, breaking the silence. Jem looked up from a pair of shortalls that he’d stitched a smiley sun onto the front and an adorably frowny raincloud to the seat. His work was holding up well. Were he being honest with himself, Jem would admit that he was only paying such close attention because of how nervous he was. “Yes sir?”, he responded “Are those baby clothes?” The man asked. “Yes sir,” Jem said kindly enough. “They are.” Another twitch of self-consciousness flashed over the man’s gorgeous blue eyes. “Are they…your baby clothes?” “They’re mine in that I made them and I’m selling them. But they’re not for me.” “Ooooh!” The man said, a wave of relief and realization falling right over him. “That makes so much sense! I just…I saw…and I thought…” He searched for the right phrase but finally gave up. ”Do you make them yourself from scratch or by hand or machine?” Jem’s cheeks turned rosey and he felt like stuttering, but the words came out of him like flowing water. “A bit of everything, really. Sometimes I make them from a pattern. Other times I’ll take a plain outfit and modify it with decorations. You can turn a t-shirt into a onesie if you buy them bigger than usual and then alter it a bit.” The giant man nodded his understanding, those dreamy blue eyes never blinking. “Okay. Yeah. I get it. So you do custom orders.” The Little allowed himself a faint smirk. “Pretty much. It costs more, but lots of parents”- Jem was careful not to say Mommies and Daddies- “want their baby to stand out, so it’s worth it to them to pay the extra cost. I also do stuffies.” “Yeah,” the man said. “Okay. Makes sense. I’d pay extra for fancy baby clothes. Especially if my baby wasn’t gonna to grow up.” A chill danced its way up Jem’s back. “Beg pardon?” The Amazon looked shocked and embarrassed all over again. “No wait. Not like…I didn’t mean.” He looked down at himself as if for the first time. “Shit!” he hissed. “I mean ‘crud’!” He reached into the dryer and dug out a t-shirt. “You’re here taking care of business, and I’m practically in my skivvies. Sorry!” He pulled the maroon colored t-shirt over him, hiding his physique, but making him seem dressed more appropriately if still casually. In faded but still legible black letters were the words. “Carmen’s Gym” “Let me start over. Hi, my name’s Nate,” he said. He leaned over and reached out a massive hand towards Jem. Boldly and seemingly unafraid, Jem reciprocated and allowed his tiny hands to be engulfed. “Jeremy Meadows, of ‘Jeremy Meadows Joyful Memories’.” Jem resisted the urge to fish around in his pocket for a business card, but only because he knew he didn’t have any on him. “Nice to meet you Mr. Meadows,” Nate said and released his hand. Astonishment buzzed behind Jem’s eyes. He’d never known one of the big people to deliberately call a Little ‘Mr.” or “Miss’ without prompting. Nate looked down at his t–shirt. “Oh uh…Nathan Quinn. Carmen’s Gym.” He slid his hand across his pecs, underlining the words. “I’m a personal trainer. Workout coach and stuff.” This was all so terribly, wonderfully awkward that Jem didn’t know how to feel about it in the moment. His brain and mouth just decided to start going on autopilot. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Quinn” “Oh, you don’t have to call me that, Little dude. Nate’s fine.” His smile became easier, more relaxed. “It’s what my friends call me.” “Friends call me Jem.” Oh yikes! Why did he say that? Jem instantly wanted to regret that. “Cool. Jem.” Nate said, like he was trying the word out in his head. The thin smile on his lips might have meant he liked it. “So yeah. Total transparency, I don’t know many Littles. Most of my friends don’t have kids and haven’t decided to Adopt, so if I say something messed up, I promise it’s not on purpose and I’m trying to learn.” Like implying the only way an Amazon might know a Little is if one was Adopted? That kind of messed up? Jem didn’t speak the thought out loud, however. As it turns out, he didn’t need to. The Amazon caught himself and smacked himself on the forehead. “Fuck, I did it again!” He slapped himself on the forehead. “I mean, ‘man’. Man, I did it again! Da…darn it!” Jem had stopped folding his clothes and was just now slowly placing them in the bag on top of the folded ones. He’d definitely have to iron them all later. He could only focus on so much at one time and this intriguing Cerbernard puppy given Amazon form had his full attention. “You can swear around me, you know,” Jem said. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before. Or said.” “Hm?” Nate said. “Oh, no. That. Sorry. The cursing thing isn’t you. It’s just a bad habit of mine I’m trying to break. My boss doesn’t like swearing and I’m trying to break myself of the habit.” That might have been true, Jem thought, but it had the flavor of a lie of omission. This guy was definitely monitoring his words more closely because of Jem’s stature. “Why?” Jem probed. Nate shrugged and flopped his hands by his side. “Oh you know. Gym culture is kinda toxic. We get better business and better customers if we keep ourselves polite and professional and stuff. That and my boss also owns the daycare next…” And the hits just kept on coming. “Uh…huh.” “Okay,” the charming idiot deflated. “Full disclosure. My parents were pretty conservative growing up. Said all Littles were immature babies that never grew up. I don’t believe that. And I had some gal pal’s back in college who were studying about Maturesis or whatever it’s called…like that some Littles are adults and then just one day snap into kids or whatever. I don’t know about that, either.” He quickly tacked on. “Unless you say that’s a thing, I mean. I’ll listen if it is.” “It’s not.” Jem shook his head. “Okay. Cool. Just like. I got some bad habits all around that I’m trying to break.” He held out his palm. “Not that it’s your job to help me or anything. I’m explaining, not excusing.” This himbo just kept on digging, and the worst part was Jem wanted him to dig more and he was pretty sure it had nothing to do with wanting to watch the big man squirm. “Sure…” “My point is I’m sorry if I offended you. I know that Littles have some physical difficulties and need help reaching stuff sometimes, or can’t run as fast or lift as much, but that doesn’t make you children.” Those sky blue eyes were practically begging for affirmation. “Yeah. We agree.” Jem nodded. What could he say, he was starting to feel sorry for the big lug. Amazons tended to be crazy and thoughtless, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t also be nice, well meaning people. This Nate was kind of proving that point. “Cool. Sorry. Next time I’ll be better.” Jem didn’t consciously realize he’d cocked an eyebrow. “Next time?” “If we ever see…each other…in the laundry…?” Nate was definitely realizing how stupid he was sounding. “Okaaaaaaaay,” he course corrected. “Let me try it this way. If we see each other again, I’m not gonna make the same mistakes.” There was no talking as each measured the other up. “If you ever want a free workout, come on by to the gym and ask for me. I’m not great at talking, but I’m good at coaching and spotting.” The Little felt his head lightly bobble. “Okay,” Jem said. “Sure. I’ll think about it.” Why did he say that?! Nate’s smile lit up. “Great! Hope to see you.” That was as good a time as any for Jem to seal up the bag and calmly walk out of the laundry room. “Me too.” What?! “See you around, Nate.” “Yeah. You too. Later, Jem. Nice to meet you!” Though his feet were calm, Jem’s mind was racing thirty paces ahead of him. Why had he done that? Why had he told this giant his name? Formal or otherwise? Why had he taken it easy on him when the guy was clearly uncomfortable. Making Amazons uncomfortable was what Littles did, especially when it came to Adoption. Why hadn’t he run or…or…or done literally anything else? What was Jem thinking? In truth, Jem didn’t know what he was thinking. He didn’t have the words for it. Among Amazon parlance, cossetting means a desire to love and protect a smaller person and treat them like they’re a child. On the spectrum of emotions, a cosset is between a schoolyard crush or ‘puppy love’ and the rush of dopey platonic love that some get when they see a baby and quietly feel the need to have a child of their own. Jem didn’t have the words for what he was experiencing, because in the slang of Little culture, there is no equal opposite attraction of a Little to an Amazon. And if there is, the word has never been spread far enough because those Littles don’t live as adults long enough for it to catch on. **************************************************************************************** In a more fair world, a gym next to a daycare, owned by the same person no less, would seem quirky at best. In a world ruled by Amazons it made a great deal of practical and fiscal sense. A quick web search for Carmen’s Gym and C.G. Daycare confirmed what Nate had slipped. The two establishments, one school bus yellow and the other brick dust red, fed into each other. Virtual tours confirmed that they shared a doorway, and the sites for each establishment linked to each other as well. Amazons with captured Littles, Tweeners, and actual babies (which the sites simply referred to as ‘children’) could be checked in at both hourly and daily rates with discounts given to gym members. Giant Gym rats could check in their diapered brats while they ran on a treadmill and pumped iron. Just as likely, they could drop them off for an entire day, go to work, come back tired and promise themselves that ‘next time’ they’d start that exercise routine they promised themselves several months prior. It wasn’t super common, but it wasn’t unheard of. One business more than likely propped up the other and the smart money was on the one that had an upcharge for ‘emergency diapers’ in the event that the parent didn’t supply enough or that the ‘baby’ was ‘new’ enough to only be in their first or second diaper in several decades. “I shouldn’t be doing this,” Jem said to himself crossing the street. His feet carried him through the crosswalk anyways. He regarded the bright yellow daycare. Its windows were reflective, but Jem knew there’d be at least a dozen Littles crinkling around on the floor on the other side. He paced left and caught his reflection in the low reflective glass. The daycare was probably a proper storefront at another time in its history. He looked at his reflection and pictured himself in one of his own custom onesies, a non-inflatable pacifier between his lips. He felt nothing, not even dread. Then he imagined a certain Amazon coming up behind him and giving him two pats- one on the head and one on his (hypothetically) padded bottom- and Jem forgot to breathe for a second. “This is a bad idea…” he whispered. He would never admit it to himself, but if Nate had told Jem that he worked in the daycare section, Jem would have likely found a reason to visit the yellow building over the red. Possibly to protest; possibly to shoot his mouth off until one particular Grown-Up saw no reason not to take away the Little's big kid pants forever. Jem got the luxury of pacing right and going into the faded red building, instead. He couldn’t reach the door handle, but a stroke of luck in the form of an exiting customer saved him the trouble. ’The sound of high powered air conditioning droned on over the rhythmic thumping of big feet thundering down on treadmills and the steady strained grunting of even bigger arms lifting weights. It was a relatively small gym; a single clean floor with enough room for a row of treadmills, several rows of weight machines, and free weights by a mirrored wall so that the dudest of dudebros could properly primp themselves and pretend that everyone was secretly looking at them. Small by Amazonian standards was still mammoth when scaled to a Little. No Nate though… Shit, was it the guy’s day off? He should have called ahead, or at least done more reconnaissance. Figured out which car belonged to the Amazon and checked the parking lot. Something! An oblong shiny black countertop closed off a good chunk wall that the gym shared with the daycare. Bright white lettering marked it as the Service Desk. As good as any place to look, Jem supposed. Feeling strangely timid he walked up to the counter and knocked on wood with a shave-and-a-haircut cadence so that he could bang loudly without seeming forceful. “Hello?” a blonde Amazon woman close to Jem’s age called out from the other side. Her face betrayed confusion until Jem repeated the cadence for her sake. “Oh! Hel-lo!” She chirped, poking her head over the barrier and her voice about an octave higher. “How did you get over…?” she blinked and frowned at his plain white sneakers with actual laces and his jeans that required a belt. “Wait a second. Stay right there.” She disappeared from sight and Jem had to back away to see her retreat through the adjoining door. The sounds of infantile giggling and fussy crying leaked into the echoey chamber just before the door closed. Jem waited. A small eternity that lasted two minutes later, the door opened again, and the sounds of giggles and screams (good or bad?) bled in before being suddenly cut off. This time, the young woman crouched underneath the partition separating the counter from the main floor. “Sorry about that, sir.” She said. “I thought one of our charges had toddled off or something.” She seemed nice enough, but far less self-conscious that she was actively referring to Littles as if they were children. All of the giggles and screams had sounded like post pubescent Littles to Jem’s ears. “The motion sensor we have by the door must be too high.” Jem inhaled and caught a whiff of baby powder coming from off his giant peer. “That’s fine. I came in when someone was just leaving.” He thought it would be polite to give her an out. The woman neither took nor seemed to care about the explanation. “How can we help you, friend? Do you need to use our phone? Is your scooter broken down? Do you need directions somewhere? Are you lost?” Yes. Yes he was lost. He’d made a mistake in coming here and he’d need someone to take him home. Maybe someone who lived in the same apartment complex as him could help. Someone big and strong with dreamy blue eyes. “I’m interested in working out,” Jem lied instead. The young woman frowned. For all intents and purposes she’d just heard a cat bark. “Okay…” she said in a way that signaled that it really wasn’t. “Let me go get someone for you.” On long striding legs, she power walked around the other side of the counter and through another door with an “Office” sign hanging from it. “Nate!” Jem called after her, but his voice fell quiet. It was only the rough approximation of a shout, not even close to the real thing. The door shut and closed him out. “Damn,” he hissed. The LIttle sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose. The sweet aroma of baby powder just wouldn’t get out of his nostrils. The lady just trailed it in with her. Which was odd, considering that the gym didn’t reek of sweat. It wasn’t worrying, or even surprising; just telling about where priorities lay. “Jem?” The raven haired Little rose up to his tippy toes in surprise. He forced his arms and the hairs on the back of his neck down before he turned around to face the wonderful voice. “Hey dude,” Nate greeted. “What are you doing here? The Amazon’s hair was neatly brushed. His face was cleanly shaved. He wore a neat maroon polo tucked into khaki pants. In his muscular arms, he carried a clipboard. He didn’t have the relaxed but scruffy look from yesterday. Now he looked so…so...so Grown-Up. Jem sealed his lips to prevent himself from drooling. “Did you decide to take me up on my offer?” Dumbly, Jem nodded. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Uh-huh.” The office door opened up and the woman from before followed out a second Amazon woman. This lady was older, but far from old, mid thirties at most. With her dirty blonde hair tied back in a pony tail and a maroon sweat suit she could have been the first one’s older sister; maybe even her mother, and the air of confident authority that said she was in charge. Nate, as well as the other staff Jem saw walking around the place, looked like a corporatized version of a life coach; a personal assistant but with weights. They clapped and encouraged people to go the extra mile in between cleaning up sweat, but that was it. If Nate worked out here (and he did work out) it certainly wasn’t dressed like this. Carmen, and she had to be Carmen, dressed like she was ready to start sprinting and pumping iron at a moment’s notice. If she made it another fifty years and kept the wardrobe, she might resemble the crusty but loveable trainer in a boxing movie. When she crossed the threshold, Jem thought he caught the slightest sigh of relief from the woman. “Hi there,” Carmen said. “What can I do for you Mister…?” Two Amazons leading with proper titles in as many days. Would unasked for wonders never cease? “Jem,” he stuttered. “I mean Jeremy Meadows.” Awkward handshakes were exchanged. “What can I do for you Mr. Meadows,” she repeated. Shaking and trembling more than he should, Jem thumbed to the gorgeous man behind him. “Nate is my…” he stuttered. “I mean I want him to be my…uh…” What the fuck was he trying to say? Friend? Daddy? Trainer? Yes please?! Jem couldn’t force himself to finish the sentence with anything. The giant of his infatuations filled in the blanks. “We live in the same apartment complex, Miss Carmen.” Nate said. “We got to talking and I offered him a complimentary session.” It was all the truth but not quite the words Jem was craving. Jem looked between the two remaining giants; the original one had taken her place back behind the counter. Nate stood with his clipboard folded in front of his lap. No winks were exchanged or secret signals or intonations. To Jem’s inexplicable disappointment, Nate was talking straight. How did other Littles provoke the ‘correct’ response from Amazons without even trying? The tilted her head forward appraisingly at Jem and placed her hands behind her. “Mr. Meadows, are you aware that my facility does not have any adaptive equipment for Tweeners or Littles?” Jem straightened up like a private at boot camp. “Yes ma’am.” “For safety reasons, you’ll have to have a spotter at all times. You realize that?” “Yes ma’am.” “You realize that if you become a member, you’ll be required to either have another member accompany you or purchase a session with one of our trainers so that they can ensure your safety?” Out of habit, Jem feigned interest. “Do members get a discount?” Carmen cocked her head to the side like a cat who’d seen a mouse do an amusing trick. “Yes. Yes they do.” “That’s acceptable, then.” Jem said. “Do I get to pick the trainer?” “Assuming they’re available that day, yes.”. “Is Nate available?” The owner chuckled dryly through her nose. “Yes. Yes he is.” She walked past Jem and placed her hand on Nate’s shoulder. “Nicely done, Nathan.” At the sound of that, Jem felt a faint feeling of…something…connected to the brief idea that he’d end up in a car seat before the day was out. ********************************************************************************* A few hours later… “Push dude!” Nate ordered. “I can’t!” Jem groaned, every phoneme a strain. “Don’t give me that talk, my guy! You can do it!” “No. I. Can’t.” “Do it for you!” He didn’t want to do it for him. “I don’t wanna do it for me!” Jem was straining so much that even his inner monologue wasn’t being filtered. This could end poorly. “Then do it for me!” Nate said. “Can you do it for me, my guy?!” For Nate? To impress him? He could do anything. Jem took a deep breath and pushed up with every fiber of his being.. “Yes. I. Can!” The giant metal bar that had been crushing Jem’s chest lifted up for the final time. The second his elbows fully extended, Nate bent over and relieved the Little of his burden, putting the massive weight back on the bar. “Nice, dude!” Panting and drenched in his own sweat, Jem sat up from the bench. He would have mopped his forehead with his shirt sleeve, but that was equally sopping. Jem had never sweat so much in his life. For his trial run he’d been given a baby blue jumpsuit with teddy bear ears on the hoodie and extra room in the back for a diaper Jem wasn’t wearing. It had Carmen’s Gym in italic font on the chest, but other than that it was basically footed pajamas from the daycare. “Sorry,” Nate apologized all too sincerely, “It’s the only thing we’ve got in your size. You can still slip these in your sneakers.” Jem had hoped that would be the first step in the right direction. He was terribly mistaken. There weren’t even any Amazon strength snaps anywhere, just a front facing zipper. This getup was very escapable if slightly inconvenient. He looked back at the heavy leaden bar that he’d been balancing and pressing at the same time, resting serenely back on its perch.. “Nice?” Jem panted. “Nice? That’s…just…the bar. I didn’t…even…get any weights on.” “It’s not about where you start, Little man.” The trainer started mopping up the sweaty outline Jem had left behind. “It’s where you end up. A couple months of this and some nutritional supplements and you’ll be able to give a Tweener a run for their money.” A couple of months?! Jem knew he couldn’t take this kind of torture for a couple of months. He didn’t want to beat up a Tweener either. He couldn’t say it out loud just yet, but he knew what he wanted, and it involved being cradled in someone else’s massive arms. He wanted to cry, but the sound that came out was more of a tired bark. Jem wasn’t sure if he could properly shed tears just then. That would have required fluids he didn’t possess at the moment. “Okay, bro,” Nate said, slapping him on the back. “I think that’s enough for one day. Good workout. Do you want to sign up for the full membership? No. No he didn’t. Not at all. Jem wanted nothing more than to crawl home into his bed and die a mummified corpse. “Yeah.” He said. “Sure.” Dragging his feet and feeling like a ragdoll, Jem followed Nate back over to the counter where he was handed a clipboard. Maybe this was part of the gym’s standard operating procedure for Adopting out Littles. Push them to the brink of exhaustion and then have them wake up in a playpen. Imagine his disappointment when he read through the lengthy gym membership contract line by line and found it to be just a lengthy gym membership contract. No maturity clauses. No loopholes. Nothing even close to a double entendre that meant if he couldn’t pay his monthly dues he’d be dragged back into the nursery like the irresponsible Little boy he clearly was… So much for the easy way. He signed his name on the dotted line and handed it back up to Nate. “Welcome to the club,” Nate said. “See you tomorrow?” “Yeah,” Jem sighed. “Sure.” ********************************************************************************* Thuck-thuck-thuck-thuck-thuck-thuck-thuck-thuck. The rhythmic beating sound smacking in Jem’s ears the next day had nothing to do with anything he’d been fantasizing about. They weren’t from him loudly suckling on a pacifier that Nate had shoved between his lips. They weren’t Nate’s wonderfully massive hands patting him on the back in an attempt to burp the Little. In a weird, almost perverse way, Jem was even disappointed that the beat wasn’t the result of a spanking. Spankings held a strange kind of primal terror for Littles, Jem included, but having his bottom smacked by a giant palm, hairbrush, or paddle, would stil mean things were going in the right direction for Jem’s deluded brain. In actuality the muted rhythmic sounds were just the pitter patter of Jem’s feet dashing on a treadmill capable of supporting an Amazon in full sprint. “That’s right!” Nate cheered him on from the side. “Widen that stride. Make your gait as long as possible!” He clapped lightly in time with Jem’s increasingly ragged footsteps. “You’re doing great, sir!” Great is not how Jem would have described how he was feeling just then. Every muscle in his body was screaming at him. As for his gait, last night he’d imagined himself having a slightly more awkward, toddling gait. He’d even gone so far as to re-layer his briefs over each other again and went to sleep. He kept waking up out of some bizarre paranoia that he’d wet the bed, but otherwise it was decently comfortable, if a tad snug for his liking. He shouldn’t be doing this, Jem knew. He should have been holed up in his apartment, finishing another custom stuffie or clothing modification. One customer wanted this yellow ruffled onesie and equally frilly pink dress Frank N. Stined together into one outfit instead of layering them together. This membership was expensive, too. More than Jem could afford long term unless he was working full time to pay for it off. It gave him a chance, however, to be close to his Amazon himbo crush. It’s not that Jem wanted to be a baby again, per se, it’s that he wanted to be Nate’s baby. A strange and conflicted fantasy to be sure, and one he didn’t dare talk or type about over on MistuhGwiffin.web. The people there would not be sympathetic to this impulse. Best case scenario he’d be piled on with accusations of being mindfucked or some Amazon sock puppet account. Yesterday had been weight day, Nate declared. Every weight machine was powerful enough to lift Jem out of the recommended seating position or impossible to move, so Jem had been forced to work with every free weight light enough. Fortunately (fortunately?) Nate knew multiple exercises that could be used with the same spider-web covered dumbbells, left neglected because the usual gym rats skipped right over them for something more challenging. Today was all about cardio. “Get your heart buff and the rest will follow. Gotta get that blood pumping to the muscles so that they can grow!” So they’d done cardio. None of the exercise bikes were small enough so that Jem could reach the pedals, so Nate made do by putting Jem through lots of stretches and poses that tangled the Little’s body up in knots. According to Nate, stretching and poses could be good for cardio, too, because it forced the heart to pump blood to the specific muscles being stretched at any given time, increasing the heart rate. Jem had no idea if that was true or complete bullshit, and the not knowing- the feeling of learning and being guided by someone who knew more than him- gave Jem the best kind of tingles. Nate was still kind of socially awkward and had the vocabulary and speaking mannerisms of someone from a corny beachbum movie but he genuinely seemed to be passionate and know what he was talking about in this field. If only, Jem fantasized, one of these yoga positions involved him being on his back with his legs crossed and up over his head. No amount of stretching in the world could compete with good old fashioned running, though. So that’s how Jem was ending this session. Also agony. Jem was also ending this session in agony. “Come on! Just one more mile, Jem!” Nate cheered. “You can do it, bro!” Stop. Calling me. Bro. Little dude is okay. Jem is great. Baby boy. Is preferred. But not. Bro. Jem wanted to say all of this, but he was too busy panting to vocalize. Even his thoughts were panting, somehow. “PLease D-...Nate!” Jem forced himself to say. “I’m…at my limit.” “No way! You got this!” Nate positioned himself behind Jem, straddling the treadmill so that Jem couldn’t escape. This was not the sort of penned in that the Little boy found himself idly fantasizing about. “Just a little fur-!” Jem’s knees buckled and the conveyor belt rushed up to meet him. He thumped on the treadmill and the two massive steel pillars that most of the customers were able to grab onto for pacing sped away from him. His brain processed the fall and the oncoming impact far faster than his body would have been able to. It would take less than a second for his frame to be ragdolled all over the floor. At least the footed sleeper he’d stuffed himself into would prevent any kind of road rash outside of his face. Nate’s big strong arms snatched him up instantly. Jem didn’t have time to register the rapid blur of upward motion and being held to a certain hunk’s chest. “Whoah! Jem!” Nate yelped. “Are you okay?” Panting and more exhausted than terrified, Jem looked up into those dreamy blue eyes and resisted the urge to suck his thumb. That’d be too obvious. “Yeah,” he said when he found his voice. “Yeah. I am. You saved me. Thanks.” ”I am so sorry!” Nate gushed. “I shouldn’t have pushed you that hard. I should have listened to you. I am sooooo so sorry my guy!” He didn’t let go or put Jem back down. Jem was in Heaven, looking past Nate and seeing the ceiling tiles move. He was being more than held. He was being carried; cradled even. He’d done it. He’d accidentally done it! “No.” Jem said. “It’s fine. I…I think I kinda like it.” The biggest dopiest smile plastered itself on Jem’s mug. Nate grinned like a puppy dug that had just been scritched behind the ears. “Sounds like you got that runner’s high, my dude. Careful. It’s addictive” The Amazon had no idea how right he was about the wrong stimulus. His grin faded into a concerned frown. “Either that or it’s dehydration and heat exhaustion. I think we’re done for the day.” Gently, he propped Jem up on the service counter, keeping his wonderful hands on Jem’s chest and back until he was sure that the Little could sit under his own power. “Done?” Jem whined. “Done? But it feels like we just got started!” “Your limit is your limit, my guy.” Nate lectured. “We can move it and push it over time, but you gotta respect it in the here and now. Listen to your body.” Jem hadn’t heard the phrase ‘listen to your body’ since potty training. “I don’t know how.” Another gentle clap on the back. “You’ll learn.” Would he though? Would he? The acknowledgement of his competence was almost a slap in the face to Jem. “Here. Let me buy you a sports drink. Electrolytes and stuff. Lots of sugar too. You like sweet stuff right?” Jem was on the verge of crazy happy tears. Nate was buying something for him. Something yummy and sweet. “Yeah,” Jem said. “Sure.” Nate started to wander around to a glass doored refrigerator filled with protein shakes, bottled waters, and lemon-lime flavored sports drinks. Despite Amazons’ preference for bitter and spicy flavors being so prevalent as to be sociological if not biological fact, the bottles filled with sugar water were on the fridge’s top shelf far out of Little reach. “Deal.” An idea! “Wait!” Jem called out. Nate turned back around and faced his client. “I want to pick it out myself.” Nate was in the process of formulating a non-condescending variation of ‘but you’re too Little to reach’, and part of Jem just wished that he would. “Please,” Jem said. “I…I kinda need this after what just happened.” The truth, but also a lie of omission. Jem daren’t say why he needed it. Nate considered it for a moment and walked back up to the Little. “Okay. I get it.” Jem hoped but doubted it. “Deal.” He picked Jem up and planted the twenty-year old on his hip like he was twenty months instead and walked him over to the cooler. He slid open the glass door and then stepped back so that he could lift Jem by the waist and thrust him forward. Uppies! He was getting uppies! Uppies from Daddy! Jem’s mind was buzzing. He took his sweet time reaching out and lifting the massive bottle with both hands. The magic was over too soon. Jem was back to resting on the countertop, his feet dangling, but otherwise unsupported. Nate cracked open the bottle with a single twist and gave it back to the physically exhausted Little. “We should start weight training with those,” Nate joked. “Those things are massive on you!” An accurate statement. Jem had to use both hands to sip from the rim of the sports bottle and he’d have to be part anaconda to fit the entire rim in his mouth. “Yeah,” he said between sips. “Maybe we could do some Kung-Pow Kid stuff. Non-conventional training.” “Heh,” Nate chuckled. “Good one. Polish on. Polish off.” The impression was kind of racist, but it was almost impossible to quote that line without putting on a faux Yamatoan accent. Jem let it slide. He was enjoying it. “Real talk. Those might taste good to you, but you’re gonna want to pregame and follow up with good old fashioned water. No calories, and after a certain point the cost benefit of all those vitamins and nutrients stops evening out with the sugar. Unless you’re doing this kind of workout every day, you might as well be sipping on a soda.” If it got him this kind of attention, Jem just might find time to do it more often. But that was a different kind of cost benefit analysis. He realized he was falling in love with the way Nate talked about nutrition and exercise. “Kay.” Nate grimaced slightly. “Speaking of water, I gotta go let some out. Be right back. You keep cooling down and then we’ll review and strategize before you get back in clean clothes.” Nate power walked to the locker room and rest room. Jem’s heart sank a little bit watching the giant man go. Daddies didn’t leave their LIttle boys unattended. Some were so comfortable that they might take their baby boys to the potty with them so as to not be out of their sight. Most any other Little would be dreading the talk of clean clothes foreshadowing a nasty surprise, but Jem was oddly hoping for it, despite knowing that Nate was just referring to clothes Jem walked in with today. The big lug just wouldn’t take the bait. Jem had briefly hoped that saving him and toting him around like a toddler might have awakened something in Nate. All Amazons, men and women, were supposed to be kinda baby crazy, right? It was supposed to be practically an instinct that they never aged out of. That’s why so many Littles ended up treated like kids, right? He swallowed his bizarre desires and nursed on lemon-lime flavored sugar water. A big muscle bound Amazon in his forties strolled up to the counter. He stank of sweat and had a big fuck-off beard. He definitely hit the weights more than Nate, but didn’t seem to be into cardio from the looks of it. A steroid junkie, Jem thought. Much older too. His dark black hair was more dye than natural. From the way he was smiling, Jem imagined he’d be the type of creep that wanted to be a mall Santa so that squirming Littles would be placed on his knee. “Hey, Little guy,” the stranger said, his voice sounding like he smoked and his breath reeking of beef jerky. “Noticed you were having some trouble with the weights the other day, and that you wiped out on the treadmill just now. Those trainers can get expensive real quick. Maybe it’d be better if you found someone to spot you for free. Give you some tips. If you want…” “Back off, Randal” came a stern voice from behind the big man. Carmen, the gym owner, leered up behind him and gave the big Amazon a withering glare. It was a more feminine pink than yesterday’s sweatsuit, but she was still ready to work out (and throwdown?) at a moment’s notice. “Oh,” the massive muscle man said. “I’m sorry Miss Carmen. I didn’t mean to intrude. I was just being friendly to the new kid is all.” “New kid?” Carmen said. “Excuse me?” “What? It’s just a figure of speech.” Carmen pointed right at Jem. “That customer belongs to Nathan. Until one of them says otherwise, he’s Nathan’s project. Got it?” The mountain-that-creeped was smart enough to slink away. “Got it.” Carmen paused long enough to give Jem a curt yet approving nod. Jem had the distinct idea that Carmen could see right through him. More depressingly, it seemed that the only person not getting the hints he was throwing out was Nate. Jem knew he’d need to up his game tomorrow. ******************************************************************* “You okay, bud?” Nate asked. “Yeah,” Jem said, glugging back the water. “You’re drinking a lot of water is all.” Nate looked genuinely worried. “Really taking yesterday’s advice to heart, yeah?” Jem finished glugging down the massive water bottle. His second in as many hours. “Yeah.” Nate had no idea how right he was. Jem hadn’t used the bathroom since he’d first gotten up this morning. His bladder was screaming at him in silent agony. This was on purpose. “You know there’s such a thing as too much water, right?” Nate asked. “You’ve been taking a big drink after every exercise today.” Jem exhaled, trying to maintain his composure. “Thanks. I’m trying.” No potty dance or hint. He needed to appear completely unaware of what he was about to do, like the Little baby he needed Nate to see him as. “Can I hit the weights next?” “I just can’t believe you’re not sloshing. Where do you put it all?” Jem bit into his lip and walked over to the mirrored wall with all the free weights. He’d be putting it all in his pants soon. Lacking a diaper, there’d be no hiding it, either. No excuses. The gym was pretty full too. Carmen was working the punching bag and most of the treadmills were occupied. No escaping it. Just getting what he wanted. What he needed. “Okay,” Nate said. “Let’s just start as light as we can. I don’t want to push you so hard that you puke, okay?” Jem stared at his reflection. Showing how weak he was hadn’t worked. Getting saved and carried around didn’t tempt him. This was the last straw; the final gambit. This would be the last time that he wouldn’t have an obviously padded bulge between his legs. Nate leaned over and placed his hand on his shoulder. “Okay, Jem?” Worth it. The warmth and strength Jem felt in his crush’s hand was enough to give him courage. He relaxed his bladder and felt the terrible violating feeling of urine splashing around in his pants and then dripping down his legs. For half a second, Jem worried that it would be too subtle, that the extra thickness of the pajama-like material would hide his purposeful accident. He needn’t have worried. A dark spot formed and spread right where his penis was and traveled down his thighs making a dark blue roadmap all the way into his ankles. The only downside was that the material wicked away just enough pee quickly enough so that it started pooling in his shoes instead of on the floor. He needn’t have worried, however. It was literally impossible for Nate to have missed it. Both sets of eyes widened in shock. Jem’s horrified expression was just a mask however, covering up his excited anticipation. “You’re cramping up!” Nate half-yelled. “Cramp! Cramp!” In another blur, Jem found himself lifted up pressed to Nate’s chest, snugly up against the Daddy of his dreams. Nate started carrying his new Little boy to the locker room. There, he knew, he’d be stripped, wiped, powdered, and diapered by a deliriously baby crazy Nate, and things would progress naturally from there. “Cramp! Cramp!” Jem opened his eyes. “Cramp?” Why was Nate saying Cramp? “Don’t worry Little dude,” Nate’s voice sounded off the locker room. It was almost like how they met. “I’ve got just the thing. Anybody here?!” He called. “Good.” “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Jem cried out in shock, if not pain. Freezing, ice cold water poured over Nate, soaking him from head to toe. “WHAT? AAAAAAAAAH!” “Cramp!” Nate yelled over Jem’s cries. “Just a cramp!” he pried Jem off of him and turned him to face the icy chilled stream. “This’ll get rid of it! No need to call an ambulance! It’s cool” The water switched off and Jem was placed sopping wet onto his feet. From the tip of his hoodie to the toes of his booties, all of the fabric was the same dark sodden dark blue. No trace of his accident remained. “Oh man!” Nate said. “That was close! Uh…I mean, I was worried for a second. I saw your legs spasming so I knew I had to ice you down.” Nate sounded like a bad soap opera actor. “Too bad we both got completely drenched.” He threw Jem a wink. “What?’ Jem whispered, completely baffled. Nate leaned in extra close, close enough for Jem to guess what brand of toothpaste he used. “Don’t worry. Nobody will know.” He lightly punched Jem in the shoulder. “I told you not to push yourself and drink that much water all at once,” Nate hissed. “Like, I get it. That could’ve happened to anybody. But you can’t risk that happening again. Anybody else here would have Adopted you right on the spot.”. All the muscles in Jem’s face ached. “Anybody else?” “:Literally anybody else.” That was the moment Jem felt his heart break. “Thanks,” Jem said, holding back sobs. “You’re a really good friend.” “Don’t mention it, LIttle dude.” Ten minutes later, Jem trudged out of the locker room wearing the clothes he’d come in with. Carmen stopped laying into the bag and looked particularly confused. Disturbed even. Jem paid her no mind. ************************************************************* “Alright,” Nate instructed. “We’re just gonna hang here in plank for a second. Then we’re gonna go down for a three count, hold for a three count, and push back up for a three count.” Jem nodded. “Uh-huh.” Beads of sweat were running down his face. They’d been at this for close to an hour. “Ready? One…two…three…and hold….one…two…three…back up…one…two…three…” They were doing slow push-ups, stretches, and other strength building exercises that even a Little could do in a land of giants. Nate was doing everything with Jem, and not even breaking a sweat. “Down again…one…two…three…and hold…one…two…three…aaaaand lower all the way down to your belly.” Jem had no idea why he was doing this anymore. He was torturing himself, physically and mentally, looking and wishing for himself. He didn’t want to be a baby, he wanted to be Nate’s. But literally anybody else would want him…anybody but Nate. He supposed he came back due to sunk cost fallacy and wanting to keep up appearances. He’d finish out the week, he’d decided, then maybe put in another week, and then fade away like most sporadic gym members. The only thing that would happen is his membership would be revoked. Being here also gave him an excuse to spend just a few more days with the Daddy that wasn’t meant to be. He’d get over it in time, but he was allowed to enjoy the fantasy for a few more days. Somehow it hurt less now that he knew his unexpected dream was off the table. “Inhale into cobra,” the pair arched their backs up from the mat. “Exhale into downward facing dog.” In unison they arched their backs and rocked themselves onto their hands and feet while sticking their tailbones into the air. “Aaaaand lower down to safety zone!” They collapsed into what most yoga practitioners would call ‘The Child’s Pose’. Nate had a different name for it, just in case anybody get the wrong idea about his Little friend. “Okay,” Jem said from the resting and recovery position. “I think that’s enough for me today.” Nate picked himself up. “I agree. You really worked hard today, my dude. Super focused.” Jem was still so tired that he hadn’t moved yet. “Yeah. I guess I am.” “You’re doing a good job. Listening to your body and paying attention to your limits. I’m proud of you.” Jem sighed. His heart fluttered but his face didn’t flush. What would have been the point? “Yeah. Awesome.” Nate offered his hand down. “Want help up?” Jem picked his head up and accepted the help. “Yeah.” It was a quick trip up to his feet. “Thanks, Daddy.” Nate looked horrified. “What did you say?” Jem frowned. “Thanks, Nate?” “No…” Nate said. “You didn’t.” The Little played back what he’d said in his head. The blood drained all the way down to the soles of his feet in pure unadulterated embarrassment. Jem dashed out of the building at a dead sprint. He didn’t even think about going back for his clothes or wallet or the key to his apartment. He was still in the blue teddy jammies that had been substituted as gym clothes. It was a miracle he made it back home. ********************************************************************************* Nate found Jem in the Laundry room later that day, with Jem leaned up against his favorite dryer. “Hey,” said. Jem closed his eyes and exhaled. “Hey.” “You left without your stuff.” “Yeah,” Jem said. “ I know.” He’d accidentally locked himself out of his apartment. Going to the manager’s office dressed like this was a surefire way to get snatched up by the landlord or the property manager. Jem wouldn’t have cared so much a couple days ago. The laundry room was the only safe place to hide. “I had a talk with my boss,” Nate said. “She thinks you’ve got Maturosis or something.” Jem waited for a question. “Is Maturosis real?” “No?” Jem said. “Yes? I don’t know!” He was so utterly humiliated having to talk about this that he was on the verge of turning into a sobbing mess. Knowing that no one would be there to comfort him was the only thing that was holding him together. “Right,” Nate replied as if Jem’s cracking voice and indecision were legitimate answers. “Do you wanna talk to me about it? I can make you a protein shake or something. I brought your stuff back to my place.” Jem blinked away the tears. Might as well get this over with. “Sure. Yeah.” They walked side by side to Nate’s apartment on the other end of the complex from Jem’s. Any lingering hopes that some crazy paternal instinct had been activated inside the dudebro were dashed when they walked in. “Sorry about the mess.” Jem had seen messier. His own apartment in fact. Yeah, there were dishes in the sink, and another laundry basket full of clothes on the couch, but other than that it wasn’t terrible. No baby powder scent. No highchair in the kitchen. Nothing resembling a playpen or parts of a crib that had yet to be assembled. Amazons were supposed to be really good at setting up that sort of thing…when they wanted to. Nate leaned up against his own beige couch, and pretended to be interested in the ceiling. “So…” “So…” Jem echoed. “Did I do this to you?” Yes! Yes, yes, yes! “What do you mean?” “Like…did I do something or say something that made you pee your pants yesterday?” His face scrunched up. “Or like, manipulate you into getting carried around?” How could this wonderful idiot not look in the mirror or hear the sound of his own gentle voice and not know? “Not technically, no.” “Technically? Jem shook his head and rattled his brains. “I mean ‘no’. Nevermind. What else?” “So you wanted to have an accident? And get picked up? And call me…y’know…Daddy? You did all that on purpose?” Could such things really be called acts of free will when the alternative seemed so much the worse? Did a man shooting himself in the foot really have the choice if it felt like there was another gun to his heart? “The Daddy thing was the only accident. Sorry.” “Why?” “Why?” Jem’s face contorted. “If I knew why, it wouldn’t be an accident.” A beat. “Sorry.” “No. Other ‘why’. Why did you do that stuff?” “Sorry,” Jem said again. “I wanted you to…” it was so much harder now that he was saying it out loud. “I wanted you to be my Daddy. Sorry.” “Why?” “You know how some Amazons look at a Little and just wanna…you know?” Nate stopped looking at the ceiling. “Cossetting, yeah.” Without realizing it, Jem had pulled his sleeves over his hands and was twisting them up. “I think I got like…the opposite…for you. Sorry.” The himbo looked confused. “That’s a thing?” “It is for me,” Jem whispered. “But only for you. Sorry.” Nate bobbed his head and moved his lips but no sound came out. He was clearly talking to himself. “Why do you keep saying you’re sorry?” Jem’s face scrunched up like a toddler. His throat closed up and the next words came out squeaky as the tears dripped down his face “Because you…don’t..want…!” “I kinda do, though.” The Little’s heart leapt up into his throat. “You what?” “Dude, I kinda wanted to take you home and rock you to sleep the second I saw you. I was just trying to respect you. You know, as a person, instead of a baby. Not that babies aren’t people, but…” The nature of the tears was turning from one emotion to another. “Yeah,” Jem sniffed. “I…I get it.” “Thing is,” Nate huffed. “If I Adopt you, I don’t know how I’m gonna afford you. Babies can get expensive. Like I bet I could get free daycare, but even diapers can get expensive.” “I could…” Jem ventured…”I could still make and sew baby clothes and stuff. None of my customers know I’m a Little.” He thought about it. “Knowing I’m a Little might help, actually.” Jem hung his head, bracing himself for the incoming rejection. It was a dumb idea, anyways. “Dude! That’s genius!” Jem met the Amazon man’s gaze. “Please don’t call me ‘Dude’.” The dudebro blushed. “Oh. Right. Bad nickname. Bud? Bud.” Bud? Yeah. Better. Jem gave a weak but approving smile. Nate walked around to his couch and sat down next to the laundry basket.. Unbidden Jem followed him around. He waited for Nate to pat his lap. He was relieved that he didn’t have to wait long. He climbed all the way up and sat himself on the big man’s knee, feeling strangely euphoric. “Tell you what, Bud,” Nate said. “Why don’t we try this out? I’ll take a week off from work. We’ll try it out. If we both like it. We’ll Adopt.” “We’ll…?” Jem looked into his maybe-Daddy’s beautiful blue eyes filled with questions. Nate hadn’t mentioned anyone else. Was he going to have to share? “Yeah,” Nate smiled. “You and me, Jem. You and me. We found each other. Baby boy and Daddy.” Jem lost it in the best way.“Oh Daddy!” he cried out, loving the sound of it coming from his lips. “Daddy, Daddy Daddy Daddy Daddy Daddy Daddy!” He cried and stood up on his Daddy’s lap, giving him the biggest hug, even though there was no way he’d be able to wrap his arms around the giant. That was Daddy’s job! He peppered Nate’s chest and neck and chin with tiny kisses, squeezing him so tight he’d sooner become a tattoo than let go. “Whoah! Bud!” Nate laughed. He threw in a few pecks on Jem’s forehead, anwyas. It was unsurprisingly easy for him to peel the manic Little off his chest. “Jem, what are you doing, baby?” Jem stood balanced on one giant knee. “Huh?” Was he already doing something wrong? “You can’t get that excited, Little boy.” Nate reached over into the laundry basket. From out of it he produced a package of Monkeez. It was a convenience pack, something sold at a convenience store, but it was a start. The Little on the front looked incredibly happy. Jem was about to top it. “Not without getting properly dressed.” ********************************************************************************************* “Good morning, Nathan,” Carmen said a week later. “Welcome back. How was your week off?” Nate stood in the doorway of her office. Her best personal trainer was combed and crisp and clean for work, and had an extra sparkle in his eye. The Little baby on his hip had darker hair and eyes, but there was a distinct matching twinkle. The teddy bear version of her sweat suit line she favored looked good on the forever child. It somehow looked more appropriate without the sneakers covering up the footie parts. A keen eye would reveal that more was different beyond a lack of pretense. Someone had altered the bottom half so that there were snaps along the inseam and up along the crotch, to give caregivers and daycare workers easier access to the Little’s diaper. This Little was diapered, too. Either that or he’d gained the lower equivalent of a beer belly. More interestingly, the zippered front had been redone in snaps, too. If they were Amazonian grade, the Little wouldn’t be strong enough to dress or undress himself without adult help. Most peculiar and fascinating of all, the faded black logo that said ‘Carmen’s Gym’ had been completely replaced with the bright yellow block font of her other business and now the outfit read ‘C.G. Daycare.’ Carmen decided right then that she liked it, and would figure out how to get more. She had an entire back room filled with those things in both pink and blue. The only reason she hadn’t decided to use them as uniforms was because the Little dickenses kept stripping down to their diapers. Nate grinned like the proud papa he’d become and looked over “Pretty good, boss. Pretty good.” “Good. Glad you don’t need paternity leave. Get that cutie checked in next door, and you can show me all the baby pictures you want later.” “Yes ma’am,” the Daddy and his new Little boy accidentally said in unison. They looked at each other and the Little giggled while his Daddy cooed at him. Their enthusiasm and love for each other made Carmen smile as she watched the adorable duo head next door, happy for the both of them. (The End)

In all the multiverse, throughout arcane academia, dragons are some of the most curious and contrarian of creatures. They are renowned for being fearsome, great wyrms, capable of great and terrible deeds of destruction. A dragon’s fiery breath can turn flesh to cinders and melt stone; its scales capable of shattering spears, arrows, and swords. Being made of magic themselves, even great wizards may find it difficult to harm a great winged reptile. They are covetous, spiteful, sinful creatures who hoard wealth and trinkets, pillaging kingdoms and stealing from royalty and the common folk alike, depriving all of valuable resources that might otherwise. And they never die of old age, only violence. Truly, in all the realms, there was never a greater threat to freedom, liberty, and prosperity, than the monsters whose silhouette blacks out the sky. There is truth in all of this, as countless historical records from across time and distance illustrate time and time again, but it is not wholly accurate. There are no deliberate lies or purposeful misinterpretations in these common and time tested assessments, but rather they are incomplete data due to humanity’s collective need to be the center of any moral universe. The truth about dragons is far more interesting and complicated. I have found in my research, experiments and interviews, that a human’s view of dragons is not unlike a fish’s view of a hand. They see something fleshy and grasping plunging down into the river, but their biological experience and mindset is not preprogrammed with the knowledge or understanding that something might be connected to that hand and exist wholly outside the river. Dragons are covetous hoarders, yes, but it is not greed that drives them in the way that human beings lust after material possessions and wealth. Rather, it is constant emotional and mental stimulation that they seek. They are collectors and completionists at heart. Once something takes a dragon’s fancy, they can become obsessed with it for years, decades, or even centuries at a time; with an almost compulsive desire to possess, collect, and know everything about a particular fascination that there is to possess, collect, or know. Neither do they exclusively hoard material wealth. Dragons will go through “phases” (if a decades-long obsession can be called a “phase”) where they become fascinated with all sorts of things. There are dragons who become librarians to uncountable tomes of knowledge, riddles, and jokes. Other wyrms get an itch for rare magical artifacts. Still more take to botany or animal husbandry, and create great gardens and menageries worthy of a sultan. There is at least one documented case of a dragon with a fondness for the collecting and manufacturing of rock candy. When a dragon sets its mind to collecting or learning about something, they cannot help but see it through to its most extreme logical conclusion. This certainly a curse for those who live among the winged lizards, but it can also be a blessing. Once a dragon has seen its obsession through to its logical conclusion, or rather to the point of boredom, it can become careless and carefree on that subject. It is rather easy to take a dragon’s treasure provided the dragon has no further interest in it and intruders are not inclined to violence against the dragon. There are accounts of a wyrm showing a kind of backhanded gratitude at lucky thieves wanting to take away things that no longer held interest to it. Savvy surrounding kingdoms can turn famines into feasts if the end of a dragon’s obsession period is fortuitous enough. That obsessive quality is also what rids kingdoms of dragons outside of violence. To the best of humanity’s collective knowledge, dragons do not die of old age. There are no piles of dragon bones that are not the result of violence of some sort. Instead, dragons just grow progressively stronger and more resilient over time. Yet dragons do not stay on this material plane forever. Eventually, dragons see all that they consider worth seeing, hoard all that they consider worth hoarding, and learn all that they consider worth learning, and just move on. They spread their leathery wings and leave the ground one last time as they shed the surly bonds of earth and take flight into the starry cosmos for a brand new adventure; where they go we know not where. Of particular scholarly debate is the “morality” of dragons. Of their intelligence, there is no dispute. A dragon’s intelligence is roughly on par with its human counterparts. A seventy-two year old dragon has all of the knowledge and wisdom as a seventy-two year old man. The same is true for a one-year old dragon, or a thirteen year old dragon. Yet it lacks the biological infirmities that plague us in our sunset years. Senility and dementia do not plague the wyrms the way it does the clever apes. The fact that dragons’ lifespans are much much longer than ours makes them more than intellectually formidable. But when it comes to morality, despite their intelligence, dragons are relegated to the classification of either evil monsters or savage beasts and nothing could be further from the truth. Dragons are both fiercely intelligent, and highly moral. They just don’t tend to recognize humans as people. On the subject of personhood, it has been gleaned, dragons are what most would consider selfish and self-centered. They do not tend to judge intelligence, language, art, or any of the trappings of civilization as personhood (And why would they? Save when rearing their hatchlings, dragons are notoriously solitary). Instead, they judge personhood based on how much they personally relate to any given individual or population. This is why kingdoms that are uncommunicative have the most violent and aggressive dragons to deal with. The bear cares not for the bees when it wants to eat honey. The villager reviles the rats that nest in their house. It is most fortunate then, that dragons rarely classify other beings according to their outward physical characteristics, but upon a sometimes random and mercurial set of behavioral attributes. A wyrm’s imagination is a powerful thing, indeed, and it is as like to imprint upon both curious collector as well as a warrior king. Like recognizes like, though due to its own egocentric nature a dragon is most likely to spare a human for being a ‘tiny scaleless dragon’ than for being anything resembling an equal. -An excerpt from “A Traveler’s Guide to Devils, Dragons, and Demi-Gods, Author Unknown” His name was not “Abe”. Dragon names cannot be pronounced by pests or understood in ways that made sense to their pest brains. A dragon’s name is a description about everything that has happened to the dragon and their relationship to the world around them, and it is said all at once with voice, volume, eyes, body language, odor, and breath. But for the sake of brevity, let’s call him Abe. Abe slept atop his one remaining pile of gold deep in the center of his lair. The mountain didn’t start as a hollowed out system of interconnected tunnels. Only through much careful digging and melting of once solid rock was he able to make something so livable and comfortable. Not content to remain in an already established cave as he did when he was a centenarian, he got the idea when a nasty little pest intruded in on him. After the nasty little zapper was killed, Abe found several tiny books on a multitude of subjects, the most interesting among them was architecture. The dragon spent the next several years reading up on the subject as well as geology until he had a near perfect theoretical knowledge on the subject. It took him less than a year afterwards to craft his new home from scratch as it were. Naturally, once it was complete he needed to fill it with things. A home without form or function was just a series of empty rooms. There needed to be a gaming and trophy room, a dining room, a kitchen, a bedroom, a living room, a room for entertaining company and so forth. At one point during the lair’s construction, Abe put in a nursery; not because he intended to raise a clutch of eggs, but because that’s what was done when building a house. Several fascinating books said so and those books in turn led Abe to discover even more books dedicated to the specifics on making the best type of a particular room: The best living room, the best kitchen, the best nursery, and so on. It had been wholly satisfying learning so many intricate and interesting details, which had in turn taught him how to work with wood and stone masonry. Abe couldn’t decide if a mountain lair should have a basement or an attic (neither to be confused with a wine cellar) so he installed both and used them to store the brick-a-brack that he had grown bored with but was yet reluctant to toss away. One never knew when something might come in handy, or when sentiment and nostalgia would flare up again. Annoyingly, after enough time, pests spread into the surrounding hills, and they inevitably tried to infest Abe’s lair. That had necessitated Abe learn the delicate and time honored tradition of trap making; and for that bit of amusement, Abe was passably grateful. The lava pits doubled as heating and it gave him the inspiration to redirect aquifers to make his own bathing chamber. Eventually, the pests must have discovered that he wasn’t particularly interested in what he stored in the attic and basement and so swarmed up there from time to time. It was for the best, he decided. One only needed so much gold to sleep on and so many jewels to scrape one’s fangs. Anything else was showing off and the pests seemed to like the useless shiny things. Presently, Abe tossed and turned in his sleep, unable to get comfortable on his bed of gold and silk. He wasn’t sleepy, yet he didn’t want to open his eyes. Opening his eyes would mean that the day had started and then he’d have to find something to do to occupy his time. That was just depressing. The only thing worse than constantly napping and sleeping due to boredom, was the restlessness that followed upon waking. In the back of his mind, Abe knew it might be time to move on and explore as his mother had before him, but he’d yet to come to that acceptance. Nothing excited him when he looked up at the grand cosmos, yet he felt nothing when he considered more earthly pursuits. It was like looking at the menu and realizing one wasn’t hungry; old boring favorites still held more allure than risky foreign cuisine. Abe did not know it, but he was the oldest dragon that had yet to move on, and as the oldest he was very likely the strongest. Strength did not matter overmuch after a certain point, but it made pests more ambitious and fearful by different turns. Sometimes, the pests still provided amusement, however fleeting. Concerning pests, a grating, moaning, jabbering sound caused Abe to stir from his non-slumber. From his sleeping pile, he opened his eyes and spied a shambling, moaning, mass of metal carapace. A pest. One of the ones that donned false scales and carried false claws that were too big to fit in their tiny paws so they had to be carried. They were more common, and less annoying than the fuzzy zappers who shrieked and conjured up a poor facsimile of a dragon’s proper blazing breath. So that’s what the noise he’d heard coming from from above, closer to the attic, had been. Another infestation of pests rummaging and stumbling around the attic. Stupid, silly, short lived things. One had made it past his pest traps and was likely here for the gold he wasn’t done sleeping on. Rising to his full height, Abe looked down at the tiny thing and scowled. “Pest,” he said, more to himself. The pest froze, shuddered in its spot, said something in what passed for language-Abe couldn’t tell what it said-and fell down dead. Abe huffed in annoyance. “Damnable pest,” he said. “Made it all the way to his bedroom just so it could start rotting in the very center of his home. Now he’d have to get up and toss it outside. It was a big one too, a two hander for sure. The idea of having to touch the dead thing with his hands made his breathing go shallow. Gross. Very gross. Maybe he could just cremate it; melt the carapace into the floor and scatter the ashes…but then he might accidentally breathe in pest ashes. “Ew…” Another pathetic moan interrupted the dragon’s pontifications. The pest was still alive? Curiouser and curiouser, Abe circled around the busted and cracking metal carapace. He’d never heard a pest make that sound before. Come to think of it, he wasn’t used to hearing the pests make those kinds of sounds at all. Normally, they were loud and guttural, shouting what passed for death threats and cries for courage in their limited languages that used only voice. This sound? It was different. And familiar. Vaguely familiar from a time long ago that Abe barely remembered himself. Fortunately, dragon memories are second to none, and he did remember. With one single claw, he gently poked and prodded at the carapace. C-RRRRRACK! Abe’s serpentine head snapped back in surprise. “What’s happening?” In reply, he only got more mumbling and mewling. Mewling? Yes, ‘mewling’ sounded about right as far as descriptors went. Weak and pathetic, but not something that elicited disgust. The pest inside lightly wriggled and its shell continued to split open. Split open? Crack? Like an egg! Yes! This was not a carapace or a bit of false skin. Yes, it had those things in common but in the big scheme of things everything could be like something else. What this was most like, Abe was concluding, was an egg. He’d read about this sort of thing before; had seen it in birds, and sort of remembered it in the nest when the last of his siblings had hatched. “You’re not stealing…you’re…hatching?” The thing inside the egg, for it was indeed an egg in Abe’s view, made more sounds which the great wyrm took as a kind of involuntary confirmation. “Yes. Hatching. And…you need help?” Considering the thing inside the egg hadn’t been born yet, Abe didn’t expect a coherent response and was not disappointed when he didn’t comprehend the reply. What Abe could never appreciate is that human languages, especially the spoken ones, advanced much more quickly than draconic. What was in fashion a mere five hundred years ago and perfectly serviceable quickly became ‘olde’ to the point of extinction as it mutated generation after generation. Not understanding a word coming from the inside the egg (and once again, why would he?) Abe did the only thing he considered conscionable. He helped the little thing hatch, gently prying the egg open, chipping away at it with his claws so that the wet and slimy thing on the inside could be free and come into the world. Carefully, the dragon took the top part of the shell of last so that finally air would come into the little thing’s lungs. Abe felt himself analyzing it. It looked familiar. Vaguely familiar. He’d seen a few illustrations of such a creature, so pink, and lacking any kind of scales. Helpless. Cute. It had more hair than the illustrations had led him to believe was normal, but such illustrations were often wrong. According to many of his books, for example all the measurements on every piece of furniture that he crafted were completely off and had to be scaled up to appropriate size so that a proper dragon could make use of them. Who made furniture that tiny? So it was easy to believe that something that just hatched wouldn’t look quite like the illustrations he’d seen. It certainly SMELLED like what he imagined a hatchling would smell like. A single word spilled out of the adorably vulnerable creatures lips. Not even a word, but a bit of babbling like an infant that hadn’t yet learned to talk. “Dada”. That was when the real magic happened in Abe’s brain: The magic of empathy and imagination fueled by fascination and complete certainty that his way was the right way. This wasn’t a pest, Abe realized. He’d read about this! He vaguely remembered being one himself! This! Was! A! “BABY!” At the sound of its name, the baby opened its mouth and gave one giant bawling yelp of affirmation. Then, just like the books had said, the poor little tyke passed out and emptied its bladder right there in the dragon’s arms. “D’AWWWW!” That settled matters in Abe’s mind. This was a baby. It might not be exactly like a dragon hatchling, but it had enough in common from everything he remembered about his own childhood and everything he’d read that it was dragon enough. He too had once been weak and helpless, but proper nourishment and loving care had enabled him to grow mighty and strong. The baby even knew its name! How cute! Just as importantly, more importantly, in fact, Abe now had a reason to use that nursery he’d created. This? This would not be boring! Wings tucked, he gently carried the sleeping babe in his arms through twisting labyrinthine tunnels that he hadn’t been through in decades. Along the way, for many babies were scared of the dark until their night vision developed, he lit torches. They had been purely ceremonial until now and it gave Abe a sense of satisfaction to use them. “Here we are,” Abe cooed, even though he knew the baby was unconscious. It’s not that he expected a proper conversation, the thing had just been born. The great dragon just knew how important it was to introduce them to language early. How else would they learn to talk? For the time being, more pressing matters were brought to the dragon’s attention, such as hygiene. With much doting excitement, Abe laid the baby on the changing table he’d crafted. Like all things Abe dedicated himself to, it was perfect and held the tiny thing well with raised sides that couldn’t be easily rolled over when the little tyke got squirmy. He looked down and examined between the sleeping babe’s legs. Its diaper was sorely lacking; nothing more than a thin membrane of cloth that was drenched and reeked of ammonia. To call it “leaky” would be like calling a “sieve” leaky; implying at least partial effectiveness. He doubted this would contain even a solid bowel movement. Whomever had diapered the baby in its egg had done a poor job. Something about that sentence felt off, but Abe had never felt a great need to investigate childbirth or medicine before that, and so he dismissed it out of hand. The facts, he reasoned, were right under his nose and as indisputable as they were adorable. Even though he had never worn diapers himself, he’d read enough and seen enough of the lesser races- pests, giant pests, tiny green pests- to get the general idea. “Hmmm,” he grumbled to himself. “No pins? No knots either?” How was he supposed to get this off and on? Practicality and impatience took over. Abe reached down and tore the used diaper apart at the sides, ruining it beyond even the mere illusion of functionality. “It’s not as if I was going to use this one again,” Abe said to himself. Then he remembered the baby. “No I wasn’t!” he cooed. “No I wasn’t! Daddy wasn’t going to use this old diaper ever again. It’s much too thin and flimsy for my special…” he glanced down between the child’s legs, “...boy! My special boy!” A quick gout of flame caused the useless diaper to burst into flames and sprinkle down to the cave floor as ash. Taking a washcloth (that unknown to Abe had long ago been a noble family’s proud coat of arms) the dragon daddy dunked the cloth into a water basin and gently dabbed and wiped at his new baby’s tender nether regions. Technically, Abe reminded himself, all areas of a baby were tender, especially one born without scales. That only added the amount of care he took in wiping the child clean. “My little man isn’t going to get a rash. Not on Daddy’s watch!” To think him a Daddy: the very thought was absurd in the most delightful way. The baby started to stir and babble something to himself. Abe made a note to himself to warm the wash water next time. No doubt it was the coldness that woke the baby up. “It’s okay,” he shushed the boy. “Daddy’s here. Daddy’s just making you nice and comfy.” He crossed the child’s ankles and housed them up with one claw. With the other, he slid a fresh (and properly thick) diaper beneath the child’s rather skinny rump. “Babies aren’t supposed to be this thin,” Abe said. “Daddy’s gonna have to fatten you up. Yes he is! Yes he is!” While he cooed and played with the baby, he grabbed a vial of sweet smelling powder and dusted it in on the child’s backside and groin in order to prevent chafing and protect against rash. Carefully, he reached into a basket by the foot of the changing table and removed several safety pins that he had scavenged when he had built this model nursery. They were tiny, only five inches or so, but then again so was the baby. He put the pins in his mouth, while he finished what would no doubt be the first of many changes. The baby’s eyes softly fluttered open from dreamland just as Abe was pulling the fresh diaper up between the baby’s legs, forcing them apart. Newborn hatchlings couldn’t walk, so it hardly mattered if it threw off a hypothetical gait. The child let out a groaning burble as his eyes started coming into focus. It sounded fearful. Abe quickly and carefully fastened the ends of the diaper snugly together, pinning them in place so that the soft absorbent material was snug. Being in a fresh diaper did nothing to ease the child’s screams. “This won’t do,” Abe cooed in draconic. He wanted the baby to associate diaper changes and being taken care of with happy times. “This won’t do at all.” He attempted to make funny faces at the child but the screaming and tears only got worse. The child somehow managed to roll over and start crawling away from him towards the edge of the changing table. “Oh oh oh, careful, baby.” Abe gently cooed. “You’re very, very, tiny still. That’s a long way down at your age.” The dragon tried to remember how the world must have looked when he was all of five foot ten. Tenderly, the great wyrm scooped the child up and rocked him gently, hoping to give the tender fleshed baby comfort. “Shhhh…shhhh….” he said. “Shhh….shhh….” This only made things worse and the little tyke in his arms bawled louder. Abe tried pacing the nursery, and bouncing the child slightly, but that had not had the desired effect. Abe tried singing a hatchling’s song that he still remembered, but the child was obviously not a fan. When the little rugrat wasn’t trying to fall out of the dragon’s arms, he was screaming and covering his face as though certain doom was about to befall him. “I just changed you,” Abe said more to himself than the child. He started ticking off what he could remember about basic childcare on his claws. “I rocked you. I sang you a lullaby. What could the matter be, little one?” His reptilian eyes looked at the boy’s thin stomach, and saw the peculiar hole in the middle of it, just above the diaper. He didn’t know what that was about, at least the baby didn’t seem to be in pain, but it did cause the dragon to smack his head in recognition. “Of course!” he chided himself. “I haven’t fed you! You’ve just been hatched and I haven’t fed you!” Abe took to three legs and started thundering out of the nursery, carrying the child. He hadn’t done any kind of research on what babies ate. He recalled, however, that some drank from something called breasts, while others drank from bottles. Breasts, Abe did not have. But he had many bottles in great supply. “Dadaaaaaaa!” The baby screamed. “Dada dada dada dada!” “Just a second,” Abe hushed, while maneuvering the precise network of tunnels to just the right spot in his lair. Lesser, non-dragon-like creatures would get lost or fall into any number of traps. But not Abe. And in time, his new baby would come to memorize it too. That was a matter for later, however, and there was no sense in worrying about the future when the present was at stake. “I know you’re hungry,” he said. “Dada is getting you a bottle right now. Would you like that? Would you? I bet you would! I bet you would!” Just calling himself “Dada” had an effect on Abe. He felt more than amused. He was excited. Tickled! Thrilled! He was quite sure that he’d never felt this way before. Over five hundred years and he was beginning to feel a new emotion. How exhilarating. His attempts at baby talk to soothe the baby were met with more wailing. “DADAAAAAAAA!” Some things, Abe chuckled to himself, couldn’t be remedied with simple verbal affection. Fortunately, Abe was fleet of foot, almost as fast on land as he was in the sky, and had tread this path many times in the past. Some might say too many times. Abe lit the torches in this new room with quick tiny gouts of flame from his nostrils, one at a time, so the poor little half blind baby wouldn’t be afraid. After the third or fourth puff, he gave up. The baby didn’t need to see, he just needed to be fed! The gargantuan dragon tiptoed around the racks of bottles he had amassed and collected over the years. From them he took a small green bottle with a cork in it. “Ah!” Abe remarked. “This should work!” Dexterously, he uncorked the bottle and slid it up to the infant’s lips. “Here you go, little one. Drink up. It’s juice! Nummy nummy juice!” “Dada! Dada!” The new father chuckled good naturedly, but still worried. What would he do if he couldn’t get this poor little thing to eat? “Yes, my sweet baby boy,” he cooed. “I’m Dada. Now drink. Drink it up.” He used just a tiny amount of force and pressed the mouth of the bottle to the baby’s lips. The poor pathetic hatchling tried to scream “Dada” again, but once the bottle’s contents sloshed into the baby’s mouth, a very different, very surprised look came over him. For the first time, beautiful brown eyes gazed up in recognition of the dragon. “Tastes good?” Abe asked. As if in reply, the baby put his mouth on the bottle and took another sip. He licked his lips and smacked them, the way Abe often did when something unexpected yet delicious found its way onto his palette. Like father, like son. The baby took the bottle with both tiny hands and started gulping down the contents. Abe sighed in relief. Everything was going to be okay. The baby would drink. “That’s right,” the father lizard coaxed. “Drink it up. That’s a good boy. Good baby.” The more of the juice he gulped from the green glass bottle, the more content the infant seemed to be. The baby’s muscles started to untense. His eyes, once so fearful and wary, now seemed to glaze over with content. Dragons, being natural hoarders, and long lived besides, Abe went through a phase when he collected and stored every fine spirit he could find. He read many sources that indicated that the drinking of such things could cause great pleasure. Abe experimented with it for some time, but ultimately decided against it. The juice was tasty enough, to be certain, but the sample sizes were much too small to be of much pleasure. The quantities were all far too small, and the potency of the stuff much too weak to affect him. The only reason Abe had finished stuffing racks and racks and racks with the stuff was because once he started something, it wasn’t in his nature to stop. The grape juice sated the infant cradled in his arms, however. Abe was suddenly very glad he had finished this side project so long ago. If he hadn’t, he might not have had anything to give his new baby to drink. That certainly wouldn’t have made him a good father. Lazily the baby lulled his head and removed the bottle from his lips, eliciting a loud belch accompanied by happy, contented babbling. Abe took the bottle from him and swished it around. “Still half left.” He considered giving the baby the rest of it, but the child seemed content as he was. Babies could be trusted to know when they were hungry or not. They just couldn’t be trusted to hold their bladders. “We’ll finish this later,” he promised, recorking the bottle and sliding it back into the rack where he found it. “You did a good job!” He told his baby. “Such a good little drinker!” “Hyuk!” The baby let out a jolting half-gasping sound. “Hyuk!” Abe began walking upright again, repositioning the newborn over his shoulder. “Windy pops, eh?” he said good naturedly. “Can’t have that. Those can get mighty uncomfortable, I hear.” Walking slowly back through the turning and twisting tunnels, Abe patted the child gently but firmly on the back. First he’d pat the back with the flat of his palm, gently thudding the boy. Then he’d rub the back in tight and tiny circles, massaging him. “Urp!” Came the reply. “Good baby,” Abe said, and kept going. “Urp!” Good baby!” He gave the child’s bottom a gentle, soothing pat, too. “Keep going. Keep trying.” “Urp!” The dragon waited for his adopted child to burp again, but no belches came. No hiccups did either. The great old wyrm huffed to himself with contentment and satisfaction. This wasn’t so hard, yet it felt highly rewarding. On his way back to the nursery, Abe stopped by his kitchen, removing from his meat locker it a shank of salted mammoth. Parenting was hard work and he could use a light snack. “Off to bed with you, child,” he told his new charge when they re-entered the nursery, “and then your Dada will have some num-nums of his own.” He roasted a shank of meat with his breath and took a bite. The baby began sniffling, again. Abe braced himself for another bout of wailing cries. Clearly, he’d spoken too soon. No cries came. “Dada?” Abe looked to the child. He was staring at the meat, his little pink tongue licking his lips, a healthy sheen of drool forming. His tiny hands stretched out, trying to reach across his daddy’s scaly chest to get at the meat. “Oh no no no,” Abe said, holding the meat away from his precious bundle of joy “This isn’t for…” He stopped himself. He recognized the look of longing on the little boy’s face. A growl of hunger rumbled in the boy’s stomach. He’d just had some juice. Maybe juice wasn’t enough. Thinking back on it, Abe’s mother had told him that she’d fed him his first bit of meat when he was less than a day old. Why shouldn’t it be the same for his baby. Plus, it would give him a chance to try the highchair. “I better not be spoiling you,” Abe said. Both he and the baby knew that he’d given in. Abe lowered the child into the highchair. The baby looked around, more amazed and amused than afraid and confused. A fresh diaper with some grape juice and the child was already becoming more and more dragon-like. His face had gone so far as to take on an attractive reddish hue. Just like his Daddy. If any doubt lingered that Abe was keeping this baby for his own, that stray thought sent it up in a puff of smoke. He put a bit of charred meat on his claw. Playfully, he waggled it around, inching closer and closer to the child. “Heeeeere coooomes the man-ti-cooooore!” Delightedly, the child laughed and clapped his hands. “Hee-hee-hee-heee-heee!” Some things were universal. “Heeeere coooomes the man-ti-coooore!” “Hee-heee-hee-hee-heee!” Abe plopped the bit of meat into the child’s lips just as the laughter was dying down. Just as with the juice, the baby’s eyes lit up in delight and surprise. His mouth closed on the mammoth steak and he started chewing. “MMMMMMM!” Oh to be young again, and be able to experience everything for the first time. The tastes! The sounds! The smells! The simple pleasures of chewing on meat! Though in a way, Abe supposed, he could. He could rediscover his love for those things vicariously through his child. “Ah!” The baby said. “Ah! Ah!” “Hungry little thing, aren’t you?” “Ah! Ah!” Abe gladly obliged. “Heeeere cooooomes the man-ti-cooooore!” The baby snapped up the bit with gusto, chewing happily with his mouth open and giggling and giggling. Half a dozen tiny pieces later, and the baby’s head was finally starting to droop. “I think that’s enough, little one,” the daddy dragon said. “Dada,” the baby yawned, stretching his arms out and leaning back in his highchair. Abe quickly devoured the rest of his snack. The baby’s stomach was so small that there was more than enough left for him. It was such a small thing to share the meal. Small, yet infinitely gratifying; just like the baby himself. Another yawn, and the daddy dragon lifted his tiny adopted hatchling out of the highchair while his arms were still up stretched towards the ceiling. His soft and tender form draped itself over his Daddy’s shoulder. “Poor little guy,” Abe whispered.”Someone’s had a very busy first day.” There was no question about that. Abe carted the child over to his crib, humming that same dragon lullaby to himself. With a full belly and a clean diaper, his baby didn’t seem to mind it this time. A quick inspection and Abe corrected himself. The condition of the diaper wasn’t a factor at all. “Wet,” Abe noticed. He glanced back over at the changing table and then down into the nice soft crib. “But not too wet.” Changing could wait. He also didn’t want his baby crying everytime he had a wet diaper. Laundry would now be on the chore list for the foreseeable future, and he didn’t want to make more work for himself than was necessary. Also, he didn’t want his adopted child to panic or worry every time he woke up wet, as it was perfectly natural for a baby. Best to get him used to sleeping wet, too. Slowly and softly, he lowered his new, most treasured thing into the world and pecked him on top of the forehead. “Goodnight my little prince,” he said, before blowing out the torchlight in the nursery. In loving reply. He heard a happy sounding babble and then, “Dada.” ************************************************************************************************* Sir Albrecht laid behind the massive wooden bars of what he supposed was a crib. His belly full of wine and roast meat, it was getting harder and harder to keep awake. The half a bottle he’d chugged had lowered his inhibitions and loosened his bladder to the point where he’d wet himself yet again but didn’t mind so much. The diaper held it nicely. “I could get used to this,” he mumbled drunkenly to himself. “Real used to...” he started drifting off and belched himself awake. In Albrecht’s homeland, there were only two ways that a knight could fall into disgrace: Being caught with a dead girl in your bed or a live boy. The latter had happened to him, and thus he’d been sent on this suicidal penance quest. “Some penance,” Albrecht licked his lips. “A hot meal. A soft bed.” He wriggled his bum beneath the sheets, “and a thick diaper. That’s plenty good. Plennnnn-ty good.” He inhaled deeply, enjoying the odd mixture of smells; the wine still on his breath and the powder still coating his bum. “Plenty good indeed.” They didn’t have dragons where Albrecht came from. So he didn’t know how dastardly clever they could be with their tricks and traps and winding tunnels that you could get lost in and starve to death. It’s a wonder he made it as far as he did before his cheap armor finally cracked around him. He also didn’t know how intelligent, or frankly insane, the great beasts could be. Never in a billion years would the knight have guessed this is how his quest would end. And it had ended. For some reason, this big lizard thought he was a baby of some sort, and Albrecht was in no hurry to disabuse him of that notion. As soon as his brains stopped rattling around in his skull and he realized the dragon wasn’t going to roast him or impale him, Albrecht started playing the part. The strength of the alcohol in his blood helped too. The biggest problem with childhood, by his reasoning, was that you were too young to really appreciate it. Love, food, and someone big and strong to play with you and protect you? Yeah. That was nice. Very nice. “Let’s just see how this plays out,” he yawned. The babified knight finally let his eyes close, and he drifted off into a drunken slumber; knowing but not caring that he’d probably be more soaked and in need of changing when he woke up. That was the dragon’s problem, and the crazy thing absolutely swooned whenever he called it by name. What neither Albrecht, nor Abe knew, was that in Albrecht’s native tongue the word for “Dragon” sounded suspiciously like the sound that a young hatchling would make when calling out to its father, or “Dada”. The End.

Siren’s Swan Song (Part 1) Circe Castallanos walked along the city sidewalks humming to herself, looking for her first target. What fresh havoc to sew? More importantly, was it worth it? If she picked the right mark, she’d be having a little petty fun and practice at warming up her powers. If she picked the wrong one, some detective in tights would bust her before her grand plan even got underway. It’d been half-a-decade since she’d last tried to use them for anything more than getting a free meal or a bed. Were she just starting out on the meta-scene, that wouldn’t have been too bad. She technically had never worked a day in her life. All she had to do was sing a little ditty into some fool’s ear and she’d have them under her spell for up to twenty-four hours. Free meals. Free beds. Free clothes. It all came straight to her like sailors crashing on the rocks. Being the reincarnation of the mythical Sirens had its perks. If she was smart and random, and didn’t victimize too many high rollers back to back, she could live extremely comfortably and quietly if not lavishly. Singing “Let me in my love” in tones of deep purple could get her a penthouse for a night or two, as long as she jumped into another random person’s car when she was done and sing “Take me away from here” in sultry reds to relax in a modest but well furnished house in the suburbs. If she needed money to acquire something discreetly, singing in golds about “Cash cash cash” to her mark did the trick. Singing “I’ll have the chef’s special tasting menu and a souffle for dessert,” directly from the menu in earthy greens used to be enough to get her supper, but that was getting more difficult in an age where crowds recorded buskers and performers with cell phones. The Siren’s powers didn’t work through recordings. That was a drawback of being gifted a powerset invented before the phonograph was invented. The magic and colors of her songs didn’t translate through recordings. It didn’t count in the same way that Medusa’s reflection didn’t count. Such were the limitations of the Siren’s powers. At least Circe didn’t need a microphone to amplify her voice. Her singing could fill a stadium and her battle shrieks could shatter glass. Wagyu beef and Champagne were not worth the attention having to entrance an entire restaurant worth of people and the attention that brought with it. Same for going viral online when a French speaking monkey, a datamancer, and a psychic with touch based pre and post cognition learned you were recently at a famous bistro or burger joint. A garden variety speedster could be on the spot and cold cock her before she finished her meal if she was noticed too soon. She was mighty and powerful, but the world was filled with heroes who could triumph over the perils of the Odyssey and Heracles’s labors in an afternoon. Surprise, discretion, and anonymity were her allies. The mortal part of her understood that and was responsible for her greatest successes. The Siren part of her was another matter entirely. Unfortunately, as the reincarnation of the legendary sultry bird women who dashed sailors on the rocks, Circe was essentially a living story. She had certain urges that could be delayed or worked around, but never completely ignored. The Sirens of yore were dangers, but they were known dangers; tantalizing dangers that the foolhardy did not prepare for and even the wise and cautious were tempted by. To Circe’s Siren soul, being defeated or overcome was nothing compared to being forgotten. At forty-five, she’d been defeated many times over. She had a nearly three decade career as a “supervillain” so of course that was going to happen, but she’d had some good times too. She was briefly the true ruler of a small Southeast Asian nation; had brought all of West City to the brink of collapse fighting over her, and started a cult that had gotten very close to gaining official religious protections. The trick to that particular one had been that the people under her songs’ spells never saw her but instead whatever person or thing would get the desired emotional reaction she wanted. A few layers of protection made it nearly impossible for her to be tracked down The cult trick had been ten years ago, however. Presently, she was forty-five,and feeling it in the worst way. Her looks were fading, her hair had turned silver, and her three options for shelter at any given time was prison or a place she’d stolen. That was great in her twenties. Fine in her thirties. Would she be like this in her fifties? Sixties? Did supervillains even make it to seventy? The Siren would not be denied, however. And finding her name in an article entitled “Thirteen Formerly Fearsome Supervillains You Won’t Believe Are Still Alive!” had been the last straw. The part where it said her greatest weakness was earplugs stung particularly badly. It was time. She had to act! To remind the world that she was still here and to be feared! “Run awaaaaaaay,” She whispered into a passerby’s ear, her haunting melody tinted yellow with fear. “I’m coming for you.” The man in suit and tie dropped his briefcase and dashed away screaming away. She’d timed it just right so that his panicked retreat caught the attention of the sheep around her instead of the source. Pretending to be one of them, Circe followed their gaze towards the man’s retreating form. There was a brown wet blotch forming on the seat of his pants. Her lips curled inward to hide the satisfied smile. “Still got it,” she said to herself. She wondered what the man saw. It was so hard to tell when they weren’t coherent to talk. The heroes were easy enough to guess at. You do enough super-brawls and revenge plots and it’s easy to guess what will push a body’s buttons. Circe remembered the time she sang “Help Me!” blotted with morbid black. Every single member of the Sentinels immediately fell under the delusion that she was a loved one or a sidekick at death’s door and started fighting each other to save her. Every. Single. One: Uber; The Owl; Glamazon; Techno; Blitz; Neptunia; Emerald Archon. What a glorious day that had been! How she’d loved tormenting the Sentinels and their ilk! Those were the days. Days that would start again very very soon Circe didn’t know if it was because she was a genuine misanthrope and thus loved tormenting virtue signaling, false piety loving heroes in general, or whether her Siren’s soul just loved torturing demigods. Frankly, she didn’t much care. The only thing Circe cared about was getting her fix and making sure these peons remembered her name! One long inhale and a determined sigh a second later and the Siren had steeled herself. A flick of her wrist and a snap of her wrist would transmogrify her plain jain jeans and orange blouse into her single piece skin tight nigh indestructible hydra skin suit. She looked down at her waist. Her suit used to be a two piece, but it was getting harder to hide her tummy. She wasn’t flabby, she just didn’t have the body that she used to. A moment of vanity made her consider fanning some of the scales out like fringe on a salsa dress, just in case. Hydra skin was good like that. Circe was about to start the day off right by causing a mass panic, being seen long enough to take credit and then disappearing into the masses, when she noticed that her warm up act had left behind a briefcase. No one had so much as bothered to pick it up. The milling crowd on the busy city sidewalk simply stepped over and around it, too self-absorbed in whatever was going on in their short and meaningless lives. “Excuse me,” Cicrce muttered, shoving and sliding her way through the nameless masses. Curiosity overcame her and she felt compelled. That or maybe she was stalling. Afraid. A Has-Been. Nope. It was definitely the other one. Definitely the compulsion. The super-villainess scooped the briefcase up into her arms and slinked to an alley. A common mugging was slightly beneath her., but only slightly. There amongst the dumpsters and the rats, she opened up the briefcase and peered at the documents inside. Nothing but papers and designs for something. Patents. NDA’s. Copyrights. Boring business stuff, but also something more on the technical side. Something…something…? The Siren’s eyes widened as she flipped through the patents in the businessman’s suitcase. “What…do we…have here?” And the more she read, the more she understood. And what she understood the most was that she wasn’t going to be doing a simple street level riot performance. She was going to melt back into the shadows and wait for night to fall. And after tonight, the Siren would be well on her way back to the top, better than ever. ****************************************************************************************************** That night: A.S.T.R.A.L Labs. Long after the doors had been shuttered and locked and all the lights turned off, the Siren made her move. In full, green scaled regalia, Circe walked up to the back entrance of the sleek and polished multi story building. During the day, the one way mirror glass plating made the research facility look like a bright and shining beacon that could be seen for miles around. At night, the glass took on a darker, bleaker, more obsidian color. It was also supposed to be shatterproof. Circe smirked. “Let’s test that, shall we?” She took a deep breath and screeched: “OPEN SESAMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” She didn’t need to say anything, there was no hypnotic magic woven into it. It just felt appropriate. The difference between a supervillain and a common one was presentation. She did feel a little dirty about quoting from Arabian Nights, mostly because the reference was from the wrong set of stories and culture. That didn’t matter. Her scream was The panel closest to her cracked like a lollipop tossed on the ground. Alarms blared and buzzed in howling cacophony that made Circe want to flinch. Instead, one foot in front of the other like a model in a catwalk she strut forward with her hands on her hips. The token security guards rushed forward from the front. Fit young things in white and black full body jumpsuits. Simpletons looked less like private law enforcement and more like glorified janitors. “Stop right there!” One of them shouted before reaching for his holster. Poor things weren’t issued guns, but had to make due with silly crossbreeds of billy clubs and tasers. They’d never get the chance to use them. One of the others, a guard with a bit of a gut and some gray in his temples gasped. “Hold up! Stop!” He yelled. “That’s the Siren!” His calls were almost completely muted by the wailing alarms. “Cover your ears! Get the ear-!” He didn’t finish the sentence in time. His comrades couldn’t hear him clearly, and Siren was more than loud enough to drown out every other noise. “FALSE ALAAAAAAAAAARM! GOTCHA! FAAAAAAAAALSE ALARM NO NEEEEED TO WORRY!” Overpowering, enrapturing, and above all very very loud, the Siren’s playfully cyan call reached out to every year in the building above street level. The lead guard, the one with the gut, took out a control pad and punched in a few codes. The buzzing stopped abruptly, and all the of the guards slumped their shoulders and shook their heads. “Chuck, you asshole!” The head guard on duty said. “You had us scared half to death!” The others were already muttering to themselves and walking away. Circe managed a shrug and guilty looking smile. “Sorry boss,” she said. “I guess I just got a little carried away.” “I oughta fire your ass for this,” he scowled. “Yeah, Chuck!” One of the other guards returning to their post grunted. He slapped his compatriot upside the back of his head. “Way to screw around dickweed!” His coworker rubbed the back of his head and flinched away. “Yeah,” he chuckled. “I really do suck sometimes.” He thumbed backwards to where a most bemused Siren stood. “Pretty funny though, you gotta admit. How the hell did I manage to get all the way over there and be here at the same time?” “How the fuck should I know?!” Evidently, Chuck was something comparable to the night shift’s resident cut up. Another benefit of her hypnotic songs is that the suggestions didn’t regularly have to make any common sense whatsoever. Siren shrugged again, lowered her voice to a suitably ‘manly’ tenor and said, “Sorry, boss.” “You better be sorry,” The head guard scowled. “Now go clean this shit up!” He finally walked away, leaving the Siren smirking at her own cleverness. “Well that was amusing,” Circe said to herself. It was too, almost like a bit of roleplay before the hot stuff really got going. Or more innocently, a fun game of pretend. Either worked for this metaphor. “Now to get down to business.” The business at hand was, of course, larceny. By sheer coincidence, her terror mark earlier that day had been a lawyer of some kind working for A.S.T.R.A.L. labs. In his briefcase she found the very basic designs for a new type of sound transmitter, one that specifically mimicked the human voice box and throat. Instead of electronic speakers that blasted out digitized sounds, the synthetic muscles inside would perfectly replicate any recorded voice. Okay for music. Good for cybernetic and prosthetic advancement. Great for Circe. Perfect for the Siren. If she could have something that perfectly replicated her voice in every facet, the range of control she could exert would be virtually limitless. If she could record and recreate her voice instead of broadcasting it, all of her technical limitations would be overcome. She could leave mesmeric songs all over the place hours ahead of time like hypnotic time bombs. She could record herself serenading someone a song of worship and put it on loop at key locations. With this kind of technology, Circe could do what no one in her field had ever done: She could take over the world! The high heels of her costume clicked against the tile. She waved herself by security, smiling placidly and pretending to be a very repentant Chuck while heading towards the elevator. All the good experiments were kept in a sub basement deep beneath the city. It was practically an open secret. The elevator dinged open. “Stop right there, Siren!” Circe rolled her eyes. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Right in front of Circe was another superhero. A new one; one she didn’t recognize right off the bat. She was a young black woman with short cropped hair that blinked white light at different points along her skull, and the glowing tattoos on her arm resembled a circuit board. A cyborg of some kind. The belt and wristbands with compartmentalized segments suggested a hint of gadgeteer. “Who the hell are you supposed to be?” “Wait. Seriously?” The other woman said. “You don’t remember me? I’m Glitch.” The Siren put a hand to her cheek. “Glitch? Techno’s sidekick?” There was no way that was Glitch. “Aren’t you twelve?” The younger woman looked offended. “I was the first time you kidnapped me. I’m twenty-two.” Oh god that made her feel so old! Nevermind! Push that thought aside. A terrible smile blossomed on the Siren’s face. “Ten years as a sidekick. Not a bad run. Techno’s going to need a new sidekick after tonight.” “He’s already got one,” Glitch replied. “I beg your pardon?” Siren asked flatly. Was this some kind of joke? “I’m a full fledged hero now. Doing my own thing. Techno got a new sidekick. Their name’s Binary, which is kind of ironic since-” “Be the love of my liiiiiiife.” Siren belted out to the young hero and hot crimson. A super hacker or a cyborg would be a good thing to have in her back pocket when robbing this place. Why not make her a love slave? Instead of fawning over her and showering her with affection, Glitch just stood there. “Yeah. About that.” She tapped one ear, one eye, and then her head. “Had a couple upgrades since last time. I’m more wired up than techno, just most of the hardwear is internal. I’m hearing and seeing all this, but there’s so many gadgets and gizmos in my brain that I’m basically perceiving you through a camera. “I’m basically immune to your schtick.” Shit. She thumbed back towards the guards. “Are they?” A quick deathly sing of “Security Breeeeeach!” It worked on the Sentinels. It would work on these mooks. They might not stop the hero, but they could hold her off and inconvenience her long enough for a sonic blast. “Chuck?!” They screamed, and drew their batons. “CHUUUUUUUUCK!” Well, looks like Chuck was as beloved as much as he was derived. Good for Chuck. “MEEEEEEEEEEEE!” The men charged forward as Siren sidestepped out of the way. “BE THE LOVE OF MY LIIIIIIIFE.” Pure and lustful and red the melody came out as intense as the first time and much, much, louder. The goons froze and stared slack jawed and drooling with passion and lust. Circe was used to seeing that look in people. But they weren’t looking at her, and with good reason: That song hadn’t come from her lips at all. The men were all looking goo-goo eyed not at Siren, but at Glitch. “Huh,” the younger hero smiled. “That worked just how I thought it would. Neat.” She turned her gaze to meet the Siren’s. “Thanks for letting me try that out.” Circe froze; stunned and shocked “How?” she stuttered. “How…how did a little brat like you…manage to do… that…?!” Without further banter, a bola shot out of the hero’s right gauntlet, spinning through the air and wrapping itself right around Circe’s throat. The Siren gasped for hair, feeling like there was a noose wrapped around her neck that had been improperly tied. If she hadn’t been so bewildered at someone using her own powers against her, the Siren might have thought to use a sonic shout to stop the projectile in its path and bust out whatever fancy equipment was in the ex-sidekick’s body. Too bad. So sad. Too late. Her hands clutched at her neck, trying to rip the cord from around her throat. Defeated again, before she even had the chance to set any kind of brilliant or chaotic plan into motion. By a sidekick no less. How humiliating. Circe Castallanos didn’t know the half of it. “Brat, huh?” Glitch said. “You just gave me an idea.” The Siren tried to sing or scream or at least give a sufficiently monstrous reply. All that came out was gargled gasps. “This is gonna sting a little bit. Sorry.” Jinx pressed a button on her wrist gauntlet. The volts and jolts of electricity did not sting at all. The Siren was knocked out before she so much as consciously noticed anything painful. She’d wake up extremely sore, however. ************************************************************************* The Siren woke up on a cold metal slab, surrounded by hues of cobalt blue and foghat gray. Her entire body ached and her head felt fuzzy. Instinctively, she tried to sit up. That was how she realized that her arms and legs were restrained. She lifted her head and took full view of herself, completely naked. Her suit? Where was her hydra skin suit? It should be irremovable unless she willed it so. Where was she? Her mind began processing both past and present simultaneously. The plan to return to greatness that didn’t so much as get off the ground. The humiliating and sudden defeat at the hands of a sidekick. That was the past. Presently, she was in some kind of laboratory. It had to be a laboratory. Too many computers and screens and keyboards and what she assumed were fragile monitoring devices to be a holding cell. The lone entrance way had neither a laser grid nor the slight wavering crackle of a forcefield. There were none of the minor comforts or conveniences for it to be a medical facility or hospital. No mattresses or chairs. No sinks. No televisions. Scanning her body she found no evidence of I.V. bags or other basic medical equipment. Both a proper holding cell and a proper hospital would have someone nearby on guard for when she regained consciousness. Unless she wasn’t considered a threat… That intrusive thought, that single bit of half baked analysis almost sent Circe into a frothing rage. How dare she not be under strict monitoring conditions. She was Siren! THE Siren! She was a walking weapon! A threat to global security! Anything less than a gun directly to her head and a clear threat to her life should she so much as whisper was an insult! They would pay! They would PAY! Starting with that bitch, Glitch. Circe slowed her breathing and forced herself to calm down. Even her screams required a degree of breath control. She’d need her screams. She saw more than a few A.S.T.R.A.L. Labs logos in her immediate vicinity. She hadn’t been moved very far, then. There were no windows or outside source of light; only the ever buzzing fluorescent lights overhead illuminated the air. She was likely in one of the very sub-basement labs she’d been meaning to break into. Probably not the lab with the sound systems she’d planned on stealing, sadly. No one would be that utterly stupid. Her do-gooder captor was immune to Circe’s charms, but she could likely still scream her into oblivion or cause some major damage to all of this fragile equipment. Circe wasn’t sure how she could get out of her present restraints with that strategy. She’d shattered bones with her screams before. Could she break her own wrists and ankles to get out of the restraints? That seemed like a bad idea. The Siren in her didn’t much care about escape, per se. If need be this slab could be her rock in the middle of the sea of monsters again. Wreck the place apart and ensnare the fools that came to the rescue. Chances were that not enough time had passed for Glitch to alert the authorities and lacked a proper holding cell. Even if the heroes came at her call armed with earplugs, she could be satisfied at the damage she’d done. The point of being the reincarnation of a monster wasn’t specifically to win. Circe smiled, despite herself. She was breathing easily enough. Nothing was regulating or obstructing her airway. She licked her lips. Time to test out the equipment. “Hmmmm…” she let out a light hum to herself. Good. Her throat felt undamaged. Nothing rattled or made her want to choke. Nothing felt forced. “Time to bring the house down,” she said a little louder. Perfect. Now to follow through on that threat. She laid her head back and with a deep breath she took all the air she could into her lungs and screamed out as loud as she possibly could. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH?!” Circe ended the near deafening shriek on a rather confused note. Pink? Soft baby bootie girly girl pink? She’d never sang or screamed in that color before. Sophisticated rose pink, sure. Fun and bright poppy punk rock pink, yeah. But never pink-pink. Little girl pink? Baby bonnet pink? Training panties pink? Never. Never that color. She hadn’t meant to scream in any color whatsoever. She’d been going for pure volume. She tried again, and got the same result. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Another try. “WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH-AH-AH-AH-AH!” Circe was left gasping and slightly winded. She was trying to bring down this place like the Walls of Jericho; not…whatever this was. “What in the name of Tartarus?” The quiet sound of quick yet confident footsteps drew Circe’s attention to the entrance way. In walked the cybernetic superhero, with glowing circuit board tattoos beneath her skin and various points of her skull lighting up and shining through her hair. “Good morning,” Glitch said chipperly. “How are you feeling?” Over her more tactically minded form fitting jumpsuit that was so common for people in their specific line of work, Glitch wore a white lace apron with a pocket. “Let me out!” the Siren called. “Release me you little whelp!” “Subject has regained consciousness,” Glitch said. “Temperament; hostile. Cognitive faculties appear to be operational, and judgment such as it is unimpaired; or at least unaltered from previous encounters.” The comment into the upturned palm of her hand like it was some kind of recording device. If she’d gone the route of Techno, it very likely was. That was the problem with tech based heroes in Circe’s mind. They were never quite what they seemed. It was so…disingenuous. The blatant hypocrisy considering her own power set didn’t occur to her. “Glad that you’re awake.” “You’ll wish I wasn’t,” Circe sneered. “Let me go, you freak of science!” Glitch’s hair glowed and twinkled, but her face remained passive and preoccupied with whatever was going on with her hand. “Nope.” “Mark my words, girl, you have made a powerful enemy!” Glitch lowered her hand and seemed to consider the threat. “Objectively? Yes. Your abilities are quite formidable.” The Siren felt herself filling up with pride. Finally! Some acknowledgement! “You could do a lot of good with them if you wanted.” “I don’t,” Circe Spat. Her captor went on, ignoring it. “In this particular instance and circumstance, though? To me specifically? No. You’ve got nothing. Don’t feel bad, though. Most one-on-one super fights are about power compatibility and susceptibility over tactics or brute force. It’s rock paper scissors, and I’m your scissors.” Cicre picked her head up and screamed. “LISTEN TO ME!” More little girl pink notes sailed into the air. That was supposed to have taken the hero’s head off. “You didn’t really think that would work did you?” Glitch stood with one hand on her hip, head tilted and unblinking. Circe held her tongue, confused as to what was going on.. “Did you?” She didn’t know how to answer that question. She was more used to being on the other end of the hostage captor dynamic. And the younger woman’s unblinking, unafraid gaze was unsettling. It wasn’t angry or cruel, more annoyed than anything. Disappointed? It had been a long long time since anyone had ever looked at Circe that way. “Why is everything coming out pink?” she heard herself blurt out. Glitch righted her head and looked somewhat confused. “Pink? What do you mean pink?” Ugh,” Circe rolled her eyes indignantly. Had she not been restrained she would have crossed her arms. “My voice turns different colors depending on the songs I sing.” “Iiiiinteresting,” Glitch remarked. She leaned in closer. “So you’re saying that you perceive the different vibrational frequencies that your hypnotic songs produce through a form of synesthesia?” The Siren blinked, confused. “Um…” Glitch leaned in even closer. “When you sing do you see colors in the songs?” “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” The hero winced, slightly, but still had a head. Damn. “And that was pink to you?” The Siren felt her temper rising. “That was supposed to destroy you!” “I’m well aware. Was that pink?” “What did you do to me?” “Was that scream pink?” Circe allowed herself an indignant huff. “Yeah. Why?” “Good.” Glitch spoke again into her palm. “Sonic modulation is successful and working well within expected parameters.” “WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?” The supervillain hadn’t even tried to do a sonic scream or a hypnotic song that time. All she’d done was raise her voice and everything came out princess baby pink. Glitch lowered her palm. More flashes of blinking lights shone through her hair. Did that mean she was thinking or something; like a computer doing complex calculations? The kid used to wear a weird skater helmet back in the day. Circe had no idea. “Okay, I’ll catch you up to speed,” the hero finally said. A screen lowered down from the ceiling. “As you know, you mugged and stole designs from an employee of A.S.T.R.A.L. Labs.” High angle footage showed Circe’s deed replayed in front of her from the vantage point of a traffic light. “Based on your reaction, you didn’t know what you were stealing right off the bat, you just knew you were assaulting a Lab employee with a secure briefcase.” Circe hadn’t even known that much; not that she’d admit it. “Due to your innate understanding of sound waves and vocal chords,” Glitch lectured on, “you figured out what you were looking at and realized the potential for strategic power enhancements; hypnotic time bombs, subliminal messages played on loop and such. The only problem is you lacked the resources and technical expertise to build this yourself. How am I doing so far?” She took the Siren’s silence as a sign of how accurate her synopsis had been. Circe was treated to a replay of her break in. Sonic scream and false alarm and all. “So you decided to break in and steal the prototype yourself. What you clearly didn’t know is that A.S.T.R.A.L. Labs is my base of operations and that I invented the technology you were seeking to steal. So from the moment you stole that briefcase, you were on my radar and effectively walking into a trap.” “GRRRRRRRR..” Circe shoved her anger and her volume deep down inside herself. “Typical hero,” she spat. “You claim to be for the greater good, but you’re just as selfish as the rest of us.” Glitch fiddled with the lace apron straps. “Um…no? I’m inventing new technology to revolutionize broadcasting, communication, and hearing. You’re trying to sew discord and stuff. We are not the same.” “So you’re not getting paid?” Circe smirked, starting to enjoy the battle of words. She’d bait this girl into doing something stupid. “Not as much as I should be getting paid,” Glitch replied, “but yeah. Saving the world is pro-bono. I still need to eat.” “Spare me,” the Siren rolled her eyes. “Just send me to prison, already.” “Nope.” There was a pause. “No?” “Nope.” “WHAT DO YOU MEAN NO?” More pink! Why was it always pink?! Glitch put a finger to her temple and one of her irises turned bright blue like a computer screen booting up. “That scream was pink, too, wasn’t it?” Circe gave no response. Her face was enough of a tell. “Iiiiiinteresting. To answer your questions, your voice is coming out ‘pink’ because of the collar I put on you.” “What collar?” The television screen above her patched through to what could only have been the cyborg hero’s point of view. Around Circe’s neck was a delicately thin pink ribbon with a decorative heart shape in the middle; a choker of sorts. “This isn’t a standard power neutralizing collar.” It was so thin that she hadn’t noticed the foreign (and only) article of clothing until she saw it on the screen. The younger woman suppressed a proud grin. “Yeah. Nah. Those things are too bulky. Lowest bidder tech. You’d find a way to break it or pick the lock or something and break out.” This was true… Circe had been counting on that. “So, I made you a new one. Synthesized your hydra skin costume and got rid of the fire weakness. Oh yeah, apologies for burning up your hydra skin costume. It was the only way I could get it off of you while you were unconscious.” Hearing that her costume had been destroyed bothered her. It felt like more of a violation than just laying naked on a metal slab. ““LET ME GO!” Glitch ignored her and went on. “Thanks to the decades of data you’ve provided the superhero community, I’ve been able to isolate the unique frequency that your voice operates on when you’re singing or screaming. That little heart around your neck is constantly scanning and anytime it picks up something coming from you that is either too loud or too similar to your songs, it turns the sound ‘pink’ instead. Your sonic screams work on the same basic principle of sound manipulation, just kind of inverted, so it was easy enough to modify those too.” “Why pink?” Circe asked. “Couldn’t have you seducing everyone in earshot by turning into their crush or making them think you were a dying loved one, could I? I chose the vibrational frequency that would do the least damage.” “What does pink do?” A bit of confusion crossed Glitch’s face. “You don’t know?” “I mean… I know what it does, but do you? Did your data or calculations tell you the exact power of pink? Are you prepared for it?” Circe was both a fantastic liar and a godawful one. She’d grown so used to manipulating minds through her particular brand of magic that she’d all but forgotten how to bluff the old fashioned way. “You really don’t know, do you?” Glitch asked. “Heh. Heh-heh. You don’t know your own powers!” Glitch started to lose composure and began laughing quietly yet condescendingly. “You poor thing! Has all of your havoc through the years been the result of poor impulse control and guess work?” “SHUT UP!” The hero's eyes went pure white, glazed over and static filled. “Compiling all known data and running through psycho analytic profiling algorithm,” she said. Circe saw a glimpse of binary code flash by. Maybe even some two’s. One second later Glitch’s pupils came back and she gasped. “It has!” Glitch smacked her own forehead, seeming reminiscent of a teacher or nanny that finally understands a childish misconception. “You’re not a super villain, you’re a victim of your own lack impulse and insecurities!” She gave a full belly laugh, folding her hands over the pristine white apron and doubling over in hilarity. Stupid Glitch! Stupid ex-sidekick! Stupid know it all technology user! Stupid hero! Stupid..stupid…STUPID! “SHUT UP YOU BRAT!” The super-scientist stopped laughing, yet a smug, somewhat cruel smile remained. “Oh yeah. That. You calling me a brat gave me an idea…” The Siren suddenly did not like the look on her younger foe’s face. “All things considered, I think you’re the real brat, Circe.” Circe flinched at being called her real name instead of her proper title. What was more embarrassing, the Siren realized, was that she couldn’t return the insult. “I was going to just humiliate you before I dropped you off at the nearest police precinct with a note…or maybe the nearest metahuman preschool.” Preschool? What was that about? ”But the more I’m figuring out about you and your powers, the more opportunities I’m seeing for advancement.” “Do your worst,” the Siren sneered. “I was once imprisoned in the Hell Pits of Malboge!” “Yeah,” her captor said bluntly. “You were twenty three then, and haven’t grown from any of those experiences, successes, or defeats. I was looking to embarrass you. I’m not going to break you. I might actually end up helping you.” “You? Help me?” The supervillain scoffed. “Get real. How?” “For starters?” Glitch replied. “A new wardrobe.” Her arm tattoos lit up, buzzing almost as brightly as the fluorescent lights above, and the sounds of something just out of eyesight moving haunted Circe’s ears. “Fuck you!” Circe spat. She could feel the slab tilting back. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck yoooooou!” She tilted her head back as far as she could and rolled her eyes to see behind her. A panel in the floor had slid open, revealing only a deep dark hole with only empty blackness inside. In seconds she was hanging upside down at a forty five degree angle. “FUCK YOU!” “See you on the other side. Brat.” With a snap of her fingers, the restraints released, sending Circe sliding into the abyss. “FUCK YOOOOOOOU!” Down she plummeted, yet never did she achieve freefall. It turned out that the hole she’d been dumped in was dark, but not close to empty. Slipping and twisting and turning; corkscrewing backwards and forwards, Circe braced and gripped at the sides with everything she had but couldn’t get a grip. Friction was not on her side. Either this ramp was greased up beyond belief or it was made of a frictionless substance. Given where she was, she supposed the latter. The darkness was disorienting and her increasingly pinkish screams and gasps fell on deaf ears. She had no idea how long this insane roller coaster would last. A sudden sudzy splash, head first, gave the villain a new metaphor. “A water slide?” Circe’s lips drew back from her teeth. A bit of bitter, metallic tasting, almost burning liquid had slipped into her mouth. If this was a water slide, someone had gone overboard on the chlorine. She brushed her sopping silver hair out of her eyes, and cursed when she tried to open them. “Agh! Soap!” That explained the taste. A dry piece of terry cloth dabbed at her eyes and she was able to see. “Thanks,” she said accidentally. “I mean-!” But when her vision cleared there was no one in front of her. “Huh?” Lights snapped on, forcing the drenched and sudsy Siren to squint and force her eyes to focus. Looking back up at the slide, a ride that didn’t seem so hazardous now that she was at the bottom and could see- she estimated that she’d traveled only twenty-five to thirty feet vertically. She felt her skin take on a more pinkish hue. Speaking of pink, the walls around her were a kind of rosy salmon colored. Calming, gentle colors to the point of boredom. At about waist height, she noticed a white border going around the room’s perimeter. Stenciled in the border were simple shapes like circles, triangles, squares, stars, and hearts, all in the same calming salmon. Three of the four walls were solid, and other than the oddly childish border running along the middle, and an open doorway, they seemed fairly unassuming. The fourth wall wasn’t, with a pane of glass peeking out into a well lit hallway. It reminded Circe of the viewing glass window in a hospital’s newborn unit. Thankfully, no one was in the hallway. If they were, they would have seen her standing naked, waist deep in a large jacuzzi like vat with bubbles providing the only form of modesty. Modesty, at the moment, didn’t matter so much; escape did. The Siren made it three sloshing shuffling steps. Little did she know that right behind her, like a sea monster rising from the depths, a robotic manacle was rising up from the suds. Before she could so much as swing a leg over the rim of the tub, Circe heard and then felt a definitive click as.the massive steel cuff locked itself around her waist. “The fuck?” “Ah ah ah,” Glitch’s voice was piped in from an unseen speaker. “Don’t want you falling down. You could get hurt.” “Keep talking, brat…” Circe growled. “See what happens.” “Just relax. Enjoy your bath. Get pampered….” Circe didn’t understand the chuckle that followed. She would soon. The manacle around her waist dragged her splashing and screaming back to the center of the tub. Where the previous terry cloth had come from became immediately evident. Panels in the ceiling were coming down and robotic hands lowered from them armed with towels, wash cloths, and bars of soap to spare. The only thing they were missing was little white gloves. Right above the still unoccupied viewing window, An electronic sign came to life. “BATHING…” it read. “What is this?” Circe demanded. “A FUCKING CARTOON?” “No,” Glitch’s voice chimed back in. “Though cartoons would be very appropriate, all things considered.” The Siren would have dropped another F-Bomb, but a mechanical arm forced open her jaw so that another could shove a spare bar of soap into it. She tried to spit it out but the extra appendages held her arms down and the bar firmly pressed in. Trying not to retch her tongue retreated up and back to the roof of her mouth to keep her from either tasting or swallowing the stuff. The next few burbled screams came out as pink, too. Washcloths and towels whirled around her and scrubbed her skin just roughly enough to be uncomfortable at the intrusion. Shoulders, armpits, breasts, bellybutton, and behind her ears were all attended to; more sensitive and delicate areas were not spared. Simultaneously shampoo was massaged into her scalp and rinsed off. Some kind of advanced filtration system wicked the bubbles out of the pool as soon as they were rinsed off her body. The soap came out and she was allowed to wash her mouth with the last bit of rinse water falling atop her. A final spit almost banished the terrible taste. Almost. The water didn’t drain as much as it dropped out of the massive tub through fine grating on the bottom of the floor. Circe hadn’t felt the grating before. The bottom must have dropped out from underneath her with only grating left to hold her weight. “Wouldn’t a hose and delousing powder work better?” Circe complained. She was dripping and miserable. The air conditioning made her shudder, and she resembled less like a person and more like an alley cat that had gotten caught in a sudden downpour. WOOOOOOOOSH! In place of a smart aleck reply from the techno-brat, deafening gusts of hot air erupted out of the floor and blasted her hair up like Frankenstein’s Bride. A second blast from the ceiling pushed her hair back down. Fluffy towels came spinning and softly dabbed away the few remaining water droplets. The electric sign above the viewing window flashed. “Drying.” “Very funny.” Circe said. “You’re trying to teach me a lesson by putting me through a glorified car wash.” “Wait for it,” Glitch came in over the speakers. A buzzing noise signaled another change on the sign. “Hair styling?!” The mechanical appendages returned, now wielding scissors, spray bottles, razors, cream and curlers. The manacle on her waist held her fast, while terrible, invasive hands erupted from the floor to hold her legs and arms steady. “STAY THE FU-!” Circe started to scream. A bar of soap riddled with teeth marks lowered from the ceiling and she corrected herself before it was lodged back in. “Fuuuuuuudge!” “She’s learning!” Circe’s building anger and resentment at the know-it-all’s taunting were the only thing keeping her calm while the mechanical monstrosities cut, brushed, curled her hair. The cream and razors weren’t for her head. Not just her legs, either… When the job was done and everything was left, A full body mirror was transported in from a side panel. The only hair left on the Siren’s body was right on top of her head, and in place of her long seductive locks, were snowy curls that bobbed up and down around her ears and over her forehead. Every other follicle had been shaved down to a molecule with laser sharpened steel. “I look like a toddler!” she gasped. “Mmmmhmmm…” Glitch said. “Guess what’s next?” The styling arms ascended and another buzz from the sign above the viewing window drew Circe’s attention. “Diapering?!” This had to be a joke. There was no way the superhero was serious about this! Had to be a typo. That bitch couldn’t possibly- But she could. The mobile restraints lifted Circe into the air as easily as if she were a ragdoll and held her parallel to the floor until another slab raised up beneath her. Only the manacle around her waist released itself, and that was only so that a similar metal tendrel could wrap around her, securing her. The hands that had been lifting her were similarly traded out. This particular table was the same base rectangular shape as the one she awoke on, but was much softer. Not quite so soft as a bed, however. It was closer to the sturdy couches of a state mandated psychologist’s office or the massage tables of a five star resort she’d once sung herself into. This was neither of those things she realized. “Is that a diaper?” The Siren cried out looking at the ceiling. The hands had returned, and in them was a neatly folded, thick, fluffy, shining white plastic backed diaper. If she had any doubt about it, the bottle of baby powder and the jar of diaper rash cream sent the message home. “I AM NOT WEAR-!” The pacifier that zoomed in cut off the rest of her sentence. The moment the rubber bulb came into contact with Circe’s tongue it started rapidly inflating, filling her mouth until it was impossible to spit out, yet alone suckle on it. It was more akin to a ball gag with a cute little mouth guard and knob at the end. She looked down past her nose and caught a glimpse of lilypad green. At least it wasn’t pink… The massive diaper was unfolded and her legs were forced up by the tendrils keeping her restrained to the robotic changing table. She was helpless to resist. Of all the times that her legs had been hoisted up over her head (very few since she preferred cowgirl), this was by far the worst. The thick, smelly diaper cream had an unpleasant smell that reminded her of hospitals. Circe could only moan around her bulb, while the goop was pasted onto and between her cheeks. The cold yet dry baby powder that followed had a pleasant aroma that calmed her down. Her bottom was lowered down onto the diaper, and she became intensely aware of the thick padding that crinkled beneath her. Some extra powder was dusted on her now hairless mound and sprinkled onto her belly button for good measure. Inhaling more and more of the perfumed dust, Circe felt more and more of the fight go out of her. Her breathing slowed. Her fists unclenched. She stopped testing the strength of the restraints every three seconds. She was completely aware, but much of the fear and outrage and emotion was gone; numbed. The monster in her was silent and she became a curious observer in her own body. She lifted her head and examined herself as the diaper was brought up between her legs. An adult diaper, obviously, but…not? It had four tapes to accommodate her wider more womanly hips, but there was a childish decoration, a blue dog on the front. Only baby diapers had cute little decorations on them; likely so as to not repulse the poor parents tasked with changing them. No self-respecting adult would wear something this obviously infantile. Circe was beginning to wonder if she had such a thing as self-respect. “That’s right,” Glitch’s voice came back in. “Breathe deep, baby girl. Smells nice, doesn’t it?” Reluctantly, Circe nodded her head. “This should make the rest of the process go much smoother. I figured you were immune to pure hypnotism given your background, so I whipped up a little cocktail to help you relax. Nothing like a little aromatic chemical restraint.” Aromatic chemical restraint. Her mind, foggy as it was parsed the words out. The baby powder. She was being drugged. She should be afraid, the Siren realized, but couldn’t muster the effort. Better to just lay here. In her nice, snug, and comfy diaper. “Good girl,” the speakers whispered. “I’d leave you like this but you’re not likely to learn anything. Enjoy it while it lasts.” Joy, or any strong emotion was beyond Circe by the time the board changed to “Feeding” A bottle came down and the pacifier was removed. Circe’s slackened jaw did not try to resist the fresh nipple as it was inserted between her lips. Completely aware, but powerless to resist, she suckled lightly on the milk, letting it dribble and drip down into her mouth and swallowing. Dribbles and drips turned to trickles turned to gushes. Practically of their own volition, her lips started sucking and draining the overly large bottle while her belly extended. The rubber teat slipped out as easily as it had gone in and the last bits of milk leaked down the sides of Circe’s lips. The tendrils propped her up. She read the flashing sign. “Burping.” A foam paddle in place of a warm hand did the deed, patting her back up and down her spine until she inevitably burst. “BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARCHK!” The hands came down a final time to lift the diapered and bloated woman up into the air and deposit her in a newly arrived crib. The pacifier found its way back into her mouth, but didn’t inflate so much that it hurt the second time. The sign flashed one final word that Circe was able to read. “Nap.” Nap? Already? Well…alright. She felt uncomfortably full. Sleep would dull the sensations, no doubt. Something must have been in the milk. The viewing window rushed by Circe while an unseen force propelled the adult sized crib through the singular doorway. On the other side of the threshold was a room very similar to the one she’d existed, but much less sparsely decorated. She caught sight of a giant highchair, a large baby bouncer and of course, a more proper looking changing table with shelves stacked full of the same babyish print diapers that she now wore. It still had the same salmon colored paint job and preschool level shapes stenciled in along the border. Her ever dimming view was cut off by Glitch. “Welcome to the nursery, bratty baby girl.” Circe finally understood the frilly white apron: Major nanny vibes. The younger hero stared at her wrist. “Everything should be kicking in about three…two…one…” Circe’s knees bent and raised up to her stomach. Without meaning to, she felt herself start to push. The once feared villainess was passing muffled farts and more. Warm, mushy stool shot out of her and into the back of her once clean diaper, causing it to balloon out slightly to accommodate. She was pooping but too stoned to care. Her bladder finally relaxed for good measure, soaking the padding between her legs and mingling with the mess for a moment before being completely absorbed. “Right on time,” Glitch said. “Go ahead,” she coaxed. “Sleep. The bottle and the powder should conk you out for an hour or two. Rest up. You’ll need it.” Rest. Yes. That sounded good. And this crib and these ‘clothes’ felt oddly comfortable, even in their current state. “Okay everyone,” Glitch called. “Experiment complete. Cloaking fields off.” Circe managed to see the viewing window to the giant nursery fill with the blinking forms of a dozen or so scientists in white lab coats deactivating personal invisibility devices. Her complete and total degradation had been witnessed and likely documented by those pathetic sheep. Sleep was now more than a relaxing suggestion, but a much needed emotional retreat inside herself. She woke up, Circe promised herself, she’d find a way to get out of this and make Glitch pay. Glitch, that upstart. That brat. That….that….that…

Time is meaningless when you’re dead. “When we’ve been there ten thousand years, bright shining as the sun,” that stupid song went, “We’ll no less days to sing God’s praise than when we first begun.” They had the right of it, or so Isabelle felt, but they were completely wrong too. Time is a construct. Any idiot trying to seem sophisticated or smart will say that, usually before giggling smugly and then telling you what time it is. It’s true though. Time is just a way of marking or noticing changes outside oneself that occur due to external and internal forces. Time is what people ascribe to noticing patterns such as the seasons, growth, maturity, entropy, and death. Time is attaching logic and other basic cause and effect relationships to oneself. Time was how mortal minds cataloged and tracked basic predictable changes. When dead, you’re out of time. Literally outside of it. Upon death, ten seconds and ten thousand years were equally relevant and long and important to each other. The rules and predictability that govern the passage of time cease and loop back around on each other. Someone in Heaven experiencing that Amazing Grace would be in such a state of perpetual bliss and nothing about that bliss would change or shift to the point that ten thousand years would be as inconsequential to them as a single day. Time has no meaning or necessity upon death. That’s how eternity worked. That’s what the song meant. That was how it was for Isabelle. Literally outside of time. It was the only way she could comprehend her current eternal situation. Isabelle wasn’t in Heaven, at least not any Heaven she would have selected for herself. “Wakey wakey,” came an overly cheerful voice from elsewhere in the room. “Time to get up!” The woman whom Isabelle knew only as ‘Mommy’ popped her head suddenly over the railing that defined the outer border of Isabelle’s crib . “I hope you slept well, Izzy! We’ve got a busy day ahead!” Mommy’s voice was always cheery and bright sounding, her eyes bright and possessed of the curiosity and intensity that a housecat paid to a lizard. Isabelle was the lizard. Isabelle squalled from her spot on the mattress, her tiny yet chubby hands balled up into impotent fists as she screamed up at Mommy; hammering the crib mattress beneath her with her fists and feet. She couldn’t so much as roll over onto her side, and it had everything and nothing to do with the bulky infant’s diaper wrapped around the girl’s hips. “I know,” Mommy cooed. “I know.” She reached down and picked the tiny blob up off the crib’s mattress. A tiny blob: That’s all Isabelle was first thing in the morning and last thing at night. She had no other choice. “You want your breakfast. First, let me check your pants, Little Miss Squirmy.” Isabelle continued to squall while Mommy held the entirety of her in just one arm and pulled back the rear waistband of her diaper. It was more of a scream than a cry, newborns couldn’t properly cry. Mommy repositioned Isabelle into a cradle. “You definitely need a change,” she said. “But not quite yet. We’ll wait till after breakfast.” Inwardly, Isabelle’s heart sank. So that’s how this particular morning was going to go. Sometimes she’d be changed first thing and then given breakfast. Sometimes she’d be fed and then changed. Sometimes she’d be whisked out of the house in a pretend rush wearing the same diaper she woke up in. She hated those mornings the most. Isabelle never knew ahead of time which it would be, and nothing she did seemed to matter. Time didn’t matter. “That means you get to eat sooner! Isn’t that good?” Newborns are all but incapable of expressing any emotion beyond quiet or screaming. Isabelle chose screaming. That didn’t affect Mommy one bit. “Yeah,” she said. “Someone’s hungry. Someone needs her morning titty.”’ The air rushed by like a rollercoaster and Isabelle was screaming like it. Her gumless mouth resembled a caught fish in so many ways. Unperturbed, Mommy opened her pink bathrobe and exposed her nipple. Isabelle felt the tit brush up against her cheek and her mouth automatically turned and latched on, greedily sucking at the breastmilk. “There. That’s better.” It was and it wasn’t. Her infant body felt an animal level of satisfaction in the suckling the same way one feels when scratching an itch. The actions taken though were highly involuntarily. Her mouth and tongue suckled and explored the nipple and downed the creamy fat filled milk in the same way that her knee spasmed when tapped with a hammer. Speaking of involuntary, Isabelle heard herself grunt slightly as her body pushed out a soft mushy mass into the seat of her nighttime diaper. Her bottom lit up with pain and itching as her persistent low-level rash made itself known. Mommy peeked back in and examined the mess for herself. “Good girl,” she said. “Knew I was right. If I’d have changed you first before breakfast I’d just have to change you again.” Isabelle got out the tiniest scream as she was switched over to the other breast. “And it would probably have been a much bigger mess to clean up,” she said as she let out a pleasant sounding sigh and patted Isabelle’s mushy bottom. The pats were simultaneously affectionate and agonizing as each pat further inflamed her sensitive skin. The most annoying part was that Mommy was right. The baby didn’t wince or flinch. She couldn’t. She just kept sucking on Mommy’s tit, her body operating on pure instinct, heedless of the fact that it was in a thoroughly used diaper. She didn’t care either. The diapers, she decided, were the symptom of a much bigger problem. It was awful being so completely out of control of her own body. It sucked being Mommy’s personal plaything every single day and not knowing what she’d be subjected to. It sucked being dead. “Okay,” Mommy said. “All done. Time for burps! Can you give me some burps?” She propped Isabelle up over her enormous shoulder and started gently patting the newborn’s back. Isabelle was tempted to keep her mouth closed and make the gas bubbles come out slower; possibly hold her breath. It might make things difficult. Mommy must have anticipated it. “Give me some burps and maybe you’ll get a bigger diaper,” she said, her voice syrupy sweet with the devil’s bargain.. That was all it took for Isabelle to give in. “Urp! Er. Urp.” The gas bubbles came out in funny and nearly inaudible pops. Petite little things, just like Isabelle tended to be this time of morning. Only herself and Mommy could have possibly heard them. “URP!” Mommy readjusted the girl to look at her. “Oh! That was a big one! Good girl!” Against her will, Isabelle allowed herself a feeling of pride, and with it hope. Said hope was rewarded on the changing table. The velcro tabs on Isabelle’s diaper came undone and her legs were lifted into the air by the ankles while Mommy wiped her down and cleaned her up. Isabelle tried not to inhale the scent of own mess, but it was inescapable. It wasn’t that bad, actually. When it was only breastmilk in her system and her digestive tract was functionally under a month old, the poop smelled more like warm dairy than anything else. Extremely bearable. What wasn’t bearable was the constant teasing and taunting from Mommy. “Such a good baby!” she said. “Getting so big! Just was a wiiiiiiddle fussy cuz she wanted her Mommy’s milk. That got her tum tum moving right along and she made Mommy a present. Yes she did! Yes she did!” She finished wiping the newborn down, balled up the used diaper and threw it away. “You’re gonna be such a big girl someday. Talkin’ and going to school and even using the potty all by yourself!” A wicked gleam shone in Mommy’s eyes as she unfolded the new diaper and slid it under. “But not today!” Isabelle laid back while Mommy rubbed in diaper cream and dusted on baby powder. She was still too weak to lift her head. Hopefully that would change soon. At least the cream gave her some respite from the rash. She couldn’t feel herself growing there on the changing table with her legs up in the air. Never could. Living people never felt it either, but it still happened. Isabelle’s growth happened much more quickly, even if it was just as subtle. The changes started as soon as Mommy lowered Isabelle’s bottom down onto the soft padding of the fresh, but much larger diaper. Dark hair sprouted out of Isabelle’s head, making her realize just how cold her skull had been moments before. She moaned and whimpered a little as a few fresh teeth sprang out of her delicate gums. Yes! That meant that she was at least a crawler! Her excitement dimmed, naturally, when the pain stopped and her mouth still resembled a Jack-O-Lantern. Finally, she was able to crane her head to the side and look at herself. Mommy had a strategically positioned mirror angled towards the changing table, just so Isabelle could see herself as Mommy tended to her. Still pudgy, but there was muscle to it. Just not the lean meat of a preschooler that she’d been vainly craving forever. Mommy finished diapering her, bringing the front up and tucking the sides down over Isabelle’s non-existent hips snugly enough so that the back ends could fold over to the front and be taped on. “There we go!” This, among so many other reasons, was why Isabelle knew she was dead. Everyday she’d wake up as a newborn, Mommy would change her into a different sized diaper, dress her into matching baby clothes, and Isabelle’s body would shift to fit. Then every night, when frustration after frustration had taken its toll, she’d go back into a fresh nighttime diaper meant for a newborn, be breastfed, and then find herself lowered into her crib. Her body matched the clothes she was in, and she ended and started each day as the same relative ‘age’. Those were the only rules; everything else was seemingly random and inconsistent. Some days she’d be a newborn all day. Others she’d be a crawler, or a sitter, or a cruiser, or a walker, or just shy of preschool. But she never got old enough to be in anything other than diapers. Diapers: She supposed that was the other consistency. That was her own personal Ten Thousand Years. Always diapers. Never training pants. Certainly not big girl panties. Those weren’t meant for her. Ten Thousand Years. Maybe that’s how long Isabelle had been doing this. Maybe longer. Maybe shorter. Perhaps it had only been ten seconds and in real time her body was still cooling in her death bed or driver’s seat or bleeding out in the street. Time didn’t matter. Isabelle didn’t remember how she’d died. It’d been so long from her perspective that she’d totally forgotten. And if forgetting had bothered her, she’d forgotten being bothered by forgetting it too. She was dead, and to be dead one had to be alive at some point. It was academic really. Just like to be alive, one had to be born and have been a baby at some point. Similarly, Isabelle knew she’d been an adult at some point in her life. It had been so long since she’d been one though, that she couldn’t remember herself as one and any lingering traces felt more like imagination to her than memory. She knew she used to be an adult and had worn big girl panties and had had a job and her own house and gone potty all by herself and had sex. She knew that she’d once been a woman with breasts and hips and curves and hair that went down to her back and a voice that did more than just squeal and whine all the time. Problem was she couldn’t remember it. In the face of eternity, a human mind can only remember so much with any sort of clarity. For the last however many forevers, every waking moment of Isabelle’s existence had been filled with diapers, bottles, highchairs, playpens, onesies, pacifiers, and so on and so forth. Everything even remotely less infantile was all academic at this point. She was left constantly missing something that she could no longer remember having. Nostalgia felt like envy. That’s how she knew that this existence wasn’t heaven. Mommy wasn’t her real Mommy, obviously. Isabelle had forgotten her last name, but some part of her still knew how to profile based on appearance. To put it bluntly and engage in stereotype: with her dark hair and caramel colored skin, Isabelle’s last name while living might have been Garcia or Sanchez. Mommy’s milky white complexion and strawberry blonde hair marked her as more of a Rogers or a Smith. The woman who diapered her every day was certainly not the woman who had given birth to Isabelle the first time around. Thinking of Mommy as a mother in the adoptive sense didn’t feel right either. She might act kind, but Mommy never lost the malicious edge that convinced Isabelle her sole purpose was to taunt and tempt and tease, and she was magnificent at her job. If passive aggression, condescension, and infantilization were a person, Mommy would have been it. Mommy wasn’t a person though. She was a demon of some sort. That much was clear. Isabelle only referred to her as ‘Mommy’ because she literally didn’t have another name for the beast that breastfed her. In all her memory, she had been given no other name. Even other denizens of this fragrant scented hellscape called the woman ‘Mommy’. Mommy wasn’t her mother. Mommy wasn’t her caregiver. Mommy wasn’t even a person. Mommy was just…Mommy. It was oddly appropriate given how few children at Isabelle’s perpetually young ‘age(s)’ knew their parents’ real names or understood complex family dynamics. Given that this place was Hell maybe it wasn’t so odd. Mommy pulled Isabelle into a seated position on the changing table and leaned away to grab a baby dress. “Let’s get my busy Izzy dressed for the day. Can’t just have you going around all nakied!” From her seated position, the girl shuddered. She hated that name. It grinded against her brain like no other, and every adult bodied being she encountered insisted on calling her that. A spare thought: Hey!. She could sit up by herself. That was something. In the few seconds she had to herself, Isabelle began a sort of diagnostic of the body she’d been granted. Looking down at the new diaper she had on, she saw some lines that she knew meant numbers, but it had been so long she’d forgotten what scribble meant what number. The same for letters. That was no help. Decoration wise, it was mostly white with pictures of fish dotting the waistband. There were a few fish stencils going down the cloth-like cover, but that didn’t offer any clues to how old she was supposed to be, either. Experimentally, she squeezed her thighs together. The nice new diaper was still pretty thick between her legs, but not so puffy as to inhibit movement. That meant she could probably walk or cruise. Babies who were less ambulatory had comparatively thicker diapers down here. She might have a chance. It still had that yellow line down the middle. She still didn’t know what that line was for, but she knew that the diapers for the older kids, the ones who were precariously close to potty training, didn’t have these little streaks down the center. Damn. Rarely. Very rarely, Mommy would dress Isabelle as a toddler or preschooler, someone who could talk more than a few words, could potentially feed themselves, and the only thing keeping them from doing something ‘bigger’ was lack of ambition or experience; a little kid on the verge of becoming a big kid. That was the trick. That was the torture. Isabelle became whatever age best suited the clothes she was wearing. That meant that if Isabelle could manage to get into clothing more befitting a big kid- or better yet, an adult- she’d be freed from the eternal prison her body had been reduced to. No more pissing and shitting herself uncontrollably. No more drooling and teething. No more wobbly legs or knees scuffed from crawling on the carpet all day. No more highchairs or cribs or bouncers or exersaucers. No more diapers. She’d be a big girl. There was the rub. That’s why this was Hell. She’d never managed to pull it off. Not once. Not that she could remember. And every day, a new opportunity would present itself to her…and she’d fail. If she could get over it and accept her lot, she might be okay. If she could, though, it wouldn’t be Hell. Might as well see what she was getting to work with this time. Isabelle ran her tongue over her few teeth. Time for a systems check. “Ma-ma?” she said. “Yes Izzy?” Mommy cooed, returning with a dress. Basic communication? Check. “Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma! GAAAAAA! Buh!” More advanced forms of vocalization? Negative. She was a babbler. Probably not even a year old. “Ma-na-ga-ca-ca-ca-ca-ca-ca-ca-ma-ma!’ None of the other words she was intending would come out right. She’d been trying to recite what she could remember of the ABC song. She could still remember the words despite not recognizing the letters. “Somebody’s quite the chatterbox,” Mommy replied. “Good. Maybe soon you’ll say your first real word today.” That made Isabelle’s blood boil something fierce. She’d had an uncountable number of first words, and not just because it was getting harder and harder to count. Isabelle held her babbling tongue for Mommy to dress her. The order of the day was a black and white checkered dress with a white peter pan collar. Mommy slid the dress over Isabelle’s head and guided her arms into the sleeves pulling it down. It was a snug fitting number but not uncomfortably tight. That could be bad. Onesies, rompers, and just plain old t-shirts and shorts were usually indicators that she was expected to crawl. Crawlers didn’t get clothes that might trip up or get snagged on their knees. She couldn’t help but smile when Mommy boosted her slightly so that the hem of her dress could settle. It was still short enough that it didn’t quite cover the very bottom of her diaper but Isabelle had the feeling that it would drag on the ground were she to crawl. She probably wasn’t just a crawler. “What am I gonna do with all this hair?” Mommy asked. A rhetorical question meant to torment Isabelle, obviously. Isabelle got her answer in the form of a matching bow that kept her raven hair up in a single pony tail on the top of her head. Gingerly, she reached up and patted the single tuft. The ponytail was pulled just tight enough to be uncomfortable, tugging ever so slightly at the hair. One of the most precious memories Izzy had left to her was the time she’d have enough hair to put up into pigtails. Her dress had gone down to her knees, a pair of tightshad gone over her diaper and her and her mouth had been coordinated enough for her to scream things like “Big girl! Potty! No diaper!” She must have been close to two. Mommy had slipped up and left one of her shirts from the laundry folded up on the living room couch. To this day, Isabelle held fast in the belief that she could have fully grown up if she’d only gotten her head through the right hole in time instead of getting all tangled up in the comparative circus tent. Her chief tormentor slipped some socks onto Isabelle’s feet and declared “That’s good enough,” brushing her hands. “Come on Izzy, let’s get busy.” Socks. Of course it was just socks. The demon woman liked the subtle nuance of torment. Shoes would have been a giveaway. “Up we go!” Isabelle was on the suburban monster’s hip, but not very long. The trip was less than thirty steps to the playroom. Where most middle class families might have a living room or a family room, a space beyond the dinner table for family members to congregate and sit; Isabelle’s personal Hell had a playroom. It was a white walled space decorated with colorful dollar store alphabet and number posters that were just out of tiny arms’ reach. Much of the floor was covered with foam mats for children to plot and tromp and run around on and two out of four walls were stacked with toy bins full of colorful but functionally useless pieces of plastic or wood. Another wall was dominated with plastic playsets to simulate kitchens and grills and other suitably ‘adult’ things. The final one had a mesh playpen and a spare changing table that was primarily occupied by Isabelle when the sun was up. Within the hollow fiction of Isabelle’s padded prison, Mommy ran an at home daycare. Isabelle was always the only one who wasn’t at least in training pants. With complete automaticity, Mommy stepped over the baby gate and into the playroom. “Here we are, Izzy!” she chirped. “All ready to start another wonderful day!” Another wonderful day Isabelle’s ass. In short order, the eternal child was placed back in the playpen, bottom first. Stone walls did not a prison make nor iron bars a cage. Mesh netting and fabric over steel frames more than did the job, especially when the playpen was empty of toys or stuffies or anything other than Isabelle herself. “You be good, Izzy.” Mommy said. “Mommy will be right back after she freshens up.” Isabelle tried to say something sarcastic, but the words only came out as sleepy burbling. Sarcasm was hard to convey through tone alone. Mommy gave her another kiss for her trouble and flounced out of sight. Isabelle huffed and sighed, staring down at her nearly bare legs. They might work. They might not. If she was going to be stuck with a body that could only stand for a matter of seconds before tumbling back on its rump, she might as well find out now while no one was around to hear or see her struggle. Learning forward, Isabelle cocked her legs into a kind of W-sit that gradually shifted so that she was on her hands and knees. Okay. So she was at least a crawler. Her dress still dragged on the ground. Experimentally she shuffle crawled a few paces in her pen, feeling her knees scrape and catch on the dress; sometimes stopping her so that she’d have to adjust. Not optimal for crawling. That gave Isabelle some hope. Mommy never dressed her inappropriately for her body’s abilities. That would have ruined the game, Isabelle supposed. It was only torture if the girl thought she could win. Isabelle proceeded to curl her toes and push herself back onto the balls of her feet. Her eyes widened in discomfort for a moment before catching her balance. A sliver more of pushing would have sent her cannonballing back onto her bottom. Balance was okay, but only just so. With a nearly explosive push from her legs, Isabelle rocketed herself up to a standing position. Yes! She tried to maintain her position and counted. One…two…three…five…eight….no six!...seven… The girl started to tip forward around then and was forced to put one clumsy foot in front of the other until she steadied herself on the playpen railing. She caught her breath and held herself there, feeling much more secure and in control. Okay. Okay. Good crawling motor skills. Decent ability to balance and stand. Walking was limited at best; cruising by grabbing onto something preferred, but she might be able to manage. She could work with this. She could definitely work with this. She could pilot this body today. Mommy would have to be more on guard today. DING-DONG!. The doorbell rang, and Isabelle heard Mommy’s voice echoing through the house “Coooooming!” She called. “Always early. Never fails,” she muttered. Isabelle’s legs started to shake from muscle fatigue. Isabelle took a mental note of it and managed to set herself down quietly back at the bottom of the pen. That was another factor. Plenty of times she’d gotten painfully close to victory only to have a padded thud alert Mommy. She didn’t bother trying to tip over the playpen or climb out of it. That wasn’t going to happen. Not by herself. Not in this body. She didn’t have the weight or the athleticism to credibly try. She’d have to be clever and manufacture a way out, preying on Mommy’s need to play the roll or by manipulating one of the other kids into helping her. Speaking of which… “Well helloooo!” Mommy said just out of sight. “Hello Missus Izzy’s Mommy!” a little boy’s voice answered. “Hi Damien, would you like to come in and play?” “Uh huh!” Flapping slapping sneaker steps signaled the child’s approach before Isabelle even saw him. The towheaded boy with a bowl cut couldn’t have been older than three but to Isabelle he was regularly a blur and a giant by comparison. “Lemme in! Lemme in! Lemme in! Lemme in! Lemme in! I wanna plaaaaaaaay!” Damien was always hyper and always very, very loud. “Okay,” Mommy called and laughed. “Kind of makes you miss the days when he’d cry as soon as he was out of your arms. They grow up so fast.” Mommy was supposedly talking to Daminen’s mother. Isabelle had never seen or heard the other woman speak or see her or Damian in any of the ‘out on the town’ tortures that she could remember. Damien was here now, though. “Have a good day at work!” Mommy called out. The door hinges squealed as the door shut and Mommy came back up. “Good morning, Damien!” “Lemme in! Lemme in! Play! Plaaaaaay!” Mommy smiled and chuckled good-naturedly. “Okay. Okay. Go ahead. Go play. Just be careful with Izzy.” Solemnly, Damien nodded. “Be careful wif the baby.” “That’s right.” Mommy lifted Damien up by the armpits and gently placed him down on the other side of the impassable wooden lattice wedged into the playroom’s threshold. Like he did every morning he was there, Damien blurred up to the side of the playpen and waved his arm with speed and coordination that Isabelle could only dream of. “Hiiii Izzy!” Meekly, Isabelle waved back with one pudgy arm. Damien didn’t say bye as much as he screamed and ran to the toy bins, dumping them all out on the floor before bending over and picking something out to play with. Damien was worse than the terrible twos. Damien was terrifying. Yet from her spot in the bare playpen, Isabelle felt more than a twinge of jealousy regarding the blue Pull-Up poking up out of his shorts. The next hour proceeded about as Isabelle expected. In packs of one and two, each of the usual big kid suspects came in, were placed in the playroom, said “Hi Izzy” and then started running around like crazy. Besides Damien, there was Lucien who had a full set of teeth, Selene who was by turns a sweetheart and a total brat; Seth who was a big kid among the big kids, Carmilla who had so many accidents in her pants that she should have been put back into diapers alongside Isabelle, and the twins Peter and Pandora. As with so many other things about being dead, Isabelle had more questions than answers. Were these actual children? People like her that had fully lost their minds after several eternities? Constructs and simulations? Demons like Mommy? None of that had been answered, and on the rare occasion that Isabelle could form coherent words, she didn’t think to ask. She was afraid to. These tiny terrors, whatever they really were, were the closest things she had to friends or consistency in all of existence. Whether she was a newborn blob, a roller, crawler, butt scooter, a cruiser, a toddler, or just a month or two behind Carmilla, they always stayed the same. Isabelle took comfort in that. It made them part of the game to her; part of the vast puzzle to figure out. “Hi Izzy!” Lucien said for the fourth or seventh time and ran away to play kitchen for not too terribly long. Lucien was particularly unfocused this morning. He ran so fast that one of his coal black sneakers slipped right off of him. Lucien stopped mid stride, frowned and looked over his shoulder. Instead of doubling back and picking up his shoe, he scraped the other one off with his foot and ran off. Isabelle’s tiny eyes widened with possibility. This! This was her chance! A big kid’s sneakers totally counted! If she could get those on…! She rocketed back up to her feet, grabbing the pack-and-play’s railing for extra balance. She let loose a guttural grunt. “Uh!” She arched her right arm up and over the railing, reaching out for the pair of shoes. “Uh! Uuuuuh! Gaaaaaaaaah!” The sneakers weren’t even close to the pen and Isabelle had no means of getting any closer. She might as well have been Luke Skywalker upside down in the wampa’s lair willing the Force to bring his lightsaber to him. That wasn’t happening, but neither was it what Isabelle was counting on. Selene stopped running and screaming and took notice. “Hi Izzy!” she said. She did not run off. Good! Selene was in one of her less bratty moods. She wanted to be helpful. “Uh! Ga ga ga!” Selene frowned, her curly, dirty blonde locks tumbling into her face. “Ba-ba? You want your ba-ba?” She looked behind her, and much to Isabelle’s eternal frustration, she looked right past the sneakers laying haphazardly on the floor. “Sorry. I don’t see your ba-ba.” “Nnnnn!” No! Not ‘ba-ba’! “Ga ga ga! Uh!” This wasn’t rocket science! Selene kept scanning the floor. Her brow raised and she pointed at one of the discarded shoes “This? Do you want this?” Isabelle gripped the top rail with both hands and started bending her knees, bouncing and bobbing. “Baca!” She babbled. “Bububububub!” She made sure to put her biggest goofiest pumpkin toothed grin. “Ooooooh!” Selene bent over and flashed her robin’s egg blue cotton panties in Isabelle’s face. The tormented soul didn’t care. Grabbing both shoes, Selene started for the playpen. Closer. Closer! Yes. Yessss! “Ga-ga-ga!” Izzy was making all the happy baby noises. Any minute now she’d be making happy big girl noises on top of it! How old was Lucien supposed to be? He rarely had potty accidents, that was for sure. Selene lobbed the first one in over the playpen.. “Here ya go!” “Hoooooooo!” One more! One more! “Hooooooo!” “You want the other one?” Just over Selene’s shoulder, Isabelle saw Mommy come back in with a plastic grocery bag. It swayed and its contents lightly clinked and rattled against one another while she stepped over the baby gate. “Hooooooo!” “Oka- “Drinks!” Mommy called. “Come get your juice!” Selene’s head whipped around. She dropped the shoe and dashed over to Mommy, while the demon handed out juice boxes and sippy cups to sticky reaching fingers. Over their heads, Mommy smiled and offered a sly wink. Damn it! It definitely wouldn’t count if she couldn’t get both shoes! Mommy finished by adding insult to the injury. She waded through the thirsty toddlers and lifted Isabelle, out of the playpen. “Awww, can’t leave busy Izzy over here by her lonesome!” she cooed. Down from the bottom of the bag, she produced a baby bottle full of milk and shoved it into the girl’s face. Izzy had no choice but to accept the rubber teat and start suckling. Her body went on a kind of autopilot and her hands reached up to grasp the cylinder. “Such a big girl!” Mommy lied. “Holding your bottle all by yourself!” She lowered Isabelle down to the floor where the girl helplessly emptied her bottle with almost the exact same intensity as she’d latched onto Mommy’s breasts. At least this milk was chilled… Isabelle finished her bottle and let loose an annoyed growl. Lucien’s other shoe was right next to her and completely useless. The other was stuck in the playpen, denying her the set. None of her big kid friends had the ability to climb back into the playpen from the outside and Mommy was keeping watch to prevent them tipping it over. She’d be in the playroom with them until she snuck out to make lunch. That other shoe might as well be a world away. Time to come up with another plan. Isabelle took stock of the room, looking for an opening. That shoe idea was a good one. Too bad she’d been denied it. Her rash was starting to itch again. It made it hard to focus. “Pee-peeeeee! Damien was in the middle of the floor, pants down around his ankles. True enough, he was peeing. Problem was he wasn’t aiming for any kind of potty “I’m going pee-peeee!” “Oh!” Mommy dashed and grabbed a potty to catch the stream and minimize the damage. This is why so much of the play room was covered in foam tiles; easier to clean and replace than carpet. “Good job Damien!” Mommy said. “But next time go pee-pee in the potty!” It was things like this that made Isabelle question whether or not her daycare playmates were in on the cruel joke or not. A bit of blue caught her eye and she turned her head. Damien had ripped open the sides of his Pull-Up right off and tossed it aside. “Hmmmm….” Izzy wondered. Could she wear that? Would his broken Pull-Up count? Would she have to put it back together? Still pondering, she turned her head in the opposite direction towards the changing table. There was a small pack of boys Pull-Ups on the upper shelf shoved in the back behind several stacks of diapers. Unlike Carmella’s pink Pull-Ups, the bag had already been ripped open with a few of the not-diapers poking out. The dead girl considered today’s pudgy, indelicate fingers. The odds of her being able to sneak a training pant out and slide it up over her diaper without getting caught a million times over were incredibly low. Would it count if it was a boy’s Pull-Up? She felt and feared there might be some kind of gray area regarding gendered clothing. Seth walked up and patted the girl on the head. “Hi Izzy!” Izzy rolled her eyes. Seth was the oldest and knew it. He was the least likely to help her in any way that mattered. “How are you? Can you say ‘Hi’? Say ‘Hi!” ‘Hi?’ ‘Hiiiiii!” Isabelle grumbled and mumbled her annoyance. “You’ll get there!” He started to go away but stopped before he’d turned all the way around. “Miss Izzy’s Mommy! Miss Izzy’s Mommy!” He shouted. “Izzy needs a change! She’s wet!” Izzy felt her face grow incredibly warm. How had he known before her? She hadn’t even felt it. Curiously, she lifted the hem of her dress and stared at her diaper. The blue line running between her legs told her nothing. Whether by magic or just general atrophy, Izzy’s brain refused to make the connection between the wetness indicator on her diaper changing color and the state of her pants. “Oooooo!” Carmella said. “Busy Izzy is a potty pants!” Mommy scooped Izzy up and carried her over to the changing table. “She’s just a little baby,” Mommy lectured the second littlest girl in the house. “Not a big girl like you.” “Yeah!” Carmella proclaimed. With zero modesty she yanked down her pink shorts and pointed to her training pants. “That’s why I’ve got my-” she gasped. “Oh no my stars! They’re gone!” Carmella waddled over to the nearby pink princess potty. “Such a big girl,” Mommy praised her. “You had an accident but you’re taking care of it yourself!” Isabelle peed her pants and was a baby. Carmella did the same and was praised as a big girl. So unfair! She harrumphed as she was laid down on the changing table and her dress was hiked up. “Ga poo!” The velcro tapes ripped open with a scritch and a scratch. Isabelle shivered as the open air hit her urine soaked diaper area. She couldn’t remember it, but she was sure she missed having pubic hair something fierce. “That’s right baby girl. Let’s get you cleaned up. Babies love having their diapers changed, don’t they?” Izabelle did not dignify this with a response, and instead stewed in silence, only letting out a tiny whimper as the demon woman wiped between her legs. Clad in a denim jumper, the ever curious Pandora toddled up to the side of the changing table “Missus Izzy’s Mommy?” “Yes Pandora?” “Why does Izzy wear diapers?” Oh no. Not now. Izzy slammed her hands into her face in an infantile attempt to hide. Mommy went on wiping and changing. “Because she’s a baby. Babies wear diapers.” “Why?” “Because babies don’t know how to listen to their bodies like big girls do.” Izzy felt her legs crossed and lifted so that her bum could be wiped. “Why?” “Because they're too little. So they wear diapers and when they get wet or stinky, grown-ups clean them up.” The wiping finally stopped. “Why?” “Because it’s our job.” Izzy felt and heard Mommy ball up and toss the old soiled diaper away. “Why doesn’t she just go potty?” Pandora asked. Mommy slipped the new diaper underneath Izzy. “I already told you. She’s not a big girl. She’s a baby. Just like you used to be.” Pandora audibly gasped. “Really?” “Yes ma’am,” Mommy said. “You used to be a little baby just like her, and I changed your diapers.” She added another soothing layer of diaper cream and some powder for good measure. “What happened?” Mommy finished re-diapering Izzy. “You grew up.” “When will Izzy grow up?” Izzy peaked from behind her hands. Mommy answered Pandora but looked directly at the baby. “Someday…maybe. If she wants it badly enough.” She lowered the girl onto the floor on all fours. Annoyed and frustrated, Isabelle tried to push herself back up to her feet. She hated being on her back with her butt up in the air and wanted to get as far away from the changing table as humanly possible, even if it meant her weebling and wobbling until she fell back down. Her body wouldn't cooperate, however. She could get on her hands and knees, but no further. Oh no! Mommy must have changed her into a smaller diaper without her noticing! She could only crawl now. Isabelle probed with her tongue and could swear that she felt fewer of the tiny bumps called teeth than before. No! This wasn’t fair! Mommy wasn’t supposed to switch diaper sizes in the middle of the day. “Waaaaaaaaaaaaah!” she bellowed. Her cries went unheeded, however, mostly because someone was yelling in joy louder than she was crying in anger. “I did iiiiiiit!” Carmella looked almost like the kid on the side of the Pull-Ups box. She sat there on the pink princess potty with her fists raised high up in the air. The biggest difference was that she wasn’t wearing anything below the waist. “I got ‘em pants all the way off!” Isabelle’s eyes felt like they were going to explode. Carmella had taken her shorts all the way off and flung them across the room. More to the point, she’d kicked off her shoes. Today she’d come dressed in flip flops. “Oh Carmella,” Mommy said. “What am I gonna do with you?” Mommy started to trudge to the middle of the playroom and slowly, oh so slowly, bend over to pick up the discarded shorts. This was her chance! Going at the crawling equivalent of a sprint, Izzy shuffled across the carpet, not daring to lift her knees for fear of tripping over her own dress. Flip flops! Literal flip flops! So easy, even a baby could put them on! She wasn’t thrilled about aging up to only Carmella’s stature, but starting potty training was still better than hopelessly diaper dependent. Greedily, Isabelle snatched the things up and rolled onto her back. She didn’t have the coordination to easily shift back to her bottom, and didn’t care. She didn’t need it. The first flip flop went on her foot, no problem! The second did too! She took special care to put her big toe up against the little foam pole near the front that held the straps together. “YUAAAAAAAH!” Her feet did not grow. Nor did her stature. Nothing about her changed at all. She looked at her feet, still pointed to the ceiling and wondered what was wrong. Mommy walked by and snatched the flip flops off with ease. “Ah-ah-ah!” Mommy said. “Musn’t play with other people’s shoes.” She smiled cruelly. “You couldn’t even get them on all the way because of the socks. Flip flops are supposed to go between the toes, not over them.” The socks? The socks. It didn’t count because she was still wearing her socks! Izzy started to wail inconsolably. This only served to land her back in Mommy’s arms as she trembled with rage and frustration. Mommy smoothly teased a pacifer over Isabelle’s lips and gently pushed it into place, holding it with two fingers to muffle Isabelle’s cries . “Good try, baby girl,” Mommy whispered. “Maybe next time.” (The End)

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

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

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

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