Search the Community

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

The Rip: Chapter 1 (Commissioned by Areat) Chapter 1 Wendy sat at the dinner table with her mom and dad, numbly shoveling meatloaf and spoonfuls of peas into her mouth while her parents talked about their days. Her ears were picking up every little sound that came out of her parents’ mouth but her brain wasn’t translating it. Their conversation was basically white noise mixed in with the scraping of her fork on the plate, gulps of water, and her talking to herself. “-doing-?” Wendy looked up from her half eaten meatloaf. “Hmm?” She looked up and brushed a patch of her own brunette hair out of her face. “What?” Her father, whom she inherited her hair color from (not that one would know it now), repeated himself. “I asked ‘How are you doing with your studying?’.” “Oh,” Wendy stuttered. “I’m doing good with it.” Mom smirked. “You mean ‘You’re doing well’,” she said. “Doing good is Superman. Doing well is progress.” Dad rolled his eyes. “We can’t all be English Teachers. Wendy’s getting her Law degree, not English.” Playfully, Mom pointed her fork across the dinner table. “Precise use of language is one of the cornerstones of determining legal precedent and procedure. How can she hope to get to the Supreme Court if she’s using language like ‘It’s going good’?” “Supreme Court?” Dad guffawed, bits of chewed up peas and mashed potatoes spilling forth from his lips. “Let her get her degree and pass the Bar first!” He wiped his mouth with his napkin and then looked sideways to his daughter. “Not that you can’t be on the Supreme Court, dear.” “So,” Mom repeated, her fading blonde to white locks framing her middle aged face. “How exactly are you doing?” Wendy’s lips rose up in a playful, if mischievous grin. “I’m doing good, Mother.” “BWAHAHAHAHA!” Dad pounded the table with his fists to punctuate his full on belly laughs. “That’s my girl!” “Howard!” Mom scolded, “Don’t encourage her!” She didn’t sound too upset, however. “I swear, you two. She gets this stubborn streak from you.” Dad was too busy laughing to argue. “But I am doing good, Mom,” Wendy doubled down, a wry smile still framing her dainty chin. “If you look at it in the long run, me being able to pass finals will be yet another step to me getting my degree, passing the bar, and yes eventually getting to the Supreme Court where I can do the most good. So I am technically correct. In studying, I am doing good.” “No,” Mom countered, “you’re just preparing to do good.” “And the effectiveness of any legal argument rests on the amount of research and preparation involved before trial.” Mom didn’t laugh. It wasn’t her way. She did, however, seem particularly pleased with her daughter. “Touche, counselor. “ She pointed her fork between her spouse and offspring. “She gets the stubbornness from you. She gets her wit from me.” “Yes, dear.” “Good looks, too.” “Can’t argue with that, Jody” Wendy had already gone back to her plate and back inside her head, trying to figure out her next move. Were Morgan Freeman narrating her life, this would be the point where time froze and in his comforting baritone the audience would hear, “It was not, in fact, going well or good for Wendy.” “Done,” Wendy said. She stood up and took her half eaten plate. “Thank you for dinner,” she said. “I gotta go back to my room.” “Hittin’ the books, darlin’?” Dad asked. Wendy left her dishes in the sink. “You know it.” Mentally she was already back in her room, and that sent shivers along her spine. She could already feel herself breaking into a sweat and it had nothing to do with the dark green sweater dress and black leggings. The weather was just starting to turn chilly outside and her skin and bones frame relished in the extra insulation; though oddly enough her feet were never too cold for sandals. The world had dealt Wendy a pretty good hand. Her family was upper middle class and she was an only child so the bulk of the finances and parental attention went to her upbringing and continued security. She lived in a college town, and although that meant she’d been pressured- more like gently nudged- to stay home to save on living expenses the University had a very good law school and she’d gotten in on scholarship. Wendy’s night life might not be as wild as some of her classmates who came from out of state, but she’d always had someone to pick her up if she had too much to drink and didn’t have to get a job or pay rent. Very fair trade as far as everyone was concerned. Even with the deck stacked in her favor, Wendy was working herself into a more than mild panic. She was experiencing something of a quarter-life crisis. With less than two days before her midterm exam for her History of Law class, she had to cram as much information as she could into her brain or she was going to fail. It wasn’t hard, hypothetically. All she had to do was sit at her desk for a few hours, drink some coffee, and pound as many important court cases, dates, and legal precedents into her head as she could. Within seventy-two hours, she could then forget about it and dump all of the information out of her noodle and then look it up online like a normal person if she never needed the information again. That’s what cramming for a test functionally was. It’s just that Wendy didn’t know how to study. At all. In Elementary School she was what they called “Gifted”. What she thought that meant was that she was super smart, much smarter than the other kids her age. And in a way, that was true. She picked up information much faster than her peers, all the way through high school. Then came college, and she was able to skate by on her own natural talents. Now in Law School, Wendy was struggling for the first time, her own raw and natural talent wasn’t saving her, and she completely lacked the skill sets necessary to pass her current course load. If her brain didn’t immediately latch onto a concept or bit of information in class or if she wasn’t intensely interested in it from the get go, Wendy couldn’t remember it. In a class filled with other studious future lawyers, ones who had long ago mastered the necessary discipline to fail, struggle, and get back on their metaphorical horses until they mastered something, Wendy felt more like a two year old than twenty-two. Friendly rivals like Peter and not-quite study buddies like Morgan, people who she would have left in the duss not four years ago, were now having an easier time than she was. She was surprised as anything when Tonya got into law school with her and Tonya was acing every single assignment. The gap had closed and widened itself again, only now Wendy was on the wrong side of it. As she’d shown at the dinner table, Wendy had talent enough for twisting words, arguing and generally bullshitting her way through a conversation; a skill that was easy enough to utilize for things like essays where she was trying to prove a point, but rote facts had become the bane of her existence. Even if her midterm was an essay, she’d need facts to back it up. She wasn’t failing, but only because there’d been so few grades collected. For the hundredth time in four hours, Wendy whispered to herself, “I’m doomed”. Stalling, she took a sharp left turn in the hallway and went to the bathroom. “I’m just gonna go pee,” she promised herself, “then I’ll get back to studying.” It was a lie, she knew deep down, but it was a lie that gave her comfort. More than likely, she realized hiking down her bottoms and lifting up her top, she’d pee, go to her room, see the empty coffee cup on her desk, decide she needed more coffee, go fill it back up in the kitchen, down it and refill, take the second cup back to her room, sit down, and stare at the same page for a solid fifteen minutes before she remembered to drink the second cup. Then she’d have to go to the bathroom again. Rinse. Procrastinate. Repeat. Dinner had actually managed to break up the anxious monotony of it all as late afternoon bled into late in the evening. Four hours. Four hours and three chapters, and Wendy literally felt like she was banging her head against the wall. Three chapters was kind of impressive, she imagined, until she remembered that she had nine to go. She relaxed her bladder and ignored the sound of liquid on liquid beneath her as so many did. At least something about her was managing to relax. The rest of her, brain included, was anything but. She was going to fail and she knew it. It was like finding out she had a terminal disease or something. There was no avoiding it, it was just a matter of time. The only question was how much pain did she want to put herself through in fighting against the inevitable. Trying to delay the inevitable, Wendy sighed, cleaned up, redressed, and washed her hands. Maybe she could take the rest of the night off and then cram the remaining nine chapters tomorrow night? That made sense, right? She’d be more refreshed and less stressed. Simple. She was burned out. If the brain was a muscle, it made no sense to overstrain it. That defense was countered by massive anxiety. No. Despite all her denial, she was going to go down swinging. Even if it took her another four hours of reading and re-reading the same chapters again and again, she’d manage to get halfway through the reading before bed. She gave her another choice. Another shiver caused Wendy to yank down on the waist of her sweater dress. Was she sick or something? That might explain something. If she was sick, she wouldn’t feel so bad about not being able to study. Couldn’t feel bad about not absorbing information if her brain was fogged up from a disease. Unconsciously seeing the next excuse to kill time, Wendy passed by her solid oak desk, the textbook proppedo pen on the last page of the chapter she’d just read. She shuddered again, just glancing at the “Essential Questions” portion in her book. Something told her that she’d be completely unable to answer the questions, even partially. That was because she was sick though. Best to bundle up with another layer. Wendy kept walking and flung open the slatted doors to her closet...and stared. What was that ripple in the air? There in the middle of her closet, almost like a mirage or a heavy gas leak. The air shimmered, taking on a wispy, smoke-like quality. Wendy sniffed, smelling nothing. Her neck hunched and her eyes narrowed, trying to find more definition or else dispel it through will power. Nothing. Then, as if trying to pet a rattlesnake she gingerly reached forward towards the shimmering air. No change in temperature one way or the other; neither a hot flash or an inexplicable chill. What happened was worse. As the tips of her fingers made contact with the shimmering wisps of air a blinding flash like lightning tore out where her fingers made contact. A sharp, quick scream erupted from Wendy and she drew her hand back as if she’d been electrocuted. Panting and with her heart rate approaching hummingbird levels she inspected her fingertips. Nothing. No singing or blistering or discoloration whatsoever. The mysterious light had blinked out too; as quickly as if she’d just closed the refrigerator. “What in the…?” Wendy didn’t finish the sentence for fear of invoking a higher or lower power. For the second time she stuck her hand in her closet. For the second time, brilliant white light poured forth, as if the air itself had a second heatless sun. Wendy looked just long enough to see that her left hand was well and truly engulfed, but not in pain, and turned her head away. No shadow fell on the floor, even though something as bright as her She managed to gather her fright into a coherent word, “FUCK!”, before taking her hand out. Looking back into her closet, the light was gone but shimmering bits of air remained in its place. Wendy looked at her hand one more time, going so far as to compare left to right side by side. No warts or bits of rotting flesh; nothing lost or present that hadn’t already been there. Curiously, she snaked her arm around the nearly invisible column and grabbed hold of a shirt. No amount of mysterious luminescence leaked from the fabric of reality. The same was true when she slid her elbow into the same space. Nothing. The moment she jabbed her arm straight through however... LIGHT! ALIEN ABDUCTION LEVELS OF LIGHT! “What was in that meatloaf?” Wendy whispered. Now was not the time for whispering, however. “MOM?! DAD?!” Heavy footsteps signalled her father’s approach. Gray headed and balding, Dad opened the door to Wendy’s room wide. “Yes, honey?” Wendy froze. She was up to her elbow now, and a tiny dawn’s worth of light was streaming past her out of her open closet. “Um...do you see anything...unusual?” She asked, rather unnerved by her father’s complete lack of surprise on the matter. Calmly and thoughtful, her father scratched his chin. “Did you buy something? New outfit or something? Borrowed something from that Lindsay girl, maybe?” Lindsay was a classmate and a relative socialite that had come home for dinner one evening. The one thing she’d impressed on Wendy’s parents was how fashionable she was. She supposedly partied every weekend but still maintained a B+ average. That was besides the point... Not believing what she was hearing out of her father’s mouth, the law student did a full on double take, and walked forward out of the closet. The light vanished, closed up on itself the second she stepped out. “How about now? Did you see that?” Wendy asked. .“Um...yeah...very nice?” Dad clearly had no idea what she was talking about. “Cool,” Wendy lied. “Cool, cool, cool. Just checking.” “Do you need anything else?” “No. Thank you. I think I might just be studying too hard.” “Oh,” her father looked concerned. “You don’t wanna do that.” Wendy flexed her fingers and bit her lip. “Oh I’ll be okay. I just need some more coffee or something. I’ll be fine, I’m sure.” That seemed to satisfy Dad. “Fair enough.” Dad walked away without further comment. Wendy trailed behind him to shut the door. “Everything okay?” she heard Mom call. “Yeah,” Dad’s voice, already fading, said. “Just being a twenty-something.” Wendy leaned against her door, trying to stop herself from hyperventilating. “What? The? Fuck?” Forget studying, she wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight; not until she figured out what was going on in her closet. That’s why fifteen minutes later she was tossing the pillow from her bed into her closet to no avail. She’d gone and made a rope out of her bedsheets and everything. The idea had been sound: Send something expendable through the portal, that’s what she was starting to think of it as, that could then be reeled back like a fishing lure. All she managed to do was knock a couple of her shirts and dresses off their hangers. “Oh for…!” Wendy dropped the sheet bundle and threw head back. This whole thing really was very silly. “It’s stress,” she mumbled. “It’s stress. It’s gotta be stress.” In a way, the idea that she might be hallucinating or cracking up was a bit more comfortable than stumbling across some bizarre preternatural phenomenon.. Feeling awfully silly, she pulled back the sheets, only to have the pillow slip out. Add knot tying to the list of skills Wendy needed to work on. “What’s wrong with me?” she asked the ceiling. Her eyes focused on the bit of plaster where her father had paved over a hairline crack. Chuckling to herself, she walked forward, completely dismissing the shimmering rip in the air, bent over to pick up her pillow and... LIGHT! BLINDING LIGHT! Another small, startled scream leapt out of Wendy’s throat, but it was too late. Forward momentum and a force not unlike gravity pulled Wendy deep into her closet, tumbling into parts unknown. Parts unknown, as it so happened, looked a lot like Wendy’s bedroom at first. In certain fantasy and sci-fi stories, a character going through a portal might travel through darkness to a mystical snowy landscape, or else plummet into a fiery inferno or go through a magical door to an island of boiling rains or a labyrinth of strange creatures. To Wendy however, it was more like falling out of her own closet. She felt disoriented, and discombobulated like she’d just gotten spun around in circles until she lost her balance. The fantastical white light hadn’t helped any. Blinking away the spots, she laughed in shock at the familiar texture and hazy color of her own carpet. Maybe it was a gas leak. She dug her fingers into it and pushed herself up to a standing position. She sniffed and the faint scent of perfume and something else, something slightly foul, registered in her nostrils, though she couldn’t quite place it. By the second inhalation the smell was either gone, her nose had gotten used to it, or she’d completely stroked out. Stumbling around her room, the possibility of ocular damage, if not brain damage was becoming increasingly plausible to Wendy’s mind. Too much of her vision was still blurry as if she’d been staring at the sun. Everything was coming out in just the roughest of silhouettes. Colors were off, too. The walls were a pastel pink. A few blinks and eye rubs later, ballerina fairies along the ceiling’s border came into focus. Her room hadn’t been pink in a long time; and she never remembered anything so patently childish in decoration; yet something in Wendy’s subconscious still accepted it and labeled the space as her room. The door was in the right place. A glance backwards over her shoulder confirmed that the closet was too, complete with that same wavering column of not quite air. Her vision was still too hazy to properly inspect any of the clothes contained therein. Still looking at the closet the twenty-two year old woman tried to lean back on her desk, looking for balance. She came up short however, and wound up splayed out on a chest that was just as wide and sturdy as her desk but much much lower to the ground. “Huh?” That was how Wendy realized that there were sparkling star stickers on her ceiling. Distinguishing the sparkling all the fine, glittery details on her ceiling, including the plaster seam where dad had patched up that hairline crack years ago confirmed that Wendy’s vision had cleared up and she was where she thought she was….sort of. The someday-lawyer sat up, rolled off to her knees and her vision had cleared enough for her to make out the rainbow lettered stencils on the chest she’d been laying on. T-O-Y-S What was a toybox doing in her room? Palms flat on the top, Wendy stood up and turned around to finally see what else was different now that her eyes were working properly. Her breath caught in her throat. She very much hoped her eyes were still deceiving her. Forget the toybox, what was a crib doing in her room? A big one too! Far bigger than anything needed to contain an actual child! An adult crib? How was that a thing? If her eyes were as sharp as they felt, surely that meant she was hallucinating. The baby bed against the wall was both ornately carved and there were foam letters on the wall behind and above. W-E-N-D-Y Not only was this supposed to be a giant crib, it had been designated as her giant crib... Her eyes darted to the right of the crib, practically drawn to what she initially thought were stacks of puffy white towels on shelves. Strange. She didn’t have anything like that, normally. Her dresser was supposed to be there. The gears finished turning in Wendy’s head as she exhaled. Those weren’t towels that her eye had been drawn to. They weren’t even cloth; just cloth-like. The white bottle of baby powder on top of the table and the pail next to it explained the scents that registered when she first came out. If the giant crib was in place of her bed. Then that must be a changing table. The giant diapers were on the top shelf, right where her underwear would normally be. But if that meant the crib was supposed to be her crib, then ipso facto that implied that the table as well as the diapers... Wendy dived back into the closet, holding her breath until she tumbled back out again. She steadied her breathing, mentally labeling what she saw (and didn’t see). Beige walls; normal adult bed; study desk; chair; absolutely no changing table or diapers. Wendy mopped the sweat from her forehead with her sleeve. “What was that place?!” She looked at the wavering mass of air in her closet. Added to the unnatural thickness in the space, a bit of sparkling light shone out, no brighter than a nightlight. Bursting through from the other side had left a kind rip. “Honey?” Mom called from down the hall. “Wendy, is everything okay?” “Fine, Mom!” Wendy called back. “It’s fine.” Fine? Maybe not. But a hell of a lot more interesting than studying for a History of Law Midterm. Chapter 2 Wendy woke up achy all over with a crick in her neck causing her considerable discomfort. She’d fallen asleep on the floor of her own bedroom, her back against the wall parallel to her closet and her notebook opened to the very beginning of the fifth chapter she’d been meaning to study. One chapter. She’d spent the rest of the night pouring over one lousy chapter of legal history. Combined with the previous three, she’d read only a third of her required reading material for the upcoming exam. She had just one more day to basically devour the remaining eight chapters she’d procrastinated studying on, and then an exam which could very well make or obliterate her GPA. From an objective point of view, Wendy could hardly shoulder the blame of this procrastination alone. Most twenty-two year olds cramming for exams only had factors like the temptation of wild parties on a saturday night, or paper thin apartment walls where they could hear their neighbors arguing and making love, sometimes both. These were normal distractions. Strange rips in reality that no one else could see, thus indicating some form of magic or severe psychiatric issue (a brain tumor perhaps?); that was a uniquely Wendy problem. She confirmed it not once, but twice, with each of her parents. Neither one could see it, even though since exiting the strange room made up for a giant baby, the invisible shimmering mirage in her closet had given way to being replaced with a beam of light coming out of nowhere. Absent the heavenly choir it still resembled the bright light at the end of the tunnel so common in near death and out of body experiences. . An afterlife with a giant adult sized nursery….yeah right! “You sure you’re not studying too hard, cupcake?” Dad had asked. Mom had gone so far as to feel Wendy’s forehead checking for a fever and check to see if her lymph nodes were swollen or eyes dilated. Mom wasn’t a nurse, but being a public school teacher made her the next best thing. There was a strange interdimensional rip in her bedroom closet that no one but her could see or seemingly interact with. What did one do in this situation, save retreat? It’s why she’d hunkered down on the wall beside her bedroom closet. Out of sight, out of mind. Once, when she was thirteen she’d banged her head really hard playing tetherball at summer camp. Squiggly lines started appearing in her vision, just on the fringes of her line of sight and crossing her vision only whenever she purposefully shifted her eyes from left to right; kind of like little white flurries in a snow globe. The camp doctor had said she hit her head hard enough that some eye jelly had come loose inside her and that’s what the little squiggles that only she could see were. It happened all the time. Eventually the jelly would settle back into place or she’d stop noticing it. As long as she didn’t take a whole bunch of tetherballs to the face, everything would go back to normal and she wouldn’t need glasses. This was the same principle. It had to be. As long as she ignored it and pretended not to see the hole in existence with blinding alien light shooting through it, it would go away. Right? Right. That level of denial hadn’t served her well in her studying. Rather than the looming panic and procrastination in what was now tomorrow’s exam, Wendy was alternately obsessing over a miraculous discovery or her own fragile sanity depending on where her brain decided to go page by page. The whole mess just resulted in her falling asleep with her back to the wall, waking up in brief spurts expecting to see a changing table where her dresser was supposed to be or a toy box where her study desk was. Then she’d go back to re-reading where she’d left off before dropping back into dreamland again. The text had made a better pillow than a book. Achingly, Wendy stood up and raised her arms over her head, letting out a bellowing yawn. Her bladder was screaming at her. It had been the thing, rather than the trace amount of sunlight coming in through her bedroom blinds that had woken her up. “Why didn’t I just crawl into bed?” she moaned to herself. A mental overlay of a crib where her bed laid made her eye twitch. “Oh yeah. That.” Her bladder wouldn’t wait much longer. Still wearing last night’s leggings and sweater dress, Wendy jogged, actually jogged, out of her room to the toilet. Whether this was because of her dire need to relieve herself or because the extra bit of speed made it easier not to look back into her closet even Wendy couldn’t say. Her bladder successfully emptying itself was the only relief she was experiencing just then. Blinking away the last bits of restless sleep, the Law student had to admit to herself that she’d absolutely failed at her endeavor. She could barely remember the three chapters she’d forced her way through before discovering the rip. The fourth chapter was a complete blur with the only knowledge she’d retained being that she had, in fact, read it. She couldn’t remember a darned thing! The toilet tank was still refilling when her dad stopped her. “Wendy? Isn’t that what you were wearing last night?” Wendy rubbed her eyes. Dad was wearing his ‘Sunday best’ a term he jokingly used when he wore khaki shorts and one of the tacky Hawaiian shirts. “Yeah, Dad.” “Late night studying?” “Yeah.” “Go on and get changed, cupcake,” he said. “Your Mom’s out for an early grocery run. I’ll make you some instant oatmeal, and then you can do nothing for an hour.” A smile crept up on Wendy’s face. “Which begs the question, why do I need instant oatmeal?” In unison they said. “We could just make regular oatmeal and feel productive.” That dumb, shared joke of theirs actually made Wendy feel a little better. “I’ll be out in a minute.” Dad pointed to her. “You better,” he joked. “If you’re not ready by the time it’s out of the microwave, I’m coming in after ya.” “Okay, okay,” she said, smiling despite herself. Closing the door behind her, Wendy’s relief was short lived. “Oh yeah,” she mumbled. “That.” Directly across from her was the rip. It hadn’t gotten any bigger, as far as she could tell, but it was decidedly brighter. Either that or her lack of a good night’s sleep had made it seem brighter; the way the sun does after a hangover. Lacking sunglasses, Wendy did a right turn and forced herself not to look by shielding her vision with her left hand. Yeah...that’d make it go away. She went to the dresser that definitely wasn’t a changing table. Despite knowing full well about it, she still sighed in relief seeing her panties in the top drawer where they belonged. She got some out and looked back over to her closet. “Definitely not.” For that reason, her morning’s attire consisted of a bra and panties, and loose fitting tan shorts with a worn grayish t-shirt. These were clothes that she was more likely to wear to the gym than to school, but she didn’t have any classes today; just studying. Her own version of her ‘Sunday best’ would do just fine. She went to her bedroom door, put her hand on the knob, and froze. She turned around and looked at the piercing light emanating from within her closet, so close yet so far away, and beyond it what she could only think of as a strange trip into a parallel universe. Hallucination or not, how long could she ignore it? “Wendy!” Her father bellowed all the way from the “The microwave just dinged. Come and get some brain food, Cupcake!” “Be right there, Dad!” She knew it to be a falsehood the moment she said it. “I’m just having um...lady things!” It was a stupid and shallow lie, but one that bought her, she hoped, at least a couple of minutes. Just how long could she venture into the world beyond her own closet before Dad checked in on her? What would he think if he opened her bedroom door and found her mysteriously missing? Surely he’d worry. Addicted of all stripes find ways to justify getting their fixes. Just what she was addicted to didn’t come to Wendy in the moment, but she did come up with an idea. “Dad!” Wendy called. “Can you come in here for a second?” There was a pause of uncertainty. “Yeah sure. Do you want me to find where your mother keeps the uh...lady stuff?” “No. I’m fine. False alarm.” She paused for a moment and then thought to add, “And no, I’m not pregnant!” “Oh thank god!” Dad laughed. It was the kind of laugh one does when they are both relieved and unsettled that someone guessed what they were thinking. Wendy positioned herself at the threshold of her closet, right next to the rip. Her pulse was pounding, her breath was picking up. A quick rapping on the door preceded its opening. “So what was it you wanted to show me, Wendy?” “This!” Wendy dove head first into the light. This time, she was smart enough to close her eyes and the blinding light, like the heart of a sun, didn’t disorient her nearly as much. It was still disorienting, of course; expecting to hit the back wall of one’s closet and instead running several steps straight through was bound to be. It just wasn’t as disorienting as the first time. What was disorienting was the fleshy thump into her father. “Whoah! Easy there closet monster!” she heard him say. It was definitely her father. She’d known his voice all her life. Warning bells blitzed her brain. She really was crazy. All she’d managed to do is stumble around in her own closet and parade out looking like a loon. “Is that what you wanted to show me? Did you want to show Daddy what a good closet monster you could be?” “Daddy?” She opened her eyes. Sure enough, her father was standing there, beaming slightly down at her with the height difference of a handful of inches. He was exactly the same as he'd been a handful of seconds before. The rest of her room wasn't. To her near right was a toy box. To her far left was the giant crib and changing table. The walls were again pastel pink with fairy ballerinas along the borders. “Dad,” the words poured out of her like a fountain, “what are you doing here? Did you follow me? Does that mean you saw me go through the rip? Why aren’t you behind me, then? Why aren’t you freaked out that my room looks like it did when I was a baby but everything’s...everything’s...bigger?” “Hmmm?” her father squinted. “What was that baby girl?” It was the same kind of look that her father had when they’d gone on family vacations and a local or a tour guide had a particularly thick accent; even if their English was fine. It was like he was trying to translate in his head what they were saying through whatever patois peppered their speech. Wendy cocked her head sideways. How could father be having trouble understanding her? “What are you doing here, Dad?” Dad nodded in not-quite understanding. “Ooooooh! Where’s Daddy?” “Where’s Da-?” Wendy was cut off as her father placed one thick hand over each eye. “Wheeeeeeeeeere’s…?” Daddy said, his words like the wind up of a pitch. He removed his hands from off her eyes and finished. “Daddy?!” He did it again. “Wheeeeeeeeere’s….Daddy?!” Between rounds of peekaboo, the Law student blinked. It certainly looked like her dad, but not. He was dressed the same, and had the same voice she’d heard since she actually needed a crib, but there was a dearth of gray hair in his beard and almost no wrinkles at the corner of his eyes or hints of laugh lines. A reflection of her father, but with the last two decades or so shaved off. “You’re not my father, are you?” “Wheeeeeeeeere’s...Daddy?!” She wasn’t scared. Just mildly confused. Befuddled? This might be what befuddled felt like. “Okay, okay,” she said, slapping his hands away as he came in for a fourth pass. “Stop!” “Alright,” the not-Daddy (mirror Daddy? Closet Daddy? Yeah...let’s go with that) said. “I’m sorry. Daddy didn’t mean to upset you.” “Wait,” she blanched. “You understood that?” “Uh-huh,” he replied. “Time for breakfast! Let’s get some num-nums in that tum-tum!” “Yeah...um...no.” She about faced and made to leap back through the rift of blinding light. “Thanks, bye!” Her retreat was stopped as her Daddy’s hand grasped her by the wrist. “Whoah! Wrong way, Cupcake. You can play ‘closet monster’ later. First, some breakfast!” The shriek Wendy let out as her father’s doppelganger pulled her into his arms and then draped her over his shoulder was one of surprise, but not necessarily fear. She could feel in his movements, and the tender strength of his grip that he wasn’t trying to harm her; nor was he close to straining himself. “What are you doing?” “It’s breakfast time, Wen,” he calmly explained. “Most important meal of the day.” The world whirled around and the rip in this reality got farther and farther away as her Closet Daddy trudged out of her infantilized bedroom, carrying her halfway over his shoulder. “You want to grow-up big and strong, don’t you?” “Big and strong?” Wendy echoed. A thought that should have been obvious finally came to her. “How old do you think I am?” She jolted, helplessly in his arms while he gently patted her butt. It wasn’t flirty or sexual, (thank god). More clinical, like a nurse checking bandages. “Still dry, he said, more to himself. “DAD! How-?” She cut herself off when she felt him shift her further and dig a finger into the waistline of her panties and pull them out. Her father, or someone very much like him, was literally staring at her ass. More accurately, part of her realized, he was staring at the back of her underwear. “THE FUCK?!” “Not poopy, either.” he said more to himself. There was an unspoken ‘yet’ that she found most disturbing. He shifted her down so that she was off his shoulder and closer to riding on his hip. “What was that honey?” “How? Old? Do? You? Think? I? Fucking? Am?” she repeated with deliberate slowness. She was taking her shock at being manhandled, having her personal space so casually violated, and being ignored, and tempering it with the realization that this world was decidedly not her own. Ironic, in a way. She was a foreigner in a foreign land, but talking like every depiction of a stereotypical American tourist; including the vain hope that speaking slower might make her more easily understood. “Bla-blah-blag-baw!” Daddy crossed his eyes. “See? I can make silly faces, too! Drooly girl!” “Drooly girl?” Self-consciously, she started patting her mouth, feeling for bits of saliva. Her chin was as dry as it ever was. Just like everything else, this man who looked so much like a younger version of her father, was seeing something that just wasn’t there. Speaking of things that weren’t there, Wendy took a gander at her surroundings as she was carried off. Besides her room, not much else had changed. Everything else was exactly as she remembered it from this morning. Correction: A family photo in the space between the living room and the kitchen caught her eye. It was supposed to be her High School graduation picture. Mom and Dad looked the same, albeit younger, but there was a little girl sitting down beneath them, wearing a pink dress with white tights and a big floppy bow in the child’s fair and fine hair. She only recognized her younger self in it by virtue of inference. She might have had a baby picture like that back home, but she’d long since forgotten it. A baby picture that didn’t exist... What did that mean for this world seemingly adjacent to her own? Between that photo, how her bedroom was decorated, and the way this version of her father was acting, Wendy might already have had her answer. “Daddy,” she said, much nicer than before. “How old am I?’ Wendy didn’t get her answer until she was set down and buckled into a particularly large highchair with a tray clicked into place. “How old are you?” Her Closet Daddy repeated as though he was just barely understanding her. Wendy nodded. “In just a couple of months,” he said slowly, “you’re going to be this many!” When he said ‘this’ he held up a single finger. Part of her threatened to panic; that was why when she fiddled with the buckle around her waist, even though it was just a simple mechanism, it wasn’t budging. She likely couldn’t move the catch on the tray either and the bar between her legs would have prevented her from sliding out the bottom. A larger part of her was legitimately curious, not frightened by the absurdity as much as driven to understand it. Here was something that was completely outside the realm of normal possibility and Wendy’s brain itched to scratch the surface and understand it. “You think I’m not even a year old?” she asked. “That’s right,” Daddy said. He tied a bib big enough to be a towel around her neck. “You’re almost one whole year old! You’re growing up to be such a big girl!” “That’s not what I said…” “You’re getting to be such a good talker too. You’re a little smarty-pants just like your mother!” Closet Daddy turned from the microwave and started stirring around a bowl of instant oatmeal. “And when you turn a year old, you’re gonna have a big party! There’ll be cake, and balloons, maybe even a clown!” “Fuck clowns.” Even now, she was experimenting. “Okay, okay.” he chuckled. “Clowns are bad,” he picked up a bowl of instant oatmeal with a plastic spoon in it. “Maybe we’ll revisit that when you’re two or three. But all of your little friends from daycare will be there.” “I don’t go to daycare,” Wendy said. “I’m a Law student.” Her father dipped the plastic spoon in. Rather than make a straight line, though, he made the spoon duck and weave. “Bumble-bee, bumble-bee, bumble-bee….buzz-buzz-buzzzzzzzz!” Despite herself, Wendy giggled at just how ridiculous he looked. That’s when he plunged the plastic spoon into her mouth. It was, in fact, just instant oatmeal. Cinnamon raisin flavored Not her favorite, but good enough. “You don’t get this kind of quality performance at daycare, I bet!” he congratulated himself. Wendy swallowed. “I...don’t...go...to...daycare...” she repeated herself. “I’m...a...Law...student.” The man who looked every bit like her father leaned over and tickled her foot beneath the tray, making her laugh again. That got another spoonful. While he was waiting for her to swallow, his brain seemed to make sense of the non-language barrier. “Oh?” he said “Oh yeah. They don’t call them daycares anymore, do they? I still think calling it Preschool is a little far-fetched. What’s the name for that place?” Wendy searched her own memory. Back on the other side of the rip, she had pictures and certificates all the way back to before Elementary School. Being a chronic natural overachiever, she’d become inundated with story after story of her entire life. Before Elementary, it was Preschool. Before Preschool it was... “Just follow the bouncing spoon!” “Bouncing Babies Academy?” She got the words out just in time for a spoon to ‘bounce’ through the air and into her mouth. She swallowed, and closet Daddy did that squint again like he was trying to parse out a thick accent. “That’s right! Bouncing Babies! My big girl goes to Bouncing Babies with her little friends like...Morgan and Tonya and Lindsay...who else is in your little playgroup? Oh yeah! Peter!” The mention of her current classmates shut Wendy up quickly. Silently, she’d been working under the theory that this was some kind of time portal. She’d known her current group of friends for a while now; some of them for years. But she hadn’t known any of them for so long that they’d been in diapers together. Red Flag! Definitely a red flag! Nothing a dollop of whip cream on the next spoonful and a tickle on the thigh couldn’t fix. Wendy swallowed another gulp of oatmeal. It was actually quite relaxing. Not having to feed herself gave her time to sort this particular puzzle out. So this world beyond the rip wasn’t exactly a time portal. What was it? “Fuck clowns.” “Yes, yes,” this alternate version of her father chuckled. Weird that he didn’t react to her deliberately dropping an F-bomb. Why was that? “I know you’re afraid…” he stopped himself, “I mean I know you don’t like clowns. That’s fine. I’ll tell Mommy. Maybe we can find a ballerina for you. Or we can dress you up like a ballerina for the party. Would you like that?” “Yes.” “Okay. I’ll try to remember it in a couple of months,” he started scraping the bowl. A final spoonful came up wobbling to Wendy’s mouth. Wendy leaned back in the highchair like the final spoonful contained cyanide instead of moistened oats. “No.” “No?” Good. He understood ‘no’. “No.” Closet Daddy shrugged. “Okay then. More for me.” He put the final bit into his mouth and swallowed. Glancing at the clock on the microwave he did a double-take. “Wow! That normally takes longer! Someone’s either super hungry or Daddy’s seriously upped his game! We do this a couple more times, and I can get the regular oatmeal! Good girl, Wendy!” The praise, however condescending, caused all sorts of happy chemicals to release in Wendy’s brain. She smiled bigger and brighter than when she’d gotten her Bachelor’s degree. “Ooops!” he reached up and used Wendy’s own bib like a napkin, dabbing at the corners of her mouth and cheeks. “Not a hundred percent success rate.” Wendy blushed. “Not your fault, baby. Hard to keep all your food in there when you’re being such a giggly girl.“ He smiled. “But if you weren’t such a giggly girl, Daddy might not get any of the food in at all!” He tickled the bottom of her foot again for emphasis. “Such is life. Time for a bottle.” He went to the fridge. “Chocolate milk?” she called out. “Chocolate?” He pointed to the nearly liter baby bottle he’d brought back. Wendy nodded. “I don’t think so,” Daddy said. “It’s a little early for chocolate milk, don’t you think?” He blanched. “Why am I asking you?” Wendy reached out and accepted the bottle. The cool milk felt good after the hot oatmeal, and she gulped it down while her father wiped the kitchen counter and talked to himself. Chugging down the bottle, Wendy felt like she’d about figured it out: For some reason, she was seen as an infant in this world; a toddler at best; not even a year old. Hence the giant baby furniture in her room and the chair in the kitchen she was sitting in. It’s why she had just another baby picture instead of her in a cap and gown. As far as her Dad was concerned, she was a baby; which explained patting her bottom and declaring her ‘dry’. In his mind, he was checking her diaper. The physics of the world seemed to confine her to that diminished role, too. Closet Daddy was strong enough to carry her through the house like it was nothing. And even though she was a fully grown young woman, she lacked the physical capability to undo a safety latch meant for a small child. She didn’t feel particularly weak, just that everything else seemed that much stronger; like in the Marvel movies when someone tried to lift Thor’s Hammer. Interesting. Most interesting so far, though, was the communication barrier. Based on her probing, it seemed that there was some kind of one way language filter going on. She could understand everything that her kind-of-father said to her, but everything she was saying came out as though a small child just learning to talk was saying it. If it was something she might have said twenty-one years ago, he could just get the gist of it. Anything else must have gone unheard or come out as well...baby babble. Did not even one-year olds actually talk that much? Wendy didn’t know enough about kids to say one way or another. Maybe a few words. ‘Mama’ or ‘Dada’. Maybe this weird mirror universe was taking what she was saying as a full grown adult and kind-of-sort-of splitting the difference. Almost like part of her world, the real world, was bleeding over into this one. That made as much sense as anything else, she supposed. “Daddy?” she said. He turned around from wiping down the counter. “Yes, Cupcake?” Good. He recognized when she called him. “Since I’m going to go to the Supreme Court one day, what’s your opinion on Roe versus Wade and a woman’s right to bodily autonomy?” “Really?” He sighed. “Okay, Cupcake. Okay.” He took a deep breath. “Row, row, row your boat….” Theory all but confirmed. “-gently down the stream-” Roe versus Wade certainly wouldn’t have been something she’d have talked about when she was less than a year old, so the best that could be done was- “-merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily life is but a dream.” Closet Daddy exhaled. “I love you, Wendy.” “I love you too, Daddy.” Something in that made Wendy feel tingly all over. She was sure she said it to her parents often enough, and they to her, but there was just something...different about it. Tone? Context? Implication? She wasn’t completely sure. He didn’t say it any differently than he usually did, it just felt different. She most often heard such praise and affirmation either when she was feeling rather low in despair, or right after a major success: ‘Oh, you forgot your homework? Don’t worry, I still love you Wendy.’ or ‘Straight A’s all year? So smart! Love you!’ But if everyone thought she was, say nine or ten months, then they had nothing to say “I love you” about. No minor failures to soothe or major successes to celebrate. Looking into her Closet Daddy’s eyes, she caught the smallest hint at being valued not for what she’d done or what she might yet do. Instead, she had the briefest memory of what it was like to feel valued just for being herself. And that feeling tingled in a way that she hadn’t felt in what seemed a long, long time. “All done with your milk?” Instead of speaking, Wendy just handed the three quarters drained bottle of milk off to the man and waited patiently. It would be as easy for him to remove her from the scaled up highchair as it was impossible for her to escape it. “Almost forgot.” He removed the bib, and walked over to the sink, depositing it there and dumping out the rest of the milk. When the bib came off, Wendy felt her first bit of renewed caution. Still buckled into the highchair, she looked down at herself, and witnessed something both miraculous and disheartening. Her clothes were changing color! Her tan shorts, now that she could see them, were now undoubtedly powder blue. “Huh?” Her shirt was in the midst of changing, too. Like an oil slick spreading into the ocean, Wendy watched dabs and droplets of pink spread out on the plain gray of her shirt. The rose tinted color expanded and blotted out the dreary cloud coloring much in the way paper towels soaked up water. Strangely, the pink morass left a section of her shirt untouched while it washed over the rest of her dreary clothes. That was only because the outline of a white cartoon kitty-cat faded and bleached itself into existence. Wendy’s own language usage wasn’t the only thing bleeding. This world, it seemed, was bleeding into her; or her clothes at least. This was certainly a new wrinkle! Blue and pink instead of tan and gray wasn’t the most infantile thing in the world; it was still just a t-shirt and shorts, but it was definitely an alteration from when she had entered. What did that mean for the clothes beneath? She got half of her answer when her Daddy removed her from the chair. “Wow,” he said, patting her butt again through her shorts. “Still dry! New personal best!” He joked. Better one of her parents doing this to her than some creep on campus, she supposed. Wendy felt the hand gently groping her through her panties, with nary a squish or a telltale crinkle. As far as she could tell, she wasn’t wearing a diaper, thank goodness. However, while the kitchen zoomed away from her back towards the giant nursery, Wendy cupped her breasts. “Still have my...” Just as they crossed the threshold back into her room turned nursery, Wendy felt the wires and padding of her bra evaporate. The straps and fasteners practically melted into her shirt. A ruffled pattern, like flower petals, manifested and sprouted along her chest and all around her back, just above the white cartoon kitty cat. “...-bra?” “Don’t worry, baby.” the variant of her father said. “Mama will be back in just a little bit.” He sat her back down in the nursery version of her room and gave her a wet, though chaste kiss on the forehead. “I love you so much.” He gently nuzzled his head against hers. Wendy felt her face blush a deep crimson. Not just because of the intimate nature of the physical affection, but frankly, the embarrassment of it all. Her nipples were poking out slightly through the increasingly babyish t-shirt. The newly added ruffles obscured it enough, but that didn’t mean she didn’t feel them rubbing on the coarser, unpadded material. Her breasts were a long way from sagging at her age, but that didn’t mean she didn’t feel gravity try to reassert itself as her support was literally yanked out from beneath her by magic. Bras could be uncomfortable at times, but it was even more uncomfortable when they suddenly and unexpectedly ceased to exist. Out of habit, she brought up her forearm and shielded her breasts, as though that might make her feel less naked. As had been the case so-far, Closet Daddy looked at the distinctly adult, distinctly womanly gesture of reflexive embarrassment and modesty and interpreted it through the lens of a baby still working through its first set of teeth instead of a woman who had long ago gone through puberty. “You cold, baby? Do you want Daddy to get you a blanket? Turn up the heat?” Yet again, he was talking more to himself than to her. “No. I think you’ll be okay.” More for her own peace of mind, Wendy gently shook her head, too shocked to say much of anything. Watching her clothes change color was admittedly kind of neat. Feeling her underwear literally disappear was disquieting at best. Speaking of underwear, at least the padding in her bra hadn’t been added to her panties…(yet). Needless to say, the added hurdle that being on this side of the rip seemed to be affecting her clothing was adding a mounting sense of urgency. “So what can we do?” Her Closet Father asked the air. “What can we do before Mommy gets back? What to do, what to do?” From her place on the carpet the Law student looked at her closet, and saw the same rip of blinding luminescence glowing just inside it. If she could just make it past the threshold she’d go tripping back into her own world where she was a proper woman again. Problem being, this version of her father was bent over the toybox and poised between her and her exit. Howard Merts wasn’t exactly an NFL linebacker, but he had well over a hundred pounds on her and was stronger than her ‘in real life’. Between arriving and breakfast, it was already very obvious that he was disproportionately stronger than her. That might apply to other physical attributes, too. It wouldn’t do to have the comparative speed and reflexes of a toddler. No. Better to wait. Slowly, shakily, she stood herself up. Good. She could still stand, and the shaking was more from nerves than anything else. A flat wooden rectangle clattered at her feet. “How about an alphabet puzzle?” Closet Daddy said. “You love playing with your letters.” It was a wooden puzzle, the kind that only a baby would struggle with and maybe not even that. Twenty six little notches, each one shaped like a letter. Tiny wooden letters with nubs in the middle so that they could be placed and removed one at a time filled the slots. Some of them, anyways. Their trip through the air and subsequent landing at her feet caused a good dozen or so to tumble out onto the carpet. The younger version of her father bent over far enough to finish dumping out the letters. “There,” he said. “You can play with your alphabet.” Wearily, Wendy went back down to all fours. Carefully, she placed the letters back into the puzzle, reconstructing the alphabet. “Oh wow! Great job on finding the S!” Wendy blanched from the enthusiasm. “First try and everything!” Hands on his knees he loomed over her and the puzzle. “What about a W? W for Wendy!” He gasped in astonishment when she plucked a W from the scattered wooden alphabet outlines gathered on the carpet. His applause was spontaneous when she placed it into the corresponding slot. “Oh my gosh!” he hopped. “Wow! You did it!” Dad- her real dad- didn’t get this excited watching his favorite sports teams win. Wendy blushed. It had been a long time since she’d gotten this level of praise from anyone for doing something so simple. An unspoken truth was that the more grown-up you were thought to be, the harder adulation was to come by. She looked past her father and to the glowing rip in her closet. Daddy was still positioned between her and her exit. “How about the letter E?” Without nary a thought, Wendy put the vowel in its place. “YES!” Wendy would have thought he’d won the lottery. “N?” Simple enough. “D?” Again. So easy, even a baby could do it. “Y?” Wendy took the penultimate letter of the alphabet and put it in the board puzzle. “W! E! N! D! Y! That spells Wendy!” The girl let out a shriek as her father yanked her up off the floor and started half-tossing her up in the air. “Wen-dy! Wen-dy! Wen-dy!” Wendy giggled and shrieked, spreading her limbs out to catch herself each time the big meaty hands left her side. “Now how did you figure that out so fast?” He wondered aloud. Wendy held her breath. On one hand this might be an effective way to communicate with her dad’s time displaced twin. On the other hand, what would happen if he realized just how little his little girl wasn’t? The dilemma resolved itself when he looked at the lettering above the adult sized crib. “Of course you know those letters! You’ve been seeing them everyday your entire life, haven’t you?” He gushed. “Not even a year old, and my baby girl is studying!” He pulled her in for a hug. Despite all his monumental strength, it felt warm, and soft like a weighted blanket. “Clever! So clever!” Complimented for studying. There was a first. She had to start somewhere though. “Do you want to play something else?” Poking her head up through the clouds of dopamine and serotonin, Wendy remembered that she had more immediate matters to tend to. Her father, her real one, must be worried sick about her to say the least. She nodded. “Yesh!” Then she corrected herself. “Yes!” “Okie dokie!” He set her back down and returned to the toy chest. “What to play with next? What to play with next?” Her not-father kept tossing things out, careful to look behind him only so that he wouldn’t accidentally toss something at Wendy’s skull. “Or there’s your doctor bag. Your jack-in-the box. Your blocks. Your play pots and pans...how did they end up here? Shouldn’t they be in the play kitchen? Nevermind, not important. When did we get you a slinky? Oh a bouncy ball! That could be fun!” Wendy quickly finished the baby puzzle, with one eye on her closet and the other on this strange version of her dad. Something about leaving it unfinished just bugged her. She didn’t need to consciously focus on it, only the slightest amount of anal retentiveness made her double check her work, (which was perfect by the way.) Still on all fours, she shuffle crawled around the Closet Daddy, hoping that he’d distract himself enough digging through useless baby toys long enough for her to get to the rip and jump back through.. “Whoah! Where do you think you’re going, Cupcake?” Two hands reached down and grabbed her by the hips. The carpet flew away from her and she suddenly found herself, dangling by her armpits. She was now looking down at her father, and her tip toes only just grazed the floor, but the act of being held off the ground so easily was still quite unsettling. “Do you want to play ‘closet monster’ again?” Inspiration struck. “Yes,” she said. “Closet monster!” Why fight the language scrambling and just go with it? “Hmmm…” He seemed to look past her. Was there more than one difference between this version of her father and the (for lack of a better term) real one? Could he also see the blinding light that Wendy hoped to escape to? “I don’t knoooow...” His expression was a blend of playfulness and parental paranoia; the kind that new parents get over unforeseen threats to their precious little ones. What could be so dangerous to a baby in her own closet (besides an inexplicable tear in the fabric of existence)? Her old-man’s expression lit up when he pivoted back and looked at the floor. “Is that...did you?” Did she what? She reached behind her and felt the back. Had she had an accident or something? Wet her pants? Worse? She followed his gaze and realized what had gotten him so excited. “Did you do that whole ABC puzzle all by yourself?” For a ten-month old, that was amazing. She found herself on her back, pinned under Closet Daddy’s loving grasp. “That’s amazing! He showered her with kisses, causing her to kick and squirm...but not too hard. Daddy lifted up the front of her T-shirt and a puff of fresh hair breezed onto her belly button. “Who’s Daddy’s smart lil’ cupcake? Is it you? Is it you?” Positively melting with all of the praise, Wendy allowed herself a happy,“Yes!” She didn’t react until her Daddy said ,“Oh I could just eat my little Cupcake all up!” “Daddy! No-ho-ho-ho-ho!” Protests erupted into giggles as a younger version of her father barreled down on her and started tickling her and blowing raspberries on her stomach! “No-ho-ho-ho-ho!” She was powerless to fight the terrible two-ton-tickle monster her father had become. “Nom-nom-nom-nom-nom!” Even his beard tickled. Was she always this ticklish, or was some part of this reality now affecting her senses, too? “Daddy!” she shrieked. “Staaaaaahp!” She couldn’t have predicted the tinge of disappointment she then felt when he actually listened and stopped. The yanking of her shirt back down over her belly button gave an air of finality to the whole ordeal. Catching her breath, her eye was still drawn back to the closet. “Closet…” she huffed and puffed, forcing her breathing to slow back down. “I need...to...go...back...to...the ...closet.” Closet Daddy turned his head and looked back over his shoulder. “What are you lookin’ at, Wendy?” He gave her a light tickle, enough to make her twitch and squirm, but not so much that she laughed again. “What are you lookin’ at?” His own memory seemed to catch up to him. “Do you still want to go hide in that closet?” Breathlessly, Wendy nodded. “Hmmm...what if…” he grinned, mischievously, “I just ate some more Cupcake!” He blew another raspberry right on her belly button. It took so much of Wendy not to break into another fit of laughter. It took even more, she found, not to tell him to try again. “Please?” Wendy pressed. Then she had an idea. It had been forever since she’d done this, but she pouted her lip out, made her eyes big and sad like a puppy dog and gave her best “PWEEEEEEEEEASE!” “Hmmm…” Closet Daddy said. “I don’t know…” He was going to give in. He’d already lost the battle of wills and they both knew it. A muted honking preempted his impending surrender. “Sounds like Mommy’s home,” he said. “Let’s go see what she got us at the grocery store!” Yet again, Wendy found herself carried away from her escape route back to the real world. The second time she was dragged back into her own kitchen, she was deposited straight onto the tile instead of her highchair. Wearing a loose green dress, her mother (Closet Mommy?) walked through the door carrying several bags of groceries. Like her counterpart, this was a younger, fresher, less worn version of her own mother, with hair that was more blonde than pale, and a face far less wrinkled by time and stress. “Hey Wendy,” she cooed. She looked to her husband. “Hey, babe.” They kissed in a way that Wendy wasn’t sure she’d ever seen them before. “There’s more in the car.” “Groceries or kisses?” “There better just be groceries in the car!” They both laughed. Wendy thought she was more mature than to just gawk at her parents acting like a young couple, a half step away from making out. As it turned out, she wasn’t. “Ew…” “Oh. Not in front of the B-A-B-Y.” this world’s version of her Mommy said. “Careful,” Daddy said. “Have I got a story for you! It involves a certain someone being really good with their letters. We’ll talk about making her a little brother or sister later.” “Double ew…” Daddy went out the back door to the car. Mommy started unpacking groceries. Wendy watched. As with her breakfast in the highchair, she was about to travel back inside her own mind and analyze what new factors might come into play, when her Closet Mommy took out a normal sized pack of Pampers from one of the bags and set it on top of the oven. “That goes in Wendy’s room,” she said more to herself than anyone. Wendy grabbed onto the counter and pulled herself up to a standing position from her spot on the floor. Closet Mommy glanced over, but paid her no mind. The package of diapers didn’t leave Wendy’s focus. Something was off, and she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. But as she tilted her head to one side, she got a better look at the package. Pampers. Size 3. Yet right in front of her, she witnessed a bizarre inverse of what had happened to her outfit. Just like how her adult clothes bled pastel and had become more infantile, the package was steadily enlarging itself on the counter. She watched in quiet horror as it expanded and grew; inflated almost. Yet the image on the outside remained the same. Pampers. Size 3. With a picture of an almost naked child - boy or girl it was impossible to tell - giggling on the front and a promised count of twenty-six diapers. There was no way a pack that big only held twenty-six diapers unless they were very big diapers. Big enough to fit her. More than the package was growing. Her own underwear grew too; except that ‘growing’ wasn’t quite the right word. A better one would have been ‘thickening’. Unconsciously, she spread her legs as a slight weight and a very noticeable bulk added itself to her panties. She felt a light tickle, more like an itch creeping itself, on her inner thighs, back and just below her belly button. Almost like ants creeping across her flesh. It wasn’t until she took a single step forward, drawn to the gigantic diapers that she heard the papery plastic crinkle coming from her own pants. Wendy froze. She reached back behind her, feeling the extra padding on her backside. She lifted up her shirt and stared down past her breasts, seeing the thin waistband of the diaper creep up past the elastic waistband of her shorts as they tended to do. The slight tickling sensation on her thighs must have been leg gathers! That was what they called that weird bit of frilly stuff around a diaper’s leg holes, right? Diapers. Her diaper. The changes hadn’t stopped at her bra. Or if they had, they’d picked back up. She had to go. Now! “Uh...bye!” She took off at a tear back towards her bedroom. “Howard!” her mothers voice called. “You’ve got to see this!” Wendy didn’t slow. It had taken her only a few steps to compensate for the added mass of the giant Pampers that had manifested itself between her thighs. She ignored the lack of support as her breasts bobbed up and down with every thudding step. Now was the time. She’d been gone more than long enough to prove to her real dad that this wasn’t a joke or a hallucination. Within four mighty strides of entering her bedroom, Wendy Merts closed her eyes and leaped head first back into the mysterious light between worlds. She knew she was back when she stubbed her toe and realized she’d hurt herself on her boring old work desk. “Wendy?” her mother called. “Wendy? Are you alright?” Wendy looked at herself. She was still in gigantic baby clothes! She lifted up her shirt and felt between her legs. That was a Pampers, sure enough. Diaper! She had to get rid of the diaper! The rest of the ridiculous outfit, she could likely pass off as ‘quirky’; maybe something she borrowed from Lindsay. So much of women’s clothing was slightly infantilizing anyways. But the diaper? No way! Panickedly, she reached down into the front of her pants and groped along. Weren’t these things supposed to have tapes or tabs? Her hands grasped, unsuccessfully. What was she going to do? Her mother’s footsteps drawing closer, Wendy’s shoulders stiffened and her elbows tensed as right beneath her fingertips, she felt the stiff, crinkling, not quite cloth cover of the disposable diaper shift to the soft, cottony, familiar texture of regular underwear. Her clothes were returning to normal! Her diaper receded back into her shorts, the waistline and leg gathers lightly scratching against her skin one last time before becoming normal elastic. Simultaneously, the ruffles on her shirt’s chest dissipated and she could feel her bra rematerializing around her, the padding from her bottom all but slithering up her back and around to her front. Little by little, gray was coming into her shirt again, and the pink seemed to be draining out. Same for her tan shorts! The door opened. “Honey, are-...?” Mom froze, her pale hale and crows feet back; her expression uncomprehending as the last bits of juvenile color and decoration dragged themselves off of Wendy and vanished from wherever they had come. “-you okay?” Mom finished her sentence less like she was shocked and more like she was a recording that had just unpaused itself. More color drained from Wendy, but this time it was only from her face. “Mom? How much of that did you see?” “Just that you ran back to your room in a hurry. I thought something might be wrong.” Wendy blinked. “No,” she said, unsure if it was a lie or not. “I’m fine.” “Oh. Okay,” Mom said. “Your father told me you’d done something really special just before I got home and-” “Dad!” Wendy shouted! She was running out of her bedroom and past her mother before she realized it. “Daddy!” He had to be completely freaking out! She found her father in the kitchen, having just come in with arms full of grocery bags and started unpacking. The only difference between the groceries he was handling here and the scene she’d just fled was that there was no Pampers package, enlarged or otherwise, laid out amongst the various cans, sodas, bread, and dinner items. “Daddy?” her father repeated. “You haven’t called me that since third grade.” “Second grade,” Mom corrected, coming in from behind Wendy. “I remember because when her report cards went from E’s to A’s she decided she was too grown up to be calling us ‘Mommy’ and ‘Daddy’. So you and I got demoted to good ol’ Mom and Dad.” The two shared a knowing, nostalgic chuckle. Mom stopped just long enough to check Wendy’’s temperature via the back of her hand on her daughter’s forehead. “Normal.” Wendy frowned, not quite following what was happening. “Neither of you two were worried about me?” “Why?” Mom asked. “I thought that mad dash you just made might have been to the bathroom, but you seemed fine in your room to me.” “I hope that instant oatmeal wasn’t past its expiration date,” Dad said. Wendy cocked her head to the side again, this time in confusion. “I had breakfast here?” “I should hope so,” Dad said. “Otherwise I don’t know who I just got done sitting across the kitchen table from.’ No diapers, but Mom was still bringing in groceries. No highchair, but she’d still had breakfast with Dad. “Honey, are you okay?” Mom asked. “She fell asleep studying last night,” Dad reported. “Must’ve paid off though. You should have seen what she did in her notebook just before you came home, the little show off.” “Poor thing,” Mom said. “Why don’t you take it easy today?” Extraordinary astonishment was overridden by mundane anxiety “But my test-” “Test schmest,” Dad said. “You’re no good to yourself if you fry your circuits cramming. Take the day off. You’ve shown you’re ready anyways.” Mom simply added an agreeable “Mmmmhmmm!” Why was his dad so lenient all of a sudden? They were supportive as all get out, but they were never this laid back about it, not when it came to schooling. And what was that about being a show off? “Maybe I’ll go lay down for a minute,” Wendy mumbled. Dad got that same squinty eyed look on his face. “She said she’s going to go lay down, Howard,” Mom translated. “I swear we need to get your hearing checked.” The Law student felt numb from her face to her toes, stumbling back into her bedroom. Just in case, she checked out the old family picture in the living room. There she was in her cap and gown, standing beside two older but very proud parents. Had she dreamed the whole thing up? Had she gone into some kind of fugue state and only imagined that her father had been spoon feeding her the oatmeal in a highchair? A repressed memory maybe? What did that mean about the state of her clothes? More poignantly, what did that mean about the state of her mind? The light beaming out from her closet was as bright as ever. It might have been smaller, but it was hard to tell. Was the light brighter or just more focused? Was this what having a stroke was like? Or going insane? Wendy looked down at the ground rather than stare into the bright abyss. “Hmmm?” A bit of paper caught her eye. Her real room had been as spotless as the giant nursery had been cluttered with toys, so the rectangular shaped notebook stood out like a sore thumb. Wendy bent over and picked it up. “Oh.” Twenty six questions were written, copied word for word from the end of her text books required reading chapters. “My.” Each question was answered succinctly and in a way that she could understand. It was like someone had made her a study guide keyed directly to her brain with all the right questions and answers. No scouring and searching and trying to figure out where the answers were among pages and pages of text. Just simple memorization like a game of trivia. “God!” To cap it off, everything was in her own handwriting. On one side of the rip, she was twenty-two. On the other, she wasn’t quite one year old. Over there, she’d been spoon fed instant oatmeal, and then absentmindedly played with an alphabet puzzle. Over here was now the perfect study guide. Both had Mom going to the grocery store and coming back while Dad made breakfast. Neither seemed to be disturbed or even recognize her absence. The only downside there was the infantile role she’d been placed in was starting to affect her clothing, but only on that side. And if everything she did over there had an adult equivalent effect on this side... Wendy’s mind started racing with possibilities. She was going back. The choice was easy. So easy, even a baby could do it.

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

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

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

Chapter 1: D-List “But I know, I know, life can be beautiful I pray, I pray for a better way If we changed back then, we could change again We can be beautiful… Just not today.” Thomas Dean liked musicals. He liked music in general (what eighteen year old didn’t?), but he particularly liked musical theater. Music was pure expression, emotion made real and given a beat. It was joy. It was anger. It was loneliness. Horniness, too. Most music- most commercial music, anyway- was too general, too generic, for Tom to connect with. Yes, “Rain Is A Good Thing.” And? Yes, we’re “Only Human,” and we like to dance. Duh. And every single love song or break up song wasn’t about anyone in particular, it was about “you.” Bo Burnham (whose standup was just this side of a dark musical comedy) had it right: “I love your hands because your fingerprints are like no other, I love your eyes and blueish, brownish, greenish color.” So vague as to be universal, but the connection was lost as soon as the catchy beat stopped. If Shakespeare was writing today, the famous line would have been. “You. Oh you. Where are you? Give up your family and I’ll give up mine.” Which, admittedly, was a sweet and hopelessly romantic sentiment, but did it have any power without people’s nostalgia and recognition of the themes of two star crossed lovers from warring families? Tom didn’t think so. Broadway, however, wasn’t nearly as broad, and that was the appeal. Musicals told stories; fantasies and fictions that combined the raw emotion of music with characters that you could relate to and imprint on. Tom never imagined himself hanging out with Lil Nas X or Brad Paisley. It was never going to happen, and they had nothing in common. But he could relate to Elphaba, and Tracy Turnblad, and Leo Bloom. Alexander Hamilton was MAYBE the ten dollar bill guy to most Americans before the play came out. Tom felt he knew what it was like to be an outsider looking in and dreaming of bigger things. He couldn’t relate to Beiber telling some hot nobody to go love themselves. He’d never have his own song on the radio that would “give you hell”. In their own sad way, the rich and famous people who sang the songs were less attainable, less relatable, and less real to him than the fictional characters who strutted it out on stage. But the fictional characters? Pasty white instead of emerald green, Tom was no Elphaba, but he sure as hell dreamed that he could defy gravity one day despite what other people thought of him. He wasn’t teased for being overweight, like Tracy Turnblad was- if anything he was almost skinny enough to be considered malnourished- but how he wished he could muster her boundless energy and optimism. Unlike Leo Bloom, Tom had no desire to be a producer; he’d buy tickets and go to New York instead of watching old bootlegs on Youtube if he ever got the chance, but that was as far as he’d go. However, he couldn’t help but nod and tear up a bit when the timid little accountant shouted at the top of his lungs, “STOP THE WORLD! I WANT TO GET ON!” Maybe it wasn’t the music itself, but a musical character’s ability to say and sing so succinctly what they were feeling in the moment and express their true selves so well, that attracted Tom to them. A song could last only three minutes, but that high, that story, that fantasy that created the connection could last a lot lot longer. In his fifth period math class, Tom sighed himself out of his own reverie. It was the twenty-first century, so he’d been told, and a young man liking a song and dance number was nothing to look sideways at. Shit. In most places nowadays, if you started with “Let’s. Get Down. To Business!” the next lines out of everybody else’s mouth would be “To Defeat. The Huns!” Same was true for “Let it Go” and “You’re Welcome.” Disney always got a free pass, but a body wouldn’t be looked down on if they were jamming out to Hamilton, or Rent, or The Book of Mormon, either. Scrumpton, Georgia wasn’t most places. Culturally it was still somewhere in between 1950 and 1980. The Breakfast Club was a roadmap on how to live your life, the part about torturing nerds and duct taping their butt cheeks included. Scrumpton liked to pretend it was Mayberry from Andy Griffith, but was honestly a lot closer to Derry from Stephen King. Tom couldn’t count how many times he’d been drafted to go dumpster diving by the jocks. It was Friday afternoon. Tom didn’t need a calendar to know that. He could have been sucked into an alternate dimension, spend years there in dank caves fighting zombies and goblins, pop back to Earth and still know what day of the week it was in Scrumpton just by looking around. Like most small towns without much to do, high school football ruled Scrumpton’s Friday nights. That meant that all the jocks wore their jerseys and all the cheerleaders wore their uniforms. Amanda Monroe was a cheerleader. She sat in front of Tom in fifth period and had a habit of leaning over so she could snicker and whisper during Mr. Jordan’s boring math lectures. “Math math math...coefficient...math math math...sine and cosine...math math math...variables...math math.” That’s not what Mr. Jordan said (except for that one time when he did to see if anyone was paying attention) but it’s what everyone but the big brains heard on a Friday afternoon with no tests looming and yet another big game only hours away. Haphazardly copying down Mr. Jordan’s numerical chicken scratch and praying to the weekend gods that he’d understand more of it come Sunday night, Tom’s eyes kept darting to Amanda...part of her, anyway. He couldn’t hear what Amanda was saying to her mean-girls-bestie Cameron, but he wasn’t paying attention to her voice just then. Amanda’s cheerleading skirt was very, very short. And even though her matching bike shorts covered more than enough to meet the school dress code requirements, they were also tight enough so that Tom could tell that she wasn’t wearing any panties. Mmmm...panties. Unless it was a thong. Mmmm...a thong. No! No! No! It was perverted! It was wrong! Amanda was a person! Not just a piece of ass...a sweet sweet piece of ass! NO! This was wrong! Amanda wasn’t some random girl. He’d known her since they were both just out of diapers. Yeah, they’d drifted apart in middle school, and she definitely looked a lot different than she had back during their playground days. Puberty had been VERY good to her (him not so much), but Amanda wasn’t just some random stranger for him to ogle online. She was somebody’s daughter. Somebody’s sister. Like his own sister... Eww-eww-eww! Don’t think about THAT! That’s even grosser! Tom blinked and images of Katlynn’s bony ass flashed across his eyelids. UG! Nothing more boner-killing than thinking of your own sister. It was bad enough that they’d had to share a womb. Scumpton was in Georgia, and it checked a lot of stereotypes for the state. It didn’t check THAT box, though...not for Tom, at least. Tom stared back at his paper, trying to focus more on math and less on ass. His eyes flitted upward. Amanda was still bent over, whispering something to Cameron. Mr. Jordan’s spirit had long been broken and he made no move to stop people from talking as long as it didn’t interrupt his scribblings on the board….and even then the old man did his best to ignore it. Must not look. Must not look. Must do math. Damn it, now she was swaying her hips, wiggling, waving it. It was like a matador waving a cape at a bull. Must do math. He wanted to lean forward and tap Amanda on the shoulder, or cough or something to get her attention. Maybe she’d stop. Must. Not. Look. Must. Do. Math. Not that he wanted her to stop; not that it was his place to tell her to stop. It wasn’t Amanda’s fault that he found her incredibly hot to the point of distraction and it wasn’t her responsibility to control his impulses. But he felt like he was taking advantage or perving on her because she might not know he was looking. She might not care, either, but how did he ask permission without drawing attention to himself and being a total weirdo? Another showtune- My Unfortunate Erection- screamed its way into his brain. Damn it, life was hard! Must. Do. Look. Not. Math. Was it even Tom’s place or responsibility to do anything other than keep his thoughts and opinions to himself? A war of teenage hormones clashing up against prudish and confused sexual attitudes raged in his brain. Must. Not. Do. Math! Must LOOK! Tom was still a horny eighteen-year-old boy. And sometimes, as much as he might try otherwise, Tom thought with his dick. And he was just looking, after all...right? Right. She was right in front of him, bending over for everyone to see. It’s not like he was drilling peep holes in the girl’s locker room. He wouldn’t say anything about it, he resolved. He was doing nothing wrong, saying nothing, and putting his hands on no one. Nor did he do anything to manipulate these circumstances into being. Literally just a case of right place at the right time. Tom would take mental notes, (not in math...fuck math) save certain images in his brain, and go rub one out into an old sock later tonight. Case closed. Matter solved. God bless cheerleaders. God bless cheerleader outfits. God bless Friday afternoons. “Hey! Look at D-List!” Josh Hamlin yelled out. D-List. That was Tom’s nickname since fifth grade. He’d hated it, every asshole his age knew it, and that’s why it had endured into senior year. “D-List is pitching a tent!” All eyes within a five-seat radius of Thomas Dean were immediately on him, save Mr. Jordan who was still rambling off about some inconsequential formula that could be used to calculate the apocalypse with only a three month margin of error. Tom looked down at his lap. It was true. His unfortunate protuberance seemed to have its own exuberance. The little guy was practically waving hello at everyone. Cameron looked to Amanda and then over to Tom. “Enjoying the view, little guy?” “Dude,” someone yelled, “ya ditch them khakis and get some jeans!” Raucous laughter from all around. Amanda frowned. “You little perv!” She drew her hand back as if to slap him, but froze when Tom was already flinching backwards. “Careful, ‘Manda!” Trevor Macintosh yelled out. “He might like it!” Amanda’s hand flopped down to her side. If Tom had been more quick-witted, more confident, more brazen, or cool...more SOMETHING...he could have handled the moment and turned it around in his favor. He could have called out Josh Hamlin for looking at his crotch, or just own it and pass it off for laughs with him instead of at him. He could have apologized like an adult. He could at least have shrugged it off and said...said...SOMETHING, DAMNIT! If this was a musical, he could have broken out into song, and by the time it was done his erection would be gone and forgotten. Tom wasn’t any of that, though, and this was definitely not a musical. All he could do was stammer “S-s-sorry,” as he got up, covering his crotch, tears in his eyes as he ran out of the classroom. “Awww, he jizzed in his pants, too!” Josh yelled out. “Somebody get that man a condom!” Laughter, even though the joke didn’t make any damn sense. That was another thing about musicals; fiction in general: You had to actually be clever and witty and poignant with your jokes to get laughs. In high school all you had to do was be loud, mean-spirited and reference someone else’s private parts. With calls of “D-List!” and “Loser” and “Perv” and yes, “Condom,” echoing behind him as he ran out of class, Tom booked it to the boys bathroom where he sat on the toilet with the stall locked; doing his level best not to cry his eyes out. Tom liked musicals; a rare thing for a boy, especially a straight one, to like in a place like Scrumpton, but those fantasies set to melodies could articulate his feelings better than any dose or combination of rap, pop, metal, rock, or country. Junior year, he’d gotten ahold of the soundtrack for Heathers. The opening number summed up his experience pretty well. “We were so tiny, happy and shiny. Playing tag and getting chased. Singing and clapping, laughing and napping. Baking cookies, and eating paste. Then we got bigger, that was the trigger, like the Huns invading Rome.” And between each line the ensemble cast shouted insults at each other, like freak, slut, loser, and short-bus. “Welcome to my school, this ain’t no high school. This is the Thunderdome.” That’s how it had been for Tommy Dean. Elementary school had been good enough. Kids were nice. Teachers did everything they could and cared for you like a second parent. There weren’t winners or losers unless it was a game of Yu-Gi-Oh or four square out on the playground, and then the slate was wiped clean as soon as the next game began. Things were, as the song went on to say, “beautiful.” But somewhere just around middle school, puberty had changed everything. Kids judged more. Teachers had less time. People suddenly cared where you got your clothes from- bought or donated- and where you lived. All of a sudden, whether Mom and Dad paid for your lunch or whether the school gave you free food impacted your social status among the cliques. Oh yeah. Around that time, cliques became a thing, too. It wasn’t just about “Mrs. Miller’s Third Grade vs. Mrs. Sampson’s Third Grade.” Come sixth grade, it was all about Jocks, and Cheerleaders, and Goths, and Geeks and Freaks and Preps and Nerds and so on and so forth. There wasn’t a particular clique for kids who took home backpacks filled with non-perishables from the local church on weekends, save maybe “losers.” That’s what Tom was; a loser. Tommy and Katie went from being “the twins,” to “the poor kids,” “the smelly kids,” and yes, “the losers.” In a weird way, Tommy and Katie didn’t exist anymore. Tommy and Katie had friends. Now they were Tom and Katlynn Dean. Tom and Katlynn didn’t really have much in the way of friends these days. Tom heard the rumors. They were rubbed in his face. Katlynn was somehow a dirty skank ho, despite never having a boyfriend or going on a date. She was stuck at home with not much to do most nights, same as him. And Tom was so far down the social totem pole that he was “D-List.” After this latest humiliation, there’d probably be some kind of dumb penis joke attached to his name...probably “condom”...his peers still weren’t that clever, all things considered. The creak of the boys’ room door alerted Tom. He wasn’t alone. “Hey D-List!” Another boy called in, Trevor Macintosh by the sound of it. “You forgot your backpack in fifth period, dude!” Somehow the bell had rung and Tom hadn’t noticed. Not surprising given the circumstances. “Go away!” was all Tom could make himself say, his throat closing up, his embarrassing erection thoroughly destroyed, but his humiliation flaring up like a bad case of acne. “I’m busy.” “Heh...busy, right! I’ll bet!” Trevor’s voice rumbled off of linoleum. Only silence from Tom. A mean spirited perverted laugh came from Trevor, not unlike a certain pair of big headed idiots looking to score. “Heh...there are worse chicks to yank it to than Amanda.” Tom didn’t talk. Trevor was the worst kind of bully. Trevor was the kind that pretended to be your friend, to give you a minute of false hope before making you the butt of his joke. He’d bring in you in for a hug with his left arm so he could sucker punch you with his right. Best way to deal with bullies like him, Momma had always told Tom, was not to respond. It had never worked...but Tom didn’t see any other viable options. He couldn’t take Trevor in a fight. Trevor was a foot taller and he was wearing his jersey today. “Alright, then.” Trevor finally said. “Whatever.” Another beat. “Look, I got your backpack. I’ll let everybody in sixth know you’re busy yanking it in here.” He would too. The corners of Tom’s mouth drooped into a desperate, depressed, nearly cartoonish frown. Tom still didn’t speak. He couldn’t right now. Part of him wished he could at least sing. Even during a sad song, time was kind enough to stop in a musical. “I’ll leave it here for ya, D-List.” Trevor said. From his spot in the stall, Trevor heard the slight rustling and riffling of thin plastic and a solid thunk as his book bag hit the floor, followed by the creaking of the boys’ room door opening back up. Tom didn’t need to come out of the stall and look around. He already knew that his backpack had been dumped in the trash. This is the first chapter of a novel length commission over at my Patreon. To read the rest, subscribe to patreon.com/personalias

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

Chapter 1 Most would say that Walter Klammer never had a ‘proper’ childhood. Littles rarely did. Tweeners and Amazons got that luxury: that innocence; that period of soft and cuddly; that ability to make mistakes and grow and learn and be just wonderfully silly and self-indulgent. When childhood is something that is natural, and normal; and outgrown as one’s interests, emotions, and capabilities expand; it is a most pleasant thing. When childhood is something that is forced upon you, and it is perpetual, involuntary, and penalizing, innocence and childhood becomes something to be avoided. It is a ball and chain that will drag you to the bottom of the ocean unless you cut off your own foot to escape and swim up to get more of that life saving air. Amazons, arguably, have the longest natural childhood. Childhood becomes a right when you’re on top of the world. In some ways, Walter would grimly suppose, Amazons never really had to grow up; never had to learn the hard lessons of scarcity, fear, respect, consent save for perhaps with each other. Who the heck had the gall to tell an Amazon ‘no’ when they wanted something? Tweeners tended to keep that innocence right up until puberty. He’d had Tweener friends growing up who just ‘didn’t get it’ until middle school. When their voices started changing and Amazon peers, now significantly bigger than them, started learning to browbeat them and threaten them with spankings or forced ‘sleepovers’ where they’d have to wear ‘protection’; then they got it. Oddly enough, Walter had enjoyed middle school for that reason. His friend group nearly doubled when the Littles weren’t the only demographic sweating bullets over being strapped down to a changing table. If only that Tweener awakening blossomed into a kind of open defiance instead of self-serving compliance, Littles and Tweeners might be better friends. Such revolutionary thoughts were better not expressed out loud with one’s actual face, however. Much safer behind a computer screen. For Walter and so many people like him, he never had a ‘proper’ childhood. There was a point where biologically he was a child, but it wasn’t ‘childhood’ as much as it was ‘pre-adulthood’ or ‘larva stage’. In a Venn Diagram of his early years and that of other, larger folks, the overlap might be on age and the fact that in general his parents did their best to shield and lookout for him. Here was Walter’s childhood in a nutshell: No non-educational toys or games that didn’t develop a skill of some sort. No media that didn’t directly relate to academia, safety, or education. No costumes, pretend, or non-functional clothing. Few, if any excuses for misbehavior. ‘Misbehavior’ also included anything that might jeopardize his or his parent’s adulthood. “Don’t question us in public,” his mother would warn him. “Unless you want some Amazon thinking we’re bad parents. Then we’ll all end up back in diapers forever. Giants don’t let you grow up.” Childhood was the threat; so Walter never felt like he had one. One of the thirty year old Little’s earliest memories was his first day of Kindergarten. Up until then, Wally had been allowed to keep a single rattle from infancy. It was a wrist strap rattle, light pastel blue with a tiny elephant head as the decoration. Whenever he’d shake it, a little jingling noise would tinkle out. In the quiet of an otherwise spartan room in the middle of the night, when Wally was just starting to be plagued by the thoughts of giant hands scooping him up and forcing him into a crib for eternity, ol’ Jumbo gave him the measure of comfort he’d needed for sleep. No giant Mommy or Daddy would snatch him from his bed at night, he’d told himself. If they did, he would shake his arm as hard as he could and Jumbo’s high pitched alarm would sound, allerting Mother and Father, who would somehow protect him. That simple tiny bit of comfort was all the childish indulgence and security that Wally had needed. Kindergarten changed that. After over five years of use, -even if the use got limited to only inside the apartment, then only at bedtime- the security toy was more than well worn. Walter could still remember the way some of the stitching had started to come loose, or how bits of fabric were just barely flaking off of the top Jumbo’s head. The velcro was fraying and because the bauble had been designed with an actual infant Little in mind, it had been held on by a prayer at the very edge where the two sides of the soft cloth bracelet met. That last summer, Walter recalled sleeping with the rattle cupped in his palm or cradled to his chest like a stuffed animal more than strapped to his wrist. The bell inside was still loud and clear, though, and that’s what mattered. It had mattered so much to poor young Wally that he’d snuck it into his backpack on his first day of school. That ringing jingling tingling bell had almost sealed his fate. Teacher thought that a Little Kindergartener with a babyish rattle like that wasn’t quite ready to grow up. It hadn’t mattered that his Amazon classmates had brought in tiny teddy bears and special blankets for nap time. It didn’t matter that a Tweener girl still had a nervous thumb sucking habit. Wally had been the one put back in diapers ‘just in case’; not them. That was the only time Walter could remember being in diapers; that traumatic first day of school. The towheaded Little in Kindergarten had been potty trained for so long that he didn’t even think of it as potty training by that point. He could never remember a time where he didn’t dress or bathe himself or brush his teeth without aid. So the feeling of being diapered- the vulnerability as a stranger laid him down and took his pants and underwear off; the cooing reassurances; ankles being crossed and legs being lifted up over his head; the dry chill and sweet scent of baby powder; the softness of the inside of the diaper contrasting with the stiffness of the outer shell; the feeling of being dressed and having the garment take shape around him as the front was tucked in and taped down; or how the diaper crinkled and forced him to waddle when he walked -none of it was nostalgic to him. None of it was eerily familiar as much as it was completely alien and traumatic. Wally had rattled Jumbo as much as he could, but Mother and Father couldn’t hear it from outside the school. It had taken a heroic amount of effort for young Wally to keep that diaper dry all day, (not his diaper...never his), but he’d managed to hold his burning aching bladder until after the bus had dropped him off back home. If he hadn’t, Mother and Father told him that night, the Amazons would have taken that as evidence that he wasn’t mature enough for using the toilet and he’d be back in diapers for at least the rest of the year. And that was if he was lucky. Mother and Father had scolded him for being careless and plopped him, diaper first, into a tub of cold water. Amazon-strength tapes were nearly impossible for Little fingers to undo, so the quickest, least dangerous way to get it off had been to oversaturate the absorbent pulp and let the damn thing slip straight off his hips. It wasn’t until years later that Father let it slip over drinks that Wally could have likely gotten that Monkeez off himself. The diaper had been sized for Little and Tweener children, not Amazon, so five year old Wally very likely could have gotten it off himself had he thought to try. Didn’t matter by then. The baptism of plastic, pulp, water, and a sprinkling of his own piss had transformed the child. Child Wally had gone into the freezing tub. Young Walter had come out. The diaper and Jumbo had been balled up and thrown in the garbage and all childish things had been put away in service of survival. Walter went back to school the next day in his big boy pants and his record in all things Grown-Up as well as his undies, had been spotless ever since. That had been well over twenty years ago. Walter blinked himself awake from his dreadful daydreaming and saw his own ash blonde reflection mirrored darkly in the computer screen. It had been the sudden flickering of his monitor that had brought his brain screaming back to the present. “Damn power surge,” he mumbled. Standing up from the cushioned seat in his apartment he punched the power button on a computer tower that came up to his belly button. “I really need to get a laptop.” Little sized apartments were notoriously poorly rent controlled. What Little would dare call maintenance? Someone might see a leaky faucet or bad wiring as a sign of neglect on the tenant’s part, and there was only one cure-all for such ‘irresponsibility’. It wasn’t so bad, though. Walter’s landlord couldn’t afford to see him be moved out and try to rent to another Little. Not in this economy. Safer for both to use a system of benign neglect. He stretched his neck, touching the side of his face to each shoulder and felt the uncomfortable itchiness of his own neck stubble. “I need a shave, too,” he grunted. That was the drawback of working from home; he was in less danger and didn’t need to keep up his public appearance as much, but it also felt like he was getting rusty at such things. Walter found it was boring work, being a ghostwriter for an advertising firm. His primary duties consisted of listening to podcasts of rich and successful Amazon dentists, accountants, lawyers and the like talk about how rich and successful they were, take detailed notes of each episode and then summarize and advertise each episode on half a dozen social media platforms all while writing in the voice and pretending to be the host. Being rich and successful wasn’t enough for these giants; they also had to pretend that they were influential media stars, and so they paid Walter’s employers to live out that particular fantasy. Whatever. It paid Walter’s rent and grocery bill, delivery fees included. His bosses didn’t particularly know or care that he was a Little, provided that he delivered a well written and edited finished product. The job allowed him to set his own hours as long as he delivered the finished product on time; and said hours gave him the leisure of not shaving everyday, and being able to schlub around in jeans and t-shirts, sleep in, and stay up ridiculously late. These lifestyle privileges were The Dream for a lot of Littles. It also allowed him to procrastinate and zone out after particularly boring episodes about real estate investiture until the power flickered. At least working from home also gave him the feeling of security that job termination wouldn’t immediately result in ‘adoption’ MistuhGwiffin.web was rife with tales: Spouses talking about how their significant others didn’t come home from work one day. They’d been fired and ‘maturity clauses’ in contracts had been invoked. Adult children would reminisce about how they’d come home from school and find out that one of their parents had met with a terrible ‘accident’ in their pants and didn’t make it out of work that day. Down at the bottom of the feed was mention of some poor schmuck who used to be a pre-school teacher and was now supposedly re-enrolled as a student at their own school. How fucked up was that? Fucked up enough that it had sent Walter Klammer spiraling into his own past, back when he was still just innocent Wally. “Come on, come on!” Walter muttered as the old desktop finally finished booting. He reopened his browser and auto-loaded everything that had been exited improperly. Again he rubbed his cheek and thought about shaving. It never helped to have facial hair around Amazons. They took it as a dare; a challenge. Going clean shaven ‘baby faced’ was ironically the only safe option for a Little like him. Walter got back on MistuhGwiffin.web ‘one last time’ and checked his private messages. He’d gotten on ‘one last time’ approximately twenty times this morning. He’d been waiting for half a month for this one girl to message him back. Hilda had been local. They’d connected and chatted each other up in DMs. MistuhGwiffin wasn’t supposed to be a dating site, but one found love where they could. They’d managed to go on a date and hit it off over a game of mini-golf. She was a few inches taller than him, even taller in heels, maybe had some Tweener in her family tree, and Walter had been smitten. Her flowing auburn hair that danced down past her shoulders, her expressive and soothing voice, the curves of her face. Even the slight tummy she had. They had chemistry and it was one of those dates, those rare times when something just ‘clicked’. They hadn’t even talked about Amazons. A night not thinking about getting snatched up; that was a rare gift for any Little. And she’d never messaged him back. Damn. He really thought they’d connected. Maybe not. Maybe Walter was one of those know-it-all jerks that only thought he was interesting and hadn’t realized it yet. The last thing he’d said to her was he promised to message her that he’d made it home safely. He had. No message had come back. Not for two weeks. Feeling kind of creepy, Walter went to Hilda’s profile and scanned it. No updates. Not for weeks. A terrible, all too familiar thought wormed its way into Walter’s gray matter: What if Hilda had never made it home herself? He sent the third ‘Are you okay?’ message that week to Hilda before clicking back over to his work tab like he was supposed to. He had six hours left to make a rambling incoherent mess of a podcast starring an ER doctor sound halfway palatable beyond the guy’s friends and immediate family. He’d almost started working when he thought he saw an update on MistuhGwiffin. No such luck. Just his imagination. “Fuck.” Walter cursed. “I need to clear my head.” He rubbed his chin. “And a shave.” It might have been fate that brought him to that park that day so quickly after thinking about his one major brush with permanent infancy. It might have been that when faced with uncomfortable truths such as a system that is rigged against them some Littles develop self-destructive habits that put them in vulnerable situations. The one thing that didn’t bring Walter there was the bus. The quiet little park with the duck pond was just across the street from his apartment complex and the Little man had more anxiety and energy than work ethic and common sense at the moment. To be accurate, that assessment’s not entirely fair, but neither was the world. Walter eyeballed the playground wearily from the parking lot. Children, real ones, played tag running around the jungle gym and raced on monkey bars. Good. Their mothers and fathers would be too tired to worry about a lone Little walking the fitness trail along the periphery. A hundred feet away from the playground, a dozen ducks and the padded silhouettes of two captured Littles waddled around. Their Amazon wardens were already getting their baby fix, poor bastards, but it made Walter feel safer. More importantly, Walter noted that there was a complete dearth of self-proclaimed Mommies and Daddies on the path he was considering. No exercise strollers or backpack style diaper bags. No Amazons going for walks at all that he could see. Good. Still stuck mostly in his own head and the terrible fate that might have befallen yet another Little, Walter strolled along the fitness trail, his sneakers kicking up dust as he walked and talked to himself. “She’s fine,” he said to himself. “You’re overthinking it. She’s just busy at her job. What was her job again…?” He shook his head as if that might somehow rattle the bit of information loose. “Damn,” he cursed. He really didn’t know what Hilda did for a job. “Maybe I am just a boring date.” It was a weird, perverse comfort thinking that he’d been ghosted as opposed to her being disappeared, but it helped. As was his habit, Walter paused by what he called the ‘Rowing Exhibit’. The fitness trail had a bevy of outdoor exercise equipment along its red dirt path. They were designed for Amazon and even Tweeners to run up to, exercise, do a few reps of pull ups or leg lifts or pushups; to really feel the burn; and then to jog away down the dusty road to the next station.. To a Little like Walter they weren’t much more than twisted beige and leaf green works of modern art. Almost like he was proving a point to himself, Walter took a seat on the outdoor rower and reached up for the built- in ‘oars’. If he stretched his arms he could just barely grasp handles. The thirty year old Little wasn’t a doctor but he was positive this wasn’t sized for someone like him. No way would this thing exercise the intended muscles. Walter never questioned why there wasn’t Little specific exercise equipment available; as far as most folks were concerned, that was the playground. Most Amazons liked their ‘babies’ a bit pudgy, anyways. Pudgy. A bit of a tummy. Like.. “Fuck.” Walter dropped his head and whispered to himself. He let the handles go and closed his eyes. “I just made myself sad.” Something caught Walter’s eye on the very periphery of his vision. Something bright and yellow with shades of brown, but the exact hues signaled to Walter’s brain that it wasn’t something quite natural; similar to how the beige and green of the ‘Rowing Exhibit’ didn’t once ring true as something belonging in nature. Turning his head and reaching down, the jingling wrist rattle was in Walter’s hand before he knew what he was doing. Those happy earliest memories overshadowed by the one bad one screamed back into Walter’s head. Walter’s consciousness screamed at him to drop the damn thing; encouraged his eyes to develop heat vision and burn it right then and there. His subconscious however, wasn’t quite ready to let it go. It wasn’t a replica of his old Jumbo; not even close. Instead of a gentle blue elephant, the soft fabric and mold was presented as a light brown wristband and a bright yellow sunflower. It’s fastening device was different too. No safe and easy to remove Velcro; just several rows of snap bottoms on the left side and a single row of tops on the right to ensure a tight fit. There was a good chance, Walter assessed, that those snaps would be very difficult for a Little to undo without help. Last but not least was the size. Besides being much newer and in much better condition, this wrist rattle was also much larger. It was scaled for an Amazon baby...or a Little who had been forced into the role. Feeling more than a hint of disgust, Walter tossed it back over his shoulder. Sadly for him, it was that toss that sealed his fate. The soft, almost plushy thing struck the ground immediately behind him and let out a piercing metallic jingling sound, quiet yet distinct enough to be heard over the chirping of birds and the light breeze wafting through the trees. “Huh?” Walter mumbled turning around off the seat. Suddenly something felt different yet familiar to him. His eye lids felt a bit heavier, though not tired. His skin tingled ever so slightly. It was almost like when he tried his first beer; a not quite buzz as a foreign substance he’d yet to grow tolerant of coursed through his veins The barest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. And for some reason, Walter’s eyes zoned in on the giant rattle he’d just tossed aside. Feeling guilty but overwhelmed by simple curiosity, Walter leaned back down and picked the Amazon sized toy up. The bell inside jingled slightly and Walter felt another rush; another sip of strange almost drunken pleasure. “What in the…?” Was he getting buzzed? From a rattle? He gave it another shake, a good one. The bell inside the sunflower rang out and Walter’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. “HAAAAAAA!” his laughter rang out as the world spinned and he momentarily lost his footing. He shook it again, practically feeling the pleasure centers of his brain light up. He held his breath involuntarily, letting his eyes roll back again and his tongue press up against the roof of his mouth. It was the rush of a rollercoaster and the aftershock of a really good shot of whiskey all rolled into one. All because of the high pitched ringing of a bell in a wrist rattle. “I gotta get me one of these...” he hissed to himself. Speaking of involuntarily… Speaking of hissing... “Hello,” a large feminine voice brought Walter back to full consciousness. “Are you okay Little boy? Do you need help? Did you have an accident? Where’s your Mommy or Daddy, baby?” Baby? Mommy or Daddy? Who did she think she was talking to? Even the worst of Amazons weren’t so brazen as to talk down to a Little like that out of nowhere. Not without at least a surface level reason... Walter looked down at his pants and the spreading wet spot on the front expanding out and darkening his jeans, flowing and dripping down his inner thighs and moistening his socks. “Oh...no…”

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

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

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

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

Chapter 1 “Aww look like the little ones lost. Oh well, they can become the next lost ones in my game but now I need a new bunch. These past few haven't been as much fun. They end up giving up too quickly.” The lady gets an idea and snaps her fingers. She then pulls out a laptop laying it on her large table. It has character sheets on it that look in bad shape before they crumble to dust and blow away. She opened up a group chat on her favorite d&d website. There were 4 people chatting back and forth. She smiles as she read them the first one is from someone’s username ‘Beast’ “Hell ya, nat 20 bitch! I want to kill it as cool as possible!” The next person to respond was just called ‘GM’ “Ya ya...how the heck do you get so lucky at all my games…? You just break all my stories.” GM explained how Beast killed the large Minotaur with his large two-handed weapon. “Now Brick, can you roll a d20 for me? You did get knocked out after all.” This ‘Brick’ person rolls a d20 getting a 10 “Come on, my rolls are so bad! I swear this game is rigged!” The last person types just called ‘hunter’ replies to brick “Hehehe seriously? We've been playing these games with the same group for over a year now and you think it's rigged? Come on man take a chill pill.” Brick replies back “Ya ya...whatever.” Gm replies next “Ok brick is going to be out for a few days. You can move on and carry him or stay and rest. But we can do that tomorrow. I need a break. But has it really been a year already? And I still have yet to get to play a single game myself…” Beast replies “Well none of us know how to DM. But fine go to bed, he's probably got a bedtime! Sleep tight lol” Hunter replies “Damn it beast, can you be nice to our DM for once?! I got an idea! DM if you find a new DM we can all play a game how's that sound” Brick replies next “I'm in! That sounds like fun! I bet the DMs even better at this damn game than me anyways.” Beast just sends a rolling eye emoji “Ya sure whatever as long as I get to be the badass two-handed ax welder!” The DM replies “Really?! Deal! I'll look for a new DM tonight and get back to you all. I'll text you all later, bye!” DM has logged out, appears in the chat log. Then Hunter replies. “Heh, he's cute when he's happy. Later beast, later brick see you tomorrow!” Hunter has logged off. Brick replies. “Cute? What was cute about that? never heard him speak like that. Anyways see ya man.” Brick logs off and then so does beast. The lady at the table smirks. “Well, Natalie looks like you just found your next group. Now to figure out who this DM is.” Natalie gets to work looking up everything she can off his account and finds the name Laphin after hacking into his account. “Lapin heh cute name. Hmm, interesting he lives not too far away. What are the odds, guess I rolled a nat 20.” She writes down the address and begins to make an invite to a huge D&D game on her laptop. She quickly finished it and Put lapin's info on it and drove all the way to his place putting it in his mailbox. “Now we just play the waiting game~” Laphin is an 18-year-old boy about 4’5 he was quite short. He is a white tiger with glasses he has taped up. He stands up from his computer desk and sighs. “How am I going to find a DM? I'm so tired of DMing games, I want to play for once. I also don't want to let my friends down. Well, I know hunters, my friend, and maybe brick? I don't think beast likes anyone. I really need to get everyone's IRL name sometime.” He lays back on his bed and yawns and an older white tiger lady walks into his room. She looked like she was straight out of the wild west. She carried a gun on her hip and a cowgirl outfit. “Laphin? You're still awake? Get to bed now. Way past your bedtime!” Laphin takes off his glasses and covers up. “S-sorry mom!” Even though he was 18 his mom still treated him like a child. She leaves and he sighs laying on his side. “I bet no one else has to deal with this…what's worse is I get bullied all the time at school for it too. Glad it's my senior year, I can't wait to graduate.” Laphin drifts off to sleep, he sleeps great before suddenly he's woken up the next day. “Time to wake up, Laphin you got mail!” Lapin's mother throws him a letter and leaves. Laphin groans and rubs his eyes looking at the paper, unable to read it. He grabs his glasses and opens it up. “Why am I getting mail? Maybe I got into that nice school?” He begins to read it. “Are you big on Dungeons and dragons? Do you want to play a game for 100 thousand dollars for each person on your team?! Well, come join my challenge for your chance to win, remember teams must be of 4! Give me a call if interested if you need help paying to get your team together I'll help pay for a trip there and back! So come and join my world of Babulis!” Lapin was blown away. He jumped up on his bed and jumped off his bed making a loud thump as he quickly grabbed his phone. Suddenly his mother screams. “Laphin you better not be breaking anything in there!!” Laphin shiver “S-sorry mom! It was an accident!” He quickly messages his three friends telling them about the letter he got. His first message back was from Hunter. “Holy shit dude! This is awesome but it almost sounds too good to be true? You sure we can't trust this?” Next was brick “LET'S DO IT! I'm needing some money anyway. My rent is getting way too high.” And last was Beast to reply “100k?! Let's do this!! I'll beat this game with my eyes closed!” Laphin sighed, and it seemed only hunter wasn't sure. He messaged him back. “Come on, please don't let me be alone with beast and brick. I feel like we are the only two smart ones. But I'm sure we can win! As for safety, why would they spend so much money to get you here if it's a scam or something?” The wait was killer on Laphin before Hunter finally replied. “Heh, alright I'll come. But only if my trip over and back is paid. So you better get ahold of this person ok? I'm sure beast and brick can't afford a trip out there either. So you think you can handle that responsibility?” Laphin jumped up and down typing back “YES YES! Yay thank you, thank you!!” He messaged both beast and brick that he would make sure they had a way over as soon as he could then began to call the number on the mail he got. He held his finger over the call button nervously before taking a deep breath. He hit the call and it rang then someone picked up. “Hiya! This is Natalie! Are you calling about my D&D challenge? “ Laphin was awfully shy talking to real people, not on messages. So he talked quite quietly and softly. “Y-ya...and I got some fri-” Natalie giggles “No need to be shy, but you got some friends that need a trip over, correct?” Laphin was confused. “Ya but-” Natalie interrupts him again. “Wonderful! Just tell me their address and by next week we will start the game. I can't wait to have you all here! Don't forget to tell your family that the game might last a while so you need to be here at least a week. Maybe longer, don't worry about food, I have that covered!” Laphin was just so confused but excited “O-ok I'll get you their addresses” Natalie smirks “Can't wait to play, bye cutie~!” She hangs up and laphin just stares at his phone blushing and then smiles then his face goes pale. “Wait a week?! There's no way mom will let me do that… I’ll ask later I got a week I suppose.” He asks everyone for their addresses and sends it to this Natalie in a text. Suddenly Laphins mom calls him. “Laphin! Come and get your breakfast! What the heck are you still doing in your room??” He finishes up before He puts his phone down “Coming mom!” He then rushes to the kitchen and sits at the table and his mom sits some eggs and bacon in front of him. “Thanks, mom” He sighs and begins to think about how he can ask his mom if he can go play a game of D&D for a week or so. Then he remembered his mom was very greedy. “Oh, mom! You know these games of D&D, I play?” She sighs “Oh, these games that you play when you should be studying?” Laphin groans “I guess, but schools too easy! But that's not the p-” His mom interrupts “Laphin I don't care it’s still just a stupid game they cant make you money!” Laphin smirks “What if I told you I could make 100K from one game if I win?” His mom looked interested. “I'm listening…” Laphin then goes on to explain his chances at this game with his friends. “A week? Or more? Hmm.” They finished eating. “Hmm...Fine but if you win you will pay me some money you owe.” Laphin jumps up out of his chair and hugs his mom “Thank you, thank you! Anything! You can have it all for all I care, I just want to hang out with my friends!” His mom hugs back surprised and smiles. “I'm glad you made friends. I know it's hard with your size and all. And you just being a nerd” She laughs and Laphin blushes. “Mom!“ She pats his back. “Oh get over it Laphin you're still my little boy. But you better win this uhh game, your Christmas present might be on the line!” She laughs and he pouts. “That hardly seems fair...whatever so I can go?” She nods and he smiles. His mom gave him one last kiss on the head. Next, we head on over to Beasts place. There stood a tall black goat named Rie who wore a grey hoodie and jeans. He sets his phone down and heads to his room. He was 28 and lived alone, he smirks. “So I guess I'm meeting these nerds I play with. I'm sure hunter and DM are like these big nerds with glasses but brick acts differently. Don't even know each other's names and we are going to meet. Heh, 100k man so many things I could buy! Fuck my job I will quit as soon as I win!” Rie begins to pack clothing and stuff for next week who knows how long they will be gone. But otherwise, he has a fairly easy week till his trip. Next, let's check on Brick. Brick or Zev as he's known by is a half-goat he's got a goat tail, ears, and horns. He's a 23-year-old man who lives in a small apartment with a bunch of posters of girls. He's quite strong-looking and built well. He always wears a sleeveless shirt and shorts. He puts his phone down on his table. “100k huh? Heh, we will win this easily! Beast will kill an ill tank like normal, we are the best team! Well, and hunter he gets off a few lucky hits...ok maybe a lot whatever. So I'll be going far out next week. That's a shame. Hope mom and my little brother will be fine without me around. Probably won't even tell them so they don’t worry.” He heads to his kitchen to eat then begins to pack his bags. Next, we check on Hunter. They are in a large hoodie covering their body and some baggie pants they smile at their phone after sending their address. “Heh, Gm always acts so cute. He must be a little younger than the other two. Maybe a lot? Kinda hope he's at least 18. That would be fun.” They pull down their hoodie to reveal their long hair dyed purple and reddish-pink. She was a young girl about 26 her name was Zoe. she laid back on her bed. “Hopefully he's not underage….that would be awkward. He acts like he's 15 sometimes. Oh well, guess I'll find out next week. I'm kinda excited for everyone to meet me. I'm sure they think I'm a guy. Better off I'm sure brick and beast would have been hitting on me a lot if they knew.” She giggles. “But that's how I preferred it. I know if Beast or brick knew I was a girl I would never hear the end of it...gross there ok friends I guess, but I don't see myself with assholes like them. Well bricks less of a dick and just kinda...dumb heh” She fantasizes about their first time meeting. Now that everyone was on track all they had to do was wait to see each other next week. I know I'm excited too. Oh sorry, you know me, I'm Natalie and I'm going to be telling the rest of this story. I would let the others tell it but there...busy! Very very busy. WANT TO READ MORE I HAVE 2 MORE CHAPTER UP ON MY PATREON OR YOU CAN WAIT TILL ITS COMPLEATE BEFORE ANY MORE ARE POSTED HERE. I POST A NEW CHAPTER EVERY FRIDAY! ONLY $1 A MONTH https://www.patreon.com/Little_Rie

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

Sequel to Clinical Trial: “POLICE! FREEZE!” The door to the Clockspin Den was kicked open, sending a round of cries rippling through rotted, nearly desiccated corpse of a building. The voices were deeper, more developed and adult than any child could produce, but had the same kind of wailing rhythm of an infant. These weren’t cries of pain in direct connection with any major physical stimulus. Nor were they the sudden cries of shock that suddenly abated when fear either died down or when survival instinct kicked in. It was the wailing of a maternity ward; a nursery; or a daycare. The cries of scared and confused children who did not know yet how to process the sudden burst of emotion and adrenaline, and so they cried as a kind of instinctual signal for help; praying that some adult or caregiver would come and give them comfort. Flanked by his fellow police officers, William Harris wished the voices were higher pitched and pre-pubescent than the bellowing cries of men and women.. Not because William enjoyed the sound of children crying; God that was a low bar to clear; but anyone who was cognisant enough to heighten their voice was very likely faking it and sober. Sober people were easier to interrogate. It’s how he’d caught the last Clockspin dealer. That had been just under two months ago, about a week after the Detective had disappeared. “POLICE!” William called out again. “EVERYONE PUT YOUR HANDS UP!” More panicked cries and uncomprehending wails. “NOW GODDAMNIT! PUT YOUR HANDS UP, NOW OR I WILL PUT A BULLET IN YOU!” It was a lie; or at least William hoped it was. Nothing more than a cheap intimidation tactic. The people who could still speak English, read social cues, and knew what a gun was might just react appropriately and give themselves away. The ones that were too far gone wouldn’t be able to. Not one of them got up. Some of them laid on the sticky floor working their limbs like puppets who just figured out how to move without strings.. Others sat against dirty walls, ready to fall over with just the intervention of a stiff breeze. A precious few may have been able to crawl since they were stuck on their hands and knees screaming like infants who had just realized they’d had an accident in their pants. It was possible that some of them had had such accidents. More and more spinners were padding up before getting their fix lately; sometimes temporary incontinence being a side effect along with the intense euphoria as the drug rewired their brains. Teams came in in twos and threes, and the raid continued unabated. It was sad to say but the crew were getting it down to a science. “Okay sweetie,” one officer, this one a lady, cooed at a suspect, “Just hold real still while I put these special bracelets on.” Simultaneously two other officers flanked her with flashlights in one hand and weapons in another. So far, the approach had worked very well; with most of the spinners too out of their gourd to put up a resistance. The ones who did were swiftly put down. In a few hours, these folks would come to handcuffed in a hospital bed, likely in a pissy diaper. Unless they didn’t come to. There were fewer and fewer ‘baked potatoes’ as the task force was calling the ones who were so far gone they were practically catatonic; but plenty remained at the cognitive level of a pre-verbal one-year old even after the drug worked its way out of their system and into their pants. Officer Harris took some small amount of grim pride watching all these addicts and users be dragged away safely. Part of cop culture was being a problem solver; a real life superhero. William was able to get to sleep better feeling like he was acting the part. So far there had been no casualties on either side of these arrests. Correction: No casualties on the suspects’ side. All the suspects and spinners were taken in alive. Gingerly,the young black man touched the still healing scar on his face. Not all suspects were mindlessly regressed. And they hadn’t found a body, but one of their number had disappeared at the start of this war. Officer Harris took it all in: The sights; the sounds; the smells; two months of feeling like he was chasing his own tail; and mixed it in his mind into a bitter brew so that he could properly express his disappointment. “Fuckin’ disgusting.” A heavy hand fell on William’s shoulder. He didn’t flinch. “She’s not gonna be here,” Captain Monroe said. “No one who knows her is gonna be, either.” William’s eyes lowered to the dirt covered, unwashed floor. He knew it was true. Hope’s a fickle bitch though. His nose recoiled at the smell of old piss and fresh shit barely masked by lavender scented baby powder. His eyes landed on a nearby stage populated by an animatronic band. “You think their fuckin’ with us?” The old doberman of a man followed William’s gaze. “You mean by dealing in an old kids’ pizza place?” He grunted. “Probably. Smart though. Meet up, deal out; wait for them to shoot up, pick up the evidence, and leave.” William finished the thought. “Anybody who can walk out the next morning can be a repeat customer. Anybody who can’t, gets left behind and found by us.” A sad growl, more than a sigh, rumbled out of the Captain’s throat. “Pretty much. They're turning us into janitors.” “Worse,” William muttered. “They're turning us into nannies.” “Yup…” That’s all Monroe was going to say about the matter. William gritted his teeth. “Why didn’t they leave her?” Monroe knew who he was talking about. Everyone did. DeSousa had been like a daughter to the captain. Everyone knew it. She could have been something more to William, but that bridge had never been crossed in time. A crush or not, DeSousa had been well known and even better liked. It was always hard when one of their own went down; even harder if they disappeared. The captain jerked his head and motioned for William to follow him outside. “Come on,” he said. “They don’t need us here.” The fresh air was nearly intoxicating after just a few minutes in that dump. William let out several coughs just to clear his lungs. “Yes, sir?” William asked after he’d caught his breath. “DeSousa’s dead, Harris,” the captain said. “It’s time to face facts.” William felt like he’d been slapped. “Sir?” “It’s been two months and we’ve got no leads. It’s time to grieve, mourn, and then finish the job she started.” The young cop’s nostrils flared. “That’s bullshit, Captain, and you know it. She’s out there.” The old doberman didn’t flinch. “Careful Harris. I let DeSousa talk to me that way. You’re not DeSousa.” “Then let me find her so she can talk to you that way!” “What makes you think she can be found? No body. No contact. No call. The clockspin dealers disappeared her.” “No.” William insisted. “They didn’t.” “What makes you think she’s still out there?” William waved his arm at the abandoned Willy’s Wonder World. “The dealers don’t disappear people! They just leave them to fend for themselves. Why wouldn’t they do the same to Natalia?” “Maybe she didn’t come back because the dealers wanted to send a message.” “Or maybe,” William said, “maybe the dealers aren’t the ones that disappeared her.” The night sky is starless in the big city. Too many bright lights low to the ground. Too much smog up above them. It got to the point where someone who’d never been out of the city might look up at the night sky and see only an endless void of black. That very same void possessed the captain’s eyes. “And who do you think did disappear her?” “Genesis International.” The Captain’s reply was too quick. “Get the fuck out of here with that,” he scoffed. “Next you’re gonna be talking about Amazon spreading chem trails or cell phones giving brain cancer.” In a strange way, the Captain’s reply made the hairs on the back of William’s neck stand up. It was so fast it was almost prepared. The fact that he had an answer prepared told William that this wasn’t even close to the first time the old man had heard about Genesis. “Captain…” “We’re police officers, Harris,” the old dog said. “We follow leads. We follow proof. We follow procedure. We get warrants. We use evidence. Facts and procedure. Facts and procedure.” William squared his shoulders and looked the captain in the eyes. “It’s a fact that before DeSousa vanished into thin air she was having suspicions about G.I.” The captain rubbed his temples. “Jesus, Harris I don’t need to hear this.” “If we were investigating the disappearance of literally anyone else,” William pressed, “we’d be following up with leads like, ‘What were they doing before their disappearance?’ and ‘Who might wish them harm?’. Motive and opportunity. Like you said, sir, it’s basic procedure.” Captain Monroe seemed unmoved. “Captain. Why are you sitting on this? One of us is gone!” “You wanna know what’s gonna happen, Harris?” The captain snapped back. “Lemme tell you. We’re going to apply for a search warrant. A judge isn’t going to give it to us, or if they do, it’s gonna be for something so narrow that even if they’re connected to this clockspin shit or even if they know where DeSousa is, we’re William was on the verge of seeing red. “Captain!” “NATALIA’S GONE WILLIAM!” Monroe was right up in the rookie’s face. “GONE! SHE POKED HER NOSE INTO SHIT AND GOT PULLED UNDER IT! I AM NOT GOING TO LOSE ANOTHER COP WITH HIS WHOLE GODDAMN LIFE IN FRONT OF HIM!” “HOW DO YOU KNOW?” “BECAUSE WHEREVER SHE IS THEY DIDN’T WANT HER FOUND, DAMN IT! AND I’VE BEEN TRYING!” Finally! An admission. “Let me try, Captain.” William’s voice became eerily calm. Eerily quiet. The captain was still swept up in emotion. “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU GONNA DO?” Unblinking, William grabbed his commanding officer by the shoulders. “Something stupid. The trick isn’t to find out who took her or where. The trick is to get taken.” Something about that seemed to resonate with Monroe. “What did you have in mind?” **************************************************************************************** “So…” Yitzhak said. “I do this thing for you and maybe you forget Yitzhak’s name for few years? Forget that he is not exactly legal medical practitioner? Yes?” Two days later the smell of dirty diapers and the sound of crying was replaced by animal musk and the barking of dogs. “You’re not a legal medical practitioner,” William reiterated. “You’re a patch man for dumbass goombas to avoid going to the ER.” “You’re not even a licensed veterinarian,” Monroe added. “Literally not fit to operate on fuckin’ dogs.” The big Russian in the white doctor’s coat used to be a leg breaker for the Mob. Chances are still could have crushed the Captain’s skull with his bare hands. In his prime Yitzhak was the kind of enforcer that nothing short of a sledgehammer could have knocked out and nothing short of a bullet to the brain. Fortunately he’d mellowed in his old age and lacked the scruples to go to jail for anybody else. Mob doctor and part time informant was a weird retirement plan, but considering what he was about to do William wasn’t one to judge. The rookie sat on a white countertop that passed as an examination table. Cats and dogs needed less space and less comfort before they were going to be poked and prodded. Whatever. His shirt was off and he was gritting his teeth; already finding himself sick of the song and dance that two old schoolers like Yitzhak and the captain were going through. “This is true,” Yitzhak addressed the captain. “But approximately forty-five percent of my clientele does not know this. The other sixty-five? They do not care so much as long as I stop them from bleeding out.” “Just put the tracker in me.” William spat. “Swab me up and chip me.” Captain Monroe looked back behind William’s shoulder. “You sure this will work?” “It helped my sister find her lost cocker spaniel. Might work here.” “Yes,” the mob doc agreed. “You get short range tracker chip. You go looking where you shouldn’t.” He indicated the captain. “If you get captured, captain hones in on you like lost little puppy. Such a maneuver could be filed under ‘just stupid enough to work’.” “I don’t like it,” Monroe said. “But I’m going along with this because we’re out of options.” The golem of a man put in his two cents. “Normally, chipping human being like this would be considered, how you say, ‘grave violation of human rights and privacy’. But with consent, is okay with me.” “Glad that the guy practicing two types of medicine without a license approves.” “I took oath,” their informant said with complete seriousness. “First do no harm. I am healer now. I fix bodies instead of break them. What other people choose to do to their bodies is not my concern.” “We’re on the clock,” William hissed. “Just do it. And yeah, Yitzhak, you do this and every detective in the precinct officially forgets where you practice and the type of animals you like to patch up.” His cohort in this plan grunted his own form of consent. If this dumbass plan worked, no cop would be within a mile of this place. The coldness of a sanitizing alcohol swab grazed William’s shoulder warned him of the coming pinch. The pinch as the chip was injected into him caused him to wince. The wincing was the part that hurt the worst. The scar on his cheek had yet to fully heal. In time, doctor’s told him it would fade and barely be noticeable. Right now, it still felt sore every time he blanched or grimaced or even smiled. That or the pain was all in his head. “I put it right in your left shoulder, just by collar bone.” Yitzhak reported. “That way if big bads chop off limbs or head, Captain can still find torso and identify you. They have to put your body in big tub of acid to get to chip.” William touched the scar. He had a grave feeling that this would become a habit. “Yitzhak. Not helping.” “What if they just dig it out of him?” Captain Monroe asked. “Highly unlikely.” Yitzhak replied. “Chip is very subtle. Scar tissue already in shoulder from...I’m going to say broken collarbone...childhood injury perhaps?” “Damn,” William remarked. “Guy’s good.” “Spasibo.” The Russian smiled, genuinely. “I do good work, yes? For anyone to find chip, they would have to know where chip is already.” William slid off the counter and put his shirt back on. “That’s what I wanted to hear.” “Come on Harris,” the Captain clapped him on the back. “Let’s give this shit show a shot.” “Officer. Captain.” Yitzhak called out to them. “A word to the wise?” The pair of cops stopped and regarded the charlatan surgeon. “You are on clockspin taskforce, yes?” The pair nodded. That much wasn’t a big secret. “I patch many bad people up. I do not patch up anyone involved with clockspin drug. ” “How nice.” The captain turned to go. “Glad that you don’t have that on your conscience.” He kept walking “You misunderstand.” Yitzhak said. “Bad men with not much connections come to me. Bad men with many connections…? Maybe clockspinners they are less accident prone, or…?” “Yeah,” William agreed gravely. “Or they’re being supplied by people with better connections.” “Be careful.” “Thanks.” The smile on Yitzhak’s face somehow transformed into something nastier as he shrugged. “Am wishing you safety and luck only because if we are right about clockspin; I do not want them to find dog tracker in your shoulder. Not many people in city who would do that to man. I don’t want them finding me.” ************************************************************************************** Will was roused from his nap when to the sound of silly baby babbling. “Gagagagagaga! Nat-Nat! Blurb Blurb Blurb. Mom. Mommy. Maaaaaah...meeee!” The boy groaned and stirred in his big boy bed, not yet even awake enough to puzzle where the sound was coming from. He definitely wasn’t awake enough to start to wonder why the baby babble didn’t sound quite like it was coming from a baby. Babies had squeaker voices, didn’t they? The bellowing cries of men and women… Anyone who was cognisant enough to heighten their voice was very likely faking it... Several sensations bombarded Will’s brain all at once. The first and most obvious sensation was that he was falling. It was like in those dreams he sometimes had where he was dropping and then he kicked himself awake. Little Will Harris was awake alright, but the loud thump and the owie from hitting the floor was more than just him kicking in his sleep. “OW!” He yelled out less than a second after his tangled up form collided with the floor. He breathed in for a second, his eyes already starting to water, and his chest already threatening to heave, but he bit his tongue and held his breath. The most that came out of him was another “OW!” and then a few more, each one quieter than the last. Daddy said big boys don’t cry, and Will was doing his very best to be a big boy. Getting up from the floor, Will rubbed his shoulder. It wasn’t the one that he landed on, but it still hurt. Daddy would’ve said something about Will ‘sleeping on it funny’, but Will never understood what that meant. Funny things were supposed to make him laugh, not go ‘Ow’ Scar tissue already in shoulder from...I’m going to say broken collarbone...childhood injury perhaps? That was when the next sensation fully kicked in. Will was tangled up in the sheets, and his legs were cold. Very cold. And wet. They clung to his skin and made him shivery, almost like a bucket of water had been tossed on him and he’d been allowed to nap in it. The feeling was familiar though, just not too familiar. It wasn’t until he succeeded in peeling the wet sheets off of his body that he fully understood what had happened. “Pee-pee?” He looked down at himself and felt his mouth hang open in surprise. He’d gone pee-pee in his sleep, that happened enough but he was wearing grown-up underwear. Boring grown-up underwear- plain gray with a big ol’ dark patch where he’d had his accident, and it was uncomfortable how it stuck to his skin, but they were grown-up underwear alright. Like Daddy did when something confused him, he muttered, “What in the-?” but started to go to work, undressing himself. It was harder to get the wet undies off, but Will had lots of practice using his big boy pants and pulling them off and on. Mommy said that he’d get his own grown-up underwear soon. He just wasn’t ready for that. Daddy would sometimes give Mommy funny looks about that, but Mommy would just say that ‘boys took longer’. Took longer to what, Will wasn’t sure, but that wasn’t going to stop him doing what he knew how. It wasn’t until he had the wet grown-up undies and the wet sheets all together in a pile, that the little boy became more aware of his surroundings. A toddler’s spatial awareness and presence of mind is not the stuff of legends; at least not for its acuity. “What in the-?” This time, Will meant it. He looked at the foreign four walls, and felt his upper lip curl in disgust and his bottom lip pouted out showing off pearly white teeth. This wasn’t his room! His walls weren’t purple and didn’t have girly flowers up close to the roof. His bedsheets weren’t pink, neither. The little boy looked at what he’d been asleep in and his eyes widened in shock and horror. Pink! Pink! Everywhere! THIS WAS A GIRL’S ROOM! GROSS! GROSS AND AWFUL! GROSS AND AWFUL AND YUCK! He looked down at the plain white t-shirt he was still wearing, searching for pink, as if the girliness might have jumped out and leapt onto him, robbing him of his boyness. “Ma-ma-ma-ma. Mmmmmm….bluh...bluh...bluh…” Little ears wiggled and Will turned around to the sound. Seeing the rest of the room. Lots of pink and purple stuffed animals. A big wooden rocking chair was in the far corner, a rocking horsie was placed in the opposite corner. Uh oh… Little Will looked off to his right, and saw the big table with the padded mat and all the diapers stacked up underneath with the powder and the wipes. He looked down to the left and saw the crib straight across from it. This was worse than a girl’s room. This was a baby’s room. A BABY GIRL! YUCK! Despite his disgust, Little Will still had what Mommy would call ‘more curiosity than sense’. She’d laugh about it though so it was okay. Babies could be fun, too, Will knew. Even baby girls. He liked to hold his baby cousin when his Aunt and Uncle came over to visit. He was even allowed to hold her if he sat down on the couch and they laid her on his lap. Sometimes she’d giggle if he made a funny face. Knowing that there was a baby in the room made Will feel a little bit calmer, too. Babies were safe. Anybody who would have a baby was safe, too. Will was safe. Maybe, he could play with this baby, too. It wouldn’t be so bad. Completely unconcerned about his own state of nakedness, Little Will Harris walked up to the crib and peered through the bars to the babbling baby within. “Hello, bay-beeeeeee!” The thing in the crib giggled at Will’s shock, laughing as he screamed and backpedaled away. Too late, Will found out that that wasn’t a real baby in that crib. It was a grown-up lady. He could see her titties and everything. She was in a crib, though. And her dark hair was tied up in pigtails like a lot of little kids. And that white thing with cartoons on it that was taped around her waist sure looked a lot like a diaper. “Sounds like someone’s up!” A new voice echoed from down the hall. Heart thump-thumping in his chest, Will looked around for a place to hide. The girly bed that he just woke up in didn’t have any kind of bed posts or anything lifting it off the ground so he couldn’t hide under it like his real bed. The crib that the big baby lady was giggling in seemed high enough off the ground to where he could take cover. Quickly, Will dropped to the ground and crawled on his belly underneath the big baby bed. The footsteps were getting louder and louder. Will held his breath when they got close. The the....person above him started to squeal and clap her hands by the sound of it. “Mommy!” “Thaaaat’s right!” The newcomer said. “Iiiit’s Mommy!” Two new legs entered Will’s sight. The lady started talking to the diapered woman in the crib like she was a real baby. “How’s my widdle Nat-Nat? Did you have a good night’s sleep? Did you? I bet you did! I bet you did!” Will bit his tongue and covered his mouth to keep from giggling. The lady sounded nice enough. Part of him wanted to come out, but another part of him told him to stay put and watch. It was fun hiding, anyways. “Let’s get you up and dressed for the day, sugar.” The hiding place underneath the crib became a cage when the crib rails lowered all the way down to the floor. A wall behind him, and the head and foot of the crib didn’t have enough space for him to crawl out of, Will was officially trapped. “Up we go.” Will heard springs above him creak. “Ooof. Giving Mommy a workout, aren’t you?” From his spot beneath the crib, got a better look at the two while they crossed the room, and just like a real baby, the white lady took the brown lady and laid her down on the changing table. Then just like when his little cousin came to visit, Will watched the white lady change the brown lady’s diaper. The little boy kept his hand firmly over his mouth to keep from giggling. The wiping, the powdering. The little noises and baby talk. The new diaper being slipped under and taped up. It all looked a little silly; a little wrong on a grown-up. Will felt a little wrong watching all of it. More and more spinners were padding up before getting their fix lately; sometimes temporary incontinence being a side effect along with the intense euphoria as the drug rewired their brains. “There. Now Nat-Nat is all clean and dry!” the white blonde lady said. She picked the almost naked lady up and put her down on the floor. “Are you ready to come out now?” Will gasped audibly before he remembered to hold his breath. Was she talking to him? The lady bent over, and looked under the crib. “I said, ‘Are you ready to come out now?” Will didn’t say anything. He was too shocked that he’d been found out. “Yes, I knew you were there the whole time you little stinker. I saw you weren’t in bed.” She had the same sing-song happy voice that she used when talking to the diaper lady. “I’m going to lift up the crib rail, and you're going to crawl out of there. Okay?” “Okay…” The white lady’s face changed. Will wasn’t sure whether it was a good change or a bad change. “So you can talk! Good!” At least she still sounded happy. “What’s your name, honey?” “William, ma’am.” Will said to be polite. Mommy always taught him to be polite to strangers. Especially to strangers. “Do you know your last name, William?” Will thought about it real hard for a second. “William Joshua Harris,” he recited. He was still practicing. He didn’t know how how to say his last name without saying his first and middle name before. It was kind of like a song, that way. You couldn’t just start in the middle of the ABC’s or Twinkle Twinkle. “Well, William Joshua Harris,” the stranger said. “How about you come on out of there?” “Okay...I mean, yes ma’am.” She slid up the rail and Will crawled back out and stood up. The lady looked him real close in the eyes like she was trying to see something; maybe an eyelash. “William Joshua Harris,” she said. “My name is Dr. Emerson Lawson.” She stuck out her hand. “Pleased to meet you.” Minding his manners, Will took the lady’s hand and shook it, averting eye contact, and staring at the floor. Accidentally, his eyes wandered past the white lady and over to the almost naked lady who just got her diaper changed. Diaper girl was pushing herself up to her feet and walking past them like there was nothing important going on. “Stuffie….” Why did she look so familiar? “You can call me Dr. L if that helps,” the grown-up bent and pivoted into William’s line of site. “Does that help.” “Yes…” William.hesitated. “Yes Dr. L...” “Good boy!” Her eyes.looked up and down and giggled a little bit. “Oh wow! Your underpants are gone. You must really be a big smart boy to know how to take your clothes off!” “Yes, ma’am.” Will smiled. “I can dress myself.” “But why did you take your underwear off?” Dr. L. asked him. The little boy felt the blood rush to his cheeks. “I hadda accident,” he admitted. “I wet the bed.” “That’s okay,” the doctor lady said. “Accidents happen at your age, I’m sure. Do you know how to go potty all by yourself?” “Yes ma’am,” William said. That wasn’t a fib. He did know how to go potty. He just forgot a lot of the sometimes. That’s why his big boy pants were still Pull-Ups. “Do you know how old you are?” William held up several fingers and counted them carefully before answering.. “Three.” “Oh wow,” Dr. L. remarked. “Was that counting I saw? If you’re three, you must be a very big three.” Little Will smiled. He was starting to like this stranger. She was real nice. “How about I give you something to wear so that you don’t go walking around half-naked.” “Okay.” Will waited and looked to the pile of stuffed animals. The naked diaper lady was flopping into the pile like it was leaves again and again and again, giggling like it was a game. He didn’t have to wait long, though. Dr. L came back from the changing table with two things in her hand. “Which do you want?” In one hand was a big white diaper just like the one the funny looking lady had on. In the other hand was something a little bit smaller, but also blue for boys. “Pull-Ups?” He asked. His question was taken as a choice. The lady put down the diaper and opened up the Pull-Up for him. “I can do it myself,” he said. She did not waver. “I’m sure you can, big boy, but let me help.” Reluctantly, he stepped in and stood still so she could pull them up for him. “Oops!” She stopped halfway up his knees.. “Hold on just a second.” She ran back and grabbed some wipes. Knowing what was coming, the little boy reached for the wipes “I can do it myself,” he said. “I’m sure you can,” Dr. L. said back, “but I want to make sure to clean you up right. Now hold still.” Will held still, but he frowned so hard, part of his face hurt and he didn’t know why. “I’m so used to changing Natalia’s diapers over there that I forgot to bring the wipes,” Dr. L said, clicking her tongue. “I’m notta baby!” He insisted. Then he echoed. “Natalia…?” NATALIA’S GONE WILLIAM! GONE! SHE POKED HER NOSE INTO SHIT AND GOT PULLED UNDER IT! I AM NOT GOING TO LOSE ANOTHER COP WITH HIS WHOLE GODDAMN LIFE IN FRONT OF HIM! Unaware of the strange thoughts in his head, Dr. L. pointed to the lady giggling at the stuffies. “My baby.” “That’s not a baby,” Will said immediately. “That’s a grown-up in a diaper!” Dr. L. made a funny face. Almost angry, but more like confused. “You think that’s an adult?” “Yeah,” Will was so sure of it he forgot to be polite. “Nat-Nat,” Dr. L. called. “Come here, please.” The diaper girl stood up and crinkled over to them. “Mommy?” She didn’t wait to give the blonde woman a big hug. “Mommy!” “So affectionate,” Dr. L. said, giving the woman a cuddle and a nuzzle like she was a real baby. “Does this look like a grown-up to you, William?” “Uh-huh.” Will said. He pointed at the girl’s chest. “She got boobies.” “That doesn’t mean she’s a grown-up.” Dr. L. said. “Look around the room. Does this look like a grown-up room?” Will already knew the answer to that. “No, ma’am.” “And do grown-ups sleep in cribs?” “No, ma’am.” “And do grown-ups wet the bed?” Will was a smart enough little boy to know that the lady was directing the comment to him. “No, ma’am.” He wasn’t a grown-up either and shouldn’t be arguing with one. Something about this was bothering him though. He just couldn’t put his finger on it. “Natalia wears diapers. Do grown-ups wear diapers?” He violently shook his head at that. “Nooooo…” That was a fact. Only babies wore diapers. That’s what both Mommy and Daddy had told him. Dr. L. lightly grabbed Will’s wrist and brought him closer. “And look. You’re taller than her.” It was true. The diaper girl’s eyes only came. Could a three-year old like you be that much bigger than an adult?” He it couldn’t be so. “No ma’am.” “See? Natalia’s a baby,” Dr. L. said. “Just a special kind of baby.” She separate herself from the baby girl and took her hand. Then, she reached her hand out to Will. “Let’s go get some breakfast.” At the mention of breakfast, Will’s stomach answered for him. He took the grown-up lady’s hand and let her lead him and the baby (he guessed she was a baby anyways) out of the room and down the hall. Will looked up and down. It certainly was a big house. Very fancy. Much fancier than the little house where Mommy and Daddy and him lived. This one had stairs and windows. “Scuse me,” another grown-up lady scooted by and went into the hallway. “Got a mess to clean up?” Dr. L. “Yes please, Monica,” she said. “There are wet sheets and underwear. Also a mattress needs scrubbing. She added, “The diaper pail needs to be emptied too. If you call the supply depot they’ll have an extra crib.” “An extra crib?” The grown-up called Monica asked. She looked at Will as if she were seeing him for the first time. “Here?” “We’ll see,” Dr. L. answered. “You’ve got it boss.” The newer grown-up (so many new grown-ups) Gave one last look to the diaper baby and waved. “Hi Natalia,” she made her voice go squeaky. The baby laughed and looked away. Will on the other hand, ever curious, looked up at the blonde lady. Up? No. Not quite up. Down even. Was this a short grown-up? The blonde lady saw the expression on Will’s face and answered his question; (one of them anyways). “That’s my housekeeper. She helps me keep the house clean and watches my baby sometimes when I’m busy with work.” “Wow,” Will said. “You’re a boss?” Daddy had a boss. Sometimes he said good things about him. Sometimes not. He looked at the fancy house with it’s big rooms and fancy rugs. “You must be rich.” Dr. L. smiled politely. “I’m not very rich. But my employers help me pay for a lot of things.” “Employers?” What Will meant was ‘What does that word mean?’. What the lady thought that meant was ‘Who are they?’. A shadow creeped over the blonde lady’s face. “Genesis International. G.I. for short.” She stared again at Will really hard, like she was trying to guess what he was thinking. It’s a fact that before DeSousa vanished into thin air she was having suspicions about G.I. All of these voices Will was hearing inside his head sounded like memories, but they felt really really far away like dreams. “Come come.” And just like that they were forgotten and Will, the baby, and the lady were in the kitchen. William could tell it was the kitchen because besides the highchair, there was the fridge, the oven, and the table where the grown-ups and the big kids got to sit. “I don’t have to sit in that, do I?” He asked, pointing to the highchair. “Not yet.” “What?” “I mean, no, of course you don’t. Can you sit at the table and wait patiently?” “Yes ma’am.” Will went over and sat at a round wooden table as big and tall as he could, folding his hands in front of him and resting them on the table. Dr. L. beamed and led the baby. “Good job. Nat-Nat!” Will watched as Nat-Nat was given a boost up into the highchair and then fastened her in. She shifted a little bit and gurgled while her Mommy slid the tray into place and locked it in. “Such a good baby!” “Goo’ baby!” Nat-Nat echoed. There was a crinkle as she shifted in the seat and got comfortable. There was a crinkle with every step she took. Will had the same sound coming from beneath him too. Consciously, he didn’t recognize it. It was just the sound of his world, like air conditioning on a hot day. Subconsciously though...something about that was wrong. Why was it wrong? “Ooooh,” the grown-up remarked. “Monica made waffles for us this morning.” She placed a paper plate and squirted syrup on. “Heeeere’s Nat-Nat’s. All cut up for her and with the syrup already on top.” “Waffles!” the baby girl smiled. She started digging in with her hands. “I really should have waited to change you after breakfast,” the grown-up laughed quietly. “You’re just going to get all sticky with syrup anyways.” She placed a plate with one of the biggest waffles Will had ever seen in front of it. “And our unexpected guest can have mine. Do you need help cutting it up?” Will picked up the fork and knife before the stranger could. “No ma’am! I can do it!” As it turned out, he could. It had nothing to do with any skill or dexterity on his part, however. The waffle was so light and fluffy that Will was able to just tear it apart by stabbing in to separate directions and pulling a piece apart. “That’s one way to do it,” the doctor lady said. Weird that she was a doctor. She wasn’t wearing a lab coat. Daddy didn’t always dress in his work clothes when he was home. Speaking of which... “Dr. L.?” Will asked while still shoving bits of waffle into his mouth. “Can I ask you a question?” “Of course, little guy. What is it you want to know?” She went over to the fridge and took out a sippy cup of juice. “Almost forgot.” It went on the table. Will took a sip from the cup and licked his lips. Mmmm! Orange! It wasn’t exactly orange juice, but it was very sweet and orangey flavored. Like Kool-Aid or Hi-C. “Where’s my Mommy and Daddy?” he asked. “They brought you here last night while you were asleep,” the lady answered. She was ready for that question. “They had some important errands to run.” Will stopped eating and took another sip. Delicious! Something wasn’t sitting right about that. “Really?” “Of course,” the white lady said. “They wanted you to be taken care of. We’re old friends.” He didn’t know about that. Mommy and Daddy always made sure he met their friends before he took care of them. The doubt must have shown on his face. “Oh me, oh my,” the lady said. “You really don’t remember me do you?” The way she said it, like he was being silly, made Will feel incredibly silly. “No…” he admitted. “Oh you poor thing,” she gently laid her hand on his shoulder. “I’ve known your Mommy and Daddy for years, Willy. I knew them before you were born. The last time I saw you, you were.just an itty bitty baby. Tinier than Natalie. That’s why you don’t remember me.” That part might have been true. Will couldn’t remember a lot of things from when he was a baby. So maybe…? He finished the juice, still thinking. “Why didn’t I wake up in my jammies?” “Excuse me?” his baby sitter asked, even though she hadn’t burped. “What do you-?” “I always go to bed in my jammies.” Willy said. “Why wasn’t I wearing my Pull-Ups?” He didn’t have any big kid underwear. Who dressed me?” The babysitter puckered her lips and stroked her shin. “I thought you said you could dress yourself.” “I was asleep.” Dr. Lawson looked worried. “Are you sure you finished your drink?” Speaking of babies, the one that Willy could have sworn up until a few minutes ago was a grown up started squirming in her seat. “Hrrrnn…!” Nat-Nat grunted from her highchair. “Hrrrrn!” “I know what THAT means!” Dr. L beamed. She unlocked the tray and got the big baby out of the highchair. “Come on baby. It’s okay. Get it all out. You just had your breakfast so your guts are all awake and ready to get rid of dinner! Let me make it easier for you, sweetums.” Nat-Nat stopped. Stood up straight, and toddled right over to Willy. “Hi!” she waved sloppily. “Uh...hi.” Will’s entire train of thought had been interrupted. Despite knowing that this was actually a baby, he was having a hard time accepting her as such. Her leaping forward and licking him in the face kind of helped. “EWWWWW!” William wiped his cheek. He’d turned his head at the last second. The thought of this woman baby licking him on the lips really grossed him out. Not as much as what happened next. “Awwww!” Dr. Lawson seemed excited. “She likes you! Such a good baby!” Natalia giggled and turned around to the source of her praise. That gave Willy a good and plain look when the girl stopped in her tracks, widened her stance, and squated down. “Hrrrrnn….!” “Is she…?” Willy started to ask. His question was answered by the sound of gas loudly coming out of her. The diaper crinkled as it puffed out behind her. The crinkling of the diaper added to the sound track in the kitchen. So did the loud, almost proud shout of “POOOOOOOOOOOPIE!” “THERE IT IS!” Nat-Nat’s Mommy said. “Good girl!” She walked up behind the girl and spun her around, checking her diaper by first patting it, and then pulling back the waistband and peaking inside. Nat-Nat seemed completely oblivious to it. “That’s my good baby, going right in her diaper just like she’s supposed to! That’s Mommy’s special girl she is!” Special girl? Special girl? She was almost as big as Willy and she just pooped her pants right in the middle of the floor with everybody watching. On some deep, visceral level, Willy knew that was wrong even if he couldn’t quite vocalize why. He could vocalize something though. Willy took it all in: The sights; the sounds; the smells; the strange feeling like he was being lied to; and mixed it in his mind into a bitter brew so that he could properly express his feelings. “FUCKIN’ DISGUSTING!” He instantly regretted it. Those were naughty words. He wasn’t even sure where he’d heard those words from. They just popped out of him from somewhere like he’d invented them. He really wished he hadn’t. Dr. L. let go of the baby and marched over to him. “Ooooo no!” She grabbed him by the ear and twisted. “Not in my house, little mister. Not in those words!” These words and this treatment on the other hand, was very, very familiar. Maybe she did know Mommy and Daddy for real. “I don’t care if you’re about to be eighteen months, you are NOT getting away with that kind of language coming out of your mouth!” Only only one more word was able to come out of Willy’s mouth as he was dragged across the big person’s lap. “NOOOOOOO!” The spankings rained down on him in a flurry. Some landed on his Pull-Ups and didn’t hurt as much. It didn’t stop him from screaming and crying. “No, no, no, no, no!” He kicked impotently, powerless to stop the punishment he’d earned. “I’ll be good! I’ll be good!” His promises only made the lady madder. Her hand stopped spanking his bottom and started slapping his unprotected thighs. “Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! I’m sorry! I’m sorreeeee! I won’t say it again! I’ll be gooooood!” He was bawling with tears squiring out of him with every attack to his legs. The spankings hurt a lot, but the slaps to his thighs are what really stung. “I’m sorry! SORRY!” HIs next few screams just came out as bouncing, sobbing cries. “I’m SOWWY! SOWWWWWWWY!” The grown-up started to slow down. “What was that?” The lady asked. “Say that again, dear?” Willy was too busy crying. He just laid there across her lap and cried, even though the spanks had stopped. She gently patted his back. By the time his breathing had slowed down he’d forgotten what she’d wanted him to say. Good thing she was there to remind him. “Willy,” she said. “Can you say ‘I’m sorry’?” “Sowwy,” he said back, wanting to be good. The baby boy very much wanted to be good. Being good meant the spanking wouldn’t start again. “Can you say, ‘I’m...sorry’?” She made the words slower and clearer to him. He tried his best. “I’m…” What was the second word? “Sorry.” “Sowwy.” “Good baby.” She said and then let him stand up. He echoed her. “Good.” Nat-Nat sat on the floor kitchen, sucking her thumb. That looked like a good idea, so Willy copied her. What had he said that got him that whoopin’? For the life of him, Willy couldn’t say. He remembered thinking something was wrong with the other baby, but he couldn’t remember. “Hmmm…” The lady said, looking at Willy. “Seems to be working well with no loss of consciousness.” She motioned for them to follow. “Come on, babies,” the grown-up said. “Let’s get you dressed for the day and then you two can get reacquainted and play a bit.” “Dwessed,” William agreed. Though in truth it was the prospect of playing that Willy was thinking about the most. He liked playing! Nat-Nat pushed herself up and toddled along behind. “Dwessie!” It was an easy transition back to the nursery. The single bed had been stripped and a non-baby powder (though still pleasing) fragrance yet lingered in the room. Air freshener, Willy vaguely thought. The helper lady had done her job while Willy and Nat-Nat had been eating their breakfast. While Nat-Nat was catching up, her Mommy checked Willy’s diaper. Willy didn’t flinch when she squeezed the sodden padding that was even now threatening to slip off his waist. “Oh wow,” she remarked. “That went through you fast. I could have sworn your Pull-Up was dry a few seconds ago.” It had in fact been bone dry until less than a minute before being checked. The front of his diaper had just warmed up remarkably fast while in transit to the nursery. He didn’t even need to stop walking to do it. Words like ‘accident’ or ‘potty’ were already losing meaning to Willy as nothing more than a collection of random sounds. He could make them, but he was losing the prerequisite vocabulary to assign meaning to them. Willy stared closely at his babysitter’s lips, feeling almost like there was a thick layer of absorbent cotton wrapped around his brain instead of a thin one barely hanging onto his hims. “Pull-Up…” he said. Not even a question in his intonation remained. Willy knew ‘pull’ like if he wanted to open a door or yank something out of a big pile of balls. He knew ‘up’ like when Mommy or Daddy picked him up. But ‘Pull-Up’ was suddenly foreign to him. He looked down at where Miss Nat-Nat’s Mommy was looking. “Diaper.” Miss Nat-Nat’s Mommy grinned and gave him a pinch on the cheek. “That’s right, sweetie. We’ll get you into a nice clean diaper in just a minute. That soggy old Pull-Up was only good for one wetting. You must have still been holding some pee-pee in from before.” “Hold…? Pee-Pee?” Willy parsed out the words. He stared at his hands. How could.he hold pee-pee? How did he hold wet? It was like nailing jelly to a wall. And Pull-Up? Was that another word for diaper? Sometimes there was more than one word for something. That was a thought that had never occurred to Willy (that he could remember). “Pull-Up”. “That’s right, you pee-peed in your Pull-Up. I’ll change you into a diaper. Oh, I like them so much better at this age,” Miss Nat-Nat’s Mom said. Nat-Nat had already followed them into her nursery. “But ladies first.” She picked the other baby up and deposited her back on the changing table. Willy, meanwhile, looked away and eyed the rocking horse. It’s not that he was being respectful; concepts like modesty were completely nonexistent to the baby boy. He was simply uninterested in looking at such a normal and everyday thing. “Wooooh!” Nat-Nat’s Mommy waved her hand in front of her nose. “How did you turn cinnamon applesauce into that, baby girl?!” She laughed wiping the baby girl down. Of course she was a baby. She acted like one. She was being talked to like one. Her Mommy called her one. It was funny how just a short while ago, Willy had thought, that his friend looked so strange in her diaper and highchair; like a grown-up. It wasn’t funny ‘ha-ha’, but funny in a way that made the baby not want to think too hard about it. Mercifully for him, those thoughts weren’t going to be around much longer. Now though, it made perfect sense that Nat-Nat was a baby. There were babies and then there were grown-ups like their Mommies and Daddies and they were treated and dressed differently. That was about as much of the difference that his toddler brain could sus out. Other things such as size and shape were kind of beyond him. “All done!” Nat-Nat’s mommy said. Willy looked away from the rocking horse that had suddenly gotten much closer. “All fresh and clean and pretty!” It was true. Nat-Nat did look very pretty. She’d been dressed up in a periwinkle onesie, with a with a matching skirt attached that was purely for decoration. To complete the look, her Mommy nestled a plastic tiara on her head. “Now my little princess looks the part.” She helped the girl down on the floor and Nat-Nat started bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Princess! Princess!” “That’s right, Natalia!” her mommy cooed. She looked across the nursery to Willy. “William!” she called. “Your turn.” The horse was all but forgotten in the sudden beckoning call of attention. Willy toddled forward, going eagerly forward. He hoped that Nat-Nat’s mommy did tummy tickles and sang songs like his mommy did. “That’s right!” she said. “Come to Mommy.” William stopped. What was she saying? “No Mommy,” he said, not unkindly. It was true. She wasn’t his mommy. Nat-Nat’s mommy twisted her mouth to the side. “Hmmm...not yet, apparently. It took a while for Nat-Nat to learn too,” she said to herself. Then back to him. “Okay sweetie. I’ll settle for Auntie Em.” “Em?” Willy repeated. He was pretty sure that was a letter. He liked letters! “Em!” Em patted the padded mat of the table. “Good enough for now. Come on. Hop on up.” Much to his own surprise, Willy did, not even needing a bit of uppies from the grown-up lady. “Arms up,” she showed him. Like it was a game, Willy copied long enough for her to take the plain white shirt off of him. “Okay. Lay down.” He did. His Mommy’s friend leaned over and just like every other diaper change he could remember having, started taking off the sides. There weren’t any tapes, however, so she grunted and growled a little bit while she ripped open the sides. “Should’ve...pulled them...off...first!” She reached for the otherside. “Didn’t...think...this part...through!” She breathed a sigh of relief after his diaper opened all the way up like it was supposed to. “It’ll be much easier from now on,” she told him. She took out a couple wipes and started gently wiping his penis and all around. Willy didn’t mind. That’s what the wipes were for. “After I perfect this treatment,” she said, “there won’t even be a need for Pull-Ups.” “Pull-Ups.” Will said. “No. Pull-Ups.” He was really just saying the words that he recognized. She looked like he’d said something funny. “Not anymore, officer.” “Ossifer.” That made Nat-Nat’s mommy throw back her head and laugh like she’d been tickled. He didn’t know what was so funny, but the baby boy laughed with her anyways. After he was wiped both in front and in back, Em balled the old Pull-Up diaper up and tossed it out. He really hoped she didn’t get another one. Putting the first one on had been super tough. He didn’t think he would be able to do it again. His prayers were answered when a nice, regular diaper got unfolded. “Butt up for me,” she cooed. “Booty,” Willy said. He planted his feet down and raised his hips so that the new diaper could be placed underneath him. “Butt. Booty.” Miss Em said. “Same thing. Oh yeah! There could be more than one word for one thing! Like ‘butt’ and ‘booty’! He felt like he had just taught Miss Em a new word! He felt really smart and clever and good. He giggled and not just because of the funny voices Miss Em was making, or how the baby powder felt on his booty. When Miss Em finished changing his diaper by fastening the tapes on, Willy reached between his legs and gave the nice firm padding a pat. “Diaper.” It felt much better, much comfier than what he had been wearing. Miss Em didn’t seem to understand. “No, no, no, sweetie,” she said. “We don’t play with that.” “Play.” Willy wasn’t arguing as much as he was saying the word, hoping she’d let him get on the horse. “Not with your diaper you won’t.” She kneeled down to get something while mumbling, “Difference between boys and girls…” She stood back up with the brightest, prettiest most orangest onesie that Willy had ever seen. “This should fit. It’s a little big on Natalia, so it should be just about the right size on you. Maybe a tad snug.” It wasn’t snug. The onesie fit just right on the baby boy’s body. He got up and started walking. Neither his gate nor his stride were thrown off by the crinkling mass encasing his loins. As far as Willy could remember, this was how he’d always walked. “Play! Play!” He said. “Plaaaaaay!” “Oh yes! Oh yes!” Em clapped her hands. What shall we play? She pointed to stuffed animals. “How about cuddling with the teddies? “No.” Willy simply said. No was a fun word. “Oh,” Miss Em sniffed. “So you know that word. What about the stacking cups?” Nat-Nat was already spilling them out onto the nursery floor. Making towers and castles like they were building blocks was about the only use she had for those things. “No.” “What about the rocking horse? Do you want to ride on the rocking horse?” “No.” Had Willy the attention span of even a two year old he might have remembered that the rocking horse was exactly what he’d wanted mere moments ago. His attention span was not that of a two year old however. Em tapped her lips in thought. “How...about…?” Ever the energetic toddler, Willy solved the problem for her. “Car!” He waddled over to a nearby toy chest. The chest itself was filled to the brim with things that buzzed and beeped. To the side of it, however, untouched by little girl hands, were a tiny fleet of plastic cars. Each had big black wheels and electronic lights that lit up should a grown-up know which button to push. These weren’t the tiny matchbox cars that Willy might choke on if he swallowed. No single piece was small enough for even a professional sword swallower or streetwalker to choke on. As if it were second nature to him (it was), Willy lowered himself to all fours and grabbed the car that had caught his attention. “CAR! POWEESE! CAR!” Bright white and shiny with dark blue trim. Miss Em put her hands on her knees and leaned over so as to look into his eyes. “Are you in there, Willy?” “No.” That made the lady chuckle. “Fair enough. You play nice with your car, now. Okay? Don’t break anything.” But baby Willy was already lost in his own fantasy land. He crawled along the nursery floor rolling the toy police car as if it were the focus of his entire world. In a way it was. He lacked such complex onomatopoeia’s as “vroom” and “zoom” and “beep beep”, but he was able to growl and hum and coo while he played; which in Willy’s not quite eighteen month old mind was close enough to the sounds he heard from the cars he saw in real life and on T.V.. It was pretend play, which made it good play. He also lacked the coordination for such sophisticated fine and gross motor control as grabbing the car with one hand crawling with the other three limbs. That would come in a few months he would likely never get back. Instead, he enjoyed pushing the car as hard as he could and then crawling after it. Sometimes it would careen wildly ahead of him, the poor boy literally not knowing his own strength. That just made it more fun for him, giving him an opportunity to push himself back up on his feet and run to catch up to the toy vehicle. Sometimes...it would crash. Those would be the best times. CRASH! Into the bottom of the changing table. “Careful, Willy.” CRASH! Up against the bottom rail of Nat-Nat’s crib. “Willy…” CRASH! Straight through the tower of cups that Nat-Nat had just finished stacking. “OH NO!” Natalia repeated her Mommy’s phrase. “OH NO!” The difference was, when she said it, she sounded happy instead of scared. Nat-Nat giggled at it so hard that she fell down and rolled back, clutching her sides. “AGAIN!” Unbeknownst to either baby, the mommy visibly untensed at hearing her daughter’s jubilation. “AGAAAAIN!” And so they did it again. And again. And again. It’s quite remarkable how easily entertained- to the point of obsession- a young mind can be. Natalia would stack the cups, William would knock them down with his toy police car, and the two would laugh as if it were the very first time. Granted, unlike the first time, the stacks only got two to three cups high. Neither adult toddler had the patience or internal grit to wait longer than that. Speaking of patience… “Nat-Nat!” Willy called out to his playmate. Natalia didn’t respond. She was too busy bending over, stacking the cups as high as she could. “NAT-NAT!” Willy frowned. He’d just found the button that made the sirens go and he wanted to show his friend how it worked. How to get her to pay attention? Her bobbing pigtails, like tassels on an old curtain. The way they moved when she bent over or picked her head up and wagged. That gave Willy an idea. They looked fun, like something to catch. So, Willy pushed himself up, waddled over to his best and only friend that he could remember, caught both of them, and pulled! “AAAAAAAAAH!” Nat-Nat hit the floor and started rolling. Both babies started crying; Nat-Nat because she’d been surprised, hurt, and had her hair pulled and Willy because Nat-Nat was crying. Nat-Nat’s Mommy raced to her side and cradled the girl’s poor head in her lap. “Shhh...shh….it’s okay sweetie. It’s okay. Mommy’s here.” “MOMEEEEEE-EEE-EEE-EEE!” She planted quick little kisses on Nat-Nat’s head. Then stared daggers right into Willy’s still bawling soul. “I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone with her, even for a minute!” Willy started quaking. “NOOOOO!” He was going to get spanked again! Not again! The first time was bad enough! So bad that it felt like it was permanently scarred on his brain! It was so vivid it felt like it was his very first, very painful memory. “NO! NO! NO!” He was already on the floor, cowering and curled up into a protective ball when the grown-up lady stood up. He cried so hard that for some reason the side of his face hurt. Nat-Nat’s mommy seemed a little bit sad looking at the baby boy. “It’s not your fault,” she sighed. “Boys your age are just very rough and I’m not ready for twins.” Poor Willy had no idea what she was talking about. He barely understood half the words that were coming out of her mouth. What he did understand was that he wasn’t getting spanked and that she was walking away. What he did understand was that Nat-Nat’s crying was getting softer and softer. Someone was carrying her away. The room was quiet just long enough for him to hear those same footsteps coming back. Almost immediately, he felt his head being lifted up and his body turned around so that he was lying on his back. Good. He couldn’t get spanked that way. “Come on,” the babysitter said. “Open your mouth.” He did, and a bottle went between his lips immediately. Willy opened his eyes when the first drops of orange drink hit his tongue “It’s okay,” she said in pleasant comforting tones. “It’s okay. This will make it allllll better.” He believed her too. Down, down, down the delicious stuff went into his throat and tummy. When the ba-ba was half finished, however, Nice Lady pulled it out of his mouth. “Urrrr! Urrrrr!” He whined. The word ‘more’ seemed very hard to say just then. “Urrr!” Feebly, he kicked to show his displeasure. “Not too much,” the nice lady said. She gave him a pacifier instead. “If you need more, I’ll give you more, but I’m still working on the dosage.” The rubber nipple attached to the mouthguard didn’t taste as good to Willy but he liked the feeling of being able to suck. It helped him calm down. Once she set the bottle aside, the nice lady started petting his hair. “Good baby. That’s right. Just let it happen.” Willy didn’t know what she was saying but he liked the pleasant and gentle way that she was saying it. With a little boop, she touched the side of his cheek. “Mmmm!” he whimpered. That was an owie! Owies were bad. He started to sniffle and whine, but the nice lady started making shushing noises, so Willy calmed down and kept suckling on his pacifier. “We’ll have to take care of that,” she said. Instead she gave him a nice kiss-kiss on the forehead. That didn’t hurt so Willy smiled. The nice lady looked down at him. “Are you happy?” she squeaked. “Or is that just gas?” Gently, very gently, she removed the baby’s head from her lap and stood up. “Can you follow Mommy?” she asked. She took a few steps away but bent over, her hands resting on her knees.. “Follow Mommy?” “Ma..” Willy repeated. “Ma...ma…” That was the name of the lady who took care of him! Maybe this was a Mama too! “Mama.” The Mama shook a little bit like she was being tickled. “Oh, yes.” she said. “That’ll do. Mama will do. Can you follow Mama? Follow Mama.” Willy rolled over and pushed himself up to all fours. “Mama…” One arm in front of the other, he started crawling. It was a new trick, but it beat rolling. Rolling was fun, and Willy wasn’t likely to give up rolling anytime soon, but he liked crawling better because he could look where he was going when he felt like it. “Ma...ma...ma….ma. Ma-ma-ma-ma!” Willy liked the word because he could say it and still suck on his pacifier. The Mama make a big happy face. “VERY GOOD!” she squealed. “Come to Mama!” He didn’t know exactly what she was saying, but Willy could tell she was getting happier as he got closer. That made Willy happier too! The Mama got down on her knees and wrapped him up in a big ol’ hug! “Sooooo cuuute! Yes! This will work out just fine!” With super duper speed she got up and went over to the toy box. “Come on. Where is it?” She started flinging bits of plastic and funny shapes everywhere. “I could have sworn I put it in here somewhere.” Willy’s only opinion on the matter was that a lot of those things looked like they had fun and pretty colors and that they might be interesting to chew. “Ah!” the Mama said. “Here it is.” She took out a bright green blankie and rolled it out onto the floor. It also looked like there was something different about the corners. As if in answer to that question, the Mama grabbed a couple of tubes and pieced them together, sticking them into the corners of the blanket. Willy didn’t know where he got the word ‘tent’ from, but somewhere in his mind, the way the tubes criss-crossed reminded him of a tent without the outer covering. The Mama patted the middle of the blanket. “Come here, baby! Come here!” Understanding her body language and tone, Willy crawled forward to the center of the blanket. “Now, lie down, Willy!” Lie down!” This...was harder. He didn’t know what she meant. He assumed. When she pushed him lightly on his side, he didn’t know what she wanted. “Hmmmm…” she made a funny sound. She reached into her pocket and took out something shiny and clingy and clangy and started jingling them in Willy’s face. The baby boy’s eyes lit up and he slowly reached out for them. “Oh-ho!” The Mama said. “You like the keys?” He didn’t know the words. He barely listened to them, and instead focused on the shiny musical things that were juuuust out of reach. The Mama lowered them to the ground, and Willy reached down for them. He knew exactly what he wanted to do with these. Willy laid down so that he could be more comfortable, spit out his pacifier, and rolled over onto his back. There was only one place where these beautiful shinies were going. “There we go!” the Mama said. She quickly took the shinies away. “Urrr! Urrr! Urrrr!” the baby whimpered. He wanted more! More! He wanted to put those things in his mouth! No fair! No fair! “Stars!” The Mama started hanging some things, on the criss-crossing poles above the blanket. They weren’t as shiny but they were much more colorful. Bigger too. Willy reached up and hit it, making it dance. “Bells!” Shiny balls were added, and they made the same kind of jingle jangle sounds whenever he batted them. “Tassels!” Tiny little soft things were placed above besides He hit one a few times and it just kind of flopped. But ohh! If he reached up and grabbed one, gripped it in his little hands or rubbed his thumb along the outside! It was heaven! He couldn’t pull any of them to his mouth, not and remain laying down, which was comfortable. But it felt good to stare and bat and jingle and feel. He could suck on his paci...or hit thumbs...or maybe his toes. That would do. That would do. “This. Is. Perfect!” The Mama said. Willy looked past the fun dangly things above him. He’d almost forgotten that the Mama was here. “Mama…” “Good! Good! Wait right here!” And the Mama was gone. Not that Willy minded so much. He didn’t need anything. He wasn’t hungry. Or thirsty. Or bored. Or lonely. She’d be back. Mama’s always came back. All he’d have to do is cry if he needed her. In the very short meantime, Willy was already learning new things about the dangly bits above him. Like he could kick them with his feet. It was almost as good as hitting with his hands. The only thing that wasn’t as fun to hit was the soft fuzzy things, and they were still pretty good to grip with his toes nonetheless. Speaking of feet: Willy stopped kicking briefly, and lifted his legs up to closer to his tummy. Willy didn’t have the word for ‘push’, and even if he did, he’d think of pushing as a more of an external thing like a throw and not something coming from inside him. Not having the word or fully appreciating the concept didn’t stop Willy from doing it, though. He pushed and grunted while at the same time the inside of his diaper filled up with something warm and mushy that was spreading out. Willy wasn’t uncomfortable with it. He didn’t really even know what it was. The smell didn’t bother him either. It’s just that sometimes his diaper would feel that way. A simple fact of life. Willy let out an unconscious giggle at the relieved pressure and lowered his tired legs back down, smashing and spreading the mess. Honestly, he liked that part. He liked how it felt and the fact that it made his clothes fit better. Nothing felt like it was sticking out or anything. Less than ten seconds later, he was back to playing and using all four his limbs to bat at the fun dangling stuff. “Look Nat-Nat,” Mama said. “Meet your new baby brother.” Willy smiled up at them, already starting to drool. “Baby…” Distracted yet again with this new stimulus, Willy rolled over and pushed himself up. He crawled over to the other baby, the taller baby, the bigger baby, and nuzzled his head against her knee. “I think he likes you.” ******************************************************************************** The room didn’t smell nearly as bad as he thought it would. There was an underlying scent of dirty diapers, air freshener, and baby powder, but that was nearest the changing garbage cans. Captain Monore suspected that if he spent longer than five minutes in here, his brain would filter out the smell and he’d go noseblind to it. Overall very clean. Good. Same went for the noise. The place was as big as the warehouse at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark; just instead of boxed up alien artifacts or whatever it had adult sized cribs. The poor dumb bastards stuck inside them weren’t crying though. Some were conked out yeah. A couple might not be able to move. Most though were quietly mumbling to themselves and babbling to teddy bears or batting at mobiles. Men and women in white checked on them and talked to them like they were actual children. That was kind of fucked up, but not unexpected. Monroe put on a kind of tunnel vision. Officially, he didn’t see any of this. Not unless he wanted a bullet in his head, or worse a dart full of medical grade clockspin. “Medical Grade” would have been a very loose descriptor in this case. “Captain,” an all too familiar voice called out. “Over here.” Dr. Emerson Lawson, clad in a bright blue dress, wore a fancy white lab coat over her shoulders. Town the seemingly endless rows of cribs. On either side of her an aide pushed an adult sized stroller- the kind that were coming into vogue now that it was no longer socially acceptable to institutionalize developmentally disabled people. The wheels were bigger, and it was a tripod design, and both were a stylish black instead of infantile pinks or blues, but they were strollers all the same. The Captain was very much the type of person to call a spade a spade. “It’s a pleasure to see you, Captain Monroe,” Dr Lawson said. “Likewise,” the Captain lied. “Thank you for meeting with me.” “Of course,” Dr. Lawson said. “A deal’s a deal. Also the NDA you just signed before coming onto the premises is extremely legally binding.” Captain Monroe grumbled something that vaguely sounded like “Fair enough”. Dozing in the stroller to his right was former rookie cop, William Harris. He was dressed in a footed sleeper and was sucking on a pacifier with his eyes closed. He looked...peaceful. That’s how they described corpses at funerals, didn't they? Just as well. In the stroller to his left… “Is that Natalia?” He almost didn’t recognize the girl. The pink dress covered in purple hearts was not something she ever would have worn if given the choice. Neither was the bulging diaper with cartoons printed on the crotch, nor the frilly socks and velcro fastened sneakers. None of it reminded him of the woman he used to know. The little girl that she used to be, however. Behind the pacifier, her eyes seemed so bright, though...so alive. Maybe she was more than just brain damaged. Maybe that was her in there; or at least a version of her. “You don’t keep her here, do you?” Dr. Lawson puffed air through her lips and scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m keeping both of them at my private residence. Right where I found them,” she added. “I’m just having a ‘bring your babies’ to work day so that you can have a little visit.” Monroe ignored her and took a knee. “Hey, Nat-Nat,” he said in a low stage whisper. “How are you doing?” “She’s doing very well, thank you.” Dr. Lawson answered for the babied woman. “I take very good care of her and her new little brother.” Monroe must have shot her a glare something awful. “What? She’s functionally a year and a half at best. You don’t think she’s going to be terribly conversational do you?” Natalia was more conversational than either of them anticipated. With one swift motion, she popped out her pacifier and asked. “Daddy?” Captain Monroe smiled despite the fact that it felt like the corners of his mouth were pulling towards the floor. He told her what he’d said all those years ago; the first time she was in diapers. “Naw, kid. I’m not your Daddy. Daddy’s not coming home. But I’ll look after you. Always.” It was true, and he did, in his own way. Life was complicated. So much more complicated than either he or Efren had thought when they were young and dumb rookies. Young and dumb like Harris had been; now Harris was even younger and dumber, functionally speaking. Harris was an acceptable casualty. “Thanks for letting me see her,” he stood up and said to Dr. Lawson. “I appreciate knowing that she’s being cared for.” “And I appreciate the tip you gave me regarding a certain tracking device in Willy’s shoulder.” She looked lovingly at the sleeping man to Monroe’s right. “I really appreciate it. The initially involuntary subjects tend to be better adjusted compared to the spinner leftovers we get. Almost like something wasn’t missing from them to begin with.” Captain Monroe supposed that something would have to be missing or broken to want this to happen. To want to be a baby again. He lied to himself and said that meant he’d done right by Natalia...at least until he’d betrayed her to save his own skin. “What are you gonna do with all of these....” Captain Monroe gestured to the rows of cribs. “People.” “The less you know the better,” Dr. Lawson said. “They’ll be taken care of though, if you're worried. Not as well cared for as Willy or Nat-Nat, but that comes with being the best.” Her voice leapt and octave as if she were cooing at real children. Sickening. “If you’d like to see Natalia more often,” Dr. Lawson offered, “I’d be willing to revisit the terms of our agreement should you be able to get me more test subjects. Get me a few more like these, and I’ll let you move in as a Nanny.” A bit of bile leapt into Monroe’s mouth. “No thanks.Too many cops go missing and things get a lot tougher...for all of us.” There was no helping Natalia anymore, not with everything that had been done to her. Best he could do was keep tabs on her and know she was being well cared for. A specialized nursery was better than an institution. That’s what he told himself. “Then once a week it will be,” Dr. Lawson said. Then she baited him with, “Would you like to play with her a bit before you go? Change her diaper? Feed her her ba-ba?” At least he hoped she was baiting him.. “No. Not today.” This was going to take some getting used to. The sad part is, like so many things in this messed up world, part of Monroe knew he could get used to this. “Very well then,” Dr. Lawson said. “We’ll see you next week. Say Bye-bye, Nat-Nat.” “Bye...Daddy…” Captain Monroe turned around to go and went straight out of Genesis International's private holding pens. He didn’t look back. If he had, he might not have been able to make himself leave this time. (The End)

Chapter 1 There comes a time in every person’s life when their code of ethics collides against temptation. When the dust settles either the code or the temptation is knocked on its ass; it’s opposite standing victorious. Ethical codes may vary widely. For some it’s the deeply held tenets of a religion, or a philosophy that has been honed over long study and personal experience. For Matthew McKinley, it was as simple as the Golden Rule and not wanting to be arrested. Conversely, the temptations of the world are varied, but can often be sorted into a few broad categories such as money, relief from boredom, and sex. How telling it was that often temptation came in the form of meeting basic physiological and psychological needs; almost like some crazy man in the sky set the rules and the needs in direct opposition to each other. Worse yet, Matthew was faced with all three of his big temptations: money, entertainment, and even a hint of sex. “You want me to do what?” Matthew asked. “Seriously?” He blinked again, as if that might clear up the babbling brook of nonsense that he’d just been pitched. “You know that’s illegal, right?” The older woman sitting across the desk from Matthew folded her hands on the table. “Only if you get caught, Mattie.” Mattie. No one had called him that since he was in diapers. The woman on the other end of the desk had known him that long. Probably changed a couple, too. Definitely had made some. Matthew’s family and hers went way back, from before Mrs. Northeaster hit it big in the business world and moved out of the suburbs. History wasn’t the only factor keeping him from walking out the door. The corporate headquarters for Northeaster Care was a very fancy, very expensive looking, very tall building. A lot of money was going through this building these days. Mrs. Northeaster had been very good with her husband’s money. Better than he’d been. This was her office. “You’re asking me to do something illegal,” Matthew repeated. Mrs. Northeaster, her hair now completely silvered with over two decades of corporate experience (a word here which means constant stress), didn’t react except to say, “Not really, Mattie. This sort of thing happens all the time.” The young man, not quite thirty, felt gobsmacked by the sheer brazenness. “What do you mean it happens all the time?” “Pepsi spies on Coke. Honda knows where Ford is up to. Starbucks got where it is because it outmaneuvered Dunkin’.” The barest hint of a smile did not reach the woman’s eyes. “It’s just business, Mattie.” “Isn’t that what, like, trade shows and expos are for?” Matthew replied. “That’s for the consumer,” Mrs. Northeaster said. “Big business reacts in real time. I can’t outmaneuver my competition if I don’t know what moves they’re planning.” Matthew rubbed his temples. “So let me get this straight,” he said. “You want me to try and get a job at PharmaCor -” “Something entry level. Like the mailroom,” Mrs. Northeaster interrupted. “Nothing to draw too much attention to yourself. Nothing where you’ll be missed if you don’t show up to work.” “Right,” Matthew said, “and then you want me to hack their computers from the inside, so that you can steal their company secrets?” “Not steal,” Mrs. Northeaster said, sounding almost offended. “Just look at. ‘Steal’ implies that we’re going to delete their files or try and copy them for ourselves. It’s so...vulgar.” “Then what are you planning to do?” The third person in the meeting spoke up. “Just take a little peek and try and predict PharmaCorp’s next move.” Candice Northeaster was seated beside Matthew. She placed her hand gently on his arm. “Make sure nothing they’re cooking up is too similar to what we’re cooking up.” Candice Northeaster was Matthew’s age. They’d been friends since they were babies; taken baths together. Candice had grown up in this company, and in lieu of baby pictures she had posters and box covers from when she was Northeaster Care’s literal poster baby. One of those posters was right behind her mother, with her two year old self giggling in nothing but a pink t-shirt and a Bun-Bums diaper on. They’d both long since outgrown diapers though. And Matthew couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a bath with her. Looking at her now, with her dark hair and big, perky boobs,he might like to make a new memory. The temptation of money was the thing keeping Matthew’s ears open, but it had been the implied promise of sex that had gotten him first through the door. “What are you even looking for?” Matthew wanted a reason, an irrefutable one, as to why he should walk out of the office building and go back to fucking with customer support scammers. “It’s not like there’s a whole lot going on with diapers, anyways.” “You’re right,” Candice said. “It’s pretty much just fashion, these days. Wetness indicator or no? What decoration goes on the front? How flexible is the waistband? That kind of thing. What bells or whistles can you attach to it to make Mom and Dad want to buy it for their little one.” “Okay…” Matthew said. “And?” “It’s no different,” Mrs. Northeaster said, “than peeking at someone else’s hand in a game of poker.” “That’s still cheating.” Mrs. Northeaster stood up. He’d forgotten how tall she was. How imposing. “If Proctor & Gamble are the McDonald’s of the diaper business, and Kimberly Clark is Burger King, then Northeaster Care is close to becoming Wendy’s. Right now we’re Whataburger. We’re good, but we’re still very regional. The thing standing in our way is PharmaCorp. ” Matthew felt intrigued. “How?” He leaned forward a bit. “We think PharmaCorp is negotiating to get Bluey on their next line of diapers,” The C.E.O. explained. “It might be why Bluey’s people aren’t returning our calls. Bluey’s very popular right now. That kind of endorsement could put us over the moon.” “With a cartoon character?” Candice’s hand moved up to his shoulder. “You’d be surprised what branding can do, hun. It’s why Huggies has Disney characters and Pampers and Luvs do stuff with PBS.” “What are you gonna do if that’s the case with Bluey?” “Make Bluey’s people a better offer,” Mrs. Northeaster said. Alarm bells rang in Matthew's brain. “Wouldn’t that be the same as stea-?” “When you helped take down that scam call center in India, the people helping you were breaking the law by trespassing and spying.” “Yeah,” Matthew said. “But those people were stealing from the elderly.” What he didn’t say was how he’d stayed behind a computer screen for the entirety of that takedown. There’d been no real risk to him. “And these people have done the same to us,” Mrs. Northeaster slammed her fists on the desk. “We had the idea of bringing back gendered diapers two years ago, but PharmaCorp’s people stole it from us first. We just want to steal something back for once!” Matthew sat up a little straighter. “So this is revenge?” “No!” Mrs. Northeaster started. “It’s-” “Yes,” Candice interrupted. “We’re trying to get them back and we need your help to do it.” “Why me?” “Because you’re like family, Mattie” Those big puppy dog eyes stared into her. “We can’t trust anybody else. Every other private investigator we’ve hired has been just as likely to turn on us as hide our own secrets.” Mrs. Northeaster walked around the desk. “Every pro in the tristate area is known to our competitors. They won’t see you coming. You’ll give us the element of surprise that we need, Mattie. You’d be helping us and you’d be well compensated.” “Hmmm….” New hardware and reverse hacking software didn’t come cheap. He could do a lot of good with the money the Northeaster’s were offering. “We’d be very grateful,” Candice added in a whisper. “Very...very grateful.” A chance to help old friends get some payback, the possibility that he could be rewarded in more than just money? The temptation was too much. “Okay,” Matthew said. “I’m in.” By the end of the week, Mattie would be in more than just a bit of corporate espionage.

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

This is a story. A story about Daniel and Jane. After reading this, one might think that it should be Jane and Daniel. But at the start of it all, Daniel came first. Daniel always came first. The two had met as teenagers. Fallen in love. Gotten married. It hadn’t mattered that Mother and Father had disapproved of Daniel; thought he was sleazy; thought he wanted her just for her good looks and her money. It might have been true, to a certain extent. Jane WAS rich, (or rather her family was). Father ran a big independent insurance agency that he’d bought from Grandfather who’d bought from Great-Grandfather and so on. Insurance was a good business. Someone would come into Father’s office and place a bet. They’d bet that they were going to get into a car accident, or that their house was going to catch fire, or that they were going to die. Father would bet that their car would be fine, their house would stay standing, and that they’d live for another year. Most of the time, Father won that bet, and the loser would happily pay up. Combine this with a shrewd stock investment portfolio, and no member of Jane’s family really had to work a day in their life. They lived in a gated country club, in houses big enough to be considered luxurious but just small enough to not technically be mansions. No butlers, but there were housekeepers that popped in on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays just to “tidy up”. Before preschool, Jane had never been to a daycare, and whiled away her infant and toddler years with a private babysitter who was really just a uniform and a posh British accent away from being a proper nanny. If they weren’t rich they were at least Upper Upper Upper Middle Class. Comfortable. Very comfortable. The kind of comfortable where the only reason to work was to accrue more wealth for the next generation. Otherwise, they might never need to work. Daniel? Daniel had nothing. No family. He was “estranged” from them and they lived out of state. No house. When they started dating, Daniel had been couch surfing on various friends’ dime. No steady job, just a dream at launching a web series of reviews, like the Nostalgia Critic. Neither Mother, Father, or Jane knew who that was and they certainly didn’t see the appeal once they did. “He’s not good for you,” Mother had lectured her. “It’s like he doesn’t even see you. You’re not a person to him. Just hips and breasts and money.” That’s what Jane liked about Daniel, though. When you’re not even twenty, lust feels a lot like love. Physical attraction can be an amazing substitute for personal chemistry. “He’s a man, Mother.” Jane had written the concern off. “Simple as that. Don’t you remember when Father looked at you like that?” “When was the last time he paid for dinner? Or wanted to do something you wanted to do? Or just wanted to do nothing at all with you and be in the same room with you?” Jane had waved it off. “He’s rough around the edges, sure. But I can change him.” “A man like that?” Mother laughed. “The only thing you’ll be changing about him are his diapers!” That conversation happened nearly ten years ago. Daniel and Jane had been married for eight. Happily married, too. Or so Jane thought... At present, Jane stood in the kitchen making dinner. Chopping vegetables. Humming to herself. Boiling water. Setting the oven to broil. Daniel loved steak and she’d mastered a pan seared oven roasted combo that was as good as the grill. Tonight was steak night. Daniel was always in a good mood on Steak Night. She’d become the good housewife like she’d always imagined. A “domestic goddess” she liked to think (sometimes jokingly), when she scrubbed the bathroom tile. She looked every bit the happy homemaker. Her red lipstick perfectly matched her nails, and her white high heeled shoes complemented the half apron tied around her waist. Her slender yet buxom frame was cloaked by a tasteful dark blue dress that bordered on purple. June Cleaver eat your heart out. Daniel had a thing for that 1950’s housewife aesthetic that never really existed outside of television. Her shoulder length blonde hair was so perfectly dyed that you wouldn’t know it was natural. She even went to the trouble and bleached her eyebrows.. Daniel had a thing for blondes, too. She had changed for him. Lots of things. And the changes had spiced things up again. Last year… But as with all things, that faded. Jane had kept the look going both because she’d found she liked it as well as the increasingly vain hope that Daniel’s interest might perk up again. “How was work today, hon?” She called out from the tiny kitchenette of their home. It was no house in the country clubs. One bathroom. One Bedroom. Rented too. The only thing that made it a house and not an apartment was that they didn’t have neighbors and there wasn’t a big fancy company responsible for the majority of the repairs. Lots of things had changed. Daniel sat at the tiny dinner table, sipping on scotch. They lived relatively cheap, but Daniel loved his expensive drinks. He put the glass down so he could take another puff from his cigar. “It was fine,” he droned. He wasn’t even looking at her. His eyes were glued to his phone, as some youtube personality or another rambled on about the latest movie that was streaming. His eyes glazed over with wasted dreams, boredom and alcohol. Daniel had changed too. She’d already set the table. He just sat there in his blue button up shirt and an ugly orangish red plaid jacket and pants. He was still skinny, but had lost a lot of the muscle tone he’d had in his younger days. He hadn’t shaved in a few days and had a frankly ugly patch of stubble growing on his face. If she was June Cleaver, he was a used car salesman. If only he was a used car salesman… Daniel had never broken into the youtube reviewer industry, and it never paid off for him. It rarely did. The internet was just another brand of entertainment, and to make it in entertainment you had to have perseverance, talent, charisma, the ability to adapt, and more than a little luck. Things Daniel just didn’t have in any great abundance… Jane chided herself for thinking that. She loved him. She was his wife. He was her husband. Daniel had taken a job at a call center. He wore the shirt and jacket so he’d feel better about being a telemarketer. “A real businessman” look. But it just hung off of him like a cheap suit. It paid well. Not great. Better than minimum wage. But not secure. Not successful. Especially with Daniel drinking and smoking up the profits. They weren’t starving by any definition of the world. They always had clean clothes, rent was always on time, and discount supermarket steak was still steak if you cooked it before it spoiled. But there was nothing in savings. They were living bill to bill and they still needed help from Jane’s family to pay a good chunk of expenses. Even that didn’t get rid of the mounting credit card debt. Daniel might have been able to pay more if not for some of the tastes he’d acquired. Apparently cigars, alcohol, and dry cleaning were necessities in his current line of work. Something about stress relief, or living the good life or only living once or some other such thing that sounded great when they were teens but less and less with that behind them. Jane was never quite sure and Daniel didn’t give much explanation beyond it. Father had refused to help support them unless they agreed to sign a prenuptial agreement. They didn’t. When you’re only a few months away from twenty, marriage is all about love and trust. A prenup was the opposite of that and she and Daniel loved each other very much. Thankfully, Mother snuck checks in the mail every few months anyways, so they never went hungry. Under “For” Mother always wrote “The Baby”. At first, Jane thought it was her mom’s gentle encouragement to start a family. Eight years later, Jane wasn’t so sure. A man like that? The only thing you’ll be changing about him are his diapers! Again, Jane chided herself. She was his wife, not his mother! She only cooked his meals. And cleaned the house. And his laundry. And picked up his dry cleaning. And bought his food. And was in charge of paying the rent and utilities. And the credit card bills… And the sex was happening less and less often… And she was lonely... And she was closer to thirty than she was to twenty... And Daniel had been acting...different. Worse than usual. He drank. He smoked. He watched videos on his phone. He waited for dinner. Most nights he’d put the phone down just long enough to inhale his food, wipe his mouth on his sleeve, and then walk away. Sometimes to their bedroom. Other times, just out. The tiny decorative cactus on the table wasn’t the only thing that was prickly in the house. With each passing day, Jane was feeling more and more like she was just part of the furniture. One didn’t thank the sink when the dishes were washed. And one didn’t bring the oven flowers. There was the old superstition about the “Seven Year Itch”. A man’s heart (and other things) would start to wander after so long. The seven year itch and they’d been married eight. Been together longer than that. But there was a spark still there. Jane knew it. He’d just had so many troubles that his mind was on something else. Why else would he moan her name in his sleep? “Jaaaane,” he’d whisper in the middle of the night. “Oh, Jane. I love you. You’re so hot. Do it again, Jane. Jane...Jane...jaaaa…” And then he’d drift back off. Daniel was just so beaten up by life that he’d just stuffed all of his feelings, that old passion for life he had deep down, poor thing. That’s why he was practically an automaton during the day. That’s why he barely talked to her some days except to ask her to do something for him. That’s why he drank and smoked and lazed around the house whenever he could bother to be in it. He was suffering from depression and was self-medicating. He was a man struggling to reconcile with the boy he used to be. And she was his wife. Not his mother. And he was her husband. Not her baby. She’d been wanting to help him by being there for him, waiting patiently for his attention. So maybe it was time to help in a different way. Help get her own needs met, too. To let the boy that he used to be go, maybe he needed something besides a wife. Something new... “Hmm…” He grunted when she slid dinner in front of him. Steak and veggies. Hearty. She even filled up his glass for him, and emptied the ash tray as soon as he’d snuffed out his stogie. “Thanks.” That was a start. She sat down at the tiny dining room table, the cactus between them and ate her own vegetables. No steak for her. Jane was a vegetarian. “So I was thinking,” Jane said while she picked at her plate. “Hmm?” Daniel didn’t even look up from his plate. If anything, his eyes were drifting back over to his phone. “Yeah?” “So, you’ve finally got a steady job.” “Yup.” “And we’ve been married for a while.” “Uh-huh.” “And known each other longer.” “Uh-huh.” “And maybe this is just wishful thinking but…” She waited for him to look up. To say something. Finally she lost patience. “Maybe we could talk about starting a family.” “Yeah?” Daniel finished the last of his steak. His vegetables untouched. “It might be nice,” Jane said. “you know? We could set up a little cot by our bed. Put some money away for diapers and such. Breast milk is free. And I’m staying home so we wouldn’t have to pay for daycare.” Her husband took another swig of scotch. “We could have a little you,” Jane ploughed ahead. “Or a little me.” “Uh-huh.” “And you know…” Jane batted her eyes. “Making the baby is always super fun. And if at first we don’t succeed, we could try try again…?” Daniel stood up from the table. “I’ll think about it.” He walked out the door and got in his car. “I’ll be home later tonight. Got a thing with the guys. Don’t wait up.” That night, it gave Jane very little comfort when she woke up to the sound of Daniel moaning her name in bed. She got up and tiptoed around the foot of the bed to Daniel’s nightstand. Daniel just kept snoring while she took his phone off the charger. She couldn’t. Correction: She shouldn’t. Jane had known his password for some time; he still used his old highschool student number… “Oh...Jane….I love you…” Daniel moaned. “So damn much. Marry me.” File that under things he never said to her while awake. It had been her to suggest marriage to him back in the day. His first question had been whether he’d gotten her pregnant or not… Seven year itch. A man like that? The only thing you’ll be changing about him are his diapers! Teeth clenched and breath held, Jane punched in the password and looked through his phones. No texts. Nothing suspicious anyhow. Random texts and reminders and asking for favors that matched her phone. Stuff sent to his friends. Some porn hidden away in a folder. (It’s how she figured he’d had a thing for blondes and 1950’s housewife aesthetics). Nothing new added, either. But on his call records? Over and over again, the same number kept coming up. “DJ” And it was always outgoing. Whoever or whatever this “DJ” was, Daniel called the number, but it never called him. Even the darkness of the tiny bedroom couldn’t fully mask Jane’s frown. Fearing more and more that her husband had grown bored of her. “Who is DJ?” she mouthed. She opened the little compartment of her own nightstand and took out the latest check her mother had sent. As always, on the “For” line, her mother wrote “The Baby” as her cruel little joke. If she was going to get her baby, Jane knew she’d need to spend that money on something else, first. Like a detective... *********************************************************************************** Three weeks later… “It’s bad,” the private investigator said. “Real bad.” She was a twenty something about Jane’s age (maybe a bit younger) with a dancer’s body and dark brown hair tied up with a red scrunchy. The camouflage t-shirt and tight black shorts that stopped at her thighs made her look more like a dancer at a basketball halftime show than a detective, but maybe that was part of the point. Real detectives didn’t walk around looking like Humphrey Bogart in a trenchcoat and fedora. That was just for the movies. And as Jane was about to find out, a young girl dressed like she was (most innocently) going to an aerobics class blended in very well where she’d been. “How bad?” “You might want to sit down.” Jane did. “So first off,” the other woman started. “I trailed him from his job at the call center like you asked. It was difficult at first. He didn’t show up that first day.” “But he hasn’t called in sick…” Jane stopped herself, already connecting the dots. “Where was he going?” The detective didn’t answer right away. She pulled some photos out of her printer. “One day when he did show up to work, he left early and went here.” The photo showed Daniel walking into a plain red brick building. Another shot of the same building farther out showed a sign. “Dr. Herbert Monroe,” Jane read. “Men’s Health, specialist.” “It’s a vasectomy clinic,” the detective said. The urge to vomit rose up in Jane’s throat. She suppressed it with rage, instead This had all happened after she’d suggested she wanted children! He knew! That fucker knew! Jane wanted to claw out her own eyeballs in anger...or better yet, Daniel’s eyeballs. “Do you need a minute?” the other woman asked. “I understand if you do.” Jane took a deep breath and steadied herself. “I’m fine.” What she saw and heard next made her less fine: “When trailing him from his office didn’t work, I followed him from home.” Jane recognized the buildings; the style if not. The docks. The industrial district. Ugly, steel and concrete things without windows. Jane had passed by it many times in her life, but had never gone deeper than a pass by on the way out of town. She always thought that part of the city was where people went to get mugged. “Is it drugs?” Jane asked. “Is he buying? Dealing?” The detective cocked an eyebrow. “Drugs? You’ve never been to this neighborhood before have you?” Jane quietly shook her head. “This is a sex dungeon called The Fourth Base.” Jane frowned. “It doesn’t look like a sex dungeon…” “Well yeah,” the other woman chuckled. “Most sex dungeons don’t. It’s not a strip club. They keep it plain and discrete.” She showed a closer photograph. “You can’t even see the name of the place unless you’re right at the door. The Fourth Base advertises through word of mouth and online. It’s run by a woman who works under the name ‘Domme Jane’.” Then she added. “And no, that’s not likely her real name.” “DJ…” Jane whispered. “Beg pardon?” Jane blinked and willed back tears. That’s why she’d heard her name moaned so often in his sleep. Her husband wasn’t actually dreaming about her. There wasn’t just another woman. There was an entirely different Jane. “Nothing. Thank you ma’am. If there’s nothing else…” There wasn’t. She paid the investigator in cash, and then walked away. ****************************************************************************************** “Whoah whoah whoah!” Domme Jane said. “Slow down. You’re Leo’s wife? I didn’t even know he was married.” She pushed a box of tissues across her desk and bid Jane to take one. Jane took more than one and blew her nose so hard, one could be forgiven for thinking a flock of geese was passing overhead. This was a hard conversation to have. Possibly for both of them. So strange too, Jane thought. Domme Jane had met her at the door when she’d knocked, and just before the woman could finish telling her that they weren’t open yet, Jane managed to blurt out, “I need your help!” So now, here they were: In the Domme’s office. A perfectly bland and normal looking room lit by fluorescent lights that just happened to also have a spanking bench and a wall of sex toys as well. Even with the paddles and ball gags, this was the most “normal” looking room she’d seen in the building. Her office was in the back of the building, and Jane was treated to a quick tour on the way over. The two women seemed to be dark mirrors of each other. The other woman’s hair was black like raven’s feathers and tumbled down past her shoulder blades. Her clothing was equally dark; a leather dress that stopped at her upper thigh, and matching boots that went up well past her knees. Black gloves and a light gray coat for the ever present chill. The air was turned all the way up. Lots of body heat and sweat in a sex dungeon, Jane supposed. But her face was shaped much the same as Jane’s. Her body was just as shapely too, and with clothes so tight that much wasn’t left to the imagination. Maybe Daniel did have a type...it just wasn’t confined to blonde housewives. “I am so sorry Leo did this to you,” the mistress said. “His name’s Daniel, actually,” Jane sniffed. Domme Jane took out a cigarette and placed it into a holder. Jane had only seen one of those before in Cruella De Ville’s hands. This woman, at the least seemed much kinder. “Right. Right. Daniel. Sorry. Most of my clients don’t tell me their real names.” She lifted up the holder, and one of the men beside her lit it for her. She took a long drag before exhaling. “Can I ask why they’re here?” Jane indicated the two men on either side of the dungeon’s owner. They also wore all black, but the effect was far less seductive. Black denim and biker boots. Button up shirts and leather jackets. These weren’t gimps (Gimps? Was that the word?) They looked more like bouncers. Real shit kickers. Big too. The kind of men that Daniel might deride as “goons”. Domme Jane spared a look at either man. “Sorry. Andrew and Austin are here for my own security. Sometimes clients get too handsy without permission” She took another drag. “Sometimes wives want to hurt me instead of talk to me.” Jane wiped her nose. “I understand. That’s fair.” She wanted to hate this woman. She really did. But as angry as she was at her husband, she couldn’t find a reason to be angry with this other “Jane”. She was a business woman. Not a temptress. Daniel was cheating on Jane with this other woman, but this other woman wasn’t cheating. “I just wish I knew what to do.” “Divorce him.” The Domme said simply. “He cheated on you. Protect yourself. If it rains, get an umbrella. If your husband cheats, get a divorce lawyer. Make him pay through the nose in alimony and child support.” Jane felt her lip start to quiver. “My family provides most of the money.” Her voice started to tremble. “And we don’t have kids...he got a vasectomy without telling me and still won’t make love to meeeeeee!” By the time she finished the sentence she’d broken into sobs and her voice was wailing in sorrow. The professional domme leaned forward in her chair. “Oh that fuck!” She reached over and patted Jane on the shoulder. “Honey, I’m so sorry that he did that to you. You don’t deserve that. Nobody deserves that. You look like a nice girl, too.” The two goons stared straight ahead. Unreadable like British guards. “I do everything for him!” Jane yelled. Her voice ricocheted off the concrete walls. “EVERYTHING! And he just ignores me and fucks around with you, and whoever else.” She blew her nose again. “No offense.” “None taken, babe.” She waited for the woman’s crying to subside, if not stop completely. “If it makes you feel any better,” she said once the room was a tad quieter. “I’m going to stop accepting him as a client.” Jane looked up and sniffed. “You don’t serve married men?” “I don’t serve cheaters,” The dark haired lady clarified. “If a person’s spouse is fine acquiring my services, I’m fine giving them.” Then she added. “My husband’s cool with it.” Jane wiped her nose again. It was still practically a faucet. “Thank you,” she said meekly. “It’s not going to make him be a better husband or stop cheating,” Jane’s Domme counterpart replied. “But it’s the least I can do.” “I don’t know what I did!” Jane cried. “I did everything right. I even changed how I look for him!” “You realize I’m not marriage counselor right?” Jane ignored her. “I do everything for him. Food. Laundry.” “Some men are scum.” The domme walked around and put her. “They suck.” Gently she pulled on Jane’s arm and Jane stood up. She knew she was being led out. At least the bruisers were standing at ease. Jane allowed herself to be escorted. She was too far in her head. “Half the time he acts like I’m not even there. Is it wrong to want a little attention?” “No, honey. Not at all.” “And he’s ALWAYS been like this. Selfish. Self-centered. Dreaming but never doing anything about it! I kept expecting him to grow out of it and to think of me for once, but he hasn’t!” “And he probably never will…” “It’s partly my fault, too..” Jane moaned. “I babied him at the start. Made excuses for him! Doted on him. Went along with what he wanted. Now he doesn’t even think of me as a woman any more. Some times I feel like he treats me like...like his mother!” The pace to the front door slowed. “Hmmm…” Jane didn’t notice, she was too lost in her own thoughts. “My own mother told me that if I tried to change him, the only thing I’d be changing was his diapers!” She nearly broke down again. God damnit...she was literally turning into her own mother; every girl’s worst nightmare. It took near herculean strength to stop her from throwing herself on the floor. The dark haired woman stopped. “Actually…” They were the same height but Jane was so stooped in despair that she looked up to the woman. “What?” “If you really want to make him pay,” Domme Jane said, “I could make that happen for you.” A sinister smile spread from ear to ear. *************************************************************************************************** At this point in his still young life, Daniel lacked many things: Chief among them was empathy, foresight, and impulse control. Fortunately he’d never really had those qualities, and thus never had the opportunity to miss what he didn’t have. Also among his lacking qualities was a sense of irony and an awareness of his surroundings. Had he any awareness of his surroundings, Daniel might have realized that his wife had been looking at him strangely the last several nights. He might have noticed that she was talking less to him too. He might have seen the vengeful expression as she cooked his supper for him. If Daniel had possessed a sense of irony, he might have (in hindsight at least) appreciated the fact that Jane was wearing the exact same blue dress and white half apron that she did last month while cooking for him, and that he was wearing the same plaid suit. The scene was now set the same as it had been when this story began. Granted...Daniel didn’t know there was any story to tell. Not yet. Just another day in the life. Daniel finished his scotch and put out the glass to the side so that Jane could fill it up for him when she got a minute. He picked up his cigar and puffed it a bit. So good to relax after a long day at work. His wife hadn’t brought up baby making all month. Just the one time. A flight of fancy. The vasectomy took care to ensure that it would remain a flight of fancy if she ever got in heat again. (That was a thing right? Except when humans did it they called it ovulating? That sounded right. Daniel had seen a youtube video somewhere that said as much.) So if she asked again, he would bang her, go to sleep and act disappointed when it didn’t take. Eventually she’d figure it was her and give up. Sex was too complicated, having to worry about your partner. That’s why he liked going to Fourth Base. That’s why his wife was his second favorite. It was so much easier to only worry about himself and his own needs. It didn’t help that Jane was a terrible lay, too. He didn’t so much reflect upon all this, as much as it registered in his head. Reflection implies consideration, another ability that Daniel never really had. To him, Daniel might as well have been thinking things like the sky is blue and the grass is green and the Cubs are a shit team. His eyes never left the screen of his phone. Not once. A knock on the kitchen door made Daniel look up from his phone, but only in that he looked to his side to see if his scotch had been refilled. It had, but not enough. “I’ll get it,” his wife chirped. Which was a good thing because Daniel hadn’t even thought to get up from his seat. Probably just a couple of Jehovah’s Witnesses or something. Answering the door. Cooking the food. Cleaning the house. Doing the wash. It’s what his mom did when he was a kid. It’s what his wife did now that he was a man. It’s what women in general did. Another puff of cigar acted as a mental period on that statement. “Oh baaaaaaby,” Jane called from the kitchen door. “Somebody’s here to see you.” Again. He did not look up from his phone. “Huh?” he mumbled at first. With great reluctance he pressed pause and looked to his left. “Who?” “Me.” Daniel actually dropped his phone. Walking right in through his door kitchen door, all done up in black from head to do was the literal woman of his dreams. IN FRONT OF HIS WIFE! “Don’t worry,” Jane...the OTHER Jane...Domme Jane... said. “I’ll see myself in. I know Daniel’s not very good at little things like common courtesy. Daniel’s eyes shot open as a bevy of information made its way into his brain with just that single sentence. Domme Jane knew where he lived! Domme Jane knew his real name! And when he followed Domme Jane’s gaze across the floor, Daniel also realized something else: Domme Jane was talking to Real Jane! A thousand alarm bells rang out in Daniel’s scurrying scrambling brain. “Honey…” Daniel stuttered. “Wh-wh-who are these people?” He started to get up. To talk? To run? Daniel didn’t bother to think even that far ahead. Fortunately (or unfortunately as the case may be) he didn’t have to think that far ahead. A pair of strong hands landed on Daniel’s shoulders and forced him back down into his chair. He looked up and saw one of Domme Jane’s goons standing behind him. The other one was coming in the door and closing it. “No no, Daniel,” Domme Jane said. “Please. Don’t get up. Be comfortable.” His eyes flickered over to his wife. Why wasn’t she screaming? Why no questions? Explaining. Shouldn’t that be what he was doing? Explaining? Talking and finding a way to get out of this? “H-h-h-h...Honey? Jane?” Pretty as she pleased, the domme took a seat at the kitchen table, right across from Daniel. He’d fantasized about something like this happening; dreamed about it, he was sure. Just not like this. Never like this. “She already knows,” the woman in black said. She lifted up her sunglasses and turned to wink at Jane. “And so do I.” “Jane...I…” He looked to the kitchen door. But she’d already walked behind the goons and was now standing back in the tiny kitchen where she’d toiled tirelessly for years. “I’m sorry.” He said. “I didn’t mean to.” The first goon walked around to join the Jane in black. He had no friends here, Daniel realized. The domme and her goons towered over him. He could leave, run maybe, but the big guys were faster than him too. The door to Daniel’s left was unguarded only because either Goon 1 or Goon 2 could easily reach it before he was even up out of his chair. His own Jane wouldn’t even look at him. “Jane?” He called out. “Jane?” “I don’t think she wants to talk to you right now,” Domme Jane said. “You’ve been very naughty.” “Jane!” He called into the kitchen anyways. “I’m sorry.” There was silence. Stupidly, Daniel thought that maybe his wife hadn’t heard him, or maybe she’d left, magically disappearing from the scene. That would be nice. It might mean that this was a nightmare... “For what?” his wife called back, her voice uncharacteristically cold. What had happened to the sweet girl he’d married? How much did Jane know? He could confess to everything he’d done, but what if he admitted to something that she didn’t know about. He’d be in even deeper shit than he already was. “For..um...going out and not telling you…?” “Cheating,” Domme Jane corrected him. “It’s called cheating. You made a promise to only be with your wife and you broke that promise without her permission.” She waved a lit cigarette in his face, leaving trails of smoke brushing up against his nose. “I’m sorry I cheated!” Daniel blurted out. “It was wrong of me! I’m sorry!” Another long pause and silence from the kitchen. For the first time he could actively remember he wanted to see Jane. “And?” “And getting a vasectomy without telling you….?” He cringed. This wasn’t good. If she knew about Domme Jane then she probably knew about him taking himself out of the gene pool. Another pause. This one not quite as long as the one before. “And?” Despite himself, Daniel snorted. “That’s it…?” He honestly couldn’t think of anything else he’d done wrong. Domme Jane didn’t move, not in any noticeable way that Daniel could see. Yet the two goons that acted as her body guards seemed to react to some kind of unseen, nearly psychic signal. Goon 1 reached across the table tossed the empty plate away. The sound of the plate shattering made him jump. That gave the woman in black just the opening she needed to snatch the cigar out of his mouth and drop it in his glass of scotch, ruining both. “You won’t be needing these anymore.” Goon 2 took that as a cue to walk around the table and roughly grab Daniel’s bicep, yanking him up by the arm. Daniel might as well have been a puppy being held up by the scruff of his neck. He wasn’t pulled far, just around to the long end of the table where he was forced face down. “Ooof!” he grunted. Both of the goons were holding him down. His top half was pinned to the table. “What do you think you’re doing?” He felt slender, but strong hands snake around his waist and undo his belt. Just as quickly, he realized his pants were around his ankles. His boxers too. He was bare assed and bent over. “What are you going to do?!” “There are people in the world,” he heard Domme Jane say, “that walk around shouting ‘punish me!’ He heard the click of her heels in the kitchen. “People who break promises and hearts. People who think only of themselves.” “RED!” he called out. That was the safeword, right? He’d never had to safeword out of a scene. Now he absolutely wanted it. “STOP! RED!” RED RED RED RED REEEED!” The domme ignored his pleas. This wasn’t a scene. This wasn’t a session. Not for him. “People who with their thoughtless entitlement treat others like servants, or property, or furniture…” Daniel heard the sound of heels clicking back on the floor, yet Domme Jane’s voice still stayed in the kitchen. “Or wives like their mothers.” A meaty hand yanked Daniel up by the hair and turned his head the other way around so that he could whose footsteps were clicking. Daniel now saw his wife as if for the first time: Beautiful blonde hair. Perfect makeup and immaculate nails despite slaving in a kitchen all afternoon. An elegant but simple dress and half-apron, the very depiction of a domestic goddess. The real Jane was every bit as beautiful and alluring as the woman who shared her name. And she was holding a spanking paddle. And she looked pissed! A few more clicks and Jane disappeared behind Daniel. One of the goons reached into his pocket and shoved a black bag over Daniel’s head. The world went dark. Dark and quiet. It was in those few seconds of anticipation, in the dark and silence, and that Daniel felt well and truly afraid. THWACK! Daniel’s backside was lit ablaze by the first swing of the paddle “AAAAH FUCK!” THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! Instinctively, Daniel reached back and tried to cover his ass, tried to cushion the blows that were beginning to rain down on his backside. The goons saw that he didn’t, pinning them behind his back. “RED! RED! RED!” No quarter was given. The only thing that would be red was his bottom as again and again, his own wife spanked him like he was a three year old at K-Mart. THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! She was alternating cheeks now. Soon the color of his flesh might go from beet and flushing red to black and blue of bruises. He tried to kick once, not caring who was behind him, but the but his own pants acted as a kind of shackles preventing him from doing more than scooting and shuffling impotently in place. The goons must have realized what he’d been thinking though, otherwise they wouldn’t have twisted his arm more until he stopped. THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! Anger and instinctive rebellion gave way to pain and humiliation. Paddled like a naughty child! In his own house! By his own wife! The sack over his head made things worse. He couldn’t focus on anything, couldn’t stare off in the distance. Couldn’t use his eyes to try and zone out and stare at his beloved phone. There was only the pain of wood being smacked into him and the sound of his flesh being spanked. Again. And again. And again. The hood had a secondary effect: Even though he was being held down and knew exactly where he was, he still felt isolated. Oddly alone. And that isolation combined with overwhelming pain and embarrassment caused the tears to start leaking from his eyes. He couldn’t keep any kind of guard or barrier any longer. THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! How awful! He was being spanked and literally crying about it. And he couldn’t stop. Crying turned to sobbing. Sobbing turned to bawling and his whole body shook, not just from his own tortured cries of physical pain but from going past the edge of a complete emotional breakdown. “UH-HUH-UH-UH-UH-UH! AAAAAAAAAAWAAAAAAAA!” The spanking stopped. The crying didn’t. It should have. Trapped in his own head, Daniel would have loved to be able to stop bawling like an infant on cue. That way he could tell himself it had all been an act; a clever ploy to get the pain to stop. But they just wouldn’t stop, continuing to streak down his face. Even when the bag was off and he was staring up at Jane’s- his Jane’s- smirking, passive face. “Is...is that it?” He asked between gulps of air, wishing desperately he had his hands free so he could wipe the snot off of his upper lip and clean away the tears. “Are we...are we...done?” “Oh baby,” Jane said. Gently she reached out. He flinched as she wiped away the water and snot on his face with handkerchief. “No. No, no, no. Not by a long shot.” He was stood back up. His pants were pulled on and fastened back on for him. And then Goon 1 and Goon 2 hooked his arms and carted him out of the door and into a waiting van. “Wait?” Daniel shrieked. “What are you doing?! Where are we going? WHERE ARE YOU TAKING M-!” His cries of protest were cut off by the slamming of the kitchen door. *********************************************************************************************** “Congratulations,” the domme said to the jilted housewife. “You’re a natural.” Jane patted the paddle in the palm of her hand. That had felt good. Intoxicating, even. And like so many intoxicating things, the first shot was never enough. “I...I really liked that!” “I could tell,” her counterpart smiled. “I’d definitely say the impression you made on him in phase one will make phase two a lot easier for you.” Jane squeaked a bit. It had been a while since anyone had complemented her so. That was about to change. Speaking of change. “Should I dress more like…” she indicated the intense and sexy black number that the professional was wearing. “I don’t think I have boots that go that high up.” Domme Jane laughed. “Oh no no no, honey. What you’re wearing is fine. More than fine for what I have in mind. Even better than what I’ve got on for where we’re going.” The housewife blinked. “Where are we going?” “Grab your car keys,” the domme said. “We’ll follow the van.” ***************************************************************************************** “Where are you taking me?” Daniel demanded to know. “Where are we going?” Daniel didn’t know. The bag was back over his head and his sense of direction was sketchy at best. He lacked the presence of mind to count stops or turns or times between them. He really was going in blind. “What’s happening?! Please tell me!” The goons didn’t answer. Goon 1 just kept driving, and Goon 2 sat beside him, draping his arms over Daniel’s shoulders; a cat pinning a mouse under its paw, just letting it know that the claws could come out at any time if it struggled or squeaked too much. “Please!” he begged. “At least talk to me. I didn’t do anything wrong!” Silence. “I didn’t do anything illegal anyways! Nothing that should get me kidnapped,” he gulped. “Or killed.” The answer he got in reply was the flexing of Goon 2’s bicep, in a kind of lazy threat of a headlock. (Or maybe it was Goon 2 who was doing the driving and Goon 1 who was silently threatening him. He never could tell the difference between the two. Had never even heard them talk.) “Can either of you even talk?" Instead of getting an answer, the radio came on blaring music louder than Daniel’s ears could stand. It wasn’t even thrash metal or something two giant mooks would likely listen to. “When something isn’t right, it haunts me day and night Don’t need no crystal ball to tell me all the reasons why I see you’re hiding out, it makes me wanna shout So tell me here and now, am I someone you could live without?” It was that poppy, techno crap that teenage girls listened to. Wanna be bubblegum sugar rock trying to sound hard, but really could be heard in any club anywhere. The kind of thing he’d have lambasted and turned apart for laughs if his youtuber star had ever risen. “I’m losing all control So you got to let me know I don’t want to take it slow Do you want me? (Do you want me?)” Daniel didn’t listen to the other lyrics. He was too busy crying, afraid of what his life was about to come. “Jaaaaaaaaaaaane!” he moaned in despair. “Jaaaaaaaane!” At least the music was loud so they couldn’t hear him whine. At least the ride lasted long enough so that he ran out of self-pitying tears. When the van came to the stop, Daniel heard the side door slide open and he was pushed out blind. The other goon was there to catch him, and once again he was arm in arm in arm being marched away against his will. The hood only came off when they were inside. Daniel didn’t recognize the interior; just a long, gray hallway, poorly lit, poorly insulated, and very empty. The sound of footsteps and a menacing silhouette greeted him. “Bring him here, fellas,” the woman in black’s voice echoed commandingly down the corridor. This. This was too much. In a burst of sudden speed that surprised even him, Daniel whirred and ran for the door. “No!” He said, running for the door. The benefit of the hallway was that he knew which way to run. His sprint didn’t last long. The goons weren’t just stronger than him. They hooked him by the arms and lifted. This time, he was being carried backwards, forced to watch the door to freedom get smaller and smaller while the distance to his doom remained uncertain. He kicked and struggled, but to no avail. “NOOOOOOOOOO.” The sound of a door swinging open. A rush of air. The world going topsy turvy as he was casually thrown in and went airborne. A surprisingly comfortable fall. Padded floors. If not for the stinging in his ass, it might not have hurt at all. A padded room? A mental ward? Daniel rubbed his eyes. Not a mental ward. But for a moment he did question his sanity. Bright rainbow colors. Foam mats made to look like cute little puzzle pieces. Dollies and stuffed animals. A nursery? A baby’s play room? A daycare? Before he was able to voice any of these confusions, his vision was filled with beauty. He locked eyes with Domme Jane just long enough to realize it was her. “Jane?” Her upturned palm was filled with white powder. “Not your Jane. ” Seductively she pouted her lips, inhaled, and blew the snowy stuff into his face. “Not like you’re thinking.” Daniel sniffed. The scent of fresh lavender tickled his nose. “Baby powder?” Before he’d uttered that last syllable though, he knew something was wrong. The room started spinning. His face felt flushed, then numb. A trail of drool was already starting to drip from the corners of his mouth. His head felt very...very...heavy. “Not baby powder,” he heard another voice. “At least not like you’re thinking.” “Ja-?” Daniel’s eyes rolled into the back of his head just as he passed out.

Under New Management (Part 1) “Hello, Jimmy,” his new secretary said, taking Jimmy’s hand in both of yours. “I’m Kirsten and I’ll be taking care of you.” She let out a little laugh. “Oh listen to me, I sound like a waitress.” Jimmy bit his tongue and smiled, though he was sure it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He certainly didn’t mean it. “It’s James, actually,” he said. “Or ‘Mr. Wolff’, if you prefer.” His secretary chuckled, good naturedly, oblivious to the tension boiling just beneath his calm and professional exterior. “Oh, I like you.” Kirsten said. “We’re going to get along famously, you and I.” Then she was kind enough to add, “James.” Jimmy chafed at being called “Jimmy”. Only his close friends and his parents called him by his nickname and such familiarity so early on in any relationship irked him. Forty, or even thirty years ago, Jimmy would have been considered a true Yuppie: A Young Urban Professional. He’d have been looked at as young, fit, hungry, and ambitious. Not just an up-and-comer, but the next-big-thing! Women old enough to be his mother- women like Kirsten-would have admired him for his accomplishments in getting this management position just after turning thirty. He wasn’t lucky enough to be a Boomer though. Nor a Gen-Xer. He was a Millenial, and as such his whole life he was seen as a perpetual child to anyone who had a week of seniority on this Earth over him. People of Kirsten’s generation saw Jimmy and somehow still thought he was an entitled teenager with no real experience. Correction: They still thought of people his age as overgrown toddlers. It was an experience he promised never to foist on Gen Y. If anything it was refreshing that at least some people thought of him as “old” and “uncool”. Better to be seen as the old man yelling at kids to get off his lawn than the dopey kid who couldn’t wipe his own ass. The fact that Jimmy had a serious case of “baby face”, didn’t help his inability to command authority, either. It took him close to two days to get something close to proper stubble; something inherited from his father. His anxiety and frustration almost made him wish he’d inherited Dad’s male pattern baldness...almost. So yeah. Now that he’d made his way out of so-called entry level jobs that didn’t pay well yet also didn’t qualify him as ‘experienced’ AND putting himself through college, ‘Jimmy’ was off limits to everyone save those closest to him. ‘Jimmy’ waited tables and took orders. ‘Jimmy’ earned minimum wage. ‘Jimmy’ had a degree but no experience, (and that was what really mattered these days.) ‘Jimmy’ needed help. ‘Jimmy’ was a kid who needed his hand held. ‘James’, however, was management material. ‘James’ was what got him this job. It was a wonder what a name change on a job application could do. Hence, from now on, he was ‘James’. Jimmy got a middle aged boss. James got a middle aged secretary. Kirsten- said middle aged secretary- gave his hand one last squeeze before releasing him. “Well, James,” she said. “I’ll let you get settled into your office, check your emails, that sort of important business stuff.” She didn’t wink, but she might as well have. Her tone was far too playful; a babysitter allowing a preschooler to wander off and play house. “Thank you, Kirsten,” Jimmy said, curtly. “Welcome, James.” Kirsten walked away, her ankle length brown skirt swishing as she walked. The hairs on the back of Jimmy’s neck stood on end. He felt himself shaking his head and muttering to himself all the way back to his office. “It’s just a bad first impression,” he told himself. “She’s probably not used to working with someone younger than her. She probably has a kid close to my age. Maybe grandkids.” He logged into his computer, and waited for it to load his settings. “Nah,” he decided. “She probably doesn’t have grandkids yet.” Assuming she had a kid his age, being a grandma might result in her looking at someone his age as an adult. Also, what Millenial could really afford kids? Babies were expensive. Diapers alone would constantly cut into loan payments. The computer failed to load up. Password rejected. He tried again. Nothing. “What the…?” He tried a third time. This time carefully putting in his company password in case his fingers were flying too fast for the keyboard or he was accidentally hitting the sequence out of order. He even made sure to check Capslock. Password rejected. An image flashed across Jimmy’s brain of him bare fisted smashing the keyboard, pushing the monitor over the edge of the desk and throwing the tower out the fucking window. The feeling passed, and Jimmy was left giving a low and throaty growl; a nearly silent threat to a machine that could only think in binary. “Coffee, James?” His secretary came through his open door. “Cream sugar, and vanilla.” Jimmy tried again to log on. He’d set it up properly at employee orientation. “Yeah, sure.” Maybe he wasn’t put fully into the system, yet? Kirsten set down the coffee on a coaster and walked around to Jimmy’s side of the big oak desk. “Password, problems?” Kirsten asked. The new manager huffed. “Yeah. I don’t think I’m in the sys-” “Let me help.” She interrupted. She laced her fingers together and cracked her knuckles, and then leaned into Jimmy’s personal space without warning. Her fingers were a blur on the keyboard, and then the damn thing actually loaded. It was filled with folders and documents and PDFs. It reminded Jimmy of his Mom’s desktop at home; she was always afraid she was going to lose something by storing it on the C drive, so her desktop was a cluttered mess of digital detritus that she’d only needed once and never used again. A cluttered dinosaur of a desktop. “How...?” “I memorized Mr. Sheffield’s old password.” She grabbed the mouse before Jimmy had a chance. “ If they’ve got you in the system you should be able to load your info and password to this computer by clicking here, here, aaaand here.” Jimmy blinked and the desktop looked exactly like how he’d set it up the other day. Organized. Efficient. His. “Thank you, Kirsten,” Jimmy said. His secretary ran her hands over her off-yellow blouse. Cockily she straightened her lacy long tasseled bow tie. “Welcome, James.” At least she closed the door on her way out… James sat back in his fancy office chair, took a second to actually savor his ascension up the rat race, and then got to work. At least he tried to. Seconds in, he felt his brain to fuzz over and his forehead begin to heat up. The emails and memos addressed to him were absolutely befuddling. There was so much corporate speak and company insider lingo that Jimmy wasn’t sure what to do with it all. barely understood what they were asking him to do. It was like jumping into a mystery movie halfway in. Not quite, come to think of it. Mysteries constantly recounted and recontextualized the clues. It was closer to old fashioned cockney slang: Without the appropriate context and prior background knowledge, one couldn’t make heads or tales of what was actually being written about. These emails might as well be telling him that if he wanted to make a bunch of bees he should be careful not to make a lot of box as he went up the apples or else he’d be in a load of Barney and the bottles would be after him for sure. That is to say he didn’t know what hell was being said. By the time he reached the end of a sentence, he’d forgotten the beginning and had to reread. None of this was covered in orientation! None of this was covered in any of his business classes! Holy shit...maybe he wasn’t qualified for this job! He wanted to pick up his phone and call someone to help him translate, but he couldn’t even find who to call or what their number might be. And some stupid sense of pride kept him from calling the one person who had helped him today. Lunch came too quickly and not nearly quickly enough for Jimmy. He’d gotten nothing done, but desperately needed the break from the tedium of not accomplishing anything. The one thing that slid across his computer screen that made any sense at all to him was a general all call for lunch out among the managers. He could at least enjoy this, he promised himself. Time to call a cab and experience one of those classic three martini lunches like they showed on T.V. “Kirsten,” he said on his way to the elevator “Hold my calls.” Kirsten looked up from her computer screen. Whatever she was doing seemed very time consuming and complicated. “No calls yet, but yes sir.” Her smile was gentle and patronizing. “Enjoy your lunch.” Jimmy did not, in fact, enjoy his lunch. Every other manager was at least twenty years his senior and he had absolutely nothing in common with them. They talked over him and around him like he wasn’t there. They didn’t even remember his name; neither ‘James’, “Wulff’, or ‘Jimmy’. Kept referring to him as ‘junior’ the two or three times they acknowledged him at all. It vaguely reminded Jimmy of those first few Christmas gatherings when he was able to sit at the ‘adult’ table instead of the ‘kid’ table. He’d been thrilled and then quickly bored to tears...missing the company of his younger cousins. At least they talked about things he used to care about; things he could understand and follow. So Jimmy just kept pounding back martini’s. Each of his seat neighbors- left, right, across and both diagonals bought him a drink “as a welcome present” after he’d already finished off his own. It was staggered, too. Each old man briefly regarded him, shook his hand and offered to refresh his drink for him. They probably didn’t realize how sloshed he was, as no two of them talked to him or even noticed him at the same time. They all likely thought they were buying him only his first or second of the meal. Fudge it. It’s not like he was going to be any more productive today… Things went far too fast from there. He stumbled out of the cab and back into the work building building. He had just enough alcohol tolerance to make it into the elevator, by the time the doors opened to his floor, the room was spinning and “Mish Kirshten,” he said. “I’ll be in my offish.” Kirsten looked up from her computer. If she’d taken a lunch break, she showed no signs. “I beg your pardon, James?” Jimmy slowly blinked and repeated himself, more slowly this time. “I said...I’ll be in my...office.” Good. No slurring. He felt his stomach lurch. Don’t throw up, don’t throw up, don’t throw up. The young executive did not throw up. He made it all the way to his office and sat down before that was even a remote possibility. But when he stopped moving; when he had only the single point of his computer screen to focus on, it stopped becoming a possibility and mutated into an inevitability. “Coffee,” Jimmy said. “I need coffee.” Had Jimmy been at all sober, he would’ve realized what a fool’s errand that was. The single cup of joe that Kirsten had brought in that morning still laid there on the coaster. The room temperature mug didn’t even make it to Jimmy’s lips. His guts clenched, his throat burned and contracted, and he started vomiting. Watery, alcohol laced violet, with bits of pulped steak and salad erupted out of Jimmy. Only the potential humiliation of ruining his desk further kept him from freezing after the first vomiting. He grabbed a wastebasket and started vomiting into it like his body thought it’d win something. His tongue was coated in bile and his breathing was reduced to panicked gasps in between volleys of puke. Jimmy heard approaching footsteps just outside his door. “James?” Kirsten said coming into his office. “Mr. Wulff…?” Jimmy heard her gasps in time with his own. “JIMMY!” He felt her hand gently rubbing his back, and her telling him to just get it all out. One uncomfortable minute later, his stomach was done rebelling against him, his skin felt like it was being poked with a million tiny needles, God had turned the bass in his head up to eleven, and he swore to himself that he’d never eat solid food or booze again. “There there,” Kirsten shushed him. “There there.” Jimmy’s tongue hung limply from his mouth, as though that would get the awful taste out quicker. “Let me guess,” she said. “Two Martini Lunch went a little overboard?”’ Weakly, Jimmy nodded. “Uh-huh.” “Thought so,” Kirsten said, knowingly. “It’s okay. It happens to a lot of managers your age.” She patted him on the back some more, and then hooked her arm under his. “Come on, sir. Let’s get you standing up.” “Coffee,” Jimmy meekly pointed to the cup. He’d spilt most of it, but it was still a little under half-full. Anything, even cold coffee would taste better in his mouth than this. Kirsten just shook her head. “That’s not a good idea, sweetie. Coffee will only dehydrate you more.” Inwardly, Jimmy had cringed. In the space of a few heaves he’d gone from ‘James’ to ‘Jimmy’ to ‘sweetie’. He’d be lying if he wasn’t at least a little grateful for the sympathy. “I think you should take the rest of the day off, you want my advice.” Flashbacks of his school days assaulted Jimmy’s brain. When he was a child he hated missing school. Not because he loved school but always felt a certain sense of obligation to it. Going to school WAS his job, and missing it meant he was less responsible...just like all the adults thought he was. Now that he was actually working, the idea of playing hookey all but terrified him. ‘Noooo..” Jimmy whimpered. It didn’t sound nearly as strong as he’d intended, but like the same sick little boy he became whenever he had had the slightest fever. “Jimmy,” Kirsten chuckled. “It’s your first day. No one will mind if you’re overwhelmed and take the rest of the afternoon for yourself.” “But-” Kirsten wasn’t hearing any of it. “This isn’t school where you’ll get detention. It’s a place of business. As long as they keep making money, no one will mind if you take care of yourself.” Dang. It was like she was reading his mind. “Yeah, but it’s-” “It’s only your first day. No one thinks you’ll set the world on fire with your first day.” “I just…” Jimmy panted, still tasting the bile in his cheeks. “I just wanted to do a good job.” “I know, hun,” his secretary told him. “And as your secretary it’s my job to take care of you.” She started leading him out of his office. The room hadn’t stopped spinning yet. Jimmy wasn’t in much of For a moment, Jimmy dug his heels in so he could at least mount token resistance. “What about…?” he pointed to the mess his body had made; not all of it had made it into a waste basket. “Custodial services will deal with it,” Kirsten replied. “That’s their job.” Jimmy literally couldn’t argue with that, so he let himself be led away. “Let’s get you home and into some clean clothes.” The young executive kept his head down, looking at his loafers instead of anyone in the eye. That was a mistake as far as his pride was concerned. He noticed that there had been some splashback and bits of martini soaked spinach on his shirt tie. Gross. That’s what the older woman had meant by needing clean clothes. Would dry-cleaning even be able to handle something like that? Jimmy didn’t take the time to talk to anyone. He just wanted to get to his car. “Jimmy’s not feeling well,” she said. “I’m taking him home for the day.” This little dance repeated itself two or three times between Jimmy’s floor and the elevator. “Jimmy’s not feeling well, I’m taking him home for the day.” “Okay, Mama!” One of the other old maids in the office called out after them. “You take real good care of the new boss, y’hear?” Once in the elevator, Jimmy found his voice. “Mama?” “Yes, dear?” “No,” Jimmy said. “Why did that lady call you ‘Mama’?” Kirsten gave Jimmy a pat on the back. “It’s just my little nickname around here. I’m kind of the office Mom. I take care of people.” “Why do you called me…” Jimmy swallowed...damn...still drunk. “Why do you keep calling me Jimmy? My name’s James. Or Mr. Wulff.” Kirsten cocked an eyebrow. “Do you really feel like a Mr. Wulff right now, Jimmy?” DING! The elevator opened in the parking sub-level. “Sorry,” she apologized. “My son’s name is Jimmy, too. He’s just a year or two older than you. You remind me of him.” If not for his current state, Jimmy might have raised an objection. At present though, beggars couldn’t be choosers. And Kirsten was trying to help him. Might as well give her this one spoonful of sweetness for how much grace she was showing right now. “This isn’t my car.” The red minivan was definitely not how Jimmy came to work today. Kirsten fished through her purse and took out a keyfob clicked the side door open. “I know. It’s mine.” “But…” the world was still fuzzy to him, even as embarrassment fueled adrenaline was quickly sobering him up. “But my car…? I need to get to my car.” “Jimmy…” There was just a twinge of parental warning in Kirsten’s voice. “Do you really think it’s a good idea for you to be driving in your state.” “No,” Jimmy conceded, “But towing?” “No one is going to tow your car, Jimmy. You registered your vehicle with the company remember? No one will think it doesn’t belong here and you can pick it up tomorrow morning.” The man’s brow furrowed. He did seem to remember something about that in orientation. Who could keep track of what forms and registrations he filled out with that mountain of paperwork. “Okay.” He got into the van. Surprisingly Kirsten got in with him. “Let me help you get settled,” she said. Jimmy was nudged and prodded into the middle of the back seat. That’s when he realized that the middle was...different. “What’s this?” Jimmy asked, even as he was sitting down in it. Kirsten reached past her boss and guided his arms through a pair of shoulder straps. “It’s a safety harness seat,” she told him. “It’s great for little boys and drunks.” The shoulder straps had a piece that connected right across Jimmy’s chest. “Much safer.” ‘Little boys and drunks’, Jimmy thought. ‘Which one does she think I am?’ Jimmy’s cheeks flared a few degrees hotter. Kirsten wasn’t done, yet. Each shoulder strap also had a steel tabs like a seatbelt. Only instead of his hip, the buckle was straight between his legs. Kirsten didn’t give him time to comment or object before she clicked in before him. Only one word made it out of Jimmy’s lips. “Why?” “It used to be Jimmy’s seat,” Kirsten said. “I figured it’d help you, since you’re a little wobbly.” Her boss’s pure incredulity must have shown on his face, plain as day. “Just think of it as something you might wear on a very fast amusement park ride.” It felt like a half step away from a backward facing baby seat. Something a two to five year old (if he was being generous) might need. “How old is Jimmy? Your son I mean.” Jimmy hiccuped. “I know how old I am.” “He’s about your age. A little older.” Kirsten repeated. “You get to be a parent and you install specialty equipment for your kids, and never get around to uninstalling them when they grow out of it. Good thing, huh?” She handed him a paper bag. “Just in case you get carsick.” Funny, and not in a ha-ha sort of way. If her adult son was a few years older than him, he would have long ago outgrown this seat (in function if not in size) The van looked a heck of a lot newer than some relic from the nineties, too. Maybe Kirsten just took care of her car. “So…” Jimmy hiccupped. “Why am I sitting here?” She patted him on the head. “I already told you.” She climbed into the front seat and turned the car on. “Let’s go home.” Soon, Jimmy was actually kind of relieved that he was buckled in as he was. Turn, twist, turn, brakes, floor it, slam the brakes, honk, floor it, turn. Kirsten drove like a woman possessed. “Um...this isn’t the way to my place.” Jimmy said over the blaring car horns and the roaring engine. “I know, hun,” Kirsten said, not looking back. “We’re not going to your place. We’re going to mine.” “But…” “I already said,” Kirsten insisted. “I’m going to take care of you, Jimmy. But I can do that best in my house where I know where everything is. I don’t have time to go rummaging through whatever mess you’ve got there.” She shook her head as if what she was suggesting was perfectly rational. “Heh. As if.” Jimmy slunk back in his seat. His apartment wasn’t that bad. Was it? Though to be fair, he’d been a little slack on cleaning. His own parents probably wouldn’t have approved of the stack of dishes still in the sink, but it was because he’d been prepping for his new job...that he’d just screwed up by vomiting all over himself… Maybe it would be for the best to just crash at his secretary’s place for a bit. Just inside half an hour later, they were in the suburbs. A light pink house with a steep driveway greeted the red van. “We’re hooooome,” Kirsten sang out. She got out and walked around to the side of the van. Meanwhile, Jimmy unsuccessfully tried to unbuckle his child seat. “It won’t…” The release button had no give at all. It was just straight The older woman opened the door and pressed the button for him. “It’s tricky, hun. Let me help.” It only took Kirsten one push to get the buckle to release. She undid the chest harness, too. “Thanks…” “You’re welcome, sir,” She reached out and pinched him lightly on the cheek as if it was a joke. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Jimmy climbed out. He was feeling steadier already. The worst of the half dozen drinks he’d chugged was over. He was still young and tough enough to bounce back. Part of him wanted to go back to work. See if he could tackle those memos and figure out what the heck they actually meant. Still… “Cleaned up?” “You’ve got spit-up on your shirt and tie, and spilled old coffee all over your nice slacks.” Jimmy moved his tie. Crud. She was right. Same for the coffee. How had he not noticed that before. “Oh…” He really did look quite the sight. The coffee splash was right on his crotch. He must have not noticed because the coffee had been sitting for hours and he’d been more preoccupied with getting his lunch into the nearest receptacle. All on his front, and straining down his thighs. If not for the dark brown, almost black stain, and the lingering smell of coffee, it almost looked like he’d peed himself. “Come on. Let’s get you in some comfy clothes. My washing machine will take care of yours.” Jimmy followed her up the short stoop and into the little pink house. “Here’s the kitchen,” Kirsten said. “Here’s the living room. My bedroom is over there. The guest bathroom is over here if you need to tinkle, aaaand,” she stopped at a closed door. “Here’s the guest room. It used to be Jimmy’s.” She obviously meant her son. “Guest room?” Jimmy asked. “I’m not staying the night, am I?” The woman who was old enough to be his mother made a light “Awww” sound, like she thought his question was naive or cute. “I was thinking that you could take a nap. Sleep off the rest of the martinis. I’ll run your laundry for you. When you wake up, we’ll get you dressed and go from there.” Jimmy wasn’t quite sure how he felt about some of the language his subordinate was using. “We’ll get me dress-?” Kirsten opened the door and guided Jimmy in. “This is your son’s old room?” The four walls looked like they belonged to somebody’s kid alright. Keyword: Kid. Adults didn’t have Spider-Man bedsheets or posters of Lightning McQueen on their walls. Adults didn’t have Paw Patrol action figures and Thomas the Tank Engine Easy-Read books. This wasn’t a man’s room. Not unless the bar for adulthood had been lowered to three; five tops. Jimmy felt absolutely gobsmacked. “This is your son’s room?” “He’s a few years older than you, but yes.” Jimmy felt his throat go dry. This? This was not normal. Then a disturbing thought crept up along Jimmy’s brainstem. “Jimmy...your Jimmy...your son…” he stuttered. “He’s alive, right?” Jimmy had heard of parents who lost children turning empty rooms into bizarre shrines in their grief. Maybe it was that her Jimmy would have been a few years older than him were he still on this earth. His secretary reached out with handsjust starting to show a few wrinkles and undid Jimmy’s tie for him. “Of course he is,” she clucked her tongue “He just moved out, is all.” “Clip on. Cute.” “Clip on?” Jimmy stuttered. He’d practiced a windsor not for hours in the mirror last night. Granted, he’d then loosened his tie and slipped his head out so that he could slip it back on this morning but it was no clip-on. “It’s not a clip-on!” The vomit stained tie in Kirsten’s grasp testified otherwise. “Sure it’s not, hun.” Her hands went for the buttons on his shirt. “This needs to be washed, too.” Like a frog spotting an alligator Jimmy leaped back. Unlock said agile amphibian, he did not land on his feet. The back of his heels caught on the bottom of a box spring, and momentum carried him over a guard railing and spilled him ass over tea kettle onto Spider-Man bedsheets. It was a toddler bed, he was laying in. Low to the ground so that anyone could climb in, and with a railing to stop the occupant from falling out. It was a giant toddler bed, one that was big enough for Jimmy to fit in, but it was a toddler bed none the less. “That’s one way to get your shoes off,” Kirsten commented. Jimmy shot her a glare, and she covered her mouth to conceal a shit eating grin. “I’m not that drunk anymore.” Jimmy said. “I didn’t say you were, dear.” She started to reach down and lean over him. “Pants first?” “NO!” Jimmy lightly swatted her hands away and Kirsten drew back as if she’d been slugged. “Young man, you don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.” She said, her hands on her hips. “I’m a mother., remember.” “You’re not my mother,” Jimmy countered. Hands traveled from hips to crossing over the middle aged woman’s chest. Rather than refute or agree with Jimmy, Kirsten just sat there and stared. “You want to get undressed all by yourself?” Jimmy scoffed. “Of course.” Then his brain course corrected and he added, “In private.” Kirsten visibly rolled her eyes. “Fine, you silly thing.” She said. “I’ll turn around, and you can undress yourself.” “I’m not that drunk,” Jimmy said. “I’m not even drunk at all anymore.” Though right now, Jimmy wouldn’t say he wasn’t hung over. “I know, sir.” More and more, sir, was becoming more of a nickname, an indulgence, than an actual sign of respect. Something else clicked in Jimmy’s brain. “Do you have anything I can change into?” Miss Kirsten tapped her forehead.“Oh! You’re right. Silly me.” She walked to a dresser and opened a middle drawer and tossed him a t-shirt. The Arthur shirt was faded, but Jimmy recognized the cartoon aardvark anywhere. Strangely enough, it looked like it would fit. Or not so strange. Cartoon shirts were not just for kids. Behind the Simpsons, this eternal animal child was the second longest running cartoon show in the world; so this might be one of those nostalgia things that was so popular these days. “Thanks,” Jimmy said. He didn’t add in ‘I guess’, but he sure thought it. Beside the dresser, was a blue cardboard box. Miss Kirsten bent over and rooted around inside. “Before I forget.” The not quite rectangular object was placed into Jimmy’s hand instead of set sailing through the air. It looked like a pair of underwear. Briefs. Tighty Whities, but much thicker, and not white. Bulgey Blueys was a more apt description. And it had an almost paper rigidity, like a giant pair of scissors had cut it out. “A Pull-Up?” Jimmy almost yelped. He turned the extra large training pants over in his hands. “Is Jimmy...you’re Jimmy...potty trained?” Something about even asking that question seemed silly. A thirty something year old man still in Pull-Ups had some kind of medical problem or something. ‘Incontinent’ should’ve been the word he used, not potty trained. His hostess didn’t seem insulted or offended by his choice of words. She nodded. “He is.” She shuffled back over to the dresser and pulled out a pair of underwear as if in proof. Jimmy grimaced. It was big enough, but he was fairly sure that men’s briefs didn’t have pictures of Transformers on them. “He’s a few years older than you, though, so I wouldn’t feel embarrassed.” Jimmy didn’t feel embarrassed. Extremely puzzled was more like it. He hadn’t even known that they’d make Pull-Ups this big (and to put it lightly, childish) “Interesting…?” Miss Kirsten was in his bubble before he knew it. “Yes, and here’s the neat thing about them.” She pointed to a picture on the front. It was, Pinocchio. It wasn’t the version of Pinocchio that Jimmy had watched on VHS as a child a thousand times, nothing that could get an adult diaper company suided. But there were only so many wooden looking puppet boys in lederhosen that Jimmy could think of. The rest of the puppet’s body was colored in, but his famous nose was merely a light blue stencil on a white padded background. “See his nose?” Miss Kirsten asked. Jimmy nodded. She then traced her finger along a pale off-white line that Jimmy hadn’t noticed. It overlapped and went further out than the drawing of the nose, while still being roughlyt the same shape.. Pinocchio was off to the side. His nose was in the center panel. “When you wet it, the blue line fades and this clearish line turns green, so it looks like his nose is growing. That’s how you know if you’ve gone pee-pee. Isn’t that neat?” Jimmy felt shaken. “When I wet it?” She hadn’t said, ‘when it gets wet’, or ‘that’s how the child knows they’ve gone pee-pee’. Jimmy stepped sideways. “I’m not wearing this!” He still gripped onto the infantile undergarment, for fear that his secretary might try to put it on him. “This is my house,” Miss Kirsten said firmly. (When did Jimmy start thinking of her as ‘Miss’?) “I already walked into you getting sick all over yourself, today and have invited you into my home. I’m giving you a place to rest. You’re going to put that on and take your nap so you can be rested, and you’re going to wear it just in case anything happens.” “I’m not a baby!” Jimmy said. “Then you should have no trouble putting it on and keeping it dry. Unless you don’t think you’re...management material.” There was something both playful and threatening in how she said it. Leave the statement as it was, and she was blackmailing him to dress up like a toddler for getting drunk and skipping work. But change ‘management material’ to ‘big boy’ and she was a mother or caregiver goading a fussy toddler to behave using basic child psychology. Jimmy’s blood ran cold, regardless of how she meant it. “You wouldn’t!” “I’ve been at the company for thirty years, kiddo. You just showed up today. Who do you think they’ll believe if I tell?” Miss Kirsten was cocky and confident. Why wouldn’t she be? She had leverage and home field advantage on him...and a point. He very well might get sick and wet the bed. The thirty year old had to fight the urge to pout his lip out. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll do it. But turn around. A deal’s a deal.” Miss Kirsten pivoted on the ball of her foot, and turned one hundred and eighty degrees. “You’re right. You’re right.” She sighed. “But go on and get changed so I can start washing your clothes for you.” Jimmy did. He peeled off his puke stained t-shirt off and balled it up. Then he pulled his shorts and tighty-whiteys off and stepped out of them. It was easy because both had elastic waist bands. Hadn’t he worn a belt to school...err...work, though? Something was officially off Shaking the cobwebs out of his head, Jimmy popped open the disposable training pants and pulled them up over his hips. Strange. It felt so familiar and so foreign at the same time, like a long forgotten memory. The accompanying arthur shirt, thankfully, was big enough to cover up. “Here you go,” he said to miss Kirsten, holding out the ball of soiled clothing to her. Miss Kirsten looked over her shoulder and took the ball of discarded clothing. Her face positively lit up when she saw how Jimmy was now dressed. “Don’t you look comfy!” Jimmy winced. He would have died, just died, if she had said ‘cute’. “I’ll run these right to the washing machine,” she said. And for the first time since just before he’d thrown up, Jimmy was alone. He sat down on the edge of the oversized toddler bed. His skin tingled unpleasantly all the way from his neck to his ankles. It was like the slight muted crinkle from his Pull-Ups, (no, not his, the other Jimmy’s) was sending a razor thing scratch down down his skin. “What have I gotten myself into,” he whispered, his head in his hands. The stray thought that this might be some kind of hazing occurred to him, but what company- screw that, what group of people in their right mind- would take hazing this far? Everything about this was out and out crazy. Nothing right. And yet...here he was. What did that say about him? “Okay,” Miss Kirsten said, popping in again. “That’s taken care of. I saw the light was still on, so I knew you hadn’t nodded off yet. How about some milk?” Jimmy eyed the opaque cup in the older woman’s hand. It was decorated with pictures of fairy tale creatures, wizards and dwarves and the like. Unlike the Pull-Up and the toddler bed, it seemed sized for an actual child to drink, likely containing no more than a cup; maybe a cup and a half. The red plastic topper with the nozzle, made it obvious what age- what kind of person- it was meant for, and oddly enough the appropriate size made it look all the more infantile. Had it been a pint or something, it would have more closely resembled a sports bottle instead of a child’s cup. Wearily, Jimmy eyed the cup. She didn’t really expect him to drink from that, did she? What was he thinking? Of course she did. His hostess must have been reading his thoughts. “I know, I know, you’re a big thirty-year-old and you can drink from a grown-up cup,” she said condescendingly. No duh. “Pretty much.” “But from everything I’ve seen, your hands are still a little shaky, so I put the lid on, just in case.” Then she added, “lots of managers your age still use them.” It was the kind of comment so absurd that Jimmy didn’t know how to debunk it rationally. It was like an online political post that had so much wrong with it that it would have taken more energy to refute than to just ignore. Besides, he hadn’t met any managers his age, so he had no proof beyond common sense, (something that was becoming less and less useful). Jimmy reached out and took the offered sippy-cup. His secretary stood there, watching expectantly until he took a swig. It was good, admittedly. The base of the fatty whole milk felt good on his tongue and down his throat compared to the still lingering acidity of the alcohol and stomach bile. Whether real or imagined, Jimmy “Thank you,” he said. Truth be told, it wasn’t quite sincere. It was the kind of ‘thank you’ with an implied ‘now please go away’ attached to it. She took the hint. He took another swig, and she turned off the lights and closed the door. Jimmy finished the milk in a few quick gulps. Even though the sun was still out, Jimmy laid down, pulled the Spider-Man bed sheets over himself, closed his eyes, and within minutes was fast asleep.

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

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

Howdy howdy! Welcome to Bastion, Florida. You lost, friend? You’ve got that look about you. Even though tourists don’t have to unfold big ol’ road maps and can just gaze down at their phones to try an’ sus things out, we still find a few stragglers from time to time. Tryin’ to find Disney? Maybe go to that Bucs game? You wouldn’t be here. If you’re here to cheer on the Gators you’ve come too far South. Can’t be headed to Miami. No amount of roadwork or detours would have you this far off the interstate. Or did you come to try some of the local cuisine? Real estate shoppin’? Yer a might young to be a snowbird. More than a might young. Maybe you’ve got somewhere to be tonight and just want to kill some time without racking up more credit card debt. In that case, you’ve come to the right place, I’d say. Nothing like a small town to people watch and gossip on and on about. It’s free, anyway. Here, have a seat. Nope. Nobody’s gonna mind that we’re hanging around the gazebo. That’s what gazebos are for. Not what you expected, is it? Most people, when they hear “Florida”, they think sunny beaches and palm trees. Not here, though. Not in most of Florida, truth be told. Outside of the heat, most places around here you’d be forgiven for thinking you were in someplace like Ohio. Suburbs and stretches of flat farmland where cows and horses graze as far as the eye can see! What ain’t that is just more forests, lakes, and swamplands. Add in all the snowbirds that are constantly coming down here in the winter, and it can be joked that Florida is the most Northern state in the South. Heard that joke, have ya? Or maybe it’s just not funny. Anyhoo.. Bastion’s a pretty big city, though. Big enough. Three highschools for a decent football rivalry com Fall. Two movie theaters- the good one and the cheap one. Plenty of chain stores; your McDonald’s, your Walmarts, your Starbucks, and what have ya. Decent number of Mom and Pop shops too: Thrift stores; cafes; independent insurance agents. That and we have the advantage of being just a little over an hour away from Disney and Tampa and Jacksonville and the Gators. We get access to all the tourist attractions without having to deal with obnoxious tourists most of the time. No offense. We’re in the middle of downtown right now, right on the edge of the Historic District and City Hall. Most of the buildings are older than you and me combined. Or at least older than you OR me. It’s why everything here has that old 1950’s retro look like in that one time traveling movies; all boxy and such. But this ain’t no Hill Valley, even if you’d be forgiven for thinking such. Town’s changed a lot over the decades; on the inside, if not the outside. Like you see that one place over there on the corner? The one with the steep steps and the fancy white columns? Banner reads “Grand Opening”? No, that’s not City Hall; too small for that these days. Not a bank, either, though it was when it was first built in the early 1900’s. What is it, then? That is easily the worst spot for business in town if you ask me. Ever since the bank moved, that place has been through more refits than a rich lady who just got stomach staples. It’s been a Christian youth group site; shame they went out of business. Was also an improv comedy theater; no great loss there. Even used to be a nightclub called “Eden”. I didn’t know till after it’d already closed down that it was some kind of freaky swingers sex club or something. Imagine that? A bonafide freaky deaky sex club. Here. No wonder that didn’t last. Most people are either too conservative or just not exciting enough to even dip their toe in such things; regardless of what they might think about when not in Church. Besides them things, that spot’s been home to at least seven other businesses that either failed or had the sense to move to a better front when space became available. Can’t quite remember what them places were, but you get my point. When it’s not being rented out, it’s left abandoned and picking up dust for longer than some of the businesses in it managed to run. Some folks joke that it should be turned into one of those Spirit O’ Halloween stores. You ask me, that place is cursed. What about now? Based on the advertisements in the paper, the coffee news, and the radio, it’s gonna be some kinda thrift store.. “Lost Things Found” it’s called. What else would you expect in a store like that? Don’t quite see the point of it myself. Bastion’s already got a Goodwill. And there’s no windows up front. Good for an old timey vault, or a theater or a sex club...them places need privacy. But an old fashioned store? Not so much. Hard to show what you’re selling with no display windows. Still; place might make for a few good stories, even if it just adds to the list of failed ventures in that spot.. That’s one of the other advantages of living in a place like Bastion. Plenty of stories. You get enough space from people that you can watch ‘em and gossip, and you don’t have to feel too bad because you’ll most likely never have to look ‘em in the eye. Best of both worlds I say. People can talk and gossip and you know who they’re talkin’ about, but then you don’t have to feel so bad when you end up talking more than two sentences to ‘em. Take that lanky thing walking on down the street, the one with the ratty pink purse? Kind of looks like Olive Oyle from those old Popeye cartoons? That’s Lynn Gilligan. Nice girl from a broken home, but she’s got a couple of screws loose, I say. She’s too young for me, obviously, but she’s a woman, even if she doesn’t quite look the part. Some ladies just don’t grow into their own bodies till they’re closer to thirty than twenty. Nothin’ wrong with that. The problem with her is she’s either nutty or slutty. Why do I say she’s nutty? It’s that bag of hers. That’s not a purse, that’s an old diaper bag; filled up too. Girl don’t have any babies though. Not even a little brother or sister. I know, I know, why does she carry a bag full of bottles and baby toys then? Y’see, when she was still in highschool, Lynn got popular babysitting for folks out at the Country Club. Rich folks love having children and buying ‘em toys to spoil them with. Only thing they love more is paying people to watch their children for them so they can go and spoil themselves. Skinny britches over there on the sidewalk is still sitting and nannying to this day; using the money to help pay for her tuition over at the community college. I’m not gonna jaw on her about that; that’s just good entrepreneurship right there. Old fashioned entrepreneurship an’ elbow grease. Peculiar thing is that ever since that first summer Lynn’s been toting around that old baby bag wherever she goes. Was probably her diaper bag back when she needed one. Says she brings it to be prepared for whatever gig she’s got. That don’t ring true, though, you ask me. I don’t know about you, but I can’t think of hardly any instance when a body with a toddler wouldn’t already have bottles and diapers and wipes for their own kid. Seems to me that for Lynn it’s less preparation and more pretense. What’s she tryin’ to do being ready to swaddle a newborn in the unlikely event that she’s gotta deliver somebody’s babe in the backseat of a car? I don’t think so. Some people say a lady carrying around all that baby stuff is looking to get knocked up; got the fever; want a rugrat for themselves. But not me. Call me old fashioned, but most boys her age see that kind of stuff and they think a little too much about the after effects of doing the deed to want to do it if you catch my drift. Nope. I see how she clutches it; more like a security blanket than anything. Her papa split town when she was just starting Kindergarten, maybe a little before that. The ol’ went out to get cigarettes save that he wasn’t a smoker. I suspect something is broken in that girl that can’t quite be fixed. And her carrying around that bag is just puttin’ a band aid over a much deeper cut. Oh? Well look at that. Speaking about band aids and such, poor thing’s bag just broke.