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Funnily enough, this story isn't about a Middle! Sophie-only story, so no colors this time. And no, there's not going to be more chapters. It's just a fun little one-off what-if story for my friend Lyra. --------------------------------- Premise: Lyra takes extra precautions for a long flight home with no bathroom breaks. Will Lyra regret her decision when she is seated between two beautiful women? Disclaimers: diapers, public, teasing, wetting --------------------------------- The Middle By Sophie Starring: @Lyra Silver Lyra looked down at her arm rests, one on each side. They weren’t big enough for two arms, and her flight was booked solid. She would have to share. The window seat gets the window, Lyra rationalized, so surely I can have the arm rest. And the aisle seat can get up to use the bathroom whenever they want without needing to ask. That entitles me to their arm rest as well. In fact, Lyra was so nervous about asking a stranger to move out of the way that she had taken precautions. The flight from Boston to Los Angeles was six hours long, and her bladder was proportionate to the rest of her; that is to say, rather small. She had never worn a diaper outside of the comfort of her own bedroom, but it seemed the practical choice. Practicality was about the only thing that could get past her social anxiety. Nonetheless, a part of Lyra was still regretting not spending the extra eighteen dollars for an aisle seat. Inevitably, the seats beside Lyra were taken in tandem. A pair of beautiful women stood in the aisle and checked their tickets against the tag above the row. One of them had shoulder-length brown hair and wore tight fitted pants with a dressy shirt. The other had long blonde hair and was wearing a sundress that was probably intended for shorter people. They were tall, at least six inches taller than Lyra, and leaned in close to whisper to each other. Lyra caught a glance at their wedding rings in matching styles. “Excuse me,” the brunette said brightly, leaning down to meet Lyra’s eyes. She towered over her just a bit, and Lyra had to work to find her words. “Hi, uh… are these your seats?” Lyra managed to ask. “They are,” the brunette smiled. “My wife and I didn’t expect this plane to be so full, so we got the window and the aisle hoping to have the row to ourselves.” “Oh…” Lyra didn’t think about that. When she booked this seat, the two beside her were already taken. Without thinking, she offered: “Well, I could move over if you’d like to sit together.” “I want the window,” the blonde called from the aisle, a touch of annoyance in her voice. “And we paid for those seats.” “That’s a fair point,” the brunette replied, though it wasn’t clear if she was still talking to Lyra or her spouse. “Let’s keep the arrangement for now.” Then, distinctly to Lyra: “Would you please let us in?” “Oh, yeah. Of course. Sorry.” Lyra quickly stood up and shimmied her way into the aisle. When getting on the plane, she had been so cognizant to take small, careful steps and to keep her hips still. But in her hurry, every step made Lyra’s diaper crinkle. The blonde woman glanced up at her wife and the brunette raised her eyebrows. Lyra didn’t even notice the sound in her bout of social awkwardness, but after the blonde took her seat by the window - and Lyra sat down again on her padded butt - she was reminded what she was wearing. No one heard anything, Lyra thought to herself: another rationalization. All my friends say no one can even tell. They have other things to worry about. Not everyone thinks about a stranger’s underwear. Nonetheless, a part of Lyra wished she had just worn panties like she wanted to. Once again, her efficiency was getting in the way of her comfort. The plane took off without incident. Soon, the three women - with a cabin of other inconsequential characters - were soaring high above the clouds. The brunette took the armrest on Lyra’s right and the blonde took the armrest on Lyra’s left. Lyra sunk further into her seat and sighed, playing with her fingers in her lap. The middle seat is so undignified, she mused. This is middle-seat sub culture at its finest. Every so often, the women would talk over Lyra, sharing a sentence or two, and returning to their own respective forms of entertainment. The blonde watched a video on her phone; she must have been paying for wifi. The brunette was reading a mystery novel, as far as Lyra could tell by the cover. But inevitably, talking over Lyra meant talking to Lyra. “So you live in L.A.?” the brunette asked her. “Or are you visiting someone?” “I live there. I was spending the weekend with some friends.” “Oh, that’s quite a long flight to visit friends. How did you meet?” “Uh… online.” Lyra avoided that answer wherever she could. She had the sneaking suspicion that a majority of people felt online friends were somehow less than real-life friends. If anything, this weekend proved otherwise. But the strangers on the plane didn’t have her experiences. “Lindsay and I met online,” the brunette said, nodding to her wife. “I’m Margo, by the way.” “Nice to meet you, I’m Lyra.” “Lyra. That’s a cute little name, isn’t it?” “I, uh…” Lyra’s face flushed. ‘Cute’ was a diminishing enough adjective without the added ‘little’. “Very cute,” Lindsay interjected, leaning away from the window to join the conversation. “What do you do for work, Lyra?” Margo asked. “I… IT stuff. Computer stuff…” There was a more complicated answer there, but Lyra was halfway between ‘it’s not worth explaining’ and ‘I feel like I’m forgetting half the English language’. “Wow, that’s hard work,” Margo said. “Very grown up stuff,” Lindsay added. “I never would have thought you did stuff like that.” Lyra sunk further into the seat and nodded her head, unsure of what to say. Her face was hot and the way the women were speaking to her didn’t sound very realistic. It sounded like something she would read in a story. All the same, they seemed to have the same effect. “Would you like any drinks?” someone asked from the aisle. A woman was standing there with a cart of soda cans and water bottles. Lyra didn’t even hear her approach. “Yes. A water for me,” Margo said. “Sprite, please,” Lindsay said. And before Lyra could answer, Margo said: “And a water for Lyra, if that’s no trouble.” Lyra blinked in surprise. Had this stranger just ordered for her? But Lyra would have just ordered a water anyway. It didn’t seem like it was worth arguing. “Make sure to drink all of it,” Margo said, passing Lyra the plastic cup. “You don’t want to get dehydrated.” “I… yeah… okay…” Lyra put the cup to her lips and took a long sip. She was thirsty anyway. “So what do you do for fun?” Lindsay asked, sipping her own drink. Lindsay was definitely the more animated of the two, almost childlike in quality. But her height made Lyra feel small, especially when Lindsay would lean in and Lyra had to look up to talk to her. “I, uh… tabletop games. Dance. Rock climbing.” “Rock climbing?” Lindsay seemed surprised. “I bet you are the kind of girl that always got out of her crib.” Lyra stared dumbfounded, like a deer in headlights. “I… what…?” “Your crib,” Lindsay repeated. “You know, like when you’re a baby and you pull yourself over the bars? I bet you did that a lot.” “I… I’m not sure…” Lyra’s cheeks were hot with embarrassment. Lindsay’s questions weren’t even that invasive, but Lyra kept hearing something else. She can’t possibly know, Lyra rationalized yet again. This is just my brain playing tricks on me. Ego-centrism. Not everything is about me. Nonetheless, a part of Lyra couldn’t pull the rest of her together. She was bumbling through words like a toddler, and Lindsay pressed the advantage. “I love your hair.” She raised her hand to the side of Lyra’s head. “You don’t mind, do you?” “N-no, I guess not…” Not many people touched Lyra’s hair on a lark, but it didn’t seem too out of place. Lindsay’s fingers twirled Lyra’s colored tips, pulling just hard enough for Lyra to feel it. Then Lindsay picked new strands to play with, working her way across the many different colors. “Gosh you’re pretty…” Lindsay whispered, just loud enough for Lyra to hear. Lyra felt a cold cup in her hand as Margo passed her the glass of water. “Drink up, cutie,” Margo said with confidence and clarity, issuing a command like a lighthouse through the fog. Without a thought, Lyra took another long sip of the water and the cup was soon empty. Lindsay’s motions through Lyra’s hair went from twirling to running, like a rake through ocean sand. Lyra slid further down in her seat and looked up blearily at the two women. She was so warm, like ice cream melting in summer heat. Margo leaned down and tilted Lyra’s head by the chin, so that they made eye contact. “You like doing what you’re told, hm?” Margo asked. Without thinking, Lyra’s head nodded. In truth, when asked about it later, Lyra wasn’t sure if she nodded herself or if Margo did it for her. “Do you want me to tell you what to do?” Margo queried, much unlike the other question. The other one was a formality. This one was curious. Lindsay’s fingers played with Lyra’s hair and the both of them were so big… If they’re big, then I’m small, Lyra rationalized. If I’m small, then she should tell me what to do. Right? Nonetheless, a part of Lyra wondered if this was right. They were strangers, after all! But so were a few of the people she met over the weekend. If she had learned anything in the past few days, it was to let things happen. Did Lyra feel safe? Yes. Did Lyra like this? Yes. It seemed like ‘yes’ was the right answer. This time when Lyra nodded her head, she knew it was her that did it. “Good girl,” Margo whispered, and kissed Lyra softly on the forehead. “The first thing you’re going to do is put your thumb in your mouth. You’ll suck on it as a reminder that you aren’t to speak. You’re to listen and do what you’re told. Only take it out when you want us to stop.” Her thumb in her mouth? She was in public! There were dozens of people around her! But they are all facing forward, Lyla rationalized. No one will see. And if they did, why does it matter? I will never see anyone on this plane again. Nonetheless, a part of Lyra just wanted to obey the beautiful women. In her floaty, submissive state, that was the part that mattered. So Lyra put her thumb in her mouth and sucked softly on it, glancing up at Margo for approval. “Good little Lyra,” Margo cooed, kissing her once more on the forehead. Lindsay continued to play with her hair and Lyra was overwhelmed by the affection. “Now Lindsay and I are going to tell you what is about to happen. We will give you a list of instructions, but you only need to worry about one at a time. You worry about the first one. When you do that, we move onto the next. Do you understand?” Lyra nodded. She was pretty sure she understood. Worry about the first one, and look forward to the rest. “The first thing you’re going to do is wet your diaper,” Margo whispered into Lyra’s ear, loud enough that only the three of them in that row could hear. But Lyra’s heart rate skyrocketed. “Shhh,” Lindsay cooed, pulling Lyra closer. “We know you’re wearing one. It’s okay. It’s safer for little baby girls to travel in a diaper, don’t you think? It’s better than having an accident and asking a stewardess to clean it up, right?” Lyra knew there was some flaw in Lindsay’s logic, a string left unpulled. But for the life of her, she couldn’t find it. Everything Lindsay said sounded so right… so Lyra nodded again. “Good girl, such a good girl…” Lindsay rubbed her thumb across Lyra’s cheek and Lyra sucked harder on her own thumb. “Now all you gotta do is what all little girls do. One little accident will lead to so much fun. Just like playing with your toys. Getting up and using the potty is so much work.” “Take your time,” Margo said softly. “Your next instruction isn’t until the plane lands, so you have a few hours.” The next instruction… Lyra had forgotten for a brief moment that there would be more to follow. One leads to the next, leads to the next. But Lyra wasn’t kept in suspense. The two women alternated telling her every order she was to follow for the rest of the day. “When the plane lands, you are going to text two friends and give them our address,” Margo said. “You’ll hold our hands - in the middle, just like now - as we lead you down to the baggage claim,” Lindsay said. “You’ll tell us which luggage is yours by pointing, and we will get it.” “We will walk you to the parking lot, and you’ll waddle between us in your soaking wet diaper.” “You’ll get in our car, in the back seat, and we will buckle you in.” “You’ll be allowed to ask three questions on the ride home, if you use a convincing little girl voice.” “We will ask you to choose between Burger King or McDonalds on the way home, but you’ll be getting a kids’ meal.” “When we get back to the house, we will feed you at the kitchen table.” “You’ll raise your arms when we take off your dress.” “You’ll suck your pacifier when we put it in your mouth; I assume there’s one in your bag.” “You’ll lie on the bed and be a very good girl as we strip you of your soggy diaper—” “—and change you into a fresh one with lots of baby powder.” “You’ll cooperate when we dress you in the cutest little baby clothes we find in your suitcase.” “You’ll thank us when we tie your colorful hair in pigtails.” “We’ll take you out into the living room and put on a movie of your choice—” “—age appropriate of course.” “And I will pull you onto my lap,” Margo whispered. “You’ll watch quietly and helplessly as I strip off my shirt and unhook my bra. You’ll latch onto my breast when I put the nipple into your mouth. You’ll nurse like the good baby girl you are.” “And while you do,” Lindsay cooed, “you’ll spread your legs wide, flashing your diaper. You’ll keep your knees apart while I run my hand across the crinkling plastic, pressing and rubbing the padding.” “You’ll show us both how much you love being a baby—” “—and how much you love your diapers.” “And if you do—” “—if you’re a good little baby—” “—if you prove you want nothing more than to be our obedient little girl—” “—then you can lay in bed with us tonight—” “—in the middle—” “—just like right now—” “—with a beautiful woman on each side of you—” “—eager to make you happy—” “—and asking nothing in return but a little obedience.” “It all starts with one little accident,” Lindsay cooed. “Do what you’re told,” Margo whispered. Lyra’s mind was fogged over with thick wisps of smoke, like signals from a campfire. Each one had a message for her: You’re a good girl. You’re just a baby. Babies have accidents. You’re so small. You’re not in charge. They’re in charge. They are so big. Do what they say. Be the best little girl. Do what you’re told. So Lyra did what she was told. Between two gorgeous women, in the middle seat in a row of seats, on an airplane with a hundred people around her, Lyra wet her diaper. She felt the heat flood between her legs, spreading across her bare butt, and then the familiar comfort and safety of her padding soaking it all up. Though she didn’t leak, though she didn’t make a sound, though she didn’t give any indication of what she had done, Margo and Lindsay each kissed her on different cheeks and whispered at the same time in their respective ears: “Good girl, Little Lyra.” Then the rest of Lyra’s day went exactly as described. [End.] ------------- If you enjoy the story, please Like and Comment! Also consider joining our Patreon, where you can 50+ more stories in ePub and PDF formats. ❤️

What started as a silly short story has now become something a little grander. Pick Your Battles is now a series of short-stories about real-life events. That is, these things actually HAPPENED. I live with my girlfriend who has just gotten into little stuff last year when we started dating. (I call her Mommy in the stories for simplicity, but I usually call her Big Sis when we do ageplay stuff). I also live with two other littles, my co-author @Pudding and my close friend @ChloeNova! So yeah, these are the antics we get up to. ALSO @bbykimmy will be contributing to this series with her own real-life stories, centered mostly around her and her partner of fifteen years! (Like me, she's going to be calling her partner Mommy for simplicity.) Make sure to Like/Comment! And enjoy! ~Sophie ------------------------------------------------ Pick Your Battles: Episode 1 (Or: Kimmy is a brat and got me in trouble!) By Sophie “Hey. I’m talking to you.” I blinked, looking up from my phone. I had been distracted the whole car ride home from work and Mommy wasn’t too happy about it. “Sorry. What were you saying?” I put my phone down for exactly one second, then glanced at it again. Another message. I opened it up and started to reply when Mommy plucked the phone out of my hands. “Hey!” “No.” One of her sharp, aggressive ‘No’s. The kind that made my heart race. “You have been talking to this girl all day and you can’t make two minutes for me?” “I’m sorry,” I muttered. “Now, like I was saying,” she went on, but all I could think about was my phone in her hand. “We have to shower if you want to stay up late tonight and play video games. You want that, don't you?” “Fine, okay. Give me-” “After we shower,” she cut me off. I puffed out my cheeks and crossed my arms over my chest. “At least let me say goodbye.” “No,” she said again. That harsh, certain ‘No’. I had to pick my battles, and this wasn’t the right one. Mommy unlocked my phone - her thumb had been set to my fingerprint scanner the day I got it - and typed something out. My heart raced, my eyes wide. “Hey, what are you telling her?!” “That’s not the business of a little girl, is it?” “I… I’m not…” She set my phone down on the bed, but when I reached for it, she took my hand. ‘Pick your battles,’ I reminded myself. Mommy always kept the water too warm in the shower. It took me five minutes to adjust to the temperature and another five to wash and condition my hair. As per our routine, I soaped her up with body wash, paying particular attention to her breasts and between her legs. She was the kind of girl who loved to be clean and I was the kind of girl who was a bit of a pervert. It worked for the both of us. I thought that was the end of it; I’d completely forgotten about my phone. But after rinsing off, she didn’t grab the body wash. She wrapped her fingers in my hair and pushed me down to my knees. They collided with the hard tub and I looked up at her with pain and confusion. “What are-” But I never finished my question. I never had to. She pulled on my hair until my face was against her crotch, lifting her leg onto the edge of the tub basin. “If you can’t lend me an ear when I’m talking,” she said over the sound of the running water, “then I’ll use your tongue instead.” Her fingers tightened in my hair and I let out a quiet yelp. I knew what she expected. I knew not to misbehave. ‘Pick your battles’, right? So I touched my lips to the skin between her legs. She moved me where I needed to be, as if I was too inept to figure it out on my own. It was no more than five minutes later that she stood me up on shaky legs. My eyes were glossy and my cheeks were on fire. She advanced on me until my back hit the tiled shower walls, until she could hover her lips only a centimeter from mine. I leaned in for a kiss, but she held us apart. “No,” she said again. That simple word, with so much power. I thought I would melt into a puddle and swirl down the drain. For the rest of the shower, I didn’t speak. She washed me. I let her put her fingers wherever she wanted. Then, she wrapped me in my big blue towel and pulled me back into our bedroom. I saw my phone on the bed. I looked up at her and then down at my feet. Could I pick it up? Would I be in more trouble? Or was this finally over? But before my quiet contemplation could become action, she spoke. “Come here.” It was that same tone as the ‘No’s. The sort of thing that told me it was very much not over. She sat on the edge of the bed in nothing but her towel, draped around her neck. Mine was still wrapped around my chest, preserving my modesty. I pensively walked toward Mommy, and as soon as I was within reach, she grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me down over her lap. The action was so fast, so unexpected, that I didn’t have time to think. While she fussed with the towel, lifting it up to expose my bottom, I tried to catch my breath. “No, no, no! Wait a second!” She didn’t wait a single second. Her hand came down hard on my ass and I winced as the sound echoed through the room. A second smack on the other cheek. But Mommy was never very intense with spankings - this would pass in no time. I knew how to pick my battles. The third spank came down on warm, pink skin. The fourth did the same on the other cheek. And by the time I had counted ten in my head, my winces had turned into audible whines. I kicked my feet and shook side to side on her lap, burying my face in the blankets. “Please, stop… please, I’m sorry…” Another spanking. Two. Three. Four. She hadn’t spanked like this in a long time. My will was breaking. “I’m sorry! I’ll be good! I’m a good girl!” “A good little girl?” she asked, before the echo of another spanking rang through the room. I was out of breath. “Y-yes… a good little girl… please…” “And good little girls don’t ignore their Mommies when they are talking, right?” Her hand came down on my sore bottom and I whimpered involuntarily. I nodded my head in a panic. Her hand moved off my bottom and I flinched, waiting for the shock and pain. But it hesitated. I thought maybe she was done. Just when the inkling of hope filled me up, it was shattered by another spanking. I was burning out… “You are going to lay on this bed and you will not move until I say otherwise.” Her offer felt like cold water over my red, burning ass. I couldn’t say no. I couldn’t argue. If I did, she’d spank me again. This was my chance to escape more punishment. I had to pick my battles, and this wasn’t one I could win. “Y-yes Mommy…” “Say it.” “I’ll be a good girl-” “Good little girl,” she interrupted, with emphasis. Jeeze, this was embarrassing… “…good little girl… and stay on the bed ’til you say so…” She rubbed my bottom once, as a show of good faith, and climbed out from under the towel between us. I was exhausted. I couldn’t move. My butt ached but my pride ached more. I closed my eyes and tried to relax. It was over, I reminded myself. But Mommy was going to make sure, for the rest of the night, I knew my place. I heard the crinkling before I saw the diaper in her hands. White, simple. Easy to check if I was wet, she liked to say. I rolled over - naked without the towel - and scampered the other side of the bed. “I don’t need that!” “You said you were a little girl,” Mommy reminded me. “But that doesn’t mean I wear…” I blushed scarlet. This wasn’t fair! “Do you want to play video games?” I looked up at her with suspicion. What was she getting at? “Well?” “…yes,” I muttered. “And where are you going to do that?” “On the sofa…” I felt like I was walking toward a trap. “You’ll sit on the sofa?” she continued. I nodded. “Then wouldn’t it make more sense to have some padding on your sore bottom?” “But I don’t need-” “I didn’t say you did,” she cut me off. “But it makes sense, doesn’t it?” …it did make sense. I pouted and crossed my arms over my breasts. Damnit… “Well?” she asked. “…fine,” I muttered, and slid further down the bed. She pulled my ankles so my open legs fell on either side of her as she unfolded the diaper. I looked up at the ceiling in embarrassment, trying to hold onto the thought that I was a big girl. Trying to hold onto the feeling that I was a big girl. But the second that diaper was aligned under my raw behind, the feeling slipped away. She doused me in baby powder, rubbing it into my skin with the palm of her hand. When she was done, she tapped me on the nose with her index finger, leaving the scent of baby powder heavy and inescapable. My eyes glossed over as I settled into the bed. My muscles relaxed. My mind clouded over with thick, white clouds. The feelings of being a big girl were long gone. Mommy taped the diaper up between my legs and stood me up on my feet. She popped a pacifier between my lips and kissed me on the forehead. Maybe I should have stopped her. Maybe I should have thrown a tantrum or taken off the diaper. But if I tried, I’d only get punished again. Worse, this time. No, I should let her win this one. I had to pick my battles. [End] ------------------------- Thank you for reading! Please Like or Comment to show support! I also have a Patreon!

https://abprompts.glitch.me/ (18+) How It Works: There are four Topics in the generator: ABDL, Items, Themes, and Pet Play. The default setting is 2/1/1/0, which we feel gives the best story prompts. Feel free to adjust these. If you want to do pet-play/furry/Keeper stuff, make sure you put 1 in the last section! Who Can Use It: Anyone! Use it to get over writer's block, try something new, write for the first time, or just to have fun! If you're a writer, please give the prompt generator credit by linking to this thread. If you're not a writer but you find a great prompt, leave it in the comments! Maybe a writer will pick it up. If you write a short story or flash fiction from one of these prompts and you don't want to make an entire thread, feel free to leave the story in the comments. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Special Thanks: @bbykimmy did all the coding for the generator! She's an amazing tech witch and none of this would be possible without her. Also special thanks to Kimmy's Discord chat members. I asked everyone "what turns you on" and that's how I made this list.

I wrote a story for @bbykimmy and she wrote one for me! (Mine is campy and hers is sexy af) Make sure to give all your likes to hers first! Enjoy! --------------------------------------------------- For Kimmy By Sophie It was the summer of 1982. The height of the Cold War had everyone in a panic. Paranoia was as common then as anxiety is now. Causation? Probably. At first, it was just about the bombs. Then spies. Secret code words that activated sleeper agents to dismantle the government from within. In an idiotic fit, we turned to drugs and super powers. LSD. Untested chemical compounds. When we realized they couldn’t alter a developed mind, we turned to infants. Then to pregnant women. Damn the consequences. “The Greater Good” was uttered every few steps. It was a dark time in American history. It was the kind of thing I used to roll my eyes at. Now? Well… My codename is Ladybug. I have a story to tell you. “Who is this girl?” I asked her. Sophie. My girlfriend of two years. She was pulling a party dress on over her head. Twenty-seven years old, and she still dressed like a toddler. “Someone I met online,” she told me. “On the forum.” The forum. Her baby thing. As long as I’d known Sophie, she always had an affinity for childish clothes and mannerisms. She wore diapers to bed every night, “just in case”. It was unnatural, but it was cute. I never thought more about it than that. I never thought it meant something. “Tell me about her,” I asked, folding Sophie’s onesies into her suitcase. Today was the first day of the Little convention. Sophie was dressed to the nines. Nine months old, maybe. “We are basically twins. We’re both into the same stuff. We like the same ice cream. We are both total brats. And she is a writer! Oh my gosh, I have to show you this story she wrote. Actually, we’ve been talking for weeks and she wrote me a story once and…” She went on and on. If I was a dumb girl, I would think Sophie had a crush on her. But I could tell the difference between a big girl crush and a little girl crush. Sophie had wanted a friend like this for so long. “…anyway, I’m so excited to meet her. I had a dream about her the other night, where we played hide and seek. She’s super easy to find.” “What’s her name?” I thought to ask. “Kimmy.” “Well I’m sure she’s adorable.” I packed her some spare diapers in the top of the suitcase and led Sophie to the car, crinkling with every step. It was a long drive to the convention. Thirty six years before this particular convention, two girls were born. Summer of 1982. Their mother had been pumped full of drugs for months. These two children were to be the saviors of America. Two weeks later, the facility was ablaze. Foreign chemicals filled the air. The smell of burning flesh. No one knew the source of the fire. No one knew how eighty-two people had died that day, but two young infants survived. But I knew. I’d done my research. “I planned it all out in my head,” Sophie told me as I curled her hair in our hotel room. The drive had been long and her diaper needed changing. But Sophie wanted to look her best for her friend Kimmy. “I’m gonna run up and hug her super tight and we might fall down, but whatever.” “That sounds like a wonderful plan. Are you talking to her now?” Sophie looked up from her phone. “Yeah. She’s downstairs.” “Nervous?” I asked. She nodded shyly. I kissed her on the forehead. “Don’t be nervous. You’re beautiful.” “But what if she doesn’t like me?” She pouted. Aww… “Well, there are plenty of other Littles in the sea.” “Yeah, but… she’s special…” I didn’t know how right Sophie was. December 1982. A man spoke on the phone as he held an infant girl in his arms. “You found her a place to live?” … “Adoptive parents are better than no parents at all.” … “I’m taking this one as far away as I can. If they ever meet again—” … “I know. Good luck.” The man hung up the phone and held the baby up to his face. “Such a small child, causing so many problems…” He set her down in the small capsule and closed the door. Cold air leaked into the chamber. The baby cried, but soon she would be quiet and still. They thought nine years could keep them apart. “I’ll be back for you when the war is over.” I thought when Sophie met Kimmy, she would hug her. That was the plan, wasn’t it? But she didn’t. She stood there, bewildered. Her eyes were wide. She stared at Kimmy and Kimmy stared back. “Um… anyway,” I said, trying to break the silence. “Aren’t you excited to meet your friend?” Kimmy’s partner asked her charge, playing with the tips of her hair. Kimmy didn’t say anything. Her partner and I exchanged weary glances. “Littles, am I right?” I asked. “Yeah, absolutely.” I stepped in front of Sophie and put my hands on her shoulders. “You okay, bunny?” I whispered. She blinked. She nodded. She blushed. This time, Sophie put out her hand to take Kimmy’s. Kimmy took it. Neither of them had spoken, but they seemed so… at ease. Calm. Then, the storm. Crying babies. Lots of them. All over the room, the Littles had taken to kicking and screaming and begging for their caregivers. But the ratio of Bigs to Littles swayed in their favor. There was so much noise… I took Sophie’s free hand to lead her away. The moment my skin touched hers, I felt fuzzy. The room grew around me. I teetered side to side, forgetting how to stay balanced, and fell flat on my bottom. The shock brought tears to my eyes and I started to wail. I juss wanted someone to help me up… I juss wanted someone to take care of me… I felt the wetness spread across my crotch, through my panties, soaking my pretty blue jeans. I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want to help it! It wasn’t my responsibility! I wanted my diapers… I sat up so fast I almost pulled out the IV. My head was spinning. Kimmy’s partner - Kachan - was hovering over my bedside in a hospital gown. “What… just…” “You’ve been out of it for a while,” she said forlornly. Like something was wrong. What was wrong? And where was Sophie? “Where am I? What happened?” “I don’t know… the hospital? It’s been almost a day, since…” A blush came over her cheeks. “Since…” I remembered touching Sophie. I remembered the feelings overwhelming me. I remembered feeling so small… so lonely… “Is that what they feel?” she asked me, under her breath. “Where are they?” Kachan nodded toward the television. The news. And there on the screen was my Sophie. She held Kimmy’s hand, talking, smiling, so happy… but the camera caught the clip from a distance. All around them, the city had fallen apart. Buildings levitated in the air. The street was torn open. Grown men and women sat in the grass, sucking their thumbs or crying with huge wet spots on their pants. I… I didn’t understand… “Look how happy they are,” Kachan smiled. Then, her smile faded and she looked me right in the eye. “But Littles can’t have fun forever. Let’s go get them.” I nodded. “Let’s.” The news crews filled the streets. A visible bubble of debris and crying adults filled the air. The police put up barricades, but they couldn’t keep out all the pedestrians. Some pushed their way through, into the bubble, and some hesitated outside it. No one took more than two steps before succumbing to the little feelings and wetting themselves on the spot. Once inside, no one made it out of the bubble. “Let us through,” Kachan said with authority. An officer stood in our way. “Ma’am you can’t go in there. Look at them!” He pointed at the growing crowd of infantile adults playing with their shoes just inside the bubble. “It happens to everyone.” I looked up at Kachan with concern, but she stood so confidently. She had to be there for Kimmy. I had to be there for Sophie. I looked up at the floating buildings, high in the air, casting shadows over the audience. With a deep breath, I steeled myself. Together, with our hands in one another’s, Kachan and I stepped into the bubble. Immediately, the feelings trickled over us, like water on the surface our skin. Warm. Comforting. Begging to draw us in. I had felt this before. The security and calm that came with littleness. The protection. The safety. But I knew the other side of the coin, something I didn’t understand until I last touched Sophie. There was no safety without someone there, holding your hand. Without Kimmy’s hand in Sophie’s, she was a scared, lonely little girl. Without mine in Kachan’s, I was no different. Hand in hand, we walked up to our little girls. They seemed almost entranced with one another. Their mouths moved, but no words came out. They smiled. They laughed. It was like they didn’t see us at all. Like the world around them had vanished. I looked at Kachan. We both nodded. “SOPHIE MADISON!” “KIMBERLY DANIELLE!” The girls’ nearly jumped out of their skin and their hands slipped apart. The buildings overhead started to sag and crash down to the streets below. The adults in soaked clothes stood up with confusion and shame. But nothing compared to the shock and embarrassment on our little girls’ faces. I let go of Kachan and took Sophie’s hand. Kachan took Kimmy’s. “You have been very bad girls,” we each said to our charges, “and it’s time to go home.” Sophie and Kimmy looked at each other with fear and panic. “But!” “No!” “Please!” “We just wanna play!” “We’ll be good!” Puppy dog eyes. Kachan sighed. “I think you’ve had enough playing for one day…” “But maybe,” I smiled, “we can set up a play date for next week.” Sophie’s eyes lit up with joy and hugged me as tight as she could. This was the joy in being a caregiver: the honest happiness I could bring someone else. Someone I loved. [End]