Better Late Than Never

[Personalias]

 

 Magic exists.  It has always existed, and potentially will always exist; yet, it has never existed and never will exist in all likelihood.  To the uninitiated, this may seem paradoxical at best; however it is the absolute truth.

 

Humanity has always had a peculiar capability to create power where none exists.  Magic is nothing less (or more), than the human psyche making manifest and breaking down and reshaping the world as it sees fit, with little care for rhyme or reason or what the world wants.

 

Things like fire-breathing dragons, wish-granting genies, magic wands, or pacts with gods and demons are both smoke and mirrors, as well as absolute truth.  Mankind has long been aware of its own physical fragility, and thus when it came time for its true potential to be expressed, mythical beings and objects sprang up into being to act as conduits for these thoughts and impulses to be made manifest.  In our collective ability to play God, we made gods of our own, and gave them power.

 

That is why science and existential philosophy resulted in the widespread scarcity of magic, with both branches’ insistence on explaining and measuring everything; and if something was unmeasurable, it then could not exist.  As more and more people accepted that as fact, just as generations ago their ancestors had accepted magic as fact, it too manifested as fact.

 

Unlike certain existential philosophers, however, I would argue that just because we made our gods, doesn’t make them any less powerful.  They have power.   Collectively, we are a race of hyper intelligent bumblebees.  We should not be able to fly.

And yet….

 

-          An excerpt from “Do You Believe in Magic?” By Cornelius Crowley.

 

 

1.

Susan

 

It was a typical Tuesday afternoon at Ma’s Diner and Pie Shop.  The lunch rush had just ended. The yuppies on their lunch breaks had gone back to work and the travelers looking to get some “authentic southern cuisine” had all paid their tabs, gassed their cars back up, and hit the road for Disney World.  Now, all that remained in the sleepy little eatery were the retired folks who had nothing better to do than eat greasy burgers on a hoagie roll and poke at collard greens; in other words: the regulars.

 

 Susan was no regular, but she’d arguably spent more time in the little restaurant than most of the old timers combined.  Growing up there had all but guaranteed it; Susan had been washing dishes since she was five, busing tables since she was seven, and cooking since she was nine.  It’s just what happened when you were “Ma’s” daughter.  Growing up, when Susan wasn’t at home or at school, chances are, she was working in the family restaurant.

 

 The diner had been her Grandmother’s first, and had been passed down to her mother, and as Susan had been raised to believe, would one day be hers in all its greasy spoon glory.  There was the rub though: Susan didn’t want to be the next “Ma” and continue the family tradition.  Renaming the place “Susan’s” wouldn’t have helped either; Susan wanted out.  As long as she was studying at college, she was free; her mother had been okay with her going to school to “discover herself”, and to study for a “fallback career” in the event of a worse case scenario.  The problem was, Susan had only a matter of weeks before graduation with a degree in accounting, and as far as she was concerned, she was done baking chocolate pecan pies and grilling up “Today’s Specials”.  Now how was she going to tell her mom?

 

  As her mother sat across from her, still wearing an apron while munching on the last slice of Key Lime Pie- she always saved the last slice of pie for herself, which is why she never quite lost the baby weight even though Susan herself was very much blessed with a track runner’s physique- Susan had no idea how to broach the subject. Poking with a fork at the remains of her Rueben with one hand, Susan adjusted her thick, black rimmed glasses, almost identical to her mother. They never talked while they ate.  It was an unspoken rule that had long ago become an unbreakable law, like gravity.  Good.  It gave Susan more time to think about how to broach the subject.  Unfortunately, her mother wouldn’t give her the luxury of time.

 

 As she swallowed the last bit of crust, Susan’s mom wiped her mouth and then asked, “So, how long after you graduate before you come back to work?”  Just like that, the ball had been put into Susan’s court.  It wasn’t accusatory.  There was no hint of a veiled, cynical retort prepared; no expectation of rebuttal.  It was an innocent question.  This had been the plan all along, hadn’t it?

 

 The young woman swallowed hard, and reached for a glass of water, if only to stall.  From over her glass, Susan stared at her mother- both of their hair the exact shade of so brown so dark it might be mistaken for black; only Susan’s was cropped short and her Mom’s was going gray in places- and saw both a woman she loved and a future she hoped to avoid.  “Mom,” Susan gulped, “I might be a while.”

 

 “How long is a while?” Mom arched an eyebrow.  “Going for your Masters?”

Susan shook her head, eyes closed.  “I…” she paused, “I don’t want to come back to work.”

 

Her mother’s expression shifted instantly.   Now she was sitting up a little straighter, her typically soft smile was now a horizontal line across her face.  “Oh?” she asked.  “Then what do you want to do?  Accounting?”

 

“I don’t know,” the almost college graduate balked.  Accounting had been really just another way to get her mother off her back.  Accounting meant that Susan could do the books AND make eggs benedict for the blue hairs ordering from the breakfast menu at 4 pm; this made her mother more patient.  “I just know that this isn’t for me.”  She gestured around the restaurant, as the few remaining customers ate their meals in relative luxury, while the few non-family employees bussed tables.

 

“But you’re good at it,” Mom answered.  There was a mixed tone of nagging encouragement in her voice, now.  Her mother was clearly winding up for a sale’s pitch of a sort.

 

Susan was having none of it.  She wasn’t about to get guilted or cajoled or flattered into a life that wasn’t for her; college had taught her that much.  “Just because I’m good at it doesn’t mean I like it.” There was a pause.  Mom said nothing, but the flicker in her eyes said it all.  There was storm brewing behind those eyes.  They were about to have a fight.  Fuck it.  Might as well go for the throat.  “I hate it.  I don’t want to be the next ‘Ma’ or whatever.”

 

‘Ma’ just cocked her head to the side, as if she were a particularly confused puppy dog.  

“Okay.”

 

“Okay?”

 

“Take a year off,” her mother said.  “I’ll do fine without you for another year.  Then when you’ve gotten this whole ‘finding yourself’ thing out of your system, we’ll talk more.”  She moved to get up. Susan reached across the table to get her mother to sit.  “Honey,” Mom’s voice sounded both hurt and bemused.  “I’m not mad.” That was a lie.  “If you need more time, you need more time.  Believe it or not, I was young once, too.”

 

 How patronizing could one woman be?  A growl rose up in Susan’s throat.  “Mom,” she said, “this isn’t some phase that I’m going to grow out of.  When I mean something, I mean it.”

 

A condescending smirk was her mother’s initial reply.  Followed by, “You mean like how you meant you were going to be a rodeo star?”  Susan’s face flushed at the implied accusation, like her decision to not take over the family business was akin to the fantasy career of a nine-year-old.  Susan, however, wasn’t caught completely off guard by this tactic, and had readied a counter of her own.

 

“More like how I stopped liking dresses, and ribbons, and tea parties and all that girly shit when I was four.  Was that a phase?”  It was true.  By the time she had entered kindergarten, Susan couldn’t stand anything that she found overly feminine.  A tomboy through and through, she hated skirts, dresses, heels, and so on.  Pink anything might as well have been the skull and crossbones for her.  The “My Size Barbie” Susan’s mother had gotten her for Christmas was redressed in jeans and a t-shirt, it’s frilly play gown ripped to shreds by a pair of fabric scissors.  Her stuffed animals and dolls were all executed by age six.  Her mother had assured her that she’d start to like dresses and girly things again when she got older and got interested in boys.

 

Nope, not the case.  Turns out plenty of boys liked a gal who could keep up with them; though there were more than a few who were somehow threatened when she was able to also kick their ass at video games. By contrast, Susan couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her mother wear so much as a pair of jeans, or gone without makeup.

“Susan,” her Mom sighed, “You’re my daughter, and I love you, but have you really thought this through?”

 

Susan balked.  “Of course I have, Mom,” she said. “I know what I want, and it’s not this.”

 

“Knowing what you don’t want isn’t the same thing as knowing what you want and how to get it, little girl. You don’t even have a backup plan for your backup if you’re not going to become an accountant.”

 

Something snapped in Susan at being referred to as “little girl.”  But instead of getting loud, Susan went the opposite direction, almost whispering so that her mother had to lean in to properly hear her over the sound of sizzling grills and forks scraping plates.  “Mom, I’m grown-up now, I think I can take care of myself.”

 

Upon seeing how much Susan was bothered, her mother leaned back and favored her with a condescending smirk.  “Real grown-ups refer to themselves as adults, Susie.  And right now you’re just proof that it’s possible to grow older, but not grow-up.”  She leaned back and crossed her arms.

 

Susan hated being called “Susie.”  She hadn’t answered to that diminutive nickname since pre-school.  “Well, Janet,” Susan copied her mother’s intonation, the gloves were about to come off, “You’re proof that it’s possible to grow older, but not wiser, and-“  

 

Susan’s retort was cut off by a low groaning across the floor, like a bass version of nails scraping on a chalkboard.  The younger of the two women whipped her head around to see the source of the strange noise.  Then, she did a double take and looked at her mother to see if she had noticed.  Mom hadn’t.  How could she not though?  Right in front of her eyes, a piece of furniture was scooting itself across the floor towards them.

It was a thick wooden highchair, and not the backless-barstool-meets-baby-swing type that so many restaurants had.  This was a proper highchair, wooden and sturdy, with a feeding tray that clicked into place, trapping its intended occupant, and a footrest a few feet above the floor so that tiny feet weren’t left dangling. Mom kept three or four of these highchairs in the back of the diner for when the inevitable toddler was brought along; she thought it looked more “homey” than the mass-produced booster stools that other restaurants used.  This particular highchair had the word “Baby” stenciled on the back, flanked by pink and blue hand prints.  The chair itself was older than Susan; she’d seen baby pictures of her mom in that chair.

 

And now it was moving across the floor, scraping and scooting, and no one seemed to be paying it any mind.

 

“What the hell is that?”  Susan pointed to the furniture moving of its own accord.

 

Her mother frowned and scolded her.  “Susie. Language.”

 

“No, seriously,” Susan pressed. “What is that highchair doing dragging itself across the floor?”  Susan’s mother looked at the highchair; watching it as it squeaked and groaned across the hardwood floor.  Had it been an animal, Mom would have been looking it dead in the eyes.

 

“Oh Susie,” Mom chuckled.  “You’ve got such an imagination.”

Susan’s anger was rapidly transforming into worry. “If this is a prank, it’s not funny.” Tossing her napkin onto the table, she pushed her chair back and stood up; but when she caught a glimpse at her lap, she practically collapsed back into her seat.  Her comfortable, worn in, blue jeans were now as white as the napkin that had been in her lap.  And just like the highchair, they were becoming animate.  A half-gasp, half-scream jumped out of Susan’s mouth as the legs of her pants started shimmying themselves up her legs, bunching up, threatening to go up past her knees.   “Mom!” she squeaked out, while trying in vain to tug her rebellious pant legs back down to her ankles. A quick glance at her feet showed the holes in her Crocs were sealing themselves, and socks that hadn’t been there a moment ago were snaking up her legs to cover the skin that her pants were now abandoning.

 

“What’s wrong, baby?” A look of mild concern now adorned her mother’s face.   

Susan got up from her chair, the pounding of her heart drowning out the crinkling rustle coming from between her legs as she stood.  “My clothes!” Susan gestured to the ongoing transformation of her wardrobe happening right before everyone’s eyes.  Her black Brad Paisley T-shirt that she had gotten at a concert was now bleeding pink, the image of the country singer being erased with it.  A white haired old man- a regular- looked up from his potato salad and gave a quiet, knowing chuckle.

 

“Young’uns”, Susan heard him say.

 

Her mother, with almost practiced slowness, and more than a little oblivious asked, “What about your clothes, dear?”

 

The girl’s new socks had stopped at her knees and were in the process of developing little frills at the ends.  Her shirt, now completely pink, was starting to puff up at the sleeves.  Meanwhile, Susan was fighting off a panic attack, trying futilely to stop her pants from abandoning more of her thighs.   “THEY’RE CHANGING!”

 

With a final prolonged moan of wood scraping against wood, the highchair came to a stop at their table.  Why did it seem so much bigger than Susan remembered it?  Unconcerned, and clearly mishearing her own daughter, Mom got up and asked, “Do you need to be changed hon? Is that it? Let Mommy check.”

 

Her mother walked nonchalantly around the highchair.  It was only through pure adrenaline and honed reflexes that Susan managed see her mother’s hand dart for her crotch and jump back before she could be groped.  “Mom, what the fuck?!”

 

This elicited the kind of gasp that echoed and repeated itself from everyone in earshot.  A waitress stopped jotting down an order for a couple of policemen who had just sat down. “I don’t know where she heard that word,” Mom said, a blush rising to her face.  The comment was directed to the other people in earshot, not to Susan.  “Must be daycare.”

 

“Mine says worse,” one of the cops called back, giving ‘Ma’ a respectful nod before going back to his order.  A laugh rippled throughout the restaurant.

 

Scared, confused, and feeling out of options, Susan lifted up her shirt- its hem was lengthening a bit and flaring to boot- and went to unbutton her jeans.  Her fingers slipped and slid uselessly just below her bellybutton, her fingers not so much as even touching the little brass button to unhook her pants.  There was no button.

 

Trying to kick off her shoes- a difficult thing now that they were pink sneakers, laced tight and kept closed by Velcro straps- Susan stumbled and fell into the waiting arms of a particularly adult sized highchair. Like a magnet, the chair seemed to draw her towards it, pinning her upright.

 

Just before the tray was slid in and snapped shut, isolating her top half from her bottom half, Susan realized her mistake:  As the last of her pant legs bunched up, her backside and crotch now bulging and spreading her legs apart, Susan caught sight of a tab on each side of her waist, allowing her pants…no, her underwear…no, her diaper to wrap around her.  The cutesy butterfly patterns along the waist and down her crotch were the last thing that Susan got to see before she was trapped in the highchair.

“You’re cranky,” Mom said, before violating every precept of personal space, and sticking her fingers into the leg gathers of Susan’s newly manifested diaper “but not wet. I don’t know what’s gotten into you Susie, but let’s finish our lunch.  Then it’ll be time for a nice nap.”

 

Somewhere very far away, a being older than Earth itself-a god in some cultures- smiled dreamily at the little blue and green marble off in the distance.

 

  2.

Dakota

 

The music had stopped.  People had stopped eating and put down their pieces of cake.  Conversations had stopped. Brendan was down on one knee, looking up at her; a little black box in his outstretched hand.  Everyone in the room was looking at them. “Dakota, I met you last year, a few days after my twenty-first birthday.  I didn’t think it could have gotten any better being twenty-one, and then you came into my life.  Now, will you give me the greatest present that I could ever dream of?   Dakota Stevens, will you marry me?”  Dakota’s boyfriend opened the little box to reveal a diamond ring that was…underwhelming.

 

Damnit.  So that’s what the cooler’s full of champagne that Dakota had caught a glimpse of in the kitchen were for.  Dakota looked around the room: all of Brendan’s friends and relatives all smiling, hopeful faces, his mother was already tearing up a bit.  And in that silent, beautiful moment, Dakota laughed.

 

It wasn’t the blushing, flattered, nervous laughter of a girl overcome with emotion.  It was a grating, tittering laughter; an incredulous laughter at being given a low-ball offer; a genuine mean-girl laugh.  “You’re sweet,” she sighed, turning around on her heel, “but no.”

 

Every syllable of her rejection bounced through the high roofed country club house, through the halls, up the stairs.  Not a soul moved.  No one did anything.  Anything at all.  Faces were practically turning blue from people holding their breath.

Brendan got up, choosing wisely to maintain at least a scrap of dignity by being on his feet. “But… why?”

 

Dakota walked to the nearby guestroom, where they’d fooled around on more than one occasion while his parents slept and gave Brendan a glance over her shoulder. “We need to talk,” she said, “in private.”   Like a good little puppy, Brendan followed behind her.

 

She was sitting on edge of the bed, one perfect leg crossed over the other, while Brendan came in and closed the door behind him.  “What the…?” he tried to ask, only to be silenced by her upraised finger. For a moment there was only more silence; only the hum of the air conditioning coming in through the vents could be heard. When the nervous chatter restarted, followed by more party music, she nodded and allowed him to speak. “What the heck?!” he demanded, sounding both angry and heartbroken.  “Everybody I know is out there!  My mom and dad were watching! I’ve been planning this for weeks!”  His voice was soft, but accusing; his gestures quick and wild, but impotent.

 

The hot blonde pulled the hem of her tight, apple red dress down to just above her crossed knees. “It’s not you, it’s me,” Dakota said briskly and immediately regretted it.  She hadn’t meant to have THAT talk with him…not yet…especially not with at his own birthday party.  She’d have to leave then and wouldn’t have anything to do for the rest of the day.

 

Brendan, for his part, looked absolutely devastated.  He looked like he might actually cry, poor thing.  “You’re breaking up with me?”

 

His (for now) girlfriend made a show of lowering her jaw to the floor in surprise and then stood up.  “What? Honey, baby, pookie, nooooo.  I didn’t mean it to come out that way.”  She stood up and clicked the few steps and took him into a hug, making sure to squeeze him tightly and rub his back.  He liked that, she knew.  The rubbing motion soothed him, and he was easily distracted by the feeling of her boobs against his chest.  

 

“That came out wrong,” she whispered. “I love you.”

 

The hug was quickly broken, with Brendan trying to look her in the eyes.  (Damn it!)  His anger had lessened visibly, but only hurt (rather than horniness) was filling the void.  “I love you too,” he said. “But I thought you wanted to get married.”

 

“Someday,” Dakota replied, “but not anytime soon.”

 

Now Brendan was offended. “Why not?”

 

“I want to live a little more before I settle down and do the whole domestic goddess thing.  I wanna be a party girl.”  This was true enough, for Dakota’s purposes.  Deep down, she knew that when she met Mister (or hell, even Miss) Right, she’d know and throw herself at them with complete abandon.  Brendan wasn’t Mister Right, though; just Mister Right Now.  (Right now was still pretty good, however. No reason to spoil it.)

 

“I’m not good enough for you,” Brendan choked back a sob.  “Is that it?”

 

Again, Dakota hugged him and rubbed his back, and began to whisper sweet lies into his ear. “No.” (Yes.)  “You’re fine.”  He was the son of the some very well-to-do people in town.  One of the richest families in the county, actually.  That was the thing though; they were rich…in town.  Brendan and his family were big fish in a tiny little pond.  Could Brendan afford to have her as a stay at home wife on his trust fund money?  Likely, as long as he finished Med School and worked his ass off. What about the twice yearly vacations to exotic beaches?  Probably.  For a year or two more at least.  But then they’d have to stop, and she’d be stuck…here….in this little podunk town.

 

It wasn’t even Miami.  Even Orlando seemed glorious by comparison.  Life was an adventure, and Dakota so badly wanted to go on it.  Was she mooching from and using Brendan and by extension, his family?  Objectively?  Yes. Did she feel guilty about this? No.  Even Christopher Columbus needed patronage from Queen Isabella, and it wasn’t like Brendan hadn’t gotten something he’d been wanting (and lost something he’d wanted to lose) in the process.

 

Dakota wasn’t ready to move her relationship time table up though, and a sulking, heart broken birthday boy wouldn’t do at all.  Time for a change of tactics.  “Do you have any idea how much planning a wedding takes? Or how much of that is the bride’s responsibility?  You’d get a bachelor party.”

 

“You’d get a bachelorette party,” Brendan countered, again pulling away, albeit this time a bit less forcefully.

 

“And plan a bridal shower, and book a florist, and a photographer, and plan decorations, and manage the arch rental, and catering, and seating arrangements, and invitations and save the dates and all the thank you cards and cake.” She hammered home each “and” with an index finger poking him in the chest.  “Could you even manage to plan your own birthday party?”

 

Stricken dumb, Brendan just shook his head.  Dakota favored him with a kiss on the cheek before pressing her tits against his chest again.  His breathing had become heavier, less panicked, and he was all but panting in her ear, a sure sign that he was turned on.  Even Dakota was more than a little aroused.  Her nipples were so hard it felt like the padding of her bra did nothing at all to conceal them.  She might as well not be wearing a bra at all.  “Why don’t we have a little party in here before we go back out?” she hissed seductively in his ear.   The boy’s erection was evident against her thigh, but there was something off about it, like there was something in the way of it, (likely his own bruised ego making it harder to get it up).  For good measure Dakota gave his butt a playful squeeze, and drew back her hand in shock as she grabbed a lot more than she had expected.  (What kind of underwear was that?  There was something oddly cushioned about the feel.  Had he gained weight or something?)

 

New sounds from outside the little guest room caused her ears to prick up and birthed new questions to get in the way of her train of thought.

 

From outside, the words “You put your left foot in, you put your left foot out, you put your left foot in and you shake-it-all-about,” wafted in.

 

“Are they playing the Hokey Pokey?” Dakota wondered aloud.

 

Brendan nodded.  “Uh-huh,” he said, “it’s my favoritest song in the whole world.”  He looked back over his shoulder, almost longingly towards the door, as if he were afraid he was missing something.  Favorite song?  What was up with that?  Dakota could have sworn Brendan’s favorite song was “Closing Time”.  She had tuned out a lot of his talking over the last year, but that song and how it’s actually about being born was one of his regular bits of trivia he always peppered in.  Brendan broke off the hug, and moved for the door.  

 

The fuck?

 

“Wait.” Dakota called out, sounding more desperate than she had meant to, (she was not about to be beaten by a stupid baby song).  “Why don’t we do our own little Hokey Pokey?”  A perverted little smile crossed Brendan’s face as he turned back around.

“Okay.  What do you wanna do first?” he asked, excitement practically leaking out of him.

 

She nuzzled his forehead.  “For starters,” Dakota told him, kicking off her heels, “take off your pants.”

 

“But that’s not...” Brendan started to say, sounding confused. (Seriously?)

 

A finger to his lips silenced him, instantly.  “It’s a special kind of Hokey Pokey, baby.”  A beat.  “Get it?”

 

“Uh-huh,” Brendan nodded.  For some reason Dakota doubted that.  There was no liquor on his breath, but Dakota suspected that Brendan had had a few before his failed attempt to entrap her.  The liquid courage was just now kicking in, it seemed.

 

“Take off your pants,” Dakota repeated, going down to her knees.

 

“I…I don’t know how...”

 

The little gold digger was not about to ruin her momentum and lose her temper at the dunce.  If she could screw him at his own birthday party, while the Hokey Pokey (counted among sexual arousal’s most powerful adversaries) was playing in the background, she could do anything.  Even if she had to settle for sucking him off, she’d just remember it for later and make him pay her back double.

 

She slipped her fingers into the waistband (the surprisingly flexible waistband; lots of elastic) of his khakis and yanked them down to the floor.  Her crystal blue eyes looked up from the puddle of fabric around his ankles and up to his boxers, only to bug out at what he was actually wearing.

 

Dakota stood up and jumped back in one fluid motion.  “Is…is that a diaper?!”  She spat the last word out as if it were a kind of slur.  Brendan looked down at the bulky plastic garment wrapped around his loins.

 

“Uh-huh,” was all he replied, before popping his thumb into his mouth.  It wasn’t even an adult diaper, it had decorations of clouds and balloons on it.  For all intents and purposes it was something you’d expect to see on a two year old, not a twenty-two year old.  “Whyyyyyy?” he asked; his tone a combination of playful and nonchalant as if Dakota had asked him if the sky was blue or if water was wet, (speaking of wet, was the damn thing sagging a little bit?).

 

The young woman, once feeling in control even when surrounded by strangers expecting a “Yes” from a hackneyed marriage proposal, was completely out of her element.  Is this why he proposed to her at his birthday?  Was he some kind of gross fetishist and this was his way of telling her?  Too many things made the worst kind of sense in this moment, Brendan’s obsession with “Closing Time” among them.

 

“Fo now wha?” the freak mumbled around his thumb, shuffling towards her with his pants around his ankles, the diaper, (definitely sagging and wet) swaying between his thighs.

“Get away from me!” Dakota shrieked, backing up as she pushed him.  In near perfect symmetry, the two fell back in opposite directions:  He fell to the floor, a squishy thump as his padded backside hit the carpet.  She fell to the bed, her knees buckling upon contact; the momentum carrying her to her back.  As if on reflex, her legs went ceiling ward, causing the front of her dress to fall up past her hips.

 

There was a moment of stunned silence from each of them.  Then they both screamed; his, the wail of a toddler who’d just fallen; hers, the shouts of someone who was losing their mind.  Dakota was wearing a diaper, same as his.

 

Confused and panicking, she scrambled to her knees and looked down at her waist; not even having to lift the hem of her dress to see the bulky white thing poking out from underneath.  Balloons and stars, flowers and clouds, all childishly drawn, mocked her from below her belly button.  It crinkled like a million sanitary pads…and it was getting warmer.

 

“I’m peeing!” she screeched, clawing uselessly at her crotch; trying to hold it in, instead of going for the tapes of her diaper. (What? Her diaper?  Don’t be ridiculous.  Urine marked or not, it was not HER diaper.)  Preoccupied with staunching the flow of urine she was involuntarily releasing into what used to be her panties, Dakota failed to notice that her dress was shrinking, or that the two dainty “hanger helpers” sewed into the back of the dress were snaking their way up to her head.  By the time the stream inside her disposable underwear had ended, her dress was just a T-shirt.

 

When a picture of Dora the Explorer manifested on the only thing covering her chest, Dakota clutched her head, as if she could squeeze the insanity out of her own skull.  Her hands clasped upon two pig-tails.  With Brendan still crying, and her own wet diaper hampering her movement and causing no end of distraction, Dakota stood up on the mattress and looked to the floor for her shoes.  They were gone.  Just vanished, while her boyfriend blubbered on the floor with his pants around his ankles and his diaper swelling.  (Where were his shoes, too, come to think of it?)

 

The door opened and Dakota froze in place, feeling, (and looking) like a complete idiot.  A middle aged woman stepped in, her face a mixture of curiosity and worry.

“Mommy!”  Brendan yelled.  All tears stopped as if turning off a switch.

 

“Mrs. Jay!”  Dakota began.  “I can explain!” (Not in a million years at this rate.)

 

Brendan’s mother surveyed the room and then looked down at her son, still in a very compromising position. “Are you two playing in here?”

 

Brendan nodded, enthusiastically. “Uh-huh,” he agreed.  “We’re doin’ the Hokey Pokey!”

 

“You are?” Mrs. Jay asked, without really asking; the same way a person might ask a small child, (or a mental midget).  “We were just doing that outside.”  His mother helped Brendan up.  “But why are your pants down, little monkey?”

 

Dakota’s (apparently now baby) boyfriend pointed at her and said, “It was Dakota’s idea.  We was doing a special Hokey Pokey.”  Dakota’s cheeks now matched the color of her T-shirt perfectly.  She clapped her hands to her face, trying desperately to hide her humiliation. “I hadda take my pants off.  Dakota helped. It was the rules.”  Brendan spoke with zero shame and absolute seriousness.

 

His mother, who was busy yanking up Brendan’s pants for him, cast a wry smile and knowing look at Dakota. “Did she, now?”  Dakota wasn’t sure if that was some form of approval, scorn, neither, or both.  If she hadn’t just emptied her bladder seconds before, she might have likely peed a little in fright.  “Well how about we all go play with all of your little friends, instead of hiding in our guest room?”

 

“Okay!” Brendan agreed.  He ran out the door, leaving Dakota standing on the bed in a wet diaper, quivering in fear of his mother.

 

“Dakota,” Mrs. Jay said with only a hint of sternness in her voice.  “Get off the bed, you naughty girl.”  Without thinking, Dakota obeyed.  The crinkling of the diaper and the distinct waddle in her gait making every tiny step more embarrassing and more complicated than it had any right to be.

 

The older woman, a blonde herself (but not a natural blonde, obviously), reached for Dakota’s hand as she stepped back onto the carpet, helping her down.  “You forgot this,” Mrs. Jay dug into her pocket, producing a ring pop.  The red candy on the end of the plastic ring was infinitely bigger than the little rock Brendan had offered her.  “It’s not nice to refuse party favors.”

 

“I’m…sorry?” Dakota choked out, feeling dizzy and confused as her boyfriend’s Mommy slipped the candy ring around her finger.  

 

“I know you are.  Come along, Dakota.  Let’s go play.”

 

Somewhere very far away, a being older than Earth itself- a god in some cultures- smiled dreamily at the little blue and green marble off in the distance.

 

3.

Kelsey

 

Kelsey sat in the courtyard by the old “wishing fountain”- its collection of pennies, nickels, dimes, and quarters glimmering in the midday sun- studying.   “When tweetle beetles fight, it’s called a tweetle beetle battle.  And when they battle in a puddle, it’s a tweetle beetle puddle battle. And when the tweetle beetles battle with paddles in a puddle, they call it a tweetle beetle puddle paddle battle. And when beetles battle beetles in a puddle battle paddle…” she stopped.  “Wait,” Kelsey frowned.  “That’s not right…when the tweetle beetle battle in a puddle with the paddles…? When beetles paddle battle bee….”  She groaned before finally giving up and checking her copy of Fox In Sox.

 

Her eyes danced over the tongue twister script for what must have been the two dozenth time that afternoon alone.  A deep breath later, both Kelsey’s eyes and book were closed.  “And when the tweetle beetles battle with paddles in a puddle, they call it a tweetle beetle puddle paddle battle.”  Her eyes opened, and she smiled with satisfaction.  “Nailed it,” she whispered to herself.

 

Content for the moment, Kelsey put the Dr. Seuss book back down on the cobblestones, and picked up her bottle of bubbles.  With the practiced ease of a lifetime of repetition, Kelsey unscrewed the white lid and reached in and pulled out the soaking, sudsy wet bubble wand.  Her lips pursed together and blew, sending dozens of tiny bubbles sailing up into the air.

 

The frizzy haired college senior watched, almost mesmerized as the little suds were carried by the wind to their inevitable doom.  Two bumped into each other and formed a single, larger bubble.  Two more collided and instead of making a bigger bubble, merged into a two-headed conjoined bubble.

 

Dipping the wand into the solution once more, Kelsey blew again, this time slowly.  As intended, a single large bubble formed and just barely broke off from the wand, becoming a proper sphere about the size of a baseball for the few seconds it was in existence.  Bubble blowing was like a sort of meditation for Kelsey, if not an outright addiction.  It calmed her; it rewarded her; it made her feel accomplished.  The juvenile activity had gotten her through many a study session.

 

“Just memorize three more facts about dissociative identity disorder, and you can blow some bubbles,” she’d promise herself.  “Just remember the differences between Freud’s child development theories versus Piaget’s and you can blow some bubbles.”  It was surprisingly effective for her, and Kelsey had attained enough balance in herself to not overindulge or push herself too hard.

 

Kelsey had her eyes set on becoming a clinical psychologist, and was only a few precious weeks away from earning her bachelor’s degree in psychology.  Not that a bachelor’s degree was the endgame, but it was another rung on the ladder to climb for her eventual PhD.  It was, however, still worth taking time to bask in her accomplishment.

 

The kid’s book that she was committing to memory was decidedly not for her degree.  This semester, she had elected to take an intro into drama and performing arts course, mostly for grins.  And why not? Kelsey had already taken most every other psychology class available to her.  It was time to let her hair down and get some more “Gen-Ed” stuff, and become more “well rounded.”

 

It was an acting course geared for non-acting majors, with the on paper goal of enticing non-acting majors to change their field of study.  In practice, it was a course for a T.A. to teach so that they could get their Master’s Degree.

 

This semester had been mostly different hokey acting exercises, a required viewing of the campus’s production of Fiddler on the Roof, and selected monologue readings.  For her final though, Kelsey was required to read, memorize, and recite (with appropriate dramatic inflections) a poem of her choice.  A coin flip into the fountain determined that Kelsey would be memorizing the entirety of Fox in Socks instead of a passage from Where the Sidewalk Ends.

 

That was fine by Kelsey.  She liked Silverstein well enough, and he had a kind of fanciful whimsy about his work, but he was the Lope de Vega to Seuss’s William Shakespeare.  Lope de Vega had written some pretty interesting stuff and was a contemporary of Shakespeare, but before this semester Kelsey wouldn’t have had any idea who he was; and that was kind of the point.

 

Her classmates might know Shel Silverstein; they’d definitely know Dr. Seuss.  Also, how could she pass up the chance to recite arguably the world’s longest tongue twister? By this time tomorrow, she’d have all fifty-seven stanzas memorized. Boom! Winner: Kelsey.  The only difficult choice left to her was whether or not she’d speak in funny voices to differentiate Fox from Knox.  Decisions, decisions.

 

Kelsey had had a hard time growing up.  That is not to say that her life had been particularly difficult; both of her parents loved her very much and provided for her anything she needed.  It was more like she had a difficult time growing out of the different phases and interests of her peers.

 

The comedy, as well as the technical artistry, of shows like Sesame Street still kept her attention, and she still squee’d with joy every time a pop-culture reference was made or a celebrity made a cameo with the puppets.  The bed in her dorm room was covered with so many stuffed animals she didn’t need pillows.  To Kelsey, coloring was an art form in and of itself.  All of the dresses she wore for “going out” were frilly and cumbersome to the point of impracticality.  She didn’t own a single T-shirt that didn’t have a cartoon character on it non-ironically.

 

Even though she was in her twenties, Kelsey was regularly mistaken as much younger; high-school at best.  Her wardrobe didn’t help remedy that misconception.  Her petite build and small stature didn’t make things any easier; her parents had long joked that her hair was the biggest thing about her.   Carrying around her student I.D. and driver’s license had always been a necessity; one that was as second nature to her as the fluid ease of dipping a plastic wand into bubble solution and letting loose a flight of soapy globules.

 

The college senior just didn’t see the point in what her parents called “phases” or “growing out” of something.  Things like diapers and cribs were fine to cast off; independence was a good thing.  But how did liking cartoons and dolls and Silly Putty somehow make her less mature when her friends had moved beyond such things?  How did taking her Tinkerbell night light to school make her more infantile?

 

The short answer: it didn’t.  For Kelsey, acquiring new tastes and seeking out new experiences was no reason to get rid of other interests that were still perfectly stimulating.  Kelsey drank from both beer bottles and sippy cups.  Her Netflix history had Stranger Things and Curious George back to back.  She was studying psychology and memorizing Dr. Seuss.  Because why not?

 

Content with her most recent bout of bubble blowing, Kelsey stowed the wand back in the bottle, and screwed the cap back on tight.  She took a moment and examined her outfit: A dark purple shirt with Daisy Duck on it, obscured by the bib of her shortalls. This did nothing to make her look more “grown-up”, the garment made her A-cup breasts all but non-existent, but that wasn’t particularly a concern for Kelsey.  She was comfortable, she looked cute with plenty of leg to show off, and if she bent over, no one would have the slightest chance at taking a peek at her Days of the Week panties.

 

As she sat next to the so-called “Wishing Fountain”, other students milled about the courtyard, meeting up with each other, going to or from class, and generally just being oblivious to her presence.  A tiny girl lounging in kid’s clothes was hardly a spectacle on campus, and Kelsey had been seen doing it so often that she was practically part of the scenery herself.  Even the freshmen had lost that look of wonder and (perhaps) slight hint of judgement in their eyes at looking at her.  

 

If someone really wanted to people watch, the evangelical would-be preachers across the street from campus were enough entertainment, with their big signs and checklists for who was going to Hell for not living exactly like them in every way, shape and form.  If you weren’t entertained by their ranting, you could be pleasantly distracted by the hecklers who were inevitably drawn to them.  If you weren’t amused by the two heaping doses of negative energy just throwing gasoline on each other’s fire, both sides too stubborn to throw up their hands and go about their day, you were doing it wrong.

 

The college senior was about to pick up her copy of Fox In Socks and start hitting the books again, when a shadow blocked her sunlight.  Someone was looking over her.  Shielding her eyes, Kelsey looked up into the face of decidedly tall young woman. “Hey, whatcha readin’?”

 

Kelsey looked up and shrugged nonchalantly. “Fox In Socks,” she replied, before glancing back down at the smiling Seussian fox on the cover.  What she had expected was an “oh”, or a “okay”, and then the other girl would walk off, leaving Kelsey to her memorization.  Worst case scenario, Kelsey imagined she’d get a “why” and then she’d have to explain the acting class.

 

Instead she got: “Neato! I love that book! It’s the bestest!”

 

Kelsey looked back up at the stranger, pleasantly surprised.  “Really?”

 

“Yeah, it’s my favorite.” The new girl made a show of clearing her throat.  “And when tweetle beetles battle with paddles in a puddle, they call it a tweetle beetle puddle paddle battle.” Wow! This girl had memorized the passage already! Kelsey climbed to her feet, smiling the whole way up.  The sun out of her eyes, she got a good look at the newcomer.  A puffball of red hair poked out of an otherwise well groomed head of hair tied back into a ponytail.  Better yet, Kelsey saw that this newcomer was also wearing shortalls, the bib blocking out what had to be Minnie Mouse. The only other difference was this new girl wore khaki instead of denim.  Could this really be a kindred spirit?

 

“And when beetles battle beetles in a puddle paddle battle and the beetle battle puddle is a puddle in a bottle,” Kelsey continued the recitation, “they call this a tweetle beetle bottle puddle paddle battle muddle.”  The new girl slapped her knee and giggled so hard it seemed as though her freckles might fall off.

 

The new girl kept going, saying the lines through her own laughter.  “And when beetles…hee hee… fight these battles…heh… in a bottle with their paddles…hahahahaha..!”

 

Inspired and mentally on fire, Kelsey kept it going.  “And the bottle’s on a poodle, and the poodle’s eating noodles they call this a-“

 

“MUDDLE PUDDLE TWEETLE POODLE BEETLE NOODLE BOTTLE PADDLE BATTLE!” the two finished together before spontaneously collapsing, giggling in each other’s arms in a warm embrace.  How amazing this felt, to finally have someone else to talk to about this kind of stuff with.  It was something Kelsey had never known she had always wanted.

 

“My name’s Kelsey,” the senior offered the hand to her new, much taller friend.

The new girl in the khaki shortalls took her hand. “I know,” she replied, “My name’s Megan.”

 

Megan?

 

Megan?!

 

Megan the R.A.?  Megan: Organizer of lame movie nights and destroyer of keg parties?  Everybody’s- not-fun-twenty-two-year-old-mom-away-from-home?  That Megan?!  Kelsey held her breath and squinted.  It was her!  Kelsey hadn’t recognized the other girl with a smile on her face, never mind the red hair; under normal circumstances Megan dyed her hair jet black.  Granted, shortalls were just as about as modesty preserving as the kind of stuff Megan normally wore, but never in a million years would Kelsey have accused Megan of being…fun.

 

“Oh…Megan...Megan!” Kelsey jumped, her genuine smile of pleasure turning into a rictus grin of anxiety. “Hiiiii!”  Feeling incredibly awkward and unsure of what else to do, Kelsey gestured around the courtyard and the surrounding dorms.  “So good to see you here….”

 

Brought out of her own little world, Kelsey noticed that others were dressed just as juvenilely as she typically preferred to be.  Girls skipped along in rainbow colored skirts and matching bows in their hair.  A couple boys she recognized were in shortalls as well and were toting Teddy bears, besides.  A neighbor Kelsey often passed in the hallways was walking past them sucking on a pacifier and wearing baby blue footie pajamas that looked soft.  And they were all walking in the same direction.  “Good to see you, too,” Megan replied, not noticing or not caring about Kelsey’s non-verbal communication of total discombobulation.

 

Kelsey kept looking around.  So many people…all dressed like her. What was going on?  “Is there some kind of party going on here?”

 

“Naw,” the taller girl shook her head.  “Parties have those fancy hats with the string that goes under your chin and cake and stuff.” She pointed in the direction that the other college kids were going.  “But they’ve got a bunch of fun stuff on the playground over there.  You wanna come?”

 

“Playground?”

 

“Yeah,” Megan nodded.  “Bouncy houses and slides and stuff.  They even have a ball pit.”

 

“Ball pit!” the shorter girl squeaked.  Kelsey could handle people acting a little more…like her if it meant a ball pit.  No further questions, Your Honor. “Let’s go!”

 

The two young women broke off into a run, the bottle of bubbles and the Fox In Socks book completely forgotten as their feet pounded on the cobblestone floor.  Sure enough, Megan had been telling the truth, there was a playground just around the corner in the gigantic central commons area of the court yard.  Instead of the various cliques and social clubs that meandered around the space, there was an entire play set:  Monkey bars, swings, slides, merry go rounds, and yes, ball pits were all accounted for.  Older adults in their late twenties and early thirties were manning the equipment, supervising the swings and bounce house and what not, but everyone Kelsey’s age was playing with gusto.   The college senior didn’t know how or why this was happening or what campus group had sponsored this, and didn’t care right now.

 

“Come on, let’s go!” Kelsey motioned to her suddenly best friend, and broke off in a run, only to stop a few steps in when she realized that Megan wasn’t following her.

 

Megan had stopped in her tracks and was clutching her belly.  “Hold on,” Megan grunted.  “Gotta…poop.”

 

“Oh,” Kelsey shrugged, “fair enough.”  Kelsey turned her back to scan for a toilet.  Now where were the bathrooms?  Kelsey couldn’t quite remember, having a bit of a shy bladder anyways.  Needing to heed nature’s call typically meant Kelsey was headed back home to relieve herself.   She turned around back to Megan, sure that the R.A. would know where the nearest public restroom would be, but Megan hadn’t moved from that spot.

 

The taller girl was squatting down, her butt pushing out in the most exaggerated slow motion twerk.  Her face was a mask of concentration.  “What are…?” Kelsey began to ask, but she didn’t have time to finish the question.

 

“POOOOOOOPIE!”

 

Kelsey watched in horror as rude, flatulent sounds burst out of Megan’s backside, a distinct lump forming in the back of the taller girl’s pants for an instant.  Bile rose up in the back of Kelsey’s throat when the smell hit her nose.  Kelsey hadn’t realized it before, but there was a decided puffiness all around Megan’s nether regions that was vaguely distinguishable even through the cover of the shortalls.  The strain left Megan’s face, and then she stood up to her full height as if nothing had happened.  Megan looked toward Kelsey and said,  “Okay.  All done.” She sighed with relief before enthusiastically adding,  “Let’s go play!”

 

“Did you just poop?” Kelsey asked, aghast.

 

“Yeah,” Megan nodded. “I really had to go.”  Kelsey waited for more of an explanation, but Megan wasn’t volunteering any.

 

Kelsey was so puzzled and disgusted she felt she might go cross eyed.  “You knew you had to poop?”

 

Everybody’s- not-fun-twenty-two-year-old-mom-away-from-home seemed to take this as a compliment. “Thank you, my mommy says I’m advanced.”  She smiled proudly.

 

“You just pooped yourself,” Kelsey pointed out.

 

“I’ll get changed later.  First I wanna go play.”

 

“You’re wearing a diaper,” Kelsey’s tone was more than a little accusatory.

 

“Yeah,” Megan agreed, completely missing Kelsey’s tone and point.  “That’s what we wear.”

 

Kelsey scoffed. “We?”  There was no we.  There was Kelsey, and then there was THIS loon.

 

“Forever babies.”  Megan replied.  Megan wasn’t alone in being diapered either, it seemed.  There were other kids…other men and women her age dressed even more childishly than she preferred.  She saw onesies, not footie pajamas, but shirts that buttoned at the crotch on a few people.  One girl in particular had ruffles on her bottom, the leg gathers of a diaper not quite covered up by the big baby garment.  Others, Kelsey noticed were running around in just T-shirts and diapers.  One or two didn’t even have a t-shirt, and those were girls.

 

What was going on?

 

“I’m not wearing a…” Kelsey gestured down to herself.  Her eyes glanced downward to compare her state of dress to her peer’s and paused. That’s when she noticed the padded bulge encasing her, noticeable even through her sturdy denim shortalls.  She bent over, hearing the distinct crinkle the movement created, and traced line of buttons running along the inseam of both legs and up between her legs.  Little glimpses of something white and puffy shown through the folds between buttons.

 

Crotch snaps? It couldn’t be!

 

 Kelsey stood back up, unable to look at herself.  Her cute little outfit had turned into something meant for toddlers with the appearance of just a few buttons.  That’s when she noticed that her stance was just a little bit wider than it normally was thanks to the special underwear wrapped around her ass. “…diaper?!”

 

How had that gotten there?  How had any of this happened?  She was about to ask the R.A. more questions, but the taller girl had already walked off, poopy pants and all.  Kelsey wanted to run after her, and call out for help.  To make some sense of the nonsense that her life had suddenly been turned into.

 

There was just one problem.

 

Kelsey had to poop, too.

 

Somewhere very far away, a being older than Earth itself- a god in some cultures- smiled dreamily at the little blue and green marble off in the distance…and yawned contentedly before going back to sleep.

Author's note:  This is a commission for anonymous.

[JustinDB87]

Excellent start! Can't wait for more  

[timlandolt]

Love stories

[CDfm]

That was so good. But then everything you put out is good. I would love to read more but have a feeling that was it. Thanks for sharing it with us. 

[Personalias]

No, there's more coming. 

[Cya]

Sounds good. 

[Sarah Penguin]

[Personalias]

 

Chapter 2.

 

 Now I know what you’re thinking, dear friend, and no, it’s not because I have some kind of psychic powers (even though I do).  It’s because people always ask this question at the revelation of the nature of magic and humanity’s potential.  It’s a natural question:  If magic, as we’ve come to understand it, is just a matter of people “believing and wanting” hard enough, then why, Cornelius, is folklore filled with so many accounts of bad things?  Dragons, trolls, demons, vampires, and other things that go bump in the night.  If we, humanity, created these gods, why do they punish us so?  Why are men so often the servants instead of the masters?

 

You don’t have to be an award winning paranormal psychologist (like me) to answer that one: Humanity as a whole is full of hate and self-loathing in equal measure.  Dragons pop up to guard treasure from enemies.  A vampire sets its sights on a rival.  A troll sets up its shop under a bridge that leads away from your shop.  But weapons, especially magic ones, are far too often indiscriminate, and can spin crazily out of their creator’s control.

 

More interesting are the reasons why good things go bad; the monkey’s paw, the treacherous djinn, and so on.  Magic is a reflection of the human psyche.  It’s more than just conscious thought made manifest, it’s everything about us made manifest, unconscious included.  And just as our id pushes us to go after the things we want, our superego restrains us and gives us reason not to.

 

Sometimes it’s a little bit of both.  The monsters rise up because a bored would-be hero needs something to conquer and triumph over.  (You’ll notice that there was substantially less international war when there were monsters to fight.)

 

Other times, magic is a human being unconsciously bending reality to punish themselves in act of penance.  Going through the desert without food or water for over a month, for example.  Or vultures tearing at our flesh day by day only to have it grow back.

 

So why does the God of the old testament punish when the same God of the New Testament is infinitely forgiving?  Because at the time, it’s what we thought we deserved.

 

-          An excerpt from “Do You Believe in Magic?” by Cornelius Crowley.

 

Susan

 

What did I do to deserve this?  The question kept echoing again and again in Susan’s mind as spoonful after spoonful of disgusting yellow-brown mush pushed its way past her lips.  The taste of corned beef and sauerkraut drenched in thousand island dressing and pureed into a semi-solid invaded every corner of her mouth.

 

Susan was in what was very likely her own personal hell.  First off, she was in the girliest, pinkest, frilliest dress that she could ever possibly conceive of.  Susan hated girly clothes, dresses especially.  She might have put her natural athleticism to good use and run, except for the adult sized wooden high chair that was keeping her legs confined and her arms pinned at her sides.

 

Because of this, the tomboy could do little more than just keep gulping down corned beef and sauerkraut while her mother kept spooning it in.  The half-eaten Reuben on her plate had somehow metamorphosed into a half full jar of Reuben baby food- serving size: adult- and her mom was force feeding it to her almost faster than she could swallow the vile stuff.  The sandwich had been a little dry.  The gunk that Mom was spooning into her mouth made Susan think of a baby bird being fed its mother’s vomit.

 

Speaking of baby animals, that was another bizarre monkey wrench thrown into Susan’s fight and/or flight plan.  Her shirt had melted into the gaudy monstrosity clinging to her bust. Meanwhile, her pants and panties had been replaced by a full-fledged diaper.  The dress, she was able to feel with her fingers, didn’t even cover the damn diaper all the way.  Her new and unexpected underwear wasn’t even really under anything.

Even if she somehow managed to slip out of the highchair, running with the diaper on would completely throw off her stride and she’d have a better chance of falling flat on her face than making any meaningful escape attempt.  Taking it off was out of the question. She’d been trying. For some reason she couldn’t completely fathom, her fingers lost all strength and dexterity the moment she even touched the thick padding currently spreading her legs apart.

 

At least it all of the extra cushioning made the wooden seat a bit more comfortable.  At least she hadn’t pissed or shit herself.  At least she wasn’t forced to sit in a wet or messy diaper…yet.  Susan had a nasty suspicion that’s where this was heading.  She wouldn’t put it past Janet to plan that.  Likely, there was more in that jar than just pureed sandwich.

 

Janet- Susan refused to consciously think of her mother as anything but…not if she could help it- was behind this.  What this was, or what the point of it was, was completely beyond her, but Susan knew in her heart of hearts that Janet was responsible for this predicament.  The complete lack of outrage, that crack about growing old but not growing up; the complete lack of surprise when her panties became babyish and disposable; the fact that right now Susan was having to do her best not to throw up pickled sauerkraut; it all pointed to  Janet having known about her daughter’s reluctance to join the family business, and she had clearly taken steps to dissuade, if not all-out punish her.

 

Wasn’t this all a little bit extreme, though? Really?  Couldn’t she just have been cut out of the will or gotten shouted at?  “You’re no daughter of mine” or something?  To be fair though, were Susan’s suspicions all that rational?

 

If anyone else had told her that their mother had transformed their clothes into giant versions of baby clothes- diaper included- and were force feeding them in a giant highchair in front of everyone, all because they didn’t want to continue the family business, she would signed them up for the tin-foil hat club.

 

Maybe this was some bizarre form of food poisoning.  Maybe this was all a bad dream, and Susan would wake up in a hospital bed in the E.R., muttering about having the strangest dream.  Susan could only hope.  

 

Susan could have grinned and bore all of this bizarre nonsense a bit better too, if not for the other people in the building.  That was the worst part; the other people. Susan had picked that table to get a quick bite to eat so she could break the news to Janet and then zip out before they could get into a proper shouting match.  Now that she was dressed like a toddler and being fed like one to boot, she was front and center stage. Everyone who came in and out of Ma’s Diner could see her.

 

As for the regulars:  The old people? The local cops? The waitresses and the other usual suspects?  They were cool with it.  They were in on the joke.  No one so much as flinched.  An elderly couple paid their tab and even waved “bye-bye” to Susan as they left. There wasn’t even a hint of condescension in their eyes.  Not even a snigger on their lips.  She might as well have been a real baby.  Had her mother hired professional actors or something?  Waitresses kept taking orders, people kept eating, and the grill kept firing away, and no one either noticed or minded that a twenty-two-year-old woman was being force-fed in a highchair and diaper at the front of the room.

 

“Oh Mommy! Look!” a high-pitched voice caused Susan to whip her head sideways, smearing sandwich sauce over her right cheek.  “It’s a forever baby!”  A woman and her daughter- a first grader tops- had just walked through the door.  The kid was pointing.  

 

“She’s so cute!”

 

Forever baby?

 

The tomboy in the frilly pink dress stared down her nose at the little brat as her mother wiped her cheek with a napkin. “My name is Susan,” she growled.

 

The kid was completely unfazed. “Hi Susan! I’m Makenzie!”  Her hand was a back and forth blur. “Hi Susan! Say hi! Hi! Say hi, Susan! Say hi!”  Even this one was in on it.

 

Dejectedly, Susan sighed and said, “…Hi…”

 

“Yay!” the little girl clapped her hands.  “Good girl!”

 

The two parents began talking over their respective offspring.  “She’s adorable,” the customer said to ‘Ma.’

 

“Thank you,” Janet replied.

 

“How old is she?”

 

“Twenty-two.  Twenty-three in a few months.”

 

“Oh, you are so lucky!” the stranger gushed.

 

“Yes, I am,” Mom agreed.

 

The little girl started tugging at her mother’s pant leg.  “Mommy, Mommy!  Why are forever babies so old?”

 

The mother stifled a giggle before saying, “Twenty-two isn’t particularly old, Makenzie.”

 

“Older than me.”

 

“Well,” the mother thought for a moment.  “Getting older and growing up aren’t always the same thing.”

 

That did it!  That! Did! It!  Susan needed no further proof at that moment to know that her mother- no fuck that; Janet- had been the cause and the reason behind all of her humiliation. This was no fever dream. The “how” of things she was still fuzzy on; though this town was still conservative enough that a dose of good ol’ fashioned public humiliation was something most people could get behind, including the local cops.  Nothing was out of the realm of possibility right now.

 

Maybe not “nothing;” she still had no idea how the highchair had come alive and grown to fit her in it, or how her casual jeans and a t-shirt combo had turned into some frilly pink mess, but thinking about that sent shivers up her spine and Susan preferred anger over fear at this moment in time. Better to just be angry at the bitch behind all this.

 

Susan looked away from the mother and little girl gawking at her and turned to face the woman with the rubber tipped spoon and the jar of Reuben baby food, “Jan-“

 

WOOOMF!

 

The spoon was past her lips, the revolting preservative filled mush oozing on her tongue. “There we go Susie!” Janet cooed.  “Three more bites, baby girl, and then it’ll be time for your nap.”  But Susan did not swallow. She would not be taking three more bites.  Fuck that.  With hate filled eyes and puffed out cheeks, Susan spat the yellow brown paste back at her mother.  Not even unusually quick reflexes and fast draw on a napkin could completely save Janet’s dress.

 

“Ooops,” the mother with the little girl chuckled, covering her mouth slightly as Janet began dabbing at her soiled dress.  “I guess someone’s done eating.”   Damn right.

 

“Baaaaad baby!”  The term from the first grader wasn’t a rebuke, but more of a commentary.  Inwardly, Susan agreed.  She was being a bad baby.  Adults, by definition, make for bad babies.

 

Janet didn’t lose her cool.  She didn’t even frown.  Her brow wasn’t the slightest bit furrowed.  Instead, she looked at the customers that had just stopped by and said “I guess someone isn’t ready for their nap, either.”  This got a good-natured chuckle from the woman, and her little girl giggled the way little kids tend to when they don’t really get the joke.  Then she told them, “Flo will see you to your seats.”

 

The two gawkers let Susan be and went to order their meal while ‘Ma’ fiddled with the tray chair.  “Didn’t like that, did you?” Susan said, a feeling of petulant triumph building up.

 

“No I did not,” was Janet’s curt reply- each word standing tense and upright like a little soldier- as she undid the tray. “You hurt my feelings. Now say you’re sorry, Susie.”

 

Susan scoffed.  “Uh…no.”  Now that her hands were free, Susan took the opportunity to cross her arms in contempt to properly complete her pout. “You apologize.” Her glasses were starting to slide down her nose a bit, but she didn’t dare adjust them and ruin the moment.    

 

It was Janet’s turn to scoff.  “For what?”

 

“Seriously?”  Susan asked.  “For this,” she indicated the frilly pink mess clinging to her torso; “and this,” she lightly tapped on the wooden highchair, “and that,” she pointed accusingly at the now mostly empty jar of baby food. “Oh, and this!”  She didn’t even have to lift the hem of her dress to point at the monstrosity strapped to her hips.

 

“Susie, I have no idea what you’re so mad about. You look very pretty today, honey.”  Janet pursed her lips for a second and added, “That’s your favorite highchair, you wanted the Reuben, and I just checked your diaper.”  Then as an afterthought she added, “If you want, I can check you again.”  Her mother’s right hand began making a bee-line for Susan’s crotch.

 

Susan slapped it away, the sound of skin on skin ringing through the air like a cracked whip.  The entire diner fell silent at the sound.  Everyone looked up from their plates.  The diapered tomboy looked back at them in contempt. So THIS was crossing the line?  “Alright, fuck it,” Susan stood up and stepped down from the highchair, her pink sneakers smacking against the floor as she did, the rustle of the diaper and the fluttering of the too short dress making her hyper aware of even the most miniscule of movements. “I’m out.  You’ve made your point.  Older doesn’t mean grown-up. You’ve had your fun. Now I’m out.”

 

The poor girl didn’t even make it three steps towards the door before she felt an iron grip on her wrist yanking her backwards.  “Susan Leann Collins,” the voice at the end of that manacled grip told her, “you stay right there!”

 

During her freshman year of college, Susan took a comparative religion course mostly for grins.  When the class veered off into decidedly less mainstream religions- voodoo, wicca, shamanism and the like- Susan had a brief fascination with the occult. It was definitely a phase that she grew out of, and she didn’t put any stock in the stuff, but she had some fun reads anyways.

 

 It was more of a guilty pleasure than anything, much in the same way people read about the exploits of cults and serial killers; not because they are cultists or serial killers themselves, but there’s a kind of morbid satisfaction that normal, boring people can get from reading about the bizarre, objectively evil, and naively stupid.  One thing led to another, and she eventually came across this book of complete schlock talking about magic as if it were a real thing.  That magic happened as long as we believed hard enough or something.

 

Most of it was pseudo-science occult psychobabble but there was one particular part that resonated with her as an odd kind of universal truth: the power of names.  If you knew something’s true name you could bind it, paralyze it, make it serve you.  Clearly, the author of that book had had a mother like Janet.

 

Calling her “Susie” was a jab on her mother’s part these days. Calling her by her first and either of her two other names was a dire warning.  Using her full name meant that she had crossed some sort of line and things were about to go downhill fast unless Susan tread very carefully. It was an invocation that to this day still caused her to lock her knees and freeze in place.   Just like magic, Susan Leann Collins didn’t dare move.

 

With a quiet voice and an iron hand holding Susan secure, Janet leaned in and hissed, “Now I do NOT know what has gotten into you today, young lady, and I do not normally condone spanking, but if you keep sassin’ me like that I WILL take you over my knee in front of all these people right now and spank whatever it is right outta yer little tushie.  Do. You. Understand?”  A little bit of southern cracker drawl had snuck its way into Janet’s accent, as it did most every time when she was angry or when Susan’s Grandma was around.  The way she said the words scared Susan just as much as the words themselves.  This was no bluff.  She’d do it.

 

The young woman dressed like a toddler princess looked at her mother and around the dead quiet room, all eyes on them.  She had forgotten how strong her mother could be, especially when angered.  It would be a wonder if there wasn’t bruising on her wrist when this was done.  “Do…you…understand?”  Janet repeated.

 

“Yes Mommy,” Susan squeaked, then immediately kicked herself for her choice of words.  Ma’am would have sufficed, or Mom- anything appropriate deferential- but Mommy?  What had she been thinking?  The ridiculous outfit she’d been wearing most likely had manipulated her frame of mind.  At least the few customers left had stopped staring and gone back to their tuna melts and liver with onions.

 

Her mom nodded.  “Alright then,” she said, before turning her head and calling to the back shouted.  “Phyllis! Bring me Susie’s diaper bag! We’re going for a walk!”  Diaper bag?  Walk?  As in she was going outside?  Dressed like THIS?!

 

The poor girl’s face almost matched her dress.  The sound of the grill sizzling was drowned out by a pulsing pounding in her head. Phyllis, Mom’s oldest employee and a woman who was perpetually seventy if she was a day, toted over a large hot pink satchel with bunnies stitched in the front and handed it over.  “You go get some fresh air, young’un and enjoy the ride.”  A withered, shaking hand that still had the ability to write down orders and dice vegetables with uncanny speed and accuracy, favored Susan with a slight pinch of her cheek, before the little old woman turned around and walked back the way she came.

 

Phyllis was so old that she’d known Susan since the first time she was in diapers, and that dainty little cheek pinch brought back at least a dozen half-forgotten memories; the kind where she wasn’t sure if she actually remembered them, or had been told about them enough through the years that she remembered the stories more than the events themselves.  A feeling not much different than a rock hitting the bottom of an empty well landed in Susan’s stomach.  Things were about to get so much worse.

 

Slinging the pink satchel…diaper bag…satchel over her shoulder, Janet began walking for the door, pulling her daughter behind her.  “C’mon baby girl.  Let’s go for a walk.”  Still cowed into submission by threats of pain and embarrassment, Susan followed, her dress swishing, diaper crinkling, and legs waddling every step outside.

 

A large- comically large, in fact- umbrella stroller was parked just outside the doors; no doubt about who it was intended for.  Susan didn’t dare resist as she was guided into the hammocklike wheelchair.  Two straps fastened over her shoulders and clicked together in the middle of her chest.  A third buckled up between her legs, the flat nylon rope pressing up against her padded crotch, giving a thorough and constant reminder of her so-called underwear.

 

The dress would be no help here.  How could anyone even call this puffy sleeved monstrosity a dress, anyway?  It was more for show than concealment.

 

Mom gave Susan a quick check over once she’d been buckled into her rolling humiliation-mobile, and nodded, more to herself than to anyone else.  Still leaning over her daughter, Janet plucked a sizeable baby bottle out of a side pocket of the diaper ba-…the pink satchel, and placed it in the young woman’s lap.  “Something to wash your lunch down with, baby.”  Janet disappeared behind the stroller and soon the grainy grinding sound of rubber wheels on concrete whispered Susan’s departure from the safe and private confines of her mother’s diner.

 

Unable to let the plastic bottle just sit in her lap, Susan turned the foreign object over in her hands, sloshing the not quite ivory liquid around as she did so.  It was milk, obviously, but not quite; something seemed off about it.  It seemed thicker, and the color was a little darker, closer to a vanilla milkshake. A protein shake perhaps, or maybe it was raw and unpasteurized?  Goat milk?  Not that it mattered.  Susan wasn’t about to stick the damn rubber nipple in her mouth and find out.

 

“OH MY GOD!” a cooing shriek snapped out of her analysis and swiveled her head around.  Suddenly disoriented, she took a moment.  While Susan had been distracting herself with the contents of a baby’s beverage holder, her surroundings had changed considerably.  To her right was the street, to her left, the parking lots and storefronts of the few non-franchised stores left in town.   Road signs and familiar landmarks signaled that they’d made it a block or two. Up ahead was the turnoff for the public library.

 

Susan’s eyes found the source of the high-pitched exclamations.  Standing in front of her, was a broad shouldered but attractive young woman in her late twenties or early thirties.  Her glasses, almost identical to Susan’s and the thick turtleneck sweater gave her the air of an academic despite her witless and star struck expression.  She looked older than Susan, but not by a whole lot; much in the same way that high schoolers didn’t quite look like college kids, and college kids didn’t quite look like adults out in the working world. The difference would have been small and ultimately unimportant under normal circumstances. These were not normal circumstances.  “Is that Susan?” the stranger asked Susan’s mother. “I almost didn’t recognize her!”

 

Another rock crashed in the well of Susan’s stomach.  This stranger knew her somehow, from where didn’t matter, and now she was participating in this discombobulating punishment she’d somehow earned.  The stranger looked down, expectantly at her, all smiles.  “Hi Susan!” she cooed.  “It’s good to see you.  Do you remember me?  Do you?”

 

There was something familiar about her, but Susan had never been particularly good at remembering faces.  The woman waving her hand in front of Susan’s nose just kept smiling and waving, expecting it to jog her memory.  “Linda used to babysit you when you were younger, remember?”  Mom offered.

 

Linda?...Linda…. Linda!

 

More memories, long ago filed away and gathering dust bubbled up to the forefront of the diapered girl’s mind.  She’d been eight.  Linda had been sixteen.  It hadn’t been a huge difference in age, but it was big enough to where Linda had been given authority over a young Susan while Mom went out on dates.  Linda had been an objectively good babysitter for those two years before she went off to college; neither too permissive, nor too authoritarian.  She neither neglected the girl that Susan was, nor treated the eight- year-old as an incompetent child.  Today was a completely different scenario.

 

For most, it’s awkward enough meeting former teachers and caregivers after they’ve grown up and come into their own.  Everyone tends to remember the child that a person used to be rather than the adult that they are, much to the younger person’s chagrin.  For Susan, the contrast between the adult she was and the child she had been was suddenly less stark.  If Janet was behind this…this...this whatever it was- a notion that was seeming more ludicrous as each event unfolded-  she had certainly taken a lot of care and preparation in executing it.

 

Nervous, embarrassed and needing something to look busy with, the young woman in the stroller slipped the nipple of the baby bottle into her mouth. “Winda?” she mumbled around the rubber teat as she sank down into the canvas of the stroller as best as the restraints would allow her.

 

“She’s feeling shy, right now,” Mom’s voice explained from behind the babied woman.

The other woman beamed and let out a sympathetic “Awwwww,” as she stood and smoothed out her sweater, making eye contact with Susan’s mother. ”She’s so sweet.”

 

“She normally is,” Janet agreed.

 

A playful smirk danced across the third woman’s lips.  “Normally?”  She stole a faux disapproving glance back down to Susan, sneaking a wink in.  Without thinking about it, Susan timidly pulled on the rubber nipple with her lips, causing the contents to dribble onto her tongue.

 

The milk tasted like regular milk.  Maybe a little sweeter and a little more watered down than usual, but otherwise it tasted like regular old moo-cow milk.  It was a bit like how she liked her coffee, lots of cream and sugar, but someone had goofed and forgotten to add the coffee beans. Still, perfectly serviceable.  Susan tilted the bottle up and took another sip.

 

“She’s just being a little fussy today,” Janet spoke to Linda, “can’t say why.”  The fear of an escalated and very physical punishment still burning in her brain, Susan chose to hold her tongue and kept sucking down her watered-down milk.

 

Susan’s old babysitter nodded thoughtfully.  “Yeah.  Phillip does that, too, from time to time.  I think it’s a Forbies thing.”

 

“Forbies?” Mom asked.

 

“Forever babies,” the lady clarified. “Kind of a nickname on the internet.”   They were talking about Susan as if she weren’t there, talking over her head.  As if she couldn’t understand, or if her opinion didn’t matter.  More than the infantile outfit; more than the stroller or the bottle; it was these micro-signals that everyone had been sending her, these little things that made the young independent woman feel incredibly…small.

 

Susan popped the bottle out of her mouth. “Forever babies?” she echoed Linda.  That made the second person she’d heard mention that phrase.  Something wasn’t adding up.  Susan’s whole theory on the how and why she’d ended up like this was disintegrating in her mind.  She sat back up in the stroller and looked to her mother.

 

A condescending head pat was what Susan was rewarded with. “Finish your bottle, Susie. Grown-ups are talking.” The diapered girl’s face flushed red, and Susan felt her blood boil with anger.  A look from her mother lowered Susan’s impending tantrum into indignant pouting. Susan bit into the nipple of her bottle and busied herself sucking down the sweet watered-down milk.   If she’d bitten her lip, she very well may have drawn blood.  “See what I mean?” Janet asked Linda.

 

          WHOOSH.

           

A passing car alerted Susan that there were more than just two sets of eyes out here in the open looking at her in her present condition.  Susan sank back down as far as she could, hoping the stroller would at least hide her face.

 

“So, how’s Phillip? How are your parents?” Janet asked the other ‘grown-up’.

 

Linda nodded.  “Phillip’s good. Mom and Dad still love having him around.  It’s given me the chance to grow up and strike out on my own, guilt free.  No chance of empty nest syndrome, y’know?”

 

“Yeah,” Mom let out a contented, lazy sigh.  “I do indeed.”  It was almost like she was purring.

 

Susan felt a twinge in the last place she currently wanted to feel a twinge.  When was the last time she’d gone to the toilet?  This morning after breakfast?  Or was it just before lunch?  Under normal circumstances it wouldn’t have mattered.  Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t be strapped to a rolling chair with pixie decorated padding touching her nethers.  “Uh..Janet…” Susan spoke up.

 

Janet seemed unconcerned and continued talking with the woman not much older than her daughter.  “Playing at the park today, I assume?”

 

“Nah,” Susan’s ex-babysitter replied.  “There’s a special event going on at the college today.  University is doing outreach and special services as fundraisers.  Enrollment has been down the last couple of years because…y’know.”  Mom nodded in reply.  Apparently, she knew that, too.

 

“Jan?” Susan tried to interrupt, the need to go becoming an uncomfortable, swelling, almost burning sensation.  She stopped sucking on the bottle.  Why the hell had she kept sucking on the bottle?  Why had she chosen to suck on the bottle in the first place?

 

“Oh that’s nice!” Janet talked over Susan.  “If I had known, I would have taken the day off and taken Susie.  How are you though? What are you up to?”

 

“I’m walking to work.  I’m a librarian, now.  In a day or two, they’re doing a forever babies’ read-in day.”

 

“Oh, Susie would love that!”

 

The need, whether it was a physiological or psychological- an actual fullness of her bladder or just an itch that got worse the more one thought about it-it was there and growing.  Her body was screaming at her for release. “Mother?”  Susan spoke up a little bit louder.  Her voice more of a groan. “Motherrrrrrr?”

 

Susan’s mother kept the conversation going despite Susan’s wriggling and obvious growing discomfort.  “I really should take Susie over to the Library more often.  Now, it’d be an extra treat, considering that you’re there.”

 

“Mom?”  Not much time left.

 

Linda added “I don’t mind sitting for her again, either.  I could use the extra money, too. Librarians don’t make a whole lot of money.”

 

“Mommy?” Out of time.  Susan’s bladder betrayed her.  A flood of warm wet liquid gushed out of her involuntarily, her body disobeying every screaming command her mind issued.  The dripping warmth splashed against her privates before the thirsty padding wicked it away and absorbed it, the strap between her legs forcing the garment up against her the whole time.  A sigh of relief mixed with a shudder of revulsion as the tomboy publicly debased herself.

 

The conversation halted.  Both women looked down at the captive girl.  Mommy gave an exasperated sigh.  “Yes, Susie?”

 

“I…” Susan stuttered, her face flushing and her breath catching. “I peed.”

 

Mom’s response: “Oh, is that all?”   Those few words hurt Susan more than anything else uttered thus far.  Is that all? As if her problems didn’t matter?  Is that all?  As if she had no right to feel as awful as she felt in that moment.  Is that all?

 

“I just pissed myself,” the poor girl choked out, her voice cracking and tears pooling in her eyes.

 

Her mother’s first response was “Susie! Language!” Then Mom looked at the other grown-up and apologized.  “I have no idea where she’s getting that from.  I’m going to have to keep an ear out.”

 

Susan was crying openly now.  “I just pissed my pants!”

 

“Honey. Don’t talk like that,” Janet chided.  “You didn’t piss yourself.  You just went pee-pee.  You’re wet is all. And you’re not even wearing any pants, silly goose.”  A wave of sobs racked Susan’s body as she thrashed impotently in the stroller.  

 

“Thinking about potty training?” Linda asked Janet, indicating Susan’s outburst.

 

“Oh, that’s a fad.” Janet waved the idea off. “Forever babies can never be fully potty trained, anyways.” A beat. “Why?  Is Phillip potty training?”  Linda could only giggle and shook her head. “Okay, Linda.  It was nice running into you, but I think Susie here needs some more stroller time.”

 

Now with a wet diaper pressed against her, Susan continued being pushed down the sidewalk.  As the urine in her diaper cooled, so did her temper.  But there was no perspective or rationalization; no clarity that came as her pulse lowered and her breathing slowed.  Confusion would be too strong a word for what Susan was feeling; instead a kind of questioning, almost dream like haze settled over her.

 

As the stroll continued, more people passed by getting a good look at the girl in all her shame. Even the ones who Mom didn’t stop to talk to made sure to comment about the ‘baby’ in the stroller.

 

“Hey there, cutie!”

 

“Awwwww! What an adorable outfit!”

 

“Such a pretty little girl!”

 

Cutie? Adorable? Pretty? How could that be?  Susan Collins had been called a lot of things in her life, most of them complimentary- attractive, sleek, and on one drunken occasion, seductive- but she could never remember being referred to as something so…so…girly!  Furthermore, the diaper had swelled, a fine crease pressing into the strap separating her legs and there was more than a slight discoloration where the majority of her accident had been absorbed.  How could anyone be “cute” or “pretty” like that?

 

All the same, Susan couldn’t help but hide her face behind her hands with each new compliment and cooing from the random passerby.  She couldn’t even bear to uncover her eyes after a point; better to just let this trip pass in darkness. Her ears were not immune, however, and the muffled footsteps and polite greetings of passersby and the engines of automobiles did nothing to lessen her blush.  They were looking at her.  They were all looking at her.

 

“Oh, hi Susan!” That voice! She knew that voice!

 

Susan unshielded her eyes and followed the voice to its source.  It was coming from behind her. The tomboy leaned out of the stroller and craned her neck. “What are you looking at, baby?” her mother asked.  Susan wasn’t so sure herself.

 

They had arrived at the bus stop along Pennsylvania Avenue, just before the turnoff on North South Drive. Apparently, Mom had only been taking her around the block.  On the bus stop bench, lounging in an older woman’s lap, was a girl that Susan had seen only yesterday.  “Vanessa?”

 

Vanessa Carlyle was a junior, but they had taken some of the same math classes and had helped each other cram for exams in the past.  They weren’t particularly close, and had never socialized beyond one helping the other studying, but they knew each other.  The young woman with her head in what could only be her mother’s lap did so wearing nothing but a baby blue shirt with matching bonnet, booties, and of course, a diaper.  “Hiya,” she repeated.

 

The stroller slowed to a stop and backed up a few steps. “What in the hell are you doing?”

 

The college junior didn’t seem to notice the tone of accusation in which she’d been asked.  “Oh, y’know.  Just waitin’ for a bus with my Mommy; gettin’ some milk.”  A white strand of liquid clung to the right corner of the other girl’s mouth.  Just like Susan, a bottle of creamy liquid was tightly grasped between two otherwise very adult hands; the yellow nipple speckled with milk and glistening with saliva.  The older woman looked to Vanessa, then to Susan, and back to Vanessa.

 

“Vanessa,” the older woman said, “Finish your ba-ba before the bus gets here.”

 

A “Okay, Mommy” was uttered before the twenty-one-year old in the baby gear lifted the bottle back to her lips started slurping at the rubber teat, making little animal mewling sounds as she; her mother all the while cradling her head and gently rubbing her ears.  This wasn’t a prank.  This wasn’t a mind fuck.  No way this was a performance.

 

If there was any doubt left in Susan’s mind of that fact, what happened next dispelled the idea completely.  Still lying down, Vanessa lifted her knees till they were almost touching her chest and began grunting, her lips still pulling the bottle nipple.

 

Vanessa’s mother turned her head and noticed what was going on. “You wanna stop drinking for a second?”  A guttural grunt, uttered by silly, sweetly smiling lips and slightly shaking head was the only response Vanessa gave.  

A final “Uuuuh” moaned out of Vanessa’s throat as the back of her diaper expanded in a lumpy bubble.  The twenty-one-year old let out a quiet sigh as she lowered her legs down, likely spreading the newly deposited contents in her diaper.  She only sucked harder on the bottle as a result.

 

 Vanessa had just messed herself and couldn’t be bothered to stop drinking milk in the process. A gust of wind, and the smell it carried with it, cemented this fact in Susan’s mind.  Susan’s own rubber nipple found its way back to Susan’s lips if only to drown out the putrid taste that the wind had carried with it.

 

“Whew!” Vanessa’s ‘Mommy’ exclaimed with a cringe.  “Someone made a stinky.  Was it you?  Was it you?!”  She sniffed again, and then stopped cooing at her adult daughter.  “As soon as you’re done, it’ll be time for a change.”

 

Susan’s peer mumbled around the nearly empty bottle. “Uh-fay!”

 

Janet decided to insert herself in the conversation.  “It seems our little girls know each other.”

 

“They must go to the same daycare,” the other mother replied; a notion that was reinforced as the girl in the bonnet wiped her mouth off and nodded her head, wiping the last trails of milk and spittle from her lips.

 

The mothers ignored her input as much as if the “little girl” might not know what she was talking about. “Big Little?”  Janet asked.

 

“That’s the one,” the other middle-aged woman replied.

 

Mom extended her hand. “Janet Collins.”

 

Vanessa’s mother glanced to Susan, still in a kind of subdued shock, before taking the hand and shaking it politely. “Martha Williams,” she said. “Now if you excuse me, my little stinky butt here needs a change.” For her part, Vanessa just giggled as if “little stinky butt” were a term of endearment.  Vanessa’s mother slid out from beneath her and grabbed at a bag that had been resting between her feet.  She took out a cutesy printed diaper that was far too big for any child to wear; while like a toddler who had long grown used to the routine, Vanessa stretched out on the bench, and reached her hands to the sky, as if preparing to grasp at something that wasn’t there yet.

 

“So how old is she?” Mom asked while the other mom dug out a pack of baby wipes, and a ring of rainbow colored plastic keys.   Susan just gawked stupidly, as her college aged peer grabbed at the fake keys and amused herself thumbing through them flailing them in the air; making them click-clack against each other.

 

Vanessa’s mom rolled up her sleeves and replied, “Twenty-one.”  Her hands shot down and ripped the tapes of the diaper off.  It felt as if Susan’s eyes were about to fall out of her skull. No…they weren’t going to…were they?

 

The poor girl couldn’t stand it any longer.  “Vanessa,” a flabbergasted Susan asked, “what the fuck are you doing?”  Vanessa’s legs were being lifted into the air, her feces covered backside was out in the open air while her mother went to work.  No one else was so much as flinching.

 

“Gettin’ muh butt wiped,” Vanessa replied, not even looking away from the plastic keys as she flipped one over top of the other in an endless loop.  “Why?”  It was as if Susan’s question born out of shock and confusion was nothing more than a set up question; like when you ask a friend what they’re up to tonight right before inviting them out for drinks.

 

If Susan had a retort or follow up question, it was drowned out by her mother’s fearsome rebuke.  “THAT’S IT!” Janet roared. “I WARNED YOU ABOUT THE POTTY MOUTH LITTLE GIRL!”  The world was a blur of motion as Janet unbuckled Susan from her stroller, and sitting on the ground, took her daughter over her lap.  Her feet hadn’t even touched the ground before the she found herself face down looking at the concrete.  A swift adjustment saw the hem of Susan’s so-called dress flipped up and her ass sticking up above her head.

 

How had Mom gotten so strong?

 

Susan didn’t have time to wonder long about that as her backside was suddenly pelted with stinging blows.  Hornets were stinging her behind!  She was being whipped!  Even the thick padding of the did little cushion the beating. On instinct, her arms and legs flailed and kicked, her nails dug at the ground, as she tried to tear herself away from her mother’s grip.  A single forearm pinned her- belly down, ass up- to her mommy’s lap.

 

Within seconds the mouthy tomboy was screaming out in pain…then crying out…then wailing…then bawling.  She couldn’t breathe!  She was having to gasp for air just so that she could scream again.  With fiery certainty the truth broke upon Susan: Mom wasn’t playing games.  This wasn’t a dream.  The entire world had gone mad.

 

A panicked, almost animal impulse took over.  End the pain.  End the pain.  Apologize.  Beg.  Anything to make it stop.  Anything for relief.

 

“I’m sorry!” the tomboy in the frilly dress cried out.

 

Janet stopped paddling.  “What was that?”

 

“I’m sorry!” Susan repeated.  “I’m sorry, Mommy!”

 

“For?”

 

“For…for being a potty mouth.”  Susan drooped her head in exhaustion and defeat.

 

There was a tense pause…then, “Okay, I think you’ve had enough, baby.”  Susan felt the weight of her mother’s forearm ease off her, and Susan scrambled off, the grit of the concrete scraping against her sneakers. Mom was on her feet first and helped Susan to hers.

 

The distance between bottom of her dress and the bottom of her diaper had increased.  It sagged between her legs with a noticeable weight.  Either she had wet more than she thought, or she had flooded the padding a second time during the thrashing she’d just received.

 

Vanessa sat up on the bench, a fresh diaper taped around her hips. “Potty mouth and potty pants!” she giggled as if she hadn’t just had her own ass wiped moments ago.

 

“Maybe that’s why she was being so fussy,” the other middle aged woman offered.  “I’ve known forever babies to act up when they need a change.”

 

Mom shook her head, still holding Susan’s hand. “Oh no.  My little girl’s been pushing it all afternoon” she said.  “Can’t say why.”  She looked at the lumpy padding dangling between her daughter’s legs.  “Though she could definitely use a change.  Do you mind?”

 

The mother-daughter couple scooted away to clear a space.  Petrified, Susan found herself moved and laid down on the same bus stop bench.  Through some combination of exhaustion, terror, and maybe even reality itself pulling her down, Susan couldn’t so much as sit back up while her mother fetched the hot pink diaper bag…satchel…no…diaper bag, and gathered the necessary supplies.

 

“Okay Susie, let’s get you changed.”

 

“Please no,” she whimpered as Mom reached for the tapes.  Her pleas fell on deaf ears.

 

Dakota

 

  This was not the party that Dakota had walked out on.  Not at all.  The only thing that she recognized was the chocolate cake.  Everything else was strictly toddler fare.  Streamers, balloons, tables draped with plastic Sesame Street tablecloths along with matching paper plates and napkins littering them.  People were even wearing those dorky little cone hats that strapped to the chin.  A rendition of “Old Mac Donald Had a Farm” played over the expensive sound system.

 

Things had taken a sudden and inexplicable turn for the strange, but by far the strangest part about the party were the people themselves.  When she had lured Brendan into the guest room for a quick suck and fuck, Dakota knew for a fact that the dress code had been country club casual:  Men in button up polos tucked into their khakis, women in breezy, flowing dresses that didn’t give too much away but still tickled the imagination; heels optional but preferred.  It’s what had made Dakota’s nearly skin-tight little number that much more of a standout.

 

Now, boys (fuck calling them men…it just didn’t work) were in sneakers instead of loafers; some with the little lights that flashed with every step.  (Did they really make those in adult sizes?)   A few still had khakis on, though they were by and large shorts with noticeable bulges in the butt and crotch.  If Dakota had any lingering doubt as to what lied beneath their pants, the tops of their diapers were sticking out of the wide elastic waistbands.  The other boys wore plaid rompers, or shortalls (not just for girls anymore, apparently.)

 

Minutes ago, Brendan’s female friends and relatives, as well as girlfriends of guy friends, had mingled naturally with the menfolk, all forming into little couples and cliques.  Since the kiddie music had piped in, the girls had separated themselves from the boys almost entirely, and now two distinct groups had formed based around gender.

 

Every woman around Dakota’s age was still wearing a dress, but they were less modest, less concealing, while still somehow managing not to be sexy in the least: Peter Pan collars and baby doll dresses with hems too short to hide bulky padded underwear; white tights stretched so thin anyone could still make out the cartoon character designs on the back of diapers; hair tied up with curly bows and ribbons. All of this flooded Dakota’s vision.

 

Clothes and mouths across the room were smeared with bits of icing and chocolate cake, regardless of gender.

 

 

 Along the periphery, a handful of older and middle-aged people (parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles) watched the gathering of young adults dressed as tots.  They were smiling, and seemingly content, but with a look of caution in their eyes; as if they might need to intervene at any moment.  They were dressed less ridiculously than the twenty-something guests, but there was something distinctly different all the same; lots of jeans and old worn out t-shirts, stuff that they could afford to get dirty.  Their constant, tired gaze reminded Dakota of the teachers guarding the punch bowl at every middle and high school dance she’d gone to.

 

 Dakota, too, stood out.  Her gorgeous blonde hair was now wrapped up in pigtails, her shoes were missing, and the sexy little red dress she’d worn had somehow shrunk to a Dora The Explorer T-Shirt, that stopped just short of her childish-looking diaper.

 

Her diaper?!  Dakota looked down between her legs.  Her panties had become something puerile and disgusting. Cartoon balloons and stars ran all along it from front to back as it sagged and swelled a bit from the pee it had just absorbed. It was a bright and happy façade to mask its repugnant purpose: to hold her piss and shit until someone could be bothered to replace it with another.  Well…not HERS, per se, even though she was wet and the diaper had done its job…but…but…-Dakota felt flustered.  Just because she had pissed herself without meaning to didn’t mean she was childish or infantile or stupid, right?  Right.  She had bigger problems to worry about than suddenly pissy panties.

 

Still gawking at the transformed party, the would-be gold-digger glanced down at the Ring Pop that had been slid onto her finger.  That had been an engagement ring before, hadn’t it?  A modest one, unfortunately, but it had been right.  Her eyes traveled up her slender digits to her fingernails.

 

They’d changed too.  Once they had been shiny and painted and well cared for and a little pointy.  Now they were plain and boring and they looked a little chewed on.  Was that a hangnail?

 

“Go on and play, Dakota dear.”  Brendan’s mother gave her a slight nudge.  “Go have fun.  It’s Brendan’s big day, and he wouldn’t want his little guests to be sad.”

 

“Brendan?” Dakota echoed the name of her (right now) boyfriend.  While Dakota had been busy taking in the strange sights and sounds (not to mention smells…she couldn’t have been the only one who was wet, and all the baby powder in the world couldn’t completely mask that scent), Brendan had waddled off with the other boys and was clumsily throwing around a big rubber ball, clapping like an imbecile with each toss and catch, regardless of success.  She’d been completely forgotten.

 

Her?  Forgotten? Impossible!

 

Another nudge from Mrs. Jay and Dakota instinctively dug her bare heels into the floor.  “I…I…can’t.” Dakota stuttered.  “I…I…” she trailed off. She couldn’t bring herself to say “peed.” “I’m…I’m…” The word “wet” wasn’t going to work either.  “My…my…di…” So close.  Hands open she motioned to the padded bulk around her tight ass.

 

“Your diaper?” The word was like a gunshot to Dakota.  Something about hearing it said out loud made this insane nightmare seem all the more real to her. The older woman’s hand reached between the young woman’s legs and gave a gentle squeeze.  A scream caught in Dakota’s throat.  She wasn’t used to being touched there (not unless it was her idea, and always behind closed doors), but some nagging, scared little voice inside her told her to be quiet. Dakota’s lungs shook with rage as a woman old enough to be her mother pulled back the waistband of her diaper and allowed herself a quick peek at Dakota’s ass. “You’re just a little wet, honey.  You’re good for now.”  Brendan’s mother closed the guest room door behind them and gave Dakota a playful swat on her bulkily padded behind.  “Go on and play.”

 

Slowly, the young woman walked forward towards the assembled mass of adults dressed like children, the crinkle in her diaper sounding like a thousand garbage bags rustling around her bottom.  Logically, she realized, she was the only one who could actively hear the noise; like chewing; but illogically she felt the whole room hearing it over the seventh chorus of Old Mac Donald.

 

Through gritted teeth, Dakota whispered to herself.  “You can do this.  You can do this.  It’s just like in middle school when you had your first couple of periods.  It’s just like wearing a pad.”  Crinkle…crinkle..squish.  “Just like a pad.”  A pad that was also underwear and decorated with cutesy little kiddie designs.  Underwear that wasn’t actually UNDER anything.  Underwear that had a load of her pee in it, and she had just been groped by her (right now) boyfriend’s mom out in the open where everyone could see.  No one had ever “checked” her to see if her pad needed cha-

 

WOMP!

 

A rubber ball smacking against her skull broke Dakota’s train of thought.  The ball was bulky enough that had it been on the ground, it could have doubled for one of those hippie hipster chair substitutes. It didn’t hurt as much as knock her off balance.  She stumbled a few feet before losing balance and falling over, the squish of her wet diaper breaking her tumble.

 

A hand reached up and pulled her to her feet.  “You okay?  Any owies?”

 

“Owies?” Dakota shook her head to clear the cobwebs out. “Uh…no. I’m not hurt.”  She looked into her boyfriend’s concerned face.  “Brendan?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“What’s going on here?”

 

“We’re playin’ catch.” Then he added, “You’re not so good at it, huh?  It’s okay. You’re just a girl.”  Just a girl?  Just a girl?!  What kind of grade-school sexism was that?!  What next, that she had cooties?

 

Dakota managed to say “I was blindsided!” in defense just before another ball in her back sent her stumbling.  The diapered boy she dated didn’t so much catch her as he gently pushed her back up to her feet, his hands getting a good feel of her breasts in the process. (What had happened to her bra?)   Brendan, who would normally be blushing beet red and apologizing profusely for what had just happened, couldn’t be bothered to blink.  Dakota, likewise, was too stunned to feel much as far as sexual tension or embarrassment.  She spun around and looked at the creep who had just lobbed the giant globule at her head.

 

He was a full head taller than Dakota, and wore a loose-fitting button up romper that stopped at his knees; a kind of formal shirt and shorts all in one.  “What’s the big idea?” she demanded. A stuck out tongue was his only reply.

 

“Quit it, Jean!”  Brendan yelled at the man baby.  “That’s not playin’ nice!”

 

“Do you wanna get cooties?” Jean replied.  “Cuz that’s how you get cooties!”  The ball had rolled back to him and he picked it up once more, clearly readying a third volley of attack.

 

Chivalrously, Brendan stepped in front of his girlfriend, the waddle in his step making him look none the less her knight in shining armor.  “I’m twenty-two now, I don’t believe in cooties.”  He said it with all the seriousness and know-it-all imperiousness of the kid spoiling Santa Claus for everyone else.

 

“Pppphhhb,” Jean’s retort was nothing short of a full on raspberry; tongue out and flapping in the air.  Then with a know-it-all smirk, he said  “The girls are only here cuz your mommy made you invite them.”  Dakota saw the hair on the back of Brendan’s neck bristle.

 

“That’s not true!”

 

“Oooooooo!” Jean exclaimed.  “Brendan likes girls! Brendan likes girls!”

 

“DO NOT!” Brendan shouted.  “Do not do not do not!”  He turned to the side, and Dakota got a look at his face.  He was biting his lip, and his face blushing a deep red.  She’d seen Brendan that embarrassed before, but it was usually when she had him flustered and begging for more, like the nights they experimented with leather or cross dressing.   What was he embarrassed of?

 

Things got quiet on the boy’s side of the room; Old Mac Donald had faded out and been replaced with Bingo.  Dakota’s boy toy looked to her, then to his friend, then back to her.  He was embarrassed of her. She was the reason he was blushing so much.  Just by being there, she was causing him distress and humiliation in front of his peers.

 

The douche bag that was acting like a two-year-old took up a call as old as childhood itself. “Brendan and Dakota, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”  Others picked up the chant. ‘FIRST COMES LOVE! THEN COMES MARRIAGE…THEN COMES BRENDAN WITH THE BABY CARRIAGE!”

 

Quickly, Brendan turned all the way around to face his girlfriend. “Maybe you should just go and play with the other girls.  They’re doing tea party and other girly stuff that girls like.”  The other boys got quiet and were all nodding in approval with hushed “Yeahs” echoing the sentiment.

 

 

 

Taken aback, the young woman in pigtails asked her beau, “Are…are you dumping me?”  Brendan frowned as if Dakota had suddenly switched to a foreign language.

 

“Huh?” he said.  “Dumping?  Whaddya mean?  I got some dump trucks outside if you wanna play with them, I guess. I’m playing catch with my friends right now. Just get out of here.”  A few of the boys clapped. Dakota was shaking with anger.  She’d never been dumped before. No one dumped her.  She dumped them!

 

Not ten minutes ago, he’d been proposing marriage to her.  Five minutes ago, he was ready to bone her in the guest room while all his friends, neighbors and relatives, waited and listened outside.  Now, he couldn’t be bothered with her, his friends’ mocking opinions of her driving his decisions.

 

The most disturbing thing to her, however, more than suddenly being in pigtails and diapers, was the source of the rejection. Dakota was a girl.  She had cooties. What was up with that? Had she been called a bitch, or a cunt, or a slut, she could have coped, or come up with a snappy comeback.  But just for being a girl, she was suddenly being driven out from Brendan’s inner circle (that was playing catch…poorly).  She had cooties.  Dakota couldn’t get over that:  That base-level, self-assured grade school brand of bullshit was literally too simple to debunk.  How did you lose a battle of wits when your opponent was unarmed?  When they were too dumb to feel pain, that’s how.

 

 

Confused, hurt, and numb to the strange new world that had flooded her very reality, Dakota did the only thing that had even a hint of meaning to her.  “Screw you, Brendan Jay,” she shrieked.  “Take your stupid ring back!” With full force and intent, she slid the Ring-Pop off of her finger and hurled it towards the ground.  The candy jewel shattered on the ground into a dozen tiny pieces, scattered by the impact. Brendan looked like a curse had been cast upon him.

 

“MOMMY!” he cried, running off to the back of the house.

 

The entire room stopped for a heartbeat.  “Oooooooooo!” The shocked and accusatory cry rose from the throats of every diapered party goer, staring at her.  The grown-ups (No, not grown-ups!)- adults (other adults)- had been either too busy managing other twenty something’s acting like juvenile idiots to see the entire scene unfold, or watched on with funny smiles, as if Dakota’s actions and feelings were cute.  They wore nostalgic “remember when” smiles on their faces.

 

Dakota huffed, and went over to the other side of the large living room where scattered tables, plastic tea pots, and dolls dominated the landscape.  This time, the room was quiet enough, that Dakota was sure they COULD hear the crinkle in her diaper…if not for their own crinkles.

 

The former sex-kitten plopped down in a thick plastic chair, feeling as much as hearing the wet padding squelch beneath her bottom.  “Fuck my life,” she cried into her hands, muffling the curse. This was wrong on so many levels.  Dressed like a two-year old, soaking in her own piss, at a child-style birthday party AND she’d been dumped for the first time in her life.

 

God was punishing her.  That was what was happening.  She should have accepted the marriage proposal, stopped stringing the poor boy along, taken his love, and settled for being a gorgeous stay-at-home mom who only went on lavish spending sprees a few times a year.  She’d been a brat and was being punished for it in the most literal way imaginable.

 

Or maybe the devil was teaching her a lesson. Her rebuff of Brendan’s advances had been strictly kid stuff.  She should have said yes, allowed the party to kick into overdrive, and then leave Brendan sometime before the wedding.  Either way, all of this topsy-turvy bullshit was both her fault and meant specifically to torment her.

 

Rationally, Dakota doubted it was as simple as some celestial or demonic being punishing her.  She’d done this kind of thing at least twice before (though third time is, of course, the charm). There was likely a much more complicated answer that was grounded somewhere in the reality that she’d been living in before her panties had become disposable. She was no Alice in Wonderland, though.  One didn’t ask asylum inmates why everyone was acting so crazy.  Dakota knew she wouldn’t have liked the answers, and they wouldn’t have helped.

 

The hollow clinky rattling of plastic on wood made Dakota look up from the safe darkness of her fingers and palms.  A dainty, light pink plastic tea cup and matching saucer laid in front of her on the table.  Beside her, a girl about Dakota’s age stood holding a plastic tea pot and a cheap French maid’s hat.  “Tea?” she asked.

 

“Sure…”  Dakota replied, eyeing the pot.  Must’ve been iced tea, hence the lack of steam.  The girl tilted the teapot over Dakota’s cup as Dakota watched, waiting for tea, water, Kool-Aid, vodka (please let it be vodka) SOMETHING to pour out.

 

Nothing came, but the girl tilted the pot up and stood back.  “There you go,” she said.  “Careful, it’s hot.” Playing pretend.  Of course.  What else had she expected?  With one backhanded sweep, Dakota brushed the little tea cup and saucer off the table, sending them clattering to the floor.

 

“Ooopsie!” the girl playing maid (Dakota had never bothered to learn the names of any of Brendan’s little friends) said.  She went down to her knees, and began mock scrubbing at the floor.  “Darn spills. Tea never washes out. Never, never, never!”

 

Dakota sniffed disdainfully, and immediately regretted the decision to do so.  Her nose wrinkled in disgust as something far more pungent than simple urine rammed itself up her nostrils.  She took a hard look at the girl with the little maid hat pretending to scrub nonexistent tea stains.  If the smell had been a signal, the lump in the diaper- evident even through the dark green party dress and white tights- had been a bonfire.   “No way,” Dakota whispered to herself.  “Gross.”  Even vodka likely wouldn’t have gotten the horrible taste out of the young woman’s mouth.

 

Another woman in her late twenties, this one dressed like an adult, walked over and sniffed the air tentatively.  She was Brendan’s older cousin, if Dakota remembered the bevy of introductions made earlier that afternoon.  She looked to Dakota as if she were a suspect (as if!), and Dakota felt herself shrivel up inside from panic.  Soon enough, the lady regarded the girl on the floor- five years her junior, if that- and leaned over to examine the lump in the back of other girl’s plastic-backed panties.  Dakota watched in morbid fascination as the woman gently patted the younger one’s behind, then bent over and pulled back the diaper to take a look inside.  If the girl playing maid minded, or even noticed the other woman violating her personal space and privacy, she gave no signal.

 

“Leslie,” the woman checking the big baby’s (because what else could you call her?) diaper, “let’s go get changed. Okay?”

 

The diapered girl looked up from the floor, a pout forming at her lips.  “I’m not Leslie,” she whined.  “I’m Matilda the Maid.”  She shifted from all fours, to sitting on the floor (smushing the feces in her panties around…disgusting!) and crossed her arms.

 

The more grown-up of the two rolled her eyes good naturedly and said, “Okay…Matilda the Maid.  Do you want to come with me and get changed?”  The girl sitting in her own shit seemed to consider it. “It’s easier to clean if your diaper is clean,” the other woman added.

 

“Okay,” the girl (Leslie or Matilda or whatever) agreed.  Brendan’s cousin (right?...right) helped her to her feet and walked hand in hand with her to the back of the house where most of the bedrooms were located.  A middle-aged man sitting along the edge passed a too-big-to-be-real diaper and a pack of wipes to the young lady in charge, and she received them without even breaking her stride.  As she passed Dakota, she thought the older girl had giggled and whispered something under her breath. The hell did “Forbies” mean?

 

A hand landed on Dakota’s shoulder.  Slowly, she turned and looked up.  “I saw what happened with Brendan,” this new intruder into Dakota’s crumbling sanity said. She had long black hair in braids with a blue dress that was appropriately reminiscent of the main character in a certain Lewis Carroll book. The outfit really did look cute on her, flirty even.  It might have been sexy if not for the obvious bulge that everyone close to Dakota’s age had.  “That’s’ a shame.”

 

“Yeah,” Dakota sulked.  “It sucks.”

 

“Nice boy, too.” The girl in the Alice dress added.  “One of the few ones that’s not a total dumb-head.”

 

“Yeah,” Dakota agreed.

 

“You’re real pretty, too.”

 

“Thanks.”  Dakota smiled genuinely.

 

“It’s a shame you don’t LOOK pretty.”

 

Dakota’s smile instantly became shark like, her teeth daggers.  “I have a feeling you don’t know what words mean.  You wanna try that again, sweetie?” She didn’t move, didn’t stir; was statue still. For the first time since she pulled down Brendan’s pants to find a layer of thick padding with balloon decorations where his boxers should have been, Dakota felt in her element.  She could play these catty little games.

 

The new girl seemed to sense this and began to backpedal.  Grabbing her braids nervously, she clarified.  “No, no, no.  You ARE pretty,” she said.  Each word started tumbling over the next.  “It’s just that you’re not exactly dressed up for this kind of party.  Your Mommy and Daddy didn’t even dress you up in something to cover your diaper.  If this was a slumber party or a play date, you’d be fine, by the way.  So you’re very pretty,” she paused and took a breath. “You just don’t look your best.”

 

Experienced at this kind of repartee Dakota didn’t soften.  She ignored the part about her mommy and daddy dressing her and analyzed the core of the statement:  She was pretty but looked like a train wreck right now.  “Some of us have a beauty that transcends clothing,” she said in an oversweet, insincere tone that even someone dressed like a toddler could understand (bitch).

 

“Oh totally,” the new girl agreed. Sensing Dakota’s superiority, she was clearly rolling over and showing her throat.  “Like a flower...or a cute teddy...or puppies.”  Okay...maybe she didn’t QUITE understand.  Still, Dakota’s presence transcended whatever crazy had just enveloped her world. Alice finished with a whimpering, almost mewling “Just a shame he didn’t want to play with you.”

 

“Whatever,” Dakota shrugged.  “He’s probably gay, now, or something.”

 

“Probably.”  The new girl wrapped one of her braided pig tails around her fingers before adding, “Gay?  What’s gay?”

 

The queen bee stifled a groan.  Of course she didn’t know what “gay” was. “Gay means he likes boys instead of girls.”

 

“Oh.” The girl in the baby blue dress said. “All boys are gay, then.”  Dakota heard herself bark out a bitter laugh at that.   Truer words were never spoken.  Wisdom from the mouth of adult babes.

 

“Yeah, they are.”

 

The new girl latched onto this self-evident truth like a leech. “It’s like, when you’re alone with them on a play date they can be nice, but as soon as other boys come around, they don’t wanna play with you no more, but then they’re okay with laying down next to you during nap time, but when it’s play time they don’t remember nothin’ and are like I was just sleepin’ with you, and they don’t want to play house no more.”  The new girl stopped herself from rambling further. “I’m Alice.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

“Yeah,” she rolled her eyes.  “The dress is not a coincidence.  My Mommy and Daddy think it’s cute. They dress me up in it every excuse they get. It is a nice dress though.”

 

“It is,” Dakota allowed.  “It works… for you.”

 

“Still, it makes me feel like I’m some little kid, or something.  I hate being treated like I’m too little.  You know what I mean?”

 

“You. Have. No. Idea.”

 

Alice looked at her immediate surroundings; at the boys who had now gotten to a raucous game of duck-duck-goose, at the girls still playing tea party, and more importantly, at the grown-ups who were monitoring them all.  “Wanna do something grown-up?” she whispered conspiratorially

 

“Drink?”

 

“Nuh-uh.”  Alice’s braids jangled as she shook her head.  “Not thirsty.”

 

It took everything in the former mean girl’s will power not to slap her own forehead. “Smoke?”

 

“Ewww…gross.”

 

“Then what?”

 

Alice’s hands snaked down into the little white front apron of her Alice in Wonderland outfit.  From the pocket, she took out a tube of lipstick in one hand and a mascara wand in the other.  “Got ’em from my Mommy’s purse.  Wanna play with them?”

 

Logically, Dakota knew she shouldn’t.  This wasn’t out of any desire to be “good”, but out of practicality. What difference would it make? She’d just be a giant baby with makeup on.  Then again… she looked like a baby now, and everyone was treating her as such.  Maybe, just maybe, if she looked more like an adult, things would reverse course.  This was no time for logic; this was a time for sophistry.  When in Wonderland, eat the mushrooms.  She even had her very own Alice to guide her.

 

“Oh hell yes.”  Dakota said.

 

“What?”

 

“Yes.” Dakota explained. “I said yes. C’mon.  Bathroom.  Now!”

 

Kelsey

 

Kelsey had to poop.  It wasn’t extremely urgent…yet, but the need was growing.  Seeing her RA squat and poop her pants right in the middle of everything must have done something to her. It was similar to the sensation one had on long car trips after seeing the sign for a rest stop.  It was easy enough to ignore the need to go until the opportunity presented itself.  Kelsey hadn’t had to go… until she did, and now it was at the forefront of her mind and in no danger of going away.  She had to find a toilet soon, or end up using the one in her shortalls.

 

The college senior walked away from the adult sized playground that so many others were enjoying and back the way she came; the entrance to her dorm was there.  Kelsey hadn’t made it thirty feet before a pair of people wearing college colors approached her.  They weren’t much older than her- they could have been working on doctorates or masters degrees- but seemed infinitely more “adult” in their dress and demeanor.  Come to think of it, all of the people that were supervising seemed to be around that age.  They had all been wearing University t-shirts, too. “Wrong way, honey,” a young woman with short blonde hair told Kelsey, pointing to the swing sets and slides that had been erected.  “Playtime is that way. Over there.”

 

“I need to get back to my dorm.” Kelsey explained.  This elicited a few giggles from the pair blocking her.

 

“Honey, you don’t have a dorm,” the male said, his hair thinning already.  “Only college students get to have sleepovers here, not forever babies.”  There was that phrase again.  First, Megan, now these two jokers. What was a forever baby? A gurgle in her gut told Kelsey that that question would have to wait.  She didn’t have time for this.

 

Quickly, the girl dug through the bib pocket in her shortalls.  Right where she left it, the tiny plastic rectangle with her picture was a welcome sight. “My combination keycard and student ID says otherwise.”  Without examining it, Kelsey handed her card over to the couple holding her up.

 

They examined it, carefully, passing it to and from each other, as if they were TSA agents and Kelsey, in all her five foot nothing glory was a suspected terrorist about to board a plane “Well…Kelsey…this is definitely a student ID of sorts.” The lady said, her words slow and carefully chosen.  “It’s just not for this school.”

 

“What?” Kelsey snatched her ID.  “What are you talking…?” Kelsey stopped herself short.  The guard was right.  This was a school ID, just for the wrong school.  Kelsey’s sunny, brightly smiling face was still on the card, but the color scheme had changed to a light pink and baby blue mix instead of the college’s bright and vibrant colors.  Gone was the mascot in the lower righthand corner; in its place stood a teddy bear with a heart on its tummy. Her name and the name of whatever school this was for was written in a strange font.  She recognized the writing as English, but her eyes couldn’t adjust to it enough to make out the words.

 

“Any other questions?” the male asked.  “Do you need help, honey?”  Yes, and yes on both counts, but Kelsey had the sinking feeling that these two wouldn’t be willing or able to provide it.

 

“Nope, I’m good.” Kelsey turned around and started walking towards the crowd of ridiculously dressed college kids.

 

“Just go play until your Mommy and Daddy come to pick you up,” the woman called out after her. Kelsey didn’t look back, instead raising her fist into the air to signal a thumbs up.  Just then, a cramp rushed through her, causing her to stop dead in her tracks, almost doubling over.  “You okay?” they called after her.  The pain subsided, and Kelsey righted herself.  Again, she signaled with a thumbs up.  First thing first, find a toilet.  Then try to suss out the rest of this bucket of crazy that had just been dumped into her lap.

 

 

The girl waddle-walked back into the crowd, talking to herself.  “Gotta find a toilet.  Gotta find a toilet,” she kept repeating it as if it were some kind of mantra.”  Weren’t there public toilets around here or something?  Unfortunately, between the bouncy house, swing set, and various other upscaled playground equipment, as well as all of the babied-up college kids milling and crowding around, impatiently waiting for their turn, a clear line of sight was a logistical impossibility.

 

Distracting her, however briefly, was the blaring music from gigantic speakers that echoed over the entirety of the college courtyard-turned-playground.  Intermingled with all of the ridiculously dressed early-twenty-somethings were what Kelsey thought of as University employees and older students working on their doctorates and MAs; they fit the stereotypical age range, anyways.  They were all smiling, waving, and pointing the immature looking college students in the direction of this attraction or that.  A few had cooler bags filled with juice boxes, which they handed out freely.  Others, Kelsey saw, passed out little boxes of animal crackers.  Still more lagged behind, picking up dropped garbage and putting them into black garbage bags.  Great; everything needed to induce bathroom usage, but no visible bathrooms.

 

A dull ache from inside her hastened her search.  Clutching her stomach slightly, Kelsey’s direction sense, memory, and an inkling of common sense finally helped her orient herself. She’d been too busy trying to spot a bathroom past the push merry-go-round and the ball pit, but any kind of party would keep the good stuff far away from the toilets.  At the same time, you always wanted people to know where to go take a dump.

 

Standing on tip toes and craning her neck, Kelsey searched the periphery and saw what she thought she’d been looking for:  A plain colored concrete building with a tented roof- a door with opposite ends facing the playground.  Bingo!  Around it a thin crowd of ridiculously dressed twenty-somethings lingered, as if waiting for a turn.  Kelsey vaguely remembered passing by the public restroom a number of times, the building being an unessential convenience and piece of background furniture in her years living in the dorms.

 

All similarities to a public restroom, at a big function or otherwise, ended there.  In front of the building was a large banner on two tent poles. There were no words on the banner, but instead Kelsey recognized the near universal symbol for a baby changing station.  A non-descript, sexless figure with splayed out arms and bowed out legs, with a solid white colored crotch indicating a diaper.  It was the outline of an infant laying prone; but something was different; something was wrong.  The outline’s legs were too long, or the arms were too short; the proportions were still humanoid, but not to scale with an actual baby’s.

 

On either side of the bathroom, instead of a line of porta-potties as might be expected for the big crowd, two large white tents had been set up on either side, with diapered people trickling in an out of them in little spurts.

 

None of the people dressed like…dressed like her were walking into the bathrooms or tents alone.  All of them were escorted in and out as if they couldn’t or wouldn’t do it themselves.  Kelsey watched as young woman in her early twenties, wearing a bright yellow romper with bows in her hair, waddled out escorted by another woman who was thirty, tops.  The older of the two wore a teal pair of scrubs, like a nurse or a doctor, gave the other girl a playful pat on her ass and the girl toddled out of the area and made a bee-line for a giant table that was being perpetually sprayed down with shaving cream.

 

The more adult woman waved goodbye (even though the other girl wasn’t even looking back) and then strolled up to another group of adults dressed like toddlers.  Kelsey watched, mouth agape, as a boy in a t-shirt and shorts- the most adult ensemble she’d seen someone her own age wearing, despite the obvious diaper peeking out- got his padded crotch groped. Guy didn’t even flinch.  No one did.  No one seemed to mind it either when the lady walked around him and pulled back his underwear to have a look for herself.  The slightly older (but infinitely more adult) woman nodded and took the boy by the hand, leading him into the tent.  Kelsey didn’t need to guess what was going to happen.

 

She watched for another minute, and saw as Megan, her R.A. who had taken a dump right in front of Kelsey, was being dragged by her forearm towards the changing area.  Her feet walked, however slowly, with the person in the university shirt towards the bathrooms and white tent; the other girl’s eyes were searching outward, her free hand grasping towards the giant playground.  She didn’t look like someone being tortured or humiliated, Kelsey decided, but like a two-year-old who didn’t want to stop playing to get her ass wiped.  And from everything that Kelsey had seen today, that’s effectively what was happening.

 

Mesmerized by the absurd horror show unfolding before her eyes, Kelsey looked on for several more minutes, ignoring the growing pain in her gut. Again and again, a kind of melodrama transformation was taking place. Some went in quietly like good little girls and boys, others were overgrown little pills and fussed the whole way in, digging their heels in (for all the good it did them).  One or two even had to be carried in.  But no matter what, they all walked out smiling, giggling and happy, with their attendant giving them a little pat on the rear and sending them away to play again.

 

 

They were…“Adult babies.” The words tasted of bitter ash in Kelsey’s mouth, the inherent contradiction causing enough cognitive dissonance to make her feel the slightest bit dizzy.  Maybe these people were getting more than just their butts wiped inside.

 

The college senior dismissed the idiotic thought as soon as she had formed it.  There had to be a logical explanation for this, even if she hadn’t found it yet. One thing was for certain: she did not want to go in there.

 

This wasn’t working! Kelsey screamed at herself internally as her sense of urgency increased. Kink, convention, social experiment, or whatever this was, Kelsey could figure out all of that later.  What she needed to figure out RIGHT NOW was how to not poop her pampers…her pants…how to not poop her pants. “’Scuse me!” she called out to a passing boy with nothing covering his diaper  “Can you tell me-?“  He was gone into the crowd before she finished.  “Hey?” she called out to a girl who didn’t even have a shirt on.  Again, she was ignored.  “Excuse m-?” A gentle poke made the short senior turn around.

 

A blonde girl, only about three inches taller than Kelsey, looked her in the eye. “You okay?” she asked.  Her expression, a frown of genuine concern and empathy, was offset by her outfit.  Kelsey looked past the purple feetie pajamas, the dragon hoodie down, and saw the sincerity in the azure blue eyes.

 

“Not really,” Kelsey grunted, feeling the moment of no return was fast approaching.

 

 “You need help?” the other girl’s face gaining its own urgency as Kelsey’s registered.  Kelsey nodded her affirmation.  “Okay.  What?”

 

Kelsey slammed her eyes shut as a cramp rolled over her.  “Gotta… find… a bathroom,” she gasped. “Now!”

 

There was a small pause as the blonde girl seemed to puzzle over Kelsey’s predicament.  Finally, she said “Okay! Follow me!  I know where you can find a bathroom.  My house is nearby. Let’s go!”  The blonde girl held out her hand and Kelsey took it without hesitation.

 

They broke off at a trot, the blonde girl leading the way through the sea of people like a veteran crowd sailor.  The collective cacophony of screeches, giggles, and shouts mixed in with the occasional juvenile whining sob became so much white noise.  It would be easy to get lost in this crowd; to drown.  All the while, Kelsey’s new companion had an air of laser focus and casualness about her, as if she were completely in her element.

 

Her guide looked back over her shoulder.  “Is this your first time at one of these things?” she asked.  Biting her lip, Kelsey nodded.  “Figured,” the pajama clad blonde said, still dragging Kelsey through the crowd.  “No biggie.  Everybody has a first time.”

 

It obviously wasn’t her new friend’s first time at one of these things, that much was for certain. While Kelsey had to keep correcting her pace and movement, her walking made no easier by the diaper between her legs or the jostling crowd she was weaving through, this strange Sherpa of sorts was walking and talking as if she’d been in padded underwear her entire life and was a veteran concert goer on top of that.

 

“My house is just up ahead,” the other girl assured Kelsey.  They had only moved about the length of a football field, if that, to the other end of the courtyard, but Kelsey didn’t care if by “house” the other girl meant “dorm room.”  Kelsey didn’t even care if “house” was code for “janitor’s closet.”  Her mind was already fixated on her own personal endgame.

 

First, she’d run to a toilet, relieve herself of this burden, diaper included, and then figure out a way to straighten things out with the people who seemed to think she was some kind of mental invalid.  Fuck it, if she could just find a little privacy she’d unbutton the crotch snaps on her newly altered shortalls, rip the diaper off, take a dump on the floor, use the diaper to wipe her ass, and then be on her merry way, as long as she didn’t soil herself.

 

Kelsey’s legs came to a stop as her guide stopped jerking her around like a rag doll.  The two of them had arrived.  “We’re hooooome!” the girl sang.  The pride in her voice was of equal measure with the surge of disappointment in Kelsey’s soul.

 

Off-white plastic walls greeted them. Windows, lacking glass, that were big enough to fall through stared out at them.  A smooth, hard green plastic roof that was short enough that even Kelsey could have climbed atop with minimal assistance rose above them.  An orange plastic door with grooves cut down into it to seem a crude facsimile of wood awaited them.  It was a play house; the kind that you might see in the backyard of any middle class two-year-old.  It was a large playhouse, granted, scaled up so that adults could enter it, but it was a playhouse all the same. As if to accentuate the discovery, Kelsey’s eyes darted to the right, taking in a turtle shaped sandbox the width of a jumbo hot-tub; the inhabitants doing their level best to create and destroy little castles using special buckets and plastic shovels. No way that thing had indoor plumbing.

 

 “Come on.” the strange girl who’d led Kelsey this far said. “Let’s go play house.”

 

Kelsey’s rage was about to boil over.  She was an instant away from screaming at this crazy woman at the top of her lungs.  This was some cruel joke, whether that had been the intent or not. But when she opened her mouth to scream at the other girl, an uncontrolled sigh of relief came instead.

 

Kelsey Keaton had never spent much time on what it might be like to poop her pants. She had assumed that it would be explosive with everything that she’d been trying to hold in rocketing out her backside at once.  Or maybe it would be a long, drawn out affair, with her solid waste clawing its way out of her, as she, red-faced, struggled to hold it all in until her body finally overrode her pride and with a final sobbing grunt, she was forced to push the mess into the back of her pants.

 

It wasn’t like that all, though.  The very instant she’d stopped focusing on the toilet-that-wasn’t and started bemoaning her bad fortune, her insides relaxed and with a kind of long dormant muscle memory reactivated.  The mess was already half way out of her by the time she had opened her mouth, and when she had next inhaled, the entirety of it had exited its way into her diaper, ballooning it out ever so slightly before the mass it collapsed in on itself and spread along her cheeks.   She had just shit herself.  All it took was one brief pause, a little push- barely noticeable- and it all came flowing out.  It was as easy as if she’d been doing it her whole life.  She was a natural.  She was a pro.  Kelsey Keaton pooped her pampers like a pro.

 

While her body was certainly comfortable with this new development, Kelsey’s mind was anything but.  Her own scream was cut short by her throat tightening.  A shiver of revulsion passed through her, as her stomach rolled, the signals from Kelsey’s brain all but begging her to vomit.  Her cheeks clenched in revulsion, which only spread the mess further.

 

“Hey, new kid,” the girl in the purple dragon jammies looked back at her.  “You comin’?”

 

The college senior stood there, knees locked in panic.  She was shaking so hard that the buckles on her shortalls were rattling a bit.  “I…I…I…” Kelsey stuttered.  “I…” she mouthed the word “pooped.”  Saying it out loud, even mouthing it made the squishy mess in what used to be her panties all the more real.

 

“Oh,” the other girl, said.  “So…you comin’?”

 

Kelsey’s knees locked in place.  “I pooped…” Kelsey repeated the words.  “I just went… in my pants.”

 

“Uhhhh-huh.”  The blonde girl agreed, clearly not seeing the point of Kelsey’s distress.  “So?”

 

So?  So?! How could Kelsey explain the level of personal shame she was feeling when everyone surrounding her seemed incapable of such a feat?  It was like nailing a piece of Jell-O to a cat: No matter what, the damn thing wasn’t going to stay still.

 

“Is that why you were over near the changin’ place?” Dragon Jammies asked.  “Were you waiting for a grown up to take you there?  I think you’re allowed to go yourself if you want, though I don’t know why anybody would…less they were leakin’ or somethin’.”  Kelsey shook her head dumbly.  “Yeah,” the blonde girl stuck out her tongue.  “I don’t like stopping playtime either.”  Then a light came on in the girl’s eyes.  “Oooooh!  I think I know what happened.”

 

“You do?”

 

The other girl nodded confidently.  “Yeah,” she said. “Let me guess: You just got changed, probably just a wet diaper or somethin’ but some grown-up thought you were too wet.  How am I doin’ so far?”  Kelsey stared blankly at the other girl, too blown away by the inaccuracy to correct her.  “Aaaand,” the other girl prattled on, “you don’t wanna stop playing again just so some grown-up can be like, ‘But I just changed you!?’”  She did this last part in a deep chesty bass with her arms crossed.  “I hate it when that happens,” she finished in her regular voice. “It’s not your fault they changed you too early. Grown-ups…go figure.”

 

Kelsey couldn’t figure. She had no idea what the other girl was talking about.  Not even three minutes prior, she could never even imagine soiling herself, and this stranger was acting like it was the most normal and mundane thing in the world.   From her tone, this girl might as well have been talking about periods, or having a bad hair day, or some bad chick flick, or whatever normal girls talked about.  Only instead of talking about normal things, she was talking about wanting to play house, and how inconvenient diaper changes could be.

 

All her life, Kelsey had had a hard time relating to people her own age and making significant friendships.  She was always a little too juvenile in her appearance and tastes for most people to interact with beyond a surface level.  Daisy Duck T-shirts and shortalls were not what you wore to go dancing, bar hopping, or crash a frat party.  Classmates didn’t watch Sesame Street for fun.

 

Just now, though, she felt damn near grown up compared to the ones running around in sagging diapers and colorful onesies. Even with a load in her pants, she seemed like the biggest kid in the playground.  She at least was mature enough to know that it was wrong and to be avoided.  Now she was the one that didn’t want to talk about childish things like calling adults “grown-ups,” and had trouble relating to problems like interrupted playtime to go have her ass wiped for her.  The pendulum had somehow swung in the other direction.

 

“Are you comin?’” Dragon Jammies called for Kelsey.

 

Kelsey found her voice, if only barely.  “I gotta find a bathroom.”

 

“We can pretend shower in there,” the blonde girl pointed towards the playhouse.

 

Kelsey let out an exasperated sigh out through her mouth before breathing in through her nose.  That was a mistake.  The pungent smell of her own fertilizer was…was…okay, not that bad, (everyone likes their own brand), but the multi-stimulus reminder wasn’t doing the college senior any favors.  “I was trying to find a toilet,” she explained.

 

The weirdo who’d dragged her to this waste of time cocked her head.  “Toilet?”

 

Kelsey rolled her eyes.  Of course.  “Potty…?” she offered.  Though come to think of it, a shower was more in order.

 

“Oooooh!” the blonde girl bobbed her head in understanding.  “Potty.”  The word sounded weird coming from the big toddler- unnatural- like she was saying a foreign word without being fluent in the language.

 

This was going nowhere fast.  Kelsey sighed again.  “I’m outta here.”  She turned around, her face cringing as the weight in her diaper moved with her, the mess just loose enough so that she could feel it whiplash behind her as she spun.

 

“Whoah!”  Dragon Jammies ran around to block Kelsey; she was surprisingly fast.  “I thought you wanted to play house.”

 

Kelsey found her temperature rising again.  Crazy girl just wouldn’t let it go.   Kelsey wondered:  Is this what she did to people when she became fixated on the works of Dr. Seuss?  “I’m going back to the public toilets.”

 

“Why?  You gonna go get changed?”

 

“No,” Kelsey spoke very slowly and deliberately.  “I’m going to have them to take me to the potty. Then she corrected herself. ”I mean toilet.”

 

“Why would they take you potty?” The slightly taller girl asked.

 

“I’m potty trained.”  Those were words that Kelsey hadn’t had to utter since she was at least three years old.

 

The other girl just giggled. “No you’re not. You pooped.  They’ll just change you.”  Kelsey opened her mouth to counter that argument and found that she couldn’t.  Everybody around her had gone insane.  Everyone on campus was either acting like big babies or treating people like big babies.  The men and women being escorted in and out of the bathrooms between the tents seemed no different than any of the others.  Likely, all the available space was being used for the changing of adult sized diapers.

 

Also, Kelsey had already defiled herself.  No way a bunch of crazies would believe she was an adult if she had her ass wrapped in a used diaper.  They would change her diaper, give her a pat on her bum and send her on her way, just like everyone else.   She was surrounded in a sea of strangers, too.  Other than Megan, Kelsey hadn’t seen a familiar face.  The idea of a complete stranger stripping her naked, wiping the muck off her backside and then re-diapering her was disgusting and mortifying beyond belief; the ultimate in violation of personal boundaries for the young woman.

 

The psychology major had read cases of mass hallucinations and shared delusions, but never at this level, nor was this sort of thing so spontaneous.  Maybe this was a fetish thing.  She’d accidentally stumbled into an odd fetish party and everyone just assumed she was in on the joke, though that didn’t explain how the diaper had gotten wrapped around her bum in the first place.  Even if she was right and this was just a case of mass method acting, Kelsey didn’t know the safe word, or whatever it was she would need to do to demonstrate that she no longer found the joke funny.  Safe word, that was a thing, right?  Right.

 

“Well crud,” Kelsey whispered.  Then she looked to the fellow inmate in the asylum.  “Okay,” she told Dragon Jammies.  “Let’s play house.”

 

The blonde girl clapped her hands in a frenzy “Yaaaaaay!” she squealed before grabbing Kelsey by the wrist and made a mad dash towards the playhouse.  “Mommy!  I’m hoooome!” the girl called out, her voice rattling off the hollow plastic walls.

 

“Mommy?” Kelsey echoed the greeting.  Dragon Jammies needn’t have bothered shouting.  The house was only one room, and even if it was big for a toddler, it was still little more than a plastic shack.  Kelsey could very well have raised the roof in the right places if she’d thought to put her hands up.  As for “Mommy”, if Kelsey was worried about some crazy older person thinking she was a two-year old, the opposite was true.

 

“Mommy,” in this instance, was a dark-skinned girl with her hair pinned up in a little bun.  Her Sophia the First t-shirt and light up sneakers almost complimented the sagging wet diaper practically hanging off her hips. Almost.  “I’m not ‘Mommy,’” she said to the girl in purple pajamas, “Grown-Ups don’t call each other Mommy and Daddy.  I’m ‘Darling,’ and you’re ‘Jim Dear.’  Just like in that movie.”

 

 The two waddled over to each other, hugged, and made awkward ‘Mwah’ noises as they kissed the air.  “Lady and the Tramp?” Kelsey asked, recalling the faceless humans from the film.

 

“That’s how grown ups act,” the girl in the wet diaper said as if she were a wise sage.  “That’s how my Mommy and Daddy act anyways.”  This new puzzle of a woman looked at Kelsey as if for the first time.  “Oh my!” she said with a gasp that was too well enunciated to be sincere.  “Where are my manners?  I didn’t realize that Jim Dear brought home a guest.”  The newest player in this bizarre melodrama, “Darling”, looked to the girl in the dragon jammies and said, “I thought you said you were going out and looking for a job.  How are you supposed to provide for me?  My mother said I never should have married you.”  

 

Completely unfazed, Dragon Jammies, now ‘Jim Dear,’ thumbed over to Kelsey’s direction.  “I found us a baby to play house with us,” she said.  “I think she’d be really good at playing house.”  Baby?  Wasn’t the shitty pampers clinging to her backside babyish enough?  And who were they to talk about being a baby?  The girl who’d dragged her here crinkled just as much as she did, and the other one was one good wetting away from leaking.  Anybody could see that.

 

 

Mommy/Darling jumped up and down, her wet diaper bobbing out sync with the rest of her.  “A baby?!  You got me a baby from the stork? Oh, Jim Dear!”  She went and hugged the girl in the dragon jammies, and Kelsey shook her head in disbelief as the girls giggled and bounced in each other’s arms.  The diapered Darling stopped.  “Unless, this is a trick…”

 

“A trick?”  The other two diapered women echoed the third.

 

“What if…” Darling paused.  “What if you’re NOT Jim?”

 

“I’m not,” Dragon Jammies replied.  “We’re just pretendin’.  ‘Member?”

 

Ignoring her, Darling pressed on.  “What if, you’re really Jim’s evil twin?!  You’re really his evil twin, trying to de-sleeve me, and that baby is yours and not his!” With a snap of her elbow, the new girl pointed dramatically at Kelsey.   “Oh, but she is mine!  And this is the secret that will tear apart both me and Jim’s marriage!  I knew I never should have taken that nap with you!  Mother always said, don’t sleep with strangers.

 

Stunned, Kelsey said, “You guys don’t mess around when you play house, do you?”  She was so taken aback by the show unfolding in front of her that she almost forgot about the muck in her diaper.  Almost.

 

“My Mommy watches soap.”  Darling told Kelsey, breaking character.  “The T.V. kind, not the bath kind.  This is how grown-ups talk to each other when kids aren’t around.”

 

Kelsey snickered, despite herself.  “Yeah,” she said.  “I’m pretty sure it doesn’t work that way.”

 

“No,” Darling assured her. “It does.  I’mma expert on grown-ups.”

 

Kelsey was about to counter that argument, when Dragon Jammies interrupted.  “Buuuuut…if you’re gonna play the baby, you can’t talk like that, can you?”

 

“Oh yeah,” Darling said, her face a mask of thoughtful consideration.  “Good point.  Doesn’t that mean we have to start calling each other Mommy and Daddy now?”

 

“I think so,” Dragon Jammies nodded.

 

“What should we do?” Darling asked.

 

“I’m notta…” Kelsey began to protest.

 

The girl in the purple footie pajamas interrupted her. “She wants to go potty.”

 

“Potty training babies!”  Darling shrieked with delight.  “That’s great!  Suuuuper grown-up!”

 

Kelsey started to argue.  “That’s not what I-“  The college senior wasn’t able to finish the sentence before the two other women were dragging her to a nearby chair.  “Hey!  Leggo!”

 

“Baby’s gotta go potty!” The other two said in unison.  Kelsey found herself spun around and pushed backward.  The backs of her knees touched a hard plastic chair and buckled, sending her careening straight down onto the hard seat.  The fall likely wouldn’t have hurt, regardless, but the extra cushioning made it a complete non-issue.  It was the closest thing to sitting on a pillow.  More traumatic than the fall, however, was the feeling of the mess in Kelsey’s shortalls spreading around, creeping and oozing up, down and out.  What had been a fairly solid lump in the girl’s diaper was now an uneven paste.  Kelsey’s lunch threatened to come up and greet the air.

 

Taking nauseated silence for compliance, the other diapered girls looked to each other.  “What now?” Darling asked.  “I’ve never potty trained anybody before.”

 

“I think we make her sit until she pees or poops.” Dragon Jammies said to her compatriot.  Then with full seriousness, she looked Kelsey in the eye and asked.  “Have you peed or pooped?”  The world shimmered before her as Kelsey fought back tears of humiliation.  Kelsey silently nodded, her vision a blur of water.  The girl in the purple pajamas looked to the one in the wet diaper and instructed.  “Now we gotta tell her what a good job she did and how she’s almost a big girl.”

 

“So big.”

 

“Usin’ the potty.”

 

“I’m so proud of you!”

 

“Such a big kid.”

 

Sitting in a paste of her own making, Kelsey’s mouth went dry, her humiliation beginning to simmer into a boiling rage.

 

“Hey,” Darling looked to Dragon Jammies. “How do you know so much about potty training.”

 

“I paid attention when my Mommy and Daddy were potty training my little brother.  He’s real smart.  He drives a car now and everything.”

 

Enough was enough. “I’M POTTY TRAINED!” She shouted, pushing the two other overgrown toddlers out of her way as she stood.

 

Darling and Dragon Jammies stepped back.  “Toldja I knew how to potty train a baby.”

 

“I’M! NOT! A! BABY!” Kelsey proclaimed, her voice loud enough to cause the playhouse walls to rattle.  “I’M NOT A BABY! GOT IT?”

 

The other two girls looked at Kelsey like she was completely divorced from reality. “Well yeah,” Darling said, her sodden, swollen diaper swinging between her thighs like an old grandfather clock.  “We’re just playin’ pretend, silly.”

 

“Then why,” Kelsey asked, exasperated, “is everybody our age wearing diapers?!”

 

“We’re forever babies,” the other two replied.

 

“But I’m twenty-two!”

 

“Yeah,” Darling agreed.  “Forever babies.”

 

Dragon Jammies added, “My brother calls us Forbies.”

 

“What’s the difference?”  Kelsey demanded.

 

The other two frowned a bit, more in careful consideration than in disappointment.  Then they began to bombard Kelsey with information:

 

“Babies can get potty trained.”

 

“Babies can get outta daycare.”

 

“Babies get more mature.”

 

“Babies stop being babies.”

 

“Babies grow up.”

 

The college senior stood there, baffled.  The absolute illogic of that statement combined with the confidence that it was stated with reeked of schizophrenia, or the early stages of dementia- any number of mental illnesses that she’d read about and studied… yet something about it rang true.

 

“Babies grow up,” she echoed the statement.  She felt like the wind had been knocked out of her.  Sitting back down, now not even caring about her messy diaper, Kelsey repeated the words.  “Babies grow up.”  She deserved this, she knew.  Her entire life until today had been about indulging in the juvenile; never fully letting go; never fully growing up. Now, as far as everyone was concerned, she hadn’t.  Only it had gone too far.  No one took her seriously, and she was expected to soil herself, surrender her agency to strangers, and be happy about it.  This was some kind of divine punishment.

 

Dragon Jammies squatted down and made eye contact with Kelsey. “Don’t tell me your Mommy and Daddy never gave you the talk, new kid.”  She might have been using her diaper, too, but Kelsey was beyond caring at this point.

 

Kelsey blinked away a tear.  “The talk?”

 

“Yeah,” Darling agreed.  “The talk?  About how everybody our age is too immature, so we’re never gonna have to grow up.  That’s why we don’t hafta go to school or use the potty.”  It should have sounded sad, but there wasn’t even a hint of regret in the other woman’s voice.  If anything, she sounded cheery, or smug; the condescending tone of rich kid looking down on the poor unfortunate souls that would have to work one day instead of just inheriting their daddy’s money.

 

Dragon Jammies added in her own two cents.  “Or hafta drink from big kid cups, or tie our shoes, or learn to drive.  Nothin’!”

 

Darling chirped in, “How do they even drink like that without spilling juice everywhere?’  Dragon Jammies shrugged.

 

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Kelsey fought against a sob.

 

Dragon Jammies shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s how it is.”

 

“But…but…but no!” Kelsey stood up, again.  “That’s NOT how it is.  That’s NEVER how it’s been. I’m an adult.  Yeah, I like cartoons and toys and kids’ books, but I also was about to get a degree in psychology.  I had it all planned out!” she explained, her breath starting to become ragged.  “I was going to… graduate, then work part time at a social service agency while I worked on my Master’s….”

Kelsey felt the sudden pangs of a filled bladder.  The sensation was distracting her, but she had no intention of stopping talking.  Fuck it.  She was in a dirty diaper anyways. Half a thought later, she was letting loose a tiny stream into the thirsty padding between her legs.

 

“Then I was gonna teach college courses while I worked on my doctorate for another four to seven years,” Kelsey said as the diaper did its job; the padding starting to swell by the time she had finished speaking.

 

 

A silence filled the playhouse.  The three diapered girls all stared at each other. Darling shook her head in total amazement. “You don’t mess around when you play school, do you?”

 

“I’M NOT PLAYING!” Kelsey screamed.  “IT WAS PROBABLY THE ONE THING I WASN’T PLAYING AT! I’M NOT PLAYING SCHOOL! I’M NOT PLAYING HOUSE! I’M DONE PLAYING!”

 

All three stood there in silence, with the pounding of Kelsey’s heart drowning out the muted crinkle coming from her waist.  Then, the last thing that Kelsey could have anticipated (though perhaps she should have) happened.  Dragon Jammies and Darling, who had been perfectly happy stealing plots from soap operas while they played house, who had invited her to share in their playtime, who seemed as juvenile and as alien to her as she had likely seemed to others, started crying.  It was ugly crying too: Full on wailing, snot bubbles forming, and no chance of a coherent word from either of them.

 

Kelsey dried her tears held her hands up defensively and started to try to quietly shush the big babies…the “forever babies” or “forbies” or whatever they called themselves.  She had lost her temper and yelled at them and now there was just more problems on top of problems.  Her conscience flared up, telling her from inside her own confused mind that she had to make this right, somehow.

 

“Wait…” Kelsey told herself.  “What am I even doing?”  This wasn’t her problem.  Getting two crazy chicks to act less crazy was not her responsibility.  Escaping was!  As fast as her legs would propel her, the psych major ran, slamming open the orange plastic door on her way out; her diaper crinkling and squishing with every step.  The wails of the two girls chased her out into the open air.

 

The runaway girl looked behind her; the cacophony was so loud that the playhouse could be seen shaking from the outside.  “Gotta-get-awa-oooof!” Her own thought was cut short as she ran right into another warm body.  She stumbled backwards and tripped over her own legs; her puffy underwear breaking the fall. With the way her adrenaline was pumping, the humiliating state of her underwear didn’t even occur to her.

 

“STUPID BA-!” she shouted up.  Only it wasn’t a baby, nor was it anyone dressed as a baby.  The guy was built like a brick house with a gray flattop and matching goatee.  He had the frame of a professional weightlifter who’d only just lapsed into middle age.  Like every other “grown-up” she had encountered, he wore a University T-shirt, this one a dignified polo with the logo on the breast.

 

A big meaty mitt offered Kelsey a hand up. Without thinking, the girl reached up and took it. “Easy there, little girl.  You’ve got to watch where you’re going or someone could get hurt.”  He smiled down at her in a kindly, almost grandfatherly way.

 

“Uh…thank you.”  Kelsey said quietly.  Shit.  This likely wouldn’t end well.  If the people guarding the entrance to the courtyard were any measure, this guy basically thought he was talking to a two-year-old.

 

“Now what sort of hurry are you in, little lady?”

 

Obviously, “my world has turned upside down in some sort of karmic irony kind of way and I’m trying to escape” was not an acceptable answer, so instead Kelsey said “Ball pit.”  As if in punctuation, a fresh wave of Dragon Jammies’s and Darling’s wails echoed out of the playhouse.  The former full-fledged adult held her breath.

 

“What’s going on in there?” the older guy asked Kelsey.

 

“Um…” Kelsey paused.  “Maybe they’re hurt? Better go check on them.”  Fingers crossed, if she got lucky, the giant next to her would leave her to check on the real “forever babies”.

 

As things played out, Kelsey concluded that she should have crossed more fingers. Another playground attendant rushed into the plastic building and came out with two twenty-two-year-olds bawling their heads off. A big, suntanned hand took hers and the older man told her, “My friend has got this handled.  Why don’t we wait for them to come over and we can sort this out?”  Kelsey’s mouth became as dry as her diaper was wet.

 

A woman in her early thirties with bleached blonde hair brought a crying Dragon Jammies and Darling over to Kelsey “I checked them out real quick, Jude,” the woman reported to the older man.  “No cuts or bruises.”

 

“Then why are they crying?” The older man, Jude, asked.  He sounded like he was asking his co-worker, but he turned a suspicious eye on Kelsey.  Kelsey shivered under his gaze, but kept silent.  Still holding Kelsey’s hand, he turned his attention to the two fussing women and in a slow, soothing baritone asked.  “What’s wrong, honey?  Tell Ol’ Jude why you’re so sad so he can make it all better.”

 

“NEW KID DOESN’T WANNA PLAY WITH US!”  Dragon Jammies screamed.

 

Her diaper threatening to fall off her, Darling added, “AFTER WE POTTY TRAINED HER AND EVERYTHING!”

 

“Potty trained?” The bleached blonde attendant, whom Kelsey had internally dubbed “Judy”, stifled a laugh.  “Forbies can’t be-“

 

The big man held up his hand to silence his co-worker.  She took the hint.  “Let me guess?” he said looking at the three babied girls.  “House?”

 

“Uh-huh,” Kelsey’s accusers replied in unison.  The big gray man’s eyes came down on Kelsey and reluctantly, she nodded.

 

The college student’s hand still engulfed in the giant’s palm, Jude turned to her and said, “Aaaaand let me guess.  You didn’t want to be the baby?  You probably get enough of that as it is.  You wanted to be something different.”

 

It was oversimplifying matters, greatly, but it was the closest thing to sense that Kelsey had heard.  “Basically,” she admitted.

 

The massive man stood up to his full height, towering above everyone else.  “This is why we shouldn’t set up that play house for these kind of events,” he spoke to his co-worker.  “Too many kids, and not enough supervision to handle good conflict resolution and teach proper social skills.”  Kelsey instantly liked the guy.  “Forever babies can’t handle that much unsupervised social interactions.  They’re too immature.”  And just like that, Kelsey couldn’t stand him.

 

“Preaching to the choir, Jude,” the woman with the bleached blonde hair agreed.  “Not to mention there’s a lot of blind spots in that playhouse.  Something bad could happen in there besides some hurt feelings, and we might not know until it’s too late.”

 

“Amen to that.” Jude nodded.  “Now,” he looked at the three diapered girls.  “How about we all say sorry and get back to playing nice?”

 

The three college aged toddlers all looked at each other.  From the sober and somber looks in their eyes, Dragon Jammies and Darling had reached the same conclusion that Kelsey had: apologize or they were going to be stuck here.

 

“Sorry,” Kelsey mumbled.

 

“Sorry,” the other two replied.

 

No eye contact was made by any party.

 

“Alright,” the big man said, a soft, satisfied smile crossing his lips.  He looked directly at Dragon Jammies and told her, “Go play.”  With all of the surprising speed and agility that she had demonstrated before (despite being diapered) the blonde girl took off and melted into the crowd milling around the push merry-go-round.  Kelsey likewise made to move, only to find that her arm was still being firmly gripped “Not. So Fast.” Each word was a death sentence being handed down from on high.

 

The short girl looked up at the man towering over her.  “But I said I was sorry,” she pleaded.

 

A derisive snort came from the big man holding her.  “You’re not in trouble, baby girl.  I just need to check something.”  Kelsey didn’t even have time to ask when she was hoisted over the grandfatherly man’s gargantuan shoulder. She pushed up on his back, trying to orient herself, when she spied “Darling” being lead away by the female attendant. Based on the other girl’s sulking body language, soaking diaper, and the direction that she was being led, there was little doubt in Kelsey’s mind that she was heading for the changing area.

 

Meanwhile, she herself was being groped.  The old man’s giant hands patted and squished her padded rear, reminding her that she was in an even worse position than the house player.  “Yup,” she heard the big guy pronounce, “thought so.”

 

“Let me go!” Kelsey shouted.  “Put me down!”

 

“Sure thing, pumpkin, soon as we get you cleaned up.”

 

Cleaned up!  A diaper change!  This middle-aged giant was touching her in her most private of areas with no concern for her modesty or feelings.  Kelsey hadn’t even gotten around to going on a proper date yet and now a stranger was groping her and preparing to do worse after knowing her for less than five minutes.  This was hell, or at least purgatory.

 

That was it.  She’d had an aneurism at the wishing fountain while trying to remember that ridiculous set of tongue twisters and was now in some bizarre kind of purgatory.  Well Kelsey Keaton wasn’t about to go down that easy; not her.

 

“NO!” she screamed, beating on the old lug’s back, both hands clenched into fists.  “Let go!  Let go!”  She began punctuating every word by beating on her captor’s spine.  “I!” THUNK. “DON’T!” THUNK. “WANNA” THUNK. “GET!” THUNK. “CHANGED!”

 

All she got for a reply was a tighter grip on her legs and back, and feel the vibrations of the man’s laughter as he chuckled to himself.  “Forbies.”

 

It had been Kelsey’s goal to get away from the oversized toddler playhouse, and she got her wish.   The big man whipped around, and she could see it shrinking in the distance as he carried her to the part of this whole playground carnival setup that she’d most hoped to avoid.  He took big, quick steps as she pounded powerlessly on him, and soon Darling in her sagging underwear was lagging behind, too.

 

Kelsey continued to beat against the old mammoth, refusing to give up.  “LET!” THUNK “ME!” THUNK. “GO!” THUNK.

 

“Just be a good girl, and you can get back to playing,” her captor spoke in steady, unbothered rhythm, “I promise.”  The sun stopped shining for Kelsey as she was carried into the tent; the smells of sweat, human waste and baby powder flooded her nostrils.  Her world went topsy-turvy for a moment as she was slung off her captor’s shoulder onto a table.

 

She let out a gasp as her back hit the padded surface and a strap was pulled across her chest.  She twisted her head this way and that, so that she could gather her bearings.  For ten feet in every direction there were padded tables, manned by men and women in scrubs.  If not for the context, Kelsey might think they were med students or nurses or something.  Heck, they still might be.

 

The tables themselves were thick and sturdy, with shelves underneath, each one stocked with pastel and white rectangles in different thicknesses and sizes.  On top of them was a little nook with baby wipes and powder, and a little mobile dangling tiny plush dolls over the head rest.  Beside them were shiny silver garbage cans with lids that popped up when you stepped on a pedal.

 

If that wasn’t enough, more telling were the people who were laying on top of them.  As Kelsey wriggled and struggled with the restraints, she saw Darling waddle up and get helped up onto a table. She saw Darling begin sucking her thumb and batting at the mobile above her head, while the attendant secured her to the table, cooing baby talk all the while.

 

Changing table!  She was on a changing table!  Frantically, the college senior tried to unbuckle the strap across her chest, her fingers trying to work at the latch just below her breasts, but nothing was working.  She could feel the simple release button on the buckle, just like a seatbelt, but for some reason, her fingers couldn’t push it hard enough.  Was there another release somewhere that had to be pushed simultaneously, or had her fingers just become incredibly weak?  “We’ve got a squirmer”, the man who’d restrained her called out.  “Order up.”

 

A red-haired lady in pink scrubs walked up to the other side of the adult changing table.  “Oh, thanks for finding another one, Jude.” She said.  “You’re a real saint.”

 

“Don’t I know it?” Jude chuckled, walking off.

 

The lady pulled a pair of vinyl gloves from a box.  “Okay, okay.   Calm down, sugar.  This isn’t gonna be a big deal.  I’m just gonna change your diaper.”

 

“There’s been a mistake!” Kelsey panted, trying one last attempt at reason.  “I’m not really a baby!”

 

The nurse, as Kelsey thought of her, smiled condescendingly down at her.  “Of course not, honey. You’re a Forever baby.”  One by one in rapid succession, the snaps holding Kelsey’s shortalls were undone.  The privacy and protection that her clothes offered her was just an illusion, the popping of little brass buttons signaling the end of the pretense.

 

Kelsey did not think to kick the woman in the face as the thick, cartoon decorated diaper, once white but now horribly discolored by her excrement came into view when the denim was peeled back. “Why do people keep saying that?!” Kelsey asked, ignoring yet another gross and casual violation of herself.

 

“You wouldn’t understand,” the red-haired lady said, smiling sweetly.  “You’re a little too immature.”   She leaned over and stared at the teddy bear decorated waistline of Kelsey’s diaper, and traced some strange logo near the side of the landing strip.  “Let’s see,” she spoke more to herself.  “Size 12, looks like.”

 

“I’m plenty mature,” Kelsey spoke up, protesting as the nurse bent over and began filing through drawers just beneath her peripheral vision.

 

The other woman stood up, holding an identical (though clean) diaper to the one Kelsey was wearing.  “Is your diaper wet?” the nurse asked innocently enough.

 

“Yeah…”  Kelsey admitted.

 

“Do big girls pee-pee in their pants?”

 

Kelsey’s face flushed. “No..but..”

 

“Did you know you were wet?”

 

“Yeah..but you see-“

 

Kelsey was interrupted. “Then why didn’t you come get it changed?”

 

Kelsey clenched her teeth and as calmly as she could, began,“I was in the middle of explaining to these two other girls about my college degr-“

 

“So you were too busy talking with your little friends to come get changed?”

 

“I mean, when you put it that way…” Kelsey admitted, not liking where this was going.

 

The red-haired woman all but waved the fresh diaper in front of the younger girl’s face. “That doesn’t sound very mature, does it?”

 

“I-“

 

“If you were really a big girl,” she cut Kelsey off, “and had had a pee-pee accident, wouldn’t you have come and found a grown-up to help sort things out?”

 

“I mean,” Kelsey tried to explain, not thinking before she spoke. “I had already pooped.”  The two women locked eyes in dawning recognition of the opportunity Kelsey had just provided her verbal sparring partner.  Too late, Kelsey realized she should have just kept her mouth shut.

 

“Oh, you pooped too?”  the nurse smirked.

 

“Yeah…”

 

“Do big girls poop their pants?”  As if to accentuate her point, the nurse lifted Kelsey’s legs by the back of her knees, sliding the back half of her shortalls away and giving the discolored brown backside of Kelsey’s diaper a firm pat.

 

“No….” Kelsey yipped at the sensation, a grimace coming across her face.

 

The red-haired woman pressed on as she grabbed a packet of baby wipes. “Did you know you had a messy diaper on?”

 

“Uh-huh…”

 

The nurse took the time to redirect her gaze straight into the (former it seemed) college senior’s face. “Why didn’t you come get cleaned up?  Even big girls have accidents sometimes.”

 

“I was trying to get answers from these two kids who were playing house and weren’t making any sense.” Kelsey pleaded her case.

 

“And you didn’t want to come all the way back here to get cleaned up?”

 

“Yeah!”  Kelsey gulped in realization.  Why did she keep on talking?

 

“So you were too busy playing house to be bothered.  Is that mature?”

 

“No…”

 

“It’s okay, sweetie, you can’t help it.” The woman’s gloved hands spider tickled their way up the poor girl’s legs.  Kelsey didn’t giggle, though.  “You’re a Forever baby.  Let’s get you changed and then you can get back to playing until your Mommy or Daddy comes to pick you up.”

 

“Uh-huh…” Kelsey sighed.  “Fuck me,” she whispered.

[JustinDB87]

Awesome update!  

[Personalias]

Thanks

[CDfm]

Loved the update. This made me laugh several times. It’s like three different stories going on at the same time. I wonder are they going to merge? I can’t wait to read more. 

[Personalias]

 

Chapter 3

 

At its core, magic has always been about instant and immediate gratification.  Pumpkins turn into carriages right before a poor girl. Beanstalks sprout into the sky overnight after a little boy has been swindled out of the family cow.  A little wooden child springs to life, instantly knowing how to walk and talk and be alive despite being minutes old. The biggest appeal of magic is that there’s not supposed to be a waiting period.

All of this is because magic is about the power to get what you want and to get it right now!  “Works like magic” means “very fast”. “Rome wasn’t built in a day,” means “you must be patient.”  Rarely are the two phrases ever used to describe the same process.

If Sigmund Freud were enlightened enough to know the truth of magic, he would say that it comes from the id, the most selfish and impulse part of the human psyche.  The id does not do well with delayed gratification. The id does not do well with the muted feelings that come with reason, for reason is almost the antithesis of magic itself.

Magic is literally wanting something bad enough that you let yourself have it.

But with this element comes dangers.  Like King Midas and his golden touch, or the farmer who wasted his three wishes on a sausage, magic is not empowered by long term thinking; people capable of such introspection and planning usually do not need magic, or they find themselves unable to use it by tapping into that impulsive, selfish part of he human condition.

And so history is filled with stories about magic and long term consequences backfiring on the wielder.

Why not stop the magic, then?  Why shouldn’t the sorcerer’s apprentice be able to snap his fingers and stop the brooms from flooding everything with an endless march of buckets and water?

Magic is thought made manifest.  Can you really stop yourself from thinking and still be alive?  Once your reality has been altered and your most potent will has taken shape, once your id has been made manifest, can you really stop what is essentially a part of you?

The answer is usually “no.” Magic can rarely be halted even by the person who uses it.  Whether you like it or not, magic will make sure you get what you always wanted.

-          An excerpt from “Do You Believe in Magic?” by Cornelius Crowley.

 

 

Susan

  Susan lay there on the public bench, unable to do much more than crane her neck up in horror as her mother went for the tapes on her diaper. It was as if her spine had a steel rod inserted in it and there was an electromagnet beneath the bench.  Her stomach clenched and she tried to sit up, but nothing more than a few impotent spasms came of it.

Her arms were equally useless, retracting up to her chest and locking in place as if she were doing a bad impression of a Tyrannosaurus Rex; no matter how she willed it otherwise.  Her legs were equally weighted and refused to kick.

The sound of the tapes ripping off the front of her diaper rang out, ripping away at the accounting major’s pride and sense of modesty.  Mom pulled the diaper open, causing her to flash Vanessa, Vanessa’s mother, and any passerby who cared to cast a glance at her smooth and hairless pubic area and private parts.

Any and all reservations that she was experiencing something more than just an elaborate and inappropriate punishment from her mother evaporated from her mind as soon as the wind hit her smooth and glistening mound.  Even when Susan did her own “landscaping”, so to speak, she was never THAT good. Nothing short of laser hair removal was that good.

Yet here she was: as naked and as smooth as if puberty had never been a thing.  No way could her mother have done this, not without her knowing. This…this was magic.

Janet looked down at her daughter’s wet and glistening mound carefully, inspecting what Susan had done in her disposable panties.  Then her eyes went down to the inside of the diaper itself. She was an insurance adjuster eyeing a wreck, assessing the severity of the damage.  “Just a little wet,” she sighed. “You really could have waited until we got back to the diner, but we might as well finish what we’ve started.” Susan moaned internally.  What “we’ve” started? Yeah right. Susan hadn’t started any of this madness.

Susan’s mother moved her gaze away from her pubic area and took a look at her upper body. She saw Susan in her state of panicked paralysis and her expression softened a bit.  “Oh you poor thing, I almost forgot.” Janet reached down into a side pocket of the diaper bag and pulled something out.

“Flopsy?”  Susan gave a dry squeak of surprise, looking up at the little stuffed rabbit toy her mother now held.  She hadn’t seen Flopsy in years, and hadn’t actively thought about one of her earliest childhood toys in even longer.  The rabbit was pink, with one ear, longer than the other, flopping down over the toy’s left button eye. Just like her, Flopsy was dressed in a frilly, unbelievably girly dress.  Unlike Susan, Flopsy had always been this way.

What was even stranger was that Flopsy wasn’t good as new or as pristine as the old pictures from pre-school.  The bunny doll was clean enough, but the fabric of her fur had a worn, well used, not quite threadbare look about it.  The old girl had seen better days, but had still been well cared for. It was as if little Susie had never grown up into Susan and discarded her childish, girly things like so much garbage.

“That’s right, Susie,” Janet cooed.  “I didn’t forget Flopsy.” She leaned over and placed the doll in Susan’s arms.  “Go on, honey, give her a hug.” The doll in her arms, Susan’s limbs relaxed and went numb.  Whether she could move her arms or just wouldn’t, Susan didn’t know. She didn’t test to see if the long-forgotten doll had somehow given her control of her arms, instead cuddling the thing close to her chest and letting the building ache in her arms vanish and taking what comfort she could from it.

“Good thing you don’t have a boy,” Vanessa’s mother chuckled.  “You’d be in the danger zone right now if you did.” Susan’s mother looked over to the still open diaper under her adult daughter’s bum.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “That, and I wouldn’t get to dress a boy up in as many cute outfits.”  Susan felt her legs lift up with just the slightest prodding from her mother; and flinched and grimaced as each cold, wet, baby wipe was dragged and dabbed between her legs and down her bottom.

Vanessa’s mom hummed in agreement. “Girl clothes are much cuter.”  Vanessa, for her part, stood by her mother and played with her plastic keys as Janet yanked the used diaper out from her daughter’s bottom and balled it up with one hand, wipes and all, as easily as if she’d done it for decades.  “Though according to all the Mommy blogs,” Vanessa’s mom prattled on, “boys clothes are sturdier, better for rough and tumble play and hold up under dirt better.”

Mom tossed the balled-up wad of plastic into a nearby garbage can.  (One shot. Swish.) Then, still keeping Susan’s legs in the air, Mom grabbed a fresh diaper, flapped it open and slid it under Susan’s upended bottom.  “My little Susie can be a fuss,” she spoke to the other adult, “but she’s normally a good little girl who loves her pretty clothes and doesn’t like to get them dirty.  The only thing I need to be sturdy and take a beating are her diapers.”

Vanessa’s mom giggled and gave a “fair enough” as Mom pulled the fresh diaper up Susan’s legs and reached for the sides.  Susan made a face as the diaper took form around her, tightening with each tape. One side, then the other.

Flopsy still in her arms, Susan stayed perfectly still as her mother pulled down the hem of her dress and then, as if Susan were a doll herself, was picked up and deposited back in the stroller.

The adults started talking to each other, but a pounding, throbbing sensation in Susan’s head was drowning much of what they were saying out. How awful had that been?  She had been stripped and cleaned in front of three people who had no business seeing her naked, and the whole event had been complete with commentary on how she might pee on them or how pretty her clothes were.

Susan blinked and peered at Flopsy through her glasses.  She took little comfort in having the old doll back, but it was at least a little.

A lethargy gripped a hold of her, and suddenly sitting in the padded chair, and wearing this padded underwear didn’t seem so uncomfortable.  It was cozy even. Might as well sleep. People were seeing her in diapers and baby clothes and shrugging it off anyways. At least if she were unconscious she wouldn’t need to hear it.

The former future accountant made eye contact with the other big baby on the sidewalk.  There was a look of pure, blissful, innocent content on the other “Forby’s” face. How Susan envied her in that moment.  To be that helpless, yet secure in yourself and your surroundings? It was almost zen. “Night-night, Susan.” Vanessa waved as Susan’s eyelids began to droop, shutting out the afternoon sunlight.

 

Dakota

Dakota and her new friend/patsy stood in a bathroom at Brendan’s house.  Through processes she couldn’t quite explain, but instinctively knew she was powerless to stop, (for the moment anyways), a failed marriage proposal had magically transformed into a big baby birthday party.  Even worse, Dakota was the girl who was under dressed.

But all of that was about to change.  The bathroom wasn’t particularly big: A blue bathtub tub along one wall, a potty (toilet, it’s a toilet) across from the tub, a doorway between them, and just enough walkway over to the counter top and sink next to the toilet so that two people could shuffle in single file.

Guest bathroom.  Definitely guest bathroom.  If Brendan’s parents had just been a little bit richer, it would have been “the help’s bathroom.”  Granted, if Brendan’s parents had been just a little bit richer, Dakota might have said yes, and who knows, maybe she wouldn’t look like a hybrid of Angelica and Tommy Pickles.

Still, this place had its uses and its charm.  For instance, the counter top and mirror were juuuuust high enough that Dakota could look at herself without seeing the top of her wet diaper.  Dakota saw her beautiful blond hair done up in pigtails and wanted to gag With a sniff and an upper lip curled in disgust, she yanked the ribbons out of her hair, letting it fall back down to her shoulders where it belonged.   “Better,” she said to her reflection. “Not great, but better.”

“I liked your hair like that,” Alice said. Alice, with her hair in long dark braids, and a light blue dress straight out of a certain Disney Animated classic, wasn’t who Dakota would normally call upon for fashion advice.  “Why’d you take your ribbons out? Did you get bugs in ‘em or somethin?’”

As near as Dakota could tell, everyone close to her age had started acting just as dumb as they’d dressed.  Somehow, despite a little accident in what used to be her silk panties, Dakota had retained her wits about her while everyone else, including Alice, had gone the way of Sesame Street.  Dakota looked at the lesser girl, analyzing her. “Yeah,” she said, “I’m not getting a date with my hair like that unless I start cosplaying as Harley Quinn, and geeks are not worth it.”

“What?”

The blonde sighed.  “Never mind. You wouldn’t understand. Maybe you used to, but you wouldn’t now.”  Jesus Christ, look at what Dakota had been reduced to working with. At least Alice had somehow snagged some actual makeup to use.  Maybe Alice had been a bit of a bad girl before the world went crazy. Maybe Dakota might have actually liked Alice had they met and talked before the party had started.

Probably not.  But maybe.

Dakota eyed her new sidekick impatiently.  “Are you gonna break out the makeup, or what?”

Her “friend’s” eyes unglazed themselves just long enough for Alice to blink and say “Oh yeah, that!”  The girl dug into the pockets of her dress and took out the lipstick and mascara she had smuggled away from her parents. (At least that’s what her addled brain remembered.  It was probably just something leftover from after everyone’s clothes went all toddler.) “We’re gonna be sooooo pretty!” she said, putting the tubes of makeup down on the counter.

The ex-gold digger rolled her eyes and smiled condescendingly.  “Sure, we are. Sure.” She snatched up the lipstick and looked at it with a strange mix of envy and hunger.  It was her golden ticket. It was her magic wand, (the actual magic one…not the vibrator). It was, she knew deep in her heart, the key to being seen as an adult now that the world had suddenly gone mad.

“Can I help?” Alice spoke up, breaking Dakota’s concentration.

“Pffff,” Dakota scoffed.  “Yeah,” she smirked, “no.”

The other girl pouted out her lip and stamped her feet a bit. “But I’m really good at makeup!” she whined.

“I doubt you’re even good at coloring.”  Dakota was a cat, staring at contempt at the pouting puppy though half closed lids.

“But…but…” Alice pressed, “my mommy is a whatchamacallit…? A make-upper!”

“You mean a beautician?” Dakota couldn’t help but curl her upper lip in disgust at this obviously reduced excuse for a human being.

“Yeah!  That’s it! A boo-tishan!”

Dakota looked her patsy in the eye. “Are you a beautician?”  Her finger was a scalpel poking the other girl right in the chest.

Alice looked down at her black patent leather shoes and answered. “No…”

“Thought not.” Dakota said with some finality.  Turning her attention to her reflection, she licked her lips with anticipation as she twisted the tube and watched the little red head come out of its hole.

Alice looked up. “But that’s only cuz forever babies don’t grow up,” she said defensively.  “I’d be a really, really good make-upper…I mean boo-tishan… if I was gonna get growed up. My mommy says so.”  Dakota put down the lipstick and glared at the other girl.

“The hell are you talking about?” she asked.  “Everybody grows up.”

“We don’t,” Alice replied.  “We stay little, no matter how big we get.”

“That doesn’t make any sense! Age doesn’t work that way!”  Dakota grabbed her own breasts in both hands, jiggling them a bit for emphasis.  “Do these look like something a little girl would have?!”

Alice giggled.  “Hee-hee..jiggly…”

“Alice! Focus!”

Alice blinked.  Then she said, “It doesn’t matter if you got your big girl boobies.  You’re still not a grown-up.”

“Then what am I?” an exasperated Dakota asked.

“A forever baby.”

“I’m twenty-two!”

“Still a baby,” Alice shrugged, a silly grin plastered on her face.

This was going nowhere.  Dakota took a deep breath…and then promptly lost it. “You’re an adult! I’m an adult! Everybody here at this goddamn overgrown kiddie party is an adult!”

Alice stuck her tongue out.  “Nuh-uh. We’re babies! That’s why we’re wearin’ diapers.”

“That doesn’t make you a baby,” Dakota shrieked, “that makes you friggin’ incontinent.” Then she added, “And gross!”

The other girl’s eyes darted to the wet padding sagging between Dakota’s legs. They didn’t stay there long, though, instead moving to the lipstick and mascara on the bathroom counter, and then back to the diaper. “Doesn’t that mean that you’re not a big girl just cuz you put makeup on?”

A hot flush rushed to Dakota’s cheeks. “I…I…” she began. “SHUT UP!”

“Cuz I’d rather be a twenty-two year old baby than a gross in-condiment.” Alice plodded on.

The mascara wand and lipstick tube were in Dakota’s hands and being brandished like a set of daggers.  “Listen you little twit,” Dakota hissed. “You want these shoved up your nose?” Alice’s mouth snapped shut so quickly that her teeth clicked.  She quickly pinched her nose and shook her head. “Then shut up and let me do this,” Dakota threatened.

Tears glistening in her eyes, Alice backed up a step, but otherwise stayed silent and still.  Her dominance reasserted, Dakota snorted loud enough to cover up the slight crinkle she heard as she pivoted back to the mirror. Then with years of practiced technique, she began to make herself look like a woman.

A line along the bottom lip, a slight purse of the lips, and a few strokes along her eyelashes.  It wasn’t much, all told, but it still made Dakota feel like the hot, powerful sex-kitten that she knew she was.  She wasn’t some dumb baby who’d just pissed her diaper; she was Dakota Stevens, man-eater.

“Beautiful,” she whispered, completely taken with herself. Satisfied, a feeling of contentment washed over her as she put the makeup back down on the counter.  Now if only she could do something about her hair. It was already starting to get frayed and knotted in spots, as if she had never conditioned it in her life. With careful hands, she began to untangle the mess that had been made of her hair thanks to the impromptu (and unasked for) pigtails.

Like Narcissus before her, Dakota was so taken aback with her reflection to notice the shadow darkening the bathroom doorway, or to realize that she hadn’t even thought to close the door.  “DAKOTA!” a voice boomed in the bathroom. “WHAT ON EARTH DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!” Dakota looked towards the source of the voice. Hands on her hips, and foot tapping impatiently, Brendan’s mother glared at Dakota as if she were a naughty little girl playing with makeup.

Dakota looked at her (now ex) boyfriend’s mother, staring her down as if she were the lowest lifeform on earth.  She looked to Alice for some kind of commiseration or hint as of what to do. Alice, though, was sitting on the bathroom floor, sucking her thumb and grinning up at Dakota.  With her back to Mrs. Jay, Alice’s gleeful expression of pure schadenfreude remained hidden from the true adult.

The ex-gold digger’s eyes looked back to Brendan’s mother, and then to Alice again, and then something in her own reflection caught her eye.  Daring to fully break eye contact, she looked at her face in the mirror.

Mascara was smeared in big black blotches over her eyes as if she’d be crying for hours and her tears had traveled upward onto her forehead.  Lipstick formed a bizarre grin that Heath Ledger would have said was too much, giving her cheeks a hue reminiscent of a sunburnt rose. She was a clown whore.

How had that happened?  Dakota had just applied the cosmetics purposefully and with great care and accuracy.  But in the span of a blink, with just the slightest loss in concentration, it now looked like an imbecile had done the deed.   The mirror showed it to be true.

Mirrors didn’t lie.  For all her bluster, Dakota felt like how she now looked: An overgrown baby in a t-shirt and wet diaper, her playful pigtails undone, her hair a mess and a grown-up’s make up smeared carelessly over her face in a childish and uncoordinated pantomime of something a real woman might do.

The mirror might not have been broken, but a tiny part of Dakota’s psyche felt a crack in it.

Out of options, the little blonde hussy did the only thing that seemed natural. “SHE DID IT!” she pointed at Alice, now sitting on the bathroom tile.  Alice’s face twisted from a gleeful sneer into something with big puppy dog eyes, and pouty lips. Like a master thespian, Dakota’s so-called inferior turned around, and her chest started heaving as she yanked her thumb out of her mouth and began to mewl pathetically like a half-drowned kitten.

“Nuh-uh,” she whimpered, .  “Dakota said she had somethin’ she wanted to show me. And…and… I know I’m not supposed ta be in the bathroom without a grown-up.. but she made me.  She said she’d stick her pretty makeup stick and shove it up my nose if I didn’t stay quiet!”

Incensed beyond reason, Dakota’s blood boiled red hot and she found herself shouting down at her accuser “THAT’S YOUR MAKEUP YOU LYING LITTLE SKA-!“

“DAKOTA!” Mrs. Jay cut her off.  Dakota froze, her knees locking and her diaper warming bit as a spurt of urine involuntarily seeped out of her.

“Y-y-yes ma’am?” She asked, suddenly very afraid.  Mrs. Jay had gone from being a middle-aged lady to schmooze and make fake smiles with for the duration of her courtship with Brendan, to an elder goddess whose mere tone was suddenly a lash to Dakota’s brain stem.

Brendan’s mom walked in past Alice and silently shooed the treacherous little brat out the door while never taking her eyes off of Dakota.  Alice scampered away like the little weasel she was, as Mrs. Jay stared down Dakota with a quiet fury burning behind her eyes.

The difference wasn’t more than an inch or two, just like it had been earlier that day, but Dakota felt so unbelievably small standing up next to the older woman.  The difference wasn’t just a matter of height, it was a matter of substance In that quiet moment, with only the slight buzzing of the lightbulbs, Dakota saw what could have been her mother-in-law in a completely new non-fluorescent light.

Mrs. Jay had been like Dakota once; playing the social game, playing the field, looking to catch the right boyfriend and turn him into the right husband.  Fighting and warding off other social harpies with aplomb and style, throwing shade and undermining the confidence and self-esteem of anyone who even hinted at hindering her or her goals. She had ended up with Mr. Jay, and whether that was a matter of lack of options, or just plain, stupid love was irrelevant.  Like recognized like, and in that moment, Dakota saw a veteran bareknuckle prizefighter towering over a rookie with only a relative handful of fights a lucky lefty hook.

“Is that true?” Mrs. Jay asked, “ Did you threaten to stick that makeup up Alice’s nose?”  Right out of the gate the old gal was coming swinging

“Yes…but..” Dakota tried to defend herself.

“And did you get in a fight with Brendan?”  That question almost knocked the wind out of the younger woman.

“Yes but…”

“So he invites you to his birthday party, and you decide to be a bad guest…letting other girls get involved in your mischief?”

“I didn’t decide anything!” Dakota almost spat back. “It just happened, okay?! And Alice took that makeup, not me!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Mrs. Jay retorted derisively.  Dakota took a step back. “Honestly, little girl, you don’t have any pockets and Alice has always been a little sneak thief. But did you tell a grown up?”

Dakota just shook her head, not able to find words.

“No,” Mrs. Jay went in for the kill, “you thought it’d be more fun to play grown-up than actually behave like one, and so I caught you here smearing gunk all over your face.  Honestly, Dakota, I’m disappointed in you. Brendan has always thought of you as a kind of little sister, and today of all days you decide to be naughty. I’d never expect this kind of behavior from you.”

“You’re not gonna spank me, are you?” Dakota gulped, suddenly feeling that a backside beating was immediately in her future.  She’d never been spanked before in her life, no matter how much she’d needed it, and this sudden re-treading of childhood seemed like a likely time to revisit the prospect of getting her hide tanned as a reasonable and likely outcome of getting caught.

Mrs. Jay blew a puff of air out of her nose and just stared for a moment, obviously considering the act of taking Dakota over her knee.  “Don’t be ridiculous, honey, I don’t hit children.”

“Oh,” a wave of relief passed over Dakota.  Her shoulders slumped and her posture loosened a bit.  At least that wasn’t happening; the young woman couldn’t think of something much more humiliating than that; and in a diaper no less.

Before Dakota could so much as sigh in relief, however, the older woman’s hand grabbed Dakota’s wrist.  “Don’t think you’re getting off easy, though, little girl.” Mrs. Jay turned her back on Dakota and began dragging her out of the bathroom.

Barefoot heels skidded along tile floor, and then carpet as Dakota was dragged back into the living room where a game of Pin The Tail on The Donkey was well underway.  The chorus of giggles was instantaneous, and not just from the giant toddlers.

Adults who still acted the part chuckled behind their hands. Old aunties and grannies tittered knowingly, no doubt reminiscing.  Her peers cackled and guffawed; snickered and sniggered as they pointed towards the source of their ridicule.

If Dakota’s face hadn’t already been magically smeared with lipstick, the deep red blush of embarrassment would have been even more evident.

Brendan, his tears long since dried in the interim, took off his blindfold and then turned red with laughter at the sight of her, giggling so hard that he fell down on his padded bottom.  He grabbed his belly, rolling on the floor like a turtle on his back. His laughter stopped for a moment as he looked down past his weight and felt at his crotch, but only for a moment.

The only people who weren’t laughing were Dakota and her jailer.  From beside the fancy stone fireplace, Mrs. Jay dragged out a tiny hard wooden step stool and with an air of authority, moved it against a nearby wall.

“Time out, young lady” Brendan’s mother spoke, pointing her finger at the shin high slab of wood.  All of the people Dakota’s age, the “forever babies”, if Alice had spoken truly went silent as if a death sentence had just been handed down. If Dakota’s mind had any thoughts of lingering or resisting, the message didn’t get to her body.  Her knees buckled, and the padded squish caused her to wince as she sat down, the tiny little time-out seat causing her knees to cradle up to just below her breasts.

But Mrs. Jay wasn’t done by a longshot.  The older woman walked with purpose to the other side of the room and flipped open the lid on a heavy oak chest.  Most of the other kids likely couldn’t read the rainbow colored block lettering on the front, but Dakota could still decipher the words.

“DRESS UP”

 Brendan’s mother, stopped digging and from the chest withdrew a giant, frilly, white and blue striped baby bonnet.  Walking back to where Dakota was perched, clutching, the bonnet like a bride’s bouquet she said, “Dakota decided that she was too big to be a forever baby.  She thought she could be a big girl and made a mess of herself instead.” The ex-gold digger didn’t dare move as Mrs. Jay lowered the overly cutesy headwear onto her head, her chin quivering while the string was quickly tied beneath it.  “Maybe this,” Mrs. Jay said, “will help you remember.”

Dakota was struck dumb, and instead of replying rested her chin on her knees, her throat tightening. “You can just sit there until your family comes to pick you up,” Mrs. Jay said.  And with that, she walked away.

 It wasn’t long after Brendan’s mother left, dragging Brendan along with her (she’d no doubt seen Brendan patting the front of his pants and guessed what had happened) before the rest of the hyenas circled in like she was a wounded gazelle.

 Laughing…all of them.  Still keeping a wide berth, lest Dakota take a swipe at them, they encircled her so that there was no escape for the former queen bee save for the inside of her own eyelids.  Many were pointing and chortling with the forced and over enunciated “Ha-ha-ha-ha” of children who knew something was funny and that they should laugh, but didn’t really “get it.”  The so-called adults did nothing to restrain them. No calls for them to get back or leave her alone in her “time out”. If anything, they made up for the empty hollow laughter with their own genuine brand of mockery.

 This was the stuff of madness; the stuff of nightmares.  Dakota had long been used to being the center of attention, but not like this.  Even with her eyes slammed shut, Dakota was acutely aware of the hot tears pouring out of her eyes and even more aware of how that was making her poorly applied mascara run even more.

Clown.

Clown whore.

Baby clown whore.

BABY clown whore.

Make it stop.

makeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstop

Make. It. STOP.

Dakota was sobbing openly, her own wails of misery drowning out the laughter of the surrounding babies.  She was beyond words, beyond any feeling but pure panicked self-pitying sadness completely overwhelming her.

She didn’t know when the laughing stopped, or exactly how long she’d been rocking back and forth on that little stool, but when the laughter died down and she finally heard her own pitiful cries, the party was all but over.  The few remaining “children” were playing quietly with each other or otherwise being corralled by their parents. As her vision cleared, Dakota looked down at the palms of her hands, now stained in smudged blacks and reds.

“Fuck my life….” she whispered to herself.

“Dakota?” A strangely familiar voice caused the former sex-kitten to look up from her hands.  The girl, a young woman really, was dressed stylishly in a bright blue dress that stopped mid-thigh, a matching leather purse slung over one shoulder.  She had Dakota’s blonde hair, but more of a runner’s physique, with perky little breasts and long slender legs that were only accentuated by the two inch heels she wore.  If she were wearing a diaper like every other young adults, it definitely didn’t show. “What’s wrong baby-girl?”

Dakota almost didn’t recognize the woman, but in seeing her she recognized herself.  They hadn’t seen each other in close to four years, and Dakota had decided to skip her high school graduation last year on the grounds of “she had plans” when in reality she just couldn’t be bothered to remember.  Yet it occurred to her that the very outfit she was wearing, the Dora The Explorer T-Shirt and wet diaper, even the pig tails was from one of her earliest memories of the young woman.

That childhood memory of the newcomer was forever burned into Dakota’s brain as what a baby looked like.  But back then, the other woman had come by it honestly. Now, it was Dakota who looked like the rugrat.

The light bulb finally clicked. “Virginia?” Dakota gasped.  Virginia was her sister; her little sister.

“Yeah?” Virginia asked, smiling.  “What’s up, kiddo? Ready to go home?”

Shakily, Dakota stood up.  Emotionally the bottom had just dropped out from under her. She was so confused.  Why wasn’t Virginia being treated like some formula sucking freak? Before she could even voice such a question, Dakota felt the bottom drop out of her intestines, and within seconds, the back of her diaper had filled up beneath her.

 

Kelsey

Kelsey was at war with herself.  Did she allow a complete stranger to violate her personal space without her consent or did she at least struggle and kick as hard as she could?  Maybe find a way to wriggle free from the strap holding her down to the padded table and get out of this mad kiddie carnival. In most circumstances, her victory condition would have been injuring the person forcing themselves on her and getting away to freedom.  In this case, however, victory and escape would also mean that she’d remain encased within her own feces.

So did she try to escape, or did she swallow her pride and let the stranger go to work on her most intimate of areas.  Kelsey refused to acknowledge the situation for what it was- a diaper change. She was an adult! Only infants and invalids got their diapers changed, and no matter what this crazy bitch said, Kelsey was neither! Still…a fresh diaper had to feel better than a messy one….

As the nurse snapped on the fresh pair of vinyl gloves she’d taken out, Kelsey’s hands began to tingle and twitch, instinctively readying themselves to block and bat at the lady’s hands the moment they came anywhere near her diaper; poopy or not.

They made eye contact, and the nurse looked down to Kelsey’s nervously shaking hands.  “Still think you’re a big girl?” the nurse asked.

“Uh-huh”, Kelsey nodded, meekly.

“You’re not thinking about getting all squirmy on me are you?”

“…kinda.”

The nurse, clad in her pink scrubs threw back her head a little and groaned a bit.  “Come on, sweetie, don’t make this difficult for me. There are plenty of other Forbies out there waiting for their turn to get changed.”

“Then change them first,” Kelsey replied through clenched teeth.

The nurse ran her head through her red hair, and sighed. “But honey, I don’t want you to get a rash.  That wouldn’t be comfortable would it?” Kelsey remained silent. This woman could twist Kelsey’s words around with the finest sophistry this side of Seuss.  There was no actual real-world logic to her arguments, so Kelsey new better than to argue with her. “Oh come on,” the nurse pressed. “you’re twenty-two. You’ve had your diaper changed plenty of times.”

“Not since I was like, two,” Kelsey insisted.  The nurse barked laughter, but quickly covered her mouth when she saw that her charge was dead serious.

Kelsey’s captor leaned over her and grabbed at something. “Okay, you wanna prove you’re grown-up?”  Kelsey looked straight up. Into her view, tantalizingly close, dangling just a foot or two above her, was a mobile.  Bugs, Daffy, Tweetie, the Looney Toons, all in diapers hovered out of her head. “If you want to prove you’re a big girl,” the nurse said, “if you can grab the toys before I finish changing your diaper, then you’re a big girl.  Okay.”

It didn’t take a near bachelor’s in psychology for Kelsey to see that she was being strung along with an impossible task.  There was no way she could reach out and grab Baby Bugs or Baby Daffy from her spot on the changing table. And yet..

“Deal.”

The nurse smiled.  “Atta girl.” She reached for the tapes on Kelsey’s ruined diaper.

“Ready…set…”

RRIIIIP

Kelsey’s hands shot skyward, feebly reaching and grabbing for the plush characters hanging tantalizingly above her.  She moved her left shoulder, then her right. The strap holding her down was more than doing its job, and trying to sit up would do no good.

Tunnel vision took over, and Kelsey became all but numb to time and space beyond the vortex created by the swirling plushies above her.

 The only way she kept track of time was by the sensation of cold wet baby wipes being dragged across her vagina and backside. Silently, Kelsey prayed that she’d really done a number on herself, the more cleaning she needed, the more time she had.  If she could just twist a little more under the restraint, she could at the very least make this red headed bimbo look like a fool.

Her legs were irrelevant right now, and so Kelsey didn’t notice when they were gently set back down on soft, clean, fresh padding.  She was so busy going for the Baby Bugs plushy she was panting, and didn’t detect the sweet fresh scent of baby powder being sprinkled on her delicates.

So close.  So close. Her finger tips were just beginning to brush the bottom of Baby Daffy’s foot when-

“Done.”

Kelsey’s looked up from her spot on the changing table.  “Done?”

“Done,” the nurse repeated.  Kelsey’s eyes didn’t deceive her.  Between her legs, wrapped around her ass and fastened around her waist was a brand new, fresh, thick, crinkly, (and clean) disposable diaper. Kelsey stared in awe as the woman pushed Kelsey’s legs and hips back into the air with one hand, so that she could yank down the denim of Kelsey’s shortalls back down over the diaper.  “You were a very good girl,” the nurse assured Kelsey. “Still a baby,” she added, refastening the snaps on the inseam of Kelsey’s shortalls, “but a good baby.”

Kelsey sat up, feeling confused and disoriented as the nurse released the strap and helped her to a sitting position.  “Thank you?” she said, standing to her feet and being lead back out into the sunlight.

“You’re very welcome,” the nurse said as she walked Kelsey outside.  Kelsey sucked in her breath as the lady in the pink scrubs gave her diapered bum a little pat, before walking to the front of the line, and leading another forever baby back into the tent.

Tentatively, Kelsey took a few more steps out of the changing area and back into the courtyard.  Her last diaper-her first one in two decades if memory had served-had snuck up on her, manifesting where her panties used to be.  This one was forcibly put on her, and even though it felt snug and secure, something felt off about it. She was hyper aware of every step she took, feeling like her new diaper was a second or two behind her, like a thin pelvic cast.  The nappy was new, and like a crisp pair of sneakers, it needed to be broken in a bit before it was comfortable.

Experimenting, Kelsey put her feet together and tried to close her legs.  Her knees touched, but just barely and with great effort. She spread her legs like she was doing a jumping jack and then brought them together again.  There was a little more give this time. Good. Progress was being made.

 She turned her knees outward squatted a bit and heard the crinkling loud and clear, but with each continued squat, the diaper was becoming more and more pliable. Breathing in, Kelsey reached up towards the sky, no stuffies in sight, but the stretch felt good.  Then, breathing out, she bent over, touching the ground (and got a whiff of her baby powdered bottom to boot).

Better.  Not great (she was still in a diaper, to be fair) but better. The diaper was still fresh and clean, but sufficiently broken in for the time being.  A shiver ran down the girl’s spine. She dearly hoped that she wouldn’t have to break in another diaper ever again. But the cold, rational, scientific part of her brain told her that given the circumstances that was unlikely; not unless she found a way to escape this place.

How to do that, though?  There were college goons all over the perimeter, and every single one of them was talking to her as if twenty-two and two were the exact same age.

“Pookie?” A deep, concerned voice called.  Kelsey whipped her head around so fast, the back end of her wild curly hair swished around and brushed her lips. The deep, familiar voice came from a big man with a bigger gut.  He lacked the beard, but he’d played Santa on more than one Christmas in her youth. At present he was wearing khaki shorts, socks and sandles, and a Deadpool t-shirt, along with the same frazzled curly hair that Kelsey had.  Beside him was a woman who was only a few inches taller than Kelsey, herself, her strawberry blonde hair forever cut short and sensibly.

“Mommy?”  Kelsey yelped.  “Daddy?”

“Hi Kelsey”, Mom waved rapidly, her hand a blur.  Without the slightest bit of hesitation, Kelsey dashed into their arms, their laughter and embrace a balm to her psyche.  She barely even noticed the waddle in her gait as she ran this time. Her salvation had arrived, and with no involvement or agency on her part:  A true Deus ex Machina, and she couldn’t have been more relieved.

The embrace loosened a bit, and Kelsey unburied her face and looked back up at her parents.  “What are you guys doing here?”

Dad gave one of his big goofy grins.  “Why wouldn’t we be here? You’re our most favorite girl in the whole world, Pookie.”

“We finished our errands and wanted to come spend some time with you,” Mom spoke more plainly.

Her parents lived in town, but they typically called ahead when they were planning a visit.  Why were they here, now? More importantly, what was going to happen to them?

Only the people in the University T-shirts or the scrubs- the people working this freaky little carnival- seemed to be unaffected by whatever force had altered her clothing (and potty training).  What if her parents got put in diapers too? She had to escape with them before whatever had transformed her into a giant baby did the same to them.

Panic beginning to set back in, Kelsey took her parents hands.  “Talk later” she said. “Let’s get out of here.” One parent’s arm on each hand, Kelsey broke off into a run towards the exit.  Together they would plow through the guards like a gigantic game of red rover.

The resulting whiplash from her parents yanking her backwards was almost comical as she fell back into her father’s arms.  “What’s the hurry, Pookie?” he asked, chuckling. “We’ve got another couple hours before we go home.”

“Daddy, you don’t understand,” Kelsey said, pulling away from her father, “we have to get out of here before…before…I don’t know what happens.”

Mom gave Dad a knowing look.  “Looks like someone has already gotten into the candy and juice boxes,” she said.  “Her imagination always gets over active when she’s had too much sugar.” Dad nodded in agreement.

“No, you guys!” Kelsey protested.  “This place is completely bonkers!”

Kelsey’s Mom frowned slightly, as if not understanding Kelsey and trying to discern what was really bothering her.  “But Kelsey,” Mom said, “you love playgrounds.”

“Normally, yeah,” Kelsey said, still tugging at her parents’ arms.  “but-“

Dad interrupted with, “They’ve got a bouncy house.  Have you taken a turn on that, yet, Pookie?”

The poor girl didn’t stop tugging. “No, not yet, Daddy, we gotta-“

“What about the ball pit?” Mom suggested.  “That looks fun. You love jumping in the ball pit every time we go to Chuck E. Cheese.”  In her haste, the fact that Kelsey hadn’t been to a Chuck E. Cheese with her parents since she was twelve went right over her head.

“How about the slide?” Dad added.  “Slide could be fu-“

“DADDY!” Kelsey screamed. “MOMMY!  STOP! I NEED TO TALK!” Both parents stopped dead in their tracks, a genuine look of worry and concern in their face.

Both Mom and Dad let go of her hands.  “Okay, Kelsey,” Mom said. “Just use your words, please.”

As articulate as she could manage, Kelsey explained: “Mom, this place is crazy!  It’s not just some campus carnival or whatever.” Kelsey continued to back towards the exit, hoping her parents would follow.  They did. “They won’t let me leave, or go to the po…” she paused before correcting herself, “…the bathroom. And everybody here thinks that we’re some kind of giant ba-“  The back of Kelsey’s heel came up against an upturned cobblestone. It was little more than a piece of debris, but the combination of walking backwards, Kelsey’s own disorientation, and the bulky waddle she’d only recently adopted caused her to completely lose her balance and send her flying.

Time slowed down in that instant, Kelsey fell back, her legs kicking and splitting as her arms flailed; she was a cat desperately trying to twist and contort in mid-air so that she might land on her feet, but to no avail.

POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP!

Like a machine gun, the snaps on the bottom of Kelsey’s shortalls rattled lose.  For the second time that day, Kelsey was on her back, legs up in the air, and with a big white puffy (but clean) diaper on full display.  The future psychologist looked down at her newly re-exposed diaper, and turned a deep crimson.

“It’s not what you think,” the words babbled out of her, “I didn’t…I mean…I’m not into…this isn’t what it looks like! ”

Mom walked over to her and took a closer look at her crotch.  Kelsey froze, feeling her mother’s intense scrutiny. This was going to be a much longer story than she was ready to tell.  Then Mom did the unthinkable: She slipped two fingers into the leg bands of Kelsey’s diaper and felt around. Kelsey’s breath caught in her chest.  Her mother was checking her diaper, and in public no less! “Dry,” Mom said a little too loudly so that Dad could hear. “Hold still, honey, Mommy will get you buttoned back up.”  Without even waiting for her daughter’s consent, Kelsey’s Mom began snapping back the buttons and re-covering the diaper area.

“I’d figure she’d be dry,” Dad said, walking closer.  “She just walked out of the changing area.” As soon as Mom was done with Kelsey’s crotch snaps, Dad reached for Kelsey’s hand and helped her up.  “Ready to go play, Pookie?”

That’s when it finally hit home for poor Kelsey; there was no escape.  She had finally gotten what she had always wanted (and then some.) No one would ever think less of her for liking little kid things again.

“Yeah, Daddy…” Kelsey said, holding back a sob. “Sure. Let’s go play.”

[Personalias]

 

Dakota

“What the hell, Virginia?!” Dakota demanded to know as she was being strapped into the giant car seat in the back of her little sister’s convertible.   “Not you, too!”

Virginia, fastened the clasp across Dakota’s chest. “Hush now, Dakota,” she said.  “Brendan’s Mom told me exactly how naughty you were, and the proof is right there on your face. You know better than to play with big-girl things.”

“No I don’t!” Dakota protested, not realizing how stupid she sounded until she’d already said it.  Virginia ignored her older sister, instead inserting the final metal clasps into the buckle, securing the twenty-two-year-old forever baby into her prison chair.

“Damn it,” Virginia cursed, “your diaper is so swollen it’s hard to buckle.”  It was true. The saturated, full thing bulged so much that Dakota had no wiggle room below the waist.  The disgusting lump in the back didn’t make it any better.

“I didn’t bring any diapers and I’m not about to go back inside after the embarrassment you’ve caused me,” Virginia said. “You can get changed when we get home.”  The younger sibling walked around to the driver’s seat. “Good thing I brought the convertible,” she mentioned. “I don’t know if I could stand the smell if the top was up.”

Dakota wriggled pathetically in her wet and dirty diaper as her sister started the car, the grainy texture of her mess causing her skin to itch the more she thought about it. Stupid Virginia.  Such a bitch. Always the copycat. Everything about her was just a slight variation on an act that Dakota had perfected years before. Even her personality was a hand-me-down. “Why aren’t you in a diaper?” she asked.  “Aren’t you younger than me?”

“Exactly,” Virginia said as the car pulled onto the slow and gentle roads of the Country Club.  “I’m younger than you.”

“Huh?”

A tittering, condescending laugh rang out into the air- a laugh almost identical to Dakota’s when one of her boyfriends said something so stupid as to be adorable.  “I’m too young to be a forever baby, honey. No one my age is.”

Craning her neck so that she could make eye contact in the rear view mirror, Dakota asked, “But you will be in a few years?  When you’re my age?”

Virginia shook her head.  “Nope. Just people your age, give or take a year or two.”

“Why?”

If Virginia gave an answer, Dakota didn’t hear it over the turned up radio and the wind beginning to rush past her head.  Dakota growled a bit under her breath. By her reckoning Dakota had two problems: She didn’t understand what had happened to her, and she was sitting in her feces. If her sense of direction and recollection were correct, (they were) it would take at least a half hour to get to the house where she grew up.  She did not like the idea of that. Time for a change of tactics.

“Ginneeeeeeee,” Dakota whined from the backseat.  “I need a change, nowwww!”

The car slowed down at a stop sign.  “Nope,” Virginia said. “Sorry kiddo. No diapers.”  

Dakota’s mind raced. If she was effectively a baby…. “Can’t you get a travel pack at a gas station on the way?”

“Why would I do that?” Virginia asked.

Dakota pouted out her lip.  “Cuz you wuv me?”

“Yeah,” Virginia agreed. “But I don’t ‘wuv” changing your stinky diapers.  Daddy’ll change you when we get home.”

The blood rushed out of Dakota’s face.  Daddy. Dakota hadn’t thought of that. Memories of her childhood from before she’d figured out how to manipulate the old man ran through her head. Dad had been a real “Spare the rod spoil the child” type; and Dakota had been a “don’t get caught and you don’t have to face the rod”, type.  She’d been caught though. “But…but…but…” Dakota started crying. She really did want to cry, but she was hastening the process for effect. “But he’ll spank me!”

“Shouldn’t have been naughty.” Virginia replied, putting her foot on the accelerator.

“HE’LL SPANK ME BEFORE HE CHANGES ME!” Dakota yelled.

“Probably,” Virginia agreed.  “Should have thought about that before you misbehaved.”

“IT WAS BECAUSE OF A BOY!”

The breaks screeched.  Virginia pulled off the side of the road and turned around to look her older sister in the eye  “What did you say?”

Here was her chance!  “Brendan said he didn’t want to marry me!” Dakota heard the words tumble out of her mouth.  Her social survival instinct was on full throttle. “He didn’t want to marry me because I was too little to ever get married so I took the big people makeup to make myself look bigger so that he’d say yes!”  This wasn’t the case by a longshot, but there was just enough elements of truth in it to sound believable to someone who wasn’t there. Fortunately, Virginia hadn’t been there. Dakota willed herself to cry more, causing the makeup to drip down even more of her face.

Virginia sighed. “It’s a good thing you’re cute.”  She started driving again and turned into a nearby gas station just off of the entrance to the Country Club.  “Let’s get you cleaned up, poopy pants. All of you.”

“You mean…?” Dakota said, trying to hide the triumphant smile creeping at the corners of her mouth.

Virginia twisted her lips to the side.  “Daddy doesn’t have to know about this.” Then she repeated. “It really is a good thing you’re cute.”

Dakota had finally gotten what she’d always wanted.  No responsibility. To be the center of attention and be able to get by on her looks and charisma instead of any particular marketable skill set.  And to never have to worry about getting married to some boring dunce.

 

Susan

  

Susan woke up on a smooth plastic padded mat, surrounded by mesh netting, her dreams already melting away into wherever forgotten memories go when they’re given up.  It was a good dream, though, the accounting major remembered that part, at least, even if the details of the dream were already so much suds down the bathtub drain. Anywhere outside of her own waking dream of a world was an upgrade in comparison.

Blurry eyes focused in on a small puddle of drool glossing over a plastic laminated Baby Kermit on the floor of her playpen.  Playpen. That was it. That explained the plastic matting and mesh netting around the periphery, tickling her now bare feet. Mom had taken off her shoes before plunking her in here.

The young woman shifted a bit, debating whether or not to go back to sleep in the semi-fetal position she’d woken up in; her old stuffed rabbit, Flopsy lovingly cradled in the crook of her left arm.

She didn’t even get a yawn in edgewise before her brain kicked into complete wakefulness, and she remembered the bizarre and humiliating circumstances up to this point.  Being careful not to let go of Flopsy, Susan pushed herself up to a sitting position with her left arm as her right latched onto the mesh netting, and felt the soft wet squish on her bum like an overused sanitary pad that was deeply in need of changing.

 Hadn’t she already been changed?  Recent memories of laying on a wooden bus stop bench while her mother cleaned her private parts confirmed this.  Refusing to believe what her own backside was telling her, she lifted up the frilly pink dress that had manifested on her and looked down between her legs.  The diaper-and it was a diaper-had ballooned out like one of those dinky little sponge toys…only it wasn’t water that was causing it to swell up. A slight discoloration, not quite yellow, but decidedly not pristine unused white gave more proof to what Susan still didn’t want to admit to herself.

With her free hand, Susan reached down and gave her padded privates a squeeze, and the not quite crisp rustling of the well worn undergarment registered in her ears once more; the bulk between her thighs giving way like an overripe melon.  

She’d heard that crinkling in her dreams, Susan realized, or at least in the limbo between dreaming and wakefulness.  Had the babyish underwear’s signature sound already become so much white noise to her fatigued brain? Or worse yet, had she been wearing diapers in her dreams?  The smell of old urine and the perfume of the diaper jumped into her nostrils, her jostling of her own personal toilet stirring a heaping helping of odor molecules into the air.  Now that she thought about it, the smell absolutely permeated the air around her. Was she already becoming smell blind to the smell of her own piss?

 Her wet diaper wasn’t even particularly warm, either, meaning she’d been sleeping in her own filth for a while.  The sun shining in from a nearby window told her that she hadn’t been asleep terribly long, but the thought of wetting herself as she slept was still disturbing.  Was she a bed wetter now on top of everything else?

 Susan’s sense of direction kicked into gear in tandem with her own memories:  The drab brown paneling along the room; the old ceiling fan stirring the air; the solid oak desk in one corner; the little cot in the other where her mother would snooze when she pulled all nighters balancing the books and going over receipts a few times every year.  The Muppet Babies emblazoned playpen was new- even if it wasn’t; the vaguest of long buried memories in such a colorful cage bubbled up into Susan’s mind- but Susan knew exactly where she was.

Mom’s office in the back of the diner.

Susan had spent an uncountable number of hours here.  First, when she was a little girl, and Janet needed her out of the way, safely out of reach of the fryers and hot skillets.  Later, when she was a middle schooler working on homework after school. And of course, there was when she was an overworked and moody teenager trying to get a moment’s peace between her mother’s nagging, the heat of the grill, and busy hands from another old lecher old enough to be her grandfather.

Looks like she was back to being the little girl that needed to be locked away for her own safety again.  Flopsy still in hand, Susan reached up to the padded railing and pulled herself up to a standing position, her wet diaper beginning to sag and trying lamely to drag her back down to the mat.

“Damn,” she cursed, looking back down at the diaper, the cartoon characters on the front oblivious to their backsides being covered in human piss.  The dress was still absolutely worthless as far as preserving her modesty went; even less so now that the diaper was filled and hanging off her hips.  “My kingdom for a pair of pants,” the accounting major moaned. The way her mother had been acting lately- shit…the way everyone had been acting lately- the best she could hope for would be a diaper cover or plastic panties.  They’d likely be pink and frilly with pointless ruffles on the bottom. Screw that.

Given the choice between “babyish” and “girly and babyish”, plain old unisex “babyish” would win every time.  “Girly” was pretty much a disqualifier every time.

Using her free hand to readjust the glasses strapped to her head, Susan took a moment to collect herself.  The playpen was decidedly bigger than average. The top came up to her breasts. It would be easy enough to swing her leg over the side she supposed, but it was still much larger than a typical playpen.  A good chunk of her Mom’s office was taken up by the playpen, it was big enough to where she could lay in it, even if it she couldn’t fully stretch out.

Based on the window the sunlight was streaming in from, Susan knew that it must be the late afternoon, with the busy, muffled sound of diners chatting beyond the door reinforcing her estimate.  She’d woken up just in time for the end of the Early Bird special and the beginning of the dinner rush. Suddenly the thought of escaping the playpen-of being forced to trot out there in a pink frilly dress and a wet diaper…possibly even be forced to work-occurred to her and her blood ran cold.  The playpen seemed pretty nice all of a sudden. At least she could suffer in privacy here.

Susan drew in her rediscovered stuffed rabbit into her arms and gave the thing a hug.  “What the hell, Flopsy? What the hell?”

The immediate shock of waking up diapered, thus assuring her that it hadn’t been a dream, wore off quickly.  Coupled with an almost paralyzing fear of public humiliation, Susan felt resigned to her otherwise quite escapable mesh cage.

All too soon, boredom set in and washed away anxiety.  “For a playpen,” Susan spoke to Flopsy, “there sure isn’t a whole lot to play with, is there?”  No balls, no bells, no rattles, nothing that might disturb the diners over their own yapping and gulping.  There weren’t even any of those crappy little cardboard books that were just as easily chewed on as they were read.   Sure, there was Flopsy, but Flopsy felt less like a toy and more like a pet…or a friend….a security object at the very least; one that Susan didn’t dare release. “God, I hope I can still read,” Susan told her stuffed rabbit.  Her potty training had all but vanished, it seemed, and her literacy might have gone the way of the dodo along with it.

Still standing- she loathed the idea of sitting back down in her own waste- she whiled away the minutes by counting ceiling tiles, then wood panels, then floor tiles.  At least she could still count. Next, she started counting the number of pictures her mother had hung or placed around the otherwise dull room.

Janet did always have a thing for photographs, even long after Susan had stopped resembling the smiling little girl in the pictures.  It was “to remember”, she’d explained to Susan after she refused to store away the countless baby pictures and middle school photos. Frankly, Susan thought, it was because Janet could never stop seeing her daughter as anything but a child, and all the photos from pre-puberty were there to reinforce that notion; though to be fair, Susan hadn’t exactly been eager or willing to provide new photos…not after that disastrous prom incident.

It was when she took the time to re-examine the photos hanging around the office, that Susan knew something had gone terribly wrong.  Flopsy fell to the floor as Susan’s mouth hung open in a mixture of shock, disbelief, and a pinch of disgust. The girl in the pictures had stayed the same- Susan’s picture from when she was twelve was still prominently framed on the corner of her mother’s desk, for example- each one with a face that Susan herself wore at one point in her life; but everything else was different.

Elementary class photos looked more and more like pre-school shots, the bizarre contrast between the age and clothing becoming more and more stark as the years went on. Her middle school marching band picture was replaced with a picture of her thirteen year old self in a pink onesie and ribbons in her hair, blowing into a kazoo. Her first official day as a waitress when she was a freshman in high school turned into a picture of her clumsily holding a spatula while her mother blew a raspberry on her cheek.  Her solo at the church Christmas concert had transmogrified into a fifteen year old Susan, obviously diapered underneath a red dress with white tights, crying on Santa’s lap. Her senior prom picture was now an eighteen year old her naked on a bearskin rug, tits out and her tush up in the air, smiling happily. Baby pictures. Everything was baby pictures. The only portraits that remained intact were the ones where she’d really been a baby.

“MOTHER!” Susan’s voice roared out, full of indignant rage.  Nothing happened. Through the door, Susan could still hear the phone ringing, orders being taken, and the muffled walla wallas of people talking to each other.  “JANET!” she called again. Still nothing. “MOM!” Just more of the garbled white noise.

“MOMMY!”

The door swung open and a sweating and slightly disheveled Janet ran in, panting.  “Susie, what’s wrong?”

The future accountant pointed at the mortifying pictures hanging on the wall.  “THAT!” she said. Never before had Susan missed the photo of her own pumpkin toothed grin next to an inch long guppy dangling from a hook that fishing trip the summer of third grade.  Instead that same pumpkin tooth grin now wore a pair of pastel pink overalls while biting on a teething ring.

Frowning in confusion, Mom walked over to the photo and examined it closely.  “What about it? Was there a spider on it or something?”

“NO!” Susan shouted.  “It’s wrong! It’s different!  They’re ALL different!”

“Pictures are supposed to be different,” Mom started to explain as if Susan were a simpleton, “that’s what makes them speci-“

Susan cut her mother off. “They’re all BABY pictures!”

Susan’s mother cocked her head to the side.  “Well, yeah, I guess so. But that’s because you’re a baby.”

“I’M NOT A BABY!”

“You’re my baby,” Janet retorted in a chorus reserved for young children as old as parenting itself.

The young woman in the playpen huffed.  “Not what I’m talking about, and you know it.”

Now it was Janet’s turn to huff, though in truth it came out more as a tired sigh. “Mommy’s working, honey.  We can talk about this later.” She let out a quiet whisper of “forever babies”, that Susan was sure she wasn’t supposed to hear.

“No, I want to talk about it, now.” Susan stomped her foot, causing the entire playpen to rattle a bit.  “Everything is wrong! I’m NOT a baby. I’m NOT a forever baby! I’m NOT supposed to be in this stupid frilly dress!  I’m NOT supposed to be in this stupid playpen! I’m not supposed to be in this…this…” Her rant was cut short by her mother walking over and slipping her fingers into her diaper.

“As long as I’m here,” Mom said.  “Let’s change your diaper.”

“NOT AGAIN!” Susan shrieked.

Janet walked over and worked a latch on one side of the playpen, opening a corner of the mesh cage with a hidden door.  “Yes again, Susie,” she said. “You might be okay with sitting in a wet diaper all day, but I’m not. I’m the one who has to deal with you being cranky if you get a rash down there.”  She looked at her daughter expectantly.

“Well?”

Susan was about to take a step outside of the playpen, and stopped.  “Don’t make me come in there after you,” Mom warned. Susan did want out of this wet diaper, to be honest.  Something was wrong though. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Flopsy strewn about on the playpen floor, dropped and forgotten.  Quickly, she picked the rabbit up and stepped out.

Within three steps out of the playpen, her mother had taken her hand and guided her over to the little cot.  It now doubled as a changing table, apparently. The events of the bus stop played themselves out all over again, with her dress being flipped up, what passed for her underwear being ripped off, and then having her pelvis wiped for her, all while clutching her toy rabbit.  The only appreciable difference was the changing surface was slightly softer and the privacy was better; that and Mom sprinkled some baby powder on her before sealing her into a new diaper.

“Up ya go,” Mom said, grabbing Susan’s arms and pulling her into a sitting position on top of the little cot.  “I bet that feels better, doesn’t it, baby girl?”

A fresh diaper taped onto her hips, a fresh idea popped into Susan’s head.  She might not be able to convince her mother that she belonged out of baby clothes, but perhaps she could get some answers.  “Mommy,” she began, “why am I a forever baby?”

Janet looked anxiously towards the door, as if she had something better to do than answer her daughter’s inane questions.  “Honey, can’t we talk about this later?”

Susan clutched her mother by the waist.  “Please tell me. I really, really, reawwy need ta know.”  Whether the slip into a more childish lisp was intentional or not, even Susan couldn’t say for sure.

Her mother pried Susan’s hands away with an uncanny strength,  “Susie, I’ve already told you plenty of times,” she said, going for the door.

“I forgot,” Susan lied, at least she hoped she was lying.  The idea that perhaps her entire life up to this point had been imaginary had not yet occurred to her and would have filled her with existential dread if it had.  “I’m just a forever baby, ‘member?”

Janet stopped in her tracks, and slumped her head a bit.  Just when it looked like she was about to leave, she stuck her head out the door and called out, “Phyllis! I’m taking a break.”

“Sure thing, boss!” the restaurant's elderly majordomo called back

Susan’s mother closed the door and walked over to a mini fridge that Susan didn’t remember being there before the world decided she should be a giant toddler.  She reached into the little black box and pulled out a large baby bottle filled with the watered down milky white stuff Susan had been chugging down earlier “Here,” she said, placing.  

“You’re a little dehydrated.  You drink, and I’ll talk.”

“What is it?” Susan asked.

“Baby formula.”

“It’s not gonna turn me into a baby, is it?”

Mom barked laughter at that.  “Where do you get this stuff, Susie?”  The worry didn’t evaporate from Susan’s face.  “No,” Janet said. “But it’s a good meal substitute for you when you’re bein’ a picky eater or I don’t have the time to cook for you.  In this case, it’s a bit of both lately,” she added. “Drink up.”

Susan let Flopsy drop into her lap and accepted the offered rubber teat into her mouth, grabbing the bottle with both hands as she began to chug down the stuff.  “So…” she mumbled between gulps. “…why?”

“Why are you a forever baby?” Mom asked.  Susan nodded, sending the baby formula sloshing around in the bottle.  Mom sat down next to her on the cot, and draped her arm over Susan’s shoulders, taking her in a half-hug. “Well,” she began, her eyes taking on a far off and almost dreaming look.  “It all started when you were two, maybe two and a half. You were just starting to get to be a big girl, and I was just starting to think about potty training you, when something happened.”

“Whuh?” Susan asked from behind the rubber nipple, faux milk dribbling out the corner of her lips.  She started fidgeting in her seat a bit; the crisp clean crinkle of the fresh diaper drowned out by the glug glugging of the baby bottle.

Mom continued. “All over the world, kids started…going backwards.”

Susan started rocking a bit on the cot, her knees flexing and testing themselves, her bare feet pushing up just a bit from the floor, as if readying themselves for something.  Boy was the floor cold. “Backwa-?”

“Don’t interrupt, Susie.  Mommy’s talking.” Susan resealed her lips around the nipple and continued suckling while her mother talked.

“Kids who were only a year or two older than you started wetting their pants and going poopy in their big kid undies.”  Susan looked to her mother, eyebrows arched in question. The slightest fart creeped out of her, unnoticed by either mother or daughter.  As a general rule of politeness Susan wasn’t in the habit of breaking wind in public, but she was too engrossed in the story to notice.

Her mother put her arm around her and snuggled up a little closer.  “When people stop being babies, they learn to go pee pee and poo poo in the potty instead of their diapers, just like Mommy does.” Janet explained to her daughter, completely missing the source of Susan’s confusion.  “I tried potty training you, and it just wasn’t happening.”

That was a lie, Susan knew.  She had been notoriously easy to potty train, she knew from some of Mom’s more embarrassing chit-chat with other kid’s mothers through the years.  She drew her feet up onto the cot, packaging herself in a little bundle while her guts quietly rumbled; her toes curling on the thin and well worn blanket that had just served as her impromptu changing mat.  Much better.

Mom continued her own revised narrative.  “Then the news kept coming in from around the world.  Big kids were forgetting how to dress themselves, how to feed themselves with spoons or drink from cups, how to talk like a big kid, how to control their emotions and not throw temper tantrums…pretty much everything that they could do that made them more grown up stopped happening.”

“Buh why?” Susan mumbled around her half-finished bottle.  One delicate hand gripped the frame of the cot while her feet got further underneath her.  Still sucking on her bottle, she looked something like a little monkey, all crouched up with three limbs flat on the bed.

“Nobody knows,” Mom shrugged.  “Some people thought it was a virus. Some people thought it was something in the water or the food.  Some people thought it was an attack by very bad people called ‘terrorists’. Some people thought it was the cartoons you were watching.  Some people didn’t know what to think. All we knew was that pretty much everyone that year who wasn’t already in Kindergarten had stopped growing up, and were getting less and less grown-up every day.  They had to go back into diapers, and drink from bottles and sippy cups, and they started forgetting their ABC’s and one-two-threes.”

Susan was sucking on air soon, the bottle half consumed, its payload mostly delivered, but the young lady still feeling the urge- the need- to keep her mouth busy. She tilted her head back so that the rest of the formula would slide down her throat.

“Scientists ran tests,” Mom continued, “and eventually told everybody that you and everybody else close to your age would never grow up.  You’d only get so big, even if you continued to grow…but that maturity wise, you’d stop.”

The bottle dropped from Susan’s mouth. “That doesn’t make any sense!” she protested.  “You can’t measure maturity!” A soft grunt escaped Susan’s lips, barely audible to even the most trained ear.  Susan sat back on her rump on reflex, not fully understanding or appreciating what was happening to her even as she spoke.  Something was fighting to get out of her, and it wasn’t just indignation. But her body knew that the only way to keep it all in for the time being was to literally sit tight.

Mom caught the bottle as quickly as if she’d been expecting it and shoved it back into Susan’s mouth. “Science, honey.  Science. You can’t argue with science. So we didn’t. Nobody did. The baby companies just kept making diapers and clothes and toys in your size, and you became forever babies.  You just kept going to bigger and bigger daycares that got built special for you and your friends instead of school.”

“But…” Susan mumbled and grunted between gulps of formula, “I fot...I was…gonna…work here…”

Mom chuckled good naturedly as if her child had just said something positively adorable.  “You’re always gonna be my little helper, Susie, but you’re never going to have to work here.”  There was an almost manic twinkle in her mother’s eyes. “That’s the best part. You’re not gonna grow up,” Mom said, “but that means that I get to be your mommy forever and ever.  You’re my forever baby, and I get to be your forever mommy. You’re never gonna outgrow any of your baby stuff and you’re never gonna work here.” Then she added, “and I couldn’t be happier.”

“But...other kids…?” Susan wondered.  “They’re not forever babies.”

“Yeah,” Mommy smiled.  “Every kid born after that year grew up normally.  I guess I just lucked out.” She pinched Susan’s cheek.

Susan felt her throat tighten up and an overwhelming, primal force surge through her gut.  Her cheeks puffed out a little bit as she blew bubbles into the baby bottle. Feet firmly planted on the cot, she grabbed the bedframe, lifted her bum just off the mattress and squatted as she pushed a solid mass of poop into the back of her diaper. Her conscious mind registered the act, but for some reason wasn’t even remotely bothered by it while her feces pressed up against her diaper and smeared against her backside. As she shat herself, a stupid grin spread across her lips and a single word flashed over and over again in her mind.

POOPIE.

 Only when she was done, and she planted her bare feet back on the solid floor, did she sit back down on the cot, and the smile of relief fade into a shudder of revulsion.  She wanted to scream suddenly, not because she was bothered by the act of defecating in her panties, but because she hadn’t been bothered by it. Susan knew she should be, though, and the fact that she wasn’t was what disturbed her most.

What had she done? “I…I…poopied?” Susan asked her mother.

“Figures,” Mom sighed before getting up and grabbing another diaper from a nearby stack.  “I put you in a dry diaper and then you poop minutes later. Never fails.” She patted the spot where Susan’s head had been just minutes before.  “Okay Susie,” she commanded, “lay back down.”

As she found herself obeying her mommy’s command for yet another diaper change, the weight of her current reality bore down on her.  She had gotten what she’d always wanted. She’d never have to work in this stupid restaurant ever again and wouldn’t even need a half-hearted backup plan.  She’d gotten what she wanted… and all it had cost her was everything she’d had. This was the world now, she knew.

 

 

Deep in the vastness of space, what might’ve been a slumbering god ceased to exist as it had; it’s magic all spent up, it’s purpose completed. It didn’t die, for scientifically speaking, it had never strictly been alive; but what does magic care of science?

In its place was an eternally burning corpse, the gleam of its self-made funeral pyre taking decades to reach Earth.

[YourFNF]

 

 

So the magic works as manipulation of reality by will. Somehow several people's unconscious thoughts have started affecting the environment causing reality to breakdown. Fascinating. I wonder if I were to try and improvise a counter spell would work? Even if  I don't actually believe magic, I might feel I could influence things through "symbolic manipulation of the spacial temporal substrate" through common archetypes. So for example if I sketched a pentacle from the key of Solomon or a similar medieval grimoire would I be protected? 

[Personalias]

 

So the magic works as manipulation of reality by will. Somehow several people's unconscious thoughts have started affecting the environment causing reality to breakdown. Fascinating. I wonder if I were to try and improvise a counter spell would work? Even if  I don't actually believe magic, I might feel I could influence things through "symbolic manipulation of the spacial temporal substrate" through common archetypes. So for example if I sketched a pentacle from the key of Solomon or a similar medieval grimoire would I be protected? 

Holy crap you are talking my language!  Not gonna answer your question, though, because there's more to the tale yet to be revealed!

[YourFNF]

 

Holy crap you are talking my language!  Not gonna answer your question, though, because there's more to the tale yet to be revealed!

I've read most of Charles Stross' "Laundry Files" series and I'm a huge speculative fiction geek who despite being a huge skeptic has causally dabbled in the occult so I recognized what was going on pretty much immediately.

 

So yeah my first thought was o'fuck massive thaumaturgical reality disruption. Get the salt and start spray painting the elder sign and enochian sigils

[Personalias]

 

I've read most of Charles Stross' "Laundry Files" series and I'm a huge speculative fiction geek who despite being a huge skeptic has causally dabbled in the occult so I recognized what was going on pretty much immediately.

 

So yeah my first thought was o'fuck massive thaumaturgical reality disruption. Get the salt and start spray painting the elder sign and enochian sigils

Magic in this particular story is both simple and difficult (Just because it's simple doesn't mean it's easy).  And like I said, there's a wrinkle or two hinted at here that hasn't been explicitly stated to either the readers or the main characters; but once it comes out it will explain the title very well I feel.

[YourFNF]

 

Magic in this particular story is both simple and difficult (Just because it's simple doesn't mean it's easy).  And like I said, there's a wrinkle or two hinted at here that hasn't been explicitly stated to either the readers or the main characters; but once it comes out it will explain the title very well I feel.

Also this situation seems way to easy to escape from, even with my minimal field craft abilities I could easily wait till early morning, boost the person's wallet and car keys, hit up Walmart(because no one gives a fuck at the Walmart)  for some normal clothes + a burner, and be on a greyhound for the opposite coast within 2 hours. I sense a trap.....

[Personalias]

 

Also this situation seems way to easy to escape from, even with my minimal field craft abilities I could easily wait till early morning, boost the person's wallet and car keys, hit up Walmart(because no one gives a fuck at the Walmart)  for some normal clothes + a burner, and be on a greyhound for the opposite coast within 2 hours. I sense a trap.....

You live dangerously. Neat.  But, you're assuming a couple of things.

1. Your abilities remain intact. Lots of skills needed to escape long enough and not get caught in this scenario.  Continence, gross motor coordination, ability to drive a car, ability to stay awake or get up early, to climb out of a crib, fine motor coordination to open a child safety doorknob, ability to dress yourself or change your own clothing (not even counting diapers).  Your arms could go totally uncooperative at the task of pulling your pants up and down.  

2. People at Wal-Mart don't give a fuck in an altered reality where the target age group (which you are apart of in this scenario...otherwise what are you escaping?) are socially and functionally expected to be toddlers.  AB equivalent of Amber Alert.

3.  That you'd be safe and/or able once you reached the opposite coast.  That there'd be a place to escape to where people weren't treating you in this manner.  As far as has been revealed, the entire world thinks this way, now.

Based on what's been revealed, I could only suggest one permanent way out, but that's pretty f'ing dark and it would involve stealing something other than keys.  

BUT this is a commission where my patron basically wanted 'Diaper Dimension...but not", so I nixed the Amazon/Little size difference and society thing and I took the altered reality magic route instead.  Also, because this is a commission, I guarantee you that the ending won't go as dark as I was suggesting.

 

Thank you for the ideas however.  I will address the physical possibility of escape in more detail down the line.  

[JustinDB87]

Excellent story as always.

[Personalias]

Thanks.

[YourFNF]

 

You live dangerously. Neat.  But, you're assuming a couple of things.

1. Your abilities remain intact. Lots of skills needed to escape long enough and not get caught in this scenario.  Continence, gross motor coordination, ability to drive a car, ability to stay awake or get up early, to climb out of a crib, fine motor coordination to open a child safety doorknob, ability to dress yourself or change your own clothing (not even counting diapers).  Your arms could go totally uncooperative at the task of pulling your pants up and down.  

2. People at Wal-Mart don't give a fuck in an altered reality where the target age group (which you are apart of in this scenario...otherwise what are you escaping?) are socially and functionally expected to be toddlers.  AB equivalent of Amber Alert.

3.  That you'd be safe and/or able once you reached the opposite coast.  That there'd be a place to escape to where people weren't treating you in this manner.  As far as has been revealed, the entire world thinks this way, now.

Based on what's been revealed, I could only suggest one permanent way out, but that's pretty f'ing dark and it would involve stealing something other than keys.  

BUT this is a commission where my patron basically wanted 'Diaper Dimension...but not", so I nixed the Amazon/Little size difference and society thing and I took the altered reality magic route instead.  Also, because this is a commission, I guarantee you that the ending won't go as dark as I was suggesting.

 

Thank you for the ideas however.  I will address the physical possibility of escape in more detail down the line.  

Yeah that's what I was afraid of, if that and counter spelling failed, I'd probably work on trying again for about six months to year before I'd probably take well... that last option. Wouldn't be that hard I'd prefer the pharmaceutical route but all you really need is to find something glass and break it. The reason I set that deadline is because, well everybody breaks eventually, and in my case I'd probably check out and go full catatonic. Like zero reaction or response to anything. I'd rather go out on my own terms before that happens. 

[Personalias]

Story's not over yet.  If there wasn't a hypothetical way to escape, there'd be no plot worth writing about.

 

 

 

[YourFNF]

 

Story's not over yet.  If there wasn't a hypothetical way to escape, there'd be no plot worth writing about.

 

I'm eager to see how they get out of this. I could honestly live with the mobility impairments and loss of continence, it would be a bastard of an adjustment period but I could handle it, the other effects however...... The cognitive ones seem like a mix of TBI and dementia, so yeah my internal wiring's already enough of a flaming hot mess with the autism and mixed anxiety/depression (which may or may not actually be borderline). I'd take any way out I could

[Personalias]

 

Chapter 4

 

 It is an interesting but often overlooked bit of trivia that the most adept of magicians throughout history are either extremely young or extremely elderly.  Merlin, the most famous Wizard known to mankind (that wouldn’t be considered blasphemous in labeling his mystical prowess as “magic” as opposed to “divine miracles”) was born an old man and was said to age backwards, making him BOTH very old and young at the same time.

 History and fiction is filled with such examples of arcane practitioners being either notably old and frail or fantastically young and inexperienced.  To the less talented, less aware among us it might be thought that magic is so difficult that it either requires years of experience and wisdom, or else can only be wielded by child prodigies.

This conclusion is patently false.  The idea that magic is something that requires either tremendous talent or immense practice couldn’t be further from the truth.  All that real magic needs to turn human desire and fantasy into hard, cold reality is strong enough belief. It’s really just a matter of a bumblebee in flight; just ignore what the rest of the world says about you and do as you wish.

And therein lies the rub: Even before the twin tyrannies of science and cynicism, people of a certain age eventually learned that the world doesn’t bend to their whims just because they wanted it to, and in learning so, robbed themselves of magic.  Ergo, the people most capable of casting magic are those who are too naïve to know that they can’t, or too senile to remember.

-    An excerpt from “Do You Believe in Magic?” by Cornelius Crowley.

 

Susan

Susan waddled into the “Big Little Daycare”, holding her mother’s hand as tightly as any small child on the first day of school, with Flopsy clutched to her chest. The world had gone mad yesterday, with everyone she could remotely consider part of her peer group now being reduced to a particularly large toddler complete with all the trappings: bottles, highchairs, strollers, cribs, playpens, rattles, and yes, diapers.  Susan had already endured one day of such indignities, and since everyone on planet Earth couldn’t remember a time when she and her peers weren’t expected to behave like someone under the age of two, there was no end in sight.

In the face of this unrelenting madness, it could be forgiven if she went a little crazy herself; or at least fell back on long abandoned habits. “Susie,” her mother said, “why are you holding onto my hand so tightly? You’re just going to daycare. You’ve come here ever since you were eight.”

The former future accountant’s hand did not loosen its grip, though the hairs on the back of her still neck bristled at being called “Susie”. By God, she hated that name.  “I know,” she lied, “I’m just nervous, that’s all.”

“About what?” Mom asked.  “Is something different today?  I don’t remember any special activities being mentioned in the bulletin.”  As far as everyone but Susan was concerned, today was par for the course, but to Susan it was like being on another world.

Her room, long since abandoned since she’d gone to college had, of course, been a scaled up nursery.  Bath time had been…interesting…but being naked and scrubbed down by her own mother was nothing compared to having her ass wiped in public.  The latter had been red hot humiliation. The former, mentally, could be written off as something that might happen in a hospital.

Going to sleep in a crib wearing purple footed pajamas had been deceptively easy.  Waking up wet the next morning had even easier. Getting dressed- correction, BEING dressed- for the day came too fast for Susan’s groggy brain to fully appreciate.  As soon as the shoes were on her feet, Mom had shuffled her outside, strapped her into a ridiculously big carseat, shoved another bottle of big baby formula into her mouth, and driven off into the pre-dawn morning.  Susan hadn’t even had time to process that she wasn’t being taken back to Ma’s Diner and Pie Shop; she was expecting to have another boring day of quiet contemplation stuck in a playpen.

Now, as other so-called forever babies trickled into the building with their parents, their pants all bulging with bulky diapers (if they were wearing pants at all), the enormity of Susan’s predicament had fully dawned on her.  What was she going to do?

In front of the rather large building- just yesterday Susan remembered this place being an abandoned bingo hall- was a large screen T.V. where several other forever babies (other forever babies) laid on the floor watching the opening previews; evidently, whatever DVD had been popped in had yet to play the feature presentation.

Not quite fifteen feet away, other Forbies sat at long tables eating grainy pre-packaged doughnuts and cheerios.  No spoons. Just finger feeding. Hovering around them, a woman in her thirties passed out juice boxes and sippy cups, taking a moment here and there to open up the plastic wrapping of a doughnut or tear the paper lid off of a single serving bowl of cereal.  The infantilized twenty-somethings seemed to know at least to raise their hand and whine for help, rather than attempt the feat themselves.

What if this was all some advanced form of brainwashing and conditioning rather than a virus?  Maybe this was a kind of mass hypnosis or global hysteria. What if the non-Forbies were just as mesmerized as the millennials content to poop their pants?

“Go get some breakfast,” Susan’s mother nudged her forward, giving her a pat on the rear.  Susan barely felt it through the plastic, padding, and diaper cover she’d been dressed in this morning.

Under the humming of old fluorescent lightbulbs, amidst the sky blue walls with fluffy white clouds and different “activity centers” and toys pushed up along the periphery, Susan finally got a good look at what she was wearing…and had to fight back the urge to vomit.

Mom had dressed her in a sleeveless red dress with white polka dots.  The hem was longer than yesterday’s frilly pink number, but it still only barely covered the bottom of her diaper area.  Pulled up over her taped-on absorbent underwear was a matching cover – she immediately loathed the idea of thinking of it as “panties”- and the elastic in the leg bands was already starting to chafe her inner thighs.

On top of the shoulder straps of her dress and on the hips of her diaper cover were two superfluous bits of material tied into a rough knot, giving the approximate illusion that her clothes were tied together like some kind of cute country bumpkin child.

It was supposed to be cute, Susan guessed, but the only thing it would really accomplish was make it harder for her to sleep on her side during naptime. (Please let there be a naptime.  Unconsciousness was the sweetest mercy she could expect today.) Tucking Flopsy under her armpit, she brushed her backside with the tips of her fingers.  No stupid ruffles on her butt. At least she had that going for her.

The young lady released her mother’s grasp just long enough to feel the top of her head.  Sure enough, her fingers clasped on a headband, with a bow big and floppy enough to act as a set of wings should she fall out of plane.  A mirror wasn’t needed for Susan to guess that it matched the rest of her outfit perfectly.

Her hand swept back underneath her hair, pawing at the glasses now strapped to the back of her skull.  Susan was all but blind without her glasses, but that would have been preferable to being dolled up like a friggin’ baby version of Minnie Mouse.

Janet seemed to have read her daughter’s thoughts.  Mother grabbed daughter’s hand, and pulled it down to her side.  “Susan Leann Collins,” she chided, “quit fiddling with your glasses.”

“But Mom-!” Susan whined.

Mom wasn’t having anything on it. “Don’t you ‘But Mom’ me, baby girl,” Mom interrupted.  “You’re never gonna grow up, but you’re gonna grow out of this backsass phase real quick.  Understand?”

Flashbacks of yesterday’s public spanking sprang to the forefront of Susan’s mind.  “Yes ma’am.” She whimpered. That and hearing her full name had a subduing effect on her.

“Mrs. Collins!” A new voice entered the fray. Both the forever baby and her forever mommy looked up from each other. An older woman with big straw-colored hair came out of a side door and into the main floor of the old Bingo Hall.  “Glad that I caught you!”

“Actually, I’m glad I caught you, Miss Donna,” Mom replied.  “Susie has been acting strange lately.”

Miss Donna- Susan’s “teacher” in this brave new world, she deduced- stopped in front of the pair and frowned.  “Strange?” she repeated Susan’s mom, grimacing like it left a bad taste in her mouth. “Strange how?”

Now it was Susan’s turn to blanche as Mom gripped her hand a little too tight for comfort.  “She’s just been a little too focused on growing up, lately. Lots of talk about not being a baby, and whatnot.” Mom said.

A relieved breath puffed an errant strand of hair out of Miss Donna’s face.  “Oh,” she said. “THAT. You had me worried for a second, Mrs. Collins.”

“You mean she’s been doing it here, too?” Mom asked the teacher.

“Not here,” Miss Donna clarified. “Not yet, anyways.  Susan is twenty-two, correct?” Susan found herself nodding emphatically, and Mom was kind of enough to just point to her, instead of talking over her for once.  “That happens at around this age,” she said by way of explanation. “When our oldest group was about Susan’s age, they went through the same phase. We thought it might have something to do with how they used to be potty trained, but then our twenty-three year olds did the same thing last year and a lot of them had gotten as far as training pants.”

“And Susie never came close to getting out of diapers,” Mom piped in.  Susan felt her face flush and her mouth go as dry as she hoped her diaper was. (Yikes! She wasn’t even sure if she was wet just then!)

Miss Donna seemed to agree.  “Must be something about being a forever baby at twenty-two.  Which means,” she paused and looked back at the not-so-little tykes watching the opening credits of Pinocchio, “I’ve got at least two more years of this to look forward to.”

“You mean, you’re not trying to do potty training with them?” Mom asked.

The other woman snorted “Of course not,” before thinking better of it and adding, “That is, if you’re wanting to, we’ll give it a try, but they don’t make forever baby disposable training pants so our best bet would be to switch to cloth diapers and plastic pa-“

She was cut off by Susan’s mom waving her hands and saying “Oh no, no, no.  Not what I’m looking to do at all. I just wanted to know. I’m not interested in Susie potty training at all.  My baby girl just doesn’t have it in her, and besides-”

“It’s a fad,” both women said simultaneously before pausing and laughing a little too heartily for Susan to feel comfortable.

After the relieved laughter from both women died down, Mom asked “So Susan’s not the only one at this age?”

“Not at all,” Susan’s new/old teacher assured.  “I’ve got more than a couple here right now that are starting to act a little too big for their britches.”

“What about the cursing?”

“Cursing?!”

Both adults stopped and shot Susan a stern look.  “I didn’t know about cursing,” the teacher said, while still looking pointedly at Susan.

“I assume she heard it from one of her little friends here,” Mom said, giving Susan’s hand a squeeze.

Both women were shaking their heads in self-righteous disappointment.  “I would assume the same thing. Some parents assume that just because their children are never going to grow up, that they won’t learn naughty language,” Miss Donna said.  “Thank you for telling me, Mrs. Collins. I’ll be on the lookout for that from now on. We’ll try to nip it in the bud.” She then looked Susan in the eye. “If you hear any of your classmates saying bad words, you don’t copy them, okay?  You come right to me or another grown-up.” All Susan could do was nod.

Miss Donna nodded back, and then looked to Mom.  “Anything else I need to know?”

Janet loosened her grip.  “No, that’s about it, and I’ve gotta go get ready for the breakfast rush at the diner.” She went to go, then stopped herself.  “Oh yeah, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

The older woman primped her hair a bit and just said, “I just wanted to tell you that we’re starting to run low on diapers for her,” gesturing to Susan.  “We’ve got enough to get through today, but we’ll need more for tomorrow.”

Knees locked.  Teeth gritted. Eyelids shot open.  Oh shit! She was in diapers. She’d lost most, if not all of her potty training.  She’d need to be changed. And Mom was about to leave her. Susan hadn’t had time to consider this. It was bad enough when Mom had changed her and someone else had been looking on.  Unless she could hold it all day (she couldn’t), a complete stranger would be the one wiping between her legs today. Even if she were dry, that wouldn’t stop some rando from groping her pelvis to check her.

“Oh, right,” Mom replied, not noticing or not caring about her daughter’s obvious distress.  “I’ll make sure to bring another box by when I pick her up this afternoon before the dinner rush.”  She turned around to leave.

LEAVE!

Due to how far her diaper spread her legs apart, Susan didn’t leap at her mother as much as she stumbled over herself and latched onto Mom’s waist.  “Mommy!” she yelped. “Don’t leave! Take me to the diner. I’ll be good! I promise!” The idea of Miss Donna- or anyone else, really- laying her down and stripping her threatened to send her into a panic attack.

“Susie!” Mom laughed, nervously. “What has gotten into you?!  You haven’t cried when I left you at Daycare since you were twelve.”

“I’M NOT CRYING!” she shouted, despite herself.  The possible future violations flashing in her mind’s eye caused her physical eyes to start watering.

Wrinkled hands with shiny red fingernails took hold of Susan’s skinny shoulders. “Looks like someone’s feeling like a bit of a Mommy’s girl this morning,” Miss Donna tutted.  “It happens.”

Susan got her feet back underneath her and stood ramrod straight.  “MOMMY’S GIRL?!” she screeched, whirling around to face her accuser.  “MOMMY’S GIRL?!” Her mother was already walking away towards the exit, but Susan didn’t care. “I. AM. NOT. A. MOMMY’S GIRL!”

A patronizing pat on her head was her reward.  “Of course not, Susan,” Miss Donna cooed. “I just said that that’s how you were feeling.  How we feel and who we are aren’t always the same thing. Just like sometimes people at your age feel that they’re big girls.”

“I…” Susan stopped.  There was no point in arguing, was there?  She crossed her arms and pouted. “I want breakfast.”

“Of course you do, sweetie. Go find a seat and I’ll bring you some cereal.”

Susan stomp walked to the nearest table, the frills on her socks jiggling up and down just as the Blue Fairy made her grand entrance on the big T.V.  The constricting diaper cover made it so that her diaper didn’t crinkle as much when she sat down on the hard wooden chair, but the wet squelch that she felt as much as heard was unaffected by it.  “Great,” she muttered as a bowl of dry Cheerios was slid in front of her. Now she had something worse than being abandoned by Mommy…her mother…to look forward to.

As the bland blonde bimbo waved her wand and granted the demented old clockmaker’s wish that his marionette was a real boy, Susan thought about wishes. Silently, several wishes came to mind.  She wished yesterday had never happened. She wished she was continent again. She wished that her diaper was at least dry.

She settled for voicing a lesser wish. “I wish I wasn’t wearing all this girly crap,” she whispered.  But Susan knew that wishes didn’t really come true. Not hers, anyway. Whatever was happening to her was definitely magic; she’d run out of logical explanations, and so magic seemed to do just fine.  Though who in their right mind would wish for this?

The other grown toddlers munched on dry cereal and drank orange juice from sippy cups, constantly glancing up at the big screen T.V. at the front of the room, their eyes all but glued to the screen as if they were afraid to miss important plot points involving consciences and singing crickets.

Adults prodded them on, saying things like, “When you’re done eating you can go watch closer.”  This caused a few to shovel whole grain circles into their mouths faster than their chewing could handle, sending crunched up bits of cereal spilling out of their mouths and into their laps and the floor.  Seriously? Was everyone her age now that enthralled by an old cartoon? Had their cognitive functioning or emotional maturity diminished that greatly? Was she the only one her age that still had any trace of adult sensibilities left to her?

Susan Collins might not have asked the question out loud, but she got her answer all the same.  “UGH…” A voice rang out across the room. “DID YOU JUST SHIT YOURSELF? THAT’S FUCKING GROSS!”

 

Kelsey

Kelsey did not like being a baby.  That much she knew. She found that she’d liked ball pits, and playgrounds, and kids’ books, and comfy clothes, and stuffed animals just fine, and as a matter of function sippy cups made a lot of sense, but when you crossed that line into babyhood you could count her out.

Yeah, her parents were even more supportive and nurturing than Kelsey could remember, and the weird looks about liking those silly things had blinked out of existence, but the pendulum had swung too far in the wrong direction.

She couldn’t go anywhere in public without an adult escort or supervision; with every adult determined to bar her path or limit her movement.  She didn’t mind holding her Daddy’s hand, but as of yesterday it wasn’t an affectionate request as much as it was a social expectation.

Speaking of her parents, no one who wasn’t her age or close to it bothered to talk directly to her.  Other Forbies talked to her, (or tried to; Kelsey was in no mood to converse with her peers after the incident with Dragon Jammies and Darling,) but the adults looked right through her so long as there was another grown-up to talk to.  Complete strangers “complimented” her by talking about how cute she was to her parents instead of her.

It seemed every apparatus with her in mind, from chairs to beds to doors, was designed to limit her movement and stop her from escaping.  Kelsey hadn’t even been allowed to buckle herself into the car when she went back home with her parents. There had been a special harness waiting for her, which Mommy buckled her into while Daddy started up the car.  Even worse, the devices worked flawlessly, as if she really were a baby.

Back in middle school she’d gone through a coin trick and sleight of hand phase after watching a Penn and Teller show on T.V.  She’d been nothing special at it, but she could at least make a hanky disappear and pull it out of somebody’s ear. As of last night, she couldn’t get her hands to properly coordinate the grip and twist safety lock on her bedroom-turned-nursery’s doorknob.  Opening a bottle of Tylenol was beyond her right now.

She could still move her digits with perfect coordination if she imagined herself playing a piano; miming years of practiced chords and drills.  Yet, her fingers got a case of the dumb when she’d tried to fiddle with the buckles on her shortalls.

That was another thing: Based on her current outfit, the shortalls she wore yesterday were the most adult thing she’d be wearing in the foreseeable future.  Today she’d been dressed in (not dressed herself in) a short blue T-shirt that stopped just short of her belly button, a diaper (of course) and a waterproof plastic lined cover with Cinderella on the cover.

Under normal circumstances, Kelsey liked Cinderella.  A lifetime ago (as late as a few days before), she’d been wearing Cinderella printed underwear, but this was too much.  The plastic pants snapped into place along her hips instead of being pulled up. That meant that Kelsey had to endure the sensations of being diapered twice in a row.

Legs up. Bum up. Hear something sliding underneath. Bum down. Another layer of padding.  Legs down. Spread ‘em. Hold still. Snap up the left side. Snap up the right side. Ta-da! Sit up.  Aaaand there’s now two sets of crinkles; one from the plastic of the diaper, one from the plastic inside the cover.

 Daddy referred to this ensemble as a “casual play outfit”. Mommy said it was “borderline stripper”.  Kelsey would have agreed, if not for all the extra material in the way of her private parts. She might as well have been stuffing a bum-bra.  It was like weight training with her ass.

When she walked (if she could call it walking) she felt the extra weight yanking her down even more so than when she’d filled her pants up at the playhouse.  And this was when she was dry downstairs. When the inevitable happened, how heavy would her hips feel?

It was inevitable, too, Kelsey had quickly learned.  The psychology major had learned quickly through experimentation that unless she paid special focus to the task of holding her urine, she was just as likely to flood her diaper as keep it dry.  Her bladder control had atrophied to near incontinence in a matter of hours. She well and truly needed diapers.

She couldn’t even begin to dwell on the diapers, lest she break down into a sobbing fit.  It wasn’t just the incontinence aspect, either. Plenty of people were incontinent (plenty more since yesterday, Kelsey reckoned).  Since reality had gone ca-ca, she had lost all rights to privacy and bodily autonomy. Strangers had groped her and manhandled her in the name of checking and maintaining her hygiene.

While getting her ready for bed, her mother rubbed a cold, smelly paste onto her buttocks, followed by perfumed cornstarch dusted onto her mound without so much as a warning, all in the name of keeping her from getting a rash.

So yeah…count her out of this whole “forever baby” thing.  The cons far outnumbered and outweighed the pros.

If only she could be counted out.  Being in her early twenties and in college, she never fully considered herself an adult, even if she was legally allowed to go out to a bar, get completely sloshed, and have unprotected sex with a total stranger (not that she ever did).  She didn’t even have that kind of reckless behavior now.

This morning alone, Kelsey had been stripped, wiped, diapered, effectively diapered again, dressed, carried, restrained in a chair, force fed what was effectively semi-liquid bread, unrestrained, carried again, restrained in a DIFFERENT chair, transported to the old abandoned Bingo Hall (now a Forby daycare), unrestrained again, carried AGAIN, and then left with a bunch of other twenty-something toddlers who really ought to know better.  Kelsey herself wasn’t getting to DO anything. Everything was happening TO her.

“So this is life now,” Kelsey mumbled as yet another daycare worker (too many grown-ups to keep track of) popped a disc into the big screen television’s DVD player.  “Might as well watch some cartoons.” Walking towards the front, Kelsey’s eyes scanned the room, looking for familiar faces.

No such luck.

No such curse.

Again, she was awash in a sea of strangers as parents brought in their adult/baby children.  An adult that she didn’t recognize- but certainly knew Kelsey’s name- waved to her and asked if she’d already eaten breakfast.

The former college senior nodded and she was told to go sit on the carpet and watch the movie (In other words: What she was planning on doing anyways).  Kelsey almost jumped out of her skin and screamed when the adult hurried her on her way with a light pat on her padded rear..

AGAIN with the casual space violations!

Was it this bad for real babies or did they just not mind as much?

A glance of other kids being sent off with playful swats told her it didn’t matter.  This is how it was for the time being. The other Forbies didn’t have her sense of modesty or didn’t know it should end and none of their parents had any expectations that they should grow to mind it.  Little kids were only taught about stuff like “private parts” and “personal space” when they were considered competent enough to at least partly advocate for themselves and when sanitizing their genitals wasn’t someone else’s job.

“Play it cool, girl,” Kelsey told herself. “Play it cool.”  The young woman unclenched her fists, and resorted to grabbing two handfuls of her wild, curly hair.  Wearing almost nothing, she continued unnoticed among the infantile imbeciles and took a seat on the rug up close to the big screen T.V. as the first wave of previews ended.

It was little like that dream that a lot of people had: The one where they’re at school or work, and either underdressed or completely naked, but no one else seemed to notice.  Most psychologists that still put stock in such things, said that that a naked dream was tied to feeling unprepared or vulnerable, even more so if the dream was set at a school or other childhood setting.  That was true in this case; Kelsey did indeed feel vulnerable, and the setting was certainly childish.

Speaking of which:  Kelsey looked around and started counting bodies.  First Forbies, then daycare workers. By the time the latest advertisement about what was coming out of the Disney Vault was done, Kelsey had a rough count.  There were twenty-four giant babies, and six grown-ups. That was a one-to-four ratio; the exact recommended number of caregivers to toddlers recommended by the state curriculum guidelines according to her Sophomore year childhood development class.  “Well I’ll be,” she said to herself.

“You’ll be what?” an unfamiliar voice caught the psych major’s attention.  Kelsey pivoted in her seat and made eye contact with another young woman behind her.

The blonde girl sat there, legs splayed out, taking up as much space on her section of rug possible.  Her ample breasts were likely a benefit in the life before this one, but were worthless underneath her mint green onesie that had the leg gathers of her diaper poking out a bit at the edges.  The blue pacifier dangling from the clip almost perfectly matched her intense, unblinking eyes. The pouting scowl on her lips looked like something damn near close to “adult”. Had they been seen as adults, the other girl would have been described as having “resting bitch face,” but under current circumstances would likely just be labeled “cranky”.

“You’ll be what?” the blonde forever baby asked again, her face a mask of seething anger.  Bitch must have been constipated or something.

Kelsey might have answered her honestly, but fresh memories from yesterday’s antics of Dragon Jammies caused her not to trust big blonde babies.  It’s not like she’d understand or appreciate how closely this second infancy was starting to mirror the first one. As far as everyone but her was concerned, this WAS their first infancy.

“I’ll be uh,” Kelsey did her best to manufacture a convincing lie.  “I’ll be uh....uh…a unicorn.”

The woman in the green onesie rolled her crystal blue eyes like a mean girl from a high school flick.  “Whatever,” she said dismissively before popping her pacifier between her lips. Kelsey directed her nastiest thoughts towards the spoiled brat of a woman and turned back to face the screen.

The main menu came up, and a teacher quickly pressed “play”, sending it to the main credits.   “Pinocchio,” Kelsey said, smiling despite herself. “At least it’s a good one.” Kelsey had a special place in her heart for the more nostalgic aspects of childhood; hence her fascination with Dr. Seuss.  Walt Disney’s second feature length animated film was no exception.

The petite little girl wiggled her fanny on the carpet a bit, trying to get herself more comfortable.  Space was quickly running out of room as Forby after Forby came and laid down on the floor, their faces propped up in their hands.  Darn it. She should’ve laid down, too. Rookie mistake. On the bright side, she discovered, her diaper and cover had all the crinkle of being fresh and none of the telltale pulpiness of being wet.  So she had that going for her…for the moment at least.

“You know this one, too?” A slender girl with her long black hair in braids tapped her on the shoulder.  Kelsey turned her head to get a look at the newcomer. Relatively speaking, she was less babyish than the others.  There was still the padded bump between her legs that they all shared in common, but she was wearing a black t-shirt and pink leggings; which made her look a far site more adult than the boys and girls in their onesies and rompers, or Kelsey herself if she was being honest.

Kelsey took a deep breath, instinctively hoping against hope that she’d found a peer.  “Yeah,” she said, “as an adaptation it’s very loose, but it establishes its own mythos and the Disney formula had yet to be codified yet, so any tropes it demonstrates could hardly be…blamed…upon….”  The words were going right over the other girl’s head, and the ex-psych student felt her enthusiasm waning. “Everybody oughta see…it…once.” Only the childlike innocence and ignorance of a pre-kindergartener shone in the other woman’s eyes.

“It’s my second favoritest,” the girl agreed. “I really like the songs and the cartoons.”

Songs and cartoons.  The goalposts were really close with this girl. “Uh-huh,” Kelsey sighed.  “Me too.” Then she asked, “What’s your favorite movie if this is your second favorite?”

The other girl grinned. “Alice in Wonderland.  It’s my favoritest cuz it has my name in it.” A pause.  “I’m Alice.”

Kelsey’s hand reached out in greeting. “Hi Alice, I’m Kel-“

“Shhhh…it’s starting,” Alice cut her off. “This is my favoritest part.”  Kelsey had the impression that every part of this movie was going to be Alice’s “favoritest” part. Oh well.

At this point, a less whimsical soul might continue their spiral into existential crisis, devolving into further madness, or at least a temper tantrum.  But Kelsey liked cartoons and songs too, even if she was more articulate about it than Alice. Awash in an impossible situation, Kelsey used the cartoon as a crutch, letting the songs and familiar story distract her from how bad everything had gotten.

“When you wish upon a star,” she sang softly, dreamily, “makes no difference who you are, when you wish upon a star, your dreeeeeeams cooooome truuuuue.”  Just let the dream take you, girl, she thought. Let the dream take you away. Numb the crazy.

“How are you doin’ that?” an awestruck Alice asked in a hushed whisper.  “That’s amazing!”

It took a moment for Kelsey to realize that she was being talked to. She shook her head, sending her hair every which way.  Giggles coincided with it, showing that at least some of the others were mildly amused. A muted growl, likely the bitch in the onesie indicated that at least one was not.  “Whaddya mean?” she asked Alice, “Singin’?”

“No,” Alice shook her head, flapping her own braided hair across her face.  “How do you know the words?”

The ex-psych major bit her bottom lip.  It was a question that was too simple to answer easily.  She decided to code switch into the local dialect. “I uh…have seen it a billion billion times…?”

“Me too,” Alice replied, “but I still don’t know all the songs. You must be super smart.”

Kelsey scoffed. Girl was impressed that she knew the lyrics to one of the easiest and most iconic songs in a musical that wasn’t particularly lyrically complex?  Girl said this was her second favorite movie, and didn’t know the words to “When You Wish Upon a Star”? Then again, it’s not as if Alice, or any other forever baby, was a terribly reliable narrator.

Another snippet from her child development class bubbled up to the surface of her mind.  It was possible that Alice was telling the truth. Toddlers often liked watching or doing the same activities again and again, because the repetition gave them time to analyze and lent a sense of predictability to their life, even if the act itself wasn’t properly memorized.

Yup. That was about on target with how Alice was acting, all things considered. “Naw,” Kelsey finally said as Geppetto finished his wishing prayer.  “I’m just…developmentally advanced…for a Forby.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” Kelsey groaned softly and turned her head back to the movie.  Time to ditch this nightmare world for a fantasy one. Time to tune out the voices of Freud and Piaget, and tune into Jiminy Cricket.

 A sharp pain in her stomach and a building sensation of uncomfortable fullness ripped her out of the fantasy world by the time the Blue Fairy twinkled onto screen.   “Not again,” Kelsey said a little too loudly.

“Shhhhhh” came a reprimand from a nearby adult. An older woman with red polished nails leaned over and whispered, “I know you’re restless, but you have to be patient. After everyone is done with breakfast, you can go to the playground before class if you want, but watch the movie for now. Okay hon?”

Kelsey had learned too quickly that arguing in her current state with someone over the age of thirty was futile.  The poor thing just bit her lip and nodded, and was given a pat on the head for her trouble.

I’m gonna poop, Kelsey thought. I’m gonna shit myself.  That’s a fact. Don’t know why, but it’s a fact. I can’t stop it.  It’s inevitable. She was trying to make peace with the idea. But if I try hard enough, maybe I can last until we go to the playground.  Maybe I can have SOME form of autonomy.

Finding a corner outside to fill her pants in was the closest she’d get to excusing herself to go to the restroom.

Poop your pants at the playground, she thought as the pain started to build in her gut.  Just make it till then. Poop your pants at the playground. You can do it. You can wait.  You’re a big girl. Big girls decide when they poop their pants.

“What’s wrong?” A sympathetic Alice whispered, dragging Kelsey out of her bizarre medication.

“Gotta poop,” Kelsey hissed, feeling a heat rise to her face.  Another heat was filling up her diaper at the same time. In trying to control her bowels, she’d left her bladder unguarded.  Fuck it. That’s what diapers were for, anyways. She still hadn’t lost.

Alice smirked.  “Okay. So poop.”

“Don’t wanna,” Kelsey growled.  “I’mma big girl.” She popped her thumb into her mouth and bit down on it to balance out the pain in her guts.

Alice’s smirk widened.  “Why’s everybody sayin’ that?”  Lower cheeks clenched in defiance, Kelsey ignored what her new theatre companion just said.  “Just poop. If you know you gotta go just get it over with.” A dour expression flashed across the other girl’s face. “It’s not like you’re gonna get to finish the movie anyway,” she said, thumbing at the screen.  “Some grown-up’ll just drag you to a changing table or somethin’.”

Like a ledge jumper looking for a way out, Kelsey desperately sought relief. “They’ll…change…me…?”

The less articulate girl looked absolutely incredulous…not that she knew what that meant.  “Course they will. That’s what dumb grown-ups do. They change you even when you don’t wanna get changed.”

“But everybody’s…” Kelsey stopped talking as another wave of cramps reared up…then continued, “…watchin.”

“So…?”

Kelsey couldn’t argue with that logic.  No one else seemed to mind when a guy or gal stopped and dropped a load in front of everyone.  Some of the further gone ones even announced it.

According to philosopher Albert Camus, the solution to suffering in an absurd existence is to accept the absurdity and enjoy it.  No matter how many times Sisyphus pushed that boulder up the hill, it would roll back down and he’d have to push it up all over again for all eternity.  His suffering would never end if he continued to struggle against the boulder. Camus believed that the only way he could end his suffering would be to choose to take pleasure in the act.

As things were stacking up, Kelsey could not stop herself, or even properly delay the act of humiliating herself in public.  The only way she could stop herself from despair would be to find some other way to feel about filling her diaper up.

In other words: Fuck it.  When in Rome and all that.  No need for modesty. Modesty was dead.

Internally, Kelsey focused on the pressure building up inside her body.  How good it would feel to release it; to just let go and not care! She remembered the warmth that coated her as she did what came so naturally.  And it was all contained, too. Nothing on the floor, nothing on her clothes (when she had to wear them), and nothing to be ashamed of.

The diaper around her hips contained the mess.  It was efficient. It was clean. A few moments of pressure, then release and catharsis, and then she could be laid down and gently cleaned and renewed!  Before then she might even take some pleasure in the little sensations and textures that encased her.

All she had to do was stop fighting herself internally, and be like Sisyphus: Enjoy her absurd, impossible, and endless task.  Keeping her pants clean.

Yes, she thought.  Let’s do this. Let’s enjoy pushing the boulder up the hill.  Let’s. Enjoy. Pushing.

Wild haired and wild eyed, Kelsey gathered her feet underneath her and stood to her full height.  Eyes drooping closed, she took a deep breath, and with a kind of quiet dignity (all things considered), she ended her struggle.

Just like yesterday, the mess escaped into the back of her diaper, spreading out along her backside as she pushed more and more out of her.  Unlike the previous incident, there was a kind of peace that settled over her as she did it. It was as if all of her anxieties were draining out into the thick padding and spreading harmlessly across her backside.

Eyelids fluttering and spots dancing in her vision, Kelsey mumbled something in tongues under her breath.  Even she didn’t know what she’d said, and in the heat of the moment, she didn’t particularly care; it’s not like anyone would have heard her anyway.

 Just then, Kelsey was glad for the heavy plastic diaper cover; the thicker, stiffer material supported her messy diaper and made it sag and balloon less as she deposited her mess into her clothing.  Discretion was key.

Damn, that felt good!

What happened next didn’t.

“UGH...DID YOU JUST SHIT YOURSELF? THAT’S FUCKING GROSS!”

The words rang out like a gunshot.  Shocked gasps and cries of “oooooooh” echoed over the daycare floor.  Bowlegged and messy bummed, Kelsey pivoted towards the source of the accusation.

Arms crossed, still scowling with a case of resting bitch face, and newly dropped pacifier now swinging from its tether, the blonde girl in the mint green onesie sat there while everyone else stared in disbelief.

“What?” the blonde witch asked the room of shocked onlookers.  “It’s gross. I’m right behind her, too, so it’s like ground zero. If you gotta shit yourself,” she looked straight at Kelsey, “at least have a little dignity and try to do it in the corner.  Be an adult about it.”

Emotionally laid low and stripped bare, the future psychologist saw her ideas moments ago as nothing but mental gymnastics meant to justify her actions.  Those ideas were just reinforcing her own learned helplessness. They weren’t meant to help; just to stencil on a smiley face onto an existential crisis.

Humiliated, Kelsey felt her own heart drop down into her diaper along with the rest of the mess her life had become.  She looked around, trying to find some comprehending or sympathetic face. All eyes were on the mean blonde girl though, as if she had spoken some kind of arcane hex.

How could she be brought so low by some dumb blonde in a onesie?  Even more astounding, had she just been saved from herself by a tactless peer calling a spade a spade?

Despite all of her education and her superb vocabulary, Kelsey was at a loss for words.  Like every other Forby, she could only gaze, slack jawed at the young woman who’d so crassly shamed her in public.

It figured; in a world where self-defecation is the norm, it’s cussing that gets all the attention. Only Alice didn’t seem to notice what was going on, having stretched out onto her side and taking up both her own space and where Kelsey had been sitting.  Alice kept watching the movie.

“DAKOTA!” a teacher yelled, breaking the spell.  “THAT KIND OF LANGUAGE IS NOT-“

“FUCK YOU!” This time it was Kelsey screaming the obscenities. ”FUCK YOU, YOU STUPID JUDGEMENTAL CUNT!  I BET YOU WERE ONE OF THOSE FUCKING SHALLOW SLUTS THAT PEAKED IN HIGH SCHOOL BEFORE WE-!” The pendulum had started swinging again.  It had swung to full on pants filling toddler, and the immense injustice of her situation had caused Kelsey’s emotional compass to right itself back in the direction of dignity, sophistication, analysis, and ultimately adulthood .  Unfortunately, (or fortunately as the case may be perceived), that meant a quick side trip through the wild west of middle school, when pure brazen audacity and emotional intensity beat out social niceties and intellectual sparring.

It was extremely difficult (and ultimately futile in Kelsey’s case) for someone to go through what Kelsey had endured and maintain their composure when even the small comfort of “everybody’s doin’ it” is taken away.  So out the window composure went. Fuck it.

“KELSEY!” the teacher positively BOOMED.  “THAT! IS! ENOUGH!”

Kelsey and the other girl stole a look at each other, two gladiators in a stunned silent coliseum . Great. Now they were both smiling.

As if sharing a thought, both babied women said the same thing to each other. “BI-!”

“TIIIIIIME OUT!”

As two adults ran in and carried them away- one scooping her legs out from underneath her, the other one going for the blonde bimbo- Kelsey hoped that she was going to a changing table before going to a naughty stool. Even if not, worth it.  Totally worth it.

By God, it felt glorious to actually DO something again, instead of have something HAPPEN to her. Cussing that bitch out had been the most adult thing she’d done all day.

Dakota

Dakota started the day in a foul mood.  In truth, she’d been in a foul mood since yesterday when her entire social standing had been reduced to “diaper wearing moron”, but this morning it was particularly bad.

When she got home yesterday, she’d learned all too well that the difference between being waited on hand and foot and being treated like an idiot incapable of caring for herself was all a matter of the people tending to your needs.  A cute boy with rich parents wanting to slip into her pants wasn’t the same as her dad and younger sister. “Not having to” was much more fun than “not able to.”

And there was so much that she wasn’t able to do, despite her protests that lasted well into the evening.  She couldn’t dress herself, or feed herself, or bathe herself. Her hands seemed to go full on retard every time she tried to do something involving her own independence.

The lack of a bra and the soft, comfy clothes she’d been dressed in had a nasty one-two punch of giving her ample physical stimulation, but she couldn’t so much as masturbate last night.  Her fingers lacked the strength and coordination to rip the tapes off her diaper- she’d found out the hard way- and the Maggie Simpson sleep suit she’d been zipped into that night had been complete overkill.

Even AFTER she’d gotten over the sensation of a wet diaper (it actually felt kinda nice if she didn’t think about it, she had to admit), she couldn’t properly rub herself through two layers of fabric because of the damn baby monitor perched above her crib.

She’d bluffed Daddy into believing she had just had an itch- and that earned her an early change and another layer of cream and powder on her cootch- but when she’d been bold enough to try again and Virginia checked on her, she was punished.

“Nice try, baby sis,” Virginia had cooed in the dark of her (of course) babified bedroom.  “But that’s just for us big girls.” Then came the mittens. Then came the pacifier. Then came a long night of quietly moaning into the rubber gag while trying not to hump her mattress till unconsciousness claimed her.

Lack of sleep was decidedly a factor in her temperament.

This morning was no better, for her, unfortunately.  The soft, mint green onesie clung to her curves, and air conditioning in the giant mental ward (this was NOT a daycare, fuck that) made her nipples as stiff as anything. Not that anyone noticed.

The shirt with crotch snaps only covered up as much as a bathing suit (more than her typical bathing suits, but still…) and no one gave her a second glance.  Diapered or not, all the boys (and some of the girls likely) should have been drooling all over themselves.

They weren’t though. A bulge in a boy’s pants now just meant he needed to be changed, and she’d been among the first to be sat down at a long table, given a bowl of Cheerios to finger feed herself, and then be ushered towards a big screen T.V. with the other “Forbies”. (What a stupid name).

 Her body craved release, but she couldn’t get the privacy (or intimacy) to allow herself to indulge.  Instead, she had to settle for sucking on a pacifier and pretending she was sucking on something else.  (God she never thought she’d miss Brendan this much this soon.) The sex-kitten had been declawed.

“Hey Dakota,” a familiar (and unwelcome) voice called out to her.  Now dressed in pink leggings and a black t-shirt, the little brat that had ruined Dakota’s attempts to reclaim her dignity saddled up beside her on the carpet.  “How ya doin?”

If Dakota had given the other girl any more side eye, she’d be seeing the inside of her own skull.  True to form, Alice was completely unfazed and played at misunderstanding. (At least Dakota thought it was playing…never could be too sure with a twat like Alice)

“Are you still mad about yesterday?” Alice asked. “Come on.  I was just tryin’ to stay outta trouble, same as you. No hard feelings.”

Dakota snarled, “Oh there’s hard feelings, alright.”

“Oh no,” Alice shot her hand up to her mouth.  Her voice was dripping with concern. “Did you get spanked when you got home?  I did and even my extra thicks make it hard to sit.” She pointed to the extra big diaper she wore, the top poking out of her tights.

“Pfft…” Dakota said, “I’m used to having people beg to spank me.  You,” she leveled a finger at Alice, “humiliated me.”

The dark haired ditz actually managed to cock an eyebrow. “How did I humiliate you?” Alice asked.

“You didn’t see that public shaming?”

“You mean, ‘time out’?” Alice asked, clearly unimpressed.  “Time out is nothin’. I can do time out standing on my head.”

“They were laughing at me!” Dakota hissed, digging her nails into her forearms in order to maintain some form of composure. “Everyone!  Even the grown-ups!” (Dakota hadn’t meant to refer to the ones not pissing their pants as grown-ups…but the word fit.)

Alice shrugged.  “If you say so. I ‘member one or two, but not everybody.”  Was this basic bitch trying to gaslight her? “So,” she continued, “can I sit next to you?”

Dakota’s finely tuned instincts kicked into gear.  When you were losing the game, change the game. “Sure.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Alice scooted up to Dakota, her braids clacking against each other as her enormous diaper rustled against the floor.  Like a cat nipping at its owner’s heels so it could be fed, Dakota reached out and pinched Alice just above the elbow.

“Ow!” Alice exclaimed.  She rubbed her arm. “What’d you do that for?”

Playing with her pacifier, turning it over in her hands, Dakota looked up and said “Did what for?”

“You just pinched me.”

“Did I?”

“I’m gonna tell,” Alice threatened.

Dakota stared her new rival dead in the eye.  “Do it and see what happens.” The two stared each other in the eye, the DVD previews flashing on the screen just in front of them as more and more forever babies toddled in and took their places on the carpet next to, in front of, and behind them.

It was Alice who blinked first.  Wordlessly, the other girl looked away, and scooted forward and off to the side; closer to the T.V. but with her back to Dakota and where Dakota could see her.  As sure a sign of submission as any she was likely to get. “That’s right.” Dakota whispered to herself. “You move, you dumb cunt.”

“Well I’ll be,” a new voice wormed its way into Dakota’s ear.  Dakota tensed up immediately. Had someone just seen what had happened?  Now that the world had gone bonkers, it was back to literal playground politics. Snitches wouldn’t do.

 Directly in front of her, all but blocking her view of the movie was this little tart with hair almost bigger than the rest of her body.  The only thing she was wearing was a blue t-shirt and matching diaper cover with a Disney Princess on it. If Dakota was in a singlet, this chick was rocking a bikini. A tiny lifetime ago, Dakota might’ve seen that as a challenge, but the more merciful side of her reminded her that the dumb sap probably didn’t know her colors, yet alone dress herself.

Still…couldn’t be too careful.  “You’ll be what?” Dakota spoke up, trying to get this new competitor’s attention.  The girl turned around, eyes brimming with something resembling hope and then dimming to disappointment.  Upon closer inspection of the girl’s chest, Dakota deduced that this chick wouldn’t have been competition.

Alice was already scooting closer to this new girl, (a potential sidekick or just another patsy? Did it matter?).  Dakota locked eyes with her prey and repeated herself. “You’ll be what?”

Eyes timidly darted around the other girl’s skull.  The idiot HAD heard something, after all, and like a cornered little rat, she was scrambling for an excuse.  “I’ll be uh…uh…a unicorn.”

Unicorn?  Really?
 

This chick couldn’t have been that bright.  Did she really expect Dakota to believe that tripe?  Still, a lie meant she’d been cowed for the time being.  Dakota rolled her eyes and let the idiot off the hook with a “Whatever,” before popping her paci between her lips;
sucking on it and thinking of Brendan.  Big hair and tiny breasts turned away and looked back at the screen like a good little kicked puppy.

In front of her the screen finally got to the main menu and the feature presentation started.  Great. Pinocchio. Dakota rolled her eyes yet again, feeling it was the only way of properly venting frustration left to her.  At least it was a real movie and not Baby Einstein or whatever garbage kids were subjected to these days. She could deal with Disney before she could deal with more kiddie crap.

Alice and her latest patsy started jabbering, not that Dakota minded terribly.  She couldn’t hear what they were talking about, and only saw their chins wagging.  But just knowing that Alice wasn’t in tears was enough to make her skin crawl. Dakota promised to concoct an appropriate level of torment and revenge for Alice…right after the movie.

The ex-gold digger cocked her head to the left.  Then to the right. Damn it. Unicorn bitch kept fidgeting in her seat and shaking her head when she talked.  Her hair was like a friggin’ flag and kept flapping every which way, blocking her view. Losing patience, she curled her lip and let out a low warning growl, knowing that the lesser woman would hear it.

That seemed to settle her down a bit; even if she was still whispering junk to Alice.

The movie hadn’t been on ten minutes when the new girl crossed the line from minor nuisance to major problem.  It all happened so fast. The new girl gathered her feet up underneath her and stood up, completely blocking Dakota’s view of the Blue Fairy.

She didn’t stay at her full height long, though.  Almost as soon as she stood up, she widened her stance, and squatted down, her well padded rump jutting out behind her…right where Dakota was sitting.

Oh no.  Dakota’s eyes widened in fear, and she felt herself biting down on her pacifier.

New girl started grunting, and decidedly rude, unladylike noises started sneaking out from her backside.

Oh God, please no.

“POOOOOOPIE!” the girl announced to everyone within earshot, as her own backside trumpeted the arrival of a load in her pants, the back end noticeably bulging even with the extra layer of “protection” that the girl had on.  And front and center, there for the whole show, was Dakota. The blonde sex-kitten could only watch, unable to properly react as the disgusting little freak slacked a bit and sighed audibly while she wiggled her backside like a tail, spreading the stink of her own loaded diaper around the room.  The girl’s knees were starting to buckle, like she was about to sit right back down like nothing had happened.

Oh hell no!

There might not have been a way to properly react, but Dakota decided to act.

“UGH…DID YOU JUST SHIT YOURSELF?” she called out. “THAT’S FUCKING GROSS!”

Her righteous words seemed to snap the little twat out of her hypnotic crap trance, causing the girl to stand ramrod still.  Like a group of school children who’d just witnessed the cardinal sin of cussing in a classroom, the other dumb babies audibly sucked in their breaths and cries of “oooooooh” washed over her.

Inwardly, Dakota smiled to herself.  She was exactly where she wanted to be now.  In control and at the center of attention. If she was gonna be stuck as a giant toddler, she’d at least be the Queen Bitch Toddler.

Bowlegged and dumb, the girl who’d just shit herself and announced it to everyone turned around, blushing furiously and giving Dakota a pathetic death glare.  As if it was Dakota’s fault this idiot had just acted the fool. For some people, this whole diaper thing was surely a needed improvement.

“What?” Dakota addressed the crowd.  “It’s gross. I’m right behind her, too, so it’s like ground zero. If you gotta shit yourself,” she pointed to her latest victim, “at least have a little dignity and try to do it in the corner.  Be an adult about it.” She hadn’t slapped the girl, but to Dakota’s thinking, and based on the reaction, she might as well have.

Meanwhile, predictably, Alice had just laid down where the new girl had been sitting and was still watching Pinocchio.  Girl was a real sociopath and a true eye of the storm. She stirred shit like a pro, but was never there for the blowback. Dakota kind of admired that.  Shame she couldn’t be friends with her.

“DAKOTA!” an orderly (or whatever you called someone who got paid to wipe adult asses) called out.  Dakota was already preparing a heartfelt apology to the adult and little miss poopy pants. The ‘dumb baby’ card could be played to her advantage.  “THAT KIND OF LANGUAGE IS NOT-“

“FUCK YOU!”  The orderly was cut off, but not by Dakota.  The ex-man eater actually jumped a little bit.  It was the new girl. Dakota didn’t even think these forever babies knew how to swear anymore.

”FUCK YOU, YOU STUPID JUDGEMENTAL CUNT!” The new girl piled on.  “I BET YOU WERE ONE OF THOSE FUCKING SHALLOW SLUTS THAT PEAKED IN HIGH SCHOOL BEFORE WE-!”

Another grown up cut the other diapered woman off. “KELSEY! THAT! IS! ENOUGH!”  Kelsey, huh? Dakota made a mental note to remember that name, so she’d know who to mentally pick apart over the coming days. (How else was she supposed to keep her sanity?)

Dakota had known girls just like this.  Jealous, ugly girls, who weren’t good looking or charming enough to get by on their own.  The ones who were the Mathletes and the Spelling Bee Champs who swore they’d go on to “own” girls like Dakota, but really just ended up marrying some other obscure loser.

Dakota looked in the other girl, and saw a fire in her eyes.  This chick really wanted a fight it seemed. Good. Let’s fight.

As if sharing a thought, both babied women said the same thing to each other. “BI-!”

“TIIIIIIME OUT!”

Like a kiddie version of a prison riot, two fully functional (relatively speaking…they worked here) adults ran in and separated one scooping her legs out from underneath this Kayla girl (or whatever her name was), her diaper already starting to sag despite the extra layer on her ass, and the other one rudely yanking Dakota out of the T.V. area and towards a corner cordoned off with painter’s tape, a sign made out of construction paper and permanent marker labeling the area “Time Out.”

Worth it. Totally worth it.

A tiny little plastic stool, not that different from the one at Mrs. Jay’s house yesterday was yanked out, and Dakota was forced to sit down on it.  “Now, you just sit there and think about what you’ve done,” the orderly said.

Gladly.  Dakota popped her paci and started sucking on it contentedly as the rube walked away.  While she was an island of calm on the outside, Dakota’s heart was pounding with excitement.  A real catfight was looming; Dakota could feel it. Girl was so angry she was close to swinging, Dakota knew.  That’d be all the excuse she’d need to wreck some face. It’d been years since she’d gotten to do this, but starting a fight was like riding a bike.

She held onto that anger. She sipped at it like a fine pinot noir. She nursed it like the milk in one of the bottles she’d be undoubtedly force fed at some point today.  She didn’t understand why the world had changed around her, or why she was the only one that noticed it, but right now she didn’t care.

Conflict.  That’s what would keep her going.  That’s what would keep her from cracking.  That’s what would keep her sane.

As she stewed in her anger, Dakota’s concentration was broken when another big baby entered her sight from the periphery.  Like everyone her age since yesterday, the girl waddled as much as she walked from all the swollen thirsty padding strapped between her thighs.  The big polka-dot bow and matching dress made the wobbling more apparent, with the hem and edges of the ribbons swaying and bobbing left and right with every step.  It’d been kind of funny if it weren’t so sad.

 Despite herself, Dakota sucked harder on her paci.  She was having flashbacks from the previous day. Soon, she feared, more big dumb diapered idiots would come up and start pointing and laughing her.  Soon, she’d be out of control.

No more Forbies came with her though.  No one else came at all, unless you counted the stuffed rabbit that the girl clung to like it was her lifeline.  For a tiny eternity, the two women stared at each other.

“Whaddya want?” Dakota asked, mumbling behind her binkie.

The chick in the Minnie Mouse getup cleared her throat.  “I’m Susan,” the new girl said. “I wasn’t a big baby until yesterday.  None of us were.”

Dakota spat out her pacifier, indignantly. “I know that!”

“Yeah, but that puts us in the minority, doesn’t it?”

The ex-gold digger stopped the rubber nipple swinging on her neck. “Fair point.”

“Thing is,” this other lady, Susan, said “I think that other girl is in the same boat.”

“You think so?” Dakota asked.

“Yeah, I do.”

Come to think of it, maybe the chick with the stuffed bunny was right.  Didn’t her new enemy mention something about high school? How would she even know to use those same old useless arguments unless she remembered them?  You didn’t bring up high school to a baby (or a retard, for that matter). It just wasn’t done.

That meant that Dakota wasn’t really alone in this madhouse.  There were others.

“Hmm…” Dakota allowed herself to smile. “…maybe we should all be friends, then.”