Suddenly, Immie.

[willnotwill]

The judge pronounced me guilty of DUI.    I was a little angry over the verdict.   It wasn’t because I was innocent.   I indeed had been toasted when I was pulled over.   I was upset that the attorney told me he was sure we’d beat this case on legal grounds.   We didn’t.   I didn’t.

“What happens now?” I asked my attorney.

“It will take them about a week to do a presentence investigation on you.    Then we’ll come back here, and you’ll get sentenced.    Don’t worry.  While technically they can send you to jail on this, it’s not going to happen.   You’ll get your license pulled for sixty days, but that’s it.”

I wasn’t too sure, but I tried to comfort myself.   Sixty days not driving wasn’t too bad.   My wife Mary could take me to work and whatever.   She’d do anything I told her to do.   She was that devoted to me.    It might be relaxing, not having to drive.

A week later, I indeed was back in my suit, standing outside the courtrooms.    Mary stood at my side.   She looked even more nervous than I did.   My lawyer approached.    “OK, this is in two phases.    First, you’ll have your determination hearing, and then based on that, we’ll go in front of the judge for your sentencing.”

“Determination hearing?” I asked.

“Don’t worry about it.   It’s just a formality,” my lawyer assured me.

The hearing was something like a court.   It seemed familiar, and I placed it.   It was like my eighteenth birthday.     All children that turn eighteen had a hearing to determine if they would become an adult, as I had, or be labeled immature.

The representative of the state introduced an investigative report.    My attorney stood up and accepted it with some qualifications.   He asked to call a witness.   My wife, Mary.

“Now, Mrs. Rogan.    Have you noticed any changes in your husband’s behavior since his arrest on this unfortunate matter?” the attorney started.

“Most certainly,” Mary began.   “He has been very diligent in attending to his substance abuse evaluations.   He’s also been going to AA meetings regularly.”

“Thank you,” the attorney ended his questions.   The state representative stood up.

“Mrs. Rogan, why do you think your husband did these things, substance abuse, AA?”

“It was because his attorney told him it would look good when he went to court.”

Ouch, I thought to myself.   That made me look opportunistic.   “One last thing, Mrs. Rogan.   Are you willing to accept guardianship?”

Mary got a surprised look but then answered, “Yes, of course.”

No further questions and Mary returned to my side.   The hearing officers had a slight discussion and then asked me to stand.

“Joshua Rogan.    Based on your recent conviction for driving under the issuance, and based on the investigation presented here, we have determined that you are an immature adult.    Guardianship is awarded to Mary Rogan.    Good day.”

What?   Did I just get turned into an immie?   I grabbed my attorney.    “What’s going on here?”

“I’m not allowed to talk to you without the permission of your guardian now.”   He turned to Mary.   “Any questions?”

My guardian?    “Wait, can’t this be appealed?”

“It can,” the lawyer said in a condescending tone.   “Mrs. Rogan, would you like to appeal this determination?”

“No,” Mary said coldly.   She looked at me and managed a wry smile.

“Fine.    I’ll meet you both in courtroom four at ten o’clock.”

A uniformed officer approached Mary.   “Mrs. Rogan.   Could you bring Josh into this office.”

Mary followed him, and I followed her.   The clerk gave Mary papers to sign.    She picked up her copy and turned to me and smiled again.    “You’re mine now.”

“Did you bring something for him to change into?” the officer asked.

“Yes.   Josh, please take that grown-up suit off.”   She was pulling some items out of the large bag she had been carrying.

“Josh,” Mary repeated.    The officer moved forward with a menacing look as if he was going to help me out of my clothes by force.     

“OK, OK,”  I said, undoing my tie.     I got my suit off and was standing there in my boxers.

“Panties, too,” Mary said.   I cringed a bit and pulled those off.   Mary laid out something on a bench in the room and patted it.   “Lie down.”   I got down and felt the cloth pulled up between my legs.    Next, she threaded a pair of plastic pants over that.

“You’ve got him in cloth?” the clerk said.

“Yes, I’ve signed him up for diaper service.”    She signed me up?   Was she expecting this?

She shook out another article of clothing and put it over my head and then pulled my arms through the short sleeves.    She reached down and snapped the crotch together.    I took a few steps and caught a reflection of myself in a window.    It was a balloon romper like I’d seen many toddlers and immies wear.    I was an immie.   I was on the verge of crying.

You see, when you turn eighteen, you either became an adult.  You had rights, right to vote, and the like.    Or you became an immie.       An immie was presumed not to be able to handle his own affairs, and his life was controlled by his guardian.    For teens, that initially was a parent.   For me, it was Mary.   It all hit me.

“You were expecting me to be made an immie?” I asked Mary.

“I was hoping you would.    You’ve been a manipulative bastard for too long.    I’d have divorced you if I didn’t love you so much.    This is much better.    I’ll decide what’s right for you now.”

She led me out to the corridor as we made our way to the next courtroom.    I was extremely self-conscious.    Here I was dressed as a twenty-eight-year-old toddler, complete with diaper.   Immies in public was not an uncommon sight, but this was different.   This time it was me.   A breeze blew across my bare legs.

I also realized I had another problem.  I had to pee, and public toilets were off limits to immies.  That’s why I was wearing a diaper.    I knew I was going to have to use it soon.    I tried to go, but two decades of toilet training worked against me.

I closed my eyes and tried to imagine standing in front of a urinal.   I got the flow going.  I felt the warmth spread across my crotch.   Just great, my transformation is complete.  Finished, I opened my eyes and saw Mary smiling at me.   I have no doubt she knew exactly what I was doing.

“Come, we don’t want to be late for your sentencing,” Mary said, taking my hand.    We made our way to the next courtroom.    Mary and I went to take seats.   I wanted to hide.   I moved as far into the row as I could.   After a few minutes, my name was called.   No hiding now, I moved up to the front of the room.   I felt that every eye was upon me.   Mary and my attorney joined me.

“Anything to add to the presentence report?” the judge droned out of habit.    Both the prosecutor and my lawyer responded in the negative.    The judge looked up.  “I see you’re an immie.   Is the guardian here?”

Mary spoke up, “Yes, your honor.   I am Mary Rogan, his guardian.”

“This is a new determination?” the judge said, flipping through his papers.

“Yes, your honor.  The hearing was last hour.”  That was my lawyer speaking.

“OK,” he turned to me.  “Josh, you’ve been found guilty of a very serious crime.   One that could have had lethal consequences.   This is a crime that merits incarceration.”

That hung in the air a second.  Was he sending me to jail?   My stomach was in my throat.

“But, since you’ve just now been placed under the care of your guardian, I’m going to let her make an attempt at reforming you.   Mrs. Rogan?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“Do you believe you can control your ward?”

“I will do my best.   I have an appointment for an Immatron placement.”

“OK, that will help.   Please endeavor to keep him out of trouble.   I don’t want him drinking any alcohol.   I’m not going to suspend his license, but it is your responsibility to control his driving to what is necessary and safe.”

“I understand,” Mary said.

“We’ll revisit his progress in ninety days.    The clerk will get you on the calendar.”

“Thank you, your honor,”  Mary said.   I was about to repeat those words when I felt Mary tugging at me.  The judge was obviously on to his next case.   Nobody cared to hear from an immie.

Mary took me out to the car, and I got into the passenger side.   Out of the public eye for a second, I relaxed.   I thought about what had taken place this morning.   Mary and the lawyer seemed to have had this all figured out.    Did they work together to put me in this situation?

“How could you do this to me?” I blurted out.

She turned toward me with a dead-serious face.   “Josh, you did this to yourself.   I wasn’t the one who got drunk and headed out on the road.”

“But you conspired with my attorney.”

“I talked to him.  You gave permission for that.”

“That was so you could help me with the case.”

“I did help you.   You’re not in jail.  Your license isn’t even suspended.”

“You turned me into an immie.”

“The court did that.   There was a good chance that was going to happen, no matter what I did.    It’s not just your drinking that’s been a problem.   You were failing as an adult.”

“How can you say that to me,” I said with anger.

“I can say it because I am your guardian.”

“You’re supposed to be my wife.”

“Yes, I was supposed to.   You didn’t treat me as a spouse.   You treated me as a servant.   Well, now we’re going to change that.   I’m tasked with reforming you.  With some effort, we can turn you into a husband.    You’ll see, this will be better for you in the long run.”

Better? I thought.   I said it out loud.   “Better?   Going around dressed as a baby and using a diaper?”

“That’s a major part of it.   Immies need to realize that they don’t have the abilities that even older children have.”

I realized at this point that we weren’t heading home.

“Where are we going?”

“SuperTogs.    We need to get you some new clothes and supplies.  I only bought that one outfit for you.   I didn’t know if they would make the determination or not.    The diaper service would have let me cancel if you hadn’t.   The attorney suggested it.   He said that the onesie the state provides if I hadn’t brought one wouldn’t have been as nice.”

We pulled into the lot of a large store.    As we entered, it was clear that this place was a department store dealing solely in supplies for the immie.  A clerk met us at the door.  “May I help you?”

“Josh just got his determination.   We’ll need just about everything, but first, I think he needs a diaper change.”

The clerk directed us to the back of the store and said she’d start selecting items for us.    Mary led me back to a padded countertop.  “Hop on up.”    I looked around.   This was not closed off from the store proper.   I’d be on display for anybody else to see.   Mary impatiently patted the padding.   “Come on, we’ve got things to do.    Immies get changed in public all the time, just like babies.”

I used a small step to get up on the table.    Mary unsnapped the crotch of my outfit and lifted it out of the way.   She pulled down the plastic pants and then unpinned the diaper.    Cool air wafted across my wet genitals.   She grabbed some wipes from a dispenser and proceeded to wipe me down.  I reddened with embarrassment but looked around, and nobody seemed to be paying any mind to a twenty-eight-year-old getting his diaper changed.

She put a clean one on me and did me up.   She pulled a plastic bag off another dispenser on the wall and put the wet one in it.   She then proceeded to an adjacent sink and washer her hands.    She handed me the bag to carry.    Great.   The bag was clear plastic, and it was clear I was carrying around one of my wet diapers.

We found the clerk.   “First, we need to get him a proper diaper bag.   I can’t go around carrying his diapers in my purse.”    The clerk led Mary to a selection of bags, and she chose one.   She held it open for me, and I put the wet diaper inside.   I was glad to not have to carry it further.

We next headed for the clothing department.   There was nothing I was actually interested in wearing, so I just stood there while Mary searched through the racks.   “I think you should try this on,” she said, holding up one item.   I looked around for a changing room and then found Mary racing down at my crotch.   I instinctively tried to block her.   “Behave, Josh.   We don’t have all day.”   I let her proceed.   She had my outfit off, and I was standing there in just the diaper while she put another one on.

And so it went.   She picked out several more balloons like I was wearing, some with longer pants attached.   A few onesies.  She got a couple that were little more than a larger diaper cover under a shirt.

We moved on through the store with the clerk making suggestions.   A diaper pail was selected. We got back to the furniture section, and Mary picked out a changing table.   She then turned to a selection of cribs.

“I’m going to have to sleep in a crib?” I said incredulously.

“For now, you will.   If you behave yourself, I may let you back into my bed.”

I carried all the purchases to the car.    Mary arranged to have the furniture delivered that afternoon.   We started driving again.   It was clear we still weren’t going home.   We pulled up to a professional building.    Mary led me to an office marked Immatron Services.   I had no idea what this is.   My mind flashed back to Mary’s statement at my sentencing that she had an appointment for an Immatron.   She entered and announced that she had an appointment.

We were escorted into a room with an examining table and a chair.   Mary took the chair.   I sat on the edge of the table.    A man and woman entered.    He addressed Mary.   “So, you’re looking to get your ward an Immatron?   Is this the first time he’s had one?”

“He just got his determination this morning.”

“Oh, very well.   Not the first time we’ve placed one in that situation.”   I guess initially, he thought I had been an immie since I was eighteen.   I still had no idea what an “immatron” was.   I guess I hadn’t paid attention to the immie world over the years.

Papers were given to Mary to sign, and the woman came to me and gently pushed me back on the table.   She started unsnapping my romper.    I was suddenly embarrassed that I was lying there in a wet diaper.    She pulled the plastic pants off.

“Oh, someone needed a diaper change.”    She removed the diaper and placed it in another plastic bag.    Rather than using wipes like Mary had, she set to washing me with some sort of sponge affair.    “First, we’re going to shave you,” she said to me.   Then to Mary, she said, “It’s necessary to place the electrodes, but you’ll find it makes it better for diapering as well.”

Shave, electrodes?   I was confused.

Sure enough, she pulled out a disposable razor, and soon my groin was smooth as a baby’s.    Packages were prepped, and then the man came over.    He took a long wire-like object and held it out.   The woman applied some sort of chemical to it, and then he carefully routed it around my scrotum.   He used some kind of light.  “The adhesive is UV cured.”   Adhesive?   Whatever it was, it was glued to me now.

He showed a small box to Mary.    “This is the unit.   I see you have him in cloth.  You can clip it to the waist of the plastic pants.   There’s also a provision for a belt if you like.”   He then turned to me and picked up the end of a wire.   I could feel it tug on my skin a bit.   It was the free end of what had been glued to me.   He plugged it into the unit.

“The electrode plugs in like this.    It takes the key to unplug it.”   He held up a key.   He turned to me, “Any tampering will trigger a disabling charge.   Don’t mess with it.”

I still had no idea what he was talking about, but I decided that tampering was the last thing on my mind.    He turned to a computer and typed some things.   “Everything seems to be set.    I’m going to test the warning signal.”

Suddenly, I felt three tingles around my scrotum.   It didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t something you’d ignore.   “Before we go further, we better get his diaper back on.”

The woman inquired of Mary if she had another diaper.   Mary said no.   The woman removed a disposable from a cabinet and put it on me.   She pulled up my plastic pants and clipped the unit to it.   She refastened my romper, and I could sit up.

The man was talking to Mary again.    “This is the remote.   You can use it or the app on your phone.    The app will also give you his GPS location and allow you to set up some automatic limits.”  He handed Mary a small device that looked like one of those things you use to unlock your car door.   It had three buttons.

“Button one is the warning signal.”   Mary pushed the button, and again I felt the tingle.    “Button two is the pain signal.”   Mary held her finger over the button, and the man nodded.   She pushed the button.

Suddenly my groin was on fire.    Three electric shocks came in rapid succession.   “Ow!” I cried.

“How much does that hurt?” Mary asked.   

“A lot,” I answered.    My mind was racing.   There was still a third button.

“The third button is a disabling charge.   You don’t have to test that if you don’t want.”

“I don’t want,” I said.

“I was talking to your guardian,” the man said with a small amount of ire.

Mary thought about it for a second.    “Well, he does need to be punished for what he’s done.”   Again the man nodded.    The woman pushed me back down on the table, and Mary pressed the button.    It was as painful as anything I’d ever felt.   My body convulsed.   If I hadn’t been lying down, I would have been on the floor.   It was over soon enough.

You probably need to check his diaper, the man said to the woman.    I had recovered enough to feel that I had indeed both wet and soiled myself in response to the shock.   The woman started in on changing me while the man continued to explain the operation of the device to Mary.   She could set up automatic limits for me.   If I got near them, I’d get the warning, and if I kept going, it would trigger the other charges.

“And the SCRAM?” Mary inquired.

“Oh, yes,” the man said.   He went and retrieved another box.   He removed a small device and attached it to my ankle.  “The same key will remove this,” he said to Mary.    “It will automatically trigger the pain signal.”

All was completed.   I still didn’t know what the second device did.

Mary took me back to the car.   “W-why?” was all I could say.

“Your attorney thought it would help the judge decide to impose minimum sanctions on you.   It lets me handle you even though you’re stronger than me.   Don’t make me use it.”

“What’s the thing on my leg?” I asked.

“It’s an alcohol monitor.    You drink anything, and you’ll regret it.”

Finally, we were heading home.

[Pierry Louys]

Wow por guy ! I think someone needs to change his behavior for the best ! 
good story !!

[Tld17]

Awesome I wish I was in his shoes 

[maly]

I am liking this return to your immie theme, good stuff.

Maly.

[willnotwill]

I carted our purchases in from the car.   Mary led me to the guest room and supervised me putting things away.   I opened the diaper bag and pulled the bags of wet diapers from it.   Mary directed me to a diaper pail over in the corner, and I dumped them in.    “Take the bed from here and put it in the basement.    We’ll need room for your crib and changing table.”

She ripped off the bed linens, and I grabbed the mattress.   Fortunately, it was only a twin, and I took it downstairs, and then returned for the box spring, and again for the frame.   Mary told me I could entertain myself for a bit.   I grabbed my laptop and headed downstairs and opened it up.    I didn’t know where to start.   I just typed “immie” into Google.

“Immie is a derogatory term for an immature adult,” was the Wikipedia article on the subject.   It went and detailed the origins of the term and how it developed a negative connotation.   I didn’t know.   I always called people immies.   I didn’t mean anything by it.    I mean, they were immies, um, immature adults.

I rephrased my search, calling it immature adult instead.    This time I came up with a generic description of the classification.    The concept had been developed nearly seventy-five years ago when it was determined that between parental failures and the schools, children were not being trained to be mature adults.   Curriculums were changed.   Students would be tested at eighteen to determine if they should be trusted as adults, or remain under the supervision of their parents or guardians.

I dug deeper, looking for Immature Adult rights.   About the only real right was that they were to be protected and not abused.  Other than that, they couldn’t drive, enter into contracts, do nearly anything without their guardian’s approvals.   The only way out of being an immie was possibly to enter into the military or get a lot of supplemental training and retested.   Both of these would require the consent of the guardian to even get started.

I pretty much realized I was stuck.   Mary, as my guardian, would control my life.   She could even transfer my guardianship to someone else if she liked.   Still, she was my wife, and while she could give up guardianship, we’d still be married.

The doorbell rang, and it was the Supertogs delivery men bringing in my new crib and changing table.   It didn’t take them long.   I stood in my new nursery, looking at things as Mary came in and made up the crib.   She had me come down for dinner.

As we ate, I asked the question that was nagging at me.   “What happens to me now?”

“You live your life as an immie.   You behave yourself, and things will be most pleasant.   You don’t, and you’ll find it far from pleasant.”

“And there’s no way I’ll ever become an adult again?”

“Maybe someday, but you are so far away from that it doesn’t even merit conversation.   You’ve been self-centered, abusive at best, and had a reckless disregard for others.   In other words, classic immaturity.   I’m surprised this wasn’t caught out when you turned eighteen.”

“Don’t you like me?” I said, pouting.

Mary paused and then grinned.   “Of course, I like you.   If I didn’t, I’d have let them put you in jail.   But I think this is a great opportunity for you to evolve.   You’re still the man I love, the man I married.”   She grinned again.   “I love seeing your legs.   You’ve got great legs.”

Well, I guess she would be seeing more of them.   Immie attire was almost always short.   Short rompers, short dresses for the girls.   Sometimes just a diaper cover.    I knew I had some of those outfits.

“So now what.”

“We’ll have dessert and watch TV for a bit.   Then you’ll go to bed in the crib.   Tomorrow, we’ll go to the office together.”

We snuggled on the couch, watching TV.   After a while, Mary led me to my new room.     She patted the new changing table.   I got up and let Mary pull the disposable that the Immatron people had put on me.    A new cloth diaper and plastic pants.    She put a onesie on me, and I climbed into the crib.   She flipped up the side and told me she’d see me in the morning.

I fell asleep quickly, but I awakened in the middle of the night.   I had to pee.   It took me a minute to figure out where I was, and then it hit me.    I couldn’t figure out how to open the crib, so I just climbed over the top.     I made my way down toward the bathroom, and as I entered, I felt the Immatron give me the warning.   I backed up.   Damn, she’d set limits.   I went back to my room and peed the diaper.

The next morning, Mary came and got me up.   While she was changing the diaper, she said her phone had gotten an alert for me going near the bathroom.   I told her I was disoriented in the middle of the night and had forgotten.   I stopped when I got the warning signal.

She got me into a different balloon romper and then made breakfast.   She wrapped something around my neck.    A bib.   “We don’t want you to spill egg on your new outfit.”

“Do I have to wear this to the office?”

“You’re an IA.   That’s what you have to wear in public, and as far as I’m concerned, what you have to wear in private.”

We finished, and we got into the car.   We drove to the office.    Walking throught he door, the receptionst greeted Mary.  

“Mary, I’ve not seen you in ages.   How are you.”

“Good, Allison.   Nice to see you again.”   They chatted.   Mary used to work at this company.   In fact, that’s how we met.    We were both the up and coming youngsters.    Once we were married, it was decided that Mary would become a housewife while I continued.   From time to time, I got the feeling she resented having given up the career.

We walked down the hall.   My coworker and friend Mike called, “Hey, Josh.”

I turned around to see him bounding toward me.   “Hi, Mike.”

“What’s with the immie suit?” he asked.

Mary answered.   “You didn’t hear.   He had his DUI sentencing yesterday.   He’s an immie now.”

“Wow,” Mike said.   “That must be rough.   Then you’re diapered under there?”

I nodded.    I felt really embarrassed now.   It was one thing to be out dressed like an immie in front of strangers, but now it hit home.

“Mary, Josh,” I heard my boss call.   “Come on down.”

We headed to the small conference room adjacent to my boss’s office.   This is where he usually met with people.    We sat down.   “I’m glad you called Mary.    Of course, I’m glad to help.   I can understand how troubling this situation can be to you.”

Be to her?  I’m the one sitting here in a diaper and a toddler outfit.

“Normally, this would be a blow to the company as well, but I’m glad you’ve stepped forward, Mary.”

Stepped forward?

“I’ll do my best,” Mary said.   “I hope things haven’t changed too much since I left.”

“I’m sure you’ll pick up it up in no time.   I’m happy to have you back, and I think this will be a win-win for both of us.”

Have her back?  She was going back to work?

“Good.  If you need anything, remember my door is always open.”   Yeah, he was really sucking up to her.   Usually, you didn’t bother the boss unless it was absolutely necessary.

“I’ll just get things settled with Josh, and then I can hit the ground running.”

“Great, looking forward to great things.”  He then turned and talked to me.   “Great one you have there.    Good thing you have her.”

We headed down the hall to my office, and when I got to the door, I froze.   Where it used to have my name on it, it now read “Mary Rogan.”

“They gave you my office?” I said, confused.

“Of course, it makes sense.   I’m taking over all your projects.”

“You are?  What am I going to be doing?”

“Nothing.   You’re being terminated.”

“Terminated?  Why?”

“They can’t have an immie in your position.”

“They can’t?”   I started to rant.   I don’t even know what I was saying at that point.   Mary tried to get me to quiet down to no avail and then pow.   She hit me with the pain signal.   I doubled over.

“I’m sorry I had to do that, but you were out of control.”

I plopped down in the chair.

“What do I do now?”

“We’re going to spend the morning going over your current status.   Then, you’ll go home.”

“Go home?”

“Yes, you can start by cleaning the kitchen.    Then figure out what you’re cooking for dinner tonight.   You’re going to be doing the household chores from now on.”

I just sat there, stunned.    I was now the housewife.   My wife had taken my job.    I was out.    Resigned, I pulled out the files from my desk and started explaining where I was on each one.

Another woman rapped on the door.   “Sorry to interrupt,” she said.   Then she saw me.  “Ah, look at the cute immie.”   I reddened.    “Love those legs.”

“Those are one his best features.   I’m glad he finally has clothes to show them off,” Mary replied.

“I thought you might want to go to lunch.”

“Great.   Josh and I were just about done here.   I’ll drop by your office in a few minutes.”

After she left, Mary said to me.   “OK, you can go home now.   I should warn you that the Immatron is programmed with the route home.    Don’t go anywhere else.   Except you can go to the grocery store.   I put that route in as well.   And remember, stay out of the bathroom.”

I just nodded.   She then pulled something out of her purse.   “And you’ll need this.”  She slid a folded piece of paper to me.   “It’s your letter of authorization.   It gives you permission to drive.”

“OK,” I said.

“And don’t forget about the SCRAM.   No drinking.”   I nodded.

I headed out to the car trying to avoid any gazes from my former co-workers.    Once in the safety of the car, I cried.   My life had taken quite a turn.

[D503]

Great story so far

[willnotwill]

I got home, and my phone chirped.    It was a text message from one of my former coworkers.  “Bummer about turning immie.   We’ll have to go out for a beer sometime.”     I looked down at the box on my ankle.   No, that wouldn’t be happening.   I texted back a “thanks.”

I went to the kitchen and found stuff in the fridge to make a sandwich.   I poured myself a glass of water to go with it.    I thought about dinner.   I dug through the refrigerator.   There were a couple of steaks and salad makings.   I went into the pantry and found some potatoes.    I could grill the steaks and make a salad.   I had no idea how to bake a potato, but it couldn’t be hard.   I’ll just google it.

I went out to get the mail.    Along with the usual junk and bills were several envelopes addressed to “The Guardian of Joshua Rogan.”   Well, that didn’t take long.   Mary called at about a quarter to five and said she’d be home in a half hour.    I started the oven preheating and went out and fired up the grill.    I scrubbed the potatoes and put them in the oven.

I got the salad stuff out of the fridge and threw together a salad, saving for adding the dressing.   I’d do that when Mary came in.    I seasoned the steaks and threw them on the grill.   My timing was pretty good because I was just taking them off when Mary walked in.

“Smells great.   What are we having?

“Just steak and potatoes and a salad.    Be ready in about ten.”

“Great.”

“There are some letters there addressed to my ‘guardian’.”

She picked up the mail and started opening things.   “This first one is a letter revoking your voter’s registration.”    She set that down and opened the second one.    “This is your new driver’s license.”    I looked at it.   It looked the same as my existing one other than having a red stripe on the top.    I guess that was the sign of an immie.   Under restrictions, it read “Must bear letter of authorization” and “must wear diaper.”

I set that aside.   Mary was opening the last envelope.   It was larger, and she pulled out two little books.    She looked at the cover letter and then at each book.  She gave one to me.   “An Immature Adult’s Handbook” it read.    “I’m supposed to make sure you read that.   This one is the guardian’s handbook,” she said, holding the other one up.

I served dinner, and Mary was pleased with my accomplishment.   “Of course, we can’t have steak every night, so you better figure out what else you can cook.   There are cookbooks on the shelf in the kitchen.”    I put the dishes in the dishwasher and went outside to clean the grill.  Mary was reading the guardian’s handbook when I got back, so I decided it would be a good time to read the immie handbook.

Pretty much it told me what I had learned with my google search about the history.   It then launched into the laws covering IAs, which was the politically correct abbreviation for immature adults.   IAs were barred by law from voting, possessing firearms, buying alcohol, entering into contracts, and various other things adults can do.    I could, however, drive or make credit purchases with a letter of authorization.

I then encountered the section on public behavior of immies.   Immies needed to dress in public in accordance with community standards.    These standards read that the outfit could not extend further than the fingertips.     The exception was during cold weather, then a one-piece jumpsuit could be worn over the outfit, but it needed to be removed indoors.    My mind flashed to the one piece snowsuit I had when I was four or five.

Of course, immies were barred from using public toilets.    Restroom use was limited to the sink and changing table.    Where possible, immies were to use the separate facility set up for changing infants and immature adults.    All this I more or less knew.

I got down to the responsibilities of guardians.   Guardians were responsible for the care of the immie.   They could also be held accountable for any immie public misbehavior.    Guardians could apply corporal punishment to an immie as long as it didn’t cause physical injury.    There was a picture of a man spanking an immie.    “Old school,” I thought, touching the box that was the Immatron.    Immies were to have a physical exam once a year.   I mentioned this to Mary.

“Yes, I’ve made an appointment for you on Saturday morning.   Oh, and by the way your AA leader called and said they have to switch you to another group.    The I3A meets on Tuesdays a one PM.”

I3A.    I thought about it and then realized IA-AA.  Immies had their own steps to go through.

The next morning, I made eggs and toast for Mary.    She pushed another book across the table.    “A Practical Homemaker’s Guide.”    You might want to read this.   My mom gave it to me when we got married.

She left for work, and I sat down to read the book.   I got strategies to clean the house.    I went into our old bedroom and found Mary had made the bed.   Good, one less thing for me to do.   I went into the nursery and made up the crib.    I got the vacuum out and did all the rugs.   I felt reasonably accomplished.

I then had the realization that I had not pooped since becoming an immie, and I had to do so.   I had held it all day yesterday, and the urge to go subsided, but I knew that couldn’t last.    I went into the nursery and steeled myself.    I squatted slightly and pushed.    I got relief from needing to go butt that was replaced by the dread of having a load of crap caught between the diaper and my skin.    I pushed again to make sure that I had everything out.

I would have liked nothing better than to get into the shower at this point, but the Immatron would prevent that.   I pulled a lot of wipes out of the box and took off my outfit and plastic pants and carefully removed the diaper, and dumped it in the diaper pail.    Was I supposed to do anything special?   I didn’t know, but it could wait.   I attacked myself with the wipes.   The Immatron people were right, being shaved down there made it easier.

I finished and dumped all the dirty wipes into a lidded trashcan.   I got up on the table and put a new diaper on.   It took me a few tries to get the pins right, but I guess I’d get good at this over time.    I pulled out a fresh pair of plastic pants and then placed the old ones in the hamper.    I put my immie suit back on.   I went to the kitchen to wash my hands.

I pulled down a cookbook from the shelf and started leafing through it for dinner ideas.    I then noticed a pamphlet on the desk in the kitchen.   It was a flyer from “Baby2Immy.”   It was the diaper service.    It said to dump any loose feces into the toilet, but otherwise to just put the diaper in the pail.   No soaking or rinsing was required.   Good.   I’ll mention it to Mary when she gets home.

I found a recipe for a pot roast.   I always liked that when my Mom used to make that.   Maybe, I should call my Mom and ask for advice.   I thought better of it.   I’d have to explain that I was now an immie and how I got that way.     I looked through the kitchen and made a list of things I’d need for the pot roast, plus additional supplies we were low on.   I headed out to the store.

Returning home, I checked the time.   Yes, this would work out if I got it started.    I chopped the vegetables and browned the meat.   I put everything into a big pot and started it simmering.   Now there wasn’t much to do until Mary came home.

When she came through the door, she announced that it smelled marvelous.    We had dinner, and I recounted my day.   “I could really use a shower.”

“Well, eventually, when I can trust you, I can remove the block on the bathroom, but for now, I guess I’ll have to supervise you.”   Great.    I cleaned up the dishes, and we watched TV.

The next morning Mary came in and said, “Let’s get you bathed.   You’re going to the doctor this morning.”    Mary removed my onesie and diaper and took me toward the bathroom.   The warning signal hit, and I froze.

“Oh, I forgot.”   She got her phone and used the app to remove the restriction.   I carefully moved through the bathroom door, but no response from the Immatron.    Mary ran water in the tub and added bubble bath.    It was stuff she used herself from time to time.   It imparted a real floral scent to the water.

She helped me get clean and then dried me off and let me brush my teeth and shave.   She took me back to the nursery and put a diaper on me.    She selected a set, a shirt, and a baggy diaper cover to wear.   We got in the car and drove.

We arrived at a professional building.   We entered a door marked “Pediatric and Immature Specialists.”    Great, immies and kids were lumped together.    Mary checked in with the receptionist.   I sat down.   A small girl across the room had been staring at me constantly since I arrive.   Finally, her curiosity became too much.   She pulled at her mother’s sleeve.

“Is that man wearing a diaper?”

The mother looked over at me and then back at her daughter.    The diaper cover I was wearing didn’t leave much to the imagination. She smiled.   “He is.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s an immie.”  The girl looked confused, so the mother continued.   “If you don’t behave and act like a big person, when you get to be older, instead of becoming a grown-up like mommy and daddy, you get turned into an immie.   You have to dress and wear diapers like a baby.”

It was a simple, concise description of immie-hood.   Mary’s name was called, and we stood to go to the exam.   I felt something touch my hand.   It was the girl looking up at me.

“I pooped in the toilet,” she beamed, proud of her accomplishment.

“Very good,” I said.    “It’s much better than having to do it in a diaper.”   Mary pulled me by the hand.   “Bye!” I said to the little girl.   She had a look that said I’m superior to you.

The nurse led us to an exam room.   “Let’s see.   Well, baby check?”    I cringed, but Mary nodded.   “OK, let’s get you undressed.”    She pulled off my shirt and lowered the diaper cover.   She set some pads down on the exam table, and I moved to get on them.

“Hold on.   I need to zero the scale.”    She pushed some buttons on a control panel, and I realized the whole exam table was a scale.   Not unlike the little baby scale on the other side of the room.   I got up on the table and laid on my back.    She removed my diaper and then placed a small fabric cone over my penis.

“Peepee teepee,” she said to Mary.   “You know how little boys are.   They’ll squirt all over the place.”

She took my blood pressure and pulse.   She then parted my legs a little bit.    I felt something pushed into my rear.    “Just taking your temperature.   Hold still for a second.”   The doctor entered.   She was also a woman.    The nurse was transcribing everything into the computer.   She pulled the thermometer from my rear.   She looked at the display on the wall.   “88.6 kilos,” she announced.

“Don’t forget to subtract .2 for the Immatron and SCRAM,” the doctor said.    She looked at Mary.   “Hi, I’m Dr. Strom.”   Mary and her shook hands.     She looked at the vitals the nurse had already collected.   “Any problems so far?   I see he’s only been an IA for a few days.”

Mary indicated that she had not had any.   The nurse took a wire and plugged it into the Immatron and read out information on the computer.    “Looks good.   A couple of location warnings and just one commanded activation.”

The nurse set to poking and prodding.   She lifted the teepee and checked my groin.   She ran her finger along the Immatron electrode.    She had me sit up and listened to my chest and back.   She looked in the ears and eyes.    “He’s in good health.  I’ll see you in a year.    Sooner if he gets sick or has any other problem.”

I got dressed, and we headed back to the waiting room.  Mary dealt with the payment, and I came to the realization that I needed to poop ever since the nurse had stuck the thermometer in there.   It must have stimulated something.    I gave up trying to hold it and pushed out a load, smaller than yesterday, into the diaper.    I decided to not mention it until we got home.  As I sat down in the car, smooshing into the poop, I thought back to the little girl.    Yes, pooping in the toilet was better than doing it in a diaper.

[SGTbaby]

This is pretty good and entertaining!

[Clr224]

I’m wondering what happens if he starts enjoying his new status too much.  Virtually no responsibilities; a little house cleaning and cooking dinner.  If he and other immie friends can get together for “play dates”, they could enjoy themselves while their guardians are busy working. 

[maly]

Thanks for the new chapters.

Maly.

[Tld17]

I cannot wait for more 

[willnotwill]

Arriving home, Mary changed took me to have my diaper changed.    “Now that trip to the doctor wasn’t too bad, was it?”

“All except for having the thermometer stuck up my ass.  It made me need to poop.”   I thought back to the little girl in the waiting room.   “I hope I wasn’t inappropriate with that little girl, telling her it was better pooping in the toilet.”

“Oh, no, not at all.   Exposure to immies is one of the reasons parents take their kids to P and IA clinics.   You serve as examples to the little kids on what can happen when they grow up.    Didn’t you ever go to one as a child?”

“No, it was just a family practice place.    I guess I might have seen an immie from time but no more than any other place.”

I grilled us up some burgers for a late lunch.   Mary had agreed to a light salad for dinner.   We talked about what we would do on Sunday.   Mary stated that there was an exhibit at the modern art museum she’d like to see.  I agreed to go with her.

Sunday morning I told Mary I’d like to shower before we went out and that also I wanted to clean the bathroom.   She told me she’d shut off the Immatron guard on that location and supervise me visually.   I proceeded to clean the sink and the counters and the mirror.    I then cleaned the toilet that I’d not be using.    I finished with the floors.

Mary then proceeded to sit on the closed toilet while I showered.   “No peeing in the shower,” she admonished.   I got washed up and then shaved.    She led me into the nursery and started putting a diaper on me.   The phone rang.   I told her I could finish up while she answered it.

A minute later, she returned.   “That was your mother.   They’re in the neighborhood and want to stop by.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I told them we’d be here.   What was I to say?   They’re going to find out sooner or later.”

“What should I wear?”

Mary and I went through my wardrobe and picked out my best outfit.    I waited nervously until I heard the doorbell.    Mary let them in.   When they saw me, the conversation stopped.

“Why are you dressed like that?”

I didn’t know how to say it.    Mary stepped up.   “He has to now.  He’s been determined to be an immature adult.”   The awkward silence persisted.   My father just shook his head.   My mother clucked her tongue.

“All that money I spent went to naught,” my father finally said.

“What money?”

“We were pretty sure you were on the road to becoming an immie, so we paid for all those private sessions.”

“Lots of people get tutored getting ready for the tests,” I said.

“And we paid for private testing to get you the best shot at it.    We were relieved when you passed it all.”

My mother spoke up, “That was all ten years ago.   What happened now?”

I had to confess.   “I got arrested for DUI.”

Finally, Mary tried to get the conversation changed.  “I have to say, I’ve learned he’s a pretty good cook in the past week.”

That got the ice broken, and we got off my immie status for the most part.    They did ask how I was doing at work, and Mary explained how we had swapped jobs.    Finally, they decided to head home.

"That wasn’t so bad,” Mary said.

“I guess not.    It was just the look on their face when they saw me.   At least you knew I had it coming.”

We headed out to the museum.    We entered the museum, and Mary went to pay the admission, “The two of us.”

“It’s ten for you and five for him.”    I looked at the sign.   Children and immies were half price.   Mary paid, and a security guard asked to look in my bag.   I passed it over, and he prodded through the diapers for a moment, and then gave it back.

Once in the museum, it was almost like normal.  Nobody paid any attention to the immie.   There were a few of us and an occasional kid.    I had to pee at one point, so I adopted a contemplative look at a painting and let myself relax.   I was getting better at being able to go.

As we went to change floors, Mary spied the bathrooms and said she needed to go.   I told her I’d wait outside.    A few minutes later, she came out and asked if I needed a change.   I told her I was wet, but based on experience, I could wait a bit.   She pointed at the changing room sign with it’s diapered figure on it.   I acquiesced.    We went in, and I climbed up on the changing table.   Mary unsnapped my crotch and set about to change me.

A woman entered carrying a baby and with a small toddler in tow.   The children obviously needed a change.   Mary told her it would just be a minute.

“So, you have him in cloth diapers?” the woman asked.

“Yes, I think it’s better for him, and for the environment,” Mary explained.

“Isn’t it a lot of extra work?”

“I’m using a diaper service, baby2immie.”

“How does that work?”

“They brought over a diaper pail and a week’s supply of diapers.    You just dump the dirties in the pail and set it out on delivery day, and they swap it for a fresh set.   You don’t have to rinse or anything.”

“Sounds convenient.   How much does it run?”    Mary quoted her a price but said that’s the for the adult size.   She was sure the baby rate was cheaper.

“Well, I might give it a try.   Hopefully, this one,” she said, pointing at the toddler.  “Will be out of diapers soon.   This little fellow here has some time to go.”   Then she turned to the toddler, “Unless you want to spend the rest of your life in diapers like this boy.”   The “boy” was a reference to me.   The toddler emphatically shook his head.

Mary snapped my crotch closed and told me, “All done, baby.”   I bristled at being called baby in public, but when you’re in the diaper changing room along with the other babies, I guess it isn’t inappropriate.

We finished our tour of the museum, and then Mary suggested we go out to dinner.   We headed to a restaurant down the street.   Mary asked for a table for two.   The hostess looked at me and asked, “You and him?”   Mary nodded.   She told us it would be just a second.   I looked around.   This was a fairly swanky place.   People were dressed nicely.   Mary was wearing a dress, but I was wondering if my immie suit, nice as it was, was appropriate.

I guess this wasn’t a problem as the hostess returned and led us to a table.   She pulled out the chair for Mary to sit.   She then lifted the tray off the other chair.   “Over here, little boy.”   I realized that my place was a large high chair.    I took a seat, and the tray was replaced.    While Mary picked up her napkin, the hostess placed a bib around my neck.   “Your server will be with you shortly.”

“I’m sorry,” Mary said.  “I didn’t know they would do this.”

“It’s OK.   I hope the food is good,” I said.

The waiter came over and presented a menu to Mary.   “Would he like a regular or children’s menu,” the waiter asked.    Mary indicated the adult menu would be fine.   Mary ordered a drink.   I was about to do so, but then I remembered the SCRAM.   I ordered sparkling water.

A few minutes later, the drinks arrived.   Mary’s in a glass, mine in a plastic sippy cup.   I held mine up to her as a toast.   “At least it’s not in a baby bottle.”  We laughed.   The food was indeed good.   I was happy not having to cook.   After dinner, they came and wiped my face and took the bib.   Mary chuckled.    They released the tray, and I stood up.   More life as an immie, I needed to get used to.

[D503]

Was thinking about this story and wishing I could be an Immie lol. 

[TheBabyPants]

Another one of your great stories, thanks for sharing

[Tld17]

This keeps on getting better

[willnotwill]

Tuesday came, and I headed off to my new AA meeting.   I got to the church that hosted it and found a room with a half dozen other immies in it.    An older gentleman, but definitely an immie, addressed the room.    “Let’s get started.   I see we have a new member here, so as is our custom, we’ll go around and introduce ourselves.    I’ll start.   My name’s Mike, and I’m an alcoholic.   I’m 42.   When I was in my thirties, I started hitting the bottle pretty hard.   I ended up homeless and drunk most of the time.   I ended up in jail a lot, mostly vagrancy.    I lost my adult status.   I ended up a ward of the state.   I finally found a couple willing to act as my guardians, and I’ve been working to turn my life around.”

“Ward of the state?” I said out loud.

One of the women answered.   “If you’re an immie and they don’t have a guardian, you become a ward of the state.   It’s like being an orphan.”

I nodded.   This wasn’t too, unlike my previous AA meetings.   “I’m Josh,” I began.  “I’m an alcoholic.   I was a successful businessman, but I got drunk and behind the wheel and was arrested for DUI.   I lost my adult status last week.    I have been in an adult AA group, but I got transferred here.”

There were words of welcome from the others, and they introduced themselves.   The meeting went on for a bit, not unlike the adult ones I had been to.   After the meeting, a woman my age reintroduced her self as Dana.

“Hi.   Have you been to chow yet?” she asked.

“Are you asking if I’ve eaten?”

“No, CIAO.   C-I-A-O.   Center for Immature Adult Opportunity.  It’s just down the street.  It’s sort of a cross between a support group and a social club for immies.   You should come.   Your guardian will need to give permission.”

“I’ll look into it.”

I did look into it on the web.   It wasn’t exactly billed as Dana said, but it wasn’t too far off.    I found a permission form and asked Mary to sign it.  I’d go after the next I3A meeting.

And so I went.  I presented Mary’s permission and they gave me a membership card.   Dana and I went through into what was a small lounge.  “No alcohol here.   There’s soda and water there.   Help yourself.”     There’s a schedule on the bulletin board of things.   I’m going up to the library.

I followed her up to a room with desks and a small collection of books.   Dana went up and pulled one book down and started in.   “What is it?” I asked.

“Study guide.   I’m boning up on my adulthood studies.    It’s rough.   I was never the best student.  What little I did know, I’ve forgotten.   Still, my mother says if I put the effort in, I may be able to try to get a new determination.”

“Your mother is your guardian?”

“Yes.   I’m a long way off, I think.   But she’s optimistic.”

I looked down at the book.    “Practical personal finance.”   

“This I know about.   I was always good at social studies, and then I worked in the industry until I became an immie.   Can I help you?”

“Well, at this point, I’m having a hard time with all this drawer, drawee, payer, payee stuff on checks.”  

I smiled.   I explained things to her.   Then I went over and found some blank paper.   I made an approximation of several checks and a check register, and we played bank.   I explained how everything worked from the time she wrote the check until the payee got their money.

“Thanks, I think I understand it better now.    Lots of other topics in here.”

“I looked at the book.”

“Maybe we can get together regularly, and I can help.”

“That would be nice.”
I went home, and over dinner that night, I explained to Mary what I had done at CIAO.    Mary said it was nice of me to help.

“My car is acting up,” she said.

“Take mine tomorrow.   I’ll take yours to the shop.   It’s right next to the grocery store, so I can kill two birds with one stone.”

“It might take a while.”

“I can always take the bus home, and we can pick it up later.”

“Sounds like a plan.   I’m so glad you suggested that.    You know, with the old you, I’d have had to ask, maybe even beg.”

I chewed on that for a while.

The next day Mary went off to work, and I limped her car over to the service center.   They told me it would likely be all day, so I headed over to the grocery and grabbed just a few things I could carry home and got the bus.

I took out my phone and was making an outline of things to work on with Dana when suddenly my Immatron started to tingle.   I looked out the window.  Shit.   I’d lost track of where I was.   I had missed my stop.   I pulled at the stop cord.    The bus kept moving.

The warning signal went from being intermittent to being continuous.   I made my way to the driver.   “I missed my stop.  I’m out of bounds.   This thing is getting ready to shock me.”

He looked concerned.  “There’s nowhere to pull over here.   The stop is just ahead.”  I hoped it would be in time.    Then it hit me.    My groin exploded with a disabling shock.    I dropped the groceries and my phone.   I fell on the floor of the bus convulsing.    I felt my bowel empty into the diaper.

“Stop, Stop!” I heard someone say.    “His Immatron has gone into full disable.”   The bus lurched to a stop, and the pain subsided.    A woman immie was helping me up.   I heard her say to the driver, “I’ll help him off the bus and then get right back on.”

She led me down the bus steps, and there was a bench there she set me and my bags down.   She handed me my phone.   “You need to call your guardian.    As long as you aren’t moving, it won’t trigger again.   Your guardian needs to disable it.”

“Thanks, How do you know?”   She lifted her skirt to show the Immatron control box on her waist.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Got to go,” she said and hopped back on the bus.   The bus doors closed and it left.   I was getting ready to call Mary when my phone rang.   It was Mary.

“What’s going on.   Where are you?   I mean, I know where you are.   I got an alert on my phone.   Why are you there?”

“I was on my way back from the store, and I missed the stop.   The thing triggered before I could get the bus driver to let me out.   Another immie picked me up off the floor and told me to call you have you disable it so I could head home.”

“Are you OK.   You sound odd?” she asked.

“Well, it felt like someone applied fifty thousand volts to my testicles.   You remember seeing me at the Immatron place.   There I was already lying down, and it was only a short blip.   This dropped me from my feet.  Disabling is quite an apt word.  It continued until the bus stopped.  And yes, it made me pee and poop as well.”

“I’m sorry,” Mary says.   “I’m disabling the location alarms now.  Do you want me to come get you.”

I thumbed up the map app on my phone.   “No, it’s only five or six blocks.   I can walk it.   I just need to rest here for a few minutes.

“OK, well, if you change your mind, let me know.”

“Thanks, I’ll be fine.”

I walked home and put away the groceries.   I went to the nursery and changed my diaper.   I really wanted a shower this time, but that would have to wait.   I wasn’t going to trip the thing again.

[maly]

Really enjoying this story, Thanks.

Maly.

[willnotwill]

A few days later, I was back at CIAO, working with Dana.   I explained to her my Immatron trip.   She just said, “Wow, I’m glad I don’t have one of those.  Just this.”

She lifted her skirt to show a small belt around her waist.   “Nothing automatic, but my Mom has a remote she can push if she thinks I need it.   It’s sort of like a dog’s shock collar.   She doesn’t use it much.”

We continued to work on interest rates, and a boy immie came up to us.   “Hi, I’m Bill.   I see you guys working on the studies.  Is it possible to join you?”

“What subjects do you need?” I asked.

“Everything.   I’m starting from scratch.   It’s probably just a pipe dream that I’ll get a new determination, but I can hope."

Mike relayed his story.    He was a big-time jock in high school.   He was a star football player and had his eyes on playing for the state university.   Everything came easy to him because of his athletic status.   He just didn’t expect they’d not make him an adult and let him play in college.    The immature designation was devastating.    College was out of the question, he didn’t even finish high school.

Dana and I welcomed him.   I told him we’d only done one previous unit, and he could easily catch up.   We worked a bit and then adjourned to the lounge.    I retrieved a couple of cokes for me and Bill and a diet for Dana.

“So, do you mind being an immie?” I asked Bill.

“Not so much.    I regret the missed opportunity to play college ball, but there are some immie sports groups out there.   I’m on a soccer team.   How about you.   I understand you only became an immie recently.”

“Yeah, I had ten years of adulthood before I screwed it up.    I think my wife conspired with my lawyer to push the decision, but she was probably right.   I was not acting well.   I found out from my parents that I may have only gotten my first determination because of them throwing a lot of money around.”

Dana said her mother was always pushing her to become an adult.    She did think it would be nice.  She could move out of the house and get a job.     Mostly, she said.   She hated the condescension most gave to immies.    One day you’re seventeen and normal, and then the next they treat you like you were two years old.

“I think that’s the point,” I said.   “The diapers, the clothes, much of the restrictions.   It’s to put us in our place.   It also is supposed to serve as a clear warning to growing children that they need to behave, or they’ll become like us.”    I related several incidents of parents telling children that they don't want to end up like me.

“I remember my mother telling me that’s why I had to learn to use the toilet,” Bill said.  “Look where it got me.   I’m back to diapers.    Whatever control I gained at three, I’ve lost now.”

“You’ve lost control?” I said.

“It’s pretty common in immies,” Dana said.   “Ten years of using diapers exclusively, you just lose the ability.    At least my mom lets me poop in the toilet at home.   Everything else goes in the diaper.”

I explained that I had no access to the toilet.   I sighed to myself.   Was it inevitable that I’d be using the diaper uncontrollably?   I remember the involuntary voiding when the Immatron fired.   I shuddered.

It was time to go home.  I was heading out the door when a man called my name.

“Hi, Josh.   I’m Walter Downs, director of the center.   Can I have a word with you?”

I looked at my watch.  I  had time.   “Sure.”

“I see you working with Dana and now Mike.”

“I was always good at social studies.   I’m glad to help.”

“I would really like to work on helping IAs get new determinations.    It’s one of the reasons I came to work at the center.    You may not know, but I was an immie, too.   Went into the military.   It took nearly eight years before I could get a determination.    I stuck it out for twelve before I left the service.”

“I’d like to get some people to teach some classes.   Many IAs didn’t finish high school.   Lots are deficient in the areas that are yardsticks for determinations.    I’m trying to line up a math and English tutor as well.   But if you can handle civics and finance, it would be a big help.”

“I’d be glad to.   I guess I should work up a syllabus.  I’ve just been following along where Data is in her study guide.”

“Great.   Of course, you’ll have to run it by your guardian.”

There it was.   I was still an immie and needed Mary’s permission to do anything.  “It shouldn’t be a problem.  I told her I was helping Dana.   I’ll have her give you a call.”

We shook hands, and I went home to start on dinner.    When Mary came home, I explained what I wanted to do.   She liked it and said she’d call Mr. Downs.   “I’m glad you’re meeting new friends at CIAO and AA.”

A few days later, there was a knock at the door.     A woman showed me an ID card.   “I’m from the court.    This is an official inspection for your probation.   Is your guardian home.”

“She’s at work.   Would you like her number?”

She called Mary, and I assume Mary consented to the inspection.   I led the woman inside.   She took a look around the living room.   I showed her the kitchen and then my nursery.   I showed her our old bedroom, now Mary’s room.    I finally pointed out the bath.   “I can’t go in there, it’s location restricted on my Immatron.

The woman stuck her head in the bath for a second.  Speaking of the Immatron.   I’ll need to make a dump of that.    I led her back to the nursery and unsnapped the crotch of my romper.  I lifted it up so she could see the control box.     She produced a laptop and plugged in as I had seen the doctor do.

“You’ve got one disabling alarm,” she said.

“I was riding the bus, and I missed my stop.   I got the warning, but the bus couldn’t get stopped before it fired.”

She seemed to accept that explanation.    “One more thing before I go.    I’ll need a urine sample.”

“Can you take it from the diaper.   I’m wet.”

“I’m afraid not.    Could you take the diaper off for me.”

I got up on the changing table and pulled down the plastic pants, and took the wet diaper off.  I set it aside, I’d put it in the pail in a second.

The woman was now putting on gloves.   She pulled several items from her briefcase.  The first was a swab that she applied to the tip of my penis.   She then opened a package and pulled out a red tube.

“No!” I said, realizing what she was doing.

“Please.   I have the right under the terms of your probation to do this.   Unless you’re ready to pee in this cup on demand, I have to.    Don’t worry, this happens all the time with immies.”

I cringed.   Not saying anything more, she started the tube down my penis.   It was uncomfortable enough, and when she pushed through the sphincter, it got worse.   She collected her sample and then pulled it out.

“There, that wasn’t so bad.   I’m going to borrow your bathroom to wash my hands and then I’ll be on my way.”

She left, I and I put on a fresh diaper and got dressed.

 

[Pierry Louys]

Poor josh 

[maly]

Ouch, i hope he doesn't end up with a uti as a result of that catheter, like i did.

love the story thanks.

Maly.

[SGTbaby]

Those were a fun group of chapters! 

[willnotwill]

I spent more and more time at CIAO.    I was teaching two different classes, finance and government.  Each met a few times a week.   I was up to about a half dozen students.   I loved hanging out and talking to the others.    Most had been IAs since their eighteenth birthday, but there were a few like me who lost it later.

Walter did find two more teachers.   The math teacher was another like me who had gone to college but fell on hard times afterward and lost his designation.   The other was a woman, a local author who wasn’t an IA but needed info on immies for a book.   She was convinced to stay and teach English.

I was always careful not to neglect keeping the house clean, and always having dinner ready for Mary, so she couldn’t complain.   In fact, she seemed to find my time at CIAO to be constructive.   A couple of months passed, and the woman came to check on me again.   This time all she did was dump the Immatron and then ask me to get the diaper off.

I groaned at the thought of another catheterization.    She told me, “Just be happy that this is probably your last one.   You have what should be a final disposition hearing on your probation next week.”

I hadn’t even known.   I guess it was six months since my sentencing.     Mary and I went to court.   She was in a smart dress; I in my best immie romper.   The judge called Mary and me forward.   “Well, I see you’ve been keeping up your AA.    You have no violations on your SCRAM, nor positive drug tests.   I also have a letter here from a Walter Downs, commending your volunteer work.   No other run-ins with the law, violations, or even traffic citations.”

Good old Walter, I thought.   I hadn’t asked him to write any letters, but he apparently knew I was coming up or the hearing.

“This is encouraging.    I hope you’ll keep it up.   As for your criminal charges.   You can consider this case closed.    You’re released from probation.   Good luck.  Don’t let me see you here again.”

Mary gave me a hug.  “Proud of you,” she said.    Of course, I was still an immie.

A day later, Mary came home, and she looked beat.    “What’s wrong?” I immediately asked.

“Oh, just tired.   It’s really hectic at work.   I’m getting behind.   Spending a couple of hours taking you to court yesterday didn’t help.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.  That’s what wives and guardians have to do.”

“Let me make you a drink,” I said.

“Gin and tonic,” Mary requested.

I went out to the kitchen and retrieved the gin bottle from the cabinet.   I put in two glasses, added gin to one, and filled both with tonic.   I opened the fridge and took out a lime and cut wedges.   I put one on the glass with the gin and squeezed one into the other glass before dropping it and the third one in.

I walked them both out to the living room.   Looking carefully, I gave the one with one lime to Mary.   “Mine just has tonic water and lime in it.”

“I can take the SCRAM off if you’d like a drink.   You’re no longer on probation.”

“No, this is fine.”

Mary continued to explain what was going on at work, and I got an idea.

“My classes are ending for right now at CIAO.   I know I can’t go back to the job I used to do at the firm, but I could work part-time.   I could do some of the drudge work.   Give you more time for the important stuff.”

Mary seemed to consider that.

“I mean, we’d have to clear the fact that we’re related.   Don’t want any nepotism charges.   But the firm does have a few other IAs.   There are some clerks and even one or two secretaries back in my days there.”

“You know, that’s a kind suggestion.    I’m really impressed with your progress over the past six months.   You’ve changed a lot.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ve missed you from our bed.”

That evening, I put on a clean diaper and joined Mary in our old bed.   After a period of caressing, Mary reached down and slid the plastic pants off.   One by one, she removed the diaper pins and set them aside.    She then unfolded the diaper from my crotch and positioned herself to come down on me.    We made love for the first time in months.

Afterward, I said we better put the diaper back on me.   I wasn’t sure but told her I thought I was beginning to lose control.

A few days later, Mary said that management had approved me working there under her supervision.    A few days a week, I’d go into the office with her and do basic research and other work to lighten her load.

A couple of weeks passed, and I was at CIAO.   Mike was there, and we talked a bit.   “Where’s Dana?” I asked.   “I’ve not seen her in a few days.”

“She was here earlier,” Mike said.   “Her and Walter went off somewhere a couple of hours ago.”

I thought it was strange, but I didn’t think much about it.   We were just friends.   It wasn’t like we were dating or anything.   I was a married man.   Happily married.

Mike and I played some cards for a bit and then I saw the door open.   Walter was holding the door open for an older woman I did not recognize.   Then through the door stepped Dana.   She was different.   She was wearing a proper woman’s dress, not immie length.    I put two and two together.

“Dana!  You had your determination hearing?”

“Yes, I passed, obviously.   I’m an adult!”

We hugged.  “I’m so proud of you.”

Dana said, “Josh, this is my mother, Mrs. Wells.   Mom, this is Josh.”

“Call me Charlotte.   I so wanted to meet you.   Dana says she’d have never gotten through her lessons without your help.”

“I’m sure she’s exaggerating, but I appreciate it.”

Mike came over to congratulate Dana, as well.    I told him, “This can be you in a short while.”

Dana turned to me.   “It could be you, too.”

“I don’t know about that,” I said.

Mike fetched a round of soft drinks for everyone.

“Don’t be a stranger,” I told Dana.   “Maybe you and your mother could come over to have dinner with Mary and me.”

“That might be nice.    You’re not upset, are you?”

“Upset?  Why?”

“Because I’m an adult, and you’re not.”

“Oh, no.   I couldn’t be happier for you.”

I told Mary about Dana’s determination.   “You must be really happy for her. You’re not feeling bad about it.”

“About me still being an immie?   She asked the same thing.   No, I’m not jealous.”

“You have come a long way,” Mary said.

[Pierry Louys]

Good chapter 

[kerry]

I like this world quite a bit, but there are internal inconsistencies that I struggle with. 

• The idea of immies being treated like toddlers is one of the first (and most obvious) ones. I mean, I get it: this is an ABDL fantasy. But why would any society go beyond stripping rights from its citizens to making them seem like little children again? They are called "immature adults," after all. You did try to explain in this story that the notion has to do with reinforcing the lack of maturity, but that isn't enough to make it a logical thing to do. Why diapers? Why cribs? Other than to satisfy the mandates of an ABDL story, I just can't make sense of this.
• Then there is the matter of selling or reassigning guardianships (as occurred in the first story). "Mature" adults are supposed to be able to make good decisions, right? So shouldn't an agreement to become a guardian be akin to adopting a child rather than something with easy, built-in means to get out of? 
• There is also the issue of declaring someone incapable of responsibility but expecting them to do all of the household chores well and on time. Shouldn't being able to do so every day indicate maturity? And how can they expect this but not allow older "immature" people to work any longer at the jobs they have been doing well all along?
• Then there is Josh, who not only does this but attends all of his AA meetings, stays within the boundaries of the devices attached to him (and even rejects an offer to remove one because he understands it to be a bad idea), works a responsible volunteer job to help teach people, etc. He may have been reckless and alcoholic and demanding before, but at this point he has clearly shown that he is capable of being a responsible member of society. To have military service as the only way out seems...weird.

I'm sure that there are several other things that have troubled me over these stories that I am just not thinking of at the moment, but these will do. As I said, I like the concept of this world and I'm enjoying the stories, but the lack of logic on a societal level bothers me.

[Clr224]

I’ve been enjoying the story and don’t have any real criticisms. Obviously, in an ABDL fantasy, diapers and immaturity have to be worked in some fashion whether it could logically happen in reality or not. Given that this is fantasy, reality has no bearing as long as the fantasy world is consistent within itself.  

The one thing that has surprised me so far about the plot is how meekly Josh has accepted his new status.  Except for the DUI, everything about his actions has been quite mature.  Given the description of his personality at the beginning of the story, I fully expected him to at least initially take his immie status quite badly; to rebel and require forcible correction.  All of the actions and incidents in the story so far have shown him to be quite responsible and mature.

I haven’t read the first story concerning “immies,” so all I know about the world they inhabit is what is described in this story.  Based on that, it would seem that even immies, depending on how long they’ve been in that status, when they regain their adult status would be very likely to be incontinent and require diapers.  So now, you have a “mature” adult wearing diapers. Was Dana wearing a diaper under her dress?  I would think it would be difficult to suddenly start wearing regular clothes after years as an immie without having accidents.