Unfair: A Diaper Dimension Novel (Chapters 115 Uploaded!)

[BabyJilly_S]

Ooooh, and so it begins. Will he truly break and accept his fate or will he fight on?  

Still so many questions, Janet seems innocent and actually nice (for an Amazon), don't think she was to blame. The mystery of who did it continues - if anyone did....

Its very interesting that they can have a rational conversation at one level and yet when it goes towards making that final "yes you are an adult" it goes into that black hole of "you're a baby little"

Great stuff     

 

 

[Sarah Penguin]

[Guilend]

Ugh! I hate not being on your Patreon right now ???? I can’t wait to be able to pledge again so I can get caught up on unfair. 

[TerranV]

Nice!

There's just no reasoning with a baby crazy Amazon.

The more you go into the "science" of matureosis, the more I'm reminded of the real life pseudoscience that was used to justify why certain races are supposedly inferior to others. 

Of course Amazons gleefully buy into it because it conveniently justifies their treatment of littles.

Edited August 8, 2021 by TerranV

[Moon3ye]

I honestly hope that Cassie finds out about it but somehow manages to get to safety.

As I said before, I don't feel sorry for Clark anymore. At the latest after the action at the end of the school year he should have left with Cassie. That he is in this situation, he owes only his pride and arrogance and the belief that his AMAZONEN colleagues would help him, which turned out to be a mistake. 

If I would write the story he would soon have a visit to a doctor and would become a girl, but I am also mean. 

 

[BabyJilly_S]

6 hours ago, Moon3ye said:

I honestly hope that Cassie finds out about it but somehow manages to get to safety.

As I said before, I don't feel sorry for Clark anymore. At the latest after the action at the end of the school year he should have left with Cassie. That he is in this situation, he owes only his pride and arrogance and the belief that his AMAZONEN colleagues would help him, which turned out to be a mistake. 

If I would write the story he would soon have a visit to a doctor and would become a girl, but I am also mean. 

 

Cassie's reaction will be telling. Presumably when he doesn't come home she will call the school and find out, then I would expect her to bolt. Of course we don't know how much Clark's "diagnosis" will reflect on her, it could be that they believe if one little in a partnership has got it then both must have it and some Amazons are on their way to pick her up....

Clark is certainly reaping what he sowed....several close calls and one huge near miss should have been a big enough warning.

[Moon3ye]

1 hour ago, BabyJilly_S said:

Cassie's reaction will be telling. Presumably when he doesn't come home she will call the school and find out, then I would expect her to bolt. Of course we don't know how much Clark's "diagnosis" will reflect on her, it could be that they believe if one little in a partnership has got it then both must have it and some Amazons are on their way to pick her up....

Clark is certainly reaping what he sowed....several close calls and one huge near miss should have been a big enough warning.

I think Beouf said that Cassie has nothing to fear just because Clark is maturing.

I do hope that Cassie can quickly escape to her parents because I think it's unfair to end up in diapers just because of Clark's stupidity.

And yes I know this is the title of the story but for Cassie I wish for freedom. 

[Personalias]

Chapter 32: Some New Facts

I woke up not to the sweet screeching of an electric alarm clock, but to terrible gut cramps.  Had I been dreaming, I would have felt that I was being stabbed in the stomach.  Out of second nature and a few decades of habit, I rolled my head to the side and searched for the clock as my mind began to process that I was no longer dreaming.
Wooden bars stared back at me.  There were no blinking numbers; no snooze button to hit.  To my other side there was no Cassie snoring lightly; just more bars and a solid wall.  Only the crickets outside added to the soundtrack of my world.

Another cramp in my stomach.  My bladder wasn’t happy either.  It must’ve been something I ate.  My brain corrected me:  It must’ve been something I was fed.  This wasn’t just denial or paranoia.  I was thirty-two.  I’d had enough hard drinking Gwiffin Parties to recognize when something was irritating my bowels.  Hell, back in college, Littles would make sport of eating Amazon spices just to see who would break first.  The pain on your tongue burns like hot coals.  The spices raking their claws along your intestine on their way out is worse.

It was the chicken nuggets, maybe. The dipping sauce, more likely.  Possibly the milk, too; even if Janet had taken a swig.  The ache in my bladder increased into a kind of burning.  Instinctively, I tried to clamp down and squeeze my legs together.  I got only as far as the thick night time diaper; my knees didn’t even graze each other.

In a weird way I was relieved that I was feeling these things.  Whatever had caused my “accident” earlier hadn’t taken away my continence.  I wouldn’t be awake just then if it had.  Gingerly, I reached underneath the sheets and gave the front of the diaper a squeeze.

Still dry.  Good.

Another cramp jogged my memory.

No!  Not dry!  Not dry at all!  I’d already peed myself so that I could get to sleep!  The padding was just so absorbent that I’d barely felt it and allowed myself to forget! That meant that this plastic backed monstrosity could hold more; a lot more…

At least that combined with my present discomfort meant I probably hadn’t wet in my sleep. Probably.

I closed my eyes and exhaled through my nose.  On my next inhale, my guts decided to jab me from the inside out.  I let out a low growl; as if rattling my throat might ease the pain.  It didn’t.  Not at all.

It was dark outside.  It could have been just before dawn when I normally woke up. Being a teacher meant that sleeping in lasted only as long as the sun stayed low. My internal clock didn’t know that I’d been put on permanent vacation.  It also could have been just after sunset.

I didn’t know.  Babied Littles- dolls- weren’t given clocks.  They didn’t “need” to know what time it was since every aspect of their schedule was controlled by an Amazon.  They...we aren’t given the basic consideration of a sense of time.

We.  

Us.

I was one of them now:  A diapered Little.  An adopted prisoner pet.  A living doll.  That realization hurt almost as much as the cramping of my bowels.  Almost.

I locked my knees and clenched my cheeks as another wave hit me.  The pain was coming in waves now.  It was like being buried up to my neck in sand as the tide came in.  I was helpless.  Immobile.  Enough strength had returned to my body that I could move a bit, possibly even roll over...but rolling over was not in my best interest.  The cramps were coming in waves...lowtide turning into high. 

 It wouldn’t be long before the only thing keeping me from debasing myself further was leverage and lack of room for anything to come out of me.  Fleetingly, I tried to sit up, but between the bulk of my (already wet) diaper, and my stomach muscles writhing in pain, it was a non-starter.

The waves were hot and boiling inside me; a tempest in a teapot that wanted to escape.  Each wave enveloped me a little more.  I’d close my eyes and clench my cheeks; grit my teeth for the wave to pass.  I had to keep my cool.  Foolishly, I held my breath as if that did anything for the rest of me.  I tensed and waited with each wave, just waiting for it to pass so that I could snatch a quick breath before the next wave submerged me in clenching twisting agony.

It wouldn’t be long now, not long at all.  Only one way to end it.

I gasped and opened my mouth.  Thought about calling out for Janet.  She wouldn’t come, though.  Her bedroom was likely on the other side of the house.  Even if she could hear me, she wouldn’t come; some twisted typical Amazon way to teach me to “sleep through the night”.  

And what if she did come?  Would she take me to “go potty”?  No.  Not at all.  Best case scenario, she’d hover over the crib, smiling madly as I filled my pants right in front of her.  Fuck.  She might even film it and post it on Facelog.  “Baby’s first boom boom at home” or typical asinine horseshit.

Another wave made me wince badly enough that I felt my legs spasm and my hands shot down to my belly button.  This was going to happen.  It just was.  A new fact of life.  It wasn’t fair, but it was fact.  Another new fact:  I’d have to lay in my own mess until my new “Mommy” came in to change me.  

My mind couldn’t even wrap around what would come next…

One losing battle at a time.

I’d have to do the unthinkable to myself...this time semi-on purpose and I’d be forced to stew in it.  That’s why it would’ve been nice to know what time it was.  From my literal and figurative position, eleven at night was a world away from five in the morning.  If it were five, I could have even found the strength to hold on just long enough...just before Janet came to get me up.  If it were eleven, I might as well just get it over with and try to go back to sleep.  I’d already learned that I could sleep in a wet diaper…

Another cramp and my growls involuntarily turned into a moan; a whimper even. 

No.  I decided right then and there that I would not cry.  I would not call out. Crying was for when I was safe enough to let my guard down or so completely overwhelmed that I had no guard left.  I wasn’t safe then and I still had enough strength in me just then to push on.

Push on.  A poor choice of words.  My cheeks clenched along with my teeth for what felt like the hundredth time.  I wouldn’t call out either.  That would just rob me of what small dignity-the dignity of privacy- that I’d been left with in the moment.  I would not give up that dignity without a fight.

If I was going to have to soil myself, it would be better to do it while no one was looking; even if it meant prolonged discomfort.  It was how I’d have to think, now.  It’s how I’d have to survive.  Small acts of rebellion and choice.  Tiny bits of defiance.  Little things. 

It was a fact of life for the time being.

I reached out and grabbed the nearest crib bar with one hand.  

Push.  

Push. 

Push.  

My body wanted to push. 

Push. 

Push.

My bladder was screaming.  My bottom was shouting.  But my mind wouldn’t give the command.  “Just...fuckin’....do it…”  I whispered.  “Just get it over with.”

It wasn’t happening though.  I couldn’t make myself; couldn’t let myself.  Even though I’d relaxed my bladder and wet myself earlier that night.  Even though something had made me lose control a few hours prior to that.  It didn’t matter.  I just couldn’t.

Going through one trauma doesn’t make the next one any easier.  Train yourself to write with your right hand, and writing with your left isn’t something you can just pick up on a whim.  A lifetime of potty training wasn’t going to be undone in less than a day, and contrary to what any Amazon thought, I was potty trained!

Yet the body and mind are connected, and when the chips are down, the body always wins.  It wasn’t me who decided to poop; it was my body.  I didn’t make myself lift my legs up off the mattress; it just happened.  My body was too tired of the pain to resist.  And even though I felt that push from inside me, I gave no conscious command for my sphincter muscles to contract.

I felt it though.  I had no choice as I emptied myself.  The second my diaper was filling up beneath me, my bladder gave in, flooding it for the (what I hoped was only) the second time that night.  I just grit my teeth and hissed as I used the infantile garment for its intended purpose.

Maybe this is how real babies start.  They don’t know how to use their bodies, so their bodies go on autopilot.  And it’s warm and squishy and messy and smelly, but then a grown-up comes and fusses over them and cleans them up and changes them; and over time they associate those feelings of going in their pants with the feelings of being fussed over and doted on and they just get used to it.  Maybe even like it.

Maybe that’s what happened to Littles who broke and went full native instead of turning into dolls.  Maybe that’s what would happen to me eventually…

NO!

FUCK THAT!

DON’T EVEN THINK LIKE THAT! NOT HERE! NOT NOW!

I slammed my eyes shut and immediately regretted it.  Less sensory input meant that I felt more.  I wasn’t done yet and in the two seconds that I’d closed my eyes, I felt every trickle and splash, every push and ooze more acutely.  I opened my eyes and forced myself to finish; actively pushing the rest out of both sides of me just to get it over with.

Finally, I was done.  I just lay there in the dark nursery, my legs still up off the mattress, not wanting to spread the mess.  I felt the diaper start to wick the wetness away from my skin and bulk up around me, wet splashes becoming moist squishes.  I became vaguely aware of the mess cooling; perhaps stiffening even; though that had to be my imagination.

I couldn’t sleep like this.  I wouldn’t sleep like this.  Groaning, and exhausted I tapped into my last well of strength and swung my legs sideways.  I released the crib bar and reached for the other side throwing my weight even as my legs got tangled in the sheets.

I was rewarded by landing on my belly, the solid mess staying (relatively) away from me, while the wet pulpy mass cushioned and cradled my crotch.  No leaking either, so I guess that was a plus.

It was dark.  I wanted to be out of my body in the worst way and the only escape was unconsciousness.  So I closed my eyes and murmured inside my own head.

Just ignore it and go to sleep.

Don’t think about it.

Just ignore it and go to…

Don’t think about…

Just ignore it and go…

Don’t think…

Just ignore it and..

Don’t…

Just ignore it…

I don’t remember how many times I actually mumbled that to myself that night, but I think you get the gist.  Eventually, my brain stopped thinking and I lost consciousness; back to the sweet oblivion that was dreamland.  It might have been another eight hours before I felt Janet’s shadow over me, her hand patting my rear and cooing like an idiot.  Or it might have been an eternity that lasted only 9 minutes.  Point being, I escaped, if only in sleep.

Remember when I told you about my morning routine at the beginning of this book?  Alarm, snooze, toilet, shave, get dressed, breakfast shake, out the door to work.  Remember?  Sure you do.  And that unless I said otherwise, assume that’s how most of my mornings went more or less with only a slight variation here or there?  Of course.

Well, this was my new middle of the night routine.  I’d wake up in the middle of the night having to go to the bathroom, but knowing no bathroom would be made available, I’d agonize with myself for what was objectively far too long.  Sometimes I’d have to poop.  Most times I’d have to pee.  But eventually I’d just give in, do the deed, and then roll over and force myself back to sleep.  

A lifetime before this, I would have either gone to the bathroom and then stumbled back to bed half-asleep; or just muscled down and forced myself back to sleep; even a full bladder wasn’t enough to get me to leave my comfy bed.

Trapped as I was, the dynamic shifted.  I couldn’t leave my bed if I’d wanted, and having the option...no...the expectation that my toilet was strapped to my waist made it hard to sleep with a full bladder.  My mind would just fast forward to the inevitable instead of nestling down in the pillow.
So remember that as you read on from here out.  I might not explicitly state it, but every night I fought a small battle with myself and lost.  Every night I woke up, argued with myself a bit, gave up, hated myself, and then went back to sleep.
It was a far cry from my old routine, but part of me thought this might happen.  It's why I kept reminding myself in the first place.  

I played the game and I lost, just like so many other Littles before me.  I couldn’t win.  Never really had a chance.  But I never could have not played, either.  And it wasn’t fair.  Not at all.  But, for a short while at least-or so I promised myself- these would be the new facts of my life.
 

[Guilend]

I can’t wait to start my new job and get my first paycheck so I can get caught up on this on your Patreon 

[Moon3ye]

You know the saying: I want what I deserve!

Yes sorry Clark with you it's more you get what you deserve because you have played.

Call me mean but with Janet he probably got it even better than other Littles in his situation. 

I even trust Janet to let him grow up again in a few years if that's possible in this country of DD and he doesn't really deserve that.

Keep your fingers crossed that Cassie could escape.

[BabyJilly_S]

Loving the detail and mental too-ing and fro-ing of him in his new situation

[Personalias]

Chapter 33: A New Mourning

I woke up again; this time with sunshine streaming into the room and a giant hand patting my butt.  Correction: Patting the back of my diaper.  Damn thing had swollen up so much over the night that it was practically its own entity.  

Bitterly, the thought occurred to me that this nighttime diaper was just as much an escape deterrent as a forced incontinence brief. If the crib bars hadn’t stopped me from getting out, there’d have been almost no way I could have gotten far with that much bulk surrounding me.  I’d barely been able to roll over.

“Did you sleep well?” Janet cooed down at me.  “Looks like you did.”  She felt the lumps that I had deposited in the back a few hours ago.

“It’s not fair,” I reminded myself in a whisper.  “It’s just not fair.”

Janet hoisted me out of the crib by my armpits.  “Oh yeah!” she groaned. “Was definitely a good choice to put you in the nighttime diaper.”  A second later, I was laying on the changing table.  I’d been left naked save for the diaper.  I didn’t need a mirror to know that my hair was a mess.  My skin still had that vague pink of a healing sunburn from the bug zapper treatment.  

Janet meanwhile was already put together.  She wore a plain navy blue dress.  I’d probably seen her wear it around campus any number of times.  Her hair was combed and pulled back into a bun and for some reason, she wore a rubber apron.  Her eyes though, they still had the same baby crazy as the night before.  This was a madwoman with my friend’s face on it.

Something else felt off in that moment.  It was a Friday.  The sun was up.  If not for yesterday I’d be teaching right now.  “What time is-?”

My mouth snapped shut as Janet ripped the tapes off my diaper and peeled it back. I went numb and mute as Janet broke out the baby wipes and started cleaning my crotch and backside.  I don’t think something like this was ever covered when I was a child; but for some reason it didn’t seem right to have a conversation while I was in the middle of having my ass wiped.

Apparently, Janet didn’t quite feel the same way.  “We’ve got a big day ahead of us, baby boy.” She chirped.  “We’re going to the stylist, and the doctor, and then a very very special place.  I took the whole day off and left lesson plans for a substitute so we could have today and the whole weekend to get adjusted.”  Adjusted?  Is that what she was calling it?  I just gritted my teeth with each wipe, trying to concentrate even as it felt like I was being probed inside and out.  

I didn’t bother to ask “where” this special place was.  What would be the point?  She would’ve told me if I’d been meant to know.    She wouldn’t tell me.  Knowledge was another form of control that I wasn’t allowed to wield anymore.  Not according to her or any other Amazon that had been in my life prior.   What I did know was that I had to pee a little bit again. More proof that I wasn’t really a bedwetter or a pants pooper.  Proof that I’d only be able to present myself.

For half an eyeblink, as Janet threw the last of the wipes in the used diaper and started to ball it up, I considered letting my bladder go.  She wanted a baby so badly, let her see the downside with a little target practice.  Problem was I wasn’t a baby.  And I’m not referring to emotional or mental states, either.

 I’m not exactly a stud; not even by Little standards. Amazon diapers would more than contain me.  But I had gone through puberty all the same and had more than nub.  When actual infant boys pee, the only direction it can go is “out”.  Barely a nub there. Right then, my pecker was positioned so that if I let go I’d more than likely end up pissing on my chest (if I was lucky).  I could hypothetically take aim and fire, but not even Janet- typical Amazon that she had become-would think it innocent or accidental.  Not worth the risk.

So I was left with the choice of peeing all over myself and forcing janet to wipe me down more while confirming her own biases... or holding it in long enough to at least pee in a diaper...allowing Janet to confirm her own biases.

“It’s just not fair,” I whispered again.

Janet tossed the used diaper into the pale.  “What’d you say, Clark?”

“Nothing,” I said.  I took a deep breath and braced for another diaper...hopefully one that I could walk in and fantasize escape in.  I wasn’t escaping today.  I’d already made peace with that.  I’d have to see the system before I figured out how to crack it.  That meant being “good” for the time being.

The fresh diaper didn’t come right away though.  Involuntarily I let out a yelp as Janet picked me up and held me against her.  “You didn’t get to have a bath yesterday,” she told me.  “Let’s fix that.”   Janet’s words went in one ear and out the other.  I was already freaking out about being naked.

I don’t think of myself as a prude.  I don’t think there’s anything wrong or immoral with being unclothed in certain circumstances.  I just think there’s a level of vulnerability about being naked around people; or even naked just by yourself.  Clothes, even ones that would do nothing for you in a fight are a kind of armor in that they conceal some of your most vulnerable parts.

Being naked around someone is a sign of power and trust.  Either you’re naked and feel powerful enough to expose everything, or you trust the people you’re with to see you at your most physically vulnerable.  Cassie and I would be naked around each other all the time in the comfort of our own home; oftentimes doing nothing remotely sexual.  We were just two people, doing our own thing and didn’t feel like having any clothes on.  Other times one of us would be naked, and the other one was cold or just didn’t feel like going through the effort of shedding clothes.  

Cassie and I were equals. We knew each other completely.  We trusted each other. 

This was completely different.  I was naked in this woman’s arms, her bare hand literally cradling my butt.  She was fully clothed; extra even with the rubber splash apron.  We were decidedly not equals; after yesterday I felt like I didn’t know Janet at all and neither of us truly trusted each other.  What were crib bars and highchair trays but restraints built on lack of trust?

Even during all four diaper changes (yes I’d counted) I’d been seen naked but it had been more of a transitory thing. Here? In Janet’s arms?  I was completely naked and didn’t like it one bit.  I felt vulnerable.  Powerless.  I actually wanted to go back into a diaper if only for the sliver of protection it provided.

 Shivering but not from cold, I was carried out of the disgustingly pink nursery and into a pristine white bathroom.  The bathtub was already filling up. Janet sat me down on the edge of the tub and I looked at the open bathroom door while she tested the water.  Janet might not be trusting for an Amazon, but she was careless.  Overconfident.  I wouldn’t run.  Not yet.  But someday...soon maybe…

I glanced down at my own hairless body and winced again.  Escape or not, this part was permanent.  I’d have to get used to having the skin of a toddler.  Some Littles- especially in non-Amazon run countries- still have surgeries that leave scars.  Closed up gashes on legs and stomachs and chests; wherever the knife sliced them open to get at a defective organ or a shattered bone.  The level of medical technology in those countries hasn’t caught up to Amazons in that regard.  I’d been scarred, too...it’s just my scars were all over and completely smooth and undetectable. 

I turned my neck and looked over Janet’s head and arms as she bent down and switched the water around with one hand while adjusting the hot and cold knobs with the other.  I peered a large plastic Amazon sized jug that sat on the opposite edge of the tub; it’s label just barely readable at the periphery from where I was sitting.   My eyes still slightly blurry with sleep could still make out the sudzy looking logo on it.    “Is that…?” I hesitated.  “Is that bubble bath?” 

Janet’s head whipped around as if me speaking to her was some kind of miracle.. “Yes,” she beamed.  “Yes it is!” She looked at me, as if trying to get a read.  “Would you...would you like some?”  There was a strange kind of hope in those eyes.  Maybe even a kind of lust.  I don’t know how else to describe it.

Mentally, I made some calculations.  “Yes, please…” I said, and hated myself a bit for adding in that “please”.  Janet smiled even brighter and started adding in bubble bath by the cap full; letting the still running water churn it around and mix it.  Good.  The bubbles would give me a modicum of cover.  On a lighter note, the stuff inside the jug was a bright sky blue.  No great importance, but it was a small relief after a night being surrounded by pink. 

“If my Little baby Clark wants some bubble bath,” Janet said as she placed me in the tub, “then he’ll get bubble bath!”  Great.  She was “spoiling” me.  At least I didn’t have to call her “Mommy.”  

I must’ve made a face when she plunked me in the drink.  “Too hot?” she asked.  It was just below lobster boiling.  I had barely nodded when her hand shot to the cold knob; even going so far as to splash some of the cold water gingerly in my direction.  It helped a little.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, more out of habit than out of actual gratitude.  No need to make waves right now.  This was day one of Hell...just make it to day two.  My muscles were just barely starting to untense when a rubber yellow terror jumped in my vision.

Janet had grabbed a bath toy and was now shoving it in my face. “Ducky?”

There is no way to tell an Amazon “no” and get the desired result.  Saying yes doesn’t help either.  I was out of words.  I just kept my mouth shut and glared at her.  I was not her baby. Not her doll.  Right then I wasn’t even her friend. 

It did not have quite the desired effect.  Janet giggled. Tittered with delight even.  “Oh my gawd!” she cooed.  She dropped the rubber duck in the foamy water beside me.  “Are you giving me your ‘teacher’ look?”  I said nothing.  Just doubled down.  “You are, aren’t you?!”  She was blushing, but it was for me, not at me.  

I started trembling, vibrating even.  Anger? Fear? Righteous indignation?  All of the above and more?  Yes.  

The stare down was not having the desired effect.  I was never quite the terror of campus, but I’d at least been able to make a second grader or two walk away and get back to class.  “Cutie,” Janet said, “that wouldn’t have worked on me back when we were co-workers.”  Carelessly, whimsically even, she palmed a few suds and rubbed them into my head. I now had a bubble hat... “It’s definitely not going to work now.”  

To hammer in the point, she grabbed her phone out of her rubber apron and clicked a pic faster than I had time to realize what was going on.  “No! Don’t!” I cried out.

“Aaaaand post,” Janet said.  She slipped her phone back into the rubber apron.  “So cute.”  She was absolutely giddy.

My attempt at a glower just melted to something more of a mope as rage transmogrified into despair.  My bath picture, naked save cotton candy scented bubbles in my hair, had just been posted online.  It was the first of what would no doubt be many more photos and indignities that I’d have to endure today.  

I didn’t have to wait long for worse to come my way.  Babies didn’t bathe themselves.  Janet grabbed a washcloth and dipped it in the soapy water.  “Give me your arm,” she said. It was nicely put, but it was still a demand.

No choice; no point in resisting.  Even though I would have loved to have splashed so much to have made her rubber apron pointless; I wasn’t ready to test those metaphorical waters.  Littles that openly rebelled so hard and fast got their minds fucked out of their skull via a hypno screen.  So, I gave her my arm and let her rub up and down my arm.

“Thank you,” she told me.

PING!

She reached for my left side. “Other arm.”  

I obeyed.

PING!

The washcloth scrubbed me from shoulder to hand.  “Now let’s get your ears.”

PING!

“And your neck!”

PING!

“And your face!”

PING!

She was gentle, admittedly.  And through the washcloth her fingers danced, making tiny tickling motions.  I was in no mood to laugh, though.  I even bit my tongue to purposefully suppress anything from getting out.  “Next let’s get your arms and chest.”

PING! PING!

“And your belly button!”  

PING!

Even muffled by the apron, the incessant noise coming from Janet’s phone was distracting.  “Are you sure you called out successfully?” I said. “You seem to be getting a lot of texts.”  Admittedly, I probably sounded a smug; a bit spiteful, too.

A knowing smirk flashed on her lips.  “Those are just Facelog notifications.  People are responding to the picture I just posted, baby.”

What?!  Every ping...every annoying little ding had been people...possibly people I knew responding and replying to that picture.  Every little ding and ping was somebody seeing me naked and hairless in a bathtub. My mouth hung open.  Janet just giggled some more.

Her hand plunged beneath the water.  “Now let’s wash your toes.”

PING!

“And your legs.”

PING! PING!

“And your penis.”

PING! PING! PING!

I just sat there in shock.  Mute and dumb as every last bit of my personal space was violated; most if not for the first time.  I was forced to stand up.  “Gotta get that hiney too.  Wipes won’t do all the work.”

PING! PING! PING! PING!

I stood there as my ass was washed for me.  I jumped and all but cannonballed when I heard the tell-tale camera sound effect from behind me.  “Aaaaaand post.  I knew you’d love playin’ in the bubbles,” Janet cooed.  I didn’t reply.  I was only starting to digest the fact that now my naked ass was on Facelog.

PING! PING! PING! PING! PING!

And Janet’s tiny corner of the internet was having a field day with it, apparently.

“Such a good baby!”

No.  No I wasn’t.  I was just being a good doll.  But what was I supposed to do?  Everyone thinks they’re going to lead the revolution until the monsters are at their door.  And even if they do swing; they only get one good punch in before they’re taken away and the neighbors quietly shake their heads.

Trapped inside myself, I didn’t notice when Janet came back with a loaded toothbrush and some kind of creme filled mouthguard; Little sized.  “We’re not gonna have bathtime like this every morning, Clark.” she said.  “Mommy has to get to work early.  But we can have baths at night before bed, okay?”  

No.  It wasn’t okay.  Nothing about this was okay.  But that’s not what “okay?” meant in this circumstance.  “I understand,” I replied.  

“Good,” she said.  “Something we will be doing every day is taking care of your teeth!”  Instantly, thoughts of gum mouthed and pumpkin grinning Littles flashed across my gray matter.  Littles like that one on the bus, eating gum off the floor.  I didn’t want my teeth “taken care of”.  Not like that!

 Stupidly, I was about to object.  I opened my mouth to ask a question or to just scream.  That was all the opening my captor needed.  Janet grabbed my jaw with one hand, and forced a toothbrush past my lips.  My mouth foamed up as bristles coated with bubblegum flavored toothpaste scraped across my teeth and gums.  I hate bubblegum, too.  Absolutely horrid stuff.  Littles are supposed to like sweet stuff, but bubblegum is my own personal exception.  

I thrashed, I really did.  Thrashing only made Janet reflexively grab onto my jaw and brush that much harder. She was positively gentle on my skin but ready to murder my mouth. Thrashing wasn’t working out. “Okay,” she said after far too long.  “Spit.”

I did.  Right onto the floor.  Fuck it.  I’d pretend not to know better.  It’s not like she gave me a sink or a cup.  Janet didn’t even acknowledge it.  The mouthguard forced its way inside me and cupped my teeth.  “Don’t bite down,” Janet warned.  “This will help clean your teeth and make them white and shiny.”

Clean them? Or make them fall out?

I could only grimace as the foam that had been cradled in the mouth guard tingled on my teeth.  At least it wasn’t bubble gum flavored.  Giant Amazon fingers pried the mouthpiece out. “All done.” 

It wasn’t, I told myself.  Not by a longshot.  It was just the beginning.  I was given just enough warning to close my eyes before my hair was rinsed out with a cup of warm water.  Amazon cups sometimes seem close to Little sized buckets.  Just before Janet pulled the drain plug, I remembered to pee, letting the bubbles and sudz conceal my added stream.  

Yeah. Kinda gross, I’ll admit.  But better down the drain than in my pants. I was still in a kind of denial; still mourning my lost adulthood.   Peeing in the shower was something I did occasionally when I was still in charge of my bladder.  Peeing in the tub was close enough.  

Still...not fair.

Wrapping me up in a fluffy bath towel, Janet carried me back into the nursery and finished drying me off.  “Gotta get my Little boy dressed,” she said.  “Can’t let ‘im go out all nakied!”  Ironic considering she had no qualms about posting naked pictures online.  

Typical.

Diving deep into my own survival, I started taking notes of my surroundings.  Ignore the pings that were still coming from Janet’s phone, I told myself.  I had to focus on how to get out; how to free myself now that no one else was going to.

  Again, Janet just pinned me down on the changing table with her free hand.  She didn’t like to use the chest strap.  Good.  I could use that.  Don’t squirm, and she might let that hand go lax.  Unlike the changing table in Beouf’s classroom, the diapers were directly above me.  Janet didn’t have to bend over or take her eyes off of me to reload supplies.  Bad.

As Janet unfolded the fresh diaper, I tilted my head to the side and appreciated just how high up I was.  The changing table was taller than me.  Much taller.  I wasn’t roll-off-and-die high up; but any advantage I’d have gained through surprise would be lost in getting my bearings after the fall.  Okay.  Nix changing table escape plans.  I’d probably.

“There,” Janet said, giving my belly a quick tickle.  “I bet it feels better to have some clothes back on.”  I was so deep in thought that it hadn’t registered that I’d been fully re-diapered until the tapes were already done up.  Pulling me up into a sitting position, she planted a kiss on my forehead.  “I love you,” she said.

I didn’t know how to react to that just then.  So I just avoided eye contact and looked down at my knees.  I caught sight of my diaper.  Puffy white, with pictures of rainbow colored monkeys dancing along the landing zone. 

 Why did it look so familiar?  I’d seen it before somewhere.  It was the same type of diaper that had been planted in my room just before Spring Break.  Same brand that Ivy Zoge wore, too, come to think of it.  But that’s not what was bugging me.

Monkeez! These were Monkeez! The same diaper brand that I’d shopped for my nephew wore. Sitting up there on the changing table, I looked just like he did!

“Monkeez is the only major diaper company that sizes for all babies,” my sister-in-law had told me.  And to Amazon thinking, she was right.  These fit me just fine…  Not only did I look like a baby, to Amazon sensibilities, but in a weird perverse sort-of-way way to Little ones too.  I was in a scaled up version of something that babies...actual babies wore and used; and knowing that made it kind of worse for some reason.

I didn’t have time to ruminate or stare at the diaper decorations any further.  A field of white was yanked over my head, my arms disentangling themselves and being guided through armholes.  “I was going to use this to complement a dress,” Janet told me,  “but I think a plain white onesie will work until we get you some better boy clothes, don’t you?”

She didn’t wait for me to reply before laying me back down and sealing me in at the crotch snaps.  That’s the best part for Amazons with Little dolls; no consent required.  Some assembly perhaps, but zero consent.

Back on Janet’s hip I went after she’d checked her phone and removed the apron.  Back into the kitchen we went.  Great.  Another highchair feeding, with a pristine white onesie that might very well be ruined by the end.  Then time.  Such is life in the dollhouse. 

 “No time for a proper breakfast, hon,” she said, bobbing me to the fridge.  She opened the door and dug out one of the last things I’d have expected.  Speaking of mundane normal things being scaled up:  “Do you want a shake?”

It was a breakfast shake.  Just like the ones I chugged everyday before hopping onto my scooter.  It was a two-liter’s worth; much bigger than anything my weak morning stomach could assume in one sitting, but it was the exact same packaging and logo.  Chocolate too.

“You drink these?” I asked.

Janet took a baby bottle out of the cabinet, cracked the lid of the Amazon sized shake and poured some in.  “I mean, it’s not the greatest flavor,” she said. “But it fills me up first thing in the morning and helps keep my weight under control.”  She chuckled to herself. “Maybe it’s the flavor that makes it so I don’t eat too much.”

I watched as she screwed the cap on the baby bottle and handed it to me.  “Drink up.”  I did.  Immediately.  Even through a rubber nipple, the taste was amazing. That got another giggle from Janet.  “Yup,” she said to no one in particular.  “I think he likes it.”  

My eyes rolled back in my head as I suckled.  I closed them to just shut out the world and enjoy the taste.  I didn’t even argue or struggle as she cradled me.  It wasn’t the chalky taste of protein mixed with chocolate that I exalted in.  It was the taste of familiarity, the taste of routine, the taste of something that wasn’t explicitly made for a “baby”.  The taste was Heaven.

“My girlfriends were right,” Janet said. “This stuff does make good baby formula in a pinch.”  Heaven came crashing back down to purgatory with those words.  The taste was good...but not that good.  Looking up at her, I watched as she downed the rest of the bottle in just a few gulps, followed by a mighty belch.

“Nice one.”  I shut my mouth.  Stupid, Clark! Stupid! 

In reply, Janet draped me over her shoulder.  “Thanks.  Your turn.”  Heavy hands patted and pounded my back until my own gas bubble rumbled up out of my belly and shot into the air.  “Like Mommy, like baby!”   

I grimaced as another burp shot out of me.  In sharing her food- in talking to me like I was something of an equal- Janet had tricked me into thinking she was decent for just long enough so that I guzzled the stuff down.  It had just made burping me all the easier.

 “Don’t get used to this,” Janet warned.  “As soon as we go back to school, you’ll be eating breakfast and lunch with the rest of the Littles.”  Whatever good feelings the breakfast shake had given me that hadn’t been already destroyed evaporated with that declaration of my future.

“I understand,” I sighed. I wanted to growl...but sighing would have to do for now.  

She traipsed over to the kitchen table and reached for a certain stuffed animal that had been abandoned.  “Don’t forget your lion,” she said, handing it to me.  “Wouldn’t want him to get lost.”

I took the lion and held it, if only so that Janet would let the matter be.  I didn’t hug it or cuddle it close as much as I pretended I was cutting off its air supply.  Crush its ribs.  Inflict on it all the pain that I wanted to inflict on other, bigger, more deserving people.

“What’s his name?” Janet asked as we got to the garage door.

I rolled my eyes but hid my face.  “It doesn’t have a name.  It’s just a dumb stuffed lion.”

“Okay, Clark.” she replied.  Even though she wasn’t looking right at me, I could still hear the condescending smile in her tone.  “Just let me know what Lion’s name is when you think of it.”
 

[BabyJilly_S]

Fabulous, I love the detail and minutiae of his new baby life combined with his inner monologue. And thoughts of escape, I  wonder if he and Cassie had previously made such plans should this occur?

[Sarah Penguin]

The name of the lion is death to amazons.

[Guilend]

I can’t wait to get back on Patreon. I’ll be reading lots of unfair updates lol. 

[bobindiapers]

8 hours ago, BabyJilly_S said:

Fabulous, I love the detail and minutiae of his new baby life combined with his inner monologue. And thoughts of escape, I  wonder if he and Cassie had previously made such plans should this occur?

I agree, there wasn't a lot of "action" in this chapter, but this chapter shows you don't need action to move the story along. Getting to know Clark's thought process on how to play the game and eventually escape is great, I'm really enjoying it.

I think he tries to make his escape at school, assuming he's put into a littles class at hia old school. He has a lot more knowledge about the behind the scenes happenings than any other little would, so he'll be able to take advantage of any slip-ups in "security" much better than any other little could. I wonder if his scooter is still at the school, or did Janet or someone else get rid of it?  I also wonder if he'll try to get Tracy to help him escape and how she'll react to that.

[Moon3ye]

I know I'm repeating myself but since my sympathy for Clark is completely spent I find it very entertaining what all happens to him.

For all of you who think he might escape from school later, what do you think will happen at the doctor's visit when he gets his chip so he can be tracked?

I kind of hope that the next time he talks to Beouf and tries to convince her that he's been set up, she coolly and dryly says, "Yeah, I know Cassie told me about it and I told her a day to do it so we can make sure you get into good hands.

I just keep my fingers crossed for Cassie that she somehow makes it to her parents and is safe.

If I were Janet Clark would be a girl very soon because that is what I wanted. 

In the end Clark showed his immaturity by always thinking he could outsmart the Amazons and be superior to them.

 

[Personalias]

5 hours ago, Moon3ye said:

I know I'm repeating myself but since my sympathy for Clark is completely spent I find it very entertaining what all happens to him.

For all of you who think he might escape from school later, what do you think will happen at the doctor's visit when he gets his chip so he can be tracked?

I kind of hope that the next time he talks to Beouf and tries to convince her that he's been set up, she coolly and dryly says, "Yeah, I know Cassie told me about it and I told her a day to do it so we can make sure you get into good hands.

I just keep my fingers crossed for Cassie that she somehow makes it to her parents and is safe.

If I were Janet Clark would be a girl very soon because that is what I wanted. 

In the end Clark showed his immaturity by always thinking he could outsmart the Amazons and be superior to them.

 

I normally don't comment spoilers, but based on some of these statements you just made, I think you're going to be disappointed and that this isn't the story for you.  Maybe you should go look somewhere else.
 

 

[Moon3ye]

42 minutes ago, Personalias said:

I normally don't comment spoilers, but based on some of these statements you just made, I think you're going to be disappointed and that this isn't the story for you.  Maybe you should go look somewhere else.
 

 

I've read 33 chapters now and I'm not going to stop just because something might not go in the direction I like.

I am literally a sadist and I find it entertaining when fictional characters in stories suffer because they are not real people.

Rarely do DD stories go in the direction I wish they would in the comments and yet I have read many many stories here on this site about DD purely for entertainment. 

Clark is the FIRST Little for whom I feel no sympathy because in my opinion he is to blame for his situation.

In all the stories I've commented on I think 0% of my predictions/wishes have come true, but I still enjoy writing them.

 

[treasuresman]

On 8/22/2021 at 11:06 AM, Moon3ye said:

Clark is the FIRST Little for whom I feel no sympathy because in my opinion he is to blame for his situation.

 

Yes I agree, I think Clark is his own worse enemy, lol 

[Sarah Penguin]

5 hours ago, treasuresman said:

Yes I agree, I think Clark is his own worse enemy, lol 

Hubris is his name pretty much

[Cute_Kitten]

Have I publicly commented on this yet? If I haven't, long overdue. One thing I particularly enjoy about this story is how despite it's length, the tension and keeping readers engaged never waivers. Sometimes longer stories (generally speaking) can flag or go stagnant and this story doesn't do that at all. ? That's one of your greatest strengths as a writer- keeping reader's on their toes with an ever-evolving plot. 

[Personalias]

Chapter 34:  Dolled Up

Janet cut the engine and took the keys out of the ignition.  “We’re heeeeeere,” she sang just before getting out of the car and walking around to the back.  Trapped in the car seat, I looked to the stuffed lion that I’d been forced to take with me.  

In the three seconds of silence that followed so many impulses flashed in my grey matter: Reach out and topple the stupid lifeless thing so that it tumbled to the floor.  Punch it.  Squeeze it till its nonexistent cotton ribs broke.   Yell “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU LOOKING AT?!” at its unblinking eyes and stitched on mouth.  Bite into its felt throat until fibrous blood gushed forth and the life drained out!

I had so much anger, so much fear, so much desperation and resentment and the only thing that I had any agency over in that moment was a stupid stuffed animal made for Amazon children (or people forced to pretend they were Amazon children).  But even that agency was limited.  Interacting or acknowledge the stupid stuffie in any meaningful way would have validated and reinforced Janet’s bucket of crazy.  I’d be “playing” with it.  Best case scenario, I’d be seen as being “fussy” or “naughty”.

The back door opened, and Janet unbuckled me from my restraints.  I didn’t even try to help.  Why bother?  Before lifting me out, she stuck two fingers inside the front of my diaper.  “Still dry,” she said.  She actually sounded a little disappointed.

Did she really expect me to be THAT incontinent? Already?! The car ride had been maybe twenty minutes!  Twenty minutes of Janet singing The Wheels On The Bus, The Farmer In The Dell, This Old Man, and any number of inane children’s songs that I hadn’t heard in decades.  I didn’t even put my preschool students through this...

Typical Amazon.

“Do you want to take your lion with you?” she asked, reaching down for me.
My tongue retreated to the back of my mouth in revulsion.  “No…” then for my own safety I added, “...thank you.”

“Okie dokie,” she chirped. “Your choice.”  That was an eye roller.

Speaking of eyes, I closed mine and gritted my teeth as I was hoisted onto Janet’s hip.  Being carried around is not something you get used to within twenty four hours.  I opened my eyes when I heard the car door slam shut and looked to our first stop that day.

L'enfant Magnifique:  Second only to New Beginnings, it was the worst place for any Little in Oakshire to be.  One usually preceded the other.  I’d never been within a hundred yards of the place, but I knew exactly where it was just to avoid it.

Gaudy periwinkle brick walls and a turquoise shingled roof, the place was an eyesore in downtown, just at the edge of the historic district.  The big window in front allowed passerby- which at this hour meant mostly elderly Amazons walking to pass the time- to get a glimpse at whatever poor Little was being worked on.  If not for the “services” provided there, 

Oakshire’s not a particularly big city.  It’s not so small where everybody knows everybody else; not quite so humdrum and podunk where every Little knew every other Little or everyone knee high to one of the giants waddled instead of walked, but it was small enough.  Unfortunately, it was just big enough to support a Little’s Salon.

“Little’s Salon.”  I never liked that term.  It’s like calling it a “Cow’s Slaughterhouse” or a “Tuna’s Cannery”.  Littles aren’t the customers in Little’s Salons; we’re the product.  I’ve read that in some cities, there are Salons that double as cafe’s.  Hip “Mommies” pack diaper bags and go and sit and chat and gossip and drink disgusting and overpriced coffee while their permanent babies get dolled up.

Janet toted me inside and my hearing went out. I could feel my pulse in my head.  My ears were ringing.  Inside my own head I was screaming.  No grenade had gone off, though.  No deafening explosion.  Just the little tinkling of a bell as the door pushed inside the tacky house of horrors.  

I should’ve brought the lion.  At least then I could have something to squeeze and put force into when I tensed up. I ended up squeezing Janet instead.

  “Don’t be scared, sweetie,” she whispered to me.  She tried to comfort me, patting my back.  “It’s just a haircut.”

Just a haircut?  Just a haircut?! Bullshit.  Little’s Salons were always more involved than “just a haircut.”

We took a seat- or rather Janet took a seat while I was forced to sit in her lap- while the two stylists worked their craft.   The wait wouldn’t be long, I knew.  It was still early enough in the day that we were the only ones left waiting.  Bitterly, I hoped that whatever was being done would take a long time. A loooooong time.  Maybe even long enough to where we’d miss out on another one of Janet’s appointments unless we left.

Already sitting in the two chairs in front of me were a Little man and woman; both of them buried up to their necks in barber’s smocks.  The Little woman on my right sat perfectly still, her eyes dull and staring straight ahead. 

I knew that look. I’d seen it in passing on plenty of Beouf’s Littles.  It was likely a look I’d be mastering myself.  When the only place where you could be a grown-up was in your own head, that’s where you tended to stay.

Her hair was being molded into a pixie cut, while her Amazon captor fawned and cooed over her.  “You’re going to look so cute with your new hairdo, Caroline”

“Yes, Mommy.”  Her voice was submissive, but distant.

“And Mommy will still get to comb it but it won’t get all tangled up when you sleep.  Won’t that be nice?”

“Yes Mommy.”

The old, wrinkled Amazon behind the barber’s chair commented too.  “And so well behaved, too!”  Her voice sounded like her insides were literally coated with ash. “You’d be surprised how many Littles get all squirmy or screamy.”  Frankly I was surprised at just how old the giant skeleton appeared.  I would’ve thought that someone who is in the business making Littles look more like babies might use some of the products on herself.  

Apparently, looking young was just a thing for Littles.  Young meant immature.  Immature meant less than.  Old and gnarled and wrinkly and smelly therefore meant wise.

Typical.

The Amazon Mommy took the compliment for her captive. “Thank you!  Her father and I have been working really hard to get her to behave in public.”

“Well I’d say it’s working,” the hairdresser replied.

“Awwwww!  Thank you!” The bigger woman looked down at her prisoner.  “Say thank you, Caroline!”

“Yes, Mommy.”  She paused just long enough to not seem snippy.  “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Such a good baby!’ the Mommy gushed.  “Daddy will be so proud!”

“Yes, Mommy.”

A flash of recognition came over me.  I knew that voice.  I’d seen this woman before.  She’d been crying and screaming in the restaurant!  The Realtor.  The Mother. The Wife.  She was thirty five...maybe thirty six now.

She was thirty-six and getting her hair done in a Little’s Salon.  Poor woman.  I’d have felt sorry for her, but I was in no position to give pity to anyone but myself.  Just like before, I averted my eyes, too uncomfortable to look.  I was afraid she’d see me and remember; remember the free Little that did nothing as she was carted away over a giant man’s shoulder, humiliated in front of strangers.

If she noticed me or remembered me, she gave no sign.  Between the restaurant and now, something had broken inside her.  Everything was just “Yes Mommy” and “Yes, Daddy” and “Thank you, Ma’am.”  

“I think someone is going to earn themselves a lollipop!”   

“Thank you, Mommy.”

 Sensing my discomfort, perhaps, but completely misattributing it, Janet wrapped her arms around me and bobbed me lightly on her knee.  “It’s okay,” she quietly chirped.  “Haircuts don’t hurt.  You’ll see.”

Bullshit.  When the person holding the scissors was an Amazon, bullshit.

The man in the chair to my left was broken, too, but a different kind of broken.  He babbled and mumbled to himself as the stylist, a dumpy woman rubbed something blue and goopy into his scalp. Puddles of hair littered the perimeter of the chair, and were sporadically brushed off the front of the apron by his Mommy.   Guy had lost a lot of locks, not that he seemed to be bothered.

Bright, uncomprehending eyes stared back at me, a toothless, drooling smile my reward for making eye contact.  The only hair left on his head was in the very front and had been gelled and moused and sprayed or whatever into a little blond spit curl right on his forehead.  He didn’t look like a baby to me.  He looked like a living cartoon parody of one.  A doll.

“Now you realize,” the hairstylist said, “that he won’t have any more hair after this, right? No more growing back.”

“Oh that’s alright,” the Amazon said.  “My widdle Percy-Wercy doesn’t need any hair to be cute as a button!”  She pinched his cheeks and was actually given a squeal and a peel of laughter.  God I hoped this was an act...or at least that this guy was so mind-fucked that no part of who he actually was remained.  It’d be the closest thing to being out of his misery...

“And if we want more hair, we can buy wigs.  Isn’t that right Percy?  Or maybe we could make you into a Priscilla!  Yes we could!  Yes we could!  Would you like that?”  The woman got more babbles and giggles from Little man.

 She stopped and stared into his eyes, perhaps gauging.  Perhaps feeling a flash of empathy.  Maybe even seeing into the man’s soul.   “If he’s going to have that blonde patch there, I think his eyes should be blue.  Can we get that done today?”

“Sure,” hairstylist number two said.

So much for that theory…

This is why I so often use the word “dolls” to describe captured Littles.  Babies don’t get their hair removed or teeth pulled or dimples added or cheeks injected so they looked chubbier or the color of their eyes changed or their gender reassigned on someone else’s whim.  Nearly everything that goes on inside a Little’s Salon is illegal to do to an actual child.  Babies, real ones, aren’t even allowed inside.  Littles though? Dolls? Yes please.  Even the awful decorature of L’enfant Magnifique made it look more like a dollhouse than anything a self respecting person would be caught dead in.

The Little girl from the restaurant, Caroline I guess, was finished first.  Her smock was taken off, and she looked at herself in the mirror.  Honestly, looking at her, I wouldn’t have pegged her as older than twentyish.  In any other circumstance it might’ve been polite to say she looked good for her age.  Not here, though.  Not now.  

She didn’t frown or pout, but anyone with a soul could tell she died a little inside.  And I knew why:  There wasn’t any mother or wife in that reflection.  No realtor either.  What looked back at her was a baby wearing a pinafore dress, whose diaper badly needed changing.  It was ballooning out from underneath the hem from everything it’d absorbed.

Her Amazon picked her up and patted her on the diaper.  “Oh you’re a soggy little thing, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know…”  That was a lie.  

“Of course not, baby.”  The “Mommy” looked to the old bag of bones.  “Do you mind if we…?” She jerked her head towards the bathroom- just a single toilet and sink...probably a changing table on the inside wall, too.

“Oh go on,” the old woman said.  “I’ll ring you up when you’re out.”  And just like that, the Little was carted by the Amazon into the bathroom.

The floor became even more distant as Janet stood up with me.  “Looks like we’re next!”   I exhaled.  Yeah.  That it did.

The gray haired woman behind the chair patted the seat. “Oh, what a cutie!  Looks like we’ve got a new customer!”

The sound of tapes ripping off of plastic thundered out of the bathroom.  I startled, and for the stupidest reason looked down at the crotch snaps of my own plain white onesie.  I heard the mumbled motherese of the Amazon woman through the bathroom door, but nothing else.  Evidently, Caroline had gotten used to being changed in public.

“That’s right!” Janet cheered.  She set me down in the booster seat.  “Just got him, yesterday!”

“Yesterday?”  The old Amazon smelled like cigarette smoke up close.  “I never would’ve guessed.  He’s so well behaved.  Normally new ones are so fussy!”

“Thank you!” Janet beamed above me.  

Two giant hands pulled a strap over my chest and under my armpits.  I heard the dull click of a buckle just behind the chair.  “This is just in case.  Babies sometimes get squirmy for their first haircut.”

“Oh, sure.”

I looked at myself in the mirror, fully knowing that this would be the last time I ever saw my real reflection; my adult self looking back.  I looked pathetic there sitting in the booster seat, and it would only get worse.  

The booster seat bothered me, and not just because it wasn’t nearly as comfortable as the leather cushioning beneath my feet.  Why bother with a booster seat at all?  Why not get a Little sized chair if they were the only subjects?  

The answer was as obvious as the bulge between my thighs:  To remind me and reinforce my status as something that was small and helpless.  That and it was probably cheaper than getting anything custom made that might actually fit someone my size.  

The previous inhabitant of the chair and her jailor came out.  I saw in the mirror that Caroline had been changed into a new diaper, but it was still far too puffy- and her dress too short- to anything resembling privacy.

The hairdresser stepped away to cash them out.  Dollification wasn’t free, after all.  I caught Janet staring at me in the mirror.  “You’re going to be so cute!”

“I thought I already was cute,” I said.

Janet opened her mouth a second before clicking her teeth shut.  She hadn’t expected it.  “Well you are, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun and have you look your best.”

“So I’m not good enough?” I practically spat out the words. “Cassie thought I was cute…”  I shouldn’t have said that.  I immediately regretted it, and it had nothing to do with Janet.  I’d just made myself incredibly sad.  Remembering Cassie was like picking at stitches.  I felt my own face fall with a dull ache that seemed to be pulling the corners of my mouth straight down.

Janet, for her part, just kissed me on the top of my head.  “I love you,” was all she said.

I sniffed rather than reply.  Another mistake.  Without the nicotine aroma of the old woman, I caught a whiff of something else.  The man-child in the other seat had shit himself, and based on the dopey expression he had, didn’t care too much about it.  

“Okay,” the crone said, coming back.  “Let’s take a look.”  I’d never been so relieved to smell cigarette smoke in my life.  Big boney fingers ruffled through my hair.  “A redhead!” she said.  “A cute little carrot top.”

“I know, right?” Janet agreed.

“Hmmm…” I felt a slight sting as a hair was plucked out.  “Got some gray up in here.  How old is he?”

The question.  “Go on, Clark,” Janet said.  “Can you tell her how old you are?”

“Thirty-two.”  It came out as a bit of growl and a bit of a pout.  I couldn’t help it.

The fingers went back to work, scratching my scalp.  “Only thirty-two and so many gray hairs? Oh you must’ve been stressed!”

“Oh you have no idea,” Janet said.  “So stressed.”  She laughed.  Actually laughed.

Skeleton digits prodded at my cheeks.  “Ooof,” the old woman said, close enough that I could smell the tar on her teeth.  “What did they do to your skin Little boy?”  She looked to Janet.  “Did the adoption center you got him from use an Epidermatic Series Ten-Seventeen?””

Janet blinked.  “A what?”

“Epidermatic Series Ten-Seventeen.” The fossil repeated. “Cannister? Big old tube?  Kinda like a bug zapper?”

“Oh yeah,” Janet said.  “I think so.”

The hairdresser clicked her tongue and looked down at me.  “I bet that hurt like the dickens, Little guy.”  The dickens didn’t even begin to describe how bad it hurt.  I bit my tongue and nodded. “Poor thing. I can’t even believe they still allow those deathtraps!” 

“We got it from the high school,” Janet said.

“High school?”

Janet made eye contact with me.  My eyes softened.  Wordlessly, I begged.  Please.  Please don’t make me relive it again...  

“It’s a long story,” was all she said.

The hairdresser shrugged.  “Fair enough.  I only brought it up because it means we won’t be able to do anything like freckles or dimples until his skin has healed up a bit more.”

Janet quirked her mouth to the side.  “That’s a shame,” she sighed.  “Maybe next time.”

The older gianted nodded.  There would definitely be a next time. “So what do you want done, Mommy?”

Janet practically swooned at being called Mommy.  Her eyes lit up as if I had been the one to say it.  She bit her lip and then finally said.  “So um...let’s take care of the gray spots first, obviously.”

“Obviously. We’re keepin’ him a carrot top, right?”

“Most definitely,” Janet said.  Then she bit her lip.  “Maybe a shade or two lighter?”

“Can do.  What else?  Style?  Are we keeping it straight or…?”

“Before...I mean normally...I’ve noticed.” Janet stopped. Even with the clever pseudo-science excuse of Maturosis, it was difficult for her to reconcile who I was to her to who she wanted me to be.  “When his hair gets long it starts to show signs of curls.  I think he’d be really cute with them.” She blushed and giggled at the thought.  

I looked at my hair in the mirror.  Curls were already starting to form, in fact. I was on the verge of needing a haircut anyways.  I’d just never envisioned it’d be in a place like this.

Thin, corpselike hands petted and smoothed back my hair.  “Oh I can do that, no problem!  I’ve got juuuust enough to work with right now.  I also have something to promote hair growth. You can use it in the tubby.”  I felt a point poke the back of my head.  “Get rid of this tiny bald spot that’s starting right here.”

“BALD SPOT?!” I yelped.  Cassie had never said anything about a bald spot!  Both of my tormentors hid their mouths behind the palms of their hands.

I got my scalp patted condescendingly in reply.  “It’s not a big one, don’t worry.  And with your Mommy’s help, it will be all gone in just a week or so.”

“See Clark?” Janet smiled.  “This won’t be all bad!”

“So we got the hair,” Old Smokey ticked off on her fingers. “Lighter red with cute baby curls.  Freckles and such can wait until the pink in his skin goes down a bit more; maybe we can schedule you for Sunday,” she added.  “What about his eyes?”

Janet swiveled the chair around and knelt down.  I held my breath. Her dark eyes looking directly into mine.  The eyes, I’d heard, are the window to the soul. I don’t know if that’s true, or if there’s such a thing as a soul.  But if it were, what would that say about someone who would change the windows on a whim.   

I accidentally glanced over to the Little boy giggling as the other hairdresser finished sticking needles into his irises.  Maybe the numbing agents in the needle gun were powerful.  Maybe the poor bastard had been mind-fucked and conditioned into where laughter was the only response he could give to pain.

 “No,”  Janet finally said.  “Leave the eyes.  I love them.”   I blinked.  I finally blinked.

She didn’t deserve it, but managed to mouth a quick and quiet “Thank you”, and got a peck on the forehead as a reward.

A mammoth smock draped over my body, burying my body from the neck down.  “This won’t take too long at all,” the skeleton woman told Janet.  The world spun around and went topsy turvy.  The feeling of warm water pouring over my scalp told me that my head was in the sink.  “Just keep still, baby, and we’ll have you out of this chair in a jiffy.”  I was engulfed with the stench of burnt cigarettes.  

“Clark’s always been very patient,” Janet bragged as if she had anything to do with it.  Even so, she had no idea how patient, how fucking stubborn I could be.

“Clark,” the old skeleton said.  “If you be a good boy, I’ll make sure to give you a lollipop.”  Silence was my only reply.

As my hair was rinsed and washed for the second time today, the other chair was emptied.  “All done and cute as a button!” I heard one of the other two Amazons say.  I couldn’t tell which one was talking.  The boy who had been mutilated to the point of caricature cooed and laughed and babbled.

“Ooops. Smells like someone had an accident,” the pudgy butcher said.  “We’ve got a changing table in the bathroom.”

“No thanks,” the other woman said.  “Percy only needs to be changed twice a day.  Once when he gets up, and once just before bed.  His diapers are THAT good!”  

I threw up in my mouth and had to swallow or gag. I chose to swallow.  A moment later, tilted back up, away from the mirror just in time to see the pair walk out.  “I’m going on break,” Pudgy said from behind the cash register.

“Sure thing,” Smokey called back.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Janet shaking her head. “Some people…,” I caught her muttering.  Even among maniacs there were degrees of crazy.  Even among monsters there were levels of atrocity.  

A monstrous towel finished drying my hair and then goopy foul smelling chemicals started to be brushed and rub in.  “Tell me about it,” Smokey said. “I know what diapers she’s talking about, too. They’re designed for long trips or airplane flights where you can’t get a chance to change them as often or if they’re really sick with a stomach bug.  Not for everyday use.”

“And was she talking about gender reassignment?” Janet added.  “You’re only supposed to do that if it’s for the good of the child.”

“Preaching to the choir, honey.” Smokey let out a long hacking cough, then started rolling my hair up into little curlers.  “Some people shouldn’t be allowed to adopt.”

“Couldn’t agree more.”

“Then why don’t you refuse service?” I asked.

“What?”  The hairdresser stooped.  She seemed confused.

“If you think she’s a bad mother, why not refuse her service?” I asked point blank.  “Make it known that what she’s doing is unacceptable?  It’s not like Percy has the ability to advocate for himself anymore.”

Both of the giants stared at me in confusion and discomfort.   If the other Amazon hadn’t left to go on break, I might have a trio of gawking heads.  

Janet hemmed and hawed before giving me a muddled volley of half-hearted, hackneyed and uninspired rebuttals: “Just because she shouldn’t...I mean...it’s not illegal to...different Mommies and Daddies have different ways of...We can’t tell people how to...if the Little’s Developmental Plateau is…”  

It was Smokey who finally shut me down..  “You’re just a Little baby,” she said.  “Grown-Up stuff is confusing sometimes; even to grown-ups.  Don’t worry about it and just be glad that your Mommy is one of the good ones.”

I couldn’t argue with that.  Not because it wasn’t true, but because it was so untrue.  For arguments to work, you have to have people willing to listen to you.  A plastic bag was slipped down over my forehead.  I shifted uncomfortably in the chair, closing my eyes in a vain attempt to not hear the crinkle beneath me.  

For a moment, I lost myself as a pair of hair dryers started heating up the chemicals in my hair.  It wouldn’t be long now. I retreated within myself and imagined Janet giving me an honest answer.  One that not only was honest with me, but with herself.

“I’m afraid to criticize her too much,” she would say, “because then I would have to admit that what I’m doing to you is just as wrong. It’s just easier to pretend you’re a baby.  It’s what I most want.”

“And there are more Amazons like her than like your Mommy,” imaginary Smokey chimed in.  “We’d lose too much business if we had anything resembling standards.”

“And you just want to feel intellectually and morally superior to a bunch of tyrants that never intended on listening to you to begin with.”  An imaginary Cassie scolded me; mocked me.  “How’s that working out for you right now?”

My eyes shot open.  I hadn’t even realized I’d closed them. I must’ve dozed off. The humming and the heat combined with sleep deprivation and total emotional exhaustion did a number on me.   The bag was off my head, and spindly spider-like hands were busy taking the curlers out of my hair.   

A twinge of fear wriggled through me. Beneath the voluminous smock, I reached between my own legs and gave my diaper a squeeze.  The complete lack of squish and the start of a dull ache in my bladder told me that I hadn’t wet yet. 

My hand was still on my crotch when I was whirled around to face the mirror. Were this an Amazon fantasy, this would be the part where my hand felt the slow warmth spread across the front of my Monkeez because of how surprised (propagandists would say “delighted”) I was.  

But this was real life.  Everything in me recoiled at what I saw.  The changes weren’t much:  My hair was still red, albeit a lighter shade than I’d seen in decades.  The curling in my hair was subtle.  It didn’t look like a perm as much as a messy and wild tangle of childish curls. I knew from past lazy summers that another month would have had the same end result, more or less.

My mouth gaped as the smock was removed.  Supposedly, I’d been brought in for a haircut.  Now with the onesie and diaper bulge showing I looked closer to a kid who was ready for his first.

“Oh?” Janet noticed my hand still between my legs.  I ignored her as she checked me and patted the top of my head.   “Still dry.”  Again, she sounded vaguely disappointed.

 The chemicals had done more than just change the color.  My hair didn’t feel as thick as before.  It was finer. Wispier.  Softer even.  Baby soft. I looked like a giant toddler; not so giant, given my surroundings.  But then again, that was the whole point, wasn’t it?

Old Smokey, as I’d taken to calling her, leaned over the chair and used her bony fingers to force my cheeks into a smile.  “Oh, doesn’t he look precious?!” she cooed.  Even with her manipulating and squishing my face, I felt the corners of my mouth involuntarily strain and tug downward.  “Someone just earned hisself a lollipop!”

[Personalias]

Chapter 35: A Thirty-Two Year Old Baby
“Are you sure you don’t want your lion?” Janet asked me just before she unbuckled me out of the carseat.

I inhaled. I didn’t even bother to look at the stuffie next to me.  “No...ma’am.”  A glint of hope flashed in her eyes followed by disappointment.  She’d been hoping that I’d call her a different M-word.  I still had some measure of pride in me.  Best not to antagonize her, however.  “Thank you,” I added.

“Okay…” she said, sounding a bit weary.  I took a bit of cruel comfort in that moment.  Janet could bathe me, diaper me, and dress me. She could have my hair cut, curled, and dyed.  She could feed me poisoned food and leave me to stew in my own mess.  She could spank me and reduce me to tears with a single swat.  But I could cause her no end of frustration just by not calling her ‘Mommy’.  It still didn’t even the odds, but every cat values their claws even when up against a bear.

I did my best not to grumble as AGAIN she slid two fingers in past the leakguards of my diaper.  “Dry,” she said. As if I didn’t know.  I felt a slight pang in my bladder. I still didn’t have to GO go, but I noticed the need if I thought about it.

I was a long way from the classic and stereotypical Little doing the potty dance bit.  I was a teacher.  We can hold our bladders for a long time. Or I used to be a teacher...  

Damn it.

I just made myself sad…

Janet leaned into the back seat and grabbed the lion anyways.  “Just in case,” she said. At roughly half my size, it still wouldn’t fit neatly into the diaper bag, so the toy found a home in Janet’s mammoth teacher purse.  “Time to go see the doctor.”

My breath became shallow.  My throat constricted.  For the first time that day, I felt more than just humiliation and resentment and self pity.  I felt fear.  I hadn’t been to the doctor in years.  In general, Littles don’t go to the doctor by choice.

Fun fact: According to MistuhGwiffin.web, there’s a severe shortage of Littles in every medical field save pediatricians.  There’s not even that many of us in that branch, either.  It’s just that it’s not unheard of.  The majority of Little doctors are immigrants who got suckered in with propaganda and found out too late that doing anything short of working towards full citizenship might be misconstrued as immaturity.

But Pediatricians?  Yeah.  I’d been to one, back when I was the appropriate age to be seeing one.

 A lifetime ago, I would have said it’s because seeing Littles surrounded by Little children caused enough cognitive dissonance to offset any given Amazon’s baby crazy.  Cassie would have said it’s because they want us to live long enough so that they could catch us after we’d been alive long enough to be done growing.  So no measles and mumps for us.  

Maybe we were both right.  I still don’t know.

Littles don’t typically go to hospitals.  I didn’t go to hospitals. I’ve NEVER chosen to go to a hospital or a doctor.  It’s not a long leap of logic for an Amazon to take care of a sick Little and then decide that they needed more help being cared for.  That’s what happened to my uncle Thomas before I was born.  He was afraid he’d been having a heart attack.  They checked him into pediatrics…  That’s what he got for experimenting with spicy food.

Nope. From about age ten to when some of us manage to move into semi-secure Little’s communities, we tend to avoid doctors.  Either that, or the local Little “pediatrician” moonlights as a general practitioner and makes house calls.

All the other options are forced on us.

A cold whoosh of air hit me in the face as Janet opened the door to Premium Pediatrics.  The banner above the door had pictures of cute, chubby, babies- actual babies- all giggling and wearing nothing but plain white diapers.  Below the picture were the words “Now accepting children of ALL ages”.  It didn’t take a genius to know what that meant.  

The sign was in good condition, but the sun faded lettering hinted that this policy wasn’t anything remotely new.  Assuming the babies pictured were Amazons or Tweeners, they very well might’ve been allowed to grow up by now.

Janet gave her name, signed in on a clipboard and then carted me into the waiting room.  Apparently, she’d made this appointment last night and filled out the paperwork as I languished in the crib. Gentle pop music covers sung in auto-tuned children’s voices played softly on speakers in the ceiling.

She made a beeline towards a water cooler and dug out an empty bottle.  I caught a glimpse of the lollipop I’d “earned” from the salon sticking out beside it and felt my tongue retreat to the back of my throat.  There was another thing I wouldn’t be eating.

The water was just below the brim when Janet screwed the cap on.  She put it aside, and filled up a paper cup; making sure to let out a satisfied “aaaaaah” after she’d downed it and thrown it away.   Good.  She didn’t have my trust and knew it. She hadn’t earned it.  She didn’t deserve it.

A few steps later, she was sitting down and I was being cradled in her lap.  I pursed my lips together and let the cold tasteless liquid dribble down my chin.  “It’s just water, baby,” Janet said.  “Drink up.”

I didn’t want to.  I really didn’t.  I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.  I wanted to be difficult.  I wanted to be a fussy, cranky Little that wouldn’t ever give her satisfaction and make her regret ever being friends with me and then betraying that friendship the first chance she got.  And in a weird way I wanted to punish myself for ever being friends with her. 

But I was thirsty.  My throat was dry.  I hadn’t had anything since the breakfast shake several hours ago.  The cold calculating part of my brain, the Cassie part, told me to bide my time and look for an opening.  Oh who am I kidding, that was the Clark part of my brain.  The Cassie part of my brain wanted me to breastfeed just so I could draw blood and run away with a nipple still between my teeth.

I swallowed my pride, opened up and took the water.  I avoided eye contact and instead took the rest of the waiting room.

That was a mistake.

I can’t remember ever wearing diapers as a child before.  Like I’ve said, Littles tend to get potty trained early. But I do remember the handful of times I’d gone to the doctor as a child.  This was the same atmosphere:  Same cutesy stickers dotting the walls.  Same boring posters promoting hand washing and checking temperature.  Same pictures of doctors and smiling children posing together.  Same table full of bead mazes and old coloring books and wooden alphabet puzzles with a few pieces missing.

That sameness was a problem for me. 

I’d been in Beouf’s room so many times before that even waking up in her nap room I’d still felt like me.  I was still thirty-two year old Clark Gibson.  I had been Mr. Gibson for years and had my fill of chalk and school bells and educational toys.   Those were still adult memories.

 I’d never had my hair cut in anything resembling a salon, either. That was a completely alien experience to me.

 But here?  This was a type of place that I only ever associated with childhood.  My last memories of a place like this happened before my voice had changed; when the world was even bigger and I still had so much growing to do. 

Even then, I knew the world was always going to be too big for me, but it would get at least a tiny bit smaller over the coming years.  Now I was back.  I was back and everything was still so much bigger than me.  I was drinking from a bottle, having my diaper checked (yet again), and waiting to be carried into a pediatrician’s examination room. 

And so many of the “babies” in those pictures on the wall, looked like me.

It was worse than any hypnotic cartoon I could imagine. 

 I didn’t feel hypnotized.  I just felt small.  

Helpless.

Little.

A doctor’s waiting room is no place to have fun.  Ever.  I’ve never been to a “grown-up” doctor, but I feel that’s true, regardless.  Patients aren’t meant to enjoy themselves in a waiting room; they’re meant to suffer quietly and bide their time until called upon.

A lot of that is reflected in a pediatrician’s waiting room.  None of the toys light up or make noise.  They don’t go boom and bam and ring out.  They clink and click quietly unless they’re soft and plushy, and if they’re big enough to fall or tip over they’re bolted down.  Neither children nor Littles are expected (or allowed) to just sit with their own thoughts, and so they’re given things to distract and fidget, but not entertain or stimulate.

That’s why doctor’s offices are never fun.  Fun is too loud and noisy.  Oh, and then there’s the whole “sick” thing, too, I guess.

Not that I wanted to play with the toys.  It’s why I sipped so softly on the bottle.  The moment I’d guzzled it down, Janet would want me to play with something.  She’d want her new pet to perform for her.  I wouldn’t be allowed to sulk and be in my thoughts.

We weren’t left alone for long.  Other Amazons and their charges trickled in as the water trickled down my mouth.  An Amazon man came and plopped two Littles in pink and blue footed sleepers down into a sturdy wooden playpen bolted to the floor.  He gave them each a kiss on the forehead and then left them alone to sit in a nearby seat and read a magazine that was six months out of date.

The pair sat on padded rears and began occupying themselves with a game of Connect Four. No pacifier gags to silence them or stupid grins and giggling drooling lips with blank eyes to show that they had no real consciousness left to them.  Their careful moves signaled that they weren’t mind fucked; not completely.  They were just old hat at this “baby” thing.  They’d reached a level of calm acceptance of their situation; if not enjoyment. 

Oh, the level of pity, jealousy, and dread that flooded my mind in that tiny moment. 

The Little boy who was brought in next was screaming his head off.  I don’t know if his mind was gone or if he was just in so much mental, physical and emotional pain. No words came out of him, just throaty bellowing screams.  

His screaming hurt even my ears and his whole body was flushed bright red.  Fever? Screaming? Both? His screaming only stopped when his Amazon whipped her boob out and brushed a dripping nipple against his cheek.  The screaming stopped as soon as he latched on.  His body slowed and his “Mommy” petted his hair and whispered quiet, shushing words.

I put my tongue in the whole of the nipple to slow the drip.  Janet was staring at them.  I thought she’d looked crazy yesterday when she ran into the I.E.P. meeting.  That was nothing, comparatively.  There were worse things, I remembered, than just bottle feeding.

The door into the examination area opened, and a nurse poked her head out. “Clark?” she called.  I bit down and made a bit of water squirt down my throat.  I suppressed the urge to gag and just drank a little more.  

Janet stood up with me and carried me over yet another threshold.  I gripped the bottle a little harder.

“How are we doing today?” The nurse asked not me.

“Just fine, thank you.” Janet replied.  “Kind of excited actually.  This is our first doctor’s visit!”

“It is exciting, isn’t it?”  

“Very!”

Exciting.  That was a word for it. I had no chance of being bored, that was for sure.

The next seven minutes were a special kind of hell for me. 

I was laid down on a metal slab, and my weight was taken.  I was shivering.  The metal sides rose up, so that the “baby” didn’t “accidentally” roll off.  To me though, they were too similar to the confines of a certain bug zapper.

Giant hands stretched me out on an examination holding me down so I didn’t squirm or struggle too much while another pair played with measuring tape.  They were measuring my length.  Length.  I guess height was for “grown-ups” too.  The way Janet and the nurse did it sent me back a little over twenty-four hours to when I was being stretched out and splayed out to be coated with skin repairing cream. 

 I didn’t breathe the entire time.

A monstrous cuff engulfed my bicep and squeezed hard enough to almost make me lose feeling in my arm.  I couldn’t help but think about what happened to the uncle I’d never met.  All the while Janet shushed me and told me how it was going to be okay.  Nothing was okay though.

“You’re gonna need to get him down to just his diaper,” the nurse said before leaving.

I planted my palms down on the exam table and leaned back. “No.” It came out stronger than I would have expected.

“But Clark,” Janet said. “The doctor needs to take a look at your body to make sure that everything is working right.”

“No.” I was sitting down, but standing my ground. 

“Clark-”

“Janet,” my voice cracked.  “I have been stripped and zapped and carted around and and and...everyone has seen me naked or in a diaper and I am already SICK of it.”

She didn’t laugh.  If she had I would’ve hated her utterly.  “Clark.  This is just the doctor.  He sees people in just their underwear and diapers and naked all the time.  It’s part of his job.” 

“I’m a Little.”  I was on the verge of losing it.  “Everyone in my life is going to see me naked or in diapers.”

“Then what’s one more person?  Especially if it’s their job?”

Fuck.  I walked into that one.  “At least let me do it myself...?”

Again, she didn’t laugh.  I could tell from her expression that she thought it was one of the cutest things she’d ever heard. I hated her less for that… Without pushing me down, and with impossibly strong yet nimble fingers, Janet popped open the snaps on my plain white onesie.  “Okay.”

I stood up on shaky legs.  The padding beneath my feet combined with the stuffing between my thighs wasn’t doing my balance any favors.  Now that it was effectively just a shirt, it was easy enough to yank it back over my head.

Except it wasn’t.

I got my arms through the sleeves and was pulling-yanking even- it off my shoulders, but all I managed to do was make my neck hurt.  “I’m….stuck!” I gasped.

“Hmmm?” I heard her say.  Followed by, “Oh! Yeah!”  The shirt was yanked back down and I was staring into Janet’s eyes.  I felt one final pop at the back base of the collar.  “Sorry,” she said, “I forgot that there was one in the back too. Silly Mommy.”  

Heavy footsteps blocked out any reply I might’ve come up with.  Janet finished yanking the diaper shirt over my head right as the door opened again.

The man who walked in was big, even for an Amazon.  Broad shoulders, a chiseled jaw, and a full head of silver hair, he was a head taller than Janet.  He had wrinkles but they were the kind that came from smiling.  He was smiling even then, and in a deep but jolly voice, he said.  “Good morning!  I’m Dr. Milton.”  He reached and shook Janet’s hand and then did a double take at his watch.  “Yup.  Still Morning.”  He laughed at his own non-joke.  I knew this patter.  I knew this tone.

“Janet Grange.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Janet Grange.”  All smiles.  His wrinkles creased up around his eyes everytime he did.  The laugh lines vanished with his grin. I’d made that face so many times when I was trying to be sociable with parents.

What happened next caught me completely off guard.  He strode up to the examination table, looked me in the eye.  “Hello.  I’m Dr. Jonathan Milton.  And you are?”

He asked me. Me!  I was in a pediatrician’s office, wearing nothing but a Monkeez, and he was shaking my hand and greeting me.  Like an adult.  It hadn’t been two days since someone had done that, and yet it was something that I deeply expected to never happen again.

“C-Clark.” I stuttered.

“Pleasure to meet you, Clark.  And how old are you, sir?”

Sir….

SIR!

I was a sir, again!

I blinked.  “Thirty-two.”  My voice sounded far off.  Just that little bit of courtesy, that little bit of dignity completely threw me off my game.

Dr. Milton whistled.  “Thirty-two.  Not bad, young fella, not bad at all.” I was shaking with something besides anger.  I didn’t even mind being called “young fella”.  It was a damn site better than “baby” or “sweetie” or “Little boy”.  

“Thank you…?”

“So here’s what I’m going to do, Clark.  I’m going to listen to your heartbeat, your lungs, and your guts using my ol’ stethoscope here.” He held up the instrument in front of his face to show me.  “Then I’m going to look in your eyes and ears and throat with my otoscope,” he paused to show me the instrument.  “That’s what I call this doohickey right here.  Then I’m going to test your reflexes right quick with my tiny knee hammer.  And then I’ll ask you some questions about your health.  Do you understand?”

In awe, I nodded.  It was refreshing actually. Relaxing even.  

“Breathe in.  Deep Breath.  Breath out.  Sorry about it being cold by the way.”

I was entranced.  He was so respectful.  So gentle, always warning me when I was going to be touched.

“MMhmm…  Open your mouth please.  Say ah!”

He narrated everything he did, but not in the same patronizing way that Typical Amazons did when talking to Littles.

“Excuse me, just checking for bruises, sprains and breaks.  That hurt?  No? That?  No?  Good.”

Even the “good”  was good.  Because it wasn’t “good boy,” or “good baby.”   No stupid kid jokes like I’d get a giggle out of a pun or a knock-knock joke.  Nothing about a light coming through the other side of my head.

“Oh wow.  It’s light’s never come out the other end before.”  I stood corrected… “Ah, you know I’m just jokin’.  I just can’t resist making a dumb joke everynow and then.  That one was just for me, sir.  Just for me.”  AND THE RECOVERY!

Damnit! I wanted to hate him, and I still did...but it was SO HARD!

Then it hit me.  This was me.  This guy was with me how I treated my own students. Respectful, playful, professional, but caring.  And that hair, that glorious mature silver hair, and those stress free laugh lines.   He was who I wanted to be when I grew up…

Even though I’d already grown up…

Even though I’d never grow up again.

No more forward.  Just back. Maybe in place. I hung my head when I sat down and he tested my reflexes.  I think it just passed as curiosity.  I shifted my weight a bit, listening to the crinkle from the medical paper on the exam table.  At least I wasn’t the only one crinkling.

“Everything seems to be okie dokie,” he said.

“Good,” Janet piped in.  She’d been watching like a star struck hawk the entire time, and had stepped back while the doctor looked me over.

“So Clark,” Dr. Milton said. “Ready for some questions?”

I felt surprisingly comfortable.  “Sure,” I said.

“Do you smoke?”

“No, sir.”

“Good.  Do you drink?”

I shot a glance at Janet. “Occasionally.”

“How often and how much?”

“Never thought about it,” I shrugged.  “Typically only with friends.”  Janet winced.  Shots fired.  Direct hit.

Dr. Milton’s back was to her.  “So you’re a social drinker?”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Nothing wrong with that.”  Janet’s eyes flared up in shock.  Babies didn’t get permission to drink.  Ever.  This medical professional either disagreed with that bit of common wisdom or disagreed that I was a baby.  I was liking him more and more with each question.

This was totally me in Amazon form.

“Do you exercise?” He asked.

“Sometimes.”

“How often and what do you do?”  

I stared down at my gut.  I couldn’t help but fold my arms over it.  “It’s been a couple months, but I like to do yoga.”

His eyes lit up.  “Oooh! Yoga!  Good one!”  He turned around and looked at Janet.  “You might wanna remember that for later, ma’am.  Yoga.  Lotta boys don’t take too well to ballet.”

Janet nodded her head.  “Okay!  Yeah!  Yoga!”

Talking to Janet was the first real chink in the armor.  The next question blew a fist sized hole in it.

“How is your diaper?”

My hands shot back down to my crotch and my heart jumped back up to my throat.  “DRY!” I yelped.  “I’m dry!  Potty trained!”

“You weren’t this morning,” Janet tutted.

The doctor waved her off.  “I mean, are you comfortable?  Too tight? Too loose? Too bulky?  Too thin?  What?”

I had no idea how to answer that question.  “I guess...I guess...why are you asking?”

Dr. Milton tilted his head to the side. “Whelp, if I needed diapers, I’d want them to be as comfortable as possible.”

Boom.  Done.  I officially hated this man.

Typical Amazon.

“I don’t NEED diapers!” I said.  “I’m pot-”

Janet interrupted.  “Clark, you pooped your pants in front of everyone yesterday. Quit pretending.”

That shut me up.  I couldn’t argue with that.  There’d have been no point.  Dr.  Milton motioned and Janet walked up, blocking me into a circle.  “So you think that’s when his Maturosis manifested?”

“We think it started to manifest sooner, maybe as early as early Summer, but it definitely got too much for him to handle yesterday.”

The old fellow stroked his chin.  “Yes, yes.  I could see that.”  

I started wilting.  False hope can do that to a person.  “You’re not going to get me out of this,” I mumble, “are you?”  

I felt a tough calloused hand on my shoulder.  “Right now, Clark’s brain and body chemistry is just going all over the place.”  There it went.  He was talking about me instead of to me.  “Serotonin and dopamine are going crazy, and not in the good way.  His oxytocin levels are lowering, and Littles in general produce low amounts of oxytocin.”

Oxytocin:  The cuddle hormone.  Such bullshit.  Littles didn’t produce too little of it.  Amazons just made too much. Bullshit.  Such bullshit.  I just shook my head, muttering as much, not caring if they heard me.  

“I’m worried about his bladder,” Janet said to him.  “He hasn’t wet since I changed him this morning.

I lifted my head.  Might as well howl and spit into the wind.  “BECAUSE I’M-!”

I was on my back before I could finish the sentence.  I thought Janet was powerful.  “Let me check,” the Amazon doctor said.  Tapes came off.  Again, I was laying naked on an open diaper as an Amazon stared at my privates.  It was something I promised myself I’d never get used to.

Calloused, probing hands pressed down on my belly just below my belly button and on my pelvis.  “Hmmm….Mmmmhmm…Hold on.”  I felt the need to pee more keenly than ever.  “Hmm...yup.”

“What?” Janet said.  “What is it?”

“You’re circumcised,” The doctor noted.  I squeaked, actually squeaked, when he jiggled my testicles.  “Testicles haven’t retracted.  Good.”  He stood me up.  “Turn your head to the side and cough, please.”  You’d be surprised what you’re willing to do when a giant is literally gripping you by the balls.  “No hernia.  Had to check for that anyway,” he said.  “I was just going to save that from the end.”  He motioned to Janet.  “You can put a new diaper on him.”  He looked back at me, “Tapes are never the same after you take them off.”  He winked.  FUCKER WINKED!

Janet quickly had me down and re-diapered before their conversation continued.  “So what’s going on?”  She bobbed me up and down in her lap.  It wasn’t doing my bladder any favors; not that she wanted to.

“HIs guts are working,” Dr. Milton said.  He was half looking at me, half looking at Janet.  “Heard that on my stethoscope.”  He held it up.  “That’s this thing,”  he said to me. It was much less folksy and endearing the second time around.  “And I felt that his bladder was full.  Won’t be long now.  Just give it time.”

“But why, Doctor?”  

I closed my eyes and held my tongue.  What was the point?

“Because like you said, Maturosis doesn’t happen all at once.  He’s still a little potty trained, for now.  The diapers are just a likely eventuality, so might as well get used to ‘em.”  I felt disgusted with myself for relating to this quack for even a second.  Now, he sounded like the worst parts of Beouf.  He looked right at me.  “Nothing wrong with that.”

“Then you try wearing them,” I growled.

“If I need them, I will.”  The line was so quick.  He’d heard that before.  Had it prepared.

“Clark, why are you being so fussy?”  Janet asked.

Milton answered for me.  “It’s not his fault.  Emotionally, it’s like he’s going through puberty all over again.  Lots of frustration, lots of big emotions.  It’s basically Little Menopause. His frontal lobe and amygdala, the parts of the brain responsible for guilt and shame are restructuring and rewiring themselves all over again.“  The answer was nonsense of course, but it was an answer Amazons like Janet liked.

She was eating up every word.  “Mmmhmm..”  My bladder was aching.  She was bouncing me just a little bit faster.  “Why is he so angry though?  Cranky?  It’s not like him.”

“It’s like I said,” the quack repeated. “His brain is redeveloping itself, but he has the added obstacle of having all of his previous memories and experiences.  You and me?  We did stupid stuff when we were kids. But our brains developed, and we gained more knowledge and experience.  Now, we look back and laugh now that we’ve mellowed.  We are not who we are now who we were then.”  

“And Clark?”

The snake oil salesman took a deep breath.  Again, he was talking to Janet.  This time, though, he was looking right at me.  “Clark?  He’s going backwards, but he’s still got all of those memories of going forward.  His brain and body are telling him to be a toddler or a baby again, but his mind remembers moving past that.  He’s going to have all the mind and memories he’s always had, but the emotional and physical needs of someone much much less….well...mature.” He shrugged.  “He’s basically at war with himself.”

Janet stopped bouncing me.  “That makes so much sense.” Sure it did!  If you closed your eyes and didn’t think too hard!  I sighed, if only because I was going to be able to hold my bladder a bit longer.

“It’s why, for a while” he said, “those hypno-toons were so en vogue.  Help the mind accept what the brain and body want by wiping clean the parts that fight the hardest.”

“I don’t want hypnosis,” Janet said.  I could feel her shaking her head, it was so hard.  She started petting me, as if she were afraid I might get mind fucked just for being in the same room where it was discussed.

He waved the idea away.  “Wouldn’t think of it.  That stuff is garbage, and illegal besides. I’ll prescribe you something with plenty of electrolytes to help things move along and keep him hydrated.  Also something to help out with the Oxytocin problem.”  He whipped out a pen and started scribbling on a prescription pad.  “In the meantime, I’d also recommend getting him into a good daycare program.  The best ones are pretty expensive, but you might be able to get into one of the publicly funded ones.”

I felt Janet give me a squeeze.  Was she trying to make me use my diaper by sheer force or just that excited?  It was hard to tell.  “He’s already enrolled in Oakshire Elementary!” she squealed.

“Oakshire?”  The doctor’s face turned into a Christmas Tree.  “With Melony Beouf?”

“Uh-huh!  We’re coworkers!”

Milton slapped his knee.  “Well alright then!  I’ve known Melony for years!  She’s one of the best Little’s teachers I’ve ever met.  Attends my seminars on the subject at least once a year!  I was thinking of having her help me write a paper on the subject!”

My jaw went slack.  My eyes went blank.  The only physical stimuli that registered to me was the growing and gnawing pain in my bladder.  I stopped listening to them and retreated inside myself.  Melony Beouf and this asshole knew each other?  But I’d never heard her talk about him before.  Not that I’d ever asked or wanted to know exactly where she got her cult-like doctrine from.

It made sense why they sounded so much alike, too.

It’s just…

It’s just that…

Do you remember that feeling when you’re a kid- maybe a Kindergartener; maybe a little younger or a little older- and you first find out that your teacher has a life outside of the classroom?  Has a family?  Maybe cats? Enjoys video games?   That feeling that there’s this person in your life that keeps you safe and seems to care about you and acts as a friend to you; almost like an extra parent; and then it dawns on you that they know so much about you and you know almost nothing about them?

You feel like you just got let in on a big secret.  You also feel like maybe the world isn’t as simple as you led yourself to believe.  In a way, you kind of feel like a bad friend or student or person; like you should have known this already.

Just then, I was feeling that about one of my oldest Amazon friends and coworkers, who until yesterday had shielded me for close to a decade from other asshole Amazons.  I was a Kindergartener, if that.  I was thirty-two.  The two feelings weren’t emotionally mutually exclusive it seemed.

“So don’t worry,” Dr. Milton said, breaking in on my thoughts.  “Mrs. B. will help Clark out a whole lot!”  He ruffled my newly curled and dyed hair.  

“I used to work with her, too!” I blurted out.  I felt stupid.  I felt wrong.  But I had to say it.  “We worked together.  Ten years.  Janet too.”  I was the kid at the grown-ups table.  Nothing worth saying but I NEEDED to say SOMETHING!

“That’s neat,” Doctor Milton smiled down at me.  “And now you three will be working together again.  You’ll all just be working on Clark instead of other kids.”  Janet hugged me again.  This time her grip was higher up on the chest.  I retreated inside myself again, hiding in a soft, pudgy shell that numbed me.

Outside of me, the doctor was acting like an actual doctor again and lecturing me on how I shouldn’t hold it quite so much and that I could do long term damage to my kidneys if I tried.  He ran down a list of nasty medical procedures that might happen to me if I got too backed up.  Enemas and Catheters would only be the start.  “Is it really worth damaging your body like that and risking your health just to pretend you’re an adult on the inside, son?”

I didn’t reply.  It wasn’t needed.  “You’re gonna be fine.” Janet kissed me on the top of my head.  “Mommy loves you and you have nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about.  Okay?”

I didn’t reply.  This time it wasn’t out of spite as much as it was being completely fucking overwhelmed.  Janet started to put the onesie back on me.  Like a good doll, I helped guide my arms through the sleeves.  I didn’t fuss when she checked my diaper just before buttoning up the crotch.

The doctor wagged a quick finger at Janet.  “My advice? Quit checking his diaper for a while.  At this stage of his Maturosis it’s only going to make him get embarrassed and try to do the opposite.”  

It’s almost like I was continent!  I was in no state to actually say that out loud, however.

I caught Janet blushing.  “Yes, Doctor.”

“Don’t feel too bad.  It’s a mistake new Moms make all the time.”  He turned to leave and then doubled back.  “Oh, and it’s a bit early, but let’s schedule a prostate exam in a couple months, just in case.  Just to get it over with.”

“A prostate exam?” Janet blanched.  “But he’s a baby…”

“He is,” Dr. Milton agreed.  “A thirty-two year old baby.”

[BabyJilly_S]

A two chapter treat! with more fabulous detail, terrific dialogue and inner monologue.

The doctors visit was brilliant, I love the way you went into the pseudo science that they wrap around maturosis mingling with genuine doctor care, then b-lining it back to Beouf and torment to come. 

Thanks