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

[FloridaKid]

This is quite possibly my favorite chapter so far. I am glad that Clark is starting to see Janet as more of a person…yes, I understand why he would hate her, but his brattiness toward her was beginning to wear thin.
 

I, too, am puzzled by Beouf. I don’t see that her view of Littles has been rocked even though she was clearly shaken by the whole situation with Tracy. I am really interested to see where you go with this.

Thank you again for posting chapters here. It’s greatly appreciated.

[Personalias]

Chapter 95: Wet Dream

“Ready Mr. Gibson?” Cassie leaned into me and nuzzled my neck, giving me gentle kisses at first and then increasingly not so gentle nibbles on my neck.  If we stayed still there much longer I was going to ruin her mother’s wedding dress right there in the Misty Brook parking lot in front of every single onlooker and well wisher.

“Ready Mrs. Gibson.”   Damn it felt good to say that.

I picked her up, and held my breath so that no one could hear the slight strain I was under.  I exhaled through my nostrils and kicked the door in.  Hoots, hollers, and applause rained out to our ears while I turned sideways and shuffled through the doorway of the empty Braun Family Trailer.

Carrying has a special significance in the Little community. We get picked up and manhandled all the time.  So the post wedding reception ritual depicted in far too many movies and television show had an extra level of significance.  Cassie was showing me how much she trusted me.  Me?  I’d never felt bigger in my life, in more ways than one.

My bride reached out and closed the door behind us.  My knees started to shake, my arms would have ached save for the adrenaline. I’d never been an athlete and an adult Little wasn’t an easy burden to carry.  Cassie practically latching her face onto mine gave me strength.

She grabbed the back of my head and pulled at my hair and shoved her tongue into my mouth, moaning and saying my name in between gasps for ears.  I leaned against the door and let her, trying to awkwardly hold her and grope her at the same time.  

Like so many newlyweds, I imagine we looked awkward as anything.  We weren’t completely inexperienced with each other, but in the throes and excitement of the moment, what little technique we’d developed was thrown out the window.  The ‘house’ was ours for the night. My parents had booked a trustworthy hotel in Elizabeton, the next city over from Oakshire. My new in-laws had ceded us their space as a type of wedding present and were couch surfing with neighbors.

We’d talk of honeymoon and housing plans with each other and our folks tomorrow afternoon. Cassie and I were already eyeing a house in Oakshire proper and had a plan to make it work. Imagine us: real homeowners among the big folk instead of living out of modified trailers or hiding in gated communities: A dream come true for both of us.

That was for tomorrow, though.  Right now, we had other more immediate plans. Cassie and I were going to do so many things in so many rooms that we would never, ever tell anyone about, and would snicker about privately to each other whenever Bert sat down on the old loveseat in front of the television.

While I sunk to the floor with my bride leaning into me and over me so that she was pinning me down, no thoughts came to me save one: This was a dream.  Just a dream.

In the real world I was on my back, sleeping fitfully with a diaper spreading my legs apart, and my entire body save for my head and hands was encased in cotton that kept me warm to the point where I’d wake some nights in a sweat with the sheets kicked off.  I had no hope of taking the jammies off. The snaps were too strong for Little fingers to affect. Same with the diaper and the tapes. To get naked without assistance would require a box cutter at the very least.

This really happened, though.  This was a memory dream of a happier time that I sorely needed. The flash of lucidity was sudden, instantaneous, and did nothing to dissuade me from indulging in my own past.

Shirt buttons went flipping end over end as Cassie ripped open my dress shirt. She straddled my hips and started grinding on me.  I thrust up and thrilled at her soft moan. My new wife slid off and started giving hurried, frenzied kisses to my chest.  I yelped when she tried out sucking on my nipple.  That might be something we’d work on or fade out in the future.  I reached for the top of her head and started pushing her down towards waist.  Physics and leverage made it impossible for me to actually enforce it.  

Cassie took the hint and climbed off me just enough so that she could get at my pants.

There’s lots of different type of sex.  There’s makeup sex, and breakup sex, and boredom sex, and apology sex, and of course good old fashioned love making among so many others.  So much of the act is in the motivations, mental states, and emotions of the participants.  The positions, pacing, participants, and implements all add to and modify the levels of physical stimulation, but it’s what’s going on between the ears of the people engaged that make the act something special.  

Sex is like cooking in a way.  Skill, equipment, and materials all play a factor, but the source and intent behind the meal should never be discounted.  It’s why runny eggs on Mother’s Day or an overdone steak on a wedding anniversary can still be eaten with gusto because of the person serving it.

That night, neither of us was objectively any good at sex, but we were horny out of our minds and completely selfishly stupidly devoted to each other as a single being; our identities inelably intertwined as of that night.  

Then and now and forever.

Cassie started loosening my belt and unbuttoning my pants. I propped myself up and watched her fiddle, her fingers made stupid with desire.  I stared, transfixed, at her cleavage inside the wedding dress her mother had given to her and imagined.  Oh the things I wanted to do to her in that dress before doing even things to her out of that dress. Neither of us would sleep till dawn.

“Here,” I said, unbuckling my belt for her. “Let me help.”

Instead of thanking me, she gripped my member through the pants as hard as she could. “I want you inside of me.”  I watched her reach under the hem of her pristine white dress and heard the fabric scream out and tear as she ripped her delicate, thin panties off.  “Now,” she panted. “Please.”

I pushed her back and rolled forward on top of her, gripping and grabbing at her chest, dry humping her. If I came, I came. I was young and virile and only a drink of water and three minutes away from another round.  Fuck it. Chances were I wasn’t going to get the security deposit back anyways.

“Take me,” she begged.  “Get inside me! Please!” Save perhaps ‘don’t stop,’ and ‘let’s do it in the master bed,’ I wouldn’t make my dear wife beg again that night.

Her legs spread open for me. Down on my knees I pulled my pants all the way down. I hadn’t bothered to wear underwear that night for this very reason. Still on the floor, I grabbed her by the legs and pulled her up to me.   I leaned forward, entered her and felt…nothing.

“Huh?”

Cassie opened her eyes, and stopped moaning. She seemed confused. “Something wrong?”

“Am I…am I in?”  I grinded and thrust my hips, but none of the soft warm wetness or pressure or stimulation of penetration occurred.  Was I humping the inside of her dress on accident?

“I…I don’t know…?” She said. “I thought so?” Cassie scooted back on her elbows, her eyebrows knitted in consternation.  This wasn’t our first time. “Clark!” she gasped.  “What are you wearing?!”

I looked down at my dick and didn’t see it.  This was a dream, I knew. A nightmare. It was the only way to explain why I was wearing a Monkeez on my wedding night.  “No,” I whispered. “No, no, no, no.”

A piercing, terrified shriek vibrated the past.  The memory of my wife hiked her own dress up.  Tears dripped down her face and snot bubbles inflated from out of her nostrils.  The difference between her diaper and mine?  Mine was still dry.  “Clark! What’s happening?”

It hadn’t happened this way.  Not at all.  This was a dream. I was lucid. I could do anything I wanted. Then why couldn’t I take the damn diaper off?!  My fingers gripped uselessly on the very edge of the tapes, picking and pulling at them, but the crinkling underwear might as well have been welded shut.

“Clark!” Cassie screamed. “I love you!”  

We were no longer in her parents’ trailer. We were nowhere, two Littles in a vast empty blackness.  The darkness slithered up around my wife’s waist and lifted her up off the ground.  “No!” she screamed so that her voice rattled all the way into the back of her throat. “No! I’m not a baby!  I’m not!”

I laid there in the nothingness, helplessly trying to get the diaper off.  I had to do this first.  I couldn’t save Cassie, I couldn’t save anyone if I didn’t get the diaper off first. Babies couldn’t help anyone, and I had to save my wife.

 Cassie started getting farther and farther away from me.  I didn’t know what giant had snatched her up and taken her away from me.  I didn’t know where she was. “Claaaaaaaaark!”

I tilted my head to the colorless non-sky and begged whatever part of my brain was putting me through this as though it were some sort of angry god.  “Please!” I shouted. “Stop it!  Just stop it!” No answer but the crinkling in my ears came in reply.

I started begging and bargaining with my own subconscious.  “Bring her back! Please! Just let me have this!”  I didn’t cry, but that might have been because my brain couldn’t fully simulate the effect and feeling on its own.  “Just this one thing! Let me keep this one thing!”

“Awwww,” Janet’s voice intruded as a booming serenade. “Poor baby is sad. He’s got some big feelings, doesn’t he?” Every single syllable was overloaded with syrupy sweetness. I could never remember Janet talking to me quite so condescendingly.

 It wasn’t Janet’s voice.  Not really.  It was a gross parody of her; her at her worst, most baby crazy self; the terrible urge inside her that all Amazons struggled with and ultimately lost to.  

The inky blackness parted like a show curtain, and the image of Janet, still naked, strode forth; no longer panicked or uncomfortable; the beads of water and the pinkness of her skin from exposure to boiling water had been edited out.   “It’s okay, baby boy.  Mommy’s here. Mommy won’t leave you.  Mommy won’t burn down your house and get herself taken away before you can say goodbye.  Mommy loves you.”

I wanted to curse out this obscene construct. I opened my mouth to tell her to fuck right off and express how much I hated her. Yet when I opened my mouth, no sound came out. I couldn’t even tell her what I really thought of her in the refuge of my mind anymore.  Even in my dreams I crinkled and waddled and toddled.

Janet picked me up and cradled me. The clothes I’d worn on my wedding night melted away.  The diaper stayed on. “Why?!” I screamed. “Why?!”

Her hand squeezed the front of my padding. “Still dry!” she declared. “Maybe baby Clark is dehydrated?” Another symptom of the real world bled into my dreaming mind. I had to pee. My bladder ached and screamed at me like I had been holding it forever.  Sleep was still one of the few times my bladder held up on its own, but I was waking up more times in a night. Like any muscle, being used less was reducing the threshold.  Sleeping through the night was gradually becoming one to two to sometimes three humiliating pit stops.

Quietly, I prayed to myself that it would happen now.

She squeezed me again.  “Uh oh…I think I know what’s wrong.”  The bulge protruding out in front of me wasn’t entirely padding.  “It’s okay,” dream Janet said.  She tapped the very tip of my nose.  “Mrs. B says it’s perfectly natural and Mommy can help you with both.”

The Amazon’s face left my field of view, and her breast filled up my entire vision. “No…” I whispered. “Please…”  My limbs wouldn’t move. I could barely turn my head away.  I felt her nipple brush against my cheek.  Knowing no other apt comparison, my dream made it feel like the rubber teat of a baby bottle.  Against my will, my head turned towards the source.  My mouth opened up to scream, and instead I latched onto Janet’s breast.

Not knowing what breast milk tasted like, my tongue pretended to taste fatty creamy goat’s milk gushing forth.

“Good baby.”

I woke up in my crib.  No scream.  No tears.  No dramatic gasping breaths. My eyes were closed; then open. My temples throbbed and I remembered to exhale. 

My eyes cleared and the faint nursery night light brought the terrible silhouettes into full view. I didn’t sit up. I just breathed and shivered beneath the covers.  I would not cry out. I would give Janet no reason to suspect that I’d woken up, or see me in distress.

Yet I could not sleep.  I feared what would happen if I closed my eyes, and what I might dream of.  Waking up from a nightmare was no guarantee that my brain wouldn’t just pick up where it left off the second sleep overtook me.  Nightmares could be like that.  So could subliminal messaging leaked in through supposed baby monitors…

Also, I really did have to pee. My bladder was full and my dick was rock hard as a result.  That explained something. Neither condition was particularly comfortable, so I decided to solve one problem with another.

My hands moved away from my crotch. Feeling my diaper warm up from the outside would just weird me out further. I gave myself a test squeeze to confirm I was still dry and noted that I was. Thank goodness I still had that going for me.  I counted to a hundred, trying to appreciate the feeling of a full bladder and dry pants.  I also hoped in vain that counting might help me fall asleep, or distract myself enough that my erection would fade.

My nostrils flared and my bladder relaxed, singing in pleasure as I bathed myself in my own fluids. I took deep slow breaths while what felt like a never ending stream splashed against my hairless skin and was absorbed by thirsty padding.  Being able to piss while lying down was a strange skillset I’d acquired.  Most worrisome, but it felt more comfortable than standing and gripping the crib’s railing.

The warmth radiated around my nethers and I repositioned my hands to inspect the damage. The diaper was already starting to swell, but too much experience told me that it still had a way to go before it was anywhere close to leaking. Stupidly I bucked a little bit and felt my penis rub up against my hands.

Now exhausted,  I inhaled and closed my eyes. A nightmare was a nightmare, but there was relief in knowing you could wake up from it. So I breathed deep and counted to a hundred…and nothing about my erection changed.

“Goddamn it,” I whispered to myself. “Goddamn mother fucker.”  I gave myself flashbacks to when I’d first started going through puberty.  There were days in my teens where it didn’t matter what I’d been through or what stressors I was under; if I didn’t get my rocks off I would start having withdrawal systems. My body and mind had scabbed over enough from the constant infantilization that such things were again possible.

If I didn’t get some sleep, I’d be in an even worse mood all of Sunday.  If I didn’t find a way to make myself cum I wasn’t going to go back to sleep.

I spread my legs and wriggled under the sheets. The fleecy jammies weren’t particularly enticing to my fingertips, but the pressure and feeling from inside my diaper felt strangely familiar if I didn’t think about it.

There were elements of pressure, and soft wet squishiness.  My brain tried to keep reminding me of what it was, but my body didn’t mind so much.  This could work, I lied to myself.  This could be good enough for a quick jerk off. 

 But I couldn’t get a firm grip on anything and my hands slid around too much. The fabric of the pajamas and the soft plastic of the Monkeez reduced friction in a bad way and the bulk of the padding muted most of the pleasurable sensations I was able to excite out of me.

 Every stroke sounded like I was opening up a bag of potato chips, however. Every time I tried to imagine Cassie on top of me, giving me the kind of love that I so desperately missed, I accidentally opened my eyes, afraid that a worried and concerned Janet would have rushed in at hearing mattress springs groan too loudly or more plastic rustling than was average for a Little rolling over in their sleep.

I was frustrated and ready and desperate.  I wasn’t even close to finishing. I wasn’t inside my wife.  I wasn’t inside anyone. And I was still too inside my own head to let my body enjoy what tiny amount of stimulation I could evoke.

My teeth gritted.  This was worse than puberty. I wasn’t being actively observed when I was a teenager and if I was my parents were kind and embarrassed enough not to mention it.  Janet wouldn’t give me the same courtesy. A stiffy in the shower nearly drove her into full overbearing Mommy mode.

Hadn’t Beouf made an offhand comment in her talk the other night?  Something about looking the other way occasionally for Billy and Annie’s sake?  Could I trust Janet to take that bit as gospel?

Ugh.  Just thinking about it left a bad taste in my mouth.  If I knew someone was listening in, even if we weren’t talking about it…ugh!  This….this had to be secret! It just had to be! It had to!

Lion was still by my head, holding vigil over my prone body.  I hadn’t stirred enough to knock him over. Beouf had said something else during her sex talk: She lost more stuffies during naptime in her rookie year of teaching than she was comfortable admitting.

It made sense in a perverse kind of way.  A stuffed animal was something to grind and push against.  It was something to muffle sounds, it had something resembling a body to grip and grab onto.  Something that didn’t call out or moan. Something that a sex starved Little could close their eyes and pretend was someone else.

Lion went sailing through the air, over the top of the crib railing, and tumbled quietly on the floor.  “No,” I said to myself. “Never.”  I wasn’t going to do that to him.  “Never, never, never, never.”

I was trapped in a world of giants who did whatever they wanted to me. That dumb toy was one of the few things that I was bigger than and had control over.  “No.”

Staring at the stupid useless piece of stuffing laying on the ground gave me the tiniest benefit. My erection was wilting away. Growling in disgust, I sat up, curling my lip and struggling inwardly about whether or not I should go back to sleep.

A faint green dot caught my attention. Up over the edge of the crib railing, a tiny beam of emerald light no bigger than the twinkling of a distant star stood out.  It was coming from the baby monitor. I knew my prison well by now.  As many times as I had awoken in the middle of the night, as often as I’d stared up and whispered curses at that stupid box, I’d never seen that green light before.  Ever.

I froze and stared up at it. Angry. Vindicated. Justified.

Outside my nursery…THE nursery…not mine….never mine…the hallway light clicked on.  I laid back down on my stomach and turned my head away.

I felt Janet’s presence moreso than I heard her footfalls or the opening of the door. The woman could be deceptively quiet when she chose to be. Thanks to the nightlight, I saw her shadow glide across the room over to the monitor. The tiny click of a button being pressed was crystal clear in the silence of the room.  

As stealthily as she had come in, my captor glided back out.  When the door was open just a sliver, Janet tried her hand at one final subliminal message that night.  “Good night, Clark.  I love you.”

“Good night Janet,” I whispered under my breath so only that only I could hear, “I hate you.” 

[FloridaKid]

Wow. That was crazy-intense. I love a good roller coaster and oh my, what a coaster you’ve created.

[Personalias]

6 minutes ago, FloridaKid said:

Wow. That was crazy-intense. I love a good roller coaster and oh my, what a coaster you’ve created.

Thanks!

[thedman]

Hot damn! That chapter was a whirlwind and then some.  Great change of pace to help keep things lively.  Amazing work!

[messyman]

Is this posted somewhere else in an  easier to read format? 

[Personalias]

8 hours ago, thedman said:

Hot damn! That chapter was a whirlwind and then some.  Great change of pace to help keep things lively.  Amazing work!

Thank you

 

4 hours ago, messyman said:

Is this posted somewhere else in an  easier to read format? 

It is posted several different places.  What's hard about the format?  I have an idea, but I want to confirm before I redirect you.

[messyman]

8 hours ago, Personalias said:

 

It is posted several different places.  What's hard about the format?  I have an idea, but I want to confirm before I redirect 

If it is posted somewhere not a forum I need to scroll through that would be good. I have not kept up and so to read something long I would need to keep a diaper site window open in my phone browser for a few days while I read to not lose my place.

[Personalias]

24 minutes ago, messyman said:

If it is posted somewhere not a forum I need to scroll through that would be good. I have not kept up and so to read something long I would need to keep a diaper site window open in my phone browser for a few days while I read to not lose my place.

As of right now.  ARArchive.com and diaper-bois.com both have this story and feature table of contents.

So does Legitfic.com; would highly recommend it.  But the version I got there is a few chapters behind.  (It's a new site so I'm staggering my uploads so as not to flood their library.

[Samriis]

Heh... ironic choice of words...

[FloridaKid]

It’s been almost a month…another chapter, please? Pretty please? 🥹

[Sararei]

Personalias, I am slowly catching up with this story and its amazing, the take on the DD world and the drama is great.

 

But i just finished chapter 88 and for a long time now, ive had an annoying thing i do when I engage with really any media flair up and i get "frustrated" when I get a bit too empathetic and want to speak for a fictional character in a fictional world.  But this chapter hit on one side of the conversation i was hoping would be had eventually and i just had to comment on it. 

 

Since (at this point) we don't know who screwed Clark over, I wanted him to suck it up and take advantage of both his relationship current and past with Beouf and Janet (and Tracy but just for indirect support) maybe Zoge but optional.  use his mind to manipulate the conversation but only just a little because i cant help but feel (but i am projecting) that most all of it would be sincere. (all this before chapter 88s reveal though)  Tell them what they partially deep down may know, tell them (story style rant below, warning)

"my mind and soul are cracking,  I want my life back.  You took everything from me, my job and kids, my pride in teaching them and hoping i was making a difference, a difference that despite the dangers of being forced to contend with the likes of  Brolish and Forest, I felt was worth it, worth it see my kids grow and become better people.  Took my dignity by forcing me to confront those same people day in and day out being reduced to this..  took my freedom and my future...took my happiness, the one person i truly loved in this world, my wife, now out there somewhere, lost or taken or alone....  all this taken by people I thought were my friends...people I thought I could trust. 

 I was poisoned, drugged and no one will believe me, you all , the people that helped me through that bullshit story by you student,  the planting of evidence by the same crazy teacher hurting my kids in the room next door... Janet, you saved me from that crazy lady that tried to kidnap me after graduation, and yet as soon as I needed you all the most, you turned on me, quicker then I ever thought possible , dismissed all my crys for help, made up or attributed some missing diapers in the classroom to me, to further cement my fate, dismissing me as a product of some fake disease "you saw coming".  WHY!? why now did you not take my side? what did i do deserve this spite?  was my anxiety of being on edge not only from the story incident but almost being kidnapped last year a sign I didnt deserve my freedom anymore? my lack of maturity to deal with my life being taken, to become a slave or property to someone 3x my size?

Last month I was made to have those damn training chocolates, I experienced directly the ramp up, the height and descent of their effects firsthand , it was the same, Melony..I got the same feeling in the mornings after our coffee, I thought i was just a bit sick, that maybe my anxiety was just flared up but would go away with time, thats why I used your bathroom in a hurry, thats why during that meeting...I...I.

I didn't believe, couldnt believe you would give me anything after all this time to hurt me. I let my guard down, Cassie warned me to never trust anyone but I did...I trusted you... Please, I am all thats left of Clark Gibson, hes dead and I am a shadow....I embody all his pain and regrets, fears and confusion...please, with any last bit of respect for the man I was to you, please either tell me why...or believe me."

 

LOL sorry this was my fan fiction in my head up to chapter 87, this changed a bit with chapter 88 and now my theory that it was sadly either Tracy or even his own wife Cassie that was somehow involved in all this has grown even stronger...Hot take I know   I look forward to your continued story and see where these new developments take the  journey. Thanks!

[Personalias]

Chapter 96: Inches and Miles

 I jumped completely awake as ice water was dumped over my crotch. A massive hand darted over my chest and stopped me from sitting up. Where was I? What was happening? Where’d my crib go?! “Sorry, baby!” Janet said. “Sorry!” 

The whole of me tensed up in flashes of surprise, confusion and fear. Janet’s palm held me firm for the second it took for me to calm down. Simultaneously a flash of yellow arced slightly into the air and she quickly yanked up the nighttime Monkeez back over my crotch. I’d been so startled that I’d peed a little, and now that my bladder was going it saw no point in clamping back down 

“Huh?!” I panted and looked around. I struggled with whether or not to try and cut the stream off.  It was over too soon to matter.  I’d already gotten up two more times to pee that night and drifted back off immediately.  My tank wasn’t full; just full enough.   

I repeated my mumblings. “Huh? Wha-?”  No bars around me and I was higher up off the ground than usual. The lights were still off but the sun was out.  I was up on the changing table with pajama  leg snaps open and the diaper now loosely pressed up against my groin. 

 That ice water that had disturbed me, was merely the first cold wipe caressing my penis. A rude awakening, but given my life it shouldn’t have been unexpected. I was more disturbed that Janet had lifted me out of the crib and managed to unsap the legs and get my diaper off without me stirring. 

 Was I that tired?  A yawn gave credence to that fear. No other dreams had plagued me that night and other than waking up to pee (which I did standing) I had no other marker for the passage of time.

“Sorry,” Janet said.  “You looked really cute sleeping, but you needed a change.”  Gingerly she pulled the diaper back open, as if she were afraid that I’d open fire on her again; would that I could.  I rubbed my eyes and fought back sleep. 

I hadn’t even stood up to pee that night..  I’d just opened my eyes, rolled over to my stomach and hoisted my hips up enough to do the deed.  Then I’d plopped back down with an added squish to my front, and went back to sleep.   Add the cringe I was feeling to things I was fighting off.  At least the baby monitor hadn’t turned back on…that I could tell.

Jessica’s incompetence of switching out the wrong end of the monitor that one time had spared me from a single night of conditioning and gave me a peek into the minds of otherwise tight lipped ex-friends, but not much else.  Recovery wouldn’t happen if the abuse was still regular.

 I’d hoped that Janet’s turning off the monitor before she went to bed ended the subliminal messaging. The fact that I was still waking up to pee let me pretend I had a measure of bathroom autonomy left. Some of my classmates in Beouf’s room pooped themselves while they snored.  It was the kind of thing to make one self-conscious.

I stopped fidgeting so that Janet would remove her hand and get back to work.  Memories of that night’s dreams and frustrations parted with the morning fog.  My eyes darted down to my penis. My pale, limp, flaccid, not even close to erect penis. Thank goodness.

Janet’s lips were a tight thin line while she wiped me down front to back.  Each wipe that my member remained limp seemed to give her a kind of calm like an old man trimming a bonsai tree.  Janet was just as uncomfortable with what happened in the shower last night as I had been, though likely for very different reasons.  I could imagine her going back and looking up some crackpot religious nut named Froid, worried about what the ramifications were.

Hot water, naked bodies, and nice singing could happen to anybody. Sometimes a boner was just a boner. It didn’t mean anything.

My ex-friend balled up the diaper beneath me and visibly loosened up once she tossed it away.  She grabbed another Monkeez, this one a daytime diaper.  “Okay, baby. Almost done. Then you can sleep in if you want-”

“Please don’t call me baby right now,” I said.  The ‘please’ was the only thing keeping my tone from being described as ‘snapped’.

Color spread in my former colleague’s cheeks. She had genuinely forgotten herself. Typical.  “Oh. Okay. I’m sorry. Mo-...I didn’t mean it like that, Clark.  I just meant it  as a term of endearment.”  

My teeth threatened to grind together and outraged adrenaline started seeping into my bloodstream.  I’d let her take an inch in the shower and she was giving herself a yard. Unacceptable, and yet so, so predictable. Typical.

“I don’t care how you meant it,” I said. “I don’t like you calling me that word right now.”  There was no context in which I’d be comfortable hearing the giantess call me ‘baby’ after last night.  On a side note: It’s very hard to sound authoritative while someone is powdering your ass and slipping a fresh diaper under you, but I almost pulled it off.  Almost.

Janet looked like she didn’t know whether she should be angry or embarrassed or both. Her eyebrows, nose, and lips looked like they were in a kind of three way wrestling match for dominance, with her blood vessels acting as referee. Her face was practically a neon billboard that couldn’t make up its mind on what combination of mix and match expression to use. 

She waited to finish diapering and redressing me back into the pajamas, built in socks and all. “I am guessing that you’re having some very complex feelings right now.  Not because of Maturosis, just sometimes things get complicated and time is needed to process.” She took a deep breath.  “Me too,” she confessed. “Me too. So I will do my best to respect your needs and not say certain things.”

“Thanks.” I reached up and let her scoop me onto her hip.

She swayed and pivoted slowly so that I was by turns facing the crib or the door.  “Back to bed or breakfast?” she asked.  I opened my mouth to say neither, but she cut me off. “One or the other, Clark. Not both. Not neither. This is a fair choice.”

I grumbled. “Breakfast.”

“Good,” we turned right out of the door into the hallway and towards the living room and kitchen. “What do you want?”

I yawned again. And spotted the clock.  Dang.  It was almost nine.  I almost never slept that late, not without copious amounts of alcohol and staying up till at least three in the morning.  “Milk, I guess.”  My stomach wasn’t exactly growling.

“Okay.”  The trip to the fridge to get a freshly prepared bottle was a quick one.  “In here or on the couch?”

I eyeballed my dining cage otherwise known as the highchair.  “Couch.”

That was good enough for her. A dozen or so giant strides later we were both on the couch.  She handed me the icy cold milk, making sure I had it gripped in both hands and then shifted me off of her lap.  

“There’s some stuff I want to talk to you about…” she said.  “But that can wait until after breakfast.”  I tensed and untensed in equal measure.  

She knew what I’d been doing in the crib last night, or rather trying.

I knew she knew, and she knew I knew she knew.  We both knew. It didn’t mean that I wanted to talk about it.  My own face heated up at the very thought.  Out of all the times she supposedly missed out on me cursing her, she just happened to overhear me failing to masturbate. What were the odds?  What was I missing?

Stupidly, I with drew the nipple from my mouth after a couple of sips. “Like what?” 

“We’ve got a four day work week coming up,” Janet said. “I wanted to take some time to plan ahead with you.”

A wet throat and a dry bottom helped my gears turn more smoothly.  What was likely coming up soon, that necessitated a four day weekend.   “Fall Festival?”  I asked.

Her eyes brightened. “Yup.”  She tilted the bottle back up to my lips.  “Breakfast first. Let’s get that out of the way.”

I started sipping from the milk, letting it fill my stomach.  Janet reached for the remote and flicked away from the news towards one of the two kid/Little friendly stations she let me watch. I zoned out and went inside myself, thinking about the week I had ahead of me.

A cultural wasteland like Oakshire has relatively few big events. When a supposed selling point of living in a place is that it’s close to many more interesting locales, having a big event is kind of against the point.  The Fall Festival was one of those exceptions that proved the rule.  

Every town and city has something like a Fall Festival.  Some call it Harvest Haunt. Some call it Spooky Night.  Or Howl An’ Scream. From my understanding, what the festivities are called is largely a matter of region but basically the same thing; much like grocery stores.  So depending on where you live and when you’re reading this, you might or might not have a different name for your town’s particular shindig.

All involve a fascination with a fall harvest and an obsession with tricks and the macabre.  People dress up in costumes that range from scary to sexy to silly, and beg strangers for Tricker Treats. Legends say the traditions are rooted in fear of people dying over the winter and superstitions about monsters creating a societal need to maintain the appearance of control by making merry and pretending to “trick” the imaginary predators that would be growling at your door  Depending on how cynical I was feeling any given year, I attributed the stupid not-quite-a-holiday to either corporate greed selling an excuse to party or Amazons desperately needing an excuse to act in a manner they’d otherwise consider ‘immature’.  Presently, I was leaning towards the latter.

Oakshire’s Fall Festival is somewhat notable because it directly involves much of the town with the schools acting as central hubs for the festivities. For one whole day, Oakshire Elementary, Middle, and High, would cease pretending to be places of education, and run themselves as makeshift circuses to supposedly raise money. 

The highschool’s football, soccer, and track fields would boast rented carnival rides with questionable safety standards. The middle schoolers were treated to having their entire campus turned into a giant haunted house replete with community theater volunteers acting as ghouls and goblins. Oakshire Elementary regularly transformed itself into an even brighter and kitschier version of a carnival boardwalk with makeshift games, cheap snacks, and jokey sideshow attractions. (Behold! The Two Headed Cat, Born With Only One Head!).

Technically, the whole shebang was labeled as a teacher workday, and schools were formally closed.  Students were not required to attend, but naturally their parents would take time to buy tickets and drive them back and forth to all three sites.  Beouf and I would sometimes joke that Fall Festival was the one time of year that kids were actually willing to pay to go to school.  Remembering that made me sadder than it should have and I focused back in on the T.V.

“Mommy Yay! I’ll-be-big-some-day!”  Another commercial for training pants that I wouldn’t get to wear, featuring a model who was young enough to actually need and grow out of them.

Nevermind…

Lazily I leaned into Janet’s side and kept nursing the bottle. The warmth of her body felt good with the coldness of the milk.  She draped her arm around me, and I tolerated it, admittedly enjoying the physical touch in the moment.  At least she wasn’t talking.  The only complaint I could muster was how much the pajamas muted the sensation.  It was like I was wearing a body sock.  

I closed my eyes and wondered how nice this might feel if we were skin to skin. Shower-!
Something stirred down below, ever so slightly, and my eyes popped open.  Nope. No. Nope. Nuh-uh.

Fuck.  Nevermind.  I continued sucking down goat’s milk and zoned out inside of myself.  Back to dreading Fall Festival

For Fall Festival, the teachers, of course, were quietly encouraged to participate and run booths, attractions, and concession stands. We could hypothetically claim that we needed the day to ourselves to work from home and put in grades for the first report card, but such lack of community spirit was frowned upon.  This time of year, I envied Tracy’s position as a Teacher’s Aide. Technically, assistants weren’t required to be on school grounds for teacher work days. They got the time off.  Zoge always volunteered for a few hours before taking Ivy to a bounce house.

Personally, I always did the bare minimum, handing out spicy cinnamon and lemon sour candy to kids and Littles while they Tricker Treated at my classroom door.  “Oh-ho! I really thought you were a skeleton! You sure tricked me! Here’s a treat!”  Hokey winks would be thrown back up to the parents and the older students.  What? If a highschooler wanted free candy from me, they were going to get it but I was going to annoy them slightly. It was practically a rule.

In real life I leaned over and fell into Janet’s lap. Muffets were on, but the crazy screams, corny jokes, and canned laughter were more background noises than anything to me in my morning haze.  

“Hmm?” Feeling my wait, Janet looked down from her phone and purred, petting me..  “You can close your eyes if you want.”

So of course I kept them wide open, staring into the middle distance.

More than just students came to the Fall Festival. It would have been a poor fundraiser if we only tried to take money from our parents. Everyone in town knew to stop on by, throw some money into a plastic bucket and get a roll of tickets so that they could bob for apples and toss rings onto glass bottles. 

Dwarfing the bus loop, Fall Festival is also when I expected to see more mindfucked Littles than any other time of year.  If I’d bothered to commit their faces to memory, there was a good chance that I’d have been at least passingly familiar with a few of them during my first Little Voices meeting.

The one thing that neither Brollish nor the school board required of us teachers was to dress up in a costume. Good thing, too. I couldn’t have afforded to be ‘mistaken’ for anything other than a teacher.

Oh. That made sense.

I finished my milk, sat up and sighed dejectedly.  “You want to pick a costume out, don’t you?”

Janet’s surprise and delight was so genuine that it hurt.  “I really do!” she shoved her phone in my face.  “Here, what do you think?”

I leaned back like the phone was an overeager dog.  “Pee & Gee’s Moisturizing Diaper Rash Gel?”  That wasn’t a costume on screen, but an online shopping ad for green goop that looked like it would harden hair better than it would soothe bottoms.

“Ooops!” Janet turned her phone away and started thumbing at it.. “Sorry. Just getting some things delivered from DiaperDash.”  The woman who regularly stripped and washed me seemed embarrassed for some reason.  “Hopefully by later this afternoon.”  The phone came back at a less intrusive distance. “How about this?”

The image on screen was of a woman in a kangaroo costume. The kangaroo’s pouch was modified and moved up closer to the chest and allowed a space for the legs to dangle out like a proper baby harness, but hid the legs beneath a detachable flap. The baby costume was just a long sleeved shirt and a hoodie with ears. 

“Mommaroo and Joey?” I said, reading off the official “That’s very nice Janet, but I don’t know how you’re going to fit into the pouch.”

“Ha. Ha. Clark.” Janet rolled her eyes.  “What do you really think?”

“So I have to be carried around by you all day?”  I said. 

Janet’s lips puckered in thought. “Not necessarily. I can take you out of the pouch if you want to play or ride one of the rides.”

She let me take her phone from her and I pointed to what I saw as the design flaws. “I thought I didn’t have to show people my diaper in public anymore,” I said. “This would be forcing the choice to get carried around by you, or have everyone see it.”

“You could have something on over it.” I did not react. I might have been my own picture day retake photo.  The pause grew longer. “I don’t see why you’re so hung up about…” she held her palms out to no one in particular.  “Okay. No. You’re right. That’s fine. No Mommaroo and Joey.”  She seemed disappointed.

My gut gurgled slightly. “Thank you,” I told her.  Janet’s acquiescence was more strategic than anything.  The Fall Festival for some was Oakshire’s Event of the Season. She couldn’t have me throwing a temper tantrum.  That was an inch she’d give me, so I’d take my due ten yards.

“Okay,” she thumbed through.  “How about this?”

I was pre-loading my objection before my eyes could focus on the image when my head whipped around to the sound of blaring trumpets playing a corny pseudo medieval fanfare.  A Little frowning on a king’s throne wearing crown and diaper.

Just like all Monkeez commercials, the Little boy didn’t talk so that the footage could be reshot with an actual baby but the audio kept the same and aired in different Little-centric markets.  “Old King Cole was a sad Little soul, for a wet and leaky diaper had he.” The announcer spoke over the footage.  The Little on screen made a harlequin frown and bowed his legs out the way we all tended to do when pee was dribbling down our thighs.  The poor bastard still had enough of his wits about him to play act.

 “So he called for one that could stop leaks. It is Monkeez, my lord for thee.” Sliding in on a golden ottoman, a package of Monkeez entered the frame with the package showing a Little on it of course.

I almost ignored the building pressure in my bottom. The heavy cream of the morning milk had threatened to put me to sleep, but it had woken other things up.

The camera shifted to a picture of an open diaper with a femine hand brushing the insides to show the features the same way that a woman on the nightly news might gesture towards the winning lottery numbers.  “Monkeez have leakage control shields and an extra absorbent core that protects from leaks like no other diaper. With extra firm tabs to keep everything in place they provide leakage protection that’s fit for a king.” 

“Now Monkeez are the royal choice guaranteed to make this king rejoice.” Changed into a fresh diaper between takes, the Little ‘king’ bounced on the balls of his feet and clapped his hands, no better than a baby.  “Monkeez: Happily Ev-.”

“Can you please turn the T.V. off?!” I shouted louder than I meant to.  
Janet reached for the remote and flipped the screen off.  “Okay, okay.  Is the noise bothering you?”

“Yeah,” I half-lied. “Sure.  I’m just feeling kind of overstimulated.”

She looked disturbed. “Overstimulated?”

“Not like that!” I yelped, embarrassed.

“Like what?”

We were both doing great at not talking about last night. So why start now?  “Just let me see the next costume.”

That got her attention.  “Here, what about this?”  She handed me her phone back.  It didn’t take me three seconds to reject it.

“No thanks.”

“Awwww,” Janet whined. “Why not? I thought it looked cute.” She turned it around and pointed to the duo. These models were an Amazon and Little. “See? I’m the cowgirl, and the horse is part of the costume so I walk around in the inflatable half and it looks like I’m riding it.”  As if I couldn’t see that from the product photo.  

“Yeah,” I rolled my eyes. “And you want me to be the dumb cow that got roped.” 

Janet scoffed. “What? No! That’s just part of the costume. It gives you a harness so you can walk but I don’t have to worry about you getting lost.”  

A rock hit my stomach and settled in, nestling down into my lower intestines right by my sphincter muscle. Over the last week my bowels had started to catch up with my bladder in just how worthless they were.  The discomfort I felt wasn’t half as great or urgent as it had been at the doctor’s office, but not pushing things out was starting to feel just as pointless as holding my urine.

If holding my bladder was akin to trying holding a mug of coffee all day, not messing myself in the moment felt like I had a weighted gauntlet with an itchy wool interior. It was easy to ignore the cup of coffee to the point where it was possible to set it down and forget it if I wasn’t careful.  Conversely, the gauntlet added a weight and discomfort with every movement and every stillness that was harder and harder to ignore.  Eventually, I’d give in and take the gauntlet off so that I could scratch that itch, and all the weight would leave me alongside my dignity. But at least I’d be relieved of the weight and the irritating urge to scratch.

“Janet, can I go to the bathroom please?” 

The Amazon looked like she’d broken herself out of a light trance. “Honey, I just changed you. You can’t be that wet, yet.”

“No,” I felt myself grow flustered. “I have to poop.”  Why was it still so fucking embarrassing to say out loud?  Shame was the downside to potty training’s autonomy.

“You almost peed on me,”  Janet retorted. “I think we’re way past potty training, sweetie.”  She seemed to almost catch herself then doubled down instead. “No. Sweetie doesn’t count.”

I tried to rebut but got bowled over. “Come on, that’s not-”

“I think you’re just trying to redirect the conversation because if you stall long enough I’ll have to pick out a costume and then you can make me feel bad for not picking out one you liked.  I know you.”  She gave me a smug smirk and crossed her arms over her chest triumphantly.

Janet may have been an Amazon trying her best, but she was still an Amazon. Any inch I gave, she’d take and drag the entire football stadium back in her direction. Getting naked and bathing was negotiable, diapers were still a hard limit she would not let herself cross.

Fine. I’d hold it, easily enough. I knew enough places around the house to poop in peace and Janet wouldn’t hound me all day.  In a worst case scenario I could wince and moan until after lunch and use the privacy of my crib.

“That’s not it at all,” I said. “It’s just a dumb costume that makes me look stupid.”

“I’d be wearing an inflatable horse,” she countered. “I’d look silly. You’d look cute.”  I didn’t want to look cute.  Slowly, tantalizingly, Janet zoomed in on the picture of the Little in the cow suit.  “It says the udder attachments actually squirt,” she cooed playfully at me.  “It would be very easy to fill them up with milk and have you ‘accidentally’ squirt Miss Ambrose or Miss Forrest.”

Okay, she kind of did know me.  “No.”

Janet threw her head back into the couch cushions.  “Can you give me more to work with?”

“You’re in charge all the time,” I said. “Why can’t I be in charge for costumes?”

“That’s why I’m letting you pick it out, honey.”  She just wasn’t getting it.

I slipped down onto the floor and walked around to her lap.  “Mommy and baby, Mommaroo and Joey, Cowgirl and Cow,” I ticked off on my fingers. “Who has the power in that dynamic?”

What I was really asking for- more like bluffing if I’m being honest- hit her. “You want my costume to be lesser than yours.”

“Yes!” I pointed. “That!” That hadn’t been my plan at all. I hadn’t had one starting out, but that was a suitable obstacle to throw up.  It’s remarkable what lies can become truth under the right circumstances.

My obstacle wasn’t enough for her.  Within seconds she scrolling through ready made options to order.

“Shark and victim?” She offered. “You get a full body costume, I get a fake bloody t-shirt.”

The blood stains were on the breasts. “No.”

“Mad scientist and flesh golem?”

“Creator and creation?” I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t think so.”

“They’ve got it with the sizes switched. You could be the mad scientist.”

“And remind myself that I used to be a teacher?” That was a reach and I didn’t care.

“You’re just being difficult.”

“Maybe.”

“I didn’t like that one anyway. Wise Wizard and Owl Familiar?”

“No fake beards.”

“A flower and a tiny bumble bee?”

“Vaguely sexual, and there’s a million bay-bee jokes in there.”

“Milk and cookies?”

“No. Just no.”

Janet put the phone down and yanked me back up so that I was standing on her lap, her arms steadying me.  “Then what? What do you want?” Her voice turned into a kind of rumbling gargle. “You come up with something creative, Mister Silly Sock Day.”  She was getting aggravated and trying to play it off as being silly.  Maybe it was the other way around.

I breathed in.  If Janet wanted this inch, I’d make her give me the entire mile.  “Let’s be silly and cross dress.” That didn’t sound right. “Sorta.  Let me wear that stupid outfit that looked like my teacher clothes. You go to a pharmacy and buy diapers in your size.  Get some markers and decorate them so they look like Monkeez and-”

“Absolutely not.”  

“No, no, no. Hear me out, Mommy.” I was grinning ear to ear. “It’ll be a funny subversion of the status quo!. Plus if you have to go to the bathroom, you can just go and it’ll be part of the costume!  We can have leash system and you can secure it to my wrist so I can’t run away, but the majority of the harness will be on your chest!” A beat. “It’ll save a lot of money since we have most of the materials.”

I was sorely tempted to suggest that I could also check said costume diaper and ask all sorts of personal and invasive questions that any self respecting adult would shudder at.  I was getting better at bear poking and knowing when to pull back.

Janet, admittedly, was polite enough to let me finish my absurd pitch.  “Nice try,” she said with finality. “No.”

I didn’t think it would work.  “Oh come on, Mommy! It’ll be fun!”

“Clark…” she warned.  

I’d overstepped. She’d trained herself to hear the insincerity in my voice. Now, if only she could train herself to listen when I wasn’t on the verge of tears.

 “Why do we have to coordinate costumes at all?” A faint buzzing moan played at my throat. “Why can’t I just be what I wanna be, and you be what you wanna be?”

While still keeping me steady on her lap, Janet averted her gaze.  “This is going to be our first Fall Festival together,” Janet said. “I want it to be special, ya know?”

Our first.  If I had my way, it’d be our last, too. I wouldn’t get a chance to get my way unless things got better at home.  “What about something less…I don’t know…cutesy?”

“You think mad scientist and flesh golem are cutesy?” 

I offered  only a shrug in reply.  Something about it just wasn’t hitting the mark. If Janet was going to earn this small insignificant victory from me, it’d have to be worth my while. I wouldn’t fake amusement, and it’d be better for me if I didn’t have to create my own.

My legs shaky, I was lowered back down to the carpet by a temporarily defeated Janet.  “I’ll think of something,” she whispered mostly to herself.  “You can go play…”

My cheeks clenched and I turned around to go search for Lion. If memory served me right he would still be on the nursery floor where I’d tossed him.  If I was going to poop, I needed something to squeeze the life out of and then curse when I finally broke down and asked Janet to wipe me.  

“Wait!”  Janet half yelled, sounding excited. “What about this?!”

I didn’t even have to turn around. She bounded off the couch and circled around me. “Huh? Huh?  Scary. Kinda cute. Very clever. And you’re kind of the star and I’m kind of the sidekick?”

She’d switched over from one cheesy costume site to another: ColdConcept.com  “Isn’t this place for middle schoolers that want to look like edgy highschoolers and for highschoolers who don’t know what goth, punk, or college style really looks like?”

“Used to be, back when we were kids,” Janet agreed. “They just aged up with us and cash in on nostalgia.”

That Froidian slip earned her selection actual consideration.  I leaned over and inspected her choice.  My heart leapt into my throat. This lady really did know me.  If the past several months hadn’t happened the duo costume is exactly the sort of thing I could have talked myself into going along with. 

Almost.

“My costume is a onesie…”

“Onesie still covers your diaper,” she replied.  “I’ll check the weather, but I think it’ll be warm enough after eight or nine…”  She was reeling me in and she knew it.

“No.” 

“I’ll get you pants to wear over the onesie if you really want…”  The smile and cheeriness in her tone were becoming infectious.

“Still no.”

She was all teeth and beaming eyes.  “You’ll get to pretend to zap me…”

I’d get to pretend to zap her.  In public.  “And you’ll roar in pain? Like in the movie? Not ignore me when it gets old to you.”  Dang it! Now I was starting to grin!

“Ten times,” she offered. “I still want to be able to talk.”

“Twenty,” I countered.

“Ten.”

“Fifteen.”

“Ten.”

“Twelve.”

“Five.”

I growled. “Fine, but it has to be ten, and no exceptions.  If I zap you in front of somebody’s parents wanting to have a teacher conference or whatever, you get zapped.”

She chuckled. “You’d be doing me a favor there, honey.  Deal.”  She reached out her hand. I gripped her fingers as hard as I could and we shook on it.

Before I went back to my room, I wondered aloud.  “Hey. About that costume.”  Not many, if any, would have thought of something that clever and oddly appealing.  Not even…I didn’t let myself finish the thought. “It’s not Muffets.  How’d you think of it?” 

Proudly Janet tucked her phone away. “Little Voices, last week. I was eavesdropping with you.  First rule of being an involved Mommy: Pay attention to what your Little is paying attention to.  I know you like more things than just Muffets.”  The nail in the coffin. “I kind of like this stuff, too.”  

A wise strategy. Good parenting. Might be bad for me in the long run.  No matter. Let Janet have her inches upon miles. I’d make my compromises where I could find them and strike harder when the opportunity presented itself and take it all back from someone else.  On some level, I’d already decided I’d take this day out on Beouf somehow.  In the meantime I was going to go find a quiet place to take a dump. 

“Hey,” Janet called after me. “Do you want to help me grade papers later?  Maybe we could do some of that yoga together this afternoon?”

“Yeah,” I replied without thinking.  “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

“Kay kay.  Say hi to Lion for me.”

“I will.”

[Samriis]

All I have to say is... Yay!  We got another chapter!

[something101]

Clark is clearly doing a better job settling down as an adopted little than he is trying to escape. 

[Personalias]

Chapter 97: Tension and Release 

Sunday afternoon, just after lunch.  In lieu of a nap and Janet starting her paperwork, Janet and I were torturing ourselves. Each other too, by proxy.

“Alright now,” the yoga instructor on T.V. said, “let’s just ease on back into cobra and inhale.”  From my position on the floor, I pushed up and locked my elbows while keeping my lower body flat on the ground like a snake.  “Now get your toes underneath you and exhale into downward facing dog!”  I planted my toes and lifted my ass up towards the ceiling while keeping my head near the ground.  I looked like a toddler that was just about to work out how not to crawl.

“Ooooooooooffffffff!” Janet groaned on the floor beside me. 

I was naked save for the Monkeez.  She was in shorts and a sports bra. The ceiling fan was on full blast yet we were both dripping with sweat.  It had been a while since I’d done anything like this but outside of a few differentiated terms it was like riding a bike.  Janet had never done exercise like this and she was panting heavily.  

That made me feel good about myself.  That was something about yoga that I liked. No limits but yourself, your own endurance and how far you were willing to push yourself.  Janet could lift me up over her head like I was a pillow, but the world was made for her; so she rarely had to test or push herself. She wasn’t as experienced as I was.

“Take a second and bend those knees,” the hunky himbo on screen said. “Walk that dog! Bend that left knee, bend that right knee.  Make sure you’re stretching out those ankles!”

The mindfucked Little to his right responded with “Yes, Daddy!”

“I know you’re doing it, my Little bud. Daddy’s just talking to the people at home.”

“I know, Daddy,” the Little said.  “I’m just tryna help.”

“Heh. Right, Jem! You are!  You’re a super big help!”

The camera didn’t zoom in or anything, but I I could see a hint of blush start to rise in the Little’s cheeks.  I didn’t think it was from embarrassment at being condescended to, but from genuine praise from his Daddy.  Poor son of a bitch had gone full native and been mindfucked all to hell.  It was the only explanation as to why he was going along with this farce.

Janet and I were all but naked.  The two men on screen- one Little and his so-called Daddy-were decked out in official looking t-shirts and pants (that still failed to hide the outline of the Little’s diaper ) and didn’t look at all fatigued.  Twenty minutes in and Janet and I were absolutely drenched with sweat.

“Okay, look at me,” the Amazon video instructor said,  “Now bend your knees, and you can either step up like Jem or pounce like me!”  The Little moved his feet forward and slowly raised himself into a standing position, the Amazon leapt forward to where his hands were and stood up.  At home, Janet stepped; I pounced.  I wasn’t going to let her win this one.

“Before you get too comfortable,” the Amazon said. “Squat, drop and lower into catcher’s position.  Now lift your arms up over your head, biceps by your ears!  Remember, you gotta keep those arms stiff and tense so that your heart is pumping faster to get more blood to those muscles.  But if your heart rate is getting too high, it’s okay to untense and disengage. Breathe in…and as you’re breathing out, stand up and count back from five…four…three…two…one…”

Neither Janet or I counted along with the duo on screen. We both were straining too much to speak.  If she had counted, I would have made myself count back, too.

In the living room we reached a full standing position about a quarter of a second from the yoga instructor and his pet Little.  My muscles sang out in pain and relief when he said, “Now fold forward and just let your upper body hang there for a second. Don’t lock your knees, you can bend them a little.”

I sighed and turned my head to look at my captor.  Janet’s hair was a raven mop obscuring her face. It was gratifying in ways I couldn’t give words to seeing her struggle like this.  Mean spirited?  Maybe.  I didn’t think so, though. Vulnerability meant more than seeing each other naked and it was nice to feel like I was genuinely better than something at her. The fact that I was several months out of practice and overweight made it even more gratifying.

“Go ahead and roll it up to a standing position one vertebrae at a time. Your head should be the last thing up.” Like marionettes coming to life we did.  I was breathing kind of hard. She was panting.  “Now back up into touch down!”  We raised our hands straight up over our heads. Janet and the instructor in the video closed their legs and put their feet together.  The Little and I couldn’t because of what was between our thighs.

“Arms down by your waist, press your thumbs and index fingers together.” The instructor kept going.  “You know where we’re going.  My favorite move of the day. Bend backwards like a catapult.”   I did so, imagining that my hands were cupping a massive boulder, ready to launch its payload towards a castle I was laying siege to. I couldn’t be certain, but I told myself I was bending further back than Janet.  “Now arms out to a T, clench your fists and get strong!”

“RAAAAAWR!”  The Little on the television growled as we all leaned forward and flexed like the old fashioned muscle men.  For Janet, myself, and the Little in the workout video, it looked comical. From the Amazon leading us, it looked impressive.  Dude definitely did more than just yoga.

“Ten-hut! Shoulders back, chest out!”  We held it for a silent three count. “And shake it out. Go ahead, grab some water.”  He bent over and grabbed a water bottle.  His mindfucked Little took a sip from one with a rubber nipple.  

Janet did the same as her counterpart.  I abstained.

“Mommies and Daddies, if you or your Little one needs a break,” the oddly flexible gym bro said,  “it’s okay to pause this and come back to it later.  Check in with your Little one. See if they need to cool off or if they need changing. Maybe they need to get down to just a diaper. Maybe they need a new one. You’d be surprised how much exercise loosens things up if you know what I mean.”

“Daddy!” the Little giggled.

“Oh. Sorry, Jem,” he winked at the camera.  

The redness in the Little boy’s face was definitely not from exertion or overheating.  Something in his expression told me he wasn’t hating the attention, however.  

“And you know,”  Grown-Ups can need a rest too, and that’s okay. “Do whatever is right for you. It’s your workout.”

It wasn’t my workout, though. I’d never done this program before in my life, and was far from my first choice. It was only a dozen or so moves and poses done in repetition with a handful of variations but it was killing me.  The fact that it was being marketed online as a home workout for Amazons and their Littles made my skin crawl.  It was on a short list of Little Voices approved exercise media; a recent addition according to Janet’s site.

 To be fair though, it was pretty low budget making it brass tacks.  Also there were no cartoon characters involved or edited in. The fact that it was marketed as a ‘family workout’ goaded Janet into participating with me and it kept the Amazon instructor from being too condescending.  I wished the Little wasn’t wearing diapers, but what else was new? It was either this, or an old recording of Dancercise. I’d made the right choice.

“Okay. Now if you're ready we’re gonna take this into a whole ‘nother rhythm.”

DING-DONG!

It seemed like we were both being saved by the bell. Janet walked over to the coffee table and pressed the pause button on her phone, halting the feed to her television.  “Coming!” she called. I picked up the bottle filled with water and took a pull on the rubber nipple when her back was turned before following her to the front of the house.

There was no delivery man waiting at the front. Just a box of Monkeez big enough for me to fit inside, a bundle of wipes I would have needed both hands to carry, and a bottle of green goop bigger than my head.  “DiaperDash,” Janet explained. She closed the front door behind her with her foot, and I remembered to feel embarrassed at the idea that a stranger could have seen me nearly naked.  “We’ve got enough food for now and I didn’t want to go all the way to the store for essentials.”

I hated that these sorts of things were becoming ‘essential’.  She walked right back past me and I followed along behind her back into the living room.  “I didn’t think we were running that low,” I said, more afraid of silence than anything else going on.

Janet didn’t break her stride. The giant baby supplies were more cumbersome than heavy to her. I had to walk double time to keep up, just like the old days when we were headed up front instead of back to the nursery.  “We’re not.  Most of this is going to Mrs. Beouf’s room.  Hopefully this will keep you stocked up over there until Winter Break.”  

She placed the bundle of wipes on the lowest shelf of the changing table. A single stack of diapers was unwrapped and went into the hammock above it.  The massive jug of green goop went into the alcove next to the baby powder, and Janet broke the seal to attach a plastic hose to it.  I cringed imagining where that hose might end up.

I suddenly wished we were back doing three second push-ups and runners lunges.  “So are we gonna finish?” I thumbed back towards the living room.

“I think I need to stop,” Janet let out a long breath.  “If I don’t, I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

“Heh,” I muttered.  My heartrate was starting to slow and I was feeling slightly dizzy. “Cool.” 

“You want me to throw up?”

Kind of. “No,” I said. “I just…it’s been a while.”

Janet nodded in understanding. “Me too.  I see why you like this stuff.  You can do it without any special equipment and you don’t have to run anywhere.”  She wiped beads of sweat off of her forehead.  “I think I might want to get yoga mats…that or carpet cleaner if we’re going to be doing this more often.”

I cocked my eyebrow and swiped my own forehead. “You want to do this more often?”

“Yeah,” she replied. “It’s healthy.  Good exercise.  Maybe something we could start doing after school?”  

Our breathing was slowing and we were both regaining our composure. “Yeah.” I said. “Maybe.”  It wouldn’t hurt to lose a few pounds.  Being less pudgy couldn’t hurt my escape attempt in the long run.  The pettiest part of me fantasized about going down a size and forcing Janet to waste money on buying a new diaper size for me.

My eyes slowly wandered up to the baby monitor and I remembered that I had bigger, and more immediate worries regarding my freedom.  Janet letting me exercise in a manner that didn’t involve cartoons or tights was an empty gesture if my thoughts were slowly being rewired night after night.

“Janet,” I said. “Can we talk about something…?”

She finished closing up the Monkeez box and moved it right next to the nursery door. Those would be joining me in the backseat of the car on Monday, no doubt. “What’s that?”

“You know how we had a shower together last night?”

Instant discomfort washed over her.  “Yeah, I don’t know if I want to do that right this second.” She grabbed her left bicep, shielding her breasts at the same time. “I feel gross right now.  I can rinse you off in the tub real quick and put you down for your nap, but I need to shower by myself.  Maybe later?”

A strange feeling that I wasn’t brave enough to label came to me but the mention of a nap allowed me to push past it.  “I was thinking about tonight, actually.  I was thinking maybe we could put that cot together and I could sleep in your room tonight?”

The giantess averted her gaze over to my crib.  “No.”

“No?”

Her posture was icicle rigid. “You need your rest.  You’ve got school tomorrow and I don’t want to keep you up with me coming and going.”

“You won’t,” I said. “I just don’t…” I froze. How much truth could she handle?  She’d already slammed her foot down in regards to my toileting. “I don’t want to sleep in here anymore.”

“Why not?” She stepped away from the crib and changing table over to me and sat down on the floor.  Her skin still glistening from sweat she cocked her head to the side and asked, “What’s wrong?”

Half-truth worked with Jessica.  Might work with her bestie.  “I’m scared,” I admitted.  My index finger pointed accusingly at the thing that had been slowly but surely fucking with me in my sleep.  “Of that.”

My Mommy didn’t need to look at what I was pointing at.  “Auntie Jessica said that, too. Why?”

“I don’t think it’s doing what it’s supposed to do.”

Janet averted her gaze again. “Trust me,” she said flatly. “It was working last night.”

My face fell. She’d heard me last night, but it wasn’t my curses that had grabbed her attention. I felt gross all over just imagining her listening to the crinkling sound of me rubbing my hands and thrusting up against piss soaked padding while I tried to remember what sex was like.

“I think it’s hypnotizing me,” I squeaked. “I’m having trouble saying…things.” My skin buzzed all over in the worst way, just thinking about what I wanted to tell her.  “I can’t say…I can’t say…I hhhhh….I can’t say.”

Janet’s face turned into a wax candle and dripped to match my own. “Oh, honey.”  Amazon arms pulled me into a hug and I was too bewildered to fight back.  “That must be so scary. I’m sorry you’re going through that.”

Briefly, I forgot my fear and resentment and whispered “Thank you.”  Maybe she’d listen this time…

“It’s just a King Fisher, though.  All it does is listen. It doesn’t tell.” To herself, she chuckled ruefully and added, “as long as Auntie Jessica puts the right end in.”

So much for that emotional respite.  I shoved myself away and almost tripped over the back of my heels onto the carpet. “No! You’re not listening! It’s…it’s…!”

“You’re not gonna like what I have to say,” Janet told me, “but if you think you’re losing vocabulary that’s probably not the monitor. It’s a King Fisher. All it does is listen.  Part of the reason you’re in speech therapy is to give you strategies for if and when you lose Grown-Up words.”

My entire body was turning pink in frustration. “You’re! Not! Listening!” I stomped my foot with each word, not giving a damn that it wasn’t helping my case.  Nothing would help my case unless she wanted it to.  The monitor was fucking with me.  Just because a so-called Maturosis Advocacy group hadn’t flagged it, didn’t mean it was safe. The hypocrites probably knew it and were looking the other way because it suited their narratives.

Janet held her palm out to silence me. Incredibly, I obeyed.  She lowered her hand and stared at my feet so as to avoid eye contact again.  “Okay,” she sighed. “You win.  No monitor for now.  You’ve been sleeping through the night mostly anyways.  I’ll take it out.  For now.”  

“Really?” I asked.

Sadly, sulkily she nodded. “I was gonna take it out for at least tonight, anyways.”

“Why?”

She puffed air out her lips and stood up. “After dinner,” she said.  “In the meantime, let’s get you clean.  Then I’ll take a quick shower, and we can grade papers together.”  I was up on her hip a moment later.  “You can skip your nap and I’ll give you a bottle of milk after dinner so you can sleep better tonight.  Deal?”

I thought about it.  “You’re getting rid of the monitor?”

“I’m unplugging it and walking out with it so you can have some privacy.”  I felt the heat from her face with that remark.  I should have foreseen what was to come.  “Deal?”

“Deal.”
**********************************************************************

The rest of that lazy Sunday went by as planned.  I got to skip a nap, I graded third grade spelling and math papers, (this time not sabotaging any), and had a relatively relaxing afternoon well into the early evening.  

Dinner was vegan chicken nuggets (supposedly lower fat), and dessert was a bottle of goat’s milk on Janet’s lap watching a boring office sitcom that was half a season in and half a season away from cancellation.  I didn’t pay attention to it, instead just allowing Janet to cradle me in her arms while I pondered what new forms of torment to unleash on Monday.  

Beouf had missed two days of school and the A.L.L. had been perfectly well behaved in her absence. We’d have to make up the difference this week.  Maybe something with vomiting?  Perhaps finding a way to work in obscenities or better yet, a secret language that merely sounded obscene.  I dismissed Amy’s ‘kitty cat’ game as unoriginal and something Beouf would adapt too quickly to.

 No shower was offered, nor was one asked for.  I felt clean enough in my t-shirt and diaper and other than a change of each before bed I wouldn’t need help getting to sleep that night.  

When the show ended, I dropped the mostly empty bottle onto the couch and let out a mighty yawn.  My drowsiness wasn’t helped by the fact that it was getting darker earlier in the year.

“I think it’s about time,” Janet said.  She kept me in a cradled position and carted me back towards the nursery.

As she laid me on the changing table, she started humming softly to herself.  The tone of her tuneless song subtly altered in the midst of her changing me, just after she slid the thicker nighttime diaper beneath me and just before she reached for the baby powder and stopped herself.  There’s a difference when one is humming because they’re content and humming because one wants to seem content.  I almost missed it, myself.

“No baby powder?” I asked as the first tape was fastened onto the landing zone, right over the rainbow colored primates snoozing on clouds and crescent moons.

Janet visibly shuddered, struggling with herself.  She helped me up to a sitting position and pulled the t-shirt up over my head forcing my arms up.  “We’re going to try something kinda different tonight.”  A looser night shirt followed and my arms were fed through the sleeves.

“Different?”  I echoed, not seeing where this was going.  The baggy shirt more than covered my diaper. I had classmates who would have killed to have clothing so discreet, that is if they had any sense of privacy left to them. 

We weren’t going over to the crib.

“I’ve talked to Amy’s Mommy and some of your other Little friends’ parents.”

I did not like where this was going.   Had Amy or one of the other Little Voices kids ratted me out?  “About…?”

Janet wasn’t looking at me again. She took a deep breath. “This is going to suck,” she said simply.  “This is going to be embarrassing.  But as your…” I saw her jaw work around. Is that how I looked when I was second guessing myself and choosing my words carefully?  “As someone who loves you, I want you to have everything you need.  That includes…sleeping.”

My pulse doubled in speed. “Was there something in the milk? There was something in the milk, wasn’t there?” 

She kept talking over me. This was a speech she’d rehearsed in her head at least a hundred times over the course of the afternoon. “So I’m going to put something in your diaper to help you.”

In my diaper?  “Help me what?”

“Sleep…cuddle…”  Every syllable caused her to cringe. I could hear the air quotes and the naked discomfort all the way from the back of her throat. “Like you were trying to do last night…”

Oh no…  “Masturbate?” I asked.  Janet winced and shut her eyes like I’d levied a curse.  She was visibly uncomfortable.  Her reason for not wanting to share a bedroom with me took on a completely new context.  “Janet. It’s not like that, I promi-!”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Janet’s speech trampled right over me. She grabbed the bottle of green goo- the rash lotion she’d had delivered earlier that day. “You can go right to sleep if you want.  This stuff is also very good at stopping and soothing rashes like it says.” She took the rubber hose from the bottle, lifted my shirt and stuffed it down the front of my diaper.

“Hey!” I complained. “What are you-? Stop!”  She smacked my hands away with enough force that I hesitated.That hesitation gave her the time to give the pump top three quick pumps.

BLURT! BLURT! BLURT!

For the second time in less than twenty four hours, something icy cold covered my genitals.  I fell back on the changing table and pawed uselessly at the front of my new Monkeez, spreading the jelly like goop around my front.  “AAAAAAH! What the fuck are you doing?!”

My cursing didn’t seem to register to Janet.  She merely withdrew the hose and readjusted the tapes so that there’d be no chance of me reaching my hands through the gap the hose had created.  “It’s supposed to be for if you have diarrhea or for when we’re on a long car trip where I won’t be able to change you.” 

I felt the hose sneak into the back through the leg cuff.

BLURT!

 “It just also might make your diaper very…comfortable.”

I wriggled on my back. “How is this comfor…?” No. That was besides the point  “It’s cold! And I don’t want to!”

Janet picked me up and quickly deposited me down into my crib.  I stood up and gripped the rails. Behind me, in the middle of the mattress, Janet had already deposited an extra big, extra fluffy pillow: Amazon sized. Big enough for my entire body to…cuddle with.

“You don’t have to,” Janet said stiffly. “But it’s for your own good that you…it’s just for your own good.”  

The cold mint colored jelly was starting to tingle as my body added heat to the stuff.  “Janet!” I whined.  But I didn’t know what to say.

Janet busied herself unplugging the baby monitor and rapidly wrapped the power cord around the box.  “See? I’m giving you privacy. Like you need. You can do whatever you want and Mommy…” she winced and her entire top row of teeth bit into her bottom lip.  “Sorry.  I won’t be listening in.  Promise.”  

Baby monitor clutched to her chest, Janet walked over to the side of my crib and leaned over. She gave me a kiss on the top of my head.  “Good night, Clark. I love you.” 

She power walked out the door like she couldn’t get out fast enough. Her legs were so absolutely wooden that if I hadn’t known any better I might have supposed that I was back at a Gwiffin Party and that she was actually the greatest Little cosplayer to ever don a pair of stilts. With three swift actions: I heard the flicking of a light switch, the clicking of a closing door, and something I hadn’t heard since my Adoption: the metal fidgeting of someone locking a door.

I was alone with only a childish nightlight, stuck in a diaper that I hadn’t soiled myself, trapped in a crib that if I’d managed to hurdle over would result in me spending the night on the nursery floor, and confined with a blanket a judgemental stuffed lion a sleeping pillow and a humping pillow.

“What the fuck Janet?!” I screamed through the door. “What the fuck?! I…I h-...” I still couldn’t say it though. 

I shuffled around in the crib, my eye twitching and my face grimacing while I tossed the extra pillow to the foot of the barred bed.  This was gross. This was so gross.  She expected me to…in this…and sleep in it?

I’d slept in worse. 

My finger gingerly poked at my crotch and I heard the crisp crinkle coming from the diaper. Diapers become swollen and more squishy as their cores absorb more liquid. Whatever was in this stuff wasn’t getting absorbed, meaning that I could pee all night and the diaper would be at no great risk of leaking or blowing out.  Urine would likely flow right by the stuff and get absorbed.  Poop might get mixed in, but the gel would still act as a kind of barrier on my skin.

The application was admittedly clever.

It could also be used as a subtle way to delay (or undo?) potty training. I’d just been changed and already felt like I’d both wet and messed myself. Sensory wise, would I even notice if I used the diaper? Like so many other Amazon ‘achievements’, whether intentional or not, this one had decidedly sinister uses: An Amazon could pop a training chocolate into a Little’s mouth, force feed them water, and then squirt this stuff into their pants every single day and said Little might be functionally incontinent within a fortnight and forget to care about it.

The bulk of the rash goop sloshed around in between my legs but left a tingling layer on my privates that was hard to ignore. The initial chilling shock had gone completely and whether through body heat conduction or some chemical reaction the goop had taken on a pleasant tingling, tickling, warmth.  It was similar to wetting and messing but without the disgusting bodily implications and it lacked the distinct unpleasant odor of either function.

Also, to my chagrin, my pants didn’t feel like they were cooling back down to room temperature. A wet diaper would keep the telltale squish in front or the mush in back but within minutes the temperature would fade.  This wasn’t.  Not even close.

The tingling. The warmth. The wetness. The squelching, sloshing, sticking. From a purely physical standpoint, it was the closest thing to sex that I’d had in a long time.  I poked my crotch again and felt the pleasurable warmth spread and double down. All I had to do…

 My manhood was engorging itself in anticipation before I’d finished the unconscious, intrusive thought. “Fuck,” I hissed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

I practically slammed myself down into the sitting position. That did nothing, save spread the warm tingling stuff to the front and back again. My balls and asshole felt like they were being played with, tickled by a million sterile tiny sloshing fingers.  “Oh no….”

Squeezing my legs had the opposite effect, just sending more of the slime up my front, causing me to twitch and moan through my teeth.  I wanted to paw at the front of my plastic backed prison; to smooth stuff as far as from my sensitive spots as I could manage.  What if I started and then accidentally…?

“No,” I promised myself. “No. No. No. No.”  I laid down and tucked myself in, grabbing Lion and squeezing him as tight as I could, almost as tight as I squeezed my eyelids. “Just go to sleep, Clark.” I whispered to myself. “Just go to sleep.”

It wasn’t working. It just wasn’t. The payload that started in my front was still mostly there by the feel of things and my penis was now painfully erect and no matter how many times I sang “We’re all together again”, listed off Muffet facts to myself, or quoted lines from Ghosthaunters both one or two.

This was worse than Saturday night because there’d been no dream to trigger it, no.  Could I wait until I peed myself and maybe that level of perpetual disgust would calm me down or was there a secondary reaction in store for me that the manufacturers of this so-called rash medicine neglected and that Janet would refuse to acknowledge? 

I didn’t realize I was pawing at my crotch again until I heard myself quietly humming.  I rolled over onto my stomach to make it stop. Big mistake. The added pressure only made things worse. Thrusting my hips and grinding myself into the mattress felt practically reflexive.  It was like having an itch and the only way to relieve it was to knuckle under and scratch it.  

I wasn’t sleeping tonight. Not until I got some kind of release.  I sighed and lied to myself, tossing the blanket off and crawling to the foot of the bed. “I’m sorry, Cassie…”

Propping myself up on my elbows I shimmied and straddled the nearly full body sized pillow and started to slowly grind into it, thrusting and trying to get comfortable like a virgin after he’s finally talked himself and that special someone into giving him what he craves but isn’t ready for.  “Oh…” I gasped. “Mmm….” The extra mass and the tiny bit of friction from sliding and bumping around, grinding against the pillow was intensely, almost primordially satisfying. 

I once read about a study that was done on baby monkeys: They were separated from their actual mothers and given two dummy mothers. One was made of cloth and offered only basic warmth and comfort. One was made of wire and offered only fundamental nourishment.  The study found that the poor orphaned monkeys would cling to the cloth dummy for as long as possible until the nearing point of starvation forced them to climb onto the wire dummy and feed. Then it’d be right back to the simple emotional comfort of the cloth dummy.

Humping that pillow and feeling like an imbecile I didn’t know if what I was doing to myself was a matter of a biological need or an emotional comfort. But as I gripped the wooden bars and thrust harder than I thought possible, aching for climax,  I felt a connection to the poor baby primates in that experiment.

 If I wasn’t going to finish before that moment, I definitely was after. I had to and there was no going back.  No amount of tossing a stupid stuffed animal or grumbling to myself or swearing was going to help me.  I needed sleep if I was going to keep hurting Beouf and if I was going to get it, something had to give. If I didn’t do this, Janet would just keep hosing me down night after night until I did.  

The cult of Little Voices had gotten its hooks into her brain and after Thursday night’s special presentation and Saturday night’s mishap, she wasn’t going to settle for less. It didn’t matter if she took the baby monitor out of the room if my ability to sleep was still being sabotaged. All of that might have been bullshit lies, but they were lies that I needed to tell myself then and there.

Coitus is objectively silly looking no matter what the circumstances, but it’s also a bit like riding a bike. It’s all a matter of finding the right balance: Leverage, rhythm, and the ability to mentally take in everything that works for you in the moment and block out everything that doesn’t.  Needless to say, there was a lot more to block out than I’d become accustomed to.

I closed my eyes and pretended the bars were a headboard. I half-pretended that the warm fluffy pillow beneath me was a body of some kind.  I reminded myself that no one but Lion was watching me, and Lion counted less than a dog licking its own asshole. I replayed and whispered half a dozen of my personal greatest hits back to myself.

“Oh Clark…”

“Cassie…”

“I love you…”

“I love you too..”

My virginity. My wedding night. The time we’d gone at it like rabbits after my close call before graduation.  The re-enactment we’d done when our washing machine had broken down just before I’d gotten sucked into this pastel hellscape. It was all so good, but none of it was good enough to get me there.  

Mentally the pillow was on its back. Then I was taking it from behind. Then fuck it, it’s just a pillow who cares what position it was in?  Either I was unwilling to finish and was purposefully drawing out pleasure I hadn’t allowed myself in months, or I was too afraid to let go and consider what this might mean for me.  

Pissing and shitting myself was inevitable given my current situation.  Purposefully cumming in my taped on jockeys…was that a form of surrender?

My arms were starting to ache and my hips and ankles were feeling sore, both from what I was doing and from aftershocks of the yoga workout that afternoon.  If I’d had an actual partner, I would have asked to switch and be ridden so I could catch my breath.

“Come on,” I whispered to myself. “Come on. Just do it. Get it over with.”  I bit my lip and started humping the cushioning like I thought I was on the verge of winning something.  My teeth gritted against each other and I kept grinding, listening to the sounds in my head and breathing in through my nose.

A single real world scent followed by a solitary musical note heard only in my head.

A subtle whiff of someone else’s shampoo embedded in the pillow from an unquantifiable number of times going to bed right after taking a shower. The memory of a note from a corny ass song heard twenty four hours prior.

Panting and quaking, I collapsed on the pillow as the illusions in my mind shattered like windshield glass in a high speed car accident.  My penis pulsed and throbbed, ejaculating sperm out into the still thirsty padding up against it. My heart thudded happily in my chest while my junk spasmed joyously, already starting to deflate and rest. Unsurprisingly, I couldn’t tell that I’d added anything to the contents of my diaper after the fact.  It was probably a placebo effect, but the gel caking my loins didn’t seem to tingle or tease as much as before.

Unfailingly, my bladder woke up enough and told me that the price for sleep was further debasement.  So I took a piss before my aching body and buzzing consciousness finally calmed down and allowed the nightlight shadows to claim me.

Janet found me early the next morning, still asleep on top of that ‘cuddle pillow’ as she’d referred to it.  She didn’t say anything or ask any questions: No ‘did you sleep well?’, or ‘have fun?’, nothing to imply that she was doing anything besides wiping gel residue off of me and getting me ready for school.  If she was uncomfortable or blushing, my morning vision was too blurred and my own personal dignity kept me from examining her very closely.  Still, her tuneless humming sounded more content and natural than it had before I’d gone to sleep.

I asked her to leave Lion in my crib that day. Judgmental bastard had been laying on his side near the head of the crib staring at me all night long.  Screw him… just not like that.
 

[Tailie]

The last line was classic.

[Samriis]

Great to see another chapter! 

[Personalias]

Chapter 98: Compounding Fractures

I sat with my head down, wheezing at Beouf’s teacher table.  My eyes were puffy. My vision was blurry and my nose was running like a snot faucet down over my upper lip. My breathing was labored and ragged and my face felt hot even though the air conditioning was cranked up as far as the thermostat would allow. To the typical Amazon, I looked like a Little who was in the depths of toddlerish despair: Maybe I needed a fresh diaper, or I’d seen a cartoon animal lose his mother, or my Mommy had told me that I couldn’t have chocolate pudding first thing in the morning even though it had the same calorie count as my cinnamon applesauce.

To a non-Amazon, my ragged appearance might have been an indicator that I was feeling sick. Allergies, or just a good old fashioned case of the campus crud.  Those puffy eyes could have been a matter of pollen instead of potty pants.  Or maybe an actual relative had died; or some other legitimate reason for a person to feel sad or afraid.

A Little still on the outside would have looked at me and shook their head, predicting that I wasn’t long for the adult world.

Said imaginary Little would have been off by about seven years, give or take.

On some level, all of the above assumptions would have been at least a tiny bit correct.  I was about as sick as I could ever remember being up to that point. I’d been awake since two that morning and couldn’t get back to sleep because of all the aches and pains I’d had.  By three, I’d gotten over the resentment I’d felt watching Cassie blissfully snore next to me and quietly booted up the computer.  

The next two hours had been spent typing up a lesson plan so thoroughly detailed that it would be impossible to actually implement.  The damn thing would have better functioned as programming instructions for a sophisticated nanny-bot.  Every child had accommodations and if/then behaviors with reinforcement procedures as well as notes to a complete stranger on which child could likely be trusted and which couldn’t.  It was the level of paranoid, meticulous detail that first time parents left a neighborhood sitter who barely knew how to properly heat a bottle of milk.  

Only there were ten children in my class and preschoolers had far more idiosyncrasies than your average newborn blob. In the end, I buckled and rode into work on my scooter, despite how awful I felt.  I just had to make it through the day and then Cassie could take care of me when I got home. 

She all but begged me to stay and call in sick; let her take care of me like she always did, but I stubbornly refused. It was so much work for a teacher to make substitute plans, that it was almost always easier to work sick than it was to stay home and get better.  Teaching was juggling and it was easier to keep the clubs in the air by myself instead of passing them to a stranger who hadn’t had the time to experiment and test out the various balances and weights of each object.

Being a Little made it harder. Weakness could not be shown. If I showed up and was under the weather, there was every chance I’d go unnoticed by admin, and my assistant Tracy would help me pick up the slack. Brollish though? And that psycho Forrest? Me being absent would draw their attention and scrutiny.  It was exposing my underbelly and inviting them to analyze everything about me that they could to justify and then slap a diaper over my bum and plop me, ironically enough, in this very room.

Tiredly, I glanced over and saw the open door to Beouf’s bathroom. I wasn’t feeling nauseous; I didn’t even have food in me right then. I’d skipped my usual breakfast shake out the door and didn’t kiss my wife because of how gross I felt.  

But I wondered if it would be a better idea in a worst case scenario to make a run for it and vomit in her bathroom.  Heavens knows that that would be the only use the toilet saw this school year.  More importantly there’d be less of a chance of one of my kids accidentally tattling on me and telling their parents I was sick. Beouf’s own mindfucked brats wouldn’t know enough to tell their Mommies and Daddies and if they did it’s not like they’d be believed, the poor bastards.

Being sick and not filling out plans for the substitute would be taken as a sign of Maturosis. I wasn’t mature enough to plan ahead of time or be thorough enough in my notes; or maybe I was too thorough. I might need a doctor’s note or I’d be accused of lying or exaggerating my symptoms. Very immature.  Coming to work sick would be a sign of Maturosis, too, since I couldn’t advocate for my own health well enough.  Getting sick in the first place might have been a symptom of Maturosis since it was evidence that I was doing something unhygienic or unhealthy. Trying to hide my sickness might be a sign that I was hiding other things, however.

Beouf had explained a lot of the ups and downs and ins and outs of the fraudulent condition my rookie year with the confidence of a doctor, the enthusiasm of a zealot, and the straightforward unblinking faith of a child who thought Mastodons could hide in jelly bean jars.  I’d tuned out more than half way through to stop myself from a panic attack. Maturosis was definitely my co-worker’s particular flavor of baby crazy. 

 Two things I was sure of: My sick days were purely symbolic and that the true definition of Maturosis was “Whatever the Amazon needed to say to win the argument against a Little.”

 If I wanted to keep the madwoman my ally, it was best to avoid the topic as tastefully as possible.  On the bright side her position as a teacher probably kept her from Adopting. It was easier to not binge on chocolate when you got a steady drip of candies every day.

Beouf took her seat and slid over my usual mug.  “Here,” she said. “Drink this.”  I saw her hand slide over and place something next to the mug.  “And this.”

I barely looked up. “No thanks, Mrs. Beouf. I’m not feeling very thirsty.”

“Drink, Mr. Gibson,” she said. “You’re going to dehydrate yourself if you don’t.”

My head lifted up and regarded her.  Back then she was still rocking a bleach blonde look before she finally gave up and settled back into naturally curly reddish brown locks with an ever growing crop of gray.

 “Doesn’t coffee-?” I stopped myself.  The only thing in the mug today was tap water. Next to it was a golden gel capsule the size of a horse pill. 

“Take some water to grease your pipes,” Beouf said.  “Choke down the pill. Finish the mug. Then refill the mug and down that.”  It was an order, but not a threat.  

I did as I was told and gulped everything down. I barely breathed until I was up on the step stool refilling the mug. Beouf quietly sipped her black coffee, not saying anything until I’d retaken my seat.  “Make sure to finish the mug before Tracy and Mrs. Zoge get here.  Two of those pills keep me wired all day when I’m sick. For your size? That might be closer to three.”

“Thanks,” I said, and started gulping down more water.

“Welcome.” 

As we did approximately four hundred or so times before, we sat in mutual comfortable silence for a minute or so, waiting for the sun to finish waking up and join us. 

“Got a case of the third year panics?” Beouf asked when I’d been done pretending I was a fish.

I raised an eyebrow. My face was starting to buzz, but in a good way this time. “The what?”

“First year sucks,” Beouf said, leaning back in her chair. “You learn that everything they taught you in college was more or less bullshit as far as how things work in the real world.”

“Yeah,” my noggin bobbed in agreement. “Textbooks are too old. Resources are too small. Time is too short.”  If Cassie and I had any friends we could have regularly interacted with, our social life would have died then and there.

Beouf added, “Parents and kids don’t act like you thought they would.”

My head was in my hands. “Don’t get me started on parents.”

My coworker laughed that wild bark of a laugh she did when the students and admin weren’t around.  “Same. Then the second year,” she continued, “you start to get kind of good at it but you’re still waiting for things to get better. Then the third year everything hits the fan and it sinks in that it’s not gonna get better; you just have to get tougher.” She waited till I looked up at her. “How am I doin’?”

“You forgot Brollish.”

Beouf shook her head and glowered at a spot in the air. “Oh don’t get me started on that woman.  Mann wasn’t great, but at least he had the decency to leave us alone and let us teach. I swear that woman is out to get everybody who doesn’t actively kiss her ass.”

“Yuuuuup.”

“That why you’re working sick? Too many notes to write? Afraid the old witch is gonna invent something wrong with them? Worried that your kids will act up cause their routine is broken and somehow that’ll be your fault?” 

Right on the money.  “Yuuuup.”  I wasn’t shivering anymore and my sinuses had dried up completely. Despite only having water I felt like I’d downed an entire pot of coffee.  Wow, that pill had some kind of kick to it! 

“I get it,” Beouf said. “You can’t just put on a movie, or have a one size fits all emergency lesson plan. Or just leave a note telling the sub to do worksheets or have them read a couple pages of a textbook. Too many moving parts.”

“Yuuuup.”

“Yeah. The bigger grades don’t get it.  Maybe Kindergarten, but that’s it. Our babies need lots of love and attention every day.”  Through willpower or fatigue I didn’t make a face when she compared her gaggle of mindfucked adult Littles to students who were actually children. Beouf reached over the table and put one tremendous palm over my hand. Oddly enough, I didn’t flinch or jump back in my seat and it had almost nothing to do with the mounting medicine high. “Don’t worry. I’ve got your back.”

And I believed her.

******************************************************************************************************

“Good morning, Clark,” Beouf chirped the moment I waddled across the threshold. “It’s good to see you again!”

I buried down a quip about how the feeling wasn’t mutual and chose to look down at the rough worn carpet of her classroom.  “Yuuup.”

“How was your weekend?”

Predictably, Janet answered for me. “It was pretty quiet, but good. We did some yoga. He’s actually pretty good.”  

Actually. 

As if I wasn’t supposed to be good at it.

Typical. 

Janet wore a blue dress with white polka dots, her dark hair up in its professional looking bun. I never expressed it, outwardly, but it was one of my favorites. I was in shortalls with long socks. Arguably, my favorite outfit because my Monkeez were covered up and it was impossible for anything to be poking or peeking out. This pair was baggy enough that it’d be hard to tell if I was wearing them until they were good and wet, and as the day wore on and the air heated back up my socks could be rolled down from just below my knees all the way back down to my ankles.  

Even better, I could do the adjusting as I saw fit.  f**k my life that being able to bunch up and straighten out socks was something I was excited for.  I couldn’t prove it, obviously, but I had the distinct sense that Janet was trying to cushion my ego by picking out the clothes for me that caused minimal agitation.  Darkly, I wondered if she chose that day’s outfit because more layers made it harder to masturbate. 

“Yoga?” Beouf echoed in her sing-song teacher voice, so unlike the casual co-worker tone I’d grown accustomed to over the years.  “Cool! If we ever get stuck inside for recess one afternoon, maybe you can show us some poses or something.”

In reply, I gave a decidedly non-committal shrug. I was in no mood for Beouf’s infantilizing antics. Quite the opposite actually.

“I’ll catch you up on our way to the front,” Janet said. That was enough for my other ex-friend and the pair made their way out the way we came in. I heard the beginnings of chatter before the door swung shut, trapping me with Ivy and Zoge.  

My mouth twisted into a terrible scowl. Would she tell Beouf what I had done in my crib last night? Had I lost even that bit of privacy. Why had I done that to myself and indulged in that moment of weakness?  Why couldn’t I have stopped myself? It’s not like with the training chocolate, or the diapers in general. 

There had been nothing forcing me to lose control and losing control hadn’t been a physical inevitability.  And when I had finally achieved that sweet, very adult release, why had I accidentally been thinking of…?

I was disgusted with myself and everything about me that morning. Not even the mellow buzz of a belly full of goat’s milk completely numbed my shame.

Beouf was going to hurt for it and I already knew how I’d make her.

“Ready Clark?” Zoge asked.

“Yes, ma’am.” I replied, not even thinking about it. 

“So polite!” the Yamatoan beamed. “We’re off to a good start today! I’m proud of you!”

The words barely registered. Nor did her tender violations as she patted my bottom and sniffed around me, casually checking to see if I needed to be taken to the changing table before snapping the walking leash around me. 

“Good morning, Clark.” Ivy said, her voice neutral, but cordial enough considering everything I’d willingly put her through.

Where Ivy stood, I failed to see another person with thoughts and feelings and a past, but instead saw a collection of traits, quirks, behaviors, and the risks associated with them. “Ivy,” I echoed her tone. “I hope you’re well enough.” That was a lie. I wasn’t even thinking about her beyond how she might make my goals harder.

“Thank you.”  She sounded slightly taken aback and on guard. Why wouldn’t she? The only time I was reliably nice to the faux Yamatoan was when I wanted to manipulate her, and she was finally getting smart enough to realize it.  Hopefully that meant she’d keep her distance this morning.

Silently, we three walked to the bus loop as we always did.  I waited next to Ivy while trying to eavesdrop on the two Amazons, tuning out the smell of bus exhaust, and listening over the sound of rumbling engines and squawking children.  My pulse picked up a notch when the Little bus arrived.  Chaz in his stroller would be dead last, so I had to hope that the first kids out would be Billy, Annie, or even Tommy.

No such luck.

Plopped in front of me with a fresh bob cut and a pink bow on top of her head was Sandra Lynn. Behind me was resident tomboy Mandy.  If not for the color of her shirt and shorts, not to mention, her breasts, she might have been mistaken for a boy.   Mandy was near the bottom of my list of Littles to break and recruit because of the effort it would require, and Beouf had made Sandra Lynn’s brain match the contents of her diaper just before summer vacation. To hear Chaz tell it, she was sticking around this semester just so Beouf could make sure that she wasn’t faking it.  

Neither were fans of mine or my crew. Nobody said something worth doing would be easy.

“Morning, Sandra Lynn,” I waved.  “Wanna hug?” What I really wanted was to be able to whisper into her ear.

The inmate who’d done the longest time here next to Ivy curled her upper lip in distrust and disgust.  She may have genuinely regressed to the point where she thought boys had cooties.  “Why?”

My eyes lit up in pantomime inspiration.  “Why? Ooooo. That gives me an idea…”  I mouthed the words slowly enough that even someone who’d lost their literacy could read me: ‘Why Day’.

The doll’s eyes widened  “Mm-mm,” she refused. “No. I want recess.”  

I shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Ugh,” Mandy groaned lightly while more and more of us were being lined up. “Boys. Stop trying to make Why Day happen again. That’s so last year. Why Day’s Over.”

I looked back in line over my shoulder. “I can bring it back.”

“How?” she narrowed her eyes, curious but distrustful.

“Only do it to Beouf,” I hissed quietly, my voice masked by the nearby buses.  “Just Beouf.  Zoge tells.

The smarter of the two pouted her lip out.  She clearly had a sour taste in her mouth.  Damnit. Where was the A.L.L. when I needed them? “Wwwwwhy?”

How to explain why this would work to someone whose emotional complexity had been reduced to a five year old (and that’s if I was being generous)?  “If we don’t do it to both of them it’ll take them longer to know what we’re doing.”

“No,” Mandy said. “I mean, ‘Why Beouf? Zoge’s way more gullible.”

Because I wasn’t in the mood to hurt Zoge. Because Zoge hadn’t betrayed me. Because Zoge had never really been my friend so she was a lesser enemy.  Because Zoge wasn’t moving a cult along that was slowly turning me into a full time pants wetter, crib sleeper, and bottle sucker. Because I could hurt Beouf without having to sleep under her roof.  Because I was processing a vast array of complex, conflicting, and complicated emotions, and the best way to stop myself from coming to terms with those emotions was to hurt that hypocritical bitch who only ever really looked out for herself and tossed me in the cradle at the first opportunity and was going to do the same thing to Tracy if Tracy wasn’t clever or lucky enough.  Because I needed to hurt her the way she’d hurt me.

What I said was, “Because we were good for Zoge all last week and she’ll protect us.”  I wasn’t sure if they’d heard me or if I’d kept my voice too low.  “I’ll give one of you half of my snacks all week.”

“And,” Sandra Lynn piled on, “You have to play house with us and be the baby at recess.”

I sighed. This had better work.  “Fine.”

“And we get to pinch you. And you have to tell everybody when you poop and let us know what a big dumb baby pants pooper you are.” Mandy teased.

“Only if we miss recess,” I glanced up. It was cloudy already. It might rain.  “Only if we all get in trouble, I mean.  Not just me.”

I saw Mandy look over at Sandra Lynn. The pair exchanged a handful of nods, shrugs, and hums; some bizarre language the two had worked out. With no further questions or debate, it started down the gathering chain of Littles. “Why Day, but only Beouf, pass it on.”

**********************************************************************************************
“Okay, Clark,” Beouf called from the tiny classroom bathroom. “Come on up, buddy. Let’s get you changed.”

Jesse had already tapped me on the shoulder, signaling that it was my turn. I’d ignored him, obviously. I rolled my socks down to my ankles and looked behind me from the circle on the floor. Beouf was on diaper duty and Zoge was leading the Yamatoan nursery rhymes. “Why?”

“Because it’s your turn, silly.” Beouf cooed, not yet showing any signs of annoyance. “Now come on.”

“Why?”

She kept trying to wave me in. “You can come back and sing later, bubba. Come on.”

Good ol’ Chaz craned his neck. “Why?” 

Zoge stopped singing and the rest of the class faded out.  We all knew what was happening.  Smartly, Mandy jumped in. “Yeah. Why? Let Clark sit in his messy pants if he wants to.”  

For the record, my pants were not messy at the time.

Without further reply, Beouf walked to the circle, hoisted me up by the armpits, and carried me over to the bathroom. “Mrs. Zoge. Please continue.”

“Welcome back, Mrs. Beouf.” Zoge.

Circle Time continued with me in the bathroom, the sounds fading and being covered up with the cave-like echoes of Beouf huffing to herself while she restrained me to the changing table, popped open the snaps and readied the new diaper.   “Oh Clark,” she said. “What am I gonna do with you? Mrs. Zoge said you were so good while I was gone.”

“Why?”  I wasn’t even looking at her. I turned my head to the opposite side and stared at the slightly raised wood paneling of the changing table and the white concrete bricks of the wall behind it.

My ex-mentor made no reply or remark. She just changed me, carried me out of the bathroom and sat me directly on the naughty stool.  She was in no mood today, which of course made it the perfect mood. I spared her a quiet, terrible and thin smile and swore I saw one of the curly brownish hairs on top of her head lost some color.

She went over to the circle and tapped Tommy on the shoulder so as not to interrupt.  Tommy straight looked up.  “Why?”

“Tommy,” Beouf warned. “Make good choices.”

From different sides of the circle, I caught Chaz, Annie, and Billy giving our lowest member the death glare.  Tommy did make the right choice, after all.  “Why?” Beouf picked him up like she had me and carted him away.

“I’m very sad, Tommy,” Zoge said when the stupid baby game song had finished. 

Then Tommy struck gold.  From the bathroom, with what I can only imagine was his ankles crossed over his head and his dick hanging out, Tommy shouted.  “Yes Mrs. Zoge, I’m sorry Mrs. Zoge, I love yooooou!”

“Yeah!” Annie said. “I love you Mrs. Zoge!”

“I love you, Mrs. Zoge!”

“Love you, Mrs. Zoge!”

“Love you.”

Chaz started the escalation with a crawl towards the big woman.  Like good Little monsters, the others followed suit, not even bothering to rise to their feet but shifting over to their hands and knees, crawling to the seated Amazon and wriggling into her lap for a hug and making a cuddle puddle all over her.

“Love you.”

“Love you.”

Looooove you.”

“Love you, Mommy.”

Zoge was overwhelmed with all the affection.  Her entire life she’d been taught that people like us were supposed to be adorable babies by default and we were giving her everything she wanted.  If Zoge had a weakness it was us giving her exactly what she wanted.

From the naughty stool I leapt up and scampered into the Circle Time area by the whiteboard. Both Amazons were too preoccupied to stop me. I steeled myself and licked my lips, ready to do what needed to be done.  Gently nudging and shoving my way in, I leaned over, and planted a big wet sloppy kiss on Zoge’s cheek.  “I LOVE YOU MRS. ZOGE!”

The assistant’s eyes popped open.  “Clark, no kissing.” She gently nudged everyone off of her. “And get back to the naughty stool. You’re still in time out, mister.”  She was melting inside. Outside too.

I should try this trick on someone el…no. Just her.  Just Zoge.  Only Zoge. Ever.

“Yes Mrs. Zoge,” I said and immediately rushed back to the stool by the teacher’s desk. “I love you!”

Reflexively, Zoge echoed. “I love you, too, Clark.  Mrs. Beouf and I love all of you. But we have to sit down and finish Circle Time.”  There was no ‘Why’.  Only obedience.

 “Mommy! I want kisses too!” Poor Jealous Ivy was too caught up to hear the sound of Beouf’s heart breaking.  Perfect. It’s wonderful when a plan comes together and all the variables are accounted for.  In turns.  Sandra Lynn and Mandy shot me satisfied, approving glances.  It was early yet, but it didn’t look like I was going to be playing house any time soon.  I gave them each quiet thumbs up.  They weren’t Adult Littles; but they were accomplices. 

The only two things that I’d found to be particularly effective and replicable at rattling Beouf were stalling her instruction through the ‘Why’ game, and through giving Zoge affection. So why not just hit her in both sore spots simultaneously?

*************************************************************************************

Janet held my hand in the bus loop that afternoon. It made her hunched and crooked, but she didn’t try to lift me up onto her hip. Nor did she place her hands over my eyes and play a stupid game of Guess Who.

“Can we talk?” Beouf asked her. “All three of us? For a conference?” She was worn and tired. The humidity had made her hair frizz even more and it was a wonderful reflection of how she must have been feeling. 

 Every Little in class had been questioning her while being completely subservient for Zoge while reminding her of their love. Close to snack time she’d started pre-empting the kids at Beouf’s table to behave after every center rotation. “Yes, Mrs. Zoge. I love you.”  Oh did that grind on the ol’ gal.

To hide it, Beouf had stayed on diaper duty all day, including emptying the pail in the dumpster. Snack time too. Anything where she could technically be doing something without having to actually interact with any of us.  

Credit given where credit’s due, she was smart enough to just take her spot back on the carpet during whole group and wait expectantly for us to check our visual schedules.  You can’t ask “why” when a command is not given, and none of us were bold or stupid enough to directly defy her in any other tangible way.

At lunch, Ivy had genuinely asked a question and Beouf’s jaw started grinding and her teeth clicking to stop herself from biting the idiot’s head off.  Fun day.  Good day.  Real ‘Week One’ stuff.  High fives behind the oak tree were shared.  

Not ten minutes ago, I had gotten Mandy and Sandra Lynn to quietly admit that they were, in fact, big dumb baby pants poopers in the concrete tunnel. That wasn’t part of the deal, but some sense of playground honor allowed me to coax it out of them as an admission of defeat. 

No pinching or playing house was in my immediate future.  It almost made the annoying buzzing in my brain go away. Almost.

“Of course,” Janet replied. “Why? Did something happen after I left?”

All the air came out of Beouf and she rubbed her temples.  “Kind of yes. Kind of no.  I just. I’m having difficulty and I’d like to set up a conference where all three of us can talk and strategize. Something isn’t working and we need to make it work.”

Conference. Another intervention. More punishment. More expectations. More attempts to talk down to me and get me to see their non-reason for tormenting me.  More humiliation that started in private but would spill into public. More threats.

“That’d be great,” Beouf said. “Thanks.  When works for you?”

Janet squeezed my hand.  I was going to get such a talking to when we got home.  “We can do it right now, if you want.”

“Oh no, no,” Beouf said.  A note of panic that came out as a sad but tired laugh.  “Not today.  I’ve got other stuff I gotta do.  Paperwork. An I.E.P. meeting to prep for. Lots of stuff.”

“Tuesday we have that faculty meeting.” Janet noted. “His Auntie is picking him up.”

“Wednesday then?” Beouf offered.

“Wednesday.” Janet agreed.  She looked down and Beouf’s gaze followed her. “Does that work for you, Clark?”

She was actually asking me?  I stared up at the two giantesses who had once been so close to me.  “Yeah. Sure.”  Wednesday would be enough time to steel myself. Easy peasy as long as there were no surprises.  I was running out of emotional silver bullets, but so were they.

“Okay,” Beouf said. “Wednesday after school.  Conference time. No getting rushed by the buses and needing to check in.”

Janet picked me up for ease of transport. “Deal.” The women said their goodbyes and went their separate ways.

Looking at Melony’s shrinking form I saw her shoulders start to shake. She might not make it to her room before she started crying this time.

I smiled to myself…

And felt nothing except a strange sense of guilt and sadness.
 

Chapter 99: Testimony

“Excuse me Mrs. Beouf,”  Jasmine Sosa popped her head in.  “Can I borrow Clark?”

Beouf frowned in confusion and looked at the clock on the wall as if to confirm.  Tuesdays were common enough for Speech, Occupational, or Physical Therapy to pop in, but that happened well after morning activity centers.  “Um…sure,” she said.  

Sosa stayed with one foot out the door.  “Awesome,” she said. “Just trying to make up for lost time before progress reports go home at the end of the week.”

“Got it,” Beouf said. “Anybody else?”

“Nope. Just, Clark.”

The so-called teacher pointed towards the door.  “Alright Clark. Hop to it.”

“Why?”  My gaze was unwavering and a challenge to her.  I might as well have not have heard her command.

“Clark, my love,” Zoge said from across the room. “Please go with Miss Sosa.”

I stood up out of my chair and pushed it in. “Yes Mrs. Zoge.”  Every word felt like a jab right into Beouf’s throat. “I love you.”

Zoge fluttered, then stiffened. “Go, please.”  She made a point to avoid eye contact and to immediately restart her own center activity.  We’d put her in a pickle.  She was the only Amazon any of us would listen to without complaint or question, but Beouf was also her superior.  Everytime she helped she was indirectly undermining her supervisor’s authority. They had the option of running us through their curriculum or derailing themselves in trying to correct only slightly objectionable behavior.  How wonderful would it be if I was causing professional strife between the pair?.

I yanked my pants up and pulled my shirt down and made my way to the door. Stretchy waistbands and bulky plastic backing had never been a great combination.

Sosa held open the door for me and allowed me to walk out by myself. I veered right so we could walk around the building as usual. There was an extra skip in my step that morning. Without prompting or asking, the ‘why’s’ and ‘love bombs’ were continuing.  Some one-on-one to antagonize Sosa was sweet sweet icing on the cake.

Overstepping my bounds or not, I still had an ax to grind with her.

 “Hold up, sir,” Sosa said three steps in. “We’re not going that way.”

I paused.  “We’re not?”

“This way.”  Sosa thumbed to the left.

“But that’s towards Skinner’s room,” I said.

“I know.”  She started walking away.  “You’re going to work with all three of us. Come on.”

I set my jaw. “Sure.”

The crinkle in my walk sounded louder. Or maybe that was just stress, but I power walked until I was side by side with Sosa while she opened up the door to the Speech Therapy room.

“Good Morning, Clark,” Winters waved me in.  She was sitting at the smaller table where the Littles and Kindergarteners did their speech exercises.  Skinner was at her desk clacking away on her keyboard.  

Right away I took a seat so as to seem cooperative.Just in case, I pulled my pants back up (they needed it) before I sat down.  I tucked my hands and gripped the bottom so that if I was picked up by any of the giants the construct of plastic and steel was coming with me.   

“Miss Winters,” I said. “Miss Skinner.”  That got me the curtest of nods. I threw my head backwards towards the door and stared at Sosa upside down. “Jazzie-licious.”

Sosa didn’t reply but her eyes practically leapt out of her skull. I could practically see the smoke coming out of her ears.  That got her a big toothy smile from yours truly.  

“Are you sure we want to do this?” she asked Winters.

Winters said nothing but took one of the bigger chairs and sat down on my left. Skinner grabbed another and sat to my right.  Skinner got off her computer and took her usual spot across from me. I was surrounded, again. These three particular ex-work friends had zero fuzzy maternal feelings for me and much less history.  Depending on how much they lied to themselves, I was either a cheeky brat that needed a spanking or a problematic prisoner that wouldn’t get with the (re)program.  Maybe both.

I figured: Why not play the part?

“So…what are we doing?”  My voice was gratingly playful. My tone nails on a chalkboard. 

Winters took the lead. “Clark. We wanted to talk to you about some thi-”

“Shouldn’t we be doing introductions?” I interrupted.  “You know? Name and occupation?” I sat up a little straighter and folded my hands on the table. “Hi I’m Chandra Skinner, Speech and Language Pathologist? Hello, I’m Maxine Winters Physical Therapist? Hello I’m Jasmine Sosa, Occupational Therapist?”  I made double sure to enunciate every last syllable in Sosa’s name, just to piss her off.  “That sort of thing? Don’t we need the Resource Compliance Specialist before we start?”

This trio had backed me up so many times for countless years and talked me up to dozens of parents, only to turn on me the second I had an accident.  They were no better than Beouf.  The only reason I hated them less than her was because they were never really friends. 

“This isn’t an I.E.P. meeting,” Sosa said. “And you know it.”

“Do I, Jazzie? Do I?’ I smiled but I didn’t feel it. There was nothing whimsical or comical about my emotions.  Class clowns were always the least likely to actually find things funny.  “Hm? Do I?” 

“You do, Mr. Grange.”

“Miss Sosa,” Winters gently redirected. “We’re getting off topic.”

“Why didn’t you spank her and diaper her to put her in line, Winters?” I spat. “I know you had the urge.”

Winters kept her cool and plowed on over my baiting.  “Sweetie, we know you’re really smart and you’re having a hard time adjusting to things. We know.”

Bullshit they knew. They didn’t know a damn thing, and if they did that only made them worse.  If they knew, if they had any idea, then that made them Ambroses in Janet’s clothing.

“No.” I said, flatly.  “You don’t.”

“We wanted to talk to you by yourself,” Sosa said, having regained her composure, “because we know you like performing and making people happy.”  I turned my head to look at her and let my fake smile completely drop. So much past tense was needed to correct that sentiment.  I liked performing. I liked making people happy. The only thing that gave me satisfaction was frustrating Amazons and their wet and waddling pawns.

Winters made my head pivot again with, “Right now, it’s just you and us, buddy. You don’t have anybody to impress or show off for.  No one to embarrass us in front of.”

I eyeballed Skinner and watched her shift uncomfortably.  Not quite.  I kept my gaze straight ahead at her. Sosa and Winters were trading off lines to keep me swiveling and off guard.  Nice try, ladies.

“You brought me here because you didn’t want any distractions with the ballpit while you chew me out.  Skinner’s room sucks so you think it’ll help me focus.”  Skinner’s lips retreated inward.  I was disappointed when neither of her co-workers affirmed my hypothesis.

“We think you’re a good…” Winters chose her words carefully, lest she offend, “...person. And you’re very, very clever. That’s why the three of us are wondering why you keep trying to pick on the people who are helping you.”

Behavior? They wanted to talk to me about my behavior? It would have been funny if it weren’t so sad. “Shouldn’t I be talking to the Guidance Counselor? Or the Dean? Or the Principal?” f**k it. Give me Brollish. 

“We don’t want you to get in trouble,” Sosa said. She actually sounded like she kind of meant it. “We don’t want to punish you. We want to help.”

My blood pressure spiked, yet my voice remained even and steady. “You left me in a room with someone awful enough to make Billy cry. Billy. Have you met the man? He’s not a crier.”  No rebuttal came so I continued. “You put me pantsless in front of my kids. Or did you think I would forget that those were my students before I forgot what sound a bird makes?”

This whole conversation was becoming terribly awkward and as angry as I was becoming I was enjoying myself.

“You’ve got a point, Clark.” Winters said. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Sosa scoff and cross her arms.  “We should have taken you back to your classroom, not Mrs. Ambrose’s. We won’t be doing that again.”

Sosa tagged in, keeping her temper. “But you were acting in a way that was highly immature and inappropriate, sir.  You were impeding your own learning, our ability to teach, and everyone else’s ability to learn.” That would have been true if any of us were ‘learning’ things besides that it’s easier to give up and a Grown-Up for help or that crawling was a viable option for locomotion. “Do you understand why we had to remove you, kiddo?”

Kiddo. Sosa had dared use the word that Maxine had been cautious enough to avoid.

“I guess I’m just too Little to understand,” I droned. “Beouf ever tell you guys about the block tower metaphor? Maybe my early blocks were just super fussy and bratty. Maybe I was a horrible child the first time around and only through good parenting and patience did I grow into a teacher.”  My nostrils flared at the blasphemy I was making myself say. “Now all those old impulses are coming back, and it’s taking forever to get to the adult I used to be. This is just who I am now.” 

 I didn’t believe a word I was saying, obviously.  That wasn't the point. I was insulting myself in an effort to derail their grievance.  They’d said I’d acted badly and I’d parried it by saying I was an innately bad person who could not be cured. Now they were being pressured to argue that I could. 

Skinner took the bait. “Clark,” she spoke for the first time. “Don’t say that, sugar.”  Her voice was already becoming sweet and syrupy like maple on pancakes. Damn, I missed pancakes. “You’re good. You’re really good. You’re just having a rough time of it and don’t have the words to ask for the help you need. That’s why we’re here trying to listen.”  She reached out and placed her palm over my folded hands.

“No,” I stated. “I’m bad. I’m very, very bad.  You should just give up on me. If you don’t want to write me up, just go through the motions. Stop trying. It’s not worth it.”

A soft, sorrowful smile bloomed on Skinner’s face. “That’s not gonna happen, bubba. We’re here for you.”

“Miss Skinner?”  I had to do my best not to laugh.

“Yes?”

“Are you, Maxine and Jasmine all part of a throuple?” I asked.  “Just wondering.”

Skinner withdrew her hands and leaned all the way back in her chair.  Her nose wrinkled up like I’d just had an accident.  “No wonder your wife burned your house down.”

Gasps erupted out from everyone’s lips. Mine, Winters, and Sosa. Even Skinner looked like she couldn’t believe she’d said what she’d said.

“Chandra!”

“Miss Skinner!”

“Sorry!”

My whole world went blood red. “YOU MOTHER f***ing BITCH!” Two heavy hands shot to my shoulders to keep me from standing up. I kicked the chair out and dropped to the floor, ready to give a new meaning to the phrase ‘ankle biter’.  

I screamed and surged under the table but didn’t get far enough to do anything. Winters and Sosa scrambled after me and dragged me out from under the table. Sosa sat cross legged on the floor and pulled me into her lap. She grabbed my wrists and forced my arms across my chest like a mock straight jacket and leaned her body weight forward on me so that I was bent over and couldn’t kick.

 My throat was starting to get raw, I was screaming so hard. I stopped caring that my pants had slid down past my knees in the struggle. “KEEP MY WIFE OUT OF YOUR f***ing MOUTH YOU CUNT!” 

The blood rushed out of Skinner’s face and rushed all the way to her ankles.To make someone’s mask slip that drastically should have made me feel proud.  I didn’t feel anything except rage at that moment.

Skinner walked out of my line of sight. Nobody talked over my shouts and screams. I wanted to keep screaming forever.  Eventually I ran out of breath and started huffing.

“You ready to talk, sir?” Sosa asked me. “It’s okay if not. Take your time. I just can’t let you try and hurt anyone. You understand.”

I inhaled and steadied my breathing.  “Yeah. I can talk. Let me go?”

“Not yet.”

“Do you need to switch?” Winters asked her partner.  

I felt Sosa’s upper body shift when she shook her head.  “No. I’m good.”

The speech pathologist walked back around to my line of sight. “Clark, I’m so sorry,” Skinner said.  She got down on her knees so that she was closer to eye level.  “I shouldn’t have said that.  That was wrong of me.  I was angry, but that doesn’t excuse what I said.  I’m sorry and I wanted to know that. Forgive me?”

My tongue ran over my teeth and I mulled over her half-hearted mostly panicked apology.  “No.” I said.  “Not at all. I’m going to tell on you. I’m going to tell my Mommy on you and she’s going to believe me because I never tell on any Amazon that hasn’t actually done something. It’s the only thing I don’t lie about.” 

I would do so much worse than that. Skinner was in for absolute hell for as long as I was Janet’s captive. For once, me not being held to a lower standard than an Amazon was working in my favor. As long as I wasn’t a danger to other students, I’d be okay.  If Skinner was scared of me before…

Skinner’s eyesight rose above me. “I should go.”

“You should go,” Winters agreed.

The dreary room stayed quiet until the door opened and closed again.  “Clark. I’m going to let you go, now.” Sosa said. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

“One…two…three…”  

My wrists were released, I half jumped out of her lap and yanked my pants back up over my waist.  Sore and aching, I turned to face them, and started stretching my back and arms. 
Winters stayed standing and Sosa remained seated. She mirrored my own stretches. Holding even a Little in a restraining like that can be taxing and uncomfortable after long enough.  The clock on the wall said that I’d been close to insensate with anger for close to twenty minutes.

 They were both in front of me where I could see them and one was sitting down.  I shuffled a few steps back.  They blocked my path to the door, but I could make them work to catch me if I felt like running around.

“What now, ladies? Where do we go from here?”

“We talk,” Winters addressed me. 

“Like we said, Clark,” Sosa said. “We know you well enough to know that making people upset and getting upset are what you do when you don’t want to do something.”

Winters tacked on the obvious. “It’s an escape behavior.”

My feet shuffled a few more steps back.  Fantasies of me knocking Skinner’s computer monitor off her desk danced in my gray matter.  “So you guys just want me to be nicer to you? You want me to behave? Is that why you wanted to corner me?”

“No,” Sosa said. “We can handle you.”

“We only see each other once a week,” Winters clarified. 

I cocked an eyebrow. “So the other Littles?” Who was snitching on me to the therapists? It couldn’t have been Ivy or my clique. A lack of opportunity and a healthy amount of loyalty prevented that.  Mandy maybe? Jesse? Shauna? What had I done to Shauna lately?

“We want you to take it easy on Mrs. B. for a while,” Winters said.

Laughter. Melodious, sidesplitting, rictus grinning laughter made me double over to the point that my knees felt weak.  I was panting again by the time I’d finished.   “No.”  I said. “Just. No.”

“What we mean is,” Sosa said, “is we don’t think you know just how much your teacher cares about you. How much she’s always cared about you.”

A second round of cackling found me rolling on the floor in hysterics.  Neither Amazon moved, waiting for me to finish my theatrics. “Miss Skinner was pulling up some emails for you to look at. Would you please read them with us?”

Winters was playing me, I knew. Didn’t care, though. Curiosity was getting the better of me.  I was allowed to stand up on Skinner’s chair and sort through dozens of handpicked emails.

“In the weeks and possibly months that follow, please be patient with C.G.” Sosa read one aloud. “That’s you,” she said. 

I rolled my eyes. Teachers generally didn’t refer to students by name in official emails for reasons of confidentiality.  “Obviously.”

“Not only is his Maturosis in wild flux, but more importantly he is in a new stage in his life yet in an environment that he is very familiar with. Most Littles experiencing Maturosis have the benefit of a completely new start in terms of caregivers and services. He is not fortunate enough to have that option available. As his former colleagues and professionals, we owe it to him to make him as comfortable as possible as he reaches his Developmental Plateau.  He is going to need a lot of love.”

It was dated the Friday that my Adoption was being finalized.

Winters read another.  “C.G. is unavailable for therapy this morning. He’s been crying all day. Shock at recent trauma is starting to set in. Will inform you of specifics after school.”  That explained that.

“Thank you for the mittens,” Sosa read the next one. “I think they were an effective deterrent to him attempting to purposefully break things. I do not think at this time that they are appropriate for his needs beyond that.  Would you like them back?”

“C.G. has always been talented with speech and language,” I recited. “It does not surprise me to learn that he is having difficulty learning new communication strategies in the event that his vocabulary decreases due to Maturosis.  Can we collaborate and try to brainstorm some new strategies for him?” My jaw started to drop.  “Maybe something whole group so that he doesn’t feel singled out? He might even be motivated to encourage his classmates. He’s always had great leadership potential.” Tears threatened as I read the last sentence.  

I had to sit down for a moment. I felt dizzy like I hadn’t eaten.

“You okay, Mr. Clark?” Sosa asked.

I shook my head, but I said, “Yeah.”  More evidence that Beouf was a madwoman who saw me as a child in desperate need of her intervention.

We read another. And another. And another.  Every week I’d been enrolled, she was giving all of them updates and practically begging for second chances and offering insights and guesses as to what might be going on in my brain.  Sometimes she was close, too, even though it always got tracked back to my bullshit condition.

Every step of the way, she’d been trying to advocate for me in her own twisted manner.  “She doesn’t do this with every student of hers,” Winters said. “Not even close.  She really cares about you, Clark. Really, really.”

“There’s more,” Sosa said. She dug into her pocket and took out her phone. “Since you like reading texts so much…”  She tapped her now password protected screen and showed me.

                                                                ❤️ Maxine ❤️
Ready for MM’s IEP?

                                                                                                                    no
                                                                                           it’s too early in the year for this shit
ikr?
Think we’ll have any problems?
                                                                                                                                      probly not 
                                                                                      just the usual beginning of the year crap              
                                                                                                                  from new pre-k rents 
                                                                                                          don’t like CG teaching here                                                     
Who does?

                                                                                                                                     mel     

Touche, lol.

That particular conversation had been dated over two years ago. I suddenly felt extremely empty inside. I chomped down on my own tongue to keep myself from bawling.

“Mrs. B has been looking out for you ever since you got here,” Sosa whispered. “You have no idea just how much she cares about you and wants you to be happy, Clark.  The only reason I think she didn’t Adopt you herself was because she thought you’d be happier with your Mommy.”

“She’s doing her best,” Winters said. “We just want you to do yours, too. Try to be fair to her.”

“Why’d she ask you to help her?” I asked.

“She didn’t,” Sosa answered.

“Then who?”

“Mrs. Zoge,” they said in unison.  They pulled up the email to prove it, carbon copied to all three of them. It had been sent yesterday and gave a blow by blow of every terrible thing I’d managed to accomplish last week through the end of school yesterday.  She was well aware of what I was doing but didn’t know how to help either her friend or her student and felt caught in the middle of it all.  Zoge ended the letter by asking them to please not tell Beouf because of how proud she was and she didn’t want to embarrass her partner.

I hung my head.  “I think I’m ready to go back to class now,” I said.

“I think you are, too.” Winters agreed.

We walked back in silence while everything I’d seen and heard blended together in my head.  I remembered in more than just an academic sense how much I’d liked Melony Beouf. How much the woman had meant to me over the years and how much I’d evidently meant to her.

I’d already heard it from her own lips. Hearing it come from others, from people I just wanted to make miserable, made it feel even more real. Beouf’s protection and fondness of me had been more than some long buried secret that came bursting out in moments of overwhelming regret and grief from things that could have been; it was a publicly recognized fact that was common knowledge to all.

At some point, in her own crazy typical Amazon way, she had really loved me and was doing her best to do so again.  I owed her a lot. So much.

Just thinking about it made me flush and feel utterly overwhelmed.

“He’s all yours,” Sosa said.  

“Thank you,” Winters chimed in.  “Much appreciated.”

“Thank you very much, ladies.” Zoge said in her almost musical way. “We are happy to have him back.”

Activity centers were over. Wrappers of animal crackers lay empty in the wastebasket.  I’d missed practically the entire first half of my school day reading emails and throwing blood lust temper tantrums while trying not to cry.

Presently, Beouf sat on the floor with a big book in her lap; probably something about the fun one can have when one is a baby instead of an adult or something. The rest of the class sat around in a semi-circle formation. She dared not make a statement for fear of a chorus of ‘Why?’.

Neither did Zoge intervene on her behalf and tell me to join them. The therapists stayed at the classroom entrance, waiting to see what I’d do. Likewise my peers all turned their heads and stared, expecting me to join them in their brainwashing or to create some fresh havoc to amuse.

Everyone was looking at me.  I was the center of attention. It was almost like being a teacher again.  So, of course, I did what came most naturally to me.

Fresh tears streaming down my face, I looked to her, stomped my foot and shouted at the top of my lungs, “f**k YOU, MELONY! YOU’RE A f***ing MONSTER! YOU CAN GO f**k YOURSELF YOU GODDAMN PSYCHO BITCH I HATE YOU! f**k YOU! I HATE YOOOOOOOOU!”

[Personalias]

Chapter 100: A Much Needed Screaming Match

“f**k YOU, MELONY! YOU’RE A f***ing MONSTER! YOU CAN GO f**k YOURSELF YOU GODDAMN PSYCHO BITCH I HATE YOU! f**k YOU! I HATE YOOOOOOOOU!”  

The snot was already beginning to bubble. The tears were boiling but felt cold on my face because of just how red my cheeks were. With every condemnation and swear that I threw in, I stomped my foot until it looked like I was marching in place.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” I balled my fists and leaned forward, doing my best to roar like a lion but succeeding only in screaming like a toddler having a grocery store meltdown. 

“Oooooooooooooooo,” Billy sneered. “Gibson. Is. Pissed.”

I could barely see anything because of how watery my eyes were and I refused to blink or wipe away the droplets.  I could barely hear anything save for the furious thud-thud, thud-thud. Rationality didn’t keep me from throwing my body straight to the floor, but rage did. Hitting the floor would have broken eye contact with Beouf.  My body would have wanted to tuck my face in the crook of my elbow or roll over on my back so that I could better kick and scream and fuss until all of the pain and frustration. 

Rage wouldn’t let me do that, however. Children do such things when they have no viable target for their anger. They throw themselves down and weep and scream and thrash at nothing when they are overwhelmed and the entire world seems against them.  The entire world was against me, but I’d found a single drop of salt-water in that entire ocean of inequity to focus fury upon.  I could not beat an ocean, but I could at least disperse this single bead; dry it out or drink it and withhold it from the ocean until I pissed it back out.

“FUUUUUUUCK YOOOOOOU!”

I couldn’t pinpoint where all of this was coming from. I didn’t know why I chose then and there to throw my total and utter hissy fit. The emails I’d just read? The slip-up from Skinner? Recent memories of what I’d heard over the baby monitor? Guilt? Shame? Resentment? The feeling of love suddenly being lost and there being a hole in my heart where so much of who I was and how I knew myself was located?  Several holes? At least three? Each one shaped like a person who had either vanished from my life entirely or reoriented themselves in such a way that I barely recognized them?

 Anything that I could say then or now would be a complete rationalization on my part. The only true thing is that it hadn’t been planned in advance, and it came so suddenly and naturally as to feel wholly involuntary on my part.  More than involuntary, it felt right. It felt like coming up for air after swimming in the deep end.

The other kids didn’t laugh. Nor did they shirk, mostly.  Statistically speaking, every one of them had done something like this at some point since being enrolled into Beouf’s care. I was no longer ‘new’ in terms of socialization and acceptance, but I was still the ‘freshest’ in terms of treatment and gaslighting.  They’d all had this moment at some point or another.  Some had had it more than once. Even Ivy, I’d believed had at some time or another where compliance, malicious or otherwise, had given away to a maddening anger at the outright unjustness of the situation.

Oftentimes, that had been what would get them sent to my room where I’d give them a stupid hackneyed pep talk about degrees of suffering and how a certain crazy but kind Amazon was better than a cruel one. Better to be a baby that was still you on some level. Better to go full native or pretend to buy into the hype than to be a programmed husk with a heartbeat; a doll.  

How f***ing naive I’d been. Dolls didn’t suffer, and if they did, they at least didn’t have hope to constantly freshen up the pain. After a certain layer, a burn is a burn.  Heal it and let it cool, and suddenly that red hot poker feels just as intense the hundredth time as it did the first.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

Neither did my classmates cheer me, (except for Billy). Some stared. Some turned their gaze in the opposite direction out of politeness. A few swore exclamations of moderate surprise under their breath, I’m sure.  None were particularly offended this time. We weren’t actually babies that were upset by loud noises or expressions of negative emotion because we couldn’t understand ourselves or others;  just prisoners conscripted into becoming the ultimate method actors.

They’d all had this breaking point at some time or another.  They’d gone through this, too. They’d raged and bargained and despaired and denied and back again until a warm acceptance washed over them, and they’d become happy enough until they weren’t.  That was kind of the point of Beouf’s class: To numb and reduce outbursts, and to find outlets and replacement behaviors; to condition and desensitize until a Little could be trusted to go to a full time daycare without causing any more fuss than the average Amazonian two year old.

I wasn’t a revolutionary, or a saboteur, or a class clown or a bully.  I was just a Little with lots of Big Feelings.  I was just someone currently unable to either deny or accept just how fucked he was in the grand scheme of his personal fable.  No different than any of them. To the culture of the classroom, this outburst was no different than someone getting sick and vomiting or getting a case of the runs. It happened. It was slightly disturbing. But it was normal enough. 

Save for the intensity, I’d done this sort of thing enough times already. Save for being verbal and visibly angry instead of panicked into paralysis or sad to the point of being insensate, I’d done much of this my very first week back in diapers. 

This was nothing new. For anyone. Just a remix. The only surprising element might have (might have) been the timing.

Amidst all of it, In the back of my head a thought: I wonder if Tracy can hear me from here.  And would she be surprised?  Proud maybe?  Probably not.  Maybe sympathetic, not that it mattered.

“I’M NOT DEAD!” I screamed. “I’M NOT DEAD! I’M NOT DEAD! I’M NOT DEAD! f**k YOU SIDEWAYS AND THE HIGH HORSE YOU RODE IN ON! I’M NOT DEAD! I’M! NOT! DEAD!”

Beouf gave me nothing in return. No negative energy to feed off of. No questions, or demands, or anything that could be shouted down.  She did not make a point to ignore me and continue her propaganda distribution in storybook form. An emotional rope-a-dope.

My feet were lead and all the adrenaline I was pumping into my body had magically frozen me in place. If I hadn’t been, I may have marched up to her and smacked the glasses right off her face.  For all my bravado and aggression, there wasn’t much a Little could do against a fully grown Amazon. We aren’t even strong enough to take off our diapers by ourselves. A slap in the face, a poke in the eye, or a punch in the nose still hurts no matter who you are.

And Beouf wouldn’t have written me up for it, either. Not for slapping her. Getting slapped at by tantruming Littles was pretty much in the job description.  That and what Amazon would want to admit on paper that they’d been hit by a Little and cared?

“YOU WANT ME TO BE! BUT I’M NOT DEAD!” I didn’t even fully understand what I was saying, but I felt there was a truth to it.  The biggest truths often come not from what we’re supposed to say, but what we actually think and feel. ‘Out of the mouth of babes’ is just another way of saying that children haven’t been conditioned enough to lie to themselves or factor in basic societal expectations and assumptions to their responses. In my case, it was a momentary lapse in giving a f**k.  “STOP MOURNING ME! I’M RIGHT HERE! COME AT ME BITCH! STOP! MOURNING! MEEEEEEE!” 

Beouf closed the story book and leaned it against the bit of wall beneath the whiteboard. She stood up. 

I didn’t move. I didn’t know if I could.

“Mrs. Zoge,” she said curtly. “Take over.”

Zoge was already hurrying to take Beouf’s place next to the storybook. No reply required.  

“Miss Winters? Miss Sosa? Can you do me the favor, and take as many of the children out for therapy as you reasonably can?” Her voice had all the command and precision of a surgeon calling for a scalpel. 

The Physical and Occupational Therapists had yet to leave the classroom. They stood mortified and horrified at what I’d said.  They thought they’d done right by either me or Beouf in peeling back the curtain and telling me how much she’d been trying to help me ‘adjust’.  No good deed goes unpunished they say. “Uh, yeah. Sure. We can do that.”  They came deeper into the room and started herding Littles out like cats.

“But I don’t wanna go,” Billy whined, “I wanna see!”

“Billy.” Beouf said. “Go. Now.”

Billy gulped. “Yes, ma’am.”

I let out another roiling wordless scream. 

Nearly half the class was out the door within thirty seconds. Beouf stood firm. So did I.  

Give us a pair of six-shooters already. 

Three steps and she was on me. She snatched me up and tucked me under her arm like I was a basketball. I could have thrashed and kicked but chose to go limp and just let out yet another ear piercing scream.  

“We’ll be back,” she announced. I didn’t look up but heard the door open again. Saw her feet take titanic, angry strides over concrete. Then up a metal ramp. Then pivot left. Then through mulch. 

When the world went upright for me again, I was being sat down on the bench she and Zoge favored in the corner of the Littles’ Playground. Beouf stood over me, frowning, breathing hard and crossing her arms.  She had removed me from the classroom, but was keeping me in an environment that I couldn’t escape or disrupt. 

Nothing I could mess up besides wood chips. She had proximity to stop me from hurting myself. I could scream and curse as loud as I wanted and my voice would be eaten up by the open air and go unnoticed by the second graders playing kickball at the far end of the P.E. field.  

Basic school culture etiquette would cause most students trusted enough to travel campus unaccompanied by an adult to look the other way and go about their business. Any other member of faculty or staff would more than likely do the same or briefly greet Beouf as a subtle form of asking if she needed help.  Parents would see a Little in need of a spanking shouting at a woman with the patience of a saint.  Brollish, if she were on the prowl, might choose to intervene.

The teacher in me recognized it as a good move. Were our positions somehow miraculously reversed and I had the power, it is the move I would have made.  Isolate me. Let me wear myself out. Then bring it up on Wednesday’s conference because f**k you, kiddo, the house always wins.

I was so terribly, viscerally upset that I didn’t actively notice the constant buzzing in the back of my brainstem despite being on the playground.

  “Okay, Clark,” she said. “Let’s ta-”  I dashed to my right to jump off the bench. Beouf sidestepped and shot her arm out to block me.  “Nope.” I backpedaled and started twisting to leap off the other end.  Her other arm penned me in. “No, sir.”  I stopped my turn and tried to climb the.back of the bench. Hypothetically, I could jump from the back, and leap the chain link fence and hit the steel incline ramp on the other side without breaking any bones if I rolled with it. 

I was plucked back up and sat down on the mulch.  

“No. Unacceptable.”

My feet were already kicking, propelling me backwards to the old oak tree, giving me distance that she could cover in a handful of steps. I was fighting the stupidest, most misleading grin, from sprouting on my face.  It didn’t match how I felt on the outside at all, but just like my swearing it felt automatic.  This was no fun, but I was taking a sick enjoyment

The dash to the playground exit was no dash at all. Beouf was blocking it before I was halfway there. Not that I could have opened the gate by myself. “Clark. Stop. Please.”

“NO!” My body changed course and I crawled into the cement play tunnel. I was at exactly the halfway point when I saw her legs at the other end.  I wasn’t going to get away like this. I wasn’t going to get away at all.  People just do stupid stuff when they hurt enough.

I hope no one reading this ever hurts that much.  Ever.  I wouldn’t wish how I felt in that moment on Beouf, herself. 
 
I stopped and rolled and twisted to get comfortable. The space was meant for someone my size. I could technically stand up and walk upright if I was willing to hunch over. I parked myself on my pillowed keister, crossing my arms and leaning back in a sort of fetal position.

Beouf’s knees bent and touched the ground, and she looked inside.  She could just barely crawl in after me if she’d wanted to but the woman wasn’t fool enough to try without help.  I didn’t expect her to either. She might get stuck and I might get away.  “You okay in there?” she asked.  Her voice was even more grating to me when reverberating off of molded concrete.

“f**k off.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”  She stood back up, leaving her legs blocking one end of the tube.  It’s sometimes hard for me to imagine the world from an Amazon’s point of view, to have everything so small and effortless, to have the ground so far away, but I figured she had to be blocking one end while watching for me to exit the other.

All was silent. For about five minutes.

She sidestepped and leaned over. “You still okay, buddy?” 

“Have you fucked off yet?”

“Alrighty then.”

The silence lasted another minutes. I knew because I immediately started counting to myself.

“Clark? Are you ready to talk?” Only three minutes? She was getting impatient.  “Clark?”

“I can wait you out, Mel,” I taunted. “I don’t have to go to the bathroom.”

“That’s fine.”

One….two…

…one-hundred-seventeen, one-hundred-eighteen…

“How about I come in there?” Beouf offered. “I just want to talk.”

“Bullshit,” I yelled back. “You don’t know how to talk to me.” More to myself I said, “Just at me.”

Beouf dropped down to her rump, her knees drawn all the way up to her chest, and her head cocked so that she could still see inside the cylinder. “What is that supposed to mean?”

I looked away. “Did I stutter? Do you need me to say it in baby talk so that you can pretend to understand it?  Will you believe me then, Mel?”

“Mel?” she didn’t sound offended the way Sosa did when I invoked her given name. She was more perplexed than anything. I barely called her by her first name when we were co-workers. “Why are you calling me that? Is Mrs. Beouf getting too hard to say? You can just say Mrs. B if that’s easier.”

“I need to call you Melony.” I spat. “Or can’t you take one of your Little babies calling you by your first name?”

“Clark…”

“MISTER! GIBSON!” And just like that I was close to crying again. I clutched at my chest in a pointless gesture to try to control my breathing from the outside. “I’M! MISTER! GIBSON!

“No.” My old mentor said with an air of finality. “You’re not. Not anymore.”

“At least I used to be a teacher,” I said. “A real one.”

Her eye twitched and her composure faltered for a moment. “I am a teacher, hon. I’m your teacher.”

“You’re a goddamn animal trainer.” I felt the light echoes gave my words a sense of gravitas. “The only thing you teach is that it’s pointless to resist and that if you’re a good forever puppy you get treats. And that Amazons and Littles can never be friends.”

Beouf was taken aback. “Clark,” she said. “I’m your teacher. Of course I’m your-” 

“YOU WERE NEVER MY FRIEND!”  I propped my elbows up on my knees and buried my face in the palms of my hands. “Not really.”

“Honey.” Beouf’s heart was slowly breaking right in front of me.  “That’s just not true.”

“It is.” I snapped back.

Against my hopes, she didn’t try to contradict me.  “Why do you feel that way?”

“f**k you, that’s why.”  I wasn’t going to get drawn into an argument where nothing I said really mattered.

“Come on out,” she repeated. “Let’s talk about this.  Just you and me.”

“No.”

“Okay.”  

One…two…

…eighty-eight…eighty-nine…ninety…ninety-one…

“How about now?” Beouf asked.  “Ready to talk to me like a big boy? Use your words instead of just saying mean things to try to hurt my feelings?” The operative word there had been ‘try’. She wasn’t going to admit that anything I said was having an effect on her.

“Your classroom management is pretty good,” I said. “That’s about it, though. Everything else is snake oil.” Calling the legitimacy of her profession into question had struck a nerve. So I struck again. “Why do you think you have an indefinite timeline for student graduation? Why does Ivy get to stay forever? It’s because you don’t actually have a curriculum. You don’t actually teach anything.” 

She didn’t have anything to say to that. Not right away.

I raised my head up out of my hands and re-established eye contact. “You’re not even a glorified babysitter like people joke about real teachers. Because you’re not even taking care of actual babies.”

Beouf’s reply was immediate. “All those diapers of yours that I’ve changed would beg to differ.”

Silence from me. I held my breath until eight….nine…ten seconds.  “I’m ready to come out now,” I said.

“We’re not going back inside until after we talk,” Beouf said. “Actually talk.”

“Okay,” I sighed. “Deal.” I shifted my weight and crawled out towards her. My cheeks dry again and the crinkling coming from my pants were the only sounds I made. Gently smiling, Beouf offered me her hand; an unnecessary but kindly gesture.

So I bit her. I bit her as hard as I could, right on the most tender part of the hand on the fleshy part between her thumb and forefinger, and hoped to break the skin.

“OOOOOOOOW” Beouf howled. “MOTHER FUUUUUUU….UUUUDGE!” Even with me trying to make her bleed, she didn’t dare drop an f-bomb around me. I’d brought Ivy to tears like this, but Beouf was a trained teacher with nearly twenty years of dealing with folks like me. Ignoring the normal and natural reflex to try and yank her hand away, she fed into the bite, grabbing the back of my head with her free hand and shoving her palm deeper into my jaw like a wedge until it hurt so bad that I had to loosen up and release her. 

The Amazon examined her hand, looking at the tiny tooth sized indentations I’d left on her flesh.  Astonishingly, I’d failed to draw blood.  More astonishingly, she didn’t press her physical advantage. Beouf stayed seated there on the mulch by the tunnel. I was permitted to stand up. She kept her unmarred hand on my chest but attempted no grip to restrain me. “WHAT THE HELL, CLARK!” She shouted. “WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?!”

I brought my foot down on the mulch like it was a hammer. “YOU’RE MY PROBLEM, MELONY! YOU ARE! JUST YOU!”

“WHY DO YOU KEEP CALLING ME THAT?” She shouted back.  My ears throbbed like I was right up next to the speaker at a heavy metal concert. She was a better screamer than me. Bigger lungs. More practice. Less tired.

But I didn’t back down. “BECAUSE I’M AN ADULT! ADULTS CALL EACH OTHER BY THEIR FIRST NAMES ALL THE TIME IN PRIVATE!”  It was getting harder and harder to yell. My throat was already raw. My normal speaking voice was becoming raspier and raspier with each shouted syllable.  Still worth it.

My shouting was not reciprocated. Beouf pouted out her lip in thought. “You didn’t before your Maturosis flared up.”

My own lip threatened with a quiver. “Because before I didn’t need to,” I replied. “Back then you at least pretended like you thought I was an adult.”

“You are an adult,” Beouf answered. “Physically. For your size. But on the inside, you’re a-”

“Don’t say it, Mel.” I threatened. “Don’t. Stop it with that Maturosis bullshit. It’s not real.” I was allowed to take a step back. “It’s a fantasy you tell yourself so you can feel better about what you do. That’s it.”

“Science suggests otherwise.” She dryly adjusted her glasses.

I did not retreat. What I wanted more than anything was to wipe that smug look off her face. “Goddamn it, I hate you so much.” My growl was practically a hiss.

“You haven’t had a dry day since you were enrolled,” Beouf said matter of factly. “Not one. I bet you're wet right now.”

I blanched but admitted nothing. The state of my pants was besides the point.  “Why would I? It’s not like you’d let me go to the bathroom.”

“You haven’t asked to go since your first day,” she said.

“Where you made me poop myself and sit in my own mess!” 

“Because you lost your potty training.”

All of this happened so fluidly. Clearly, my ex-mentor had been thinking about this almost as much as I had. Why wouldn’t she? It was her job to make Littles believe in her fantasy world.

“Which if you actually believe,” I countered, “you’ve made no attempt to help me back.”

“Potty training isn’t my job.” Beouf shrugged. She seemed so calm and control, sitting there on the ground. With me standing up at my full height, I was the closest to her eye level that I could remember. How ironic yet appropriate.  “If your Developmental Plateau merited it, you’d have a natural interest in trying for yourself. You haven’t.” 

“Because I know you won’t listen!” I said. “You never listen! You just find a conclusion you like and then make up whatever you need to make it true!” It felt amazing to say such a thing out loud.  “I’m your co-worker one second, and then you think I’ve been stealing diapers because someone poisoned me and made me poop my pants? How does that make sense?”

Beouf rolled her eyes and shook her head at me. I was a child talking of closet monsters. “Honey, there’s no evidence that you were poisoned. That was just a major flare up with your Maturosis is all. It’s what helped you get diagnosed.” I scoffed at the word ‘helped’. 

She tried to lean over and place her hand on my shoulder. I wasn’t having it.  “No,” I said.

 “I don’t care that you were sneaking diapers out of my bathroom to try and stop it,” she kept going. “That was perfectly reasonable given the circumstances.”

I tugged at my hair in disbelief. “See?!” I said. “You literally just did it. You predetermined and ignored all other evidence!” I smacked the back of my right hand into my left palm for emphasis. “You figured out that Forrest slipped me one of those wonky chocolates! You told Janet about it the second week of school, remember? Did it occur to you that she somehow might have done it before? Put one in my coffee or something?” 

“You know that’s impossible, honey.” Beouf said. “I brew a fresh pot every morning and all that sugary junk and syrups you liked were single use packaging that was tamper evident.”  

I was getting jittery and antsy. I wanted to keep shouting and pace the playground like some sort of courtroom drama.  Beouf remained seated on the ground in her jeans and t-shirt. Beyond a minor outburst, she’d regained and retained her calm. She seemed comfortable. Reasonable. It was unnerving.

“Okay, maybe she didn’t poison me,” I conceded. This wasn’t about Raine. Raine was beside the point. “Or maybe she did it some other way. Or maybe it wasn’t her.  Maybe it was you!”

Beouf clicked her tongue. “Do you know how silly you sound when you say that? Why would I do that?” she asked. It didn’t sound rhetorical to me. “You were a good teacher and this year just started.” 

“Yeah,” I stammered. “but-”

“If I’d wanted to ‘frame’ you,” she said, “I could have just let Brollish and Ambrose get their way before Spring Break.  I could have done something any day or any time from the first time we met.” 

Damnit, she had a point. Beouf had technically had my balls in a vice for years and never once squeezed. Any rationale I could devise sounded convoluted, even by Amazonian standards.

“How did you know my wife’s name, then?” I demanded to know. “Cassie! How did you know about her?” I hadn’t figured that part out yet; had barely given myself time to wonder about it. It was a good question but one that felt irrelevant somehow, like I was grasping at straws.

“Honey,” she replied as if the answer were painfully obvious. “It’s no secret you were married. You had a ring. You talked about going out with your wife plenty of times.”

“But…but… Cassie! I never told you her name.” Now I had her!

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

“Positive?”

Suddenly I wasn’t. “Yes.”

“You don’t think that once, not once, you maybe mentioned her name in passing? On accident? For as long as we worked together?”

I squinted at her. I was being gaslit. I could feel it.  “Did Tracy tell you or something?” It was too late to hold it against her, but it was a possibility.

“She was your emergency contact, buddy,” Beouf spoke plainly. “On your personnel file. You filled it out pre-employment.” She gave me a second to process. “When I heard you’d had your accident I checked it because I knew you were married.  Maturosis onset is an emergency.”

The fire inside me was dimming and I hated it. “Okay,” I said. “Good point. An accident. Maybe I was just sick with a stomach bug.  Remember the week before students came back when I ran to your bathroom?  People get sick. Accidents happen. It doesn’t mean that…that…their personal block tower is flipping upside down or whatever!”

“With Littles it usually does.”

“You think I was stealing diapers?!” I screeched. I took a step closer. “Why?!  Do you even count them?” I cut her off before she could say anything. “No. Don’t answer. I’m positive you don’t.”  

My feet kept moving. I was pacing. Doing laps around her while my emotions ramped up. “Did you think for even a second that your count seemed low that week for other reasons?! Maybe there was a defective one, or Zoge accidentally ripped a tape on a couple, or somebody peed in the middle of a change?” I stopped right in front of her.  “Maybe some poor janitor snagged a couple overnight for their own kids?” 

She gave me no reply, verbal or otherwise. She might have been listening. She might have been going into neutral in another attempt to de-escalate.

“Did any of that cross your mind?!” I said. “Doubt it. You had the vaguest of f***ing suspicions that you were down a few Monkeez and pinned it alll on me, the only mature Little you know!”

She took a deep breath through her nose and gave me the most honest response she could, all things. “It just made sense.”

“No,” I said. “It didn’t. It doesn’t.”

“I’m sure it feels that way to you.” Just like that, I’d lost her again.

“You don’t listen!” I wanted to roar. I settled for pacing laps and tugging at my hair. “You just pretend to when it’s convenient and then do what you were gonna do anyways.”

“I bought those line leashes so you wouldn’t have to hold Ivy’s hand everyday,” Beouf said, like it disproved my entire thesis. “I did that for you.”

My heels dug in when I was to her right, not that she turned her head. “No. You only do things for me when it benefits you. You only listen to the Littles in your class if it makes things easier or you can twist it in some way to make us act more babyish. You disregard literally everything else.”

“You have to understand, honey,” Beouf said like she was reciting something. “I’m an expert on Maturosis. A professional. I know more about your condition than you do and you just have to accept that.”

“I don’t have a condition!” My cracking voice protested. “Maturosis. Isn’t. Real. I do not have it because it’s not real. You can’t be an expert on something that isn’t real!” Was she just this self-deluded or was she more devious than I’d ever given her credit for?

“If you really think that’s true, what does that say about you, Clark?” Now she turned her head to look at me. Really look. “If Maturosis is made up, and I’m some terrible crackpot who forces Littles into something that’s unnatural to them, then why did you work with me for so long?” A beat. “Why were we friends? Me being who I am and teaching what I teach wasn’t a dealbreaker for you until it directly impacted you.”

My jaw dropped, but only for an instant.

“And you treating me like I was an actual person with legitimate thoughts and feelings and a soul was just a game to you,” I fired back. “It was pretense. It was a side hustle. Don’t you dare shake your head no!” I growled.  “The second I checked enough of your boxes you disregarded everything we’d been to each other and everything you knew about me.  Ten years, Melony! Ten years down the drain like that!” I snapped my fingers and pictured flames leaping up from the tips.  

My so-called teacher, my friend that never was, averted her gaze. “It’s been…challenging for me, too, kiddo.”

“Challenging?” I walked around to her front. “Challenging?! You threw me under the bus, Beouf! And in return you got allll this!”  I spread my arms out wide and turned around a full circle. “You finally got your fancy playground!”

“Wait just a second!” she seemed genuinely offended. “That’s not fair!” Oh the irony. “I’ve been lobbying for this playground for years. It’s not my fault Brollish decided to approve it when she did. That had nothing to do with me.”

I didn’t want to admit that. “Okay,” I sneered. “Was it challenging for you to be my teacher instead of shipping me off to New Beginnings like you’d wanted to? Was it challenging to include me in your lesson plans instead of screwing me over and forgetting about me?”

The Amazon flinched like I’d struck her. The gears in her head were turning and she was revisiting the fateful afternoon when my old life had ended. My personal apocalypse really had just been another Thursday to her.

“Oh,” her expression softened. “Oh you poor thing.” She was shaking her head and untensing her muscles.  She looked like she wanted to give me a hug. “Honey. No. I never would have let them send you to New Beginnings. I was just trying to stall until your Mommy got there.”

I turned my back. This revisionist history wasn’t worth the spittle coming out from between the giantess’s lips.

“If worse came to worse,” Beouf kept on, “I would have lied and let her Adopt you the next day.  If she got cold feet for some reason I would have Adopted you for real. I would not have let them take you there. I promise.”

I didn’t know how much I’d wanted to hear that until the words reached my ears . I just couldn’t bear it.

“How the hell am I supposed to believe that?” I asked. Without thinking I’d spun around to look at her again.  “You hurt me! Literally! Worst physical pain of my life!” My arms were wrapping around me, fingers digging into my shoulders and scratching as a way to relieve myself from that awful memory.

 “You shoved me in a tube!” I choked. “You stripped me naked, stole my wedding ring, and then zapped off all of my body hair within minutes of me having an accident! You couldn’t wait to get rid of me!” IIt was hurting to breathe again, getting harder and harder to say something without my voice warbling.

“That’s not true,” Beouf said. Her composure was finally starting to mirror  “Not at all.”

“How is it not true?” I cried. “Even if everything you think about Maturosis is correct, even if I was doomed to need daycare for the rest of my life, why did you have to do that? Huh?” I would be crying again soon. I could feel it. Months away from the incident and the trauma felt as fresh as ever.

“Body hair retains odor.” She sniffled, sounding unsure of herself. “Getting rid of it makes it easier to keep you clean and happy.”

How dare she cite happiness? How dare she?

“But why then?” I pressed. “Why right away? At school!? Five feet away from where I’d…” I couldn’t finish that thought, so I jumped to the next one.  “You couldn’t have given me a day? A night?” My whole body was on fire. Phantom follicles screamed out in remembrance. “Or done something that hurt less? Some kind of cream?”  

I was so angry I was shaking. I released the grip on my shoulders and yanked down the front of my pants to show off that morning’s Monkeez.  “Would these not fit if I still had my pubes?” I yanked my pants back up. It felt good to dress myself. “And you couldn’t tell me about Janet when we were alone? You couldn’t have given me even that comfort?”

“I didn’t want you to accidentally give something away,” Melony sniffed again. “I didn’t know if Brollish had said anything or tried anything.” The confidence was leaving her and her voice was taking on a more wistful tone. “That and I wanted it to be a nice surprise. I knew Janet would be the best Mommy for you. She loves you even more than I do.”

Love is not what I wanted to talk about; least of all Janet’s.  “Admit it.” I leveled a finger at her. “You just couldn’t wait to take away my adulthood!”  There it was. Ahead of schedule. My voice had regained some strength but my face was puffy and red and tears were trailing down me again. “Admit it!”

“Some things hurt less if you just get them over with.” I could just barely hear her. “I was ripping a band-aid off.”

“For who? You?”

“Yes,” she said. “For me.”

“What?” I started wiping my nose. Wiping my face and eyes. Shaking my head. Something must have been clogged. I wasn’t hearing what I thought I was hearing.  “You’re not…” I stammered. “You’re not supposed to say that.”

“Clark, buddy.” Beouf sighed. “Honey. Baby.  Try to see it from my point of view.” She lowered her knees and made her legs flat.  “I’ve known the whole time since we became friends that something like this might happen.” The corners of her mouth, once stuck in neutral, started to ooze towards the ground. “ I was ready for it for a while, but I started to think that maybe it wouldn’t happen to you.” Another wistful sigh. “Maturosis can lie completely dormant in a Little. Skip a generation. Skip several.”

She moved from side to side. The whole world did. I felt dizzy and off balance, shaking my head and trying to make the confession not feel true coming from her.  It didn’t matter that I’d heard or thought or deduced something similar. It didn’t make anything better. She’d never said all this out loud. Not to me.

“So when it finally happened,” she explained, “I was in almost as much shock as you were.” She paused and her eyes clouded over. She was back there with me, on the other side of the tube. “To get through that day I had to let my training take over and I went on autopilot.” She gulped. “I’m sorry, honey. You’re right to be mad at Mrs. B. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I did.”  

“And I’m sorry.” Like me, her voice was strong, but her eyes had begun gently weeping. “I’m doing my best. We’re all doing our best. This is new to all of us. But I never wanted to hurt you or make you feel bad.  I’ve never had a student who I knew before their Maturosis kicked in.”  

The wind was the only thing that answered her

“If it makes you feel any better,” she cut the silence, “I still love you as a student and I want you to be happy. You really were my best fr-”

‘I’M STILL HERE YOU IDIOT!” I screamed and stomped. “I’M STILL HERE! RIGHT NOW! RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU! I’M NOT DEAD!” I would not attend my own funeral twice. I refused.

Unlike earlier when I yelled, Beouf looked shaken.  “I know,” she replied meekly, almost a whisper.

“NO. YOU DON’T! YOU TALK ABOUT ME LIKE I’M SOMEBODY DIFFERENT THAN I USED TO BE!” I had to stop yelling to keep myself from sobbing wordlessly. 

My next words came out soft yet somehow even harsher than my screams. “You talk about me like you don’t know me. I heard how you and Janet talked about me that night on the baby monitor.” I had to keep rubbing my eyes to see straight. I felt so stupid and pathetic and small. 

“You both talk about the old me and how I used to be. There is no ‘used to be’. There is no old me, Mel. There is no new me. There’s just…just…just me.” I wanted to lose myself to this sadness; this renewed grief. 

My knees gently buckled and I was sitting down on the ground across from my oldest companion. “The only thing that’s changed is how you think of me. That’s it. That’s all.” 

Beouf started quivering and crying for me. She took off her glasses and dabbed at her puffy pink eyes with her shirt sleeves. She allowed her own breath to lose its rhythm. And unlike every other time, she didn’t run or hide from me.

“I’m still Clark,” I half-whispered into the gyre between us. “I’m still your friend. Why can’t you see that? Why are you mourning me when I’m right here in front of you?”

“I don’t know what to do,” Melony wept. “There’s no training or documented research on this. None of this was supposed to happen.”  Did I look that sad,I wondered? That pathetic? I must’ve looked worse.  “I don’t know what to do.”

“I’ve lost my job, Mrs. Beouf. I’ve lost the love of my life. My dignity has been stolen.  I…I…” I had to wait for my throat to unclench. “I’m losing my f***ing toilet training. I don’t even have my last name anymore. This is the worst thing that could happen to a Little. You have no idea.” 

Not entirely true, I thought to myself. I’d seen more than enough proof to know that she had some idea of the horrors I’d gone through.

“I’ve had nightmares about this my whole life,” I squeaked. “What I didn’t have nightmares about was you. I’ve lost you. And Janet. I feel like I’m about to lose Tracy again. f**k it, I even lost Zoge and I barely had her. And every day, I have to deal with you treating me like I’m a diagnosis.”

Something in that spoke to her. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not ‘Clark’ to you, anymore. I’m just his Maturosis.” A quiet sob followed by a river of hurt. “Everything you do or say to me or talk to other people about me is through some filter of how you think I’ll act because of it. Nothing is really my decision to you. Nothing is my fault. Nothing is me.  It’s just my Maturosis.  You don’t see me. You just see this pretend disease that you think I have.” 

It was then that Beouf said the two most surprising words I’d yet heard from her. “You’re right.”

My lungs collapsed in shock. My brain wanted to shut down then and there.

“You’re absolutely right,” she said. “I am so sorry. I’ve been trying to help you without really thinking about you.” She wiped her nose and replaced her glasses. “I miss you.”

Nothing made sense. How could I feel what I was feeling? How could I be so angry with her and not hate her? How could I say I hated her to begin with? How could any of this be happening and why did it have to be now instead of never.  How could I be nodding in agreement?

“I…I…I miss coffee!” I blurted out.  “I miss just sitting with you and complaining and talking about nothing. Or not talking at all and just sitting! I miss being with you! I miss being something besides your f***ing job! A project! I don’t even have coffee anymore! I WANT IT SO BAD!”

“I MISS COFFEE TOO!”  Any pretense of control left both of us and we both started full on ugly crying on the spot. She scooted closer and scooped me up into her lap. I let her and buried my face into her chest, wiping my nose on her shirt while she held me close in a hug that I didn’t want her to stop.  “I’M SORRY! I’M SO SORRY, CLARK!  I LOVE YOU!”

“I LOVE YOU, TOO!”

“YOU’RE MY BEST FRIEND! I DON’T CARE THAT YOU HAVE MATUROSIS! YOU’RE STILL MY BEST FRIEND!”

“I DON’T HAVE MATUROSIS! BUT YOU’RE MY BEST FRIEND, TOO!”

All words left us for a while. We just cried. And cried. And cried. And cried. Ten years of friendship and two months of animosity all rolled themselves into one tidal wave of emotions.  And just when one of us thought we were done, the other started things going again. 

At some point, the therapists walked the others back to Beouf’s room. We heard their voices but no one called out to either of us.  We wouldn’t have responded anyways. Words were too hard. For both of us. We just kept crying.  Happy and sad tears. Relief and regret. We left nothing to chance. Nothing uncried.

Finally, after we were both all out of tears for the day, I said something. “I’m sorry I’ve been an asshole,” I apologized. “I’m sorry I made you cry.”

“I forgive you,” my mentor, my oldest friend said. “You’re not first.”

“What do we do now?”

She shifted me on her lap so she could check her phone. “Lunch.”

“Then what?”

“Nap. Recess. Dismissal. Faculty meeting for me. Babysitting for you.”

“You know what I mean,” I said, too emotionally spent to be offended.

“I don’t know, buddy,” Melony Beouf sighed. “I really don’t. That’s a tomorrow problem.  Deal?”

“Deal.”

 

[thedman]

Wow, what an emotional rollercoaster.  I don't even know how to respond to that last chapter yet.  I love that Clark and Boeuf can be friends again, but at the same time I'm gonna miss all of his pranks

[FloridaKid]

Gyaaahh!! So much in just a couple of chapters. You elicit such a wide range of emotions from me in Clark’s journey. I find him easy to relate to, yet so often I’ve wanted to slap him silly because of how he treats people. At least he’s realizing that in their own way, Melony and Janet love him deeply. I love how you have wrapped me up in the story and have made me care about the characters. Truly a wonderful emotional roller coaster.

One line in particular sticks out to me. When Skinner blames Cassie for the fire I found myself again wondering about those circumstances. I hope you’ll reveal what actually occurred and what became of Cassie.

And once again you’ve hit me where I live. As a career educator I find the school “business” situations particularly easy to relate to, and now that I’ve retired and occasionally serve as a substitute, I have renewed admiration for teachers who make the time to prepare detailed lesson plans. I know firsthand how much of a pain that is and I appreciate those who do it. Many times I’ve sucked it up and gone to work instead.

[Personalias]

14 hours ago, thedman said:

Wow, what an emotional rollercoaster.  I don't even know how to respond to that last chapter yet.  I love that Clark and Boeuf can be friends again, but at the same time I'm gonna miss all of his pranks

Writing this in the most playful tone possible

 

: "Yes, because Beouf is the only Amazon Clark would want to prank."

9 hours ago, FloridaKid said:

Gyaaahh!! So much in just a couple of chapters. You elicit such a wide range of emotions from me in Clark’s journey. I find him easy to relate to, yet so often I’ve wanted to slap him silly because of how he treats people. At least he’s realizing that in their own way, Melony and Janet love him deeply. I love how you have wrapped me up in the story and have made me care about the characters. Truly a wonderful emotional roller coaster.

One line in particular sticks out to me. When Skinner blames Cassie for the fire I found myself again wondering about those circumstances. I hope you’ll reveal what actually occurred and what became of Cassie.

And once again you’ve hit me where I live. As a career educator I find the school “business” situations particularly easy to relate to, and now that I’ve retired and occasionally serve as a substitute, I have renewed admiration for teachers who make the time to prepare detailed lesson plans. I know firsthand how much of a pain that is and I appreciate those who do it. Many times I’ve sucked it up and gone to work instead.

I'm writing this out of personal experience as well.

[TerranV]

I read it on your patreon when it first released but chapter 100 is still my favorite.

[Samriis]

Holy hell... I can only agree with what the others have said... that had so much in there that I'm so glad you were able to get into words.  Thank you again for your wonderful story and I hope there is still a lot more to come.