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

[Moon3ye]

1 hour ago, Tailie said:

I can sort of see that vibe, but I think Janet is far more nuts than your average Karen, and the bar is fairly low.

I think Janet believes that she's not like the other Amazons you see and that she's the best thing that could have happened to Clark. 

At the same time, she probably has to fight with herself all the time not to give in to her urges, and how long she can do that I think is much more exciting.

[Guilend]

I honestly can’t wait to catch up on this on Patreon this weekend. 

[WehavePi314]

4 hours ago, Tailie said:

I can sort of see that vibe, but I think Janet is far more nuts than your average Karen, and the bar is fairly low.

She thinks she’s a good saintly woman who is just helping her poor afflicted ex-coworker.  (Never mind that it gives her what she wants…)

In short, she wants to be good, but she drank the Kool-aid all her life and has a seriously skewed take on what that is.

[Tailie]

3 hours ago, Moon3ye said:

I think Janet believes that she's not like the other Amazons you see and that she's the best thing that could have happened to Clark. 

At the same time, she probably has to fight with herself all the time not to give in to her urges, and how long she can do that I think is much more exciting.

She gave in already; she lost.

18 minutes ago, WehavePi314 said:

She thinks she’s a good saintly woman who is just helping her poor afflicted ex-coworker.  (Never mind that it gives her what she wants…)

In short, she wants to be good, but she drank the Kool-aid all her life and has a seriously skewed take on what that is.

I've had a very long time to mull this over... I think she truly is insane and finally got an excuse to just let it all out.

[Personalias]

Chapter 37: Saturday Morning Insight

I sat there on the plush carpet of Janet’s living room, wearing nothing but a diaper. A bottle filled with apple juice sloshing in my hands.  At least she told me it was apple juice.  My paranoid brain nagged at me that there might be something more swirling around beneath the rubber nipple. 

 It was the first day since my official “adoption”, and I was quietly dreading what torments Janet had prepared for me.  Yesterday had been enough; almost too much.  The fact that my prison cell was now decorated as a boy’s nursery gave me little comfort.  The closet now had empty hangers; with dozens of pink and frilly dresses boxed and hauled away.   No new clothes yet; hence just the diaper.

I hoped that meant that I was being kept inside today.  A day of quiet, private indignation might be nice for a change. Either that or she might trot me out in public one bad tape away from being starkers.  Show the whole town what a “baby” I was now.  For all I knew, she’d get off on that kind of thing.  For all I knew, I barely knew the woman at all.

Every Amazon seems to have a bucket list of “Mommy” stuff that they can’t wait to jump into as soon as they manage snatch up some unfortunate Little:  Forced breastfeeding; enemas and suppositories; hypnotism, and at least half a dozen different unnecessary surgeries.  Amazons love that kind of stuff. 

I’d been saved from a new batch of freckles yesterday only because my skin was too raw to tattoo.  My luck wouldn’t hold out that long.  Same thing went for my clothing situation.  Sooner or later, I’d have to get more clothes than just the solitary white onesie I’d been trapped in yesterday.

My first day back...as a student...was Monday.

Ugh...school. That was going to be hard.  It was like death.  You know it’s going to happen someday, you know it’s coming, but you do your best not to think about it..  A LOT of my thought processes have reverted to that lately.  Don’t think about the next thing.  Or the next.  Or the next.  It wasn’t going to be good.  Just try to be in the now; even if the now wasn’t very good, either.  Because it was only going to get worse.  It was the only way I could keep myself from going into a total raging panic breakdown.

Color me surprised when after my morning change and surprisingly tolerable high-chair cereal breakfast, I was unbuckled, plopped on the carpet, and given a bottle of juice.  “Here ya go, Clarky.”  Great...she was trying out nicknames. “I don’t want you getting dehydrated.”

From my spot on the carpet, I swished the bottle and I eyed her wearily.  “What are we doing now?”

“Yesterday was a really hectic day,” she said. “For both of us.”  She reached over my head and grabbed a remote.  “I figure we could just spend the morning together and watch a little T.V.”

An electric shock wormed its way into my nervous system.  Had I any body hair left, the little bits on the back of my neck would have been standing on end.  Was this how my mind died? Eyelids pried open and my adulthood seeping out into hypnotic animation.   “Cartoons...?” I asked.

Janet chuckled, as if there had been hope in my voice (there hadn’t been).  “Maybe later, hon, but I was thinking something a little less frantic.”  She turned on the television, and I reflexively slammed my eyes closed.  

“It’s a beautiful day in this neighborhood,
A beautiful day for a neighbor,
Would you be mine? Could you be mine?”

I opened my eyes, more confused than anything.  I knew this show.  I’d watched it for years when I was an actual child.  It was one of the few bits of local children’s programming that Little parents allowed their kids to watch. There was no animation for high grade hypnotics, the sound quality was serviceable, but there wasn’t a trace of subliminal messaging, and most importantly the message was unbiased towards race, creed, sexuality, gender, or size.

From my spot on the carpet, I looked up at Janet.  “Mr. Frederick?”  This time my voice did have something similar to hope. “You watch this show?”

Again, Janet smiled as if what I’d said was adorable.  “Not for a long while,” she said, “but I’d love it if we watched it together.”

My head on a swivel, I scanned the living room- couch, coffee table, T.V. set; everything.  Amazons were just as susceptible to their brainwashing methods as a Little, but they often used devices to filter the unwanted stimulus out.   I squinted looking for any signs of ear plugs or glasses laying around.  I stood up, tried to look in her eyes.  Hypnosis resistant contacts weren’t a thing? Were they?  Not that I’d read about....   

“Together?”

She nodded.  “Yeah.  Do you wanna sit on Mommy’s lap?”

I bristled at Janet calling herself “Mommy”, but held my temper.  I’d only encouraged it yesterday when I called out in the courthouse.  Now I was kicking myself for it.  If you’d asked me even a week prior whether I’d call an Amazon “Mommy” or “Daddy” or any other stupid cutesie thing, I would have steadfastly denied it.  

I would say that I would have gone catatonic first.  Keep my mouth shut and endure it to the bitter end.  Give your enemy nothing; not love or hate or fear or pain; and especially not satisfaction.  Such was my pride.  Pride’s a funny thing.  Not only does it come before the fall, but it’s also one of the first things to up and leave when it’s not convenient.

  “No thank you,” I told her. “I’ll stay here.”

Her nostrils flared as she exhaled, but she kept her smile.  “Okie dokie.  I’ll be on the couch if you change your mind.”  I’d settled on a middle ground for the time being.  Resolved that I would avoid pushing that particular button unless I felt I really needed to; and instead stopped verbally referring to her as anything at all.  She’d get “yes, ma’am” and “no, ma’am”, and I’d be polite enough.  Avoid calling her by her first name to her face….

  But she wouldn’t get “Mommy” either.  I doubted I could keep that promise for long.  Janet wasn’t stupid, and noticed the absence of the big M word from my vocabulary.  She’d likely try and turn up the heat in some way.  Yet it felt empowering all the same that I could make it to myself.

I needed to do that.

“Won’t you please, won’t you please,
Please won’t you be my neighbor?”

And so I sat there, on the carpet, my guard fully up, ready to slam my eyes shut, cover my ears and scream out whatever programming that was going to be beamed into my brain.  But the moment didn’t come.  All that came was an old Amazon man talking about feeding his fish and a puppet show.  

Instead of turning into a drooling dolt, I breathed a sigh of relief and watched the show, stealing occasional glances at Janet.  Sometimes she didn’t see me, instead glancing down at her phone or texting something.  Other times she did, and she gave me a friendly little wave.  “Hi!” she’d say.  “Mommy’s right here!”  

Poor deluded Janet.  She told herself I was a lost cub looking for its Mama bear.  Emotionally though, I was a mouse in a cobra cage, checking to make sure that it was still coiled up on the other side.

  The show ended uneventfully, and then, right on its heels, came another old favorite from long ago.

“It’s time to sing all the songs,  it’s time to laugh and play, it’s time to get things started on the Muffet Show Today.”  Kremit, Miss Puggy, and Fuzzy all danced across the stage as Gongzo wound up his giant mallet- which would inevitably backfire when he tried to hit the giant gong at the end of the theme song.

Astonished, I whirled my head around and gawked at Janet.  “This channel has the Muffets?!”  

For the first time since snatching me, Janet smiled with something besides mothering condescension, or madness.  Once again, I saw flashes of my old friend. “Of course this channel has the Muffets! It’s how I found out about this channel in the first place! It has re-runs of all these great old shows from when we were kids!”   She slipped!  She slipped and I couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of victory. A Little victory.  “Do you wanna watch it?” 

I knew that I was giving her what she wanted, that I was feeding her madness.  Still, this felt like a nice gesture, all things being equal.

I completely let my guard down and watched one of my favorite shows; a comfort from another lifetime.  Once again, thank goodness for small mercies.  The entire broadcast, I’d forget myself, up until I’d slouch or shift my weight and I’d hear the tiny crinkle of my diaper.  The awareness of my diaper at least let me tell myself that I wasn’t being brainwashed just then.  There were Littles in the world who started tinkling their trousers the second the hypnotic theme song of their “favorite” show came on.

The thing is, objectively speaking, Dr. Milton had been right. Wearing a diaper wasn’t that bad.  It was comfortable enough, and as long as I didn’t consciously try to squeeze my legs together, or think about what I’d inevitably use it for, it wasn’t bothersome.  It was clothing.  Underwear...kind of.  It was bizarre just how much it didn’t bother me, too.  

The Muffet show went to commercial and I closed my eyes and went back inside my own head.  Even going so far as to pull my knees up to my chest.  This was wrong.  This was so wrong.

Sitting in a diaper, with a bottle, watching the Muffet Show on T.V., with a mother figure watching me watch T.V.  In a weird way it all seemed so plain...so ordinary...so normal.  Long ago, I mused, I very well may have been in this exact scenario. Only I would have needed the diapers, then.  I would have actually been a baby, not a prisoner and in my thirties.

The pleasant memory erased by the bizarre present, I felt a twinge in my bladder and shifted uncomfortably, crinkling more.  My bladder wasn’t particularly full, but knowing that my toilet was wrapped around my waist had made me more self-conscious about it.  Diapers were actually making me pay more attention to how much I needed to pee.  Ironic considering the flimsy justifications used to keep me in them.   “You okay, hon?”

I was still looking straight ahead,  avoiding eye contact. “Uh-huh.”

The waistband of my diaper was pulled back. Damn, Janet was fast!  Her hand snuck around and squeezed my crotch, eliciting a dry rustle.  “Still clean,” she said, (as if I didn’t know).  “Don’t forget your juice.”  Inwardly, I groaned.  Typical Amazon.  

I looked at the bottle I’d been holding suspiciously.  Get them incontinent: That’s the first thing Amazons did to Littles that they’d captured. Made it harder for them to escape; harder to go back to a normal life.  Easiest way to do that was to pump them so full of liquids that their bladders were revolving doors instead of waiting rooms. I’d already gotten a taste of that treatment.  

Then of course, were any number of unnaturally strong laxatives and diuretics, to help things along.  I’d already been poisoned once. That’s how I ended up in this mess- had to be.  And even though Janet hadn’t been the one that had slipped something into my coffee, (she never had the opportunity), would my “Mommy” really have any qualms about “helping” me get over my potty training now that I was all padded up for her?

Bottle still in hand, I shimmed around on the carpet to face her, again texting on her phone.  “So...”  My voice came out as just above a whisper, drowned out by the Muffets rerun.  “I was wondering...”  Still nothing.  I shook the bottle.  “Hello?”  

The only thing I managed to do was catch a glimpse of my ring finger.  Not even a tan line; zapped right off with every other major marker of my life past age two.

Cassie forgive me, I thought.  I’m not giving up.  Just lying.

So much for promises to myself.  

“Mommy?”

Janet’s ears twitched, and she looked up; hopeful and maybe even a little bit surprised.  “Yes, sweetie?”  

I picked myself up and waddled over to the couch.  “Would you like some apple juice?”  I offered the bottle.  Easiest check for poison.  If Janet wouldn’t drink it, then the amber liquid was spiked.  I did my best to make my eyes seem wide and innocent; a stupid silly Little doll who just wanted to share.

“No thank you. Grown-ups don’t like sweet stuff very much.  That’s very nice of you to want to share, though.” I suppressed a growl.  Grown-ups didn’t have a predisposition to bitter and spicy foods.  Amazons did. I must have let some sign of my anger show; let my facade slip, because I immediately found myself cradled in her lap.  “No need to be cranky about it.  Some things are just for Mommies.”  A giant finger booped me on the nose.  “And some things are just for babies.  Here, let me help.”

The bottle was out of my grip in an instant, my jailer too strong and too quick for me to resist.  My gasp of surprise became all the opening needed for the rubber nipple to find its way between my lips.  I wriggled frantically; instinctually; somewhere in between clawing at my naked thighs and wanting to thrash until I drew blood.

Here we were again; and I was no closer to getting used to any of it.  

I bit down on the nipple, stemming the flow of poison so that only a few sweet drops landed on my tongue.  I made eye contact with Janet.  The smile was still there, but it was put in place and didn’t reach her eyes.  

Her eyes.  Those big blue beautiful eyes.  The warning was all there.  “Be good,” they said.  “Be good or else.”  Either she’d get what she wanted in this moment, or she’d give me something to be afraid of.  Typical Amazon. 

I thought about my teeth clamping down on the rubber nipple.  I’d seen captured Littles with only gums lining their mouths.  They hadn’t looked old enough to merit it, but their “Parents” had thought it looked “cuter”.  Things could be a lot worse.  The warning of her eyes was all I needed, just then.

So much for pride.

I unclamped.  I let the sweet liquid dribble into my mouth, neither nursing in earnest, nor resisting the flow of the bottle.  The juice didn’t taste like it’d been tampered with, at least.  Pop Science would have us believe that Little taste buds are more sensitive than Amazons’; that we can more keenly taste the hints of diuretics, laxatives, alcohol, and other drugs put in our beverages.  That’s why so many Littles’ close call stories end with switching drinks only for an embarrassed giant to run shrieking to the toilet.   

A lot of good that precise palate did me.

Cradled in her lap, and unable to more than glance at the television, I looked past my nose and through the amber colored concoction, to the only piece of clothing that had been made available to me. 

It wasn’t the diaper I woke up in, and it wasn’t the diaper I’d go to bed in, either.  Drugged or not, this bottle would end up making its way through my stomach and end up splashing against my privates before too long.   The only choice left to me was how much dignity and control could I wrest out of the situation. A life of compromise.  It wasn’t fair.

With a sigh of resignation, I started draining the bottle, actively tugging on the nipple with my lips and pulling the apple juice into my mouth.  I felt, more than heard, the tension exhale from out of Janet.  Looking back up at her, her eyes had softened, I noticed; changed in some indefinable way. 

Looking at us right then, you’d never have guessed that a few months ago she’d been crying her eyes out, telling me about her nasty divorce; that she was wanting to cry on my shoulder instead of burping me over hers.  You wouldn’t have thought that she’d help me get a diaper off, and not just so that a clean one would go on.  You might have thought we were friends, if not equals. 

That friendship was dead now, and from its corpse had sprung this scenario.  

I had no desire to watch the Muffets, just then, but closing my eyes only made me more aware of every other sensation: The juice on my tongue and rubber on my lips.  The body heat radiating out from Janet.  The slow but steady ache of my bladder.  The canned laughter from the T.V.  My own terrified and anxiety riddled thoughts.

Instead I stared up at the only other things left to me.  Janet’s eyes had shifted again, staring down intently at me.  I reached up to try and grab the bottle, only to have my hands lightly brushed away.  “No, no, sweetie.  Mommy’s got it.  Let Mommy do it. Please?”  That last word got my attention.  There was a hint of desperation in that word.

In her own way, she was asking for my consent.

We just looked at each other while the television droned on in the background.  Trying to guess what the other might be thinking.  Where had I seen that look before?  I had seen Amazons stare at Littles in a million intricate ways, but this wasn’t one of them.  Not quite.  

I’d seen a kind of greed when one saw a Little they thought was particularly cute; been witness to a kind of hunger, waiting for an opportunity to present itself to snatch one up.  The giants had a kind of petulant snottiness about them when the rare circumstance allowed a Little or an In-Betweener to upstage them, and a psychotic rage when they thought they were being defied. Naturally there were also the flashes of manic, gleeful condescension- smug superiority- whenever they spoke to a dolled-up diapered Little; flashes I knew would become constant spotlights on me for the foreseeable future.

This wasn’t it, though.  What it was,  I didn’t know.  It didn’t match the tired weariness or jaded bitterness of Little eyes; eyes like I’d seen more than my fair share of yesterday, (nevermind the eyes in the mirror).  Janet’s were nothing like Cassie’s intense “fuck me or fight me” stares.  I’d never seen anything like it. Whatever it was, it was madness. All Amazons were at least a little crazy.  

The quiet slurping sounds were replaced with quiet as I sucked air, and Janet readjusted me to an upright position on her lap, gently patting my bare back.  “It’s just apple juice,” I said.  “I don’t need to be-” a loud belch rumbled out of me before I could finish my sentence.   Damnit.

“Good baby!”

Before I could protest any further, the Muffet Show had rolled its credits, and a new show had replaced it.

“Muffet Littles, we make our dreams come true.
Muffet Littles, we’ll do the same for you.”

Still keeping me in her lap, Janet rotated me around to see the cartoon.  A cartoon...fuck.  “If you like the Muffets, you’ll love this.  It’s like the Muffets, but they’re cartoons.”

I looked back up at Janet, purposefully avoiding the screen’s gaze. “I know what this is.” 

 Only I didn’t, exactly.  The only cartoons we were allowed to watch at my house growing up were from imported shows from Little majority countries.  We hadn’t gotten quite as careless as Michelle and her children.  No Pennycade.  No SeaBenedict Cucumberbatch

For my fifth birthday, my Grandmother had gotten me one of the few safe cartoons.  It was called “Muffet Babies”.  Such a rare cartoon; a treasure from a foreign land!  I’d watched and re-watched that tape and it’s handful of episodes until I could lip sync along from start to finish.

“Muffet, Muffet, Muffet, Muffet!
Littles, Littles, Littles-
The Muffet Littles!”

Still looking at Janet, I heard the show behind me.  If I hadn’t heard the title of the show moments before, I might’ve sworn I was listening to my old DVD.   “Muffet Littles?”

My bladder ached with even more urgency as Janet lightly bobbed me on her lap.  “Yeah. It’s like the Muffets, but they’re Littles.”  I closed my eyes, turned my head to the screen, and listened.  Nope.  That was the Muffet Babies, alright. Word for word and beat for beat. 

“You mean babies,” I corrected her. “It’s the Muffets but they’re babies.”

“Sure.”  It was the placating assurance of someone agreeing because they didn’t care enough to argue.  “Just watch.”   She might as well have said ‘Just hold still while I bite you’.   I couldn’t help it, though.  I just couldn’t.  Curiosity finally overcame me.

I opened my eyes.  

I immediately wished I hadn’t.  If it wasn’t hypnotism, it was something worse.  Much worse.

Cartoon Fuzzy was in his red romper and beanie. Cartoon Puggy was in her puffy blue party dress.  Cartoon Gongzo wore green shortalls with the little smiley face on the bib; just like the Muffet Babies.  But there was something off.  

Their legs were too long.  They weren’t as round.  They were still cartoony, and still definitely Muffets, but they didn’t read as “babies” to me.  And unlike the Muffet Babies, you could definitely notice a certain padded bulge between their legs.  (Ralph the piano playing rat was still in nothing but a bib and diaper, but that had always been part of the character design.)  I let out a small, startled gasp.  “They’re Littles.”

“Yeah.  It’s like you said.”

I glared up angrily at Janet.  Not that she noticed, her eyes now fully watching the T.V.  “I said Muffet Babies.”

“Exactly.  They’re Muffets, but Littles.”

“BABIES!”

Janet stared back down at me.  She blinked.  She opened her mouth.  Then shut it.  Then opened it again.  “Clark….” the warning faded before she’d spoken it. “Clark…”  She nudged me off her lap and turned me around so that we could properly stare at each other.   She seemed to work something out in her head before speaking again.  ”Most non-Little babies can’t talk that well.  Can they?”

I opened my mouth. 

Then shut it.

Then opened it again.

They were supposed to be the Muffet Babies, weren’t they?  I went through every line of dialogue that I had unconsciously memorized decades ago.  The recording from my childhood had said they were “The Muffet Babies”, but nowhere in the script had they ever referred to themselves as babies.  They’d never even said their ages.

I stood there, staring at Janet; still listening to Muffet Littles break out into song about how words could hurt.  Was it possible that the only difference between the two cartoons was the animation?  Was it really so purposefully vague?  Why?

DING-DONG!

Janet stood up from the couch, instantly forgetting our micro-confrontation.  “Company!”
 

[BabyJilly_S]

And so the battle of wills begins....

[Sarah Penguin]

hmm sillly

[something101]

Don't know why but I get the feeling Tracy is going to pop up in the next chapter, I'm probably wrong but I can wait to find out. 

[Cute_Kitten]

Hmm.....I'm gonna guess it's Tracy at the door but she's dressed like a ninja and she's gonna throw a smokebomb when Janet opens the door then spirit Clark away and save the day! But in a twist of fate she's decided she wants to be Clark's Mommy to make her feel big and important like an Amazon! 

I keed I keed. I couldn't resist. ??

[TerranV]

Honestly I think it's Janet's parents at the door. Hopefully with new clothes for Clark.

[Personalias]

Chapter 38: The Threat of a New Normal...

Excited by the ringing of her doorbell, Janet ran in short stunted steps towards the front; it was the kind of run that children did when they were happy and in a hurry but didn’t want to seem too excited. She was so excited she actually let me out of her sight for an instant.  Not that I was going to run; I wouldn’t have made it far.  I’d need a step stool and tip toes to even reach the doorknobs of her place.

As Muffet Littles played on, I closed my eyes and hung my head.  I would have sworn that the cartoon was called “Muffet Babies”.  Was I going crazy?  Was I being gaslit or something?  Was this hypnosis?  If I was being hypnotized, would I even know it?  This couldn’t be a hypno-cartoon though.  Janet had watched it right with me.  Right? 
Then the thought, like death, like a cancer diagnosis creeped into my mind:  What if Maturosis was real?  What if it had always been Muffet Littles and I just didn’t notice it or I was remembering things differently?  What if all the bullshit that the quasi-pediatrician had said was at least somewhat accurate? 

 In the stories, the Amazon detective Hemlock Sholmes said that when you rule out the impossible, all that’s left is the possible; even if it was super improbable.  Granted, that logic was often put to use to justify that such and such Little deserved to be in diapers or a Tweener committed the crime and needed spanking and to be sent to some kind of etiquette school; but still...

What if I really was regressing into an adult sized baby?  To the Amazons I was already a baby sized adult.  What if the madness of Amazons... wasn’t?  What if I was the one going mad?  What if at least some Littles; Littles like Ivy, or Amy, or even Chaz; did start to have their biology turn on them and their brain chemistry alter to simulate what to the Amazons was no older than two?  

What if I was one of those Littles?  It was absurd.

And yet...

Loud, girlish squeals and giggles made their way back to my ears.  The resultant sigh was a low growl of frustration and exasperation.  My life had metamorphosed from a lifelong  physical crisis to a series of existential ones.  Not exactly a trade up. 

Speaking of existential crises, I relaxed my bladder and wet myself then and there.  Outside of my crib in the middle of the night, pissing myself while alone was the closest I felt I was going to get to privacy.  To wet in privacy or wet in front of others; that was the only question I was allowed to ask. 
 I felt the wetness be quickly wicked away from my skin and my bladder sing out in pleasure and relief while my penis, stupid thing that it was, smiled at the fresh warmth; a localized and very intimate shower and sponge bath.  It felt awful to my brain; but acceptable to my body.  How long before brain and body were more in sync?  Quietly, I didn’t like the odds of my body rejecting what was forced on it more than my mind coming to accept it.

I opened my eyes and watched the wet patch start to form on the front of the diaper; right below the landing zone; just beneath the smiling rainbow colored monkeys holding their balloons.  I felt and saw the plastic wrinkle and distort slightly as the core absorbed my waste and the pulp bulged and expanded in places and bunched up in others.  It was subtle, to be sure, but I could tell.  At a glance, it would look like nothing.  If there was even a single layer of clothing to cover the padding, it would be almost impossible to tell.  Wet enough to swell slightly, not nearly enough to sag or droop.  Most things that an Amazon would dress me in wouldn’t even conceal the dry bulk of the diaper; surely they wouldn’t notice the slightest increase in mass. 

 Could real babies tell?  Would knowing make me feel any better?

Heavy footsteps signaled Janet’s return.  Her eyes still had the same quiet crazy as they had moments before, an addict swimming in the drug of their choice.  The giant beside her had a different, more familiar glint in her face- a junkie who hadn’t gotten her fix: Raine Forrest eyes.  

It wasn’t Raine Forrest beside Janet, however.  Seeing the school receptionist just then would have caused me to upchuck the morning’s cereal.  Only thing worse might have been Brollish...or Beouf (but for completely different reasons).  

As near as I can tell, the ideal aesthetic of Amazon Beauty (for women anyways) revolves around an exaggerated form of motherhood.  Big breasts, but bigger hips.  I’d later learn that Amazon women were just as likely to pad their hips as much as their bras.  Hair is often grown long, but can be tied back and worn in a bun or a ponytail to look sporty or professional, or let down and worn big.

The woman that walked in with Janet did not fit that mold.  Almost no hips. Small breasts (for an Amazon, still bigger than my face), short cropped hair; super skinny jeans and a T-shirt.  An Amazonian tomboy.  A rare sight indeed.  Only Brollish looked quite so skinny and that’s because Brollish was a skeleton wearing someone else’s skin held together in a pantsuit.

If some of the more wingnut conspiracy theories on MistuhGwiffin.web held any water, this new addition might have been the mythical Little hit with a growth ray. Back in highschool and college, lots of Little girls would dress like this; some would say daring the giants to dress them up in pink and lavender frills.  
It’s what Cassie looked like when we first met…

Being less than perfectly Mommy Femme Shiek, didn’t make the newcomer any less baby crazy.

“AWWWWWWW!” the stranger squealed.  “He’s even cuter in person!”  

Before I had a chance to react, I was overshadowed, scooped up and hugged just a bit too hard.  “JANET?!”

“Jessica!”  Janet’s rebuke didn’t sound quite so forceful; there was more than a hint of laughter in her tone. “You’re scaring him!  Stranger danger!”  

Instead of being put down, I was handed off to Janet.  “Oh, my bad!  Poor thing!”  Now forced at eye level with her, the strange Amazon waved at me; all wrist.  “Hi! I’m Jessica!  Your Mommy’s been friends with me for a long long time!”  

I bit down on my tongue as the conversation, and me, moved back to the sofa; the two Amazons on the cushions and me on Janet’s lap. “Hi.” I crossed my arms over my chest.  Janet wrapped an arm around my belly button.

“You can call me Auntie Jessica,” the new woman said.  She looked over my head and back up to Janet.  “If that’s okay, I mean.”

“I don’t mind it,” Janet said.  “You’re like a sister to me.”

“Why yes Clark, you can call this someone Auntie if you’re comfortable with it,” said no one.

“I’m sorry, I hugged you without asking first, that must have been scary.” Jessica said back to me.  Her voice was more measured and high pitched than when she was talking to Janet.  Typical.  “It’s just like I already feel like I know you.  Your Mommy has already told me so much about you these last few months.”

My face turned to stone.  “Janet hasn’t told me a thing about you.”  Another stray puzzle piece clicked into place.  “Months?”

Janet cleared her throat.  I got the hint.  Jessica didn’t.  “Yeah.  You’re the ex-teacher, right?”  The “ex” was a punch straight down into my gullet. She looked at Janet.  “He’s still calling you by your first name?”

“It’s something we’re working on…” Janet said.  “He was calling me Mommy just a few minutes before you came.  Drank his ba-ba all up, too.”  I squished a little bit as she bounced me slightly on her lap.

My ex-friend had been telling the truth of course.  Thrice in as many days I’d manipulated her by pushing the Mommy button (with varying degrees of success).  Right now, then?  In front of this stranger whom my former co-worker had apparently told so much about me; she was Janet.  My pride, weak as it was, still surged and receded like waves on a beach.  

The fact of trauma is that no one recovers in one fell swoop.  No one breaks all at once, either.  In those early days I was breaking and recovering in bits and pieces and in different places simultaneously.  A cut would open up on my soul here, while my psyche was still knitting itself up there, just before the stitches on my identity ripped open but after the scars on my ego had calcified.

“Jaaaaaaanet…!” I whined, and caught Janet’s friend casting her a slightly dubious look.  Janet stopped bouncing me.  I didn’t need to see her face to feel the subtle shifts in her body.  Embarrassment.  Disappointment

 A nasty impulse jiggled around in my brain.  I remembered another safe old cartoon I’d watched in my actual childhood.  One about an amazing singing and dancing frog with a hat and cane that would only ribbit when anyone but its owner was around.  I could be that frog; call my captor “Mommy” only when we were alone or around inconsequential folks.

I’d had plenty of bratty pre-schoolers whose parents insisted that their monsters were cherubs at home.  It might be karmic justice to put Janet through the same experience.  She wanted to be a mother, after all.  Or maybe that was the mutating brain chemistry of a not-quite fictional maturity condition justifying infantile impulses.

Shit.  This had to be how mindfucking and going native started…

As I contemplated my own mind, the two giants started talking over me.  I kept quiet, pretending to watch another episode of Muffet Littles but really just staring into the middle distance; even though the blasted cartoon was still next level messing with my mind.  If I couldn’t trust the narrative of my own life, what could I trust?

“Let me guess,” Jessica said, “old guest room is now a nursery?”
“Yup!” Janet chirped.  “Had to get it repainted, but it’s perfect.  Just need more clothes.”

Jessica didn’t know I was watching her watch me. “I wouldn’t worry about that for long.”

“Shhh…!”  Another hint missed.  Holy shit...Jessica was Janet’s Tracy.

Jessica chuckled a bit.  “Or just keep him naked.  That’s fine too.”  Okay, maybe not quite Tracy.  “I’m glad you got to keep the house.”

A more gentle hug from Janet pressed me.  “Me too.  The divorce lawyer said the secret vasectomy was the nail in the coffin.” She sounded sad again. Douchebag ex-husband who I’d never met had cheated on her, snipped himself, and strung her along promising a child even though his parental desires were zero.  The old me hated him for hurting a friend.  The current me hated him for giving her an excuse to adopt.  “But,” Janet picked her tone up again, “it all worked out for the best.”  I looked up at her, her face upside down to mine.  “Didn’t it?”
“Yes, Janet.” I lowered my eyes back to the middle distance. The kiss on the top of my head was definitely more for her than it was for me.
Jessica laughed. “Oh fudge, he’s kind of sassy isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Janet agreed. “Always has been, I think.”  Another peck on my head.  “He’s just getting worse at hiding it!”  Her voice went cutesy and squeaky.  

“That look!” Jessica squealed a bit. “So cuuuute!  Such a sourpuss!”  Apparently, I had more tells than I thought.  “It’s just like those pictures of him in the tubby!”  My face burned hot.  On reflex I whipped my head around and shot her my most withering glare  “No! That’s the look! So adorbs!  He just needs bubbles in his hair.”  

It was my most withering glare...and I withered…  It was then that I suspected that much of my intimidation factor had been more a courtesy of my station than any inherent quality of mine.  
That figured…

“Does that mean you’re going to be opting out of game night?” Jessica asked, picking up her conversation.  “Being a new Mommy and all?”

“Game night?” I echoed up.

They ignored me. “I don’t think so,” Janet said.  “Though maybe we could relocate here for the next couple of sessions?”

Game night.  I knew what it was in concept.  It was absurdly easy to figure out:  Friends get together and play games.  There was a shelf by the near wall that had several boxes of board games stacked up. 

I grimaced.  Intellectually I knew about it.  Emotionally, it felt almost alien to me. Ever since buying the house, most of Cassie’s and I’s nights were spent alone together.  Our Little friends lived too far away to just casually drop by for parcheesi or whatever.  Even a harmless round of checkers seemed dangerous after a certain age.  In my experience, most adult Littles gathered and bitched about Amazons...usually with some heavy drinking.

Amazons could play games though; their adulthood was never in question.  Their leisure was never up for debate, while most of my adult life was structured around avoiding Amazons.  
Typical.

“You’re not bringing him to the winery later this month, are you?” Jessica asked.  “The bottling party wouldn’t be the same without you.” 

“Winery?” I asked.  “You make your own wine?”

Janet patted my head.  “Clark, Grown-Ups are talking.”

“Janet…”
“It’s not that kind of bottle, hun,” Jessica teased.  She returned her attention to her friend. “Do you need someone to watch?  I wouldn’t mind.”

Janet scoffed. “And miss out on tipsy-Jess?”  Amazons got to drink AND play casual games?  More simple proof that the world was not fair.  “I want you to have a good time, too.”

“Yeah, but I’d love to babysit.”

My eyes widened “Babysi-?!”

“Ooops!” Janet’s hands clapped lightly over my ears.  They did nothing to muffle what she said. “He’s not quite comfortable with the b-a-b-y word, yet.”  

“Oops!” the lankier Amazon said. “I meant, I’d love to Littlesit.” I just stared.  “Big boy sit?”

“I’m an adult…”

She smirked. “You’re wearing a diaper, hun.”

“I’m potty trained!”  So this is what a broken record felt like.

Janet bounced me on her leg one more time. “You’re also wet.  Do you want changed?”  There was no good answer to that.

I managed to wriggle down off her lap and slide down to the floor.  I pointed a finger accusingly.  “Because you won’t let me use the bathroom!”  BOOM!  CASE CLOSED!

“You haven’t even asked me to use the potty.”  My mouth went dry. 

Shit.

Fuck.

Oh shit!

Oh fuck!

Oh shit, oh fuck!

My jaw all but kissed my neck.  I hadn’t.  But why would I?  Why ask a question when you already know what the answer would be. I’d lost my ability to teacher stare, but Janet’s condescending smirk and challenging glare was still on point.  It was the same matter-of-fact superiority that she’d coyly radiated when pointing out that I’d potty trained some of her students way back when.  

This must have been how they felt: Impotent, embarrassed and without retort or recourse.

“Can I?” I asked, timidly.  “Can I use the toilet...Janet?”

The two Amazons exchanged brief looks.  “Why would I, Clark?  You’ve already shown that you need diapers.  It’s on your I.E.P.  You’ve been perfectly comfortable wearing a wet one until I brought it up.”  She paused. “Do you want Mommy to change you?”

Damn it.  Right then I bet that she would have caved if I had called it a ‘potty’ and asked her as ‘Mommy’.  She would have been tempted, anyways.  No good answer to the changing question; it’s like “are you still beating your wife?”.  Yes or no, didn’t matter.  So I did the stupid thing.  I said nothing  and walked away to the other side of the room; my butt crinkling with every step and gravity just starting to make the wet Monkeez droop a bit in front.

“That’s fine,” Janet called out after me. “You’re not that wet.  You can wait a little while.”
I harumphed and peed a bit more before sitting back down on the carpet. Might as well.  The apple juice was already running its way through me.  Stupid, typical Amazon bullshit.  I wasn’t allowed to use the toilet because I’d wet my diaper and I was being forced to wet my diaper because one time I hadn’t made it to the toilet.

It’s what I’d expected.  It still hurt, though.  I looked down at the diaper and poked at the spongey soaked front.  How much had I peed?  So much harder to tell after the first wetting.  Dry to wet was an immediate contrast.  After that, though, it might be like turning up the heat on a lobster pot.  A few degrees here, a few degrees there, next thing you know you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve peed and are on the verge of leaking.

Unpotty trained? Mind fucked? Gone Native?  Maturosis?  Just plain old broken down?

I didn’t have any answers.

I tried to bury my shame and my attention.  I rolled over to my stomach and rested my chin in my hands; burying the front of my diaper in the carpet and my focus on the stupid fucking cartoon that was a mockery of my lost childhood.

“Alien planet below! Prepare to land!” Baby (Little) Skooner said as the makeshift UFO skidded across the Muffet Nursery.  The black and white stock footage of a B-Movie was still there representing the tyke’s imagination.  

Same exact bit.  But when the footage resumed to animation, it was the same bastardized Little version instead of their baby counterparts.  “Hmmm…” Little (Baby) Kremit said. “Looks like a friendly planet to me.”  They weren’t kids playing pretend, anymore.  They were adults acting like kids.  They were a reflection of who I was trapped as; not as who I used to be.

In a terribly poetic way, it made sense.  The Muffet Babies of my youth was never quite a prequel beyond a few references in bygone television specials.  They had different voice actors than the main puppeteers of the Muffets.  Some characters, like Skeener, were never even made into proper puppets.  They never had birthdays or talks of school.  Just like Littles, the Muffet Babies were never allowed to grow-up.  Maybe I had remembered wrong.  Maybe they always were the Muffet Littles.

It’s awful feeling like an unreliable narrator in your own story.

I seethed and hid my face back in my hands.  Half-listening and fuming and yes, pouting. The women on the couch continued gabbing and catching up like old friends. Due to distance, my own distractibility, and T.V. volume,  I was only able to pick up bits of conversation here and there.  

Gardening. Horse Racing.  Something called a cosset.  Completely mundane stuff.  Boring stuff.  Normal stuff.  So-called grown-ups talking about normal boring stuff while I tried to keep my mind stimulated and distracted.

Damn.  Might this become my new normal?  I hoped not.

I heard soft footsteps leave the room, but didn’t bother to look up.  I felt more than saw Janet’s shadow hovering over me.  I was all too aware as she hooked her fingers in the back of my diaper.  So much for not checking me quite so often. I started to grumble “I didn’t shi-!”

“Auntie Jessica’s just checkin’.”  That wasn’t Janet.  “TICKLE TIME!”  Thin, bony fingers that were still so much bigger than my own dug into me at lightning speed.  Into my ribs, under my armpits, into the side of my stomach.

“NOOOOOOOOO-O-O-O-O!”  My screams of protests came out as panicked laughter as her fingers worked me over, playing my sides like a keyboard in double time.  “STAH-AH-AH-AH-AHP!”  I contracted and convulsed on the floor as the giant pinned me down.  

I couldn’t breathe.  I couldn’t think.  I couldn’t BREATHE!  She only needed one hand on my back to keep me still enough to torment.  The only thing that matched my panicked, pained laughter was her own gleeful tittering.  “Auntie’s gonna getcha!  Auntie’s gonna getcha!”

More soft footsteps on the carpet.  “Jessica!”  Janet sounded far more amused than upset.  “What are you doing to my poor Little boy?”
Kneeling on the carpet next to my prone and huffing body, Jessica stopped tickling me.  “Just thought I’d help?”
”Help?”

“Get all the pee-pee out before you change him.”

I gulped.  Did I pee again?  It was difficult to know.  “Changed?” I asked.  “But I thought…you said…”  Staying in the wet diaper had been a bad choice, but it was at least a choice I’d been allowed to make.

Janet already had a fresh diaper and a pack wipes in one hand and a fresh bottle of juice in the other.  “Company’s almost here.”

“Company?”  I got no answer. What I got was flipped over onto my back. I pointed up to the tomboy Amazon. “I thought she was-”  

“Sure you don’t wanna change him in his room?”  Jessica interrupted.

Janet opened up the wipes and started to unfold the new diaper.  “It’s fine here,” Janet said.  “I’ve been listening to some Little Voices podcasts.”

“Added more to your playlist?”

“Yeah.  They say that changing in different places can help with adjustments.  Some Littles struggling with Maturosis try to hold it in at first; pretend they’re still potty trained.”

“Mmmm-hmmm…” It was practically an Amen.

“Changing in different places and at different times helps ease things. If they can be changed anytime and anywhere, they won’t feel so bad about needing to go anytime and anywhere.”  Translation: Desensitize Littles to getting stripped down and wiped anywhere so that they don’t try timing their bowel movements to coincide with a scheduled diaper change. Though damned if that wasn’t exactly what I was guilty of just the day before. “Some experts think it even helps prevent constipation.”

I crossed my arms over my chest.  Might as well get this over with…

“Do you want Lion?”

“No.”

Jessica wondered, “Lion?”

“I’ll show you later.  It’s the cutest thing.”

Jessica was still the one hovering closest to me.  Just when Janet was starting to eyeball the tapes on my diaper, she spoke up.  “Can I change him?” she asked.  “For practice?  Babysitting?”

A thin smile, a deviously cocky one, blossomed.  “Are you cosseting?” Janet asked.

Jessica inched her thumb and forefinger together.  “Maybe a little…” The two giggled like schoolgirls.

Janet rolled her eyes good naturally.   “Heh. Fine.”

The tapes were loudly ripped off before Janet finished giving her consent.  One of the few taboos I knew of among Amazons was stealing each other’s padded prisoners.  It’s why positions such as daycare workers, positions like Beouf’s and Zoge’s were not-so-secretly coveted.  Got to play with all the ‘babies’ all day and get paid for it; a teacher’s salary in Beouf’s case.  Jessica and Janet must have been really close if she was already being allowed this ‘privilege’.

I winced and grunted as the first flurry of baby wipes were rubbed on me. My junk was like a dish with a stubborn grease spot.  “Not so hard,” Janet told her friend.  “Be gentle.”  Took the words right out of my mouth.  Speaking of mouth.  “Drink up, hon! Don’t want you getting dehydrated.”  More apple juice was squirted into my mouth.  Janet was using this opportunity to multitask.  Clean up the bottom while filling up the top.

The new diaper wouldn’t stay dry long if this kept up.  That was kind of the point though, wasn’t it?

“No powder?”  Jessica asked, balling up the wet diaper and wipes right out from under me.

Still holding the bottle in my mouth, Janet shook her head. “Don’t want any accidentally on the carpet.”  Her mouth twitched.  “Darn it. Should have gotten a stuffer, too.  That way we could make it through the whole shebang without stopping for a change.”

“Oh no,” Jessica slipped the replacement under me and started taping it up.  “Mommy will have to change her Little boy...again.  Not that. No.  Next you’ll be telling us not to throw you into the briar patch.” 

“Point taken.”

I gurgled and gargled behind the nipple.  “Hull shhbbbng?”  

“You’ll see.” The complete stranger who’d just changed me winked.  “Throw the diaper away…?”   Her tone was friendly, mock begging for a favor.

“You changed it, you toss it,”  Janet said.

“Can’t blame me for trying,” Janet stood with the old diaper, my old diaper, balled up in one hand.  “Pail in the nursery?”

Janet dared not take the bottle out of my mouth. “That or the trashcan in the kitchen. Either works.  “Kay-kay.”  Jessica went towards the back of the house, towards my cell; because of course she did.  

DING-DONG!

“Company,” Janet said. She handed me the bottle and booped me on the nose. “You wait right here.”  She went for the front door.  “COMING!”

Great.  More company.  I spat out the bottle and stood up.  Who next?  Her parents?  Was I going to have to call them ‘Grampy’ and ‘Grammy’?

The television went to commercial; a commercial that saved a piece of my sanity.

“It was the day of the big game at Monkeez stadium” the bodiless narrator said. I looked at the T.V.  I’d seen this commercial before.  The camera cut to a tight shot of babies in the stands, playing the parts of fans.  Something was different, though.  There were more shots that weren’t in the cut I’d seen previously.

In amongst the Amazon babies were Littles cheering right alongside them, all clad in nothing but Monkeez.  And they were smiling and clapping and fumbling with their hands just as much.  They were either completely mind fucked or acting the part.

“But the star receiver couldn’t catch a pass,” the narrator said, just like before.  Instead of a cute toddler being tossed foam footballs, the part of the star receiver in the plain white saggy Brand X diaper might have been in his early to mid twenties.  “And no wonder, there was an offensive leak in his diaper!”   

 “Here comes the coach with a new game plan.  Monkeez Lil’ Steps Diapers, now with a more absorbent center, and Monkeez leg elastics to help eliminate gaps in the defense!”  The ‘COACH’ bringing out the diapers was the same normal Amazon baby.  

“Same audio tracks,” I whispered to myself.  That’s how they did it. “Different takes.”  They filmed the same commercial twice and substituted in Little actors and extras.  Just like with the Muffet Babies turning into the Muffet Littles.  Same dialogue. Same audio. Different visuals.  

But why?

On the commercial, the screen had gone to the computer generated diagram of the diaper’s features as before; including one that I’d taken for granted last time.  Sizing.

I looked down at the waistband of my new diaper.  Though it was mostly covered by the tapes, I could still make out the size written down in a babyish star stencil.  I was wearing a Monkeez size 9.  Of course!  A lightbulb exploded in my gray matter.

“Monkeez is the only major diaper company that sizes for all babies,” Michelle had said months ago.  Only then did I truly appreciate the implications. ALL BABIES.  I wasn’t wearing a scaled up version of what Little children wore.  I was wearing the exact same thing, just a different size!

If Little children wore diapers sized starting at one, but Amazon children wore size eights and nines and tens, there was an implicit message.  It was the same reason why Amazons still measured in pounds and feet.  A unified system of measurement to psychologically favor the Amazons and how big they were.

I wasn’t an adult being treated like a baby being put in the same size three and four diapers that Little babies were.  I was the same baby as any other Amazon child; I was just done growing up.  It’s why Janet didn’t seem to notice the difference at first between me describing Muffet Babies and Muffet Littles .  It’s why Dr. Milton insisted that I was an ‘Adult Baby’.  It’s why the stupid diaper commercial had a mix of actual Amazon children and babied Littles.

As a culture, as a whole, they didn’t want to see the difference between their children and our adults.  They’d blurred the line.  Deep down, the Amazons weren’t just gaslighting us.  They were gaslighting themselves too.

I felt like Archimedes when he discovered the principle of displacement.  I felt like Archimodes when he stumbled upon the principle of absorption.  In that instant, I knew the truth. I wasn’t crazy.  Not yet. 

“Okay team, let’s FIGHT! THOSE!  LEAKS!”  

 And I didn’t have Maturosis.  Maturosis didn’t exist.  It was a real EUREKA moment! I was feeling completely justified in my decades-long paranoia.

“And it’s a touchdown!” The Little man spiked the football, just like his infant counterpart had..  “What a happy day for Monkeez fans.”

I tossed my arms into the air, fists clenched in the victory of seeing through the bullshit.  “YES!”

My jubilation was cut short by peels of laughter and overcome by cooing.  Voices.  Lots of them.  I whipped my head around away from the television.  Filtering into Janet’s living room were faces, lots of them.  

Familiar ones. 

Faculty.

Staff.

Ex-Coworkers.

Holding gift wrapped boxes, and wearing sickeningly adoring smiles.

I was hairless from the neck down and naked save for the fresh diaper that’d just been taped onto me.

And from their perspective, they’d just caught me cheering.

Cheering at a fake touchdown in a Monkeez diaper commercial.

This was not going to end well for me...
 

[Moon3ye]

I have written it many times in other stories of DD but here again.

Since I had psychology as a subject during my training as a kindergarten teacher, I would just love to have some Amazons to talk to just to understand what is going on in their heads.

This whole Matura thing seems to be fake, or at least that's how we perceive it from Clark's point of view.

It's all really incredibly exciting.

[Sarah Penguin]

[Mugi]

Personalias you really are a great writer, The way you flesh out characters and give them personality. Reading this latest chapter I could feel that Clark might be going insane from the baby treatment and how he started to question himself. And I really like how you make little early hints about stuff like the monkeez commercial and then drag it into the story again with it being a big important moment.
Great job!!! ??

[Moon3ye]

Theory that just came to me.

It is all TRUE.

The whole maturity thing that the Amazons tell is true and Clark is really suffering from it and the story we are reading is written by Clark.

He's telling us his story from his point of view and in the end we get to the point where it turns out that this is a form of therapy that Janet brought him to because he was getting worse and worse with his refusal to accept all of this and writing it down is a form of coping just to get Clark to accept it in the end.

That would be an interesting plot twist in DD stories.

WHERE else it is always the coercion and subjugation of the Amazons that the Littles face, here it really is all TRUE.

[Personalias]

Chapter 39: A Shower of Sparks

I’m not a religious man. I can’t say that I’m an atheist either; nor an agnostic.  Frankly, whether there’s a god or gods influencing the world in some intangible or unseen way is something I never gave much thought to.  I had other...BIGGER things and people taking up my time and thought process.  Depending on the circumstances, religion as a whole is either the last bastion of the desperate or the luxury of those with enough time to contemplate on such great mysteries.

When I was growing up, my mother, my REAL mom, once quipped that “If God exists, He must have a whole more creativity than sense.”

Living in a world where a thirty-something could be reduced to the status of an infant in not-quite twenty four hours due to his relative size; I was inclined to agree.  I just didn’t think about any god that much, because I was spending so much time trying to avoid the result of such creativity.  Caught standing there all but naked in front of the T.V. a small horde of Amazons parading into Janet’s living room, I mentally added that if there was a God they had a wicked and cruel sense of humor.  Someone up (or down) there was surely laughing at me, in this moment.

Mrs. Springfield and Mr. Renner; fourth and fifth grade teachers respectively were there. I knew their names only because of a handful of faculty meetings where they’d saved me a seat.  Less save, and more didn’t object to me climbing up next to them. The various therapists from the I.E.P. meeting; Bankhead, Skinner, Winters, and Sosa were right behind them.  Skinner had the gall to wave at me, all bright eyed.  

I did not wave back...

Mixed in were at least half a dozen faces whose names I didn’t know from around campus; and a few who I didn’t even know their faces.  They might have been complete strangers or friends of Janet’s.

And I was stuck there.  Hemmed in from all sides by giants wearing giddy smiles and holding gift wrapped boxes of various sides.  

I froze.  What did I do with my body?  Did I try and hide?  Cover my diaper with my hands?  Stand defiantly and upright with my arms over my chest?  I didn’t know.  What about my voice?  Did I scream and shout?  Did I cry out?  Did I play coy and make a vain attempt at dignity?  I didn’t know.

My breath came out a small and trembling thing; shaking and involuntarily whimpering because of how much my chest was hurting.  I hadn’t even realized that I wasn’t breathing for the good half a minute as more and more of Janet’s guests filtered in.  I only breathed when Janet came in, practically arm and arm with the last guest: Melony Beouf. 

 All Amazons.  No Tweeners.  Good.  I didn’t know if I could have stood seeing Tracy see me as I was just then.  No Littles, either.  I was the only “baby” in the room of infantilizing maniacs.  

“SURPRIIIIIISE!” The assembled cadre of former coworkers and strangers cheered.  My heart rate ticked up but it had nothing to do with excitement.  My skin, still a bit pinkish burned a brighter shade of red as my breathing quickened from a wild mixer of fear, frustration, and embarrassment.

Janet’s friend, Jessica, trotted in from the side.  Proudly in front of her she clutched a certain stuffed feline belonging to the genus Panthera.  She’d gone snooping after disposing of my old diaper. “Ooooh! So this is Li-!”

“Janet, what the hell are you doing?!”  I demanded.  I had chosen to go with belligerent, apparently.

A few uncomfortable giggles and some murmurs of “Janet” was my reward.

Janet stepped forward, turned the T.V. off and picked me up.  The T.V. off was a small mercy.  I didn’t want another Monkeez commercial coming on.  “I thought my Little boy might want some Little boy toys and clothes before he went back to school on Monday.”  She forced her forehead against mine, nuzzling me. “And Mommy doesn’t have everything she needs to take care of you, yet.”  She walked me back over to the couch and sat down right in the middle; a Queen on her thrown with me in her lap.  Two of the guests moved the coffee table out of the way. “So, Mrs. Beouf  contacted allllll of our friends and they chipped in to get us presents.”

Get us presents. That was a laugh.  Never has a baby shower ever been about the baby.  Never has any interaction involving Littles and Amazons really been about the Little’s wants and needs.

“Us...?  Really...?”  I meant to sound sarcastic.  It didn’t take.

Jessica sat Lion on my lap, and pinched my cheek hard enough to hurt. “That’s right, cutie!”  I caught sight of Skinner whispering something to Sosa; likely remarking about how it was she who’d first handed me the stupid stuffie.

“Jessica,” Janet waved her friend off.  “You’re cosseting again.”  That got a quiet round of chuckles.

“Sorry!”  My newly christened ‘Auntie’ skittered away.  “‘Scuse me, I gotta go get his present! Left it in the car!”  The sea of Amazons parted awkwardly for her so she could go out the door and into her car.

“Now Clark,” Janet gave me a gentle squeeze.  “These are our guests.  And they all brought these things just for you.  They were thinking of you when they got them, and only want to help start you and Mommy’s life together.”  Her voice was calm, loving and patient; it wasn’t any kind of secret knowing that she thrilled in calling herself Mommy. But still had the warning cadence of an adult prepping a child to receive gifts.  

I sighed.  “Yes...Mo…..ma’a….” Nope. I couldn’t say it.  Not then.  “I understand, Janet.”  There were no audible gasps, but looking at the faces of those gathered, I could tell that I’d made more than a few people squirmy.  How DARE a Little call his Mommy by her first name.  

The unfamiliar faces seemed a lot more startled than the people I’d actually shared a modicum of space with.  Clark Gibson- may he rest in peace- had a certain reputation about him; a Little that had learned to pass as an adult.  It made sense to those who had known him that Baby Clark Grange might have a little bit of Clark’s wit.   

That’s what I told myself, anyways.  It’s just as likely that my former colleagues expected me to be a little mouthier than those who didn’t regress Littles as part of their job.  I hadn’t even had a full day of proper reconditioning.

Speaking of familiar faces, I noted that neither Forrest nor Brollish were in attendance.  Thank whatever cruel god that put me in this position for that small delay in torment.  The idea that Janet might invite either of those creeps would have made me resent...no...HATE her even more.

Her warning delivered, Janet kissed me on the top of my head and threw another curveball.  “And everyone else,” she said, “please remember that Clark has gone through and is going through a lot right now.  He might need help using his words productively, so we have to be patient.”  Everyone nodded their understanding.  Beouf was nodding in pride.  This part had been rehearsed.  Clearly, they’d been talking.  “We’re the grown-ups, and he’s the ba...” I tensed.  She stopped.  “He’s my Little boy.  Who’s first?”

No one moved.  No one wanted to be first.  Gift giving is kind of like a blind talent show.  No one wants to be first and have their gift forgotten by the time a dozen or so are added to the pile, but no one wants to have to follow up a tough act.

It was Beouf who stepped up.  In her hands were two boxes.  One could have doubled as a life raft on me...that or a coffin.  Leaning over, she adjusted her glasses and looked me in the eye.

“Hi Clark,” she said. Her tone was cheery, but neutral.  A teacher greeting a new student. I didn’t respond, immediately. I bit down on my tongue instead to suppress a growl.  If I was angry at Janet for adopting me I was deeply furious at Beouf.

I looked away.  “Hi Mrs. Beouf…”  I spat out her name.  In that moment I wanted to let her know how angry I was at her.  How I’d never forgive her.  How I had used her last name before as a sign of respect and admiration and now viewed her as an oppressor; no better than Forrest or Brollish.

She set the first box besides Janet’s lap.  “Do you want to open up your present?”  

I did not.  I must have shook my head a little bit.

“He must be feeling shy all of a sudden.”  Janet gave me a squeeze.  I couldn’t tell if it was one meant as comfort or a warning.

Slowly, Beouf started to peel open the paper. “It’s fine,” she said.  “I’ll do it.  It’ll give me time to explain.”

Explain?  Explain what?

“I know you’re upset at me, Clark,” Beouf told the room.  “And that’s okay.  I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, but it had to be done for your own good.  You can be mad at me for as long as you need.”  Good. Fuck her.  I didn’t need permission to be mad at her, though.  Fuck her.  

Janet had been friends with me for a few months.  Beouf had been my mentor in teaching for a decade and had turned on a dime; not even hesitating to strip me of my clothes and shove me into that nightmare hole that fried my follicles off. 

Beouf must have been some kind of low level telepath.  “Yesterday I got to thinking,” she told me as she undid the wrapping.  “I took away your big boy clothes.  It needed to be done, but I understand why that would be scary and no fun.  So when I saw these on sale yesterday I knew they were for you!”  She opened the box.  Inside were toddler clothes; discount baby outfits.  Nothing more than T-shirts and matching shorts in basic colors: Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, brown, black, and white.

Janet held up an outfit to me.  The shirts were too short to cover all but the top of my diaper, and the shorts stopped at my knees.  The elastic waistbands would make it far too easy for someone besides myself to pull them down and they didn’t look nearly baggy enough; but there were no stupid phrases like “Mommy’s Little Man” on the shirts, or “Little Stinker” on the shorts.  

That was something, I supposed.  

“You can mix and match them too, if you like.” That line was directed at Janet, obviously.  As far as the assembled giants were concerned, my days of dressing myself were over.  Around the room there were nods and murmurs of approval.  A perfectly sensible, if unexciting gift.  An ideal opening act that few people would feel bashful following.

“Thank you!” Janet said.  I could hear the smile.  It was a good gift...if I had been an actual baby.  “What do we say, Clark?”

“Thank you…” I grumbled.

The first box of clothes went to the floor by Janet’s feet.  Beouf took the second box, only slightly smaller.  “This one’s from Mrs. Zoge,” Beouf said, using her teacher voice again.  “She wanted to be here, but she couldn’t find a sitter for Ivy and didn’t want to draw attention away from you on your special day.”  

Zoge not being present was a gift in of itself.  Same with Ivy.  I wouldn’t have been able to get away with as much with the perfect babied Little giggling and curtseying and calling her slaver “Mommy” to mine’s “Janet”.

Beouf opened the box.  A new wave of coos became nails on a chalkboard as Janet clapped in excitement.  Beouf held up the present for all to see.  Baby sailor clothes. Lots of them:  A three piece sailor suit -shorts, shirts, and a hat- with navy blue trim was the least humiliating of the set.  The onesie with a rubber duck on the chest and the words “Poop Deck” along the bum made me want to keel over.  The romper and the shortalls weren’t much better.  The socks with blue anchors stitched in at the ankles was the frosting on a just awful cake.

I felt my temperature rivet up a notch.  At one recent point in my life. Mrs. Zoge had been in tears and literally bowing to my adulthood.  All it took was forty-eight hours for her to get back on the wagon.  I had foolishly thought it meant that Amazons could change…

Ha-ha, right?

“How cute!” 

“Adorable”

“I wanna see him in that one!”

I gulped.  My throat became as dry as my fresh Monkeez.  “THAT!” I pointed to the box of semi-dignified clothing by Janet’s feet!  “I WANT THAT!”  

Laughter all around.  “AWWWWWWW!” Screw their laughter.  This was quickly becoming a scenario where the only thing I could control was how badly I lost. 

I looked up at my captor.  My once-friend.  “Pleeeeeeease! Mmmm…” Nope. Couldn’t do it.  Not with all these people watching.  “Janet?  Please Janet!” I made myself shiver despite how my skin simmered with anger and embarrassment.  “I’m getting cold.”  

“Of course, sweetie,”  Janet cooed.  Gently, she slid me down to the floor and grabbed the purple shirt and shorts.  Not my favorite, but I didn’t want to push my luck.  “Let’s get some clothes on.”

What happened next was a kind of reverse strip tease.  Janet popped open the purple pair and held them up for me. It might have been cruelty, or just a lack of perspective, but they were held just high enough to make it challenging.  Still unused to moving around in bulky absorbent padding, I had to set the lion stuffie down so I could keep my balance.  

There was clapping, literal clapping, as she pulled the shorts up over my hips. I spared a moment to look down.  As suspected, the leggings stopped just above my knees; it wouldn’t take an eagle eye to see the padding; the top of the diaper’s waistband peeked out over the shorts’ and likely would peek out more if I so much as bent down.  This was less an article of clothing and more of a diaper cover with chutes for the legs.  

Better than a sailor onesie…

The shirt came on next, and I even humored Janet by reaching into the air and allowing her to guide my arms into the sleeves and pull it over my head.  More clapping.  At least my legs were no longer bare.  At least I didn’t have to hug Lion to cover my nipples.  As soon as I was settled back on Janet’s lap, I looked Beouf in the eye.  “Thank you…”  There was the tiniest mote of sincerity that one time.

“Someone’s trying to be teacher’s pet,” Bankhead joked.  I was the only one who didn’t giggle at that.  Typical Bankhead; she always was a mood ruiner.

Beouf took her place among the assembled guests.  Renner, in the minority amongst all the Amazon ladies, came forward. If I haven’t talked much about Renner up to this point, it’s because he wasn’t particularly important in my life.  He was just sorta...there.  School too.  Came in, clocked in, supposedly taught, clocked out.

Real laid back, for an Amazon. Under different circumstances we might’ve been friends; probably not, but maybe.  

 In Renner’s arms was a jumbo box of Monkeez with a ribbon taped onto the top. “I didn’t know what to get,” he said, sounding bashful and embarrassed, “so I decided to get something practical.”  He turned it around in his arms before setting it down, allowing me to catch a glimpse of the whole package.  A baby model grinning on one side; a Little on the other.

“Oh Steven,” Mrs. Springfield groaned. “Really?”  

Mumblings of “such a guy…” could be heard in the living room and combined with knowing but disapproving headshakes.  He was lazy and got a pass because he was a dude. An Amazon dude.

Typical.

His bit of farce wasn’t done yet.

“Thank you, Steven,” Janet said.  “These will definitely come in handy.”  I looked down at the Little on the box and squirmed a bit. Janet bobbed me up on her knee, but didn’t do anything else.  At least she wasn’t prompting me to thank him for the diapers…

“Oh, and almost forgot,” Renner said, digging into his jeans pocket.   He pulled out a not-quite stuffie; same material, but far too small.  It had a fox’s face attached to a soft cloth strap. It wasn’t wrapped; kinda frayed around the edges, too.  “My nephew likes these,” he said, scratching the back of his shaved head awkwardly as Janet took it from him.

Janet wrapped the used baby toy around my wrist, securing it with velcro. “It’s a wrist rattle,” Janet said. “Go on.  Give it a try.”

I rolled my eyes, held the baby toy to my ear, jiggled my right arm…

And almost fell over the other side of her lap.

Amazon giggles and cooing noises started up again as Janet caught me and sat me upright.  My face flushed; my breathing slowed then quickened; my head buzzed and I felt a faint and fleeting sense of euphoria as my equilibrium shifted off key.  It was like I’d taken a triple shot of tequila and it had just hit me.

It was a rush.  A guy could get to like this.  “Did you guys hear that?!”  I asked.  There were more quiet chuckles, and shakes of “no”.  I turned my wrist over and saw the King Fisher Logo.  I’d seen something about this a few months ago online...

The Amazons couldn’t hear it, I felt slightly drunk, and  Mr Renner’s “nephew” clearly wasn’t an actual child.  “Thank you,” I rasped, “But I prefer lions…”  I peeled off the velcro and tried to offer what had to be a sloppily re-gifted brainwashing device back.  If only diapers had velcro tabs so that Littles would have an easier time taking them off...

“Clark,” Janet scoffed.  “Be nice.”

I was already starting to sober up, as it were; adrenaline overcoming the fading buzz.  “It’s very nice,” I lied, “I just like lions…”

Mr. Renner took it back graciously enough and repocketed it. “No problem, Lil’ guy,” he said.  “It was kind of a last minute thing anyways.”  Last minute was underselling it.  It’s probably something he had laying around his house for when he had to ‘babysit’ his poor ‘nephew’.  I reached over and grabbed Lion, clutching him like a murderer clutches an alibi.  The I.E.P. team was totally tickled.

Mr. Renner backed to his place along the fringes of the gathering as more giants came forward to give their “gifts”. He’d done his part, and went back to glancing at his phone.  I don’t know why, but this annoyed me.  At least the other Amazons were committed to this tyrannical farce...

 From there the dance went on in earnest.  A guest would come up and give a present.  Janet would tell everyone (and me) what it was even though most of it was pretty obvious.  She would thank them and I would mumble noncommittally.  It went on and on for at least an hour like that.

Chandra Skinner gave Janet a baby monitor.  “Top of the line,” she said.  A King Fisher Series 669. “This is both a great safety tool, and a great educational tool,” she promised.  I huffed.  What would Skinner know about education?  Furthermore, how did she manage to teach kids to pronounce words without them developing her own hick accent?

Bankhead gave Janet a board book entitled “I DON’T HAVE TO GROW UP!”  More propaganda.  Like the Monkeez commercial, the Little Voices pamphlets, and the Muffet Littles, I was positive it was more for her benefit than mine.  The diapered Little on the cover looked up from the illustrated bathroom floor in a pool of toilet paper.

“I recommend that all new parents read this to their Little ones,” she told Janet.  “It does them both a lot of good.”  She looked down at me and booped me on the nose. “And the best part is it’s chewable.”  I would not be chewing that book, but I would be furiously rubbing her nasty ass perfume off the tip of my schnoz.  Janet bounced me more on her knee as Bankhead finished her sales pitch.

“These mittens will help encourage him to bottle, spoon feed or breastfeed,” Sosa said, distant but genial.  “Maturosis sometimes manifests in tantrums over lost and deteriorating capabilities.  Makes it easier on them if they don’t have a choice.”  The whole room was bobbleheads.

Silently, I swore to whatever god there was that I’d find a way to make Sosa eat those words.
Speaking of God, Janet’s room had become a perverse kind of church, I realized.  One that preached the Gospel of Maturosis and Developmental Plateau and read from the book of Little Voices. 

Winters, the physical therapist’s contribution was fairly huge.  Like Renner, hers wasn’t properly wrapped.  Unlike him, there was a reason beyond laziness.  “It’s a playground in a box!” she said.  When she opened the lid, the entire box unfolded itself and expanded.  Translucent tubes shot out and laid themselves around the rug. Ramps and slides reconfigured themselves and a hefty crash pad inflated itself.  “And it’s got five different configurations!”  With a turn of a knob the tubes, passageways, and obstacles transformed again and again and again until the push of a button packed itself up again into the relatively small crate.

Applause all around.  The rest of the I.E.P. team had been glad to let the physical therapist go last.  Amazon ingenuity at work.  Critically I eyeballed the structure.  Lots of tubes to shimmy around it, but not break line of sight. A slide with no steps. A bridge meant to weeble and wobble unsteadily; a rolling tunnel.  Great. A funhouse that not-so-subtly encouraged me to crawl instead of walk.  And it could take up the whole living room.  “Just make sure to use it only under adult supervision.”

You ever get so upset that all you can do is huff and sigh at how messed up the world is?  You feel so beaten down and helpless that the most you can do is just bear it?  Not even grin?  Just bear it.  If you’re an Amazon, probably not…  I reached that point about this time.

I honestly can’t remember most of what else was shoved in my face that day. Plenty of staff members and too many strangers to count.  Blocks here. Plushies there, (which I graciously pretended to accept as long as they didn’t jangle).  Fake musical instruments that I never intended to try out.  Janet got a playpen along with a replacement car seat and diaper bag.  No more pink.  

Yay I guess? 

 Truthfully it only made me feel worse.  Some stupid, desperate part of me thought that if Janet still had her Little girl wardrobe, she might have let me go should a more feminine candidate present themselves.  I’m sorry for writing that, but I was genuinely at a point where it was better anyone but me.

As far as clothes went, Beouf’s were by far the most dignified and mature.  The rest of my growing closet would be filled with things that snapped up at the crotch and the inseams, and decorated with cartoon animals.  Pairs of otherwise normal pants were ruined with extra sewing just so a giant would have easier access to my plastic backed undies.  All of my pajamas now had feet on them.  Everything meant to cover me below the waist (and a few things that weren’t) had Amazon strength snaps that I couldn’t hope to undo by myself.

The only comfort I got there was that being already dressed, Janet didn’t want a fussy Little doll in front of her friends, so I was saved the monotony and embarrassment of being stripped and reclothed just so that every guest could see me in the special skin of humiliation they’d picked just for me.

“Hmmm?” Janet turned over the unopened pack of pacifiers and inspected the back.  “Are these the gag kind?”  Janet asked whatever friend or relative that had bought them.  

“The bulbs inflate if you twist them, yes.”

Janet bounced me more on her lap.  Her bobbing knee was starting to become a tell for her more than a signal for me to be quiet. The more she jiggled me like a fussy toddler, I’d learned, the less comfortable she was about the gift.  If I was right, that at least meant that I wouldn’t be tasting any books any time soon.  It also meant that I’d be wearing mittens at meal time sooner or later.  “That’s very nice…”

“I’ve got the receipt in the bag in the case you want to trade them in for the regular kind.”

The lap stopped moving.  “Oh! That’d be great! Thank you for thinking of that!”  

Oh, so she could refuse gifts!  The mighty double standard was in full swing!  I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut, though.

Janet’s bestie was the last to present her so-called.  Standing in front of Janet, like a ringmaster introducing the acrobats.  “Janet,” she said, “You’ve got all these really neat gadgets and gizmos for your Little to play in.  I’m sure he’ll be very happy.” She winked at me and then dashed out into the kitchen. 

Guests chuckled at her enthusiasm and looked out the doorway, grinning as the low whir of an electronic engine signaled her return.  If she were my size she’d have been snatched and had a Monkeez taped around her butt in an instant. “But what kind of Auntie would I be if I didn’t get you a little something something so that you two could play TOGETHER?!”

 The mammoth stroller followed behind her on four gigantic wheels as she skipped around the living room. It stopped, started, and changed direction with her.  “It can follow you if you walk in front of it.”  She clicked a remote in her palm and the stroller heeled like a dog.  “Or beside you if you want to hold your Little’s hand.”  Wows and remarks of appreciation overlapped onto each other.  “And oh yeah, I guess you can push it too.”  That got some belly laughs.

Another wink was cast in my direction.  “Oh, and I’m not supposed to show you this, Clark, but just in case you want to pedal around the backyard..?”  Another click of the remote, and  the bottom dropped out and detached itself.  Ejecting from the front of the fancy stroller was a low riding vehicle with handlebars.  Two pedals popped out the side  “It’s also a scooter.”  

Janet’s knee started earthquaking.  “Don’t worry,” Jessica promised.  “The remote still works on the scooter, too.  It’s super safe.”  The room stopped bouncing and the crinkles left my ears.  The queen had been appeased.

I won’t lie. The stroller was my favorite gift I’d received.  Not because I liked it, but because I saw possibilities.

A brown delivery box lay there on the floor.  It had been ejected when my new stroller temporarily turned into a four wheeler.  “Oh yeah,” Jessica said.  “This was on your doorstep when I came back in.”

“Oh thank goodness!” Janet slid me off her lap and stood up.  “It came!”

I had to roll to my knees so that I could stand up and watch Janet snatch away the cardboard rectangle.  “What came?” I asked.

I saw that madness come over her again.  This was bad. Just like all the guests had before, Janet approached me on the couch.  The only difference was I wasn’t in anyone’s lap.  I was the complete center of attention.  Janet’s. Beouf’s.  The I.E.P. Team’s.  Jessica’s.  Fuck, even Renner looked up from his phone.

This would not end well.

“I ordered this late Thursday night and I was afraid it wouldn’t get here in time,” Janet said.  She started ripping the box open.

I felt confused and disoriented.  It was like the wrist rattle but without the euphoria.  “What got here in time?”

“I thought that since you’re going back to school on Monday,” Janet paused and nodded towards Mrs. Beouf.  “That it might help to ease the transition if I got you a special outfit for your first day.”

I felt numb.  “Special?  Outfit?”

The ensemble she removed and presented before the assembled crowd was forged in the very fires of my own personal Hell.  The pants were simple and khaki, neatly pressed and pleated with an elastic waistband and a belt sewn in for show.  The collared button up shirt was a onesie with plenty of room in the front and back for an expanding diaper. The tie was a clip on at the top and a pacifier caddy on the other.  The slippers were fluffy recreations of leather loafers.

It looked…

It looked…

“It kinda looks like what he used to wear when he was teaching!” Mrs. Springfield laughed.

They laughed.  They all laughed.  And laughed. And laughed. And laughed.  Real funny. Super cleverl.  Great gift...

“So Clark?” Janet asked.  “What do you think?”  What did I think?  What did I think?! “Do you want to try it on?”

I stood there, glassy eyed, jaw trembling.  Saying nothing.

“I think he’d look cute” Someone said.  I don’t know who.  My ears started ringing.  My vision was narrowing.

“He always did!”  Another distorted out of focus Amazon agreed.

“This is perfect!  Just perfect!”

“I need to get one for my Little!”

“Clark?” Janet coaxed me. “Baby?  Do you want to try it on?”  She reached her hand out, beckoning me.  “Come on.  Let’s try it on.”  I wasn’t breathing.  “I think you’ll like it.  You’ll look super mature and grown-up in this.”

I don’t have the skill to put into words the exact onomatopoeia that erupted out of me in that moment.  I started screaming.  I started roaring.  I started crying.  I was screaming and roaring and crying all at once. 

 I reached up to my head and started yanking at my unnaturally curled and reddened hair yelling incoherently as I tried to pull my own hair out like stubborn weeds.  Face itching I started clawing at my cheeks praying to draw blood from myself.  Only saline and snot coated my face, however.  I so wished for blood.

I was crying.  Ugly crying.  And roaring.  I couldn’t see clearly and I felt unsteady and I wanted to stomp even though my feet would make no noise on the cushy couch.  If the coffee table hadn’t been moved back towards the T.V. I would have hurled myself off the sofa in an effort to crack my head open on it and splatter my brains all over the worn out coasters.

“Clar-?”

“FUCK YOU JANET!”

 The Amazons gasped like I was a grotesque demon.  But they didn’t move. They didn’t dare.

“FUCK YOOOOOOOOOOOU!” Still there was shocked silence. “WHAT?! IS THIS SOME KIND OF JOKE TO YOU?  A-HA-HA! LOOK AT THE LITTLE! LET’S DRESS HIM UP LIKE A GROWN-UP WON’T THAT BE FUCKIN’ CUTE?!”

 “Clark!”

“YEAH! LET’S DRESS THE LITTLE FUCKIN’ BABY UP LIKE A GROWN-UP! HE WAS NEVER ONE OF US ANYWAYS AND NOW WE DON’T HAVE TO HUMOR HIM SO IT’S FUN WHEN HE WEARS SUITS AND TIES, BUT WE CAN’T LET HIM FORGET, CAN WE?” I turned on the crowd.  “CAN WE?!”

“RENNER JUST HAS TO SHOW UP AND THAT’S GOOD ENOUGH! I BUST MY ASS AND NONE OF IT MATTERS! AND I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT WORK, I MEAN EVERYTHING!”  Renner’s lip curled up in anger but didn’t say anything.

“AND I’M JUST THEEEEE FUCKIN’ BEST! I’M SO GOOD WITH KIDS!” I screamed at the I.E.P. team. I didn’t even have the self-control to make my voice go into a mocking falsetto. “I’M SOOOOO GOOD AT IMPLEMENTING THERAPIES AND CONNECTING WITH STUDENTS AND PARENTS AND FOLLOWING THROUGH IN THE CLASSROOM!  GOOD LUCK DOING YOUR FUCKING JOBS WITHOUT ME!” I inhaled; out of breath. I wasn’t done. “NOW YOU’LL ACTUALLY HAVE TO DO YOUR JOBS!  OR MAYBE NOT?  MOST OF YOUR PATIENTS ARE LITTLES! YOU DON’T HAVE TO FIX LITTLES! YOU JUST HAVE TO BREAK THEM IN JUST THE RIGHT WAY!”  The whole gaggle of witches looked distinctly uncomfortable.  Good.

“Clark,” It was Beouf.  “You’re feeling some really big feelings, right now-”

“GO FUCK YOURSELF, MELONY!”  She stopped, but her expression was passive.  “YOU THINK YOU’RE SO GOOD WITH KIDS? YOU DON’T ACTUALLY WORK WITH KIDS! AND IF YOU ARE SO GOOD WITH THEM, WHY IS YOUR DAUGHTER KNOCKED UP AND MOVING BACK IN WITH YOU?! YOU SURE SET HER UP FOR SUCCESS!”  

Everyone else looked shocked, disgusted, and distinctly uncomfortable.  Beouf took my tongue lashing on the chin.  I might as well have just said baby babble to her.

“CLARK GRANGE!” Janet leered over me, abomination of an outfit still in hand. “YOU APOLOGIZE RIGHT THIS-!”

“FUCK YOU, JANET!” I stared right back at her, defiant. Her teacher glare had no effect, and maybe, just maybe I had a little bit of my old mojo back in that moment.  I was crying and screaming and had absolutely no ability to modulate my voice, but it was the most powerful, the most in control I’d felt in...well...forever.  For once the Amazons were listening to me, really listening.  No more mincing words.  Time to speak my truth.  My angry, angry, truth.

 “IF YOU WERE FIT TO BE A WIFE MAYBE HUBBIE WOULDN’T HAVE SCREWED AROUND ON YOU! IF YOU WERE FIT TO BE A MOTHER- A REAL MOTHER-MAYBE HE WOULDN’T HAVE GOTTEN HIS NUTS SNIPPED!  MAYBE HE KNEW SOMETHING YOU DIDN’T! MAYBE EVERYBODY HERE IS SO SUPPORTIVE OF YOU PRETENDING TO BE A MOTHER BECAUSE THEY ALLLLL KNO-!”

A blur.  Impossible speed and I was taken off my feet.  Impossible strength and I was laid out, belly side first, down over Janet’s lap.  The infantile mock up of my old dress code was abandoned on the living room floor, the back of my purple shirt was lifted up and my purple shorts were hiked down to my ankles.  I could feel the shadow of her palm preparing to strike me.

I had won.  I had broken Janet, and gotten her to show her true, typical Amazon colors. And my reward, I knew, was going to be the public beating of my life.  The first time I’d been spanked by an Amazon, the bitch had been just trying to get me to comply.

Janet?  Janet was mad. Full fucking furious.

I started peeing, the second round of apple juice having more than caught up in my bladder.  Even through the padding, I knew, this was going to be the most physically and emotionally traumatizing thing in my life.  This was going to hurt more than the last spanking, more than the bug zapper, more than anything I could imagine.  Too late, I found that my terror outweighed my own righteous fury.

“PLEASE MOMMY!” I begged. “DON’T SPANK ME! I’M SORRY! I’M SORRY! I WAS NAUGHTY MOMMY! I’M SORRY!”  I was lying and I knew it.  Janet probably knew it too.  “I’LL BE A GOOD BABY! I’LL BE GOOOOOOOOOD!”

Everyone else knew I was lying too.  Through my own blubbering I saw distasteful looks and murmurs of “gotta learn”, and “consequences” and “discipline”.  Only Beouf seemed to be in the minority.  She stood there front and center, her arms folded over her chest.  Was she staring at me?  Janet?  Both of us?

A roar of Janet’s own came screaming out.  “GrrrrrrAAAAAAH!”  I flinched and braced myself. This was the end.

 But Janet’s hand did not strike me; any part of me.  “Excuse me!”  The world went into fast motion.  Janet was carrying me through the crowd out of the living room and into the side hallway.

Into the nursery I was carried, holding my breath.  Was she going to beat me in private?  Gag me?  Torture me?   I was on my back, strapped down to the changing table.  She squeezed the front of my diaper roughly.  “Wet,” she whispered.  My shorts were still somewhere in the living room.

Was she going to double diaper me and leave me to fester and stew in my own mess? Give me an enema?  A suppository?  

No.

She changed me.  She just changed me.  It was rougher, angrier, than the last few she’d given me, but it was just a diaper change.  Just as quickly, she plopped me in the crib.  I stared up at her through my tears and saw that she had a crop of her own dribbling down. 

 “You’ve hurt Mommy’s feelings, and she’s very upset right now!” she said. Then she said something that pissed me off even more.  “But I still love youuu…” Her voice went up a note as she choked back sobs. 

She left the room and locked the door.

In the immediate silence, and the stunned quiet of the house, I could hear her sobbing; her guests shushing her in comforting terms.

Good.  Let her scream and bawl and shout and sob about how unfair everything was.  That meant no one would be able to hear me do the same.

 

[Moon3ye]

Hey my family name is immortalized in your story. And the character is about as screwy as I am. Which in turn is creepy that you hit me so well without us knowing each other personally.

I enjoyed the chapter in all its facets.

[Sarah Penguin]

[TerranV]

That escalated quickly. I'm really curious what the fallout will be.

[Mugi]

Great chapter as always Personalias, BUT to give some critique I do find it a bit wierd how Clark went from a well needed outburst of rage, I get that this baby treatment would pent up more and more anger. But I can't really see how he went from raging to terrified, sure the spanking of a lifetime might be hella scary but I just can't see how he gets terrified IMO it's more realistic if he cant become afraid because he is so furious. I could see him breaking down during the spanking but I could not grip the part that he broke down before and even used the mommy word.

Otherwise its like I said great just that part I was not fond of.

[BabyJilly_S]

Wow, just wow. that was great.

Oh and loved the phrase "special skin of humiliation" 

 

[Samriis]

The really bad part of having another great chapter is now we have to wait for more.  Well done.

[bobindiapers]

On 9/26/2021 at 8:43 AM, Personalias said:

Brollish was a skeleton wearing someone else’s skin held together in a pantsuit.

I had a teacher in high school that this description is perfect for, this made me laugh.

 

Clark's outburst at the baby shower is going to make his first day of school a lot more difficult, I think. What happens if the school decides he's not mature enough to attend, even as a little? Day care? Etiquette school?

[Personalias]

Chapter 40: Cossets, Confessions, and Compromises

I stayed in the crib and sobbed and beat up the mattress for what felt like forever.  I screamed and wailed.  Sometimes I muffled, other times I screamed until my uvula rattled and shook the crib’s bars. To add to the frustration, I didn’t even have a stupid stuffie to take my anger out on.  Lion remained in the living room where a sobbing Janet was being given pats on the back and soothing comments by her friends.

I was alone.

I could have, with enough effort, gotten out of the crib.  The bars were tall, but I had the time, adrenaline, and a thin enough diaper so as not to encumber me too badly.  I didn’t though.  The door was locked from the outside and the windows were far too high to attempt escape.  I could have wrecked the room; likely would have gotten some pleasure in it too, but it wasn’t the right move.  

A wrecked nursery would have done one of two things: Anger the giantess even more so that she did end up spanking me, or just make her even more numb to my outrage.  In my own personal fantasy, I was in a war just then.  

So I did the only reasonable option left to me:  I cried myself out till I ran out of tears.  I yelled until my breathing steadied. I let my anger and hurt harden and simmer inside me until the insides of my brain were numb.

And I went quiet.  I said nothing for the rest of the day.  When Janet came in later to tell me that everyone else had gone home, I said nothing.  When she fed me lunch in a highchair, I said nothing.  When she tried to play with me, I said nothing.  When she talked to me, I said nothing.

I did not resist.  I did not defy.  I just said nothing.  If she called my name I would look at her; stare even, as an acknowledgement, but I would not speak to her.  When she fed me, I opened my mouth and swallowed.  Nothing more.  When she offered me toys, I accepted them briefly, then put them down quietly to the side.  I would hold my bladder long enough to know that I was still in control of such things, but I would not let her see me squirm.  When she called me “baby” or herself “Mommy”, I didn’t object or blush or comment.  When she changed me I did not huff or squirm.  That night I obeyed and gave her my limbs in the bathtub to cleanse and scrub as she pleased.

I would give her nothing.  Not my anger, nor my pain, nor my embarrassment, or exasperation.  If she didn’t want me, all of me, the real me, she’d get nothing.  Not even rebellion.

At first, it didn’t work.  Her own attempts were half-hearted.  She’d lost that bright and shiny polish of Mommyness and enthusiasm.  She’d lost the angry intensity too, but she wasn’t nearly as into it as that morning.  She was pensive; weary; maybe even afraid to engage me at that level.  To be crude, it was a little like trying to masturbate out of habit or boredom.  You can go through the motions all you want, but if your mind is really on something else nothing is going to happen.

Janet’s mind was on something else.  We’d hurt each other.

I could see the cracks starting to form right around my enforced bedtime.  “This monitor,” she told me, “is a special two way monitor.  It will let me check in on you and talk back to you if you need it.  If you want my attention, all you have to do is call ‘Mommy’.”   She wanted me to call out to her.  

Good.  The silence was starting to hurt more than my shouting.  When she kissed me on the forehead, her “I love you”, had an edge of doubtful hope; practically begging me to reciprocate.  

I stayed up late that night. Staring at the baby monitor, on its own special shelf right by the changing table.  I was silent.  I did not call out.  But I did not go to sleep.  Skinner, the SLP, had told Janet that the baby monitor was “educational”.  I waited, just in case “educational” meant “subliminal”.  If it was hypnotic, I couldn’t tell.  Even hours later, when Janet would have most likely gone to bed, nothing came through.  If it really was a two-way like Janet had claimed, she was saying anything either.

My silence dragged on into the morning.  Hers didn’t.  Breakfast was scrambled eggs. I still had to be spoon fed “via airplane”, but at least it wasn’t something out of a glass jar.  She bobbed me on her knee, and tried to get me to comment on cartoons.  I remained silent and didn’t react.  Being dead ass tired from not sleeping didn’t help.  I went through the crawling playground once, too.  

In this instance, bare bones token compliance was doing more damage to her than willful disobedience.  I was obeying her out of spite.

Before I knew it, it was after lunch.  It had been just over 24 hours since I had muttered so much as a syllable other than a burp.  I sat there on the wooden deck in Janet’s backyard. I stared at my green bootied feet dangling above the lawn. My legs were bare because I’d been dressed in a matching onesie that morning.  

Janet was attending to her garden.  Apparently, she grew some of her own vegetables in her backyard as a hobby; mostly peppers.  I, being an untrustworthy Little, was made to wait on the safety of her deck while she checked to see how ripe this pepper, or that plant was before she picked the lot.  Me? I just stared at my feet; not bored because I knew it was hurting her.

I heard crinkling and for once it wasn’t from me.  Janet’s feet crunched on drying grass and the first wave of Autumn leaves.  She’d stopped attending to her garden and took a knee so that she was almost at eye level with me.

“Hey, Clark.” 

I looked up at her, to acknowledge her presence.  Still said nothing.  

“Can we talk?”  My silence was permission, apparently.  “I stayed up late last night talking to Mrs. Beouf and Auntie Jessica.  I listened to some podcasts and read some stuff on parent…” she stopped and tried to course correct, “on being a Mo…” she stopped again. Even though my face was a mask of neutral anger, she could tell.  “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

If she wanted me to ask her what about, she was in for a disappointment.  I just kept passively looking at her; looking through her.

“I’ve thought about it, and I think I know what you’re going through, now.”  

She didn’t know.  She didn’t know me at all.  Let her suffer.

She rattled off a list anyway: “The world is new again, and everyone is treating you differently,  and no one is asking you what you want, and they’re trying to anticipate your needs instead of asking for your needs, and that makes it feel like they’re not listening, and you’re meeting new people and about to go to school and even though it’s familiar it’s in a new context and that’s scary.  You’re just really overwhelmed.”  Okay...maybe she had an inkling.  It was still only scratching the surface but it was close.  “That’s what it’s like being a baby, though.”  

Nevermind.  Fuck her.

“Your emotions are too big for your body and you’re just doing the best you can even though things are happening way too fast.”  Then she really lowered the hammer.  “I forgive you for what you said yesterday.  I still love you and I want to be your Mommy.”

I did not respond.  I wanted to.  I wanted to yell and scream and give a repeat performance of just how wrong she was and how wrong all of this was and send her back into tears.  But in this instance, she would have won.  I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.  I didn’t want her to hate me, I wanted her to feel guilty.

Then the giantess sucker punched me.  “And I’m sorry too.”  

Something must’ve shown on my face.  My eyebrows must have raised, or maybe I blinked funny.  Maybe some kind of other tell.  But something changed in Janet just there.

“I know I’ve been kind of crazy lately,” she said, still looking me in the eye.  “And that’s not your fault, it’s mine.  I should have told you.  I should have listened.  But I was so excited to...to...be a Mommy to SOMEONE, that I...I went overboard.”

I sat up a little straighter.  Crossed my arms.  Still said nothing, though.  Let her talk and make her own rope to hang herself with.

Still on one knee she began to confess.  “I should have asked about taking you to most of those places.  We could have put off the salon and the doctor.”  I forced my face to go placid again.  Put off but not avoid.  Still having my old life and adulthood literally stripped away from me was a necessity that I got no say in the matter.  

Seeing my displeasure, she pushed through. “I should have told you about the shower, and my friend Jessica.”  That was a slight improvement. Her best bud wasn’t “Auntie”, now.  So there was that…

Still not enough.

“I’ve just been so baby crazy lately because...because…”  She stopped.

“Because you’ve been wanting to baby me before this.” I said, finally breaking my silence.  It was an accusation, stated as fact.  Silence is a tool.  So are carefully chosen words spoken at the perfect time.  

It worked better than I could have planned.  Better than even I had wanted it to.

Janet stood up, sat down besides me on the deck, and leaned forward; her elbows resting on her knees.  I looked at her.  But she didn’t look at me.  Her head was staring back at her garden, her jaw wiggling as she worked up the courage to say...  

 “Yes.”

My voice didn’t utter the word “What?”, but my mouth surely went through the motions.  Over and over again, not even whispering, my mouth went “What?  What? What? What?”  I felt a buzzing in my brain, a surge as my heart skipped a beat, and a kind of sad terror.  I’d wanted to be right, but I felt awful hearing that I was.  I felt betrayed.

I drew my arms in up to my chest in tiny balled fists.  I leaned slightly away.  My eyes squinted and my mouth twisted.  I was afraid.  Not afraid of being hit or spanked.  I was afraid of listening to what I was about to hear.  Even so, like a fish gasping for breath, my lips kept forming the word, “What”?” over and over and over again.

“It didn’t start that way at first,” Janet continued.  “When I got pulled to watch your class, I was just doing my job.”  Her voice was far away.  She was in her own head as much as mine.  “I admit I was kind of curious.  Everybody knows about the Little teacher, even if we don’t say more than hello to you.”

I wasn’t hearing this.  I wasn’t hearing this.  

Neither was she.  Janet was reliving it.  “Then, I talked to Tracy and heard how she adored you, and saw how well behaved your class was, and I thought ‘hey, maybe I should give this guy a chance.  Do him a favor.  Let him teach some older kids for a change of pace.  I kind of felt sorry for you.”  My frown deepened.  “Everyone knows that you’re there as a token, and given an easy classroom with no real significance, but those math scribbles showed you had some chops.”

My mouth stopped working. I was using it to breathe, my nose becoming clogged and threatening to drip from something besides hay fever.  

“And then you came into my room, and there was that...thing with Jeremy.  And you taught a good lesson. A really good one.”  She sounded almost sad.  “And then I found I was starting to like you more.  As a friend.”  She laughed to herself, even though it didn’t sound happy.  “I had a mature, adult Little friend.”

I was still staring in disbelief at what I was hearing.  She still hadn’t looked me in the eyes.  In a weird way that’s how I knew she was telling me the truth, just then.  

“And I really liked you.  You’re funny, clever, polite, insightful.  You can be tactful when you want to be.  And when you trust someone you give them your all.  I liked that about you.” She paused and looked at me for the first time.  “You’re kind of a know it all, and you definitely like toeing the line, but that didn’t detract from what I liked.  In a weird way I liked that confidence and stupid bravery.”

She looked away again.  “But it wasn’t until we were all grading those essays.  When I saw you cry and break down like that, right there in the middle of my room; that’s when I started feeling things.  Even with your suit and your goatee, I  just wanted to pull you into my lap and cuddle you and tell you that everything was going to be okay.”  Her voice got tight for a second before regaining control. “That’s when I started to cosset.  On you.  So yeah, Clark.  I was cosseting on you.”

There was that word again.  I’d heard it twice yesterday, but still had no idea what it meant.  “The hell does cosset mean?”  Even though- or maybe because- I had barely talked, my voice came out dry and cracked like the leaves that had just barely started to fall.

I saw a blush rise up in Janet’s cheeks.  “Cosset is the word we use for that feeling an Amazon gets when they see a Little and they want to take care of them. Mommy or Daddy them.  It’s kind of like a crush, I guess.”

My captor looked back to me and saw the building storm behind my eyes.  I knew it.  I fucking knew it! “Did you poison me?  Did you do this to me so that you could take me? Take me away from my job and wife? Ruin my life?”

This time, her eyes widened and she looked hurt.  “What? No! Clark, don’t be ridiculous.  I would never…!”

I let more silence bore into her.

She huffed and stared at me.  “A cosset is like a crush.  And just like a crush, we’re taught to recognize it for what it is and past a certain age it stops being cute to follow through.  So yes, I felt things, but I promised myself I wouldn’t act on them.” She looked away again.  “That’s why I started doing what I did.”

I didn’t need to ask for specifics at this point, they just started pouring out of her.  Meanwhile, I sat there, listening, judging, somewhere between fuming and that same angry numbness.

“It’s wrong to adopt a Little who isn’t suffering from Maturosis.  And research shows that most Littles who don’t express it by thirty aren’t going to.  You were safe.  So I just settled for trying to be the best friend I could be.” She started wiping at her eyes.  “It’s why I got that confession out of Jeremy so quickly.  I wanted to help you.  It’s also why I started to look into adopting a Little girl.  I was purposefully trying to avoid someone that looked like you.”

“It’s also why you saved me from that crazy mother.”  I paused.  “You didn’t want her to have me if you couldn’t.”

Janet slumped over a bit. “Yeah,” she confessed.  “It’s why I helped make that silly sock costume for you to prank Brollish and Forrest, too.  It let me pretend that I was helping you play dress-up.”  I could hear the notes of regret and shame in her voice as she went on.  “It’s why I invited you out for drinks.  I wouldn’t have done anything, but I would have killed to see how you looked all buckled in and snug in my car seat.” Real tears now.  She was wiping them away; steadying herself.  Gaining a bizarre kind of strength from her confession.  “And it might be why I was acting like a jerk before…you know.”

“You knew how you were sounding to me back then.”  I felt so betrayed.  My entire friendship, just gaslighting; just mind fucking. I wanted to pounce, I wanted to scream.  I didn’t move.  I waited and watched.

“I was trying to drive you away,” she whispered just loud enough for me to hear.  “I was afraid that I was going to do something awful, and I didn’t want to...I didn’t want to.  I didn’t trust myself.  I didn’t want to be one of THOSE people.”
She didn’t want to be a typical Amazon.  Yet, here we were.

“You didn’t trust me, either,” I said matter of factly.  My tone was steady.  My pulse was not.  “You could have just told me and we could have talked about it and remained friends.”  I thought for a second. Maybe not. “Or at least we could have been amicable.  We could have stopped seeing each other, but I wouldn’t have hated you.”

Janet almost gave herself whiplash. “You ha-?!” she stopped.  “No.  This isn’t about that right now.”  She took a breath.  “I’m sorry Clark, but I don’t believe that.  There was no way we could have ended well,” then she added, “not with both of us as adults.  What I did might not have been the best way, but it was the best I knew.”

I felt myself opening up more.  Hating and resenting everything I was hearing, but this was the most adult I’d been treated in close to four days. Janet seemed a lot less like “Mommy” just then and more like...well...Janet.   “Who did you tell?” I dared to ask.  “About your cosset?”

The giantess, my friend who had wanted to be something else altogether, gave a half-hearted shrug.  “I didn’t tell Renner and Springfield, but they weren’t surprised.  We were kind of our own clique before I started hanging with you.”

“Who did you tell?” I repeated.

Janet took a deep breath.  “Mrs. Beouf.  It’s why she sent me that email, as soon as...you know.”  

I KNEW IT!  I punched my fist into my palm.  “She poisoned me!”

Janet frowned.  “No she didn’t!” More so than when I accused her, Janet seemed offended by the idea.  “Clark, you have no idea how much Mrs. Beouf admired you. I didn’t need any convincing not to act on my cosset, but she really hammered it home that you didn’t need adoption.  She advocated for you then, and she’s advocating for you now.  Just in a different way.”

“I didn’t need adoption,” I said.  I decided to throw her words back at her. “I didn’t then and I don’t now!”

A bit of my friend disappeared when I said that.  A bit of Mommy-Janet creeped back into the giants’ brain.  “She didn’t poison you.  No one did.  You’re just looking for an explanation where you get to be a grown-up.”

I dug my fingernails and scratched my thighs..  “Why don’t you believe me?”  I heard my voice go up a bit.  “Why doesn’t anyone?”  I knew the reason, deep down.  

Because I was a Little.

“Because we saw the signs,” Janet replied gently.  “The stolen diapers, the-”

“I didn’t steal any diapers.” I meant to yell, but I just didn’t have the energy just then.  I was tired. Drained.  So instead it came out as a tired groan.  “How would that even work? I can’t even take these things off.  The tapes are too sticky for Little hands.”

“You could have slipped them into your pants,” Janet said. “Don’t tape them up, use them as a liner.”  Her response was almost immediate.  She’d thought about this.  “What about your close call?”

I cocked my head.  “What close call?”

“When you almost pooped your pants in Mrs. Beouf’s room just over a week ago?”

I gulped.  I felt my face go pale.  “She...told you about that?”

“You didn’t even close the door,” Janet said, though not unkindly.  “And you lied about washing your hands.”

Now it was my turn to look away.  “She knew that, too, huh?”

“You’re not as good at hiding your feelings as you think you are, Clark.  You’re a terrible fibber.”  She waited.  “Can you explain that?”

As a matter of fact, I could. I looked back to her.  “Whoever poisoned me just couldn’t get the dose right.  That close call was someone practicing on me.”

Janet laughed.  Actually laughed!  Full on belly laugh.  “I’m sorry,” she started to say when she caught herself.  “But that’s so funny.  It’s too...cu...funny.”

I drew my knees up to my chest.  “Why is that funny?”

“Because why would Raine, or Brollish, or anyone need to get the dose right if they were going to poison you?  If they wanted to fake you being immature, they could just pump you up with as much as they want.”

“Maybe they didn’t want me to taste it,” I offered.  “Too much and I’d have enough warning.”

“To do what?” Janet asked.  “Do you really think that a witch like Brollish who has been looking for an excuse to fire you would have let you go home in the middle of the day?”

Damnit.  Janet was right.  I could have eaten a whole box of training chocolates, and Brollish wouldn’t have let me leave so that my system could purge itself.  Call out sick...maybe?  Go home after I’d already set foot on campus?  Not a chance.

I was about to say something. Suddenly, I realized I didn’t have anything to say.  I buried my face in my knees, tensed up and frustrated that my lead theory, the ones that I was sure the Amazons weren’t listening too, had been shot down so easily; with actual non-circular logic, no less.

I felt Janet’s hand lightly pat me on the back. “It’s okay,” she said.  Her Mommy voice was starting to kick back in.  “I’m not mad about that.  You shouldn’t be either.  This sort of thing just happens.”  No it didn’t.  I didn’t have proof, but no it didn’t.  “Maybe it was meant to happen.”  Lies.  “I just want to be the best Mommy to you that I can be.”

I jerked away from her touch.  I full on scowled at her.  “You stole my identity.  You stole my adulthood!” My throat was tightening up yet again.  “You legally made my wife a widow! How is THAT being good?”

Janet blinked.  “Clark.  I.  You don’t know?”

“Know what?”  For all my calculated intent, I could only keep silent for so long.  I had a yearning to know.  A need to try and understand these crazy titans.  And in doing so my anger and despair only began to boil more.

“I did it for you.”

“BULL-!”

Her finger shot to my lips.  For some damn reason that I couldn’t understand, it actually silenced me.  “I mean, I did it for your wife.  For your peace of mind.”  The only thing I gave her was more confused expressions.   “Twenty-two thirty-five status makes you legally a new person,” Janet reminded me.  “Legally, you’re not Clark Gibson anymore.” 
“I know that.”

“It also means, as Clark Grange’s legal guardian, I am not entitled to anything Clark Gibson controlled.  His bank accounts.  His house.  Any unemployment benefits or severance package he may receive because he just lost his job. If I hadn’t declared that, I’d be entitled to your money and your last few paychecks.  Not to mention my name would have been put as a co-signer on your house.”

“It’s not fair…” Such a dumb thing I was saying, but was how I was feeling.

“You’re right.  It’s not.” She let that sink in for a moment before continuing. “You were going to get fired and adopted by someone, no matter what after what happened. I just want to make it special for you.  No one asks to be born, or reborn...I just thought I could make this easier for you if you knew that, you know...someone special was safe.”
 
“Cassie…” I whisper squeaked.  I stared off at the garden. Then I said to myself. “I want my old life back.”  I might have bawled but so much of the fight had already been drained from me the last twenty four hours.  Even throwing a tantrum took up precious energy.

Janet clicked her tongue.  “Rookie Mommy mistake, Janet.  Know your baby.  Clark doesn’t, and never has, liked surprises.”  I ignored her, even though she was correct.  “There was another reason I bought that outfit for you.”

I didn’t make eye contact.  “Why?”

“Because you never got a chance to say goodbye.  I wanted to give that to you.  I thought you’d appreciate looking more grown-up when you did it.”

I felt my breath catch.  “You’ll let me see Cassie?”

She nodded.  “Tomorrow, after school.  If you’re good.”

I unfurled my knees and stood up..  I was feeling excitement like I hadn’t felt.  I’d get to see Cassie again. I’d get to apologize.  It wouldn’t make things right, but at least she wouldn’t worry about what happened to me.  At least I could say goodbye…

And on the brighter side, Janet was starting to talk to me again; actually talk to me.  She was dangling the carrot of seeing Cassie again; but it was better than any number of sticks.  

We were at negotiations.

“I’m not wearing that outfit at school tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Janet said.  “I can change you into it when we visit your old house.  But no complaining about what I dress you up in tomorrow.  I’m not throwing it away either.  There might come a time when you need to wear something more formal”

Honestly, a onesie or something might help save me some grief.  A disguise was better than a mockery.  “Fair enough.  No diapers, either.”

“No,” she replied flatly.  “Not unless a doctor or a teacher thinks you’re ready; that your Maturosis has plateaued or you’ve managed to redevelop back to potty training.  We’ll talk about Pull-Ups then.”

I wasn’t going to gain any ground there, I knew.  Part of negotiations though is highballing so your next demand doesn’t sound so unreasonable.  “Then I’m not calling you Mommy.”
Her nostrils didn’t flare.  Her lip didn’t curl.  Instead she just darted her eyes to the side and replied, “You don’t have to call me Mommy...while we’re at home or in the car.”

“No deal.”  Now it was my turn to play hardball.  

“You remember yesterday?  Calling me by my first name in public...causes embarrassment.”  She had to word that carefully.  She didn’t want to admit anymore that I’d embarrassed her; that I’d hurt more than just her feelings.   “Other Amazons don’t react well to seeing that.  They’d want me to punish you.”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

“Do you want to get taken away from me?  Have me declared an unfit Mommy?”

I shuddered and looked away.  She had a point.  “Okay.  Deal. But you’ve got to act in good faith.  No keeping us out in public all the time so that I have to call you Mommy.”

“Ma’am is also acceptable.” I could tell she regretted saying it the moment it passed her lips.  Big mood.  “I guess…”

I smiled, genuinely smiled.  HERE was the crazy giantess that I’d made a connection with!  “Deal.”  My voice was calm.  My heart was not.  “No spanking me either.”

Janet absolutely melted.  “Oh, Clark! I am so sorry, sweetie. I shouldn’t have done that.  I shouldn’t have even threatened it.  I promise I will never ever spank you.”

“No matter what?”

Still sitting, she pulled me in for a hug.  “No matter what.  I promise.”

The relief I felt in that moment was tangible.  I’d managed to negotiate some miniscule amount of compromise from someone who could legally treat me like I was one year old despite all evidence and sense.  Another Little victory.  

I’d get to see Cassie again, too.  She’d be furious with me, leading an Amazon to our home, but maybe I could use it as an opportunity to slip a real message to her.  (I was still going to escape eventually).

“Clark?”

“Hmmm?”

“You seem really tired.  Do you wanna take a nap?”

“I’m okay.”

“Okie dokie.”  Janet picked me up.  Cradled me in both arms as she took me inside.  It felt very comfortable.  “How about I just hold you for a bit?  I’ll walk around the house a bit.  Or sit down.  Play on my phone.  Maybe watch some T.V.  You can just relax and think to yourself.  I won’t bother you.”

That?  That sounded kind of nice, actually.  “Okay...Janet.”  She smiled softly, the pacing becoming rhythmic.  Gently, I started to doze.  Then snooze.  Then sleep as she toted me around her own home, happy as a clam. I was imprisoned, but I’d made my warden my friend.  

All I had to do now was make it through one lousy day of school...

(End of Part 4)

 

[WBDaddy]

The psychological warfare is the engine that makes this story run.  Beautiful crafting.