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

[Personalias]

Yeah.  Uploading on patreon got away from me.  I make sure that patreon is only 30 chapters ahead on this one.  So I posted these 3 all at once to keep that distance.

[BabyJilly_S]

Its great stuff and i now have no idea where this is going as there seems to be something larger afoot here.

I  was thinking that in a world where there is a large chance of being adopted (however wrong that is) Clark doesn't seem to realise how lucky he got with Janet. 

And I have to say in the last few chapters apart from actually being adopted, his life currently doesn't seem that "unfair". Whilst he is not winning the war he is certainly winning a large portion of his battles.

 Also loving the nods to your other stories like the Amazon barista in side conversations.

 

[TerranV]

I signed up for your patreon and binged all you posted for this over the weekend. 

You guys are in for a treat. It gets so good.

[WBDaddy]

2 hours ago, TerranV said:

I signed up for your patreon and binged all you posted for this over the weekend. 

You guys are in for a treat. It gets so good.

You say that like it hasn't been great the whole way.   

But yeah, you're right, the roller coaster ride just keeps going faster and faster from here. 

[something101]

I get the feeling that beouf is starting to regret her part in gibsons return to infancy.

[Panther Cub]

2 hours ago, something101 said:

I get the feeling that beouf is starting to regret her part in gibsons return to infancy.

Oh I hope she comes clean to him about it... or is otherwise exposed!

[Personalias]

Chapter 71: Self-Soothing Super Market Sweep

Late Saturday morning.  Just before lunch.  Plans were for me to stoically allow myself to be stuffed with ravioli and then fall asleep in a semi-bloated haze. But first; grocery shopping. The cart glided down the dairy aisle.  

“Huh,” Janet said, picking up the tremendous jug of milk.  “Goat’s milk. Let’s give it a try.” She put it in the cart and moved on.  “Eggs? Sure. We need eggs.”  It went into the cart behind me.  I sat in the cart’s built-in baby seat, a wire mesh basket with two holes for my legs to dangle through and a hard plastic flap that went up when an infant or a Little wasn’t occupying the space. It wasn’t made for comfort, the only cushioning I got was currently taped around me and more than slightly damp.

Diapers go through a kind of life cycle.  The first wetting is often absorbed so quickly that it’s easy to forget you peed within seconds; not unlike flushing a toilet and walking away.  By the time you’re washing your hands, your brain is onto other things.  Around wetting two or three, you start to feel it. You’re obviously wet, and feel the soft pulpy squish with every movement and it’s swollen to the point where it’s pressing up against you as much as you’ve pressed up against it. The ratio of pillow to sponge is roughly fifty fifty.  

After that, the feeling gets physically disgusting; gruesome even.  The thing starts sagging so much that the tapes aren’t holding it up as much as willpower and whatever you’ve got on over it. The ratio of pee to padding has shifted in the pee’s favor and  your privates start to feel like they’re being  dipped into microwaved swamp water.  Even if you wet up front, the moisture travels all the way to the back before it settles in, and the feeling of dryness becomes almost like a foreign thought, a word like ‘schadenfreude’ that describes a complex feeling that doesn’t exist in your own language.  

But, you keep going, because after a few weeks of being forced to wear diapers, you adapt to having a laissez faire attitude. A little damp stops being so bad and if it gets too damp, you ask for a change.  Even if you don’t or the Amazon won’t listen, sometimes it feels easier to just release into an already soaked diaper.  Languishing in an uncomfortably wet diaper, and then holding your bladder becomes a mental exercise that rapidly fatigues you.  Why bother?  If you hold it, the dry one that replaces it won’t stay dry for long.  Might as well deal with it and hope whoever is in charge of your pants takes the hint.

I sat in that shopping cart, as happy as I could manage, which is to say not particularly so, but nothing had stirred my anger or resentment just yet.  I’d had two bottles since breakfast, both in the confines of Janet’s lap, and she hadn’t checked or changed me since just after getting me out of the crib. As a result my pants were in that state where they could go either way. Not good, but good enough considering the context I’d been forced to live in.

The last bits of Summer had faded and the temperature had just started to shift so that it was chilly first thing in the morning but by ten if not earlier, the heat had returned in force.  This was enough of an excuse for Janet to dress me in overalls, which was nice.  Yeah, they still had snaps along the inseam, and anyone who stared at my waist could likely tell what I was wearing, but at least I didn’t have a light plastic waistband constantly peaking out over the top of my shorts.  This might have been the first time in nearly a month that I’d had anything other than socks or footie jammies covering my ankles.  

Too bad they weren’t denim.  If the overalls had been a plain blue denim, I might have been able to fantasize about being back in Misty Brook, where Bert and his friends- Littles far handier than I- tinkered and built while tromping around homemade construction sites in dust and grime coated coverings.  The white and blue pinstripes I’d been dressed in made me look more like a train engineer out of a children’s book than any sort of construction worker.  

With Lion wedged in the basket by my side, I also had something to crush and squeeze in the event that Janet inevitably said something to get my teeth gnashing.  Speaking of teeth gnashing, a binky had been clipped to the bib of the overalls, but the bulb remained dry and dangling.  I wasn’t going to give her that satisfaction.

As the cart moved, I pivoted and turned around in the seat to see where we were going.  I didn’t know the layout of this particular grocery store.  Other than the Modest Proposal, which was a kind of treat I indulged in a few times a year, grocery shopping had not been a big part of my life.  Everything had to be delivered and left at the front door of my house.  The delivery fee, in a way, was a tax I’d paid to prevent giant people from trying to diaper me.  

That battle having been lost, I had to twist my head and pivot in my seat every which way to see where we were going.  The baby seat wanted me to just stare at Janet as the center of my world; or more likely, make it easier for Janet to look at me and make sure I wasn’t stealing anything from passing shelves. To be fair, that had been an idea the moment she told me where we were going.  I’d never been to a Wall-Roxie, but the idea of taking anything and everything and subtly dumping it in the cart, pressuring Janet to pay for it was...appealing.

Too bad she started at the dairy aisle. With products behind heavy glass refrigeration doors, the cart was nowhere near the goods and I had no hope of reaching far enough to snag something.  Not that it would have mattered in that instance, the smallest size container was a gallon.  I wasn’t going to be able to lift much. Maybe the cookie aisle or something would bring me better luck.

“Someone’s excited to be going to the grocery store with his Mommy.” Janet chirped. 

I squeezed Lion’s paw. “No, I’m not. Janet. I’m just not used to looking backwards.”

Janet’s expression soured like I’d just cussed at her.  “Clark, I thought we agreed that you’d call me ‘Mommy’ in public.”  

“And I thought you agreed to let me see my wife.  That hasn’t happened yet.”  Janet looked like she’d just been slapped. I felt like I’d just slapped her.  The gasp leapt out of me and I just stared at my hands like I’d struck her.  That was only supposed to have been something I thought, not something I said.

Other shoppers, Tweeners and Amazons milled around. Some had Littles in carts like mine. Others had their, children actual or adopted, tag along them holding hands or walking beside them. The social invisibility factor had kicked in.  If any passerby noticed our growing tiff, they didn’t say anything..  I was just a fussy baby with a doting Mommy trying to manage me.

The pain on Janet’s face shifted and contorted into an almost Beouf-like mask of neutrality.  “I know you’re dealing with a lot of big feelings, but that’s not fair to me. I did my best and acted in good faith.”

I shrunk down and shriveled up in my seat.  “Yeah…”  I did not and would not apologize, however.

Like a chameleon her tone shifted immediately, the pain gone with my admission.  “We should play a game.”

“Like what?”

Her eyes drifted down to my bib. “How about the quiet game? I bet you don’t have the willpower to keep quiet and keep your pacifier in your mouth the whole trip while I do our shopping.”

I crossed my arms, bringing Lion up to my chest.  “What if I win?”

“I’ll take you to the potty before we leave.”  My pacifier was in my mouth before she’d finished speaking. “As long as you’re not already wet or poopy.” 

The pacifier went back to dangling immediately. “That’s not fair!” 

Janet broke out into a full out witch’s titter. “Gotcha!” She leaned in and nuzzled my forehead. “I knew it, you little stinker, you! Gotcha, gotcha, gotcha!”

It’s a good thing Lion didn’t have bones and his insides were made entirely out of cotton.  If not I might have committed animal-slaughter.  “That’s not fair, Janet, and you know it,” I whined loudly.  

For a moment, Janet’s embarrassment mirrored my own.  Her face was just as red and her mannerisms just as skittish as my own.  For her, having other ‘Grown-Ups’ hear me call her by her first name was akin to her signaling to any given passerby that I was sitting in wet pants.  Weird, right?

We both inhaled through our mouths and then exhaled through our noses before either of us continued.  “Okay,” she said. “You don’t like using your pacifier because it embarrasses you.” She said softly.

“True.”

“Even though it helps you self-soothe and everybody else in your class does it.”

“Extremely debatable.”

She kept going. “It also embarrasses me when you call me by my first name, especially in public.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But I’m not going to purposefully silence you by getting one of those inflatable pacifiers.”

I was actually quite thankful for that.  “Good.”

Produce started going by on the periphery. We were walking and talking.  “I’m not going to spank you, either.”

“Good.”

“So I’m not sure what I'm supposed to do to get you to do what you promised.”  There was no inkling of threat.  

I shrugged. “Sucks to be you, I guess.”  

“If I can’t trust you to keep your word, how can I trust you with anything?” She countered. “Grading papers? Telling me about your day? Whether your teachers are being nice to you? Whether or not you know you need to go to the bathroom? I have to trust you, baby.”

I bristled at being called that.  She shouldn’t trust me. Yet thinking back on Little Voices and the game with the feathers, I needed her to trust me.  “What do you suggest?” 

“How about, from now on, you don’t have to suck your pacifier…”

I wasn’t falling into this trap a second time.  “Unless?”

“Unless you call me Ja-” she stopped herself, “Unless you call me something other than ‘Mommy’.” Damn, I was hoping to get her on that technicality. She was learning. “If you call me something other than ‘Mommy’ in public you have to keep your pacifier in your mouth until I think I can trust you to talk.”  Then she tacked on,  “Unless you don’t think you can do it....” 

“You’re trying to use my competitiveness against me.”  Actually I was kind of impressed.

The right side of her mouth creeped up into a smirk.  “It’s working, isn’t it?”

My lip curled and I gave Lion one last squeeze. I put him back to my side. “Kind of.  Deal.”

She offered her hand out to me, almost like we were equals. I took it and shook it, even though her palm literally dwarfed mine. “Deal.”  

The shopping trip continued, as one might expect: Janet took stuff off of shelves and pretended to examine them when she knew full well what she was going to buy anyways, and then placed it in the cart.  Once or twice I had the opportunity to grab some random item and toss it in among the growing pile, but that line about ‘trust’ had caused me to hesitate.  I instead took the opportunity of knowing she wasn’t looking directly at me to empty out more of that morning’s apple juice, wincing as I sat back and felt the dampness go past my taint.

Janet really was playing me.

There was no rhyme or reason to how she shopped, as far as I could tell.  Where other people might make a list and slowly walk through the store, aisle by aisle, scanning the shelves for whatever they might have on a list, Janet did the exact opposite.  She’d look on the list she’d made and try to find the corresponding section of the store. Then she’d zero in on it and move on, even if there was another item we needed somewhere down the list.  Lots of “Oops, we need this”, or “Almost forgot that.”  I almost wanted to help.

When we got to the cereal aisle, she deigned to ask my opinion. “So what do you want for breakfast tomorrow?”

“Breakfast shakes.”

Janet seemed to hem and haw over something.  She didn’t want to tell me now, but she wanted to pivot.  “Mrs. Beouf says you’re a very good eater at school.”

“Did she tell you that if I’m not I’m not allowed to leave? Even if I’ve pooped and am sitting in my mess? Even if I”m keeping all the others waiting?”  I let out a huff and stared back at Lion as if he were sharing in my commiseration.

“She did, actually,” Janet replied. “She said she’s going to be fixing that..”

A creeping feeling worked its way into my head.  “When did she…?”

“The first day that you got to bring Lion to school.” That hadn’t come up around me when Beouf was giving her daily report. More confirmation that my ex-friends were talking about me behind my back.  

Janet didn’t give me time to sulk.  “How about this?” She went and grabbed two cereals off a shelf.  The boxes were nearly identical, with the same dopey looking bird hovering a bowl of cereal that two cartoon children were wolfing down.  The only difference was that in one box, the bird and cereal were pink and in the other they were both brown.  “Chocolate or Strawberry?”

“Do I have to eat it with goat’s milk?” I asked.

“That or have it dry.”

“Chocolate,”  I said.  

The winding zig-zag trip went on and on. Janet included me in a few more choices. What type of peanut butter, what flavor jelly, what flavor ice cream to get for dessert did I want raisins or dried bananas as a healthy snack; that sort of thing.  Then came the part I’d been dreading. I knew it had been coming.  Janet had saved it for last, on purpose no doubt.

Cleaners, paper towels and garbage bags zoomed by, and the cart U-Turned into the next aisle. Packages and packages containing pictures of babies and adult Littles smiled out at me with unblinking eyes and silly rictus grins.  I looked past Janet’s head and read the hanging sign above the row. Disposable Diapers, Training Pants, Formula, Baby Food, Baby Wipes, Baby Needs.

I quickly took in the displays and started trying not to lose my temper. The jars of mush had pictures of actual infants on them. The buckets of formula were specially marketed for either “Littles” or “Infants”, kind of like how different brands of dog chow specialized in large or small breeds.  The packages and boxes of diapers had a nearly fifty-fifty split on whether a Little was depicted on them or not, often within the same brand and size.  

Yet another example of typical Amazon propaganda:  It was supposed to be the Baby Needs section, but ‘Little’ and ‘Baby’ were practically interchangeable here.  Meanwhile, any incontinence product that could fit on one of the giants was discretely stashed away with the tampons, maxi-pads and other hygiene products closest to the store’s pharmacy. ‘Incontinence’ hadn’t even been on any of the signs.  

A body would have to know where those diapers were and find them in their discreet packaging at the very end of the row near the back. The most embarrassing thing on them were the pictures of the plain white and gray pull-up diapers themselves. 

My diapers were out in the open with half a dozen other Littles faces attached to them, forced to pretend that they were super happy waddling and crawling around in garments they’d long since outgrown. How much of the pain in those Littles’ eyes was just my own reflected back at me?

“Mommy,” I said, “Can we please leave here?”  I wasn’t sure whether playing up the M-Word and giving her what she wanted would make her more pliable or not.  

“We’re almost done, baby, just a few more things.”  The cart sped up for a few strides until we were right in the thick of it.  She wasn’t oblivious to my discomfort.  “Mommy had a lot stocked up before she brought you home, but we’re almost out of diapers.”

I sulked. “I can live with that.”

“But your clothes and bedsheets can’t.”  She tossed a small package of Monkeez Nighttime onto the cart pile, and moved a whole heaping box of the daytime ones under the cart. “Barely,” she huffed to herself.  I got a good look at the box, both Littles and Amazon infants were featured on opposite yet otherwise identical sides.  Turn the baby around one-hundred eighty degrees and you saw the Little in the exact same pose.

“Why can’t we just order them online through an app?” I whined.  “Diaper Dash or BabHub or something?”

“We’re already here, hon,” she said. “And those apps get expensive over time.  Let’s just get what you need, and get out of here.”

I quietly caved Lion’s skull in.  “Fine.”  No sense in arguing that I didn’t need them.  She was in no mood to hear that song. 

She grabbed two smaller packs of diapers. “While we’re here, why don’t we get something different besides Monkeez?”

Something different?!  Alarm bells started going off in my brain. “What?” I yelped “Why?”

“Some of these look cute,” she said. “And some might work better than what you’re wearing.”  There was just enough space in the cart for her to poke the front of my pants and feel the sodden sopping squish.

For reasons I couldn’t immediately articulate, the thought of being changed into a different style of diaper sent off all kinds of alarm bells.  My pulse started racing, and even though we were the only ones in the baby aisle at the time, I felt like the entire store was looking and listening into that conversation right there.  I thought I was getting over it. Suffice it to say, becoming numb and desensitized doesn’t happen all at once, nor does it happen at a steady pace or in a straight line.  

“A diaper is a diaper,” I said through gritted teeth.  “What does it matter how they look? Nobody but you and Beouf or Zoge or Jessica is gonna see them.”

“Not necessarily.”

My face was on fire. “Mommy!”

She took a second to suppress a guffaw.  “I’m just saying, Clark. Your diaper isn’t anything to be embarrassed about, and sometimes just a t-shirt and diaper is enough for you. You spend most weekends laying around the house in just your Monkeez.  It’s cute!”

Too loud! Way too loud!  There were people on the other sides of the shelves. There had to be! And they were hearing every word. About me.  In my diapers.  I lowered my voice, hoping she would follow my lead.  “That’s because that’s all you put me in some days.”

She didn’t follow my lead.  “Well if I have to look at your wet and messy diapers when I’m changing you, I think I should have a say in what they look like.”  If anything she was getting louder.

“J...Mommy...stop. You’re embarrassing me!”

She quieted herself.  “And I keep telling you, baby boy, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.  You’re safe with me. Maturosis is perfectly natural.  Just go with it and let it happen.” 

I was not convinced.  “Easy for you to say.

 She pivoted, reached up, and presented two packs, relatively small ones, twenty-four count. Wouldn’t last more than a week, tops.  One was blue with hippos on it, and the other was white with smiling cartoon bees on it.  “Which one do you want to try? Bee Gees or Hippobottomuses?”

“Why do the bees not have stingers?” 

Janet looked at the front of the package, allowing me to see the back: “Leak Free Guarantee” it said, and “For babies of all ages: Little, Tweener, or Amazon.”  

“If they had stingers, they’d probably cause leaks,”  Janet mused.  “That or maybe they’re baby bees. Bay-bees.” She laughed lightly at her own lame pun. “Is that the one you want me to get for you?” 

I remembered something from Amy.  “Aren’t bees grown, too? Shouldn’t they be Larva-Gees or something if those are supposed to be babies?”

“Clark. You’re stalling.”

My ‘Mommy’ wanted me to stall?  Fine. Let’s stall.  Lion in hand, threw my arms up into the air.  “What do you mean ‘stalling’? I’m just asking quest-IONS?!”  Just as planned, my stuffie slipped loose from grasp and went behind me.  Far far behind me, skidding almost to the end of the aisle before he stopped.  It had been a really good and lucky toss. I did my best to look  confused and bewildered.  “Lion?!  Mommy?” 

Janet growled a bit and huffed.  “I really shouldn’t…” This was true.

“It was an accident,” I lied.

Had it been the beginning of our outing, Janet might have pushed the cart the twenty or so odd feet over to Lion and picked him up.  The cart was full now, and inertia was still a thing.  She did what was easier and walked over to my stuffie, bent over, and brought him back.  Given how fast and wide her stride was, it wasn’t very long. It was still enough time for me to reach back, grab the pack of night time diapers off the pile in the cart and toss them on the nearest shelf.  She wouldn’t miss those until it was too late.

My ex-friend gave me back my stuffie.  “If it happens again, he’s staying with me.”

“Yes ma’am.” I cuddled Lion to hide my guilty grin.  

“Now,” she said, re-grabbing the two packs.  “Which one do you want?”

“Neither.”

She was getting irritated enough that I could see her chewing on her tongue and puffing up her cheeks.  “Okay.  Let’s try this another way. Do you want the Bee Gees? Yes or no?”

“No.”

“Okay then.” She put the Bee Gees back and put the package of hippo diapers in the cart. “Hippobottomuses it is.”

Those were the type that Amy had been changed into at the zoo. Not my favorite parallel. “Hey! That’s not-!”

“I made it very clear that you were getting one or the other, hon. Those were your choices and you made it.”  My cage on wheels was already moving away, down to the other end where the training pants were.  None of the kids on the training pants packages were Littles...

“NOOOOOOO! NOOOO! MOMMY! NOOOOOOOOOO!”  My impending tirade, likely starting with the word ‘Janet’ was cut off by a child screaming bloody murder.   Rounding the corner, dragging along an absolutely distraught child, was a very pregnant Tweener woman.  “NOOO! I’M NOT A BABY! I’M NOT A BABY! I’M NOT A LITTLE!”

Oh no.  I didn’t have to turn around.  I didn’t need to look to see who it was. I shouldn’t have looked. I didn’t want to look. 

I did, though. 

I recognized them both. His features were chubbier, hers more bird like, but they had the same flaxen hair.  “I already told you,” Elmer’s mom said. “We’re not getting the diapers for you, honey. We’re getting them for your sister for when she gets out of my tummy in a few weeks.”  

Elmer wasn’t having any of it. “NOOOOOOOO!”

“Janet!” I tried to whisper.  “Stop! Turn around! Pl-!” The pacifier went into my lips so fast it might have been a reflex on Janet’s part.

“Ah-ah-ah.” Janet waved her finger at me.  Taking her hand off the push bar slowed our roll. “Deal’s a deal.”

My hands impotently jerked at the air and fidgeted as I resisted the urge to take the pacifier out and beg Janet to turn around and take us out and around the back of the store.  Doing that might upset Janet.  She might say my name and Elmer or his mom would hear.  Doing a U-Turn and exiting out the back would give them a better look at my face.  

The social invisibility of being ‘just another baby’ wouldn’t work. Not with Elmer and a parent whom I’d actually met.  Another no-win situation. I really thought I’d be used to it by this point.

Pleasedon’tseemepleasedon’tseemepleasedon’tseeme.  We slowed down. Too slow.  Janet was looking at pouches of applesauce and baby food. I started sucking on the pacifier to quiet myself, and burying my face in Lion.  Pleasedon’tseemepleasedon’tseemepleasedon’tseeme.

“I know you’re having a rough time at school,” Elmer’s Mom said. “But I promise those training pants we bought are just so that Miss Ambrose doesn’t bother you anymore. No one is gonna turn you into a baby.”

“Or a Little?” Elmer sniffed.

I tensed up.  I wish I’d been mistaken.  It was Elmer.  Should I turn my head more and deliberately look away or would that only draw more attention?

“Or a…” Elmer’s mom gasped. “Mr. Gibs-?!”  Three things happened in that moment: I sheepishly peered out from behind Lion, Janet whipped her head around and looked down at the pregnant woman who only came up to her breast and Elmer ducked behind his mother’s legs like it might save him. 

 “Oh. Hello.” She readjusted her gaze to meet Janet.  “I’m sorry. I thought your um...baby was someone else. From behind he looked familiar.”

Janet smiled lightly and nodded, oblivious to the Tweener’s discomfort.  “Do you know Clark?”

The woman looked at me sucking on my pacifier and then back to Janet.  She was doing the same kind of social calculus in her head that one did when interacting with a stranger Janet’s size.  “I think maybe...that is to say I thought...um...I’m really sorry if my child’s screaming bothered you or your baby, ma’am.  He’s going through a phase.  He’s normally such a good boy.”

From behind his mother, Elmer eeked out a pathetic, “I’m not a baby,” but did his best to stay obscured.  Poor kid.  He couldn’t articulate it, but he was absolutely terrified to end up like me.  Poor me.  I hid behind my pacifier and Lion.

“Oh he’s fine. Kids will be kids.”  As tall as she was, Janet could see Elmer just fine, much to his dismay.  “Say...does your son go to Oakshire Elementary?”

Elmer’s mother placed her hand behind her back and held her son’s hand. “Yes…?”

Janet immediately brightened. “That’s why he looked so familiar!  He was part of Clark’s class!”  She finally read the look of pure worry on the Tweener’s face. “Oh my goodness,” she said. “I’m so sorry! Janet Grange. I’m a teacher, too. Third grade.  Before Clark’s Maturosis expressed I watched his class while he was in meetings once or twice.” She pointed around the mother. “Elroy?”

“Elmer,” his mother corrected. She seemed a bit relieved as it all sunk in.  She wasn’t in any real danger to begin with, being pregnant and Janet having me, but a stranger doesn’t seem so strange when they say they’re a teacher at your child’s school.  

There was a beat, and then Janet threw a curveball at all three of us.  “I’m sorry that this all happened so suddenly,” she told them. “I adopted Clark because I wanted to make sure he got the best care possible.  He deserves that much.”

“Yeah…” the Tweener agreed in that way that people do when they’re not sure what else to say. “Mr. Gi...Clark deserved,” she stopped and looked at me, “deserves the best he can get.”

“That doesn’t make it easier,” Janet said. “On anybody. Especially his students. Year’s already started and they’ve got a new teacher all of a sudden. That’s a lot to get used to for a bunch of three and four year olds.”

“There’s definitely been some adjustments.” Elmer’s mom left it at that. “Anyway, I’m just getting some-”

“Can I ask you for some advice, mother to mother? I’m still learning some things.”

The Tweener hesitated. “Uh, I don’t know if I can help, but sure.”

“I’ve got Clark in Monkeez right now,” Janet said, and my heartbeat thudded in my ears so loudly I couldn’t hear the end of the question.  Doesn’t mean I didn’t know what it was.

Elmer’s mother pointed near the top shelf.  “If you’re looking for other diapers, these new Koddles have a wetness indicator,” she said.  “Right down the middle, changes colors when the baby’s wet.”

Janet reached up, just by the training pants and pulled a package down.  “Hmmm...Are these for potty training?”

“No, but they could help. Makes it so you can catch it and change him right away.”
The Amazon frowned lightly. Wrong answer.  It wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Janet had no interest in letting me pee outside my pants.  

“The Hippobottomuses fade when wet, too.”

“Uh...uh...also makes it so it’s easier to check him,” the Tweener woman said.  “You can just pull down his pants or pop open a few snaps and see how wet he is by looking at how long the blue line is. A lot easier to see than fade away.  Plus they have lots of different decorations on them,   Fairy tale creatures and such!  Different diapers have different characters on them!”  She kept looking at me and I wasn’t sure whether she was silently apologizing for digging me in deeper or whether she thought she might be doing me some kind of favor. 

“Hmmm,” Janet considered the small package. “Yeah. That’s worth a shot.”  In it went with the blue hippo diapers.  By the end of the day I’d have a variety stack under my changing table. “Thank you.”  She started to go.

“Ma’am,” Elmer’s mom said to Janet.  “Can I say something to your baby for a moment?”

“Of course.”

The Tweener reached up and placed her hand on top of mine.  “Thank you,” she said softly. “I’m really glad that you were Elmer’s first teacher. You’ve helped him a lot.”  Beouf had said something similar to me after I’d woken up from the bug zapper she’d crammed me into.  Beouf was a fucking traitor who chose her worldview over ten years of friendship.  This lady who I’d known for a lot less time than Beouf meant it from the bottom of her heart.  She was trying to do right by me.

 It’s a good thing I had Lion in my other arm and the pacifier in my mouth. If I hadn’t had something to pour the stress I was feeling into just then, I’d have completely burst into tears and started sobbing.  I didn’t want Elmer to see me like that.  I didn’t want anyone to see me like that.  This is why Littles in my class sucked on pacifiers and hugged stuffies. It was either that or completely break down and lose control.  The world got blurry and it started getting harder to breathe.  I buried my face and looked away.

“Thank you,” Janet said for me.  “That means a lot to him.”

“I know.”

Part of me wants to say that’s where the story of my first outing to the grocery store as a ‘baby’ went.  It got so much worse though…

I kept suckling on my pacifier and squeezing Lion with every tense muscle in my body. I slammed my eyes shut to keep them from leaking.  Based on the feeling in my pants, my eyes weren’t the only thing in danger of leaking; my diaper had passed into that swampy stage. 

 “That was a lot,” Janet whispered to me.  “It’s okay to cry if you want.”

No. It wasn’t.  “Mmmm-mmm!”  I shook my head. 

“That’s fine,” she said, her voice taking on an almost musical, soothing quality, not unlike Zoge but without the accent.  “I understand why you broke the rule there.  You weren’t being naughty, you were just nervous.  You can spit the pacifier out if you want.  We can reset. Start over again.”

“Mmm-mmm!”  

“Okay,” Janet petted me and I flinched. “That’s fine. Do whatever you want.  You’re fine.  This is fine.”

I squeezed Lion harder, somehow. I sucked so hard on the rubber nipple in my mouth I briefly thought I might be loosening my front teeth. 

Front teeth?!

AMY! 

FUCK! 

 I wasn’t enjoying this at all. It didn’t feel like an accomplishment or malicious compliance or any of the other darkly uplifting victories I’d accrued over the last several weeks. Upon reflection, I don’t even think it was pure contrarianism.  It was just some stupid, immature, adolescent part of me now wanted- no, needed- to keep the pacifier in.  I needed to feel pain and anguish and hurt. I needed to keep all the pressure up and weighing down on me.  I needed to keep that negative feedback loop going and that pressure on, because if I didn’t I’d break down and it wouldn’t feel like a choice.

The cart slowed to a stop and moved forward slowly in jolts.  We were in the checkout line. The electronic beeps and boops of the price scanner mixed in with the ambient noise of shoppers entering.

“Daddy! Daddy!” A passing voice called. “I want a that lion! I want a lion like that!”  I didn’t open my eyes.  The voice came from far away enough that I couldn’t tell if it was a mind fucked Little or an actual kid.  

Did it matter?

I finally untensed myself and slowly opened my eyes. The beeping was loudest here, meaning it was our turn. My breathing had slowed. My muscles ached and unclenched, not to mention my mouth.  I kept the pacifier in, just in case.  I was right to.

“Wow! Lotta stuff here,” a heavy set woman with a nametag that read ‘Maude’ remarked.  Her face was double chinned and her hair was snowy white. She was sixty, if she was a day.  “All of this for just you two?”

“‘Fraid so,” Janet said. “Had a lot stockpiled up but we’re almost out, so...you know.”  Idle and meaningless chit chat at the check out, the great retail tradition. “Everything goes faster with an extra mouth.”

I tried to just gaze off into the middle distance and tune the drivel out, but only succeeded at staring at Janet’s v-neck top. Had her breasts always been that big?  I did a double take. They were almost as big as the overweight cashier’s. Was she putting on weight? Stress eating?  Because of me?  That gave me some good grim feelings.

The cashier’s voice went up almost an octave. “Hi buddy!” she waved. “Are all these just for you?” She indicated the Monkeez and other diapers Janet had gotten while a teenage Tweener was busily bagging it all up.  Half a dozen snarky comebacks would beam themselves into my head on the ride back to Janet’s.  In the meantime, I retreated into the back of Lion’s mane.  

“Seriously,” she said over to Janet, talking in a ‘Grown-Up’ voice again. “Are they all for him? I see a couple different packs.  We offer discounts to daycare people. Got some good bargains if you’re buying in bulk.”

Janet smiled, politely, “Oh no. They’re just for him. A box of his old reliables and something different just to try it.”

“He’ll go through them fast enough.”

“Definitely.”

“But that’s okay,” Janet tousled my hair, now even curlier than it had been when she’d first taken me. “When we’re all out, we’ll just get more. Isn’t that right, Clark?”

I was bristeling again, tensing up. People talking over you about you soiling yourself is not something that’s easy to get over.

“I remember when my grandson was his size,” Maude said. “Almost didn’t get him potty trained in time for school.  You’ve got the right idea.  Just skip it.”  

Janet stiffened.  “Excuse me?”

 “Frankly, I don’t know why we bother potty training them to begin with.” To make her point she waved her hand toward me. “If we didn’t make ‘em, they’d just sit in their diapers all day, perfectly happy.”  Her face scrunched up and her voice went squeaky.  “Wouldn’t ya, buddy? Wouldn’t ya.”  Her fat fingers ringed forward to pinch my cheeks.  I leaned away.

All good nature and compassion left Janet’s face. Her countenance transmogrified into stone and her pupils went ablaze with a quiet fury.  Then she said the words that every retail worker not-so-secretly dreads “I’m going to need to talk to your manager….”

“Hmm?” Maude said. “I was just saying-”

“Littles are perfectly valid with thoughts and feelings!” She half-shouted. The people behind us in line were starting to back away.  Others from out of line were drawing closer to the scene. “Would you say something like that to a chronological chi-?”

“Whoah whoah whoah!” Maude took a step back and held her hands up.  “I wasn’t talking about Littles, ma’am.  I meant boys!  Boys!  Men!”  A beat. “They’re all like that!”

Complete silence.  No one breathed. I took a few pulls from my pacifier.

“Heh.”

“Heh-heh.”

“Haha”

“Hahahahahaha!”

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“HAW-HAW-HAW-HAW!”

“Oh my god, you’re so right,” Janet finally said, all tension gone from her.  The rest of the checkout line resumed their positions, and Maude kept scanning the items.  The awful small talk continued in earnest. 

“I swear, if he could get away with it, my husband would wear diapers, too. He’d watch football, drink all the beer, and then make me change him at halftime.”

“Right?!” Janet agreed. “It’s much cuter though when I change Clark during his shows.  Right there on the floor so he doesn’t miss anything!”

My pacifier popped out.  “Mommy!”

“Sorry, baby.” She wasn’t.  Clearly.

“Nothin’ to be embarrassed about, munchkin.” The cashier chuckled. “Your Mommy and me are just havin’ some gal talk.”

“About me!”

The cashier shrugged. “Point taken.”  She finished ringing Janet up, and let her swipe her card. “Have a nice day, you two.”  

“Thanks!” Janet called back.  I chose not to reply.

From the checkout line, the shopping cart should have turned left.  We turned right.  “Where are we going?”

Janet’s eyes honed in on the restrooms.  “Diaper change.”

I looked down at myself.  The bulge from my oversaturated Monkeez made it look like I had a water balloon where my underwear should be. Okay. Fair call.  I’d done a number on this one.

My dark haired ex-friend ruffled through the grocery bags and took out a fresh packet of baby wipes she’d tossed in with the diapers. She rummaged around the bag.  “Just. Gotta. Get. It. Open.”

Open? “J…Mommy?” I stuttered.  “Where’s the diaper bag?”

She stood up with a single, bright blue diaper, dotted with cartoonish hippo stencils. “In the car,” she said.  “I accidentally left it there when I dug Lion out.”

My everything jumped up into my throat.. My forehead started to become as clammy as my Monkeez.  “Can we just go change me, “ I gulped, “in the car?”

Fresh diaper in hand, Janet picked me up.  “Nope.”  

“Can it at least be a Monkeez?”

“I am not breaking open that big box here and now.  Do you want me to put you in a night-night diaper?”

The corners of my mouth plummeted. I couldn’t let her go looking for what I’d stashed away. “But...but...but…”

She took me inside the “family restroom”, a smaller room with a single toilet, sink and changing station.  It was only slightly bigger than Beouf’s bathroom, and that was because it thought to accommodate space for Amazon sized wheelchairs and such.  Janet pulled down the changing station and laid me down.  I sat back up. 

“Clark?  What’s wrong?  I’ve changed you in public before.”

I broke out into a sweat and stared past the locked door, imagining Elmer, or his mother, or any number of people who knew me were outside.  Waiting. Watching.  I’d misdiagnosed my neuroses back in the OT/PT room.  I’d been okay with being so exposed, but it had less so to do with the people who saw me like that and more to do with where it was happening.

Oakshire Elementary, for all the anxiety it caused me, was still a place of familiarity and therefore a place of emotional strength.  This was a friggin’ grocery store bathroom.

Janet petted my hair.  “Clark?  Talk to me.”

“No.”  That bit of automatic defiance whistled right out.

She picked me back up and I thought I’d won. She was only doing so so she could poke her head out the door and get Lion.  “Here.”  She sat me so my legs were dangling off the table.  “Hold Lion.  Maybe he can tell me.”

I shook. I shuddered.  “No.”

“Clark. I’m going to change you, one way or another.  But I want to know why you’re acting like this.  You’re hurting and I want to understand.”

I put Lion in a chokehold. “Because everybody will know, Janet!  Everybody will know!”

“Know what? That you just got changed?” 

Mutely I nodded, fighting to stay in control.  

“I don’t know how to tell you this, honey,” Janet said. “But most people have known for a while now.  It’s not a secret.  It’s not supposed to be.”

“It was to me!”  

Janet cocked her head as if I’d spoken in tongues.  

I loosened my grip on Lion but held onto him tight.  “All Monkeez look the same.  Plain white diaper.  Size indicator.  Cartoon monkeys on the front.”

“Uh-huh…”  She wasn’t getting it.  To be fair, I hadn’t gotten it until I’d started saying it just then.

“So when I get changed, I get to pretend, even if it’s just to myself, even for just a second, that I’m wearing the same…” I blushed.  “You know…”

“And if I put you in a blue hippo diaper,” Janet said, “you can’t pretend that anymore.”

I hung my head.  It was so stupid.  “And one of my kids is out there.  And he’s scared of being a Little and being a baby because Ambrose put him in a diaper and...and…”  I closed off Lion’s windpipe just as my own airflow started getting more and more difficult. 

Janet- my jailer, my tormentor, my confidant- said nothing.  I hadn’t realized that I’d shut my eyes again until I felt her lean in and hug me.  I didn’t hug her back, but I didn’t shove her off either.

“It’s okay,” she cooed softly to me.  “He’s gone.  He left with his mother.”  It was a lie. She had no way of knowing. But those words were the ones that I needed to hear just then. “He won’t see you.  He won’t know.  You’ve got your overalls on.  Nobody will know.  And if anybody out there asks, I’ll lie and tell them that you went potty like a big boy.”

I pulled back from her bosom just so I could see the look in her face.  It was crazy. But it was also kind; compassionate even.  “You’d do that?”

“Of course.”  Slowly she guided me back into a lying position.  “Let’s get you comfy.” 

Keeping Lion close to my chest, I closed my eyes and pretended this was any other day.  I’d never admit it out loud, and I’d trade so much to be rid of the forced necessity, but sometimes a good diaper change felt like a mini-spa day.  I felt, more than heard, the poppers up my legs come undone, followed by the bathroom air traveling up past my knees and tickling the backs of my sweaty thighs.   
What I did hear was a very uncomfortable  “Oooof…”

I lifted my head and looked down at my body.  “What?”

Janet sucked on her teeth and put a hand on my chest. That wasn’t sweat on the back of my thighs.  “You leaked.”

My body started thrashing, twisting and kicking itself against Janet’s gigantic strength.  “No! No! No! No!  Stop!  Stop!  Don’t!”

“Clark, I’m sorry. I need to take your overalls off.”

“No!” I screamed “No! Change me! Just change me and put them back on!”  My hands gripped at her wrist, as if that would do anything

Her free hand unbuckled the shoulders.  “I’m sorry kiddo. I can’t let you sit in leaked in pee-pee clothes. Not in good conscience.”

“Fuck your conscience!” I yelled up.  My fighting was nothing to her.  My struggling only made it so she had to switch hands once or twice, stripping me down to just a t-shirt and destroyed Monkeez.  She switched a second time pulling the changing station’s strap over my chest, and pulling it taught.

She flapped out the overalls like a towel and held them up to the light.  “Look,” she said.  “You see these spots?”  Two massive crescent moon shaped patches discolored the blue and white pinstripes just below where my ass would have been.  “If anyone saw these, they’d know that you leaked.”

“No one would see them with me in the cart.” I spat

“They might in the parking light or just as we come out of the bathroom.” She was already folding them up and placing them on the sink.  “They won’t see much of your new diaper either.  This isn’t up for discussion.”

“I hate you.”

She picked up Lion from the floor where my struggling had sent him. “You know I’m right.  You can suck on your pacifier if you want to scream.”  Lion went back to me. She carefully inserted the pacifier back into my mouth.  “Be brave.  For Lion.”

“Uh hayph yuh.”

“I know.”

I tried not to look while she ripped the tapes off and started wiping my groin. I covered Lion’s eyes when my ankles were crossed and Janet started caressing the back of my legs all the way down to the crack of my ass.  I suckled a little harder and flinched when the wipe made it’s way between my cheeks, just in case.  
“Almost done.”

The new, blue diaper was slid underneath me before my ankles were released.  She’d gotten good at unfolding them one handed.  I watched in silent horror as Janet carefully pulled it up between my legs.  “This one’s cut a little differently.”  She had to lift my legs back up and adjust.  I could only lay in quiet agony.

It was the first day all over again.  They would know.  They would all know.  Everyone.  

I watched as the Hippobottomuses took shape around me and Janet pulled the tapes taught, going so far as to smooth them out.  “All done.”

Clean and dry, I felt grosser than I did when I’d been wallowing in my piss.  I was wearing a beacon now.  A crinkly happy blue marker that broadcast my infantile state even more.  “Cheer up,” Janet told me. “My underwear looks different from day to day, too.”  My expression said enough.  “Sorry…”

We didn’t leave the bathroom right away.  No one was knocking, or jiggling the handle, trying to get in, and frankly I didn’t care if someone stole from our shopping cart.  Maybe they’d make off with the new diapers.  Janet unbuckled me and just held me for about half a minute.

I’d run out of words.  So had Lion.

“You’re being really brave.” Janet told me.  “How about when we get home, you can help me grade some papers?”

I liked that idea.  Needed it after this ordeal.  Something quiet. Something that I could control.  Something that I was good at besides stealth peeing and annoying Amazons.  Silently, I nodded, gently nuzzling Janet’s shoulder.

“Let’s get you home.”
 

[Nika_lb]

?

[Nibbley15]

?

[Samriis]

Just thought I should bump this story... its one of my favorites after all

[something101]

Given how big of a wait we've had, either personalias got sent to the diaper dimension and adopted, or the next chapter is a big one, if it's the former then hopefully we can convince mommy to let our little author to keep posting new chapters, but let's hope it's the latter scenario. 

[WBDaddy]

11 hours ago, something101 said:

Given how big of a wait we've had, either personalias got sent to the diaper dimension and adopted, 

He knew too much... ? 

[BabySofia]

11 hours ago, something101 said:

Given how big of a wait we've had, either personalias got sent to the diaper dimension and adopted, or the next chapter is a big one, if it's the former then hopefully we can convince mommy to let our little author to keep posting new chapters, but let's hope it's the latter scenario. 

If you don't want to wait any longer for new chapters you could always go support him on his Patreon! He's up to I think Chapter 101ish over there? 

He sent out a message a couple weeks ago that he was needing to take a break from this and focus on some other works that he was neglecting. He's since updated Narnia at least once or twice. Be patient, sometimes summer is a tough time to find privacy and time to write! ?

[something101]

37 minutes ago, BabySofia said:

If you don't want to wait any longer for new chapters you could always go support him on his Patreon! He's up to I think Chapter 101ish over there? 

He sent out a message a couple weeks ago that he was needing to take a break from this and focus on some other works that he was neglecting. He's since updated Narnia at least once or twice. Be patient, sometimes summer is a tough time to find privacy and time to write! ?

Thanks for the heads up had no idea about him taking a break.

 

Also as much as I like his work patreon as a company is something I won't deal with on any level so tha why I didn't see it.

[Personalias]

Yeah. Sorry. Patreon is how I make money.  I don't have a "day job".  I'm a father, a househusband, and a smut writer and not always in that order.  

I release a chapter of any given project when I update it over on patreon (or I release an old one-shot after a new one-shot)  

I know that not everybody can spare 5 bucks a month so that I can chase my dreams, so in that case the only price I charge is patience.

Believe me when I say that Unfair is definitely not going anywhere.

[something101]

3 hours ago, Personalias said:

Yeah. Sorry. Patreon is how I make money.  I don't have a "day job".  I'm a father, a househusband, and a smut writer and not always in that order.  

I release a chapter of any given project when I update it over on patreon (or I release an old one-shot after a new one-shot)  

I know that not everybody can spare 5 bucks a month so that I can chase my dreams, so in that case the only price I charge is patience.

Believe me when I say that Unfair is definitely not going anywhere.

If you can take donations from another site like patreon then I'd be glad to donate but it isn't a you problem it's a patreon problem 

[Personalias]

Chapter 72: Things Get Better For Worse

As usual, the sun wasn’t up when I got into Mrs.Beouf’s room first thing in the morning.  Neither was Beouf.  “Sorry Ms. Grange,” Zoge said to Janet. “Mrs. Beouf is already up front.”

“No problem.”  Janet said.  “Should I give her Lion there or just leave him with Clark?” she patted the diaper bag. Lion’s head was poking out of it.

“Mrs. Beouf would be best, I think.” She looked down at me and then at Ivy.  “Even if we have favorites, we shouldn’t play favorites.”

“Yeah…” Janet blushed. “We are kind of biased, aren’t we?”

 I rubbed the corner of my eyes, and yawned.  Give me the damned stuffie or don’t.  Just quit talking about it.

“Maybe we should do a playdate some day.” Janet suggested.

“I think Ivy would like that.”

I was too tired to argue.  I would’ve thought I’d be used to being up this early without coffee.  Not so, evidently.  It didn’t help that after the store, I’d redoubled my efforts in trying to keep Janet awake via baby monitor.  “Eight minutes” I said, after checking.the wall clock.

My captor was kind enough to take the hint. “Bye Clark,”she said. “Be good. Mommy loves you.”
As was tradition I did not reply, just stood there while she kissed me on the temple and trotted off, diaper bag in tow.

Zoge closed the door and looked directly at me.  “We’re going to have lots of fun today, Clark.”

No we weren’t.  I might have lots of fun, or they might have lots of fun, but we weren’t going to have any fun.  Our respective sources of amusement were at completely cross purposes.  “Okay.” I yawned. “Whatever.”

Ivy crinkled up and pulled on her Mommy’s skirt.  “Mommy! Mommy!” she said. “Can I be green?  I want to be green!”  They were making green diapers now?  I yanked up the toddler shorts over the plain white waistband of my Monkeez. It would slip back out with just a few steps, I knew, but it was all I could do to keep myself cognizant of my surroundings. 

Janet had had the kindness to keep me out of Hippobottomuses or Koddles the rest of the weekend.  They hadn’t been uncomfortable as far as diapers went, but hang-ups don’t go away that easily.  Watching the hippo stencils disappear when I’d wet was kind of disturbing; like it was rubbing my forced accident in my face.  Just then, I had the realization that I was learning to differentiate between different brands of diapers.  Fuck my life.

“Pleeeease, Mommy.  Can I be Green?”  Ivy pressed. She added in what I could only assume was the same plea but in Yamatoan.”

Zoge brushed her pet’s hair out of her face with her hand.  “Very well, my love. You can be green when we get to the buses.” She added, “As long as you clean up the dollhouse before we go.”  The crack that followed was either Ivy’s underwear being extra crinkly or her breaking the sound barrier to tidy up Beouf’s play area.

That woke me up.  No way were they talking about diaper changes during pick up. That begged the question: What were they talking about?  What kind of ‘fun’ was Beouf planning for us?

One way or another I was doomed to find out.  Ivy finished cleaning up the mess she’d made before my arrival and then waited by the door like it was the entrance for a roller coaster ride.  Typical teacher’s pet.  

“Come along, children,” Zoge said three minutes before the bell. My body on autopilot, I took Ivy’s hand, she took Zoge’s, and we walked out

“Ivy,” I asked. “What’s going on?”
  
“It’s a surprise!” she said. “You’ll see.” 

“Come on,” I whispered.  “How about a hint?”

“Nope, nope, nope.”

My anxiety and my competitiveness were mixing together to make a cocktail.  If we were going to find out as soon as we got to the bus, I wanted to know at least thirty seconds before those cheese wagon doors flung open.. I needed to. 

“Okay,” I coaxed. “I get it. You don’t really know.”

“Clark…”  Zoge let out a warning. “You’ll find out in just a minute, baby.” Even whispering, it’s hard to go undetected when the guard is holding the hand of your chief informant’s other hand.

“You’ll find out when we get there.” Ivy echoed. To punctuate it, she stuck her tongue out at me.

“Ivy!”

“Sorry, Mommy.”   I was beginning to see why Amy bit her.

I didn’t need to coax a hint from Ivy afterall.  As soon as we rounded the corner. I started to piece things together.  The surprise wasn’t something that could be hidden.  Standing there in the dawn light as the buses were rolling in, Beouf had a white mesh bag slung over her right shoulder.   Seeing Lion tucked under her left arm, it didn’t take a second to figure out what was in the bag.  Beouf was going all in on the stuffies today. The plush faux animals, save mine, had been emptied from her closet and decorative areas and then shoved in the bag.  I could see rounded paws and heads pressing out from the inside like balled up diapers on the inside of a pail.

Something wasn’t adding up.  What did this have to do with Ivy being ‘green’?

“Morning, Mrs. Zoge!” Beouf said as we closed.the distance. “Morning kids! Ready to try something new?”

I was not.

“Uh-huh!” Ivy bounced.

Beouf put Lion and the bag down at her feet and opened it.  That’s when the final piece presented itself.  A long, flat, blue nylon rope came out of the bag first   “Hook ‘em up.” Beouf said.  She tossed a rolled up length to Zoge.

“I want to be green! I want to be green!”  Ivy let go of her Mommy’s hand, but kept me bolted to her.  

“Of course, my love,” she said. “You can be green.”  She unrolled the rope, so new and stiff it was just barely out of the packaging.  

It wasn’t just one rope. The main length of nylon ran straight through with a loop at either side, big enough to fit comfortably in an Amazons’ hands.  Threaded in and intersected throughout the main rope were shorter sections of rope, made from the same sturdy material, but colored differently:  red, orange, yellow, green, and purple. The ends of these ropes were loops too, only the loops could be fastened and adjusted with buckles.

  Beouf already had access to communal high-chairs.  Now she’d gotten whole-group toddler leashes.

Zoge knelt down and buckled and end the emerald green tether around Ivy’s waist.  “There you go.  I’ve got a green girl.”

Ivy let go of my hand. “I don’t have to be line leader if I don’t want to any more!” Ivy beamed.  Green was second to last, closer to Beouf’s end than Zoge’s.

I met her with a scowl. “Good for you.”

Zoge stepped over the mass of nylon, and held up the other end of the green tether.  “Hold still, Clark.”   

Even if I didn’t have to hold her hand, I’d be chained to the biggest mind fucked Little in a mile radius.  “Can I have purple instead?”

Still kneeling, Zoge dropped the rope and moved me back one row.  “How’s this?” She didn’t wait to start buckling me into my restraint.  

I took a moment and examined what I was being bound into.  It was tight, but it fastened on like a belt; no shoulder or leg harnesses. “Good.”  

 The buses had started filing in.  The Little transport, even if it came in last, got there plenty fast.  The rest of the class came out of the bus in twos with reactions ranging from curious to awestruck while they were moved from sitting restraints on the bus to standing ones on the sidewalk.

“Cool!”.

“Neat!”

“Yellow! Can I be yellow Mrs. B?”

Soon, like the lost Little Animals in the story of Moses’s Ark, we were lined up two by two, tethered by rainbow rope.  There was enough slack in it so that even Chaz in his stroller could be tethered.  A real daisy chain gang.

“Gibson!”  Billy yelled to me. “Look! No hands!”  LIke an idiot he wiggled his wrists and grinned like he was doing a beginner’s dance class.  I didn’t so much as try to hide my contempt.  “What’s your problem?”  

Billy was at the front.  Everyone could hear him.

Screw it. “They’re treating us like idiots!” I shouted back.  “Too dumb to even hold hands!”

Beouf caught my reply. “That’s not true at all,” Beouf said. “We did this for you guys.”

“Yeah right…”  I huffed. 

“Just listen and wait.”  Beouf said. “Mrs. Zoge?” The two opened up the bag and started passing out the stuffed animals. Lion was last.  “Everyone got their stuffed friends?” Beouf asked.

Everyone nodded. Some cuddled and nuzzled the inanimate objects in their hands like they were actual pets.

“We’re trying something new this week.” Beouf said. The buses had hauled off, and her voice rang out in the morning air.  “If you like it, we can keep doing it. If you don’t, we’ll go back to holding hands.”

“What are we doing?” Tommy asked.  He didn’t even raise his hand, the mass of cotton he was hugging preoccupied him.

“We’re going to breakfast,” Beouf said. “Just like every other day.  We’re trying this because when your stuffies talked to us they said there were some problems.  Mrs. Zoge and I are fixing some of those problems.”

“Isn’t this gonna take longer?” Jesse called out, his voice a hungry whine.

“Not if we get good at it and everyone cooperates.” I waited for Beouf to shoot me a warning look.  None came.  “The cafeteria will wait for us.  So will the buses.”

“Why do we have the stuffies now?”  Mandy yelled out.  

“In case your stuffies want to tell us more,” Beouf said simply, smiling like she was enjoying herself.

“Can we still hold hands if we want to?” Annie asked.

“If the person you’re holding hands with is okay with it, sure.”

Billy and Annie immediately shifted their animals and interweaved their fingers together.

“We’ll find out more as we go. Let’s go.”

Beouf took her position pushing Chaz’s umbrella stroller and held the back end of  the group’s walking rope.  I walked along, faintly listening to the adulations of my so-called peers.

They saw increased freedom. I saw the truth:  We’d been demoted ever further. Now we were babies incapable of self regulation and needing to cuddle stuffed animals just to get from one place to another. That’s how the rest of the school, the rest of the world would see us.  We were no longer trusted with holding each other prisoner, and now the only luxury we were receiving in turn was the ability to hold both hands in front of us.

“What are we gonna do?”  I looked down at Lion and realized that I wasn’t exactly talking to myself.

“You dropped Lion,” Beouf said behind me.  She didn’t even have to break her stride to pick him up off the pavement.  “That’s okay. I’ll hold onto him.”

Still walking, I yanked my shorts up again.  Elastic waistbands and smooth plastic over bulky padding were not a great combination.  Everyone else still lacked the freedom to make such micro adjustments. You couldn’t pull up your shorts or pull down the hem of your dress, or futilely tug out at the bottom sides of a onesie if you were holding a stuffed animal all the time.  Couldn’t do it when holding hands either, but hand holding stopped once we got to our location.

“Did Brollish get you the money for these?” I asked Beouf.

“Nope.” Beouf said. “Bought this myself. Do you like it?”

We both knew the answer to that.  “Are the stuffies coming with us to lunch?”  I was careful not to say ‘our stuffies’.

“If you’re good.”

“What happens if we’re eating messy food?”

“We’ll put them somewhere safe where they won’t get messy.”

So she was giving us a voice and adding emotional value to the stuffed animals, and also controlling when we could use that voice.  I peered up front. Annie and Billy were making their toys make out with each other.  Chaz was headbutting his.  

Was I losing them?  Had the stuffies been tampered with?  Given some kind of addictive pheromone spray? Was that even a thing?
 
The surprises didn’t stop when we got to the cafeteria. The food carts had already been brought out.  Dry cereal on top.  Bottles of milk in the middle. And on the very bottom of the cart.

“Diapers?!” Shauna screeched loud enough for everyone who hadn’t straggled off to class yet. 

The Amazons kept fielding questions as they switched us from rope to highchair. “Only for emergencies,” Zoge said. “Like if we think you’re about to leak or something.”

“Or if you poop as soon as you sit down…” Annie glared at Billy.

Billy shrugged like it was nothing.

 “Emergencies only,” Zoge reiterated. “Only if we think you need it. If you poop and we’re almost done with breakfast, you’ll just have to wait for Circle Time just like everybody else.”

“No complaining if you don’t like color or decoration either,” Beouf said. “It’s just like the changing table in our room. You get what you get and you don’t throw a fit.”

I shook and turned beet red from my seat. In addition to the highchairs and bottles of milk, everyone in the cafeteria would be associating us with stuffed animals, and stacks of diapers.

“Why didn’t you do this before?”  Sandra Lynn asked, surprising me.

Beouf kept peeling back cereal lids. “Honestly? I didn’t think of it. Listening to your stuffies gave me and Mrs. Zoge ideas on how to better teach and help everyone.”

“We couldn’t have done some of this before this year,” Zoge chimed in. “We couldn’t take kids away to change them before. Not in here. Not with those rickety old high chairs.”  She sat down at her spot in the center, seeming content.

“Yeah,” Beouf agreed. “A real ‘all hands on deck’ thing.” She passed out the cereal, and most of us immediately started picking at it with their hands. No spoons offered or asked for. “I’m glad we had that teachable moment with Miss Skinner last week.”

“Me too.”

“Me too.”

“Me too.”

“Me too.”

“Me too.”

“Me too.”

Only one of those replies was from Zoge. Only one of the echoes was from Ivy.  Bread and circuses: They were tricking us into giving up our adulthood by making our infancy slightly more comfortable.  I pushed the cereal away, having lost my appetite.

“At least drink your milk,” Beouf shoved a bottle of milk in my face.  “I’m not going to make you eat the whole thing, but you gotta have something for breakfast, bubba.”  I saw that glint in her eyes.  She was compromising, but would only compromise so far.  Either I’d take the bottle or she’d hold it in my mouth for me.

I took it and started sipping on the cold cow juice, literally drowning my sorrows.  I wasn’t the only one capable of malicious compliance, it seemed.

“Thank you, Clip Clop!” Sandra Lynn hugged her stupid horse.  “This is so much better!”

A chain reaction immediately followed. 

“Thank you, Chomper.” 

“Thanks, Rex!

“Thank you, Pam!”

The Amazons shared pearly white smiles with each other, clearly pleased as punch.

I tilted the bottle back, lest spontaneous stupidity become expected. I couldn’t be told to say ‘thank you’ to Lion if my mouth was busy working a rubber teat. The pacifier took its place when I wasn’t thirsty.

“Clark? Do you want Lion?”

Vehemently, I shook my head.  “Aw,” Beouf cooed. “So sad. But that’s okay.”  It was okay for Beouf.  Everyone else was having side conversations with one another.  Not about things that they missed, or terrible trespasses that had been done to them over the weekend, not the kind of things that I liked to talk about.

“Mookie is from outer space, he knows a form of martial arts that is impossible to do with bones.  That’s why he doesn’t have any.”

“Hansen has a beautiful singing voice, but they’re very shy.”

“They?”

“Yes. They.”

“Cool. What kind of songs do they like to sing?”

They were building fucking elaborate backstories to their fictional friends. I could have sworn it was Thursday night. Meanwhile I could only sit back, fume, and pee my pants. 

It got empty and quiet enough in the cafeteria to where everyone could hear everyone else.  The Littles talked amongst each other and their new toys, while Zoge and Beouf took turns wiping down tables, faces, and hands. The preschoolers ate with disciplined silence, with Tracy giving them quiet nudges of encouragement.  Ambrose stood at the head, glowering the entire time. 

We were being tricked into acting far more childish than we should have, and three year olds more closely resembled inmates in a supermax.  It was enough to make me want to rip my own eyes and ears out.

 “I love you, Jessennia!” Ivy hugged the octopus in between bites.

“I thought his name was Akka,” Beouf said.  

“It was. But Clark told me his name was Jessennia.”

“Clark isn’t right about everything,” Beouf said. “That’s your stuffie now.  You can call him what you want.”

‘Clark isn’t right about everything’?  More like ‘Clark doesn’t control the narrative like we do’. I felt like screaming. I dropped the paci and searched for the plastic bowl of dried cereal to fling into the air.  No such luck, unfortunately. Beouf had been careful to move it out of my reach. 

Damn.

Ivy looked at the purple octopus with the top hat and wire rim monocle. “No. I think he’s right this time. Clark?” she called over to me. “Do you wanna teach me how to do an Albienese accent so I can copy what Jessennia is saying better?”

 I started to say ‘yes’, then corrected myself.  “Nope.”

“Oh...okay.”

“Don’t worry, dear.” Zoge said. “Clark’s just a little grouchy this morning. He gets like that sometimes.”

“He always has,” Beouf agreed. “But he’ll come around.  He always does.”

“They always do,” Zoge nodded.  She gave Sandra Lynn a quick pinch on the cheek.

 

[Personalias]

Chapter 73: Off The Mark

By Tuesday afternoon my frustration had begun to reach a boiling point.   “Really?” I said to my group behind the big oak tree.  “You guys are really buying into this?” All three held their stuffed animals tight.  Even Chaz had perfected a kind of tripod crawl so he could keep his close to his chest.

“Not really,” Annie said. “We’re just going with it. Using it to our advantage.  Like you taught us.”

THat last part was like raking nails across a chalkboard and calling it classic rock. “How the fuck is playing with stuffed animals using it to our advantage?”

“How else can we fuckin’ swear and get away with it?” Billy replied. I might have taken him seriously except he made his stuffed T-Rex bob up and down and talked in a cartoonish growly voice when he said it.  Sonofabitch thought he was being clever.

Or...  

Frustrated, I dragged my palm over my face.  “By swearing.” I said. “Like a normal fucking adult.”

“Did you say that, or did Lion?”  

Billy’s question made me look down at my own stuffed animal, hanging by a paw from my right hand. We were being forced to carry them everywhere.  We carried them from the bus to the cafeteria, and back to the classroom.  They were in our laps during Circle Time and in our arms on the changing table. We had to carry them and sit them in front of us or beside us at the different stations during center rotations.  

I’d lost count of how many times I’d ‘accidentally’ left Lion behind.  Beouf and Zoge were always there to pick him up.  My protest went unnoticed because enough of the others accidentally left theirs too.  Even Ivy.  It got to the point where Beouf and Zoge started walking me from one station, checking my visual schedule, and to the next holding Lion for me.  It was impossible to get rid of the furry little bastard.

I let him drop to the dust and grass.  “The Amazons aren’t around right now, guys. Why are you still pretending?”  I took two steps around the base of the tree to get a decent view of the rest of the playground.  “Tommy and Jesse are making theirs fly around like superheroes.  The girls are having some kind of tea party with theirs, and you assholes are still-”

“Hey,” Annie interrupted, “I’m a girl!”

I huffed and rolled my eyes. “I know, Annie. I meant the other girls. The ones who want to get more mindfucked instead of just regular fucked.  That’s all well and good for them. Most of them are at least fifty-one percent of the way there.” I leveled a finger at her.  “Why are you still playing with dolls? Why are you doing what you want them to do?”

Billy pouted his lip out. “But we tried that. There’s no wrong way to play with them.”  To their credit, all three had made a game of stalling by ‘forgetting’ their stuffies at first, and crawling and waddling back to the last station or center to get them.  The Amazons had developed infinite fucking patience on the matter; probably because they had all the time in the world.  Real teachers had curriculum maps and big benchmark assessments to worry about.  Even a Kindergarten teacher was pressured to make sure their students were sufficiently caught up so they were ready for first grade. Every minute counted in a way.  

There was no catching up for us. Ever.  So what did five minutes here and five minutes there matter as long as we were behaving within certain parameters?

“Then we shouldn’t be playing with them any more than they make us play with them!  Malicious compliance!”  It was taking a supreme degree of self control for me not to raise my voice and shout the obvious truth at them.

“You’re the one who said we couldn’t win,” Chaz said. “We can’t escape.  Why not make things easier on ourselves?”

I felt myself tugging at my hair.  “Because it’s not about making things easier on ourselves. It’s about making things harder on them!”  Why couldn’t they see it?

“That’s not what you told me last year.”

“We’re being patient about it,” Annie said.  “We’re doing what we’ve talked about. We’re playing along. Looking for openings.”  Her argument would have held more weight with me if she weren’t playing with her rag doll’s hair the entire time.

“What if there are no openings with this?  What if this is just a trap meant to string you along into accepting your role?  Like with Sosa and the boxes?”

Chaz huffed.  “So what?  This is the first time where I’m able to say something and the Amazons listen, or at least let me talk.  I got second helpings at lunch today because I said Chomper was hungry too.”

“Ella got me changed an extra time this morning,” Annie said. “Mrs. Zoge even let me pick the decoration on the next diaper.  She normally only does that for Ivy.”

“And you want to be treated more like Ivy because…?”

They had no answer for me. There was a collective shrug.  I just turned and walked away, straight for the bench where Zoge and Beouf were.  They were potentially better company than what I’d been dealt.  

“Everything okay, Clark?” Beouf asked as I approached.

“Yeah.” I lied.  I sat down on the ground next to their bench.   

“You don’t want to play with your friends?” Beouf asked. “This is your time.”

“I’m well aware,” I snipped. “I just need some quiet.  Assuming that’s okay with you.”

Beouf arched an eyebrow; suspicious.  “It’s your time, buddy. Just wondering if you had a sad feeling or something.”

“No ma’am.  I’m fine.”  I made no eye contact. Just glared into the middle distance, trying to get lost in my own thoughts.

Billy came trotting up with Lion.  “Hey Clark,” he said to me. “You forgot this.”  He didn’t wait to hand my stuffed animal to me.  My face fell. Not only because I was not-so-secretly hoping to be invited back and apologized to, but also because it had been the longest time since Billy had called me anything but ‘Gibson’.  I liked hearing my old last name.

“Awww,” Zoge remarked from her spot on the bench.  “That’s so nice of you, Billy.  What do you say, Clark?”

I breathed deep.  “Thank you.”  Fuck you, Billy.

“No problem!” You too, buddy. You too. 

He went waddling back off to his trio. The A.L.L. was more than fraying; we were falling apart, and if I didn’t do something soon, we’d be joining the rest of the class in a toddlerized haze

“Mrs. B.?” I looked up to catch her face.  “Does the name ‘Amy Madra’ mean anything to you?”

I was hoping for a flash of surprise or shock from Beouf.  I wanted to send her into a flashback like a survivor of a brutal war.  I was so keyed into her facial tics that any kind of micro expression would have lit up like a solar flare for me. Eyes widening; nostrils flaring; a sudden exhale; or a clenched jaw.  I got none of that.  Nothing.

Her face was a mask of pleasant matronly professionalism.  She was ready. “Yes, honey. She was a student of mine a few years ago. I think you met her, too.  She went to your room for a timeout once.”  

“That doesn’t narrow it down.” Zoge chimed in.

“Are you friends with her now?” Beouf asked.

“No,” I said. “Just wondering.”

It was unnerving how at ease she was.  “Okie dokie. Tell her I said hi next time you see her.”

Damn.  
*************************************************************************************

Wednesday morning was no better for my mood.  

“You look...chipper.” I said to Sosa.

“Thank you, Mr. Grange.” Sosa chirped back at me. “I’m feeling really good today.”

I kept my eyes down, trying to cut out an overly complex shape using completely fucked up scissors.  Unlike normal scissors, the blades stayed closed while the handles were forced open.  Pressing down on one end would open the other, kind of like the business end of jumper cables. Just like said alligator clips, the blades would snap closed automatically, and because it was Amazonian it took a relatively large amount of pressure for Little hands to bring the two handles together.

One had to squeeze the handles together with a gorilla grip to open the blades, move the scissors to the next point that needed to be cut and then gently release just in case the cut over shot its mark.  It felt like the finger equivalent of doing bench presses.  To add insult to energy, the damn thing was decorated with a green plastic coating over the blades with scales and eyes drawn on so it looked like an alligator.

“Is Ivy good at this?” I wondered aloud, trying not to stress.

“She’s very good at it.” Sosa told me. “That’s why she doesn't have any therapies.”   

“Maybe that’s why she’s so strong,” I grumbled.  This was a stalling tactic on my part.  I’d reached a part of the shape where the margin for error was so small, one miscalculation and I’d chop the bizarre modern art on construction paper in two.  I could have done it well enough with a regular pair of scissors, but the croc-scissors added an unnecessary level of difficulty.

Typical.

Sosa smirked. “Pfft. Ivy’s not that strong.”

“Maybe not to you,” I growled.

“Then keep on cutting, and maybe you can get as strong as her.” Sosa replied.  “Or do you want my help?”

Not this again. I pivoted the conversation.  “So why are you in such a good mood?”

The brightest, most non-malicious, most genuine smile lit up Sosa’s face.  “I got a new pet.”  She seemed so excited to talk about it that I almost felt like vomiting.  There was something I hadn’t thought about: Kids that vomit automatically get sent home for the day.  More than diarrhea or even fever, School Board policy was particularly squeamish when it came to one’s food going back up the way it came in.

My mouth twisted, and I pretended to concentrate on cutting; impotently opening and closing the blades.  “A dog?”

“Nope.” Sosa said. “A birdy. A Rocaw.”  I twitched and the blades tore the cut out up accidently.  She wasn’t supposed to get that bird! Winters was supposed to get her dog! “Oops. It’s okay. I’ve got extra. We can start again.  Do you want me to get you started? I can take over for a bit.”

“No thanks.” I took the cutting sheet and started over, my fingers long since aching.  “How’d you-?” No. I couldn’t lead with that.  “Is that why you looked tired last week?  The bird keeping you up?”  Internally, I was hoping she’d slip up and give me a sneak preview into the fight they must have gone through for her to get her way.

Amazons hurting Amazons. Just a hint, just a taste would lift my spirits.

“No, he’s an angel. I just got him, too.  My friend wanted a dog. But it didn’t work out.”

I saw an opening.  “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.  Did your boyfriend not like the dog?”  Couldn’t let her know I knew as much as I did.

“No...sh-they...she did. It was a good dog. I’m just not much of a dog person.”
 
Darn. She hadn’t mentioned Winters by name, but there had been hesitation there, nonetheless.  Probably just didn’t want a ‘baby’ to know about her personal life.  “So what happened?” I prodded. “Did you two argue and yell until one of you figured out who was more of an adult?  Did you put her in diapers and decide you were the Mommy in the relationship and that you didn’t want a dumb stinky dog?”  

There was the faintest hint of a blush in her Sosa’s cheeks.  “Don’t be silly, Clark. That’s not how Grown-Ups settle things.”  Bullshit it wasn’t. That’s exactly how adults settled things if they were tall enough.  “We had to get rid of the dog because it turns out I’m allergic. That’s why I looked like I did last week. My allergies were flaring like crazy.”

“So your friend let you try the bird…”

“Pretty much. We’re going to work on teaching it how to talk this weekend.”

Well sewn discord undone by common allergies. Well….fuck.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

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

Such a week so far. Such a shitty week.  Nothing had gone to plan. Nothing.  I’d started out so strong, too.

Thursday night I sat moping on the Community Center’s nursery floor, sitting with my knees up to my chest and my  arms wrapped around. My stomach was poking out. “Damn I need to find a way to exercise again,” I said to myself.

What would be the point, though?  Janet would probably like it if I had a pudgier, plumper, rounder baby face.  That was reason enough to try a starvation diaper and daily 5k sprint, actually.

Feeling stuck in my angry impotence I wanted to hurt something and make it bleed. If Lion had been real I would have sent him on a rampage, and cackle with glee like a mad Roamin’ Emperor.  As he was, I left him crammed in the diaper bag with just his head poking out.

The Little Voices meeting had been particularly grating that night. In no small part because it was Janet’s turn to watch the Littles during the back half of the meeting.

And she was absolutely fucking loving it.

“Missus Clark’s Mommy, can you change me? My diaper bag is the one over there.”

“Of course, dear!”

“Missus Clark’s Mommy, listen to this, I can play the Helga Hogg song on this xylophone almost!”

“That’s beautiful! Would you like to play it again?”

“Missus Clark’s Mommy, do you know any new games to play?”

“I’m afraid I don’t, honey. Do you wanna teach some?”

Janet was positively melting everytime a brainwashed Little waddled up to her to interact.  I’m surprised she wasn’t a puddle on the floor with the number of times people referred to her as ‘Clarks’ Mommy’.  Her melting would have been preferable, in fact. I might have been able to get away with more were she somehow in a liquid state.

No such luck was coming my way tonight.  For as much as Janet was loving on the Littles who wanted her brand of loving, her eyes kept darting back to me.  Things were going to get a lot worse.  I knew that much instinctively.  

The Little Voices meeting provided a sense of strength and community for the Amazons so they could all pat each other on the backs and indoctrinate each other on their preferred methods and attitudes.  Nursery duty reinforced those attitudes by giving new Mommies and Daddies a glimpse of what they might achieve if only they stick with the program.  It was brilliant in an insidious kind of way.  Janet was getting an OD on babified Little dolls and would press me even harder to get her fix.

A terrible intrusive thought:  What if they let Mark watch the Littles next?  I wanted to throw up a little in my mouth at the idea.

A ping from Janet’s phone and she stopped playing with Pink-Haired Mary long enough to check it. A robotic message jumped out from her speakers proclaiming, “You’ve. Got. Diapers.”  She smiled and put the phone back.  

She’d taken my advice and gotten more diapers via an app.  After she realized she couldn’t find the pack of night time Monkeez I’d tossed out of the shopping cart.  Even that petty bit of rebellion had failed. I was a monster hunter who was low on silver bullets and my aim was that of an action movie extra.

“Hi Clark!” 

I heaved a weary sigh that was three inches from becoming a yawn.  “Hey Amy…”  For somebody who crawled everywhere and tended to use thirteen words when five would do she had a way of sneaking up on me lately.

“You okay, bud?”

Her calling me ‘bud’ made me bristle almost as much as an Amazon calling me ‘baby’.  “No.  I’m tired and I wanna hurt something.” 

“Wanna say something witty and super mean to me?”

Not when she just laid it all out there like that. “No.”

“Ah, well then would you like me to tell you how often your average Albienese octopus drinks tea, how many sugars they take in it and what tentacles they take it with? Though I must confess I’m not sure what they do in instead of sticking their pinky out emus have the same problem, or they would if they drank tea, but they fought a war to not hafta, and everybody knows that they prefer ginger beer now cassowaries, and don’t get me started on casso-”

“Amy…” I interrupted.  “could you not? Could you please not.”

“Okay.” She hunkered down and rolled over onto her seat.  She straightened the bright white floppy bow that matched her crinkling underwear like she was a news anchor straightening papers.  “How can I help?”

I need help that week.  Even if it was from a complete and total loon.  Any port in a storm.

I pointed to Janet.  “How do I hurt her?”

“Why would you want to do that? She seems nice.”

“How?” I repeated myself

She looked thoughtful for a bit and stroked her chin theatrically. “Hmm…First you’ll need some matches and several keg-” the rest came out as muffled nonsense. I slapped my hand over her mouth before she could finish whatever batshit homicidal sentence she was trying.

“I said hurt,” I whispered. “Not murder! Like...get inside her head or whatever but not get in trouble.”  

“MMMMMMMMM!” Amy said. “Mmm- mmm-mm-mmm!”

I took my hand off her  mouth. “What?

“You wanna brat!” she repeated herself.

Considering one of the titles in Beouf’s library center was entitled ‘Baby or Brat’ I didn’t exactly like the vocabulary.  “Kinda. Yeah. I guess.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Much easier.  Have you tried swearing? Grown-Ups genuinely don’t like it when you do that. I just think the words are really funny.”

“All week long. Believe you fuckin’ me.”  It wasn’t even fun any more.

“What about singing the same song for a long long time?”

“No.”

“They think it’s cute at first and then they get super sick of it.”

“No.”

“It goes ‘Two little men in a flying saucer’-!”

“Amy! No!”

Her laugh came out through her nose in quiet little squeaks. Something clicked. “You’re bratting now, aren’t you?”  

“Maybe…”

“Fuck off.”  I turned my back to her.

“Does your mommy take you shopping? You could try the shopping cart trick.”

“I already tried it.” I said back over my shoulder. “She just ordered more diapers to replace the ones I tossed.”

More squeaking chirping laughter. Then she said, “Wait? You’re serious?”

“Yeah.” I said. “She noticed it was missing and just got more.”

Amy crawled back around and plopped back down. “Rookie mistake, my duede. You’re not supposed to throw things out of the cart, you’re supposed to throw them in. The more expensive the betterer.”

“Yeah, but then she can just not buy the thing she doesn’t want.”

“Not if you want it badly enough.” The hell did that mean?  My expression must have said enough.  “What do babies get to do when they don’t get what they want?”

“Cry.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Then what happens?”

“They cry and…” And...and...it hit me. They make a scene and embarrass their parents and the adults have to find a way to stop the baby from crying, possibly even going so far as to bite the bullet and give in, buying something they didn’t intend on putting in the cart.  “...oh.”

She smiled at me. It was the thin, sophisticated, smug smile of an experienced con-artist.  “Yup!”

Holy shit. Why hadn’t I thought of that?  It was dawning on me that I might be able to learn something beyond random animal facts and nonsense from this woman. “Thank you.” I said, even though it came out as mostly a yawn.

“No problem,” Amy replied.  “Sleeping troubles?’

I hung my head. “Something like that.” My eyes flitted to Janet. She seemed bright and peachy, living her best life with not one but three Littles cozying up in her lap so she could read them a pop-up book.  “Trouble keeping somebody else awake.”

“Cry louder?” Amy suggested. “I know some excellent songs that might help you work on singing from your diaphragm and prolonging both pitch and volume it goes like this ‘Two little men in a flying sau-’”

“Her room is on the other side of the house and the walls are too thick.”

“Ah.” The more experienced brat said. “Soooo...baby monitor?”

My stomach gurgled and I felt a certain fullness down below. Great. Now I’d have to take a dump before tonight’s bath if I didn’t want to have to sleep in it.  I let out another yawn. “Nope. It’s just for show. She turns it off at night.”

Amy turned around like a dog chasing its tail so she could get a better look at my jailer.  “Hm? No she doesn’t.  She sleeps pretty good and mommies can’t sleep unless they think their babies are safe.  Bonus snoozes if baby is happy.”

“Then why can’t she hear me talk about how much I hate her?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the monitor’s broken or something?”

“Maybe…”

“Have her check it out,” Amy told me. “That’s what Grown-Ups are for.”  She left me to yawn and brood for the last ten minutes.

Another downside of Janet working the nursery that night was that we were the last out of the meeting.  Once the so-called parents started filing out from their mind-fuckery think tank, they’d come in and check out their Littles and take them home.  Meanwhile, I had to wait on Janet’s hip until the last couple of stragglers finished up their conversations and went home with their brainwashed babies.  

Tons of cute little rituals and special hugs and nicknames. Mentions of treats on the way home, but only if Mrs. Grange said they were a good baby.  Of course they were. Even Bradley got Janet’s approval, and he spent the entire night shaking in a corner muttering about how he liked to pee and poop his pants and suck his thumb.

The bar was so ridiculously low, that Littles had to actively try not to meet it.

“Ready to go?” Janet finally asked me.  I was more than ready.  But silence had served me best, and I was running out of new tricks to try.  “Yes or no? Are you ready?  If not, we can stay here longer.”

I growled slightly and nodded my head.  

“Uh oh. Somebody’s being a grumpy guts.”

My guts agreed. “Janet?” I said. “Can you take me to the bathroom?”  There was no looming emergency or inevitability. This was no first breakfast with Beouf.  It was still worth a shot.  

“Janet?” She replied disapprovingly. 

“What?” I said. “No one else is in here.”

“We’re still in public.  Anything outside our house or the car is public. That’s common sense.”

I nibbled on the sides of my tongue to keep myself under control.  “Fine. Mommy can you take me to the bathroom?”

“You want to go potty?”

Not in those words but… “Yes.”

“I don’t know,” Janet clucked. “I don’t think they have any potties that will fit you here. You’ll fall in.”

My eyes did a loop. “I’ve been trained for thirty years. I know how to balance on an Amazon toilet.” 

“Is your diaper clean?”

My cheeks flushed. “Obviously.”

“Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

“Dry too?”

A quick knock on the door interrupted any kind of answer I had. In stepped the one Amazon without their very own living doll.  Black hair that was almost curly, with thick rimmed glasses, Mark came into the nursery uninvited.  “Janet?”

“Oh!” Janet brighted. “Hey Mark!”  She turned to look at him directly.  “What’s up?”

The dork awkwardly scratched the back of his head and broke eye contact.  “Nothing. I just...uh..wanted to see what the Little playroom looked like from the inside.” Wow, that sounded creepy.  “Wow, that sounds creepy!  I’m sorry!”  At least he was self aware.

“No,” Janet said. “I know what you mean.”

“Thanks,” Mark blushed.  He pretended to look around, but it was obvious he was trying not to look directly at us.  The gangly asshole caught me staring at him. “Hi, Clark”

Fuck off, creeper. I turned up my nose.

“He’s feeling kind of shy tonight,” Janet told him.

I blanched. “No I’m not. I just don’t like him.”

“Clark!” Janet gasped. “Be nice!”  

Truth be told, I was.

“No, no, no,” Mark laughed. “It’s fine. It’s awesome that Clark feels he can express himself so freely with you around. It means he trusts you and feels safe.”

I had a front row seat of Janet’s cheeks turning rosy. “It does.”

“No it doesn’t!”

“Oh hush,” Janet told me.  “You’re just being a fusspot, now.”

“No.”

Mark flashed a smile Janet’s way. His front teeth were so big and toothy, like a horse’s.  I wanted to punch them in but good.  “Sounds like a fusspot to me.”

I bit my tongue again as my flaring nostrils picked up the last traces of Janet’s perfume.  She’d put it on early that morning, and the very last fading notes of honeysuckle and lilac wafted up my nose.  Meanwhile, my crinkling ass still reeked of baby powder. 

“Missed you at the back half of the meeting today,” Mark went on. “Frank told this funny story about him and Cecily when she first got adopted that I thought you’d really like and would relate to.”

“Yeah?” Janet said. “I’ll have to ask him to tell it to me before the next meeting.”  Yes!

A horse tooth chomped at a swollen toad-like lip.  “Yeah,” Mark said. “Yeah...” He hesitated, but only just.  “So if it’s not too personal, can I ask you a question?”

“Mommeeeee!” I whined. “Can we go home now?  I’m getting sleepy.”  I yawned to add to the lie. Didn’t even have to fake that one.

“Just as second, baby.” She lightly jostled me as an almost reflex.  After a second thought she asked Mark, “Would you mind reaching into his diaper bag and getting his Lion?”

“Oh yeah. Sure.”  I focused with laser eyes as the creep snatched Lion up by his main.  “Here you go buddy.”

I grabbed Lion from Mark like I was saving him from a hostage situation.  “Thanks.” I didn’t say it like I meant it because I didn’t.

“You’re welcome,” Mark said evenly, like a true Beouffist. Beouffist? Beouffite? Beouffian? Point being he’d clearly read all the same books that Melony had.  Little Voices was more popular in his old town. Janet was adopted by this cult. He’d grown up in it. “So...question?”

Janet smiled politely. “Go for it.”

“No offense, but you’re the um...newest Mom in the group, right? Not counting Lois and Bradley, I mean.  You’ve only had Clark for a month?”

My ex-coworker shifted her weight uneasily.  I gave her a hug. Good. Go with that feeling. “Yeeeeeah….” she said.  “Why?”

“How’d you know when you were ready to adopt? How’d you know you were meant to be Clark’s Mommy?”  He scratched the back of his head again. Probably because. “It’s just...I want to start my own family and help a Little who needs me and everybody else seems so old hat at this by comparison. I was hoping to talk to somebody who was maybe going through the same stuff I’m going through but more recently.”

I was so surprised by the question that Lion ended up on the ground.  Oh hell no! No way was I going to have to live through another retelling of the second worst day of my life.

“Yeah. Janet said. “Sure.  So Clark, actually, went to my school..”

“Oh,” Mark interrupted. “Hold on!” He bent over and handed Lion back to me. “Here you go, Clark.”

I took Lion, a little softer that time.  “Thank you.”

“Welcome. Go ahead.”

“Thank you,” Janet continued. “And it all started when I got called in to substitute for his class.  Just for an hour.”

“Beouf, right? Maturosis and Developmental Plateau Unit?”  

“No. His class. Before his Maturosis started expressing himself he was a teacher. Preschoolers.”

“Ooooh! Okay.” As if the very concept that I might have enough brains to teach was a novel concept. I wondered if Mark’s parents had faces as punchable as his. I dropped Lion again.  He picked it up. “Here you go, bud.”  

Fuck it. Janet didn’t have the finger mittens with her.  “Ooops.”

“He’s playing games with you,” Janet told him.

“I know,” Mark said. “I like games.”

“Mommy, can we please go home? I’m tired.”  I wanted so many things. To not have to hear this again. To go back to Janet’s house and go to sleep. To get rid of this supremely punchable douche.  Lion went on the floor again.

“Put it in the bag,” Janet instructed. She nuzzled me while the fuck boy did as she bid. “If you can’t hold onto your stuffie, he’ll just rest in the bag till we get home.”

“Can we go home?” I pleaded. “Pleeeeeease?”

“In a minute, honey. Mommy’s talking with her friend.”

Mark brightened a bit. My mood turned a shade darker.

“So, before I was his Mommy, we were friends. Then his-”

“J…” I stopped. Somehow her hand had already gotten to the pacifier. “Mommy! Dooon’t!”

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Janet replied.  She let the pacifier dangle at my onesie’s collar.  “Then his Matur-”

“Mommy, you said you were gonna take me to the potty!”  How did Amy do this?

“Maturosis started to express itself,” Janet finished her sentence.”

Mark adjusted his glasses. “He’s potty training?” 

“Oh no. He’s just going through a phase.” Her free arm hooked and squeezed the front of my Monkeez. “Definitely a phase. He’s trying to push boundaries and see what he can get away with.  Insisting he’s bigger than he really is.”

Mark was gaining confidence. “Oh yeah! ‘Terrible twos’ stuff.”

“Terrible thirty-twos,” Janet chuckled.

“I’ve got a brother who's ten years younger than me. I remember when he was two or three and just starting to figure out the potty he’d hold it in for as long as he could, and then decide he had to go to the bathroom right as we were getting ready to go somewhere.”

“Yeah,” Janet said. She was starting to sway slightly. “Kinda like that, but in reverse.”  The kisses and nuzzles she peppered me with were failing to put me at any sort of ease.

“Sorry,” Mark blushed. “You were saying?”  For all his Amazon strength, Mark’s eyes were as soft and jelly-like as my own.  If I could just figure out a way to get him to take off his glasses and reach them...

Janet’s blush started to match his. “So then I think the early signs of his Maturosis started creeping out.  He started getting more temperamental, not quite tantrum-y. We think he started to lose his potty training and was sneaking diapers from Mrs. Beouf’s room to try and hide it.”

“No,” I interrupted.  “You were cosseting me! You said so!” Her body flashed hot like an oven.  

Douche came in for the rebound. “That’s cute. Maybe that meant you were sensing it or noticing it on a subconscious level?” Janet didn’t shut him up so he kept digging. “Not that I believe any of that instinctual mambo jumbo stuff or whatever or just because if people cosset on Littles it means their Maturosis is expressing. It’s just nice to think that you saw someone you knew who was in trouble, and your first reaction was to want to take care of them.  I think it says a lot about you.”

“Thank you. That’s very sweet.”  I saw Janet’s smile and my stomach sank. 

“He’s really lucky.”

“Mommy…”

“Just a second, Clark. We’re still talking.”

Not if I had anything to say about it.  I couldn’t gouge out Mark’s smug douchey eyes but I could get him to leave.  I didn’t have the fuel or energy to do anything more than a half-assed tantrum, but I had one semi-metaphorical bullet in the chamber.

“When did his Maturosis fully express itself?  I hope that isn’t too personal.”

I leaned forward, and grabbed Janet’s shoulder, just enough so I could lift my butt up off of Janet’s cupped hands.

“At school.  We think it started happening late last school year, like I said. But it became more obvious the first week of this one.”

I closed my eyes and tried to pretend that I was alone, like in my crib, or in the corner of the room.  This was fine.  This was doable. No one was really looking at me. Billy did this kind of thing all the time.  I just…

“At least he had a diaper on for...you know.”

...had to…

“He wasn’t wearing one at the time.  He couldn’t figure out the tapes.”

Push!

My whines turned into quiet groans while my seat filled up.  There’s a kind of predictability in the lifespan of a diaper when it comes to wetting.  Poop is a major wild card. Some are wet and rocket out of you.  Others are like tiny rocks that have to be forced out. This particular one was a day and half’s worth of solid mess, the kind that comes out on its own after the initial push and you swear you’re a couple pounds lighter afterwards.  I kept my eyes clenched as it slithered out of me.  If Janet had taken me to the toilet it would have likely resembled a giant brown snake.  As is, it was going to be a huge stinking lump. 

Now three red faces were in the nursery.  Mine wasn’t just from straining. It felt more than weird doing that on purpose.

“Good thing he’s got one on now.” Mark chuckled nervously.  He knew.  He definitely knew.  They all knew.

Good. Fuck ‘em.  

Janet hoisted me up on her shoulder.  She patted me, smushing my personal humiliation against me even more.  “Yeah.” 

 “Like the ‘Terrible Twos’,” he started

She finished. “Only in reverse.”

“I’ll give you two the room.”

Janet started carrying me over to the nursery’s changing table and digging through the diaper bag. It really wasn’t so bad with no other Littles to watch. It’d be even better when Mark left. “Thank you,” she said, not looking back. I did my best to hide my dirty smile. I immediately failed.  

Yes!

Horseface Doucherson could see the writing on the wall, too.  “Yeah. See you next week?”

Janet handed me Lion and I gave the dumb thing the biggest most rib crushing hug.  “That’d be great.”  She unpopped the snaps between my legs.  “Maybe we can keep talking after? Or leave the meeting early?  Maybe get some coffee or something?”

“What?!” I shouted.  Janet started unfolding the new diaper.

“Okay.” Mark replied. “I’d like that.  I’d like that a lot.  See you then!.”  He left us while Janet pulled the bottom of my onesie up past my navel.

“Janet!” I called up.

She handed me the pacifier. “You know the rules of the game, Mister.”

I put the binky in my mouth. “Huff ong iff oo?”  Rules of our agreement said I had to put it in, not be quiet.

“What’s wrong with me?” The tapes coming off the plastic backing sounded extra loud there. Practically a crack of thunder.  Janet’s voice, by contrast, was unnervingly kind and quiet.  “I know when you’re trying to get under people’s skin, Clark.  I know when you’re pushing people away.”  She crossed my ankles, lifted my legs up and started wiping my backside for me.  “My big...smart...secure...mature...Little boy...who begs to go potty even in a wet diaper…and then poops his pants so that Mommy will stop talking to her friend and give him all of her attention.”  

The wipes she dragged across my penis felt extra cold.  She put on a little too much powder too.  Still, she made sure the diaper was snug and secure before she tossed the old one and buttoned me back up.

“It’s okay, baby.” She picked me up and gave me one last kiss on the cheek.  “You don’t have to be jealous.”

Jealous?

Jealous?!

Fucking jealous?!

Seeing a creeper hitting on a recent divorcee and ‘new mother’ and wanting  to take a taser to his balls was not jealousy! In my fury I sucked the pacifier harder and mumbled indecipherable obscenities that would have made even Lion blush all the way to the tub.
 

 

[Samriis]

Woo hoo!  Great to see another chapter... or two 

[Cute_Kitten]

Two updates at once, whee!  The Amazons see what they want to see in Clark's behavior- like when Janet is telling Mark about Clark's Maturosis appearing and looking back, she noticed the signs.  And Clark sees what he wants to see in the Amazons' behavior as well. Like how no matter what Beouf and Zoge do, Clark only sees ill intent from an enemy. Whether they actually are his enemies or not is debateable- certainly their perception and understanding of Littles is skewed (devil's advocate- or is it?) but in their warped understanding they want what's best for the Littles and truly do want to help them. Or at least, give them the help they think they need instead of being cruel like some Amazons can. 

[Moon3ye]

I don't know if this was your intention but your story is the first DD story where I am on the side of the Amazons and I find that more than interesting.

[YourFNF]

On 9/11/2022 at 5:51 PM, Personalias said:

“Don’t worry, dear.” Zoge said. “Clark’s just a little grouchy this morning. He gets like that sometimes.”

“He always has,” Beouf agreed. “But he’ll come around.  He always does.”

“They always do,” Zoge nodded.  She gave Sandra Lynn a quick pinch on the cheek.

They're is a lot unpack in this moment... Why do I get the feeling that Ivy fought back super hard in the beginning?

I think ironically what would break me (especially if you used conventional techniques to soften me up first, ex. sensory/sleep deprivation, heat/cold, beatings, electrical shocks, drugs, etc.) Would be acknowledging the game. "We know your not actually this but wouldn't it just be less painful to give in and give us what we want? You've been so brave and fought so hard. There's no guilt or shame in giving up now. All you have to is accept this and it can be done. No can hold out forever. It doesn't have to hurt anymore..:" And congratulations you would probably have me full on sobbing break down and trauma bonded after 2 weeks to a couple months of lead up...

Of course that is an incredibly blunt force method.

What they're doing here with this gradual habituation is fascinatingly horrific in it's subtly.

[Personalias]

Chapter 74: Lack of Progress Report

Janet was grinning like an idiot all the way home after school that Friday.  On one hand, this was unsurprising. Beginning of the weekend meant she had more time to obsessively try to be ‘Mommy’ with me.  Just being around me and holding me in her lap seemed to recharge her batteries.

For my part, I dozed in the car seat somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. Such a shit week.  Everything was falling apart in the worst ways. It was like the old saying: A Little plans and gods laugh.

I’d been relatively ‘good’ that day and spent most of it half-awake inside my own head, daydreaming what awful ways I could hurt the giants in my life.  I’d barely noticed when Beouf handed a stack of envelopes to the Littles’ bus driver that afternoon, eliciting promises to hand them off to their parents.

How to repeat my early successes of catching them off guard and making them as uncomfortable as possible?  How to use their own rules against them without them adapting? How could I Gibson things up a notch?

I didn’t know.  I really didn’t.  Somehow, that Friday, I’d felt more alone than I had on Monday. Perhaps it was because of the sailor onesie Janet had dressed me in that morning.  White with navy blue pinstripes, and a matching collar and a fake dress try stitched in it was like what I’d worn on my first day, but worse.  Zoge, of course, felt compelled to gush about it.


On second thought, ‘alone’ wasn’t a good word for how I felt.  Beyond bedtime, I was never really alone.  Chances are I wouldn’t be ‘alone’ this weekend, either. No doubt Janet would be projecting perceived ‘jealousy’ onto me and use that as a pretense for spending every waking moment possible with me.

At least she was leaving me alone in the car.

Just reliving what I’d done to myself, right in front of her and that douche Mark made me shift uncomfortably

“Poopin’?”

I opened my eyes. “No!”

“Okie dokie. I’ll check when we get home, just in case.”  She didn’t even comment beyond “dry” a few minutes later.  But why would she?

“Janet, can I please get this onesie off?” I asked as soon as I was out of the car and in her arms.

She took us from the driveway through the front door and straight into the living room.  “Sure. You can toddle and crawl around in just your diaper.”  She sat down on the couch and shifted me over to her lap with one hand while she pulled something out of her purse with the other. “But first, look what I got!”

A manilla envelope full to nearly bursting was clasped in her free hand.  At the speed of thought, at least a dozen semi-hopeful scenarios blitzed in my brain. They came to a screeching halt when I saw the Oakshire Elementary insignia stamped on it.  “What is that?”

Janet squeezed me tight with her other arm.  “It’s your progress report! Mrs. Beouf handed it to me this morning.  I thought we could read it together.”

Immediately, I tensed up to the point where I could hear my heartbeat faintly thumping in my ears. Fuck. I knew this day was coming, but I’d thought I had at least another week. No such luck.

Progress Reports: The not quite report card given halfway between reporting periods.  For most students (and their parents), progress reports are either warnings or reinforcers.  The student is doing great! Keep going to maintain that A average!  The student is slipping. Best dig in and make sure that that C doesn’t slip further.  The student has eight missing assignments and an F. Conference requested!  

Beyond the fact that  report cards were more ‘permanent’, there wasn’t much difference.  To people who were either too young or treated as too young to the point where graduating to the next grade wasn’t really a concern, there was no difference.  My three and four year olds didn’t see the difference; one way or another they would eventually go to Kindergarten.  I hadn’t given much thought to it, either.  It’s not like I’d get to ‘graduate’.  Professional courtesy would likely keep me in Beouf’s room even after they’d figured out how to soften me up for a ‘regular’ daycare.

The other thing I hadn’t thought of, was that progress reports and report cards were the perfect place for Skinner, Sosa, Winters to add in any kind of comments in my therapy notes alongside Beouf’s analysis.  Teachers sent reports home at the end of the week to give them time to avoid the hot wrath of a potentially angry parent completely incredulous that their perfect angel might be something other than the epitome of academic excellence.  

As a student, I now had two days in isolation with a Mommy who would be reading about all of the naughty, bratty things I’d been up to behind her back.  Bend my life over and fuck it sideways.

“Let’s see, let’s see,” Janet said, pulling the envelope open. My jaw all but unhinged looking at the massive stack. I held my breath. How much could these vindictive assholes possibly write about me?  

She peeled a stack of brightly colored construction paper and worksheets off the bottom of the stack. Evidently, Beouf and company sent home school work and other classroom artifacts with the report. “For the fridge.”

I exhaled.  The tremendous stack of papers was whittled down to a scant five.  Stupidly, I expected there to be something resembling a grid like a normal progress report: Subject; Percentile; Letter Grade; Behavior comments coded by a numbered list; that sort of thing.  Of course there wasn’t that. That format started in Kindergarten.  I was considered beneath that;.  beneath even my old classroom.

Instead of hard and fast grades and assignment listing I got qualitative diagnoses from almost every Amazon that had interacted with me since I got put back in diapers.

Janet pulled up the first page. “Let’s read this together.”

She cleared her throat. “Speech and Language. Based on observations in the classroom and therapy settings Clark is having difficulty marking the distinction between speaking to adults and speaking with children. He has difficulty maintaining impulse control and taking turns talking with teachers and classmates, often interrupting before a speaker is finished.”

I cringed.  Skinner was using my tendency to backsass as justification.

“While he is capable of advocating for himself by expressing displeasure for non-preferred activities,” Janet continued reading, “he remains unable to vocalize or express needs or desires for preferred activities.”  That was because I didn’t have preferred activities. The less babyish of two options was still babyish.

“Clark has demonstrated the ability to communicate effectively at times when given heavy prompting and structure, especially with a preferred peer or a stuffed animal, but shows gaps in vocabulary such as labeling animals and animal sounds.”

“WHAT?!” I shrieked.  That bitch!  That vindictive bitch! I overturned one measly lesson on animal sounds, and she was playing it off like I did so out of ignorance instead of disgust! How dare she?  “WHAT?!”

“That’s what it says here,” Janet tapped the paper before putting it aside. She gave me a kiss on the top of my head. “It’s okay. It’s not saying you’re bad, just that you need work on some things. You didn’t tell me about the animal sounds.  Do you want to practice that some this weekend?”

“Janet! No!”

“Okay…”  That hesitance was how I knew I’d be spending tomorrow proving that I could imitate barnyard noises.  

She picked up the second piece from the group and examined it. Sosa’s analysis was so brief that even with it held at an odd angle above my head, I’d read the whole thing before Janet started talking.

“Occupational Therapy. Clark is currently progressing on using scissors to cut lines with a quarter inch accuracy. He is easily frustrated and is working on building up endurance, using both hands for tasks which require them, and asking for adult assistance when needed.” Janet nodded.  “That’s not so bad! Good job!”

It wasn’t so bad, and in a way that made it worse. I wasn’t surprised that Sosa mentioned my difficulty with the rigged scissors. With how brief it was, I just knew that she was holding back.  Ever the ‘professional’, she couldn’t find a way that would address how much I’d pissed her off and still directly address the bullshit propaganda that was my I.E.P. goals.  It was Sosa’s way to let other people talk themselves into a trap, anyways.

“Physical Therapy,”  Janet read. “Oooooh!”

“What?” I said. “What?”

Janet lowered the paper down to my eye level. “Read it yourself.”

I did and the blood froze in my veins. “Clark is such a sweet boy and a pleasure to have in physical therapy,” I read aloud. “He is very talkative and eager to please, but it does not detract from his sessions where he is an active participant.” Oh no.  “He has shown great comfort and natural skill in lowering to all fours…” I paused and gulped. “And using reciprocal crawling to reach desired locations and modifying it to carry preferred items with him as he continues to crawl around the room.”

Janet bounced me in her lap and clapped. “Yaaaay! You’re doing super good for Miss Winters. Need to ask her what she’s doing right.” This was the downside to trying to manipulate an Amazon by buttering them up. Any positive interaction could be viewed through the lens of acceptance. I wanted to slide off her lap and onto the floor so I could properly die right then and there. Janet’s python-like embrace kept me in place. “You missed the last part, though.”

“He also enjoys sitting on the level swing and jumping on the trampoline as a reward for completed tasks? I! Do! Not!”

Another squeeze at my chest. Another peck on the top of my head.  Another batch of cooing nonsense.  “It’s okay baby boy. No need to be embarrassed.”  Embarrassed didn’t even cover it.  Frustrated was more like it. Outraged!  It didn’t stop my cheeks from flushing crimson.

“Independent Functioning,” Janet said. “Oh. Mrs. Beouf must have written this one.”

I shut my eyes and sighed. “Probably.”

“Clark has shown a tendency to self-soothe,” Janet read, “often sucking a pacifier or his fingers as well as cuddling with a stuffed animal as a means of calming himself when he is feeling anxious. He shows a high level of engagement during these periods.”

My face fell a little more.

“He can successfully use a visual schedule and check it independently to move to his next center in class.” Of course I could. I was thirty-two, not two!  “He benefits greatly from routine and even slight changes to it can cause him to become distressed when forced to adapt to new situations.”

I started trying to rub my temples.  This was bad. This was really bad.

“He has difficulty working independently during centers and often requires extensive redirection and prompting to remain on task; but has learned to work with peers to successfully complete tasks.”

I wanted to vomit. My stomach must have already digested the slop we’d had for lunch. Otherwise I would have puked everything out.

“Regarding toileting, Clark will often sit in a wet or messy diaper unless checked and changed by a caregiver.  He shows no interest in the toilet or the state of his diaper except as an escape behavior to avoid a non-preferred activity or if he is feeling anxious about his Maturosis; sometimes claiming that he is potty trained when he is wet or that he is messy when he is clean.”  

My spirits sank even deeper as Janet moved onto the last bit of the report.

“Socio/Emotional. Clark demonstrates a resistance to accepting assistance, but is forming friendships with classmates closer to his current developmental level. He has disrupted some classes by distracting classmates or behaving inappropriately. He often exhibits infantile attention seeking behavior, especially when given the freedom to do so.”

“No,” I said. Janet kept reading.

“Communication is a notable area of concern, with all teachers, aides, and therapists in agreement that Clark sees it as a tool to pull attention to himself at the expense of others, rather than socializing. He understands his own strength and does not engage in physical confrontation with classmates, which is a positive.”

“No, no.” I wanted to scream, but my protests were barely coming out above a whisper.

“Clark shows a great deal of anxiety regarding his Maturosis diagnosis, yet still demonstrates developmentally appropriate behaviors such as pretend play, self-soothing with a pacifier or sucking on his thumb, wearing and using diapers, and playing children’s games with peers.  However when this is pointed out to him he shows embarrassment, causing him to withdraw or lash out.”

I was wiggling in her lap trying to rip the paper from her grip.  She kept my arms pinned. “No, no, no!”

“If overwhelmed, Clark is most likely to verbally lash out and attempt to hurt others feelings.  When he does this, he is removed from whatever activity he is engaged in and given time and space to reflect upon his words and actions as well as allow his emotions to calm down.”

“Please…” I begged.

“ Depending on the intensity, Clark will begin crying and withdraw into himself for prolonged periods of time, wherein it becomes necessary to remove him further and allow him to rest away from the class in the nap room.”

“Please stop…”

“Almost done, honey,” Janet told me.  She continued reading, “It should be noted and emphasized that he is not a danger to himself or others during this time. Given his background and the events directly surrounding his diagnosis, his behavior is not entirely unexpected.  Based on the above observations, given enough time and accommodations it is likely that Clark will become a happy, well-adjusted, model member of the class.

We are lucky to have him as part of our classroom family.”  Janet’s sigh sounded relief. “Sounds like they know you, kiddo.”

If I lashed out and acted a terror, it got written off as a childish lack of impulse control or not knowing social norms.  If I called them on their bullshit, it didn’t get mentioned at all.  If I manipulated them and sweet talked, I was a happy baby.  And literally every single thing that I’d done in Beouf’s classroom had been twisted around in some way or another to fit their preconceived narrative. Compliance was acceptance; non-compliance was just being fussy; malicious compliance was misunderstanding.

My ex-coworkers had been harassed, hassled, and in some cases outright overwhelmed and outwitted by me for a month. They’d seen any number of examples that I was fundamentally still their equal, but they only chose to remember and interpret the events that fit into their narrative.

Typical.

I shouldn’t have been surprised. I wasn’t, really. Calling it typical didn’t dull what I was feeling, however.

Wet drops started dotting my cheeks. When? When did I start crying again?  I was supposed to be out of tears.  Quietly, I heard myself say, “It’s not fair. It’s just not...fair.”

Janet pivoted me around and put me over her shoulder.  “You don’t have to be upset, Clark.” She started rubbing my back. “You’re not in trouble. I expected this for your first progress report. I think you did a pretty good job!  And it’s obvious that they know you and adore you.  I know I do!”

“I...I…I...”

“Yes?”

“I...hate…”

Janet kept gently massaging me. “I know. That’s okay. You can be in your feelings.”

Just when I thought I was at my lowest, I found a new depth. “I’d like to go to bed now.”

“Okay,” Janet said.  The hallway started passing by on the way to my nursery.  “You do look tired. Are you having trouble getting to sleep at night?”

“No…”   

“Mmmhmmm.”

The mattress rushed up to greet my back.  Janet’s fingers probed to see that I was still dry.  “I’ll check up on you in an hour or two and see about dinner.”

She left me there, laying in the crib and closed the door.  I looked up at a mobile and scolded myself for my own foolishness.  I always talked a big game but constantly lacked the follow through.  On some level, I kept treating my ex-coworkers like they were associates, when they didn’t give me the same courtesy.  For one reason or another, I was using past relationships instead of abusing them; as though they were giving me the same consideration.

That was my problem.

Too scared.

Too concerned about other people’s feelings.  

Too...nice.

Something about that would have to change.

I’m not proud of the times that followed...

(End of Part 6)

[Moon3ye]

As someone who once worked as an educator for children in kindergartens, I can very well understand how the Amazons came up with these results.

And these are again a proof for my theory that in this DD the problem with the maturity really exists and Clark is affected by it without noticing it or without understanding it.

[YourFNF]

Yeah there is no victory condition here. I probably wouldn't be able to hold back saying what I really think and getting sent to be brain scrambled.