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

[littlebelgianprince]

Very well written chapter, nice surprise ?

Small typo: "Ancient Grease"

[Personalias]

3 hours ago, Moon3ye said:

I think I speak, or rather write, for many when I say you had me there for a moment. I really thought something was happening to the people and our main characters.

Thanks!

2 hours ago, BabyJilly_S said:

You got me

Clark for sure needed a good party with no worries....

Yeah. Poor guy needed a break.

 

1 hour ago, littlebelgianprince said:

Very well written chapter, nice surprise ?

Small typo: "Ancient Grease"

Not a typo, actually.  If you go back through the text, this happens fairly regularly.  Diaper Dimension isn't Earth, though much of pop culture and even bits of history bleed through.  So Clark regularly "misspells" various places that don't actually exist to him.

Greece=Grease, Oz=Ahz, Ohio=Ohiyo, etc.

[Personalias]

Chapter 19: The Morning After

Stomach cramps. That’s what woke me up.  All the rum and coke I'd had were catching up to me.  I had to pee like a racehorse, too.  More side effects from the uncountable number of refills I’d had throughout the last night.  

I don’t get  hungover.  I don’t experience the lethargy, or light sensitivity, or headaches, or nausea like they don T.V.  Never have.  Instead, my bathroom trips just increase ever so slightly throughout the next day.  It’s not even proper diarrhea as much as minor cramps and loose stools.  Some people get hangovers, I just get the hangover shits.

It’s a real point of paranoia most days.  Your typical Amazon seems to have a sixth sense about Littles with rumbling guts, and the Raine Forrests of the world wouldn’t hesitate to capitalize on that and find a way to detain someone like me until the inevitable ‘accident’ occurred.  Most of my coworkers abstained from drinking during the work week because they’d be afraid they wouldn’t be able to function the next morning.  I’d be able to go the entire day as normal with only a few extra bathroom breaks.  But there were times when taking a bathroom break was practically chumming the waters.

My eyes still closed, I grumbled and growled at the cramps.  I could feel the light from the morning sun through my eyelids.  I was having such a good dream, too, even though it was quickly being filed to the part of my brain that couldn’t consciously access such memories.  Sometimes the world isn't fair in smaller and less significant ways.
I groaned in annoyance.  Briefly, I considered rolling over and going back to sleep, and banishing the little cramps and the stinging of a full bladder to the background of my senses, but that was feeling less likely with every passing thought.  Had to empty the tank if I wanted things back in the green.

My groaning must have woken Cassie.  I felt her hand brush my hair.  I smiled at that.  Last night had been wild, and the way we held each other just before we drifted off was one of the few things I remembered from the night before.  Maybe she’d be in the mood for round two after I got into the bathroom.

Eyes still closed, I went to roll off the bed and hit the floor.  Only I couldn’t.  Something was pulled tight over my chest, I just hadn’t realized it because of the blankets.  I opened my eyes and felt myself go completely sober, my panic burning away any of the remaining alcohol in my system.

Let this be a dream, let this be a dream, let this be a dream.  

Surrounding me were wooden bars.  I was in a crib!  A strap was definitely pulled across my chest, but it wasn’t blankets that had made me not feel the coarse restraint.   The fleece footed onesie I’d been dressed in felt like a blanket, but coated me from the neck down, mittening even my hands.  

I tried to gasp and couldn’t.  The rubber bulb of the pacifier that had been inserted into my mouth was fully inflated.  I wouldn’t be able to spit it out unless an Amazon twisted the button and deflated the nipple.  

A giant hand came down and caressed my face. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” Raine cooed from above the crib.  “Did you enjoy your Little party?  I hope so. It’ll be your last.”

My throat was rattling with my screams, but the bulb of the pacifier made it come out as little more than muffled gurgles.  The shield on the abomination was huge enough so an Amazon couldn’t tell if I was smiling or frowning.   I tried to sit up and thrash and struggle, but the strap across my chest and the absurdly puffy diaper I’d been placed in muted my movements to simple squirming.  

I was both the angriest and the most frightened I’d ever been in my life, but to outside appearances I was just mimicking a particularly excited infant.  I was trapped in the Amazon equivalent of a Bronze bull.  

How did this happen?  How did this happen?  How the fuck had this happened?!

Raine must have seen the question in my eyes.  “I bet you’re wondering how this happened, huh lil guy?”  I stopped my struggling.  “Tracy, did it!”
I screamed as many garbled profanities as I could think of.  This was a lie, all of it!  Tracy would never sell me out!  She’d earned every bit of my trust.

Manicured Amazonian hands reached down and tickled my belly like a spider. “Yes she did!  Yes she did!  Mrs. Brollish was so cross with that little stunt you pulled just before break, that she decided to take matters into her own hands and made Tracy a deal.   Your job or hers.”

Raine waited till I exhausted myself thrashing in the crib.  

“Poor baby.  He and all his Little friends drank so much that they were all passed out when the Little’s Welfare Workers came to get them.  And guess who got the pick of the litter? That’s right!   The footage I got of you burning things and drinking will be more than enough at your adoption hearing today!”

I didn’t struggle anymore.  I just let myself cry.

“Uh-oh!  Why is baby Clark crying?” Raine mocked.  “It can’t be because you miss your friends already?  Don’t worry about that.  You’ll get to see them again.  Some of them are going right into Mrs. Beouf’s class with you!  Yes they are!  Yes they are!” The sides of the mattress became wet with my tears as I shook my head.  Beouf would never let that happen!  We’d shared so many coffees!  So many jokes!  Helped each other out and had a friendship that lasted close to a decade!  Even with her bullshit psuedo-science outlook and her Amazon crazy; she wouldn’t just throw that all away just because I got caught! 

I felt air hit my thighs.  There were snaps running up the inseam of the pajamas and Raine was undoing some of them. "Is it your diaper?” Raine asked.  I could only lay there as she violated me, inserting her fingers and feeling around the inside of my diaper.  “Hmm...still clean and dry even though you had all of that no-no juice.”

Thank God.  Raine pulled her fingers away from my crotch and placed a hand on my abdomen.

“Here.  Let me HELP with that!”  When she said the word ‘HELP’ she pressed down on my stomach, hard.  The pain and pressure was too much and my body brain ceded control.  Helplessly I laid there as my legs lifted up and my bowels emptied themselves into the seat of my pants; the warm mush coating me and not even all the way out as my bladder decided to let loose.

I had soiled myself in front of my greatest enemy, all while she patted my head and whispered to me, “That’s right.  Let’s get it out.  Get it alllllll out.”  

I was still peeing myself when Raine started peeling back her fluffy cotton bathrobe.  My bowels were still cramping when she undid the nursing bra she was wearing.  “Mommy can’t wait to change your diaper,” she said.  “It’s such a special bonding time.  But first, there’s a much more intimate thing we get to do.”  My panicked wails only caused her milk to come in and start dripping out.

The straps were loosened and I was lifted out of the crib.  I was still peeing myself. Still shitting myself.  How was the diaper still holding it all?!  I couldn’t see it, but I imagined the diaper expanding beneath me and sagging like an overfilled water balloon.

Raine twisted the knob on my pacifier and took it out.  I spit out the pacifier and started screaming.  “Babababababababababa!”  Those weren’t words!  Why weren’t those words?  “Gagagaga goooo!”  I’d lost all ability to talk.  I tried to ask why, but all that came out was “Gaba abba gaaa?!”  As her nipple brushed across my face, my mouth latched on over it, and my face began to melt, dripping like hot wax off of a burning candle while blood streamed from my eyes.

I woke up, for real this time, and tossed the blankets off of me.  I half ran, half limped to the nearest toilet and emptied myself, sighing in relief as waste hissed and plopped and tinkled into the water beneath me.  The sound of the flush was close to a chorus of angels.

After I’d cleaned up, I went back into Cassie’s old bedroom and crawled back into the sheets with her.  Gently, I shook her awake.  “I had a nightmare.”

Bleary eyed, Cassie yawned and rolled over to look at me.  “ ‘Bout what?”
I didn’t tell her.  I just nuzzled up to her and wrapped my arms around her. She reciprocated. “Just hold me, please.”

[Moon3ye]

Fooling us twice in the same way is a bit evil. I like that.

[BabyJilly_S]

Oh my, you got me again. I love it. Unfair indeed, though now I am not sure who the title is pointed at ? 

[Personalias]

6 hours ago, Moon3ye said:

Fooling us twice in the same way is a bit evil. I like that.

So shame on you, this time? lol.

 

1 hour ago, BabyJilly_S said:

Oh my, you got me again. I love it. Unfair indeed, though now I am not sure who the title is pointed at ? 

yes

[Personalias]

Chapter 20: The Actual Morning After

Stomach cramps, again.  It wasn’t quite noon, and I was still making trips to the toilet.  I really must’ve done a number on myself that last night.  Several extra rounds to the bathroom were still preferable to what I’d dreamt about.

 I didn’t go back to sleep afterwards; just cuddled with Cassie (among other things) until hunger and stiff joints coaxed us out of bed.  I was sprawled out on the couch, picking at the second round of bacon dipped in syrup.  I wasn’t hung over, but damn did crispy bacon with syrup, and toast and sunny side eggs hit the spot.  I hadn’t had a single bland breakfast shake all week. 

“Gonna have to start working out in the living room again,” Cassie said between plates one and two.

“Worth it.”  And it was.  Good food.  Good family.  Good furniture.  I was still loving that if I stretched all the way out, I’d have taken up the whole couch.  

As great as it was to live in an Amazon sized home- feeling like I’d gotten away with something or taken something from them- there was something that was centering about lounging around in an environment crafted to your size.  This was the unspoken second part of the Gwiffin Party: The lazy morning after.  

The third round of bacon was in the oven, and the eggs were sizzling thanks to Irene.  Hangover food.  We’d missed the pancakes and waffles, and skillet master Bert Braun was adamant that he wasn’t making another round today.  “Should’ve been up and about when they were ready.”

Nobody complained, even if everyone groaned a bit as they moved.  The aching pains after a massive rager were like interest on a credit card payment.  Knowing the good time upfront and the rough time on the back end hadn’t stopped any of us from partying down, and the discomfort we were all feeling.

Most of us were feeling it at least.  Michelle, still on the verge of popping, and Ollie had come over, too.  My sister in law had been gracious enough to offer to help with the kitchen and the cleanup, but we all waved her off.  She’d taken Bert’s custom recliner and rested while Ollie played on the floor with some toys that were in no way educational.

I didn’t care.  I was off duty.  I scratched my stubbled cheek.  After almost a week it was reaching that point where it wasn’t a proper beard, but was more than just a rough patch.  I looked damn scraggly.  I’d have to shave that day and the next, just so that I didn't have a hack job when Tracy came to pick us up.

Another cramp gurgled in me and I shuddered, but it wasn’t the cramp that made me do so.  I felt bad that I thought Tracy had betrayed me, even if it was just a dream.  It had been Raine who had told me in the dream, too; and I couldn’t trust a damn thing she said in real life.  It was a dream, though.  Just a dream.  Things didn’t have to make sense in a dream.  

Tracy would never betray me like that.  Certainly not because some bully like Brollish ever threatened her.  Like she’d told me, Tracy already had an out if Amazons ever turned up the heat on her.  It was a good plan, too.  One of the fringe benefits, I suppose, of marrying an Amazon.  Assuming Tracy’s husband never turned on her.

That’d be pretty typical.

“You okay?” Cassie asked.

I got out of my own head.  “Yeah.  I’m fine.  Just feeling the aftershocks.”

Cassie sat on the couch with me, my feet in her lap while she played with her phone.  Wistfully I weighed whether the lingering discomfort was worth standing up again and making another trip to the toilet, or whether I could ignore it and just space out while Michelle’s shows droned on.

“Go poop.”  Cassie didn’t even look up from her phone.  Damn, she knew me well.

I rolled my eyes.  “Yes, Mommy.”

I got a smack on my shins for that.  “Don’t even joke about that.”  Her tone was flat, but I could tell I was just about over the line.

Ollie chose just that moment to toddle over to the couch and lovingly plop his entire head right on my belly.  “Oooof!” I gasped.  “Easy there, Ollie. Uncle Clark doesn’t feel so good.”  I gently moved the toddler away from me so I could sit up and hold my stomach.

I wasn’t going in my pants but my breadbasket was still super tender. “Thought you didn’t get hangovers, Clark,” my wife teased.

“I’m also running on maybe four hours of sleep,” I countered. “And it’s not a hangover.  I just...uh…”

“Go poop.”

I stood up.  “Alright. Alright.”

“Round three oughta be up by the time you’re out,” Irene called over.

A flush and a hand washing later, sweet delicious bacon was crunching between my teeth.  I was sitting upright, hunched over my plate like a dog guarding its bone.  So good.  In between bites I looked to the T.V. 

Somebody had changed the channel.  Ollie was watching cartoons. He sat there splay legged and laughing his butt off while a sea cucumber in a tie delivered pizza to a talking manta ray.
“What’s this?”  I asked, doing my best to hold off the edge in my voice.

“It’s on Pennycade,”  Michelle said.  

I stopped eating.  “Not Littles Network?”  Admittedly, it was kind of insulting for me to second guess, but worry makes you say stupid things.

“Pffft,” Michelle waved off my concern.  “You think I’d let anybody I cared about watch Littles Network?”

“Littles Network is blocked in this home.  Can’t even pull it up accidentally.”  

As an informed Little, I was aware that most cartoons were safe for viewing.  Contrary to popular belief, Amazons are no more immune to mind fuckery, hypnosis, conditioning and subliminal messaging, than anyone else.  It would be social and financial suicide for a major broadcasting company to lace their stuff with mindfucking shows, (not to mention illegal).

Littles Network though...

“Don’t worry,” Michelle said.  “It’s safe.”  Ollie laughed as SeaBenedict Cucumberbatch ran headfirst into a wall for the third time.

Bert still was wolfing down sunny side up eggs on toast; at least his third helping today.  “Boy’d be going a lot quieter and wide eyed if there was something hinky goin’ on behind the screen.”
  
I just shook my head.  It was no Muffets; still better than Contest of Crowns.  That thing had meandered along and died a slow death as soon as the showrunners had run out of novels to adapt from.  Oh, the things I watched just to keep up with campus small talk.

The dumb cartoon went to commercial break.  “We’ll be back with more with more Seabenedict Cucumberbatch on Pennycade!”

The first commercial came on and I could feel Cassie’s hackles rising up beside me:  A baby wearing nothing but a diaper and a mock football helmet toddled onto a mock football field.   “It was the day of the big game at Monkeez stadium” the bodiless narrator said.  The camera cut to a tight shot of babies in the stands, playing the parts of fans.

“But the star receiver couldn’t catch a pass,” the narrator continued. Tiny toy footballs bounced past the confused looking toddler.   The camera panned down to a plain white diaper barely holding onto the kid’s hips.  “And no wonder, there was an offensive leak in his diaper!” 

A poor sound effect of a whistle blowing and a quick cut to another child with a whistle around their neck and hat with the word ‘COACH’ stitched onto it.  He grabbed a pack of diapers and waddle-toddled over to the ‘star receiver’.  “Here comes the coach with a new game plan.  Monkeez Lil’ Steps Diapers, now with a more absorbent center, and Monkeez leg elastics to help eliminate gaps in the defense!” 

The screen flashed away to a diagram of the diaper, as a marching band played.  As if stuff like  “holds more pee” or “stays on tighter” was some kind of revolutionary new technology.  (Or at all relevant to football.)

“Okay team, let’s FIGHT! THOSE!  LEAKS!”  Another quick cut to the ‘star’ catching a tiny foot ball and the kid toddle running past the camera.  The kid had been changed between shots, and now was wearing a fresh, snug diaper with tiny cartoon monkees on the landing zone.  
“And it’s a touchdown!”  Of course, the baby could manage spiking the ball.  “What a happy day for Monkeez fans!”

 Michelle pointed to the television.  “See? Perfectly safe and appropriate.  An entire diaper commercial and not a single Little wearing one.”

“Not an adult Little, at least.” Cassie said.  “Those could have all been Little children, but it’s hard to tell without scale.”

I looked to my wife.  “Isn’t that a good thing?” I asked.  “This way it could be marketed to any parent, but it’s also using real babies.  Positive examples.  Better than a bunch of us up there.”

My wife crossed her arms.  “As if Amazons can tell the difference…”

“They can learn.”

“They don’t want to learn, Clark.”  Cassie was on edge.

Bert threw in his own two cents. “Here-here,” he said. “Them learning would mean they gotta respect us.  So they’re not gonna learn.”  For the shortest time, I’d forgotten whose home I’d been sleeping in.  Bert had just reminded me.

“It’s a step in the right direction.”  I was grasping at straws, but Gibsons and Brauns were equally stubborn, it seemed.
  
Surprisingly, it was another Braun who came to my defense.  Michelle put her finger on her nose.  “Exactly!  It’s a diaper commercial, but it’s just a diaper commercial.  It’s a silly cartoon, but it’s just a silly cartoon.    Also, I love those diapers,” she added.  “Monkeez is one of the few disposables that isn’t complete crap.”

I tried to lighten the mood.  “I thought crap came later…”

If you’ve never had a pregnant woman glare at you, I recommend you avoid it.   “You know what I mean, Clark.  Monkeez is the only major diaper company that sizes for all babies.  The rest is store brand...and store brand is not great.”

I nodded and looked to Cassie.  She was crossing her arms, but she grunted acknowledgement.  Even Cassie couldn’t argue with basic common sense:  Networks like Pennycade and diaper companies like Monkeez stood to make the most money by appealing to the broadest base possible, and that meant doing everything they could to NOT scare Littles away.

Still...something about that commercial irked me, too, the more I thought about it.  I just couldn’t put my finger on it.

Michelle wrinkled her nose.  “Speaking of diapers…”  She looked to the baby on the floor.  “Pregnancy turned up my sense of smell,  but bending over’s a little tricky at this stage.”  She looked to the room. “A bit of help?

“I’ve got him,” Irene said.  She picked him off the middle of the floor.  “Wooo!  There it is!  Come with Gam Gam, Ollie.  We’re gonna get you cleaned up.”

Another commercial came on.  The screen went dark and sad, sorrowful music came out of the television’s speaker.  A woman’s quiet voice spoke in soothing, yet sad tones.  “Every year, hundreds of Littles are adopted and are put into abusive households.”  Black and white photos of Littles filled the screen.  I felt my stomach roil at the sight.  Pictures of black eyes and baby clothes.  Diapered Littles in casts and hospital beds. “But don’t let us tell you about it.  Let them.”

A Little woman in a white dress came on screen. “My Mommy would only change my diaper once every couple of days.”  Behind her was a black and white photo.  Her head shaved bald, she was naked on a hospital bed, a disgusting rash of bumps and discolored skin ran up her back and down her legs to the back of her knees.

“Mommy and Daddy went on vacation and left me by myself...in my crib...with no food.”  The Little man was plumper than the emaciated picture behind him, and was dressed in a button up shirt and slacks, but the bulge of his diaper was still obvious.

Another Little girl, this one holding herself up with a medical walker.  “Daddy spanked me so hard, it broke me.”  The picture behind her was herself in a full body cast, her face contorting in pain.  The pacifier that dangled from her collar was no-less unsettling.

Yet another Little man was on screen.  His shortalls might have been dapper and clean, but they didn’t look grown up.  “I don’t tawk...good...no more....too...m-m-m-much...cartoons.”  The photo of him staring blankly into a static filled T.V. wearing only a used diaper; eyes wide and mouth drooling, made him look like a genius by comparison.

More black and white pictures, these ones of smiling Littles in nothing but T-shirts and diapers, or onesies, or baby bonnets...but the smile never matched the look of pain and terror in their eyes.  “Other Littles can’t speak for themselves,” the lady narrator said.  “They were left unsupervised around sharp objects and died due to neglect and poor supervision.”  

No.  No they didn’t.  They took the only way out they knew from dollhood.

“Littles expressing Maturosis gain childlike qualities and mindsets and need to be cared for and loved,” the narrator continued.  “But too often, the same protections given to Amazonian children don’t apply to Littles.  No background checks are given to Amazons adopting Littles, and abusive or neglectful parents rarely face any legal repercussions.  Isn’t it about time, we do something about that?”

The silence in the room was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.  I felt Cassie staring at me, even though I couldn’t look at her.  Maturosis.  That was Beouf’s catchall.  And this commercial was talking about all the terrible things that happened to so-called adopted Littles...but it was talking about us like we were children.  It was missing the point entirely.  So typical.  So terribly fucking typical.

“Thanks to your donations and support, Little Voices has been able to save many Littles from abusive parents, caregivers, and working environments.  But there are so many more in need of help and understanding.  Their Little voices are calling out for help.  Isn’t it time we listened?  Please consider donating today.”

A logo faded gently into view.  A white silhouette of an adult holding a child’s hand and walking into the sunset.  But based on the proportions, anyone could tell that the child wasn’t really a child. Underneath it were the words “Little Voices”, and a website.

The commercial faded back out. “And now we return to Seabenedict Cucumberbatch, on Pennycade!”

No one said anything.  We all just stood there in silence as Cassie’s Mom came back in with the baby and set him back down.  “I’ve never seen that commercial before….”  Michelle seemed shocked; embarrassed even.

Bert looked over to Ollie, and back at Michelle, his glower saying more than words ever could.   Cassie had already walked back up to her room.  Michelle changed the channel and Ollie started crying.  Irene did her best to distract him by picking him back up and bouncing him on her knee; playing horsie. 

Michelle looked around nervously. “Maybe Pennycade isn’t so great…”  I went back to the bathroom and vomited up my bacon. 
 

[YourFNF]

Whelp I'm going to hide in the bunker now......

 

*muffled terrified screaming*

[Moon3ye]

I am kind of sad and happy right now.

Happy that a new chapter is there.
Sad how dark the chapter was on several different levels.

You really are a talented writer.

[BabyJilly_S]

Yikes, that was disturbing. I  guess some Amazons really do think of their charges as just "pets" and we all know how some people on this planet treat them...

Edit: Should say that I am still really enjoying it  

 

[Personalias]

13 hours ago, YourFNF said:

Whelp I'm going to hide in the bunker now......

 

*muffled terrified screaming*

Yup.  Dystopia is dystopic.

 

11 hours ago, Moon3ye said:

I am kind of sad and happy right now.

Happy that a new chapter is there.
Sad how dark the chapter was on several different levels.

You really are a talented writer.

Thank you.  I try.  This is also one of the few times I've written in first person, and I think it strengthens the tension, fear, and frustration, because you're seeing it all from the main character's head.

 

 

8 hours ago, BabyJilly_S said:

Yikes, that was disturbing. I  guess some Amazons really do think of their charges as just "pets" and we all know how some people on this planet treat them...

Edit: Should say that I am still really enjoying it  

 

I made sure to create some interesting and complicated characters, but there are Amazons that are TERRIBLE.  Or shold I say, Typical?

 

[Personalias]

Chapter 21: Invincible

“Mr. Gibson,”  Mrs. Brollish said, “you have a lot of explaining to do.”  

I stood at full attention, my back to the chair I’d declined to sit in.    To Brollish’s right, Raine stood there, eyeing me like a dog does a steak.  To my left was Mrs. Beouf, acting as my Union Representative.  This was almost a shot for shot replay of my last close shave.  Almost.

This was first thing in the morning, I had the whole day ahead of me.  Even as Brollish glared down at me, the last of the buses were rolling in and Tracy and Mrs. Zoge were covering for our classes.

There was no snot-nosed brat accusing me of something I hadn’t done.  I’d done this.  Guilty as charged. 

I stood there, with a Tweener sized purple sock pulled over my head and flopping down goofily over the side of my face.  Likewise, two mismatched Amazon socks- one orange and yellow polka dot, the other checkered black and white- were yanked up my legs to the inseam to approximate pants. The bottoms had been cut out so my loafers would get a decent grip.  I still had a job to do. The blue and green socks slid over my arms and up past my elbows had been similarly modified so I could use my fingers and thumbs. 

The real piece de resistance however was the plain white t-shirt that went down to my knees. It had started out as a plain white tee, but it was impossible to tell now because of the layers of socks stitched and carefully layered over each other.  

I looked like a bizarre hybrid of socks, starfish, and fir tree. I was sweating, but that was because having so many layers of clothing on made excellent insulators. 

“What can I help clarify, Mrs. Brollish?”   My top lip was retreating behind my goatee.  My bottom lip was uneven, my facial hair doing its best to mask the not-quite frown that was doing everything it could to not bloom into a smile.  I was this close to cracking up.

From beside Brollish, Forrest leveled a finger at me. “He’s gone full baby,” she said. “He can’t even dress himself anymore.”

“Is that why you manhandled me into this office?” I asked, rhetorically. My tone was even, confused, maybe even a little hurt like I felt sorry for her.  Fat chance.  

Brollish cocked an eyebrow. “Manhandled?”

“Scooped him up right in front of the kids,”  Mrs. Beouf said.  “Saw the whole thing. Scooped him up right in front of the students at the bus loop.  Very unprofessional.”  Words like ‘unprofessional’ were just one step away from ‘immature’.  As far as polite Amazon society went, those were fighting words.

Raine gestured to me.  I was vaguely surprised she didn’t accidentally wrench her arm out of its socket.  “He’s acting like a baby!  He dressed himself like a baby!”

I pouted my lip out and frowned; a display of confusion.  “I thought babies couldn’t dress themselves, Miss Forrest.”

“YOU LOOK RIDICULOUS!”

“So does your makeup but no one is threatening to smack your huge ass.”  (Okay I didn’t actually say that.  I just wanted to.)

What I did say was, “Thank you, I think the children very much enjoyed my participation in Silly Sock Day.”

Brollish’s face turned to stone. “Silly Sock Day…?”

I did my best to smile demurely.  “Yes Ma’am.  Today is Silly Sock Day.”

“I know that, Mr. Gibson.  What does that have to do with your...your...outfit?”  Ooooh boy. She was starting to boil.

I kept playing innocent.  “At the faculty meeting last week, you said that students and faculty were encouraged to wear silly socks, today.  So...”  I gestured to myself.  

“This is…!” Like a volcano that wasn’t quite ready Brollish rumbled, and then quieted down.  “Most unusual.”  I was pushing it.  Really pushing it.  But I hadn’t crossed the line yet.

Beouf stepped in.  “That’s why it’s silly.  He’s not breaking any of the school rules.  No dress code violations.”

“I have normal clothes beneath this.  Everything is covered.”

Beouf nodded. “And you did say you wanted faculty to participate.”

“NOT LIKE-!”  Forrest was silenced with a single withering glare from the Principal.

Brollish steepled her fingers. “Mr. Gibson,” she said, “aren’t you concerned that your attire will distract your pupils?”

“Not at all ma’am,” I said confidently. “We can use this outfit to review concepts such as counting, colors, and sizes, and I think this will go nicely with our read along of Crocs in Socks.  Tracy even has a paper mache snapper for me to wear back in the classroom.

“And what if it’s too distracting?” Brollish narrowed her eyes.  “Overstimulating?”

I smiled.  “Thank you for your concern, ma’am.” I said confidently. “Fortunately, I brought a spare change of clothes and have some alternate activities that cover the same basic skills, as noted in my lessons plan that I submitted last month.”

“Ah,” Mrs. Brollish said.  “That explains why you wrote that.”  
Translation: “I didn’t read it at all.”  Administrators NEVER read lesson plans.  No time.  They just check that it’s been done.  I wrote and submitted this gem waaaay ahead of time just to cover my ass so that it didn’t end up covered by something else. 

Mrs. Brollish had one last straw to grasp at.  “What about your students' parents?”

I opened my mouth and then shut it.  I frowned slightly.  “What about them?”

“What if,” she said, “they don’t approve of their child’s teacher dressing in such an…” she paused just to let me know she was trying not to say the ‘i-word’.  “...a silly fashion.  Could create some hiccups if their children come home with confused stories about their Little teacher dressing inappropriately or incorrectly.”  The faintest trace of a smile started to appear on Brollish’s mug.

Yes!   “Oh, I’ve already called them about it,” I told her.  “Last week.  They’ve all given me their blessings.”  It wasn’t quite a month until Summer Vacation.  By this point in the year all of my students’ parents were hooked on me.  “In fact, Elmer’s mother is stopping by to help volunteer with some of the activities today.”

The slight wisp of a grin vanished.  “You really have thought of everything, Mr. Gibson, haven’t you?”

I nodded. “Thank you, ma’am.”  It wasn’t a compliment, but I took it as one.

“That will be all.  To your classrooms.”  Beouf and I walked out.  “Not you, Miss Forrest…”  We shut the door behind us.

On the way back to our classrooms, Mrs. Beouf smiled down at me. “Proud of yourself?”

“Kinda.”

“You know that’s not gonna work again, right?”

“Still worth it.”

Beouf positively cackled at that while she opened the door to my room.  “Mind if I cut through?”  

I shook my head.  “Not at all.”  

Tracy was on the phone at my desk.  “Okay,” she sounded relieved.  “He’s back. Yes, Ms. Grange, he’s back and smiling.  I’m guessing everything went perfectly.  Okay.  Okay. Yeah, I’ll let you get back to class.  Good-bye.”  She hung up the phone.  Now she was smiling at me in the same way that Beouf had been.  Not quite insulting, but not entirely approving, either.

It was Beouf who spoke first. “Happy Birthday, Mr. Gibson.”  

“Whaaat?!”  I did my best not to laugh.  “My birthday was almost a month ago.”

Tracy went back to serving breakfast to our students.  “But getting away with this nonsense is your present, Boss.” 

I made a show of turning my nose up.  “I have no idea what either of you are talking about.”

Beouf just laughed as she went back to her room.  Tracy helped a cluster of kids open their milk and pour into their single serving of cereal.  It had gone perfectly.  That day I did feel invincible, even as I had to fan my face.  Damn it was hot.  Already I was regretting my daring choice to toe the line and fluster administration.  Was it really worth wearing what was functionally a full body sweater all day in the end of Spring?

If I had known then that that would have been the highlight of my adult life, I might have enjoyed it more.

But I didn’t...
 

[Moon3ye]

2 hours ago, Personalias said:

If I had known then that that would have been the highlight of my adult life, I might have enjoyed it more.

But I didn’t...
 

I am very happy about a new chapter it was absolutely entertaining to read how he tricked the Amazons with all the rules of art, no offense, no immaturity, everything planned agreed and even in the regulations absolutely brilliant. Also that this teacher who is out to get him has once again exceeded her authority and hopefully gets into trouble, probably not at the end she is an Amazon and he is a Little maximum that she gets into trouble that a Little fooled her again.

It's just that last sentence that makes me suspicious. I am really curious where all this will lead.

Above all, it gives the impression that he is telling a story? Is he breaking the 4th wall here to tell us, "Hello, the story you've read so far, I've told you and you'll see where I end up"? 

Absolutely excited to see what you have planned.

[Personalias]

11 minutes ago, Moon3ye said:

I am very happy about a new chapter it was absolutely entertaining to read how he tricked the Amazons with all the rules of art, no offense, no immaturity, everything planned agreed and even in the regulations absolutely brilliant. Also that this teacher who is out to get him has once again exceeded her authority and hopefully gets into trouble, probably not at the end she is an Amazon and he is a Little maximum that she gets into trouble that a Little fooled her again.

It's just that last sentence that makes me suspicious. I am really curious where all this will lead.

Above all, it gives the impression that he is telling a story? Is he breaking the 4th wall here to tell us, "Hello, the story you've read so far, I've told you and you'll see where I end up"? 

Absolutely excited to see what you have planned.

One of the first drafts of the first chapters of this story was told in the third person.  I changed it to first because it felt more intimate.  

First person point of view puts the main character, their voice, and the specifics and limitations of their viewpoint right into yours.  

As most 1st person point of view stories have this effect of talking directly to the reader, I don't know if "breaking the fourth wall" is the right term.  But yes.  Clark is writing this.  And he's hoping someone will read it.  Perhaps before it's too late.

[YourFNF]

This was a brilliant use of social engineering and malicious compliance XD

[BabyJilly_S]

Dangerous game, poking the bear. He made all the right prep and it worked well but I worry about ongoing consequences. Was that moment of triumph worth it or will it come back to haunt him....

[dprd_bydaylight]

Loving this, keep it up!!!

[Sarah Penguin]

[Bonsai]

Amazon teaching personnel should craft better banana skins, if they truly wish for Mr.Gibson to seriously and irreversibly slip.

 

It shouldn’t be that hard, so I guess they are not placing their full effort into it.

[Moon3ye]

15 minutes ago, Bonsai said:

Amazon teaching personnel should craft better banana skins, if they truly wish for Mr.Gibson to seriously and irreversibly slip.

I'm not sure if I should be ashamed of how loud I laughed at such a simple play on words

[Personalias]

Chapter 22: Sponsored Content
Maturosis is a genetic condition that affects Littles all over the world.  It can lay dormant for years, but will strike without warning.  Cognitive, emotional, and maturational development is not only delayed, but regressed; turning the Little into a baby that will never grow up.

Science shows this to be the truth.  But if it is true, why do we treat Littles afflicted with Maturosis like they’re prisoners?

Would you put your baby into a crib with leather straps on the mattress?

Would you force feed your baby with tubes and feeding bags?
Would you gag your baby with head straps or inflating bulb pacifiers for periods of up to twelve hours?

Would you refuse to change or bathe your baby to teach them how to behave in public?

If your baby came back from daycare with bruises on their bottom, would you keep sending them to that daycare or would you call the police?
If your baby said that their babysitter was verbally abusing them, would you keep hiring the sitter?

Would you addict your baby to mind altering substances so that they didn’t run away? 

Would you use subliminal reprogramming to influence your baby’s personality, effectively causing brain damage just so they can act cute?

Of course you wouldn’t.

So why let it happen to Littles?

All over the world, Littles are crying out for help, literally.  But instead of listening, we’re letting them be abused and neglected by irresponsible parents who would lose their biological children for the very same acts.

If Littles are children, then Little abuse IS child abuse.

Little Voices: Isn’t it time we listened?”

There was a brief pause as UsBox finished its commercial and went to the clip of the Muffet Show that I’d clicked on.  Cassie and I unclapped our hands over our ears and came out from our hiding spaces.  She was buried under all our blankets and pillows.  I was under the bed with my eyes slammed shut and doing my best to close my ears to what the commercial may or may not be broadcasting.

“The FUCK was that, Clark?!”  She was crying already, not that I can blame her.  “THE FUCK?!”

I ran back over to the computer and clicked out back to the desktop.  “It’s a commercial,” I said.  “It’s just a commercial.”  I was breathing hard, trying to stop my own tears of panic from breaking out and streaming down my cheeks.

The moment the commercial came on,  and the word “Maturosis” was uttered, I leapt from my computer chair and scrambled under the bed.  MistuhGwiffin had been rife with pop up ads on non-safe site that were hypnotic and mind fucking in nature.

Lots of chatter about ads that couldn’t be skipped and ‘glitches’ that made it impossible to click out while the ad was running.  If you were close enough to the screen to click out, you were just as likely to get sucked into whatever mindfuckery subliminal bullshit that was being broadcast. 

“I guess UsBox isn’t safe anymore.”

“YOU FUCKING THINK?!”  Cassie screamed.

I did not react well.  “HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW?!” I screamed back.  “IT DOESN’T TELL YOU WHAT COMMERCIAL IS GOING TO PLAY WHEN YOU CLICK ON THE VIDEO! IT MIGHT NOT EVEN HAVE BEEN A HYPNO AD!” 

“IT DOESN’T MATTER IF IT WAS HYPNOTIC OR NOT!” Cassie said.  “IT’S DANGEROUS!”

“HOW IS THAT DANGEROUS?!”

Cassie hopped off the bed and just sobbed.  She opened her arms.  “JUST FUCKING HOLD ME!”

I did.  We held each other and cried, her grip never loosening on me, nor mine on hers.  If we weren’t both standing up we might’ve cried ourselves to sleep.

Finally.  After much too long, she let go.  Our breathing was steady now.  Our voice lowered.  But what she said next hurt just as much as if she were screaming at me.  “I want you to quit.”

“What?” It didn’t register.  I was so shocked that I didn’t allow the weight of it to register fully. 

“I want you to find a new job.”  Cassie’s voice was low and patient. Steady as a clock.  “Work somewhere else.”

I should have asked “why”, but really, I knew why.  Instead I just took a step back and shook my head so quickly and subtly that vibrating it might’ve been a better descriptor.  “No.”

“That commercial was talking like Beouf!  It said Maturosis and everything!” Cassie said.  She gestured to the computer as if it was its fault.  “That Amazon on the bus and her Mind Fucked doll were talking about Little Voices.  Remember?”

Of course I remembered.  How could I have forgotten?  The thing is, I almost agreed with Cassie.  But I was feeling attacked and ambushed by my wife as much as by the UsBox commercial.  People, in general, don’t respond well to feeling attacked.

“That means it probably wasn’t a hypno video,” I said.  “If Little Voices is like Beouf, that’s a good thing.  Beouf is against that kind of shit!”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s a hypno video or not,” she said.  “That shit is dangerous.  It’s telling Amazons it's okay to treat us like babies.”

“At least it’s not telling them to treat us like Dolls.”  I regretted saying that the moment it came out of me. 

“I WANT TO BE TREATED LIKE A PERSON!  AN ADULT PERSON!”  The walls of our bedroom were shaking with Cassie’s rage.
 
I was crying now. I wasn’t scared or sad.  Just fucking frustrated.  “Cassie, my job is important to me.”

“You’re important to me.”  Cassie’s waterworks had switched on.  “You’re more important than your job.”

“Cassie,” I pleaded.  “I’m teaching people.  Not just my students, but my coworkers.  I’m making a difference.”

Cassie gestured to the screen.  “Do you think you’re making more of a difference than some corporation with unlimited money and airtime?  Do you think you can teach Amazons the truth faster than they can be taught that we’re forever children?”

“I got not one but three Amazons to defend me from at least three other Amazons.”

Cassie scowled. “And how many other Littles have those Amazons mind fucked and thrown in a playpen?  When is Beouf gonna look at one of her prisoners and go, ‘maybe this is an adult that I should treat with respect?’”  I got quiet. “You’re not a teacher, Clark.  You’re their feel good exception that proves the rule.  You’re a collaborator.  You’re a Helper.”

I stepped back.  The tears stopped for a second, but only because I was so angry.  “Wow,” I said.  “That hurt.  Alot.”

My wife was out of tears, too.  “Yeah?  Well it hurts me being worried that every day you leave for work you might not come back.  Or that if you do, it’s because you’re in a stroller and some giant wants a matching set.”

The meanest light bulb popped up over my head.  “What else am I supposed to do?” I asked.  “What am I supposed to be doing with my life that’s less dangerous?  I can’t draw like you.  I can’t code or do stuff with computers.  Any other job I take will be less pay and just as dangerous.  More dangerous because I won’t have ten years of good credit built up with whatever Amazon I’m working for.”

“You could learn.” Cassie half-suggested, half-accused.  “Online classes are a thing.”

“And pay the bills how, in the meantime?” I countered.  “Most of my paycheck goes to the mortgage.  I stop earning my part of the money…” (I was kind enough not to say “the majority of the money”)  “and the only way we keep this house is if the new Amazon couple that buys this place moves us into the nursery!”  

Cassie stepped back.  She had nothing.  I kept attacking.

“I’m on contract, anyway,” I said.  “I can’t even think about quitting until the end of the school year.  If I don’t show up for work too many times, guess what happens?”  She didn’t need to.  We both knew.  “So what do you want to do, hun?” I almost spat.  “Do you want me to quit my job and we’ll go live in a trailer park?  Where we’re paid shit wages by Amazons who don’t have to see us?  Where we’re constantly on the lookout just like we are now, but don’t even have the money or the privacy that we get?  Should I just knock you up and keep you safe nine months at a time like your Mom and Dad want?  Is that it?”

My wife turned away from me.  “You’re not being fair,” she said.  

“Life isn’t fair.”  I said back.  “You seem to know how my life should be.  You want me to make all these drastic changes in my life because a new group of Amazons decide to be assholes and throw money at a screen.  What alternative do I have?”

“I don’t…” Cassie stuttered. “I...I don’t know.”

I sighed and softened my tone.  “Neither do I, hun.  Neither do I.”  My hand hovered over her shoulder.  “Can I touch you?”  Her back still turned to me, she nodded.  I hugged her from behind.  “I promise it’s gonna be okay,” I whispered to her.  “I’ve got good people surrounding me.  They’ll keep me safe.  We’ve got it better than a lot of other Littles.”

“But what happens when we don’t?” Cassie softly replied.

“The moment I see anything suspicious; anything wrong; anything I can’t handle;  I’m out of there.  Okay?”

She clasped my arms to her chest.  “Okay,” she said.  Still, she sounded defeated.  She sounded defeated, but I didn’t particularly feel like I’d won anything.
 

[Moon3ye]

Oh God I see the catastrophe already coming as the story in the last chapters were built. I wonder which of the two ends up in diapers and if it should be both who gets a good mom and who gets a bad mom.

[Personalias]

7 hours ago, Moon3ye said:

Oh God I see the catastrophe already coming as the story in the last chapters were built. I wonder which of the two ends up in diapers and if it should be both who gets a good mom and who gets a bad mom.

I will neither confirm, nor deny, anything.  But I am very flattered that I've made people care about these characters.

[YourFNF]

These characters feel extremely real and both have good points. You can see they care about each other but are cracking under the strain of living on this hellscape... Actually a pretty decent illustration of trauma from systemic violence....

[Bonsai]

The beauty of all totalitarian systems is that they cause victims to feel guilty: mainly for not doing enough to help their peers & for just accepting unfairness.

Many Holocaust survivors reported that sort of feeling.