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

[Personalias]

4 hours ago, Panther Cub said:

GAH! More suspense!

 

Also, I honestly have forgotten... has Clark ever mentioned in his narration portal littles?

No.  I don't think so.  In this iteration "other dimensions" and stuff is considered, at best, whackadoo conspiracy.  Maybe it exists?  Maybe it doesn't.  Not important to this story.

2 hours ago, Moon3ye said:

Yes, but I have decided. Clark is an idiot and brings himself and his wife with his pride so what of in the future in diapers that it only wonders whether it will be a nice mom or a mean mom.

After what happened before the summer he should have run away and should teach online where he can pretend to be an Amazon and live together with his family in the trailer park.

BUT no he has to continue teaching there. Any other Amazon would have let him run straight into the knife and adopted him, he sometimes has no idea what good friends he has.

His pride beating his paranoia and sense is certainly a fatal flaw.

[YourFNF]

I feel like in this universe I would have either turned agoraphobic and worked from home never leaving the apartment or adopted myself out to the first Amazon that I liked and didn't think would brain scramble me....

[BabyJilly_S]

Clark seems to be deliberately chancing fate at every turn. His ego appears to be writing cheques that eventually he isn't going to be able to cash, taking huge risks with something as simple as coffee.

Then there is the diaper, saying that it will never be him but why did he pick it up in the first place? not like he wouldn't have seen one before. Perhaps he is hiding a dark desire......not uncommon for people to be so ashamed of something that they rage against it before the truth comes out...

[Personalias]

Chapter 27:  Back to Normal
A week later: It was Monday.

 I was being a bad teacher.  It was just after lunch; it was our class’s first naptime of the school year.  The kids who needed protection were in fresh Pull-Ups.  The blankets and nap mats were distributed.  Quiet naptime music was playing just loud enough to be white noise and drown out the sound of passing classes walking around campus.

Within two weeks, this would all be routine and second nature to my students.  Right now, however, I had three-year-olds who were new to my class giggling and playing peekaboo. I had returning four-year-olds, of course, but they weren’t even close to back in step with the usual routine, (and there’s a big difference to just turned four and not quite five).

If I was being a good teacher, I’d be politely but firmly coming down on them like a hammer. Maintaining proximity so they knew I was paying attention.  Giving gentle reminders that now was a time to rest.  That kind of thing.

  The entire first two weeks for students was pretty much all about establishing routines and procedures.  Gotta teach them the game before they can play.  Gotta teach them the rules before they can follow them.  This was regardless of grade level, but it was particularly important for my students who had never been in an academic setting before.

Tracy even volunteered to take her lunch in the classroom to help me.  More eyes.  More hands.  An admittedly more intimidating presence.  That kind of thing.  Standard procedure, really.

If I was being a good teacher; I’d be hawk-eyed and almost on patrol until the darlings started lightly snoring.  I’d be all business.

But I wasn’t being a good teacher.  I had other business on my mind.

Tracy and I were instead in the little passage between my room and Beouf’s.  The door was cracked open so we could hear any of them, and both Tracy and I could see in well enough, but we weren’t paying attention to the napping toddlers.

“I’ve been thinking,” I said.

“‘Bout what, Boss?”  Tracy asked.

I chewed my lip for a second.  I didn’t like bringing this up.  It felt like taking an umbrella was inviting rain.  “Remember what you told me about on Spring Break?  Car ride over to my in-laws’ place?”

“Paintball?”

I had to resist the urge to smack my forehead.  “The uh…” I was hoping Tracy wouldn’t make me say it.  Hope was not on my side.  “The adoption plan?”

“I’m not planning on-...” Tracy’s memory caught up to her.  “Ooooh yeah.  You mean in case things go bad.”

I nodded.  I scratched the spot just beneath my eye.  Another little itch popped up on the back of my neck.  I scratched it.  The quiet and the whispers and the anxiety and the paranoia.

“So I’ve been thinking…” I said.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think maybe you could do something like that…” I almost left the last part unsaid.  “...for me?”

Tracy frowned.  “Like whaddya mean.”

“It’s just that…” my throat was already beginning to tighten up.  “Last year I had more than a couple of close shaves.”

“Uh-huh.”    I couldn’t tell if my assistant was just letting me get my thoughts out or was just having a complete ditz moment and not being able to read me.

“And the thought occurred to me that if I’m gonna get snatched up by an Amazon, it’s gonna most likely be here.”

Tracy winced.  “Yeah.  That makes sense.”

“But then the idea occurred to me.  If I got snatched here...maybe you could adopt me?”

Tracy squinted at me, her face not suspicious as much as uncomprehending.  “Why would I…?”  Then it clicked. “Oooooooh…!”

The words came out in hushed whispers spoken in rapid fire with no breath in between them. “I know Tweeners don’t adopt Little normally, but a Tweener with an Amazon husband might raise fewer suspicions and it wouldn’t have to be long just long enough for me to get out of danger and meet back up with Cassie and we could leave town kind of like what you were planning with your husband and I don’t know who else to ask this favor and it’s probably never gonna be a thing but after last year it would just give me such a feeling of relief and security and-”

My assistant cut me off “Oh, Clark!”  She kneeled down and gave me a hug.  “Of course I’ll do that.  If anybody tries to snatch you up, I’ll get you first and you can get out of dodge.”  

“Thanks.” I needed to hear that. I blinked away tears while still in the hug.  “Okay.  I’m going to get back to work.”

****************************************************************************************************
Cassie was panicking when I got home, Monday evening.  “Don’t be mad,” my wife said.  She looked like she was close to tears.

My instincts immediately shifted from prey to protector.  Inwardly I braced myself for the worst. I dug my fingers into my slacks and held my breath for Cassie to break whatever bad news she had to me.  “Okay.  Talk to me.”

“The washing machine broke,”  her voice was trembling. “And I can’t get even a Tweener mechanic to come and fix it till Thursday.  I’msosorry!” 

Broken washing machine?  That was it?!  I immediately relaxed.  “Alright…” I said cautiously.  Cassie had never been the type of person to hit me with a bad news/worse news combo.  The washing machine was the biggest problem Cassie had to tell me about.  

My wife was shaking.  “I know how you like to have all your work clothes nice and neat and we’ve still got laundry piled up and I don’t want you to get in trouble!  I’m so sorry!”  I was the hug giver now.  I squeezed her and rubbed her back until she stopped trembling so much.

Emotionally speaking, this was more precarious than it might at first seem.  Inwardly, I wanted to laugh and wave it off as no big deal.  But nobody wanted to be told that their feelings didn’t matter.  And with Cassie’s temper...

I let Cassie out of the hug and held her hand.  “Alright,” I said. “That kind of sucks.  Gonna be expensive to get it repaired. Probably more expensive for a Tweener to do it because I’m going to want to bribe whoever just in case the neighbors still don’t know we live here.”

Cassie nodded, avoiding eye contact like a scolded puppy.

“We’ve got enough money though,” I said.  “It just means we’re going to have to hold off on any other major expenses for a couple of months.  Eat out less.”

Cassie nodded.  “So you’re not mad?”

I shrugged and gave a little smile. “Shit like this happens.  It’s just part of being an adult, y’know?”

“Yeah.  I know,” she said.  “And it’s silly.  It’s just that things have been getting to me a lot lately.  I think I’m just starting to lose it.  I feel like one false step and we’ll end up dolled and mind-fucked.”

Welcome to my life, Cassie. “A broken washing machine isn’t one of those things.  I’ve got enough clothes to get me through the week.”

“Fair.”

We had sex that night.  I couldn’t tell (never could tell) if it was love making, or make up sex or whatever, but it felt good.  Good and wild.  Good enough that I almost passed out immediately after with only the alarm to wake me up out of a near coma the next morning.

********************************************************************************************************
On Tuesday, I was back to being a brave Little, and in the full swing of my morning ritual.  The aftertaste of my morning breakfast shake blended well with Beouf’s coffee, and I was speed walking my way to the front office with Beouf and Tracy in our de facto formation.

“Mr. Gibson. Tracy,” our coworker, a Tweener, acknowledged us as she passed.  “Mrs. Beouf.”

“Good morning,” I said, sounding my cheeriest.  

“Mrs. Beouf. Tracy. Mr. Gibson.”

“Mrs. Springfield.  Mr. Renner…” I hesitated. “Ms. Grange.”  

All our colleagues walked right by us and on their way to their respective classrooms and morning duties.  Yup. Everything was about back to normal.

My gut rumbled as I stood on tiptoes to clock in for the day.  “Tracy,” I said.  “How much longer before buses come out?”  

Tracy glanced at her watch.  “About five minutes.”

Damn.  Not enough time to get to my room and back. And on the second day no less…

Raine Forrest literally swiveled her chair around and ignored a parent trying to get a volunteer form so she could look at me.  “Don’t think you’ll make it to the bathroom in time?”  An addict had just gotten a whiff of their favorite brand. 

 I would’ve thought she’d poisoned me, except I’d had only Beouf’s coffee as per usual.  I looked down at myself.  Yeah, that explained it.  My hand was hovering around my belly, reflexively.  A shark sniffs around for blood, soon enough it's going to find some.  Such was the case with Forrest.

“Not a problem,” I said, waving her off.  “I'll just go to the staff-”

In leaps and bounds that practically defied physics, the school secretary was out of her chair and running to the staff bathrooms.  “Gotta go!  Emergency!” I looked at the confused Tweener parent on the other side of the reception desk and just gave him a shrug.

Beouf shook her head.  “I’ll be by the bus loop if you need me,” she called back.  I gave her a thumbs up.

Casually, I walked to the mailroom.  Tracy didn’t even need to ask me for help.  Like was routine, she reached up into the mail slot and handed me whatever administration had left for me to sign, send home with the kids, or just toss in the garbage.  I couldn’t help but notice her grimace.

“What?” 

“Just look,” she said.

Another Little Voices pamphlet; a whole pack of them.  The local chapter was sponsoring a fundraiser at school in about a month.  The fundraiser, I knew about. We always did a fall festival or makeshift carnival or some such as a way to get extra school supplies.  This year's sponsor Brollish had neglected to mention. 

These advertisements would have to go home in students’ backpacks by the end of the day.

Pamphlets in hand, I made to go to the staff bathroom.  “Don’t do what I think you’re gonna do,” Tracy jokingly called out to me.

I grinned, and handed them back to my assistant.  I wasn’t going to use them to wipe my ass or flush them in the toilet...but the thought had occurred to me.  “Pocket these for me till we get back in the classroom.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

The knob to the men’s room wouldn’t turn.  “Occupied,” a far too familiar voice, with more than a hint of anticipation.   Damnit, Raine.  “Out in just a couple minutes.”

Locking me out of the bathroom….

Really?

My four-year-olds had more creativity than that.  

All I had to do to circumvent Forrest’s terrible plan to deny me toilet access was to go into the women’s room.  Both bathrooms were unisex and single occupant.  Nobody was going to bat an eye at me going into the women’s room; especially if Raine had sequestered herself in the men’s.

The only problem I had was that I had to do a kind of a balancing act on the too wide rim of the toilet.  Difficult.  But not impossible.  I’m a Little.  I’m used to working in a world that’s too big for me.

After flushing and walking out, the wheels in my head started to turn.  It’s surprising how well one can think with freshly emptied bowels.  By the wall were a pair of tiny wooden wedges. They were intended to act as a kind of door prop.  Leave the bathroom doors open and slide a wedge under them so they wouldn’t budge.  No need to knock or worry about walking in on somebody who forgot to lock the door.

During high traffic times such as in the morning, such things were forgotten.  People had too much to do to bother kicking away a wooden triangle and replacing it just before the buses came.

“Miss Forrest?” I called out in my most pathetic sounding voice.  “Miss Forrest? Are you still in there?”

“Just a minute,” the giant bitch practically sang out.

I picked up the wedges.  “But Miss Forrrrrrest,” I whined. “I really have to go!”

“Just a minuuuute!”

“But I don’t wanna be laaaaaate!  You know what will happen if I’m late!”  I slid both wedges under the door.  Not even Amazon strength would be able to budge them from the inside.  Physics was in my favor.

“I’m almost reeeeady!”

The bell rang, and I walked away, shaking my head.  Time to go to work. I chuckled under my breath as I heard the knob twisting.  I could almost hear her starting to bang on the door as I walked outside to go meet Tracy, Beouf, and yes, Zoge. At least Forrest wouldn’t poop herself.  My plan was kinder than hers in that regard.

*************************************************************************************************
On Wednesday afternoon, Mrs. Beouf came to my room.

“Uuuuuuuugh!”  she groaned.  She sat down in the child sized chair and banged her head on the kidney table where I held centers.

I got up from my teacher desk and walked over to her.  “Rough day?”

She laughed a little.  It was a tired laugh, but a happy one.  “Oh, just getting back into routine.”

“I hear that,” I said noncommittally.  

“You think they’re gonna remember the rules from last year but then…”  She didn’t finish the sentence.  Just smoothed out her hair.

She was talking about grown adults as if they were children.  Clearly, my diapered peers were rebelling.  Thinking that made me feel better than the possibility that most of them had ended up like that one girl on the bus: Too far gone and loving it.

“That’s a shame,” I said.  “But it’s how it goes every year, this time.  Right?”

“Right.”  My mentor muttered to herself.  “Must be some kind of bug going around.”

I arced an eyebrow.  “Why’s that?”

She was still shaking her head.  “Maybe it’s just me, but I feel like I’m losing diapers.”

“Come again?”

“Parents all sent in diapers with their kiddos,” she told me.  “But I feel like some of the supplies are already starting to run a bit low.”

“New cafeteria food, maybe?” I offered.

“Not that I know of,” Beouf said.  “The weirdest part is, I don’t think I’m changing anybody more than usual.  It’s like the extra diapers are just...disappearing.”  She laughed when she said that.  “That’s stupid, I know.”

I gave a half hearted laugh, mostly to be nice.  “Not stupid, but I get what you mean.  I’m a good two weeks away from being out of crayons; I just know it.”  Then I said, “Maybe you’re just frazzled because you’re about to be a Grandma?”

“Maybe,” she replied.  “Maybe.  I might just be frazzled.  My job doesn’t end when I go home…”  She sighed and yawned.  “How’s this week going for you?”

I gave my own exaggerated groan.  Ah yes!  Teacher Bitching!  The great educational pastime revived!

“I’ve got an I.E.P. meeting tomorrow,” I said.  “First of the school year.” I even made a whoop-de-doo circling motion with my finger for ironic emphasis.  “One of my new students, no less.”

“This early?” Beouf said.  “Why?  You’ve had literally no time to collect data.”

“It’s supposedly because the mother wants to make sure that I’m properly briefed on the child’s needs but-”

Beouf interrupted me.  “It’s because you’re a Little.”
I sat down next to her.  “Yup.  Happens every time.  They find out their kid’s teacher is a Little, and then they become-” I held up air quotes, “- very concerned about their child’s education.”

“Mmmmhmmm.”  Beouf patted me on the back.  “And by the time they’re going to Kindergarten, the same parents that were calling for your job are begging you to move up to Kindergarten so they can have another year with you.”

I leaned back in the chair.  “Pretty much.”

“Well, it sucks,” she agreed.  “But you’re an old pro at this.”

“Yeah,” I said.  “I guess I am.  I was a real mess that first year.”

“Everybody is,” Beouf assured me.  “You should’ve seen me.”

“You?  As bad as I was?”

Beouf smirked.  “Okay, maybe not as bad, but this place is proof that experience is the best teacher.”

“And you’re very experienced,” I said.

She leaned back in mock surprise.  “Are you calling me old, sir?”

My grin went full shit-eating. “I don’t know.  Am I...Grandma?!”

We both laughed.  “I’ll let you get back to planning,” she said.  “Practice your parent schpiel for tomorrow.”  She got up and started to go back to her room.

“Have a good night Mrs Beouf,” I called out to her.

“You too, Mr. Gibson.” 

I needed that.  I really did.  Sometimes when I’m feeling really down, I still think about this moment and it makes me happy again; if only for a little while.

[Moon3ye]

Clark's plan seems well thought out.

That a broken washing machine causes so many problems is already difficult and I'm sorry.

I have now recently due to much free time read the story again completely.

I really have to say I'm curious what goes wrong and what happens to Clark. I honestly hope that he does not drag his wife into it. Because unlike him, his wife is very prudent and that she also ends up in diapers due to his refusal to commit in safety I would find very sad. 

[YourFNF]

The consequences aren't the same but I can really relate to this feeling of waiting for the hammer to fall.....

[BabyJilly_S]

Back into the shark tank for another semester, I wonder if he told Cassie what he asked Tracy.....?

[Personalias]

Chapter 28: My Last I.E.P. Meeting

“Is everyone here?”

“I think so.”

“Then let’s begin with proper introductions.”

“Hello I’m Tamara Bankhead, and I’m the Resource Compliance Specialist.”

“Hi, I’m Chandra Skinner: Speech and Language Pathologist.”

“Hello, I’m Maxine Winters: Physical Therapist.”

“Hello, I’m Jasmine Sosa: Occupational Therapist.”

“And I’m Clark Gibson:  Pre-Kindergarten Teacher.”

There was no friendly smile. No nervous chuckle.  “Hello everyone.”  The Amazon across the table made a point to turn her head and make contact with everyone sitting around the table; everybody except me.  “I’m Martha Dunwhich; Emily’s mother.”

An overlapping wave of “Hello” and “Nice to meet you” followed.  Everybody is always friendly to the parent at an I.E.P. meeting, even when the parent has a stick up her you-know-where.  Education is just as much a service industry as it is a profession, if not moreso.

“We are gathered here today,” Bankhead all but read from a pre-approved script, “to review Emily’s academic and developmental goals for this calendar year and to ensure and clarify understanding among all members of her Individualized Education Plan Team.”

Translation: “Emily’s mother is terrified that a Little will be educating her daughter and wants to be reassured that he knows what he’s doing and that there will be enough Amazons and even Tweeners so that Emily’s education won’t be ruined by a baby teaching her baby.”  This kind of thing happened at least once at the beginning of every year.  I knew it was going to happen, less than a week ago, when parents and students were allowed to walk campus and find their children’s classrooms.

After ten years I’d gotten good at recognizing that politely outraged look in an Amazon’s eyes.

To be fair, by the end of the year, if not sooner, this woman would see how good of a job I was doing, and be singing my praises by this time next year.  To be fair, she was an Amazon and thus possessed of a nearly overpowering maternal instinct and was likely taught her entire life that the only school someone my size belonged in was a daycare.  To be fair, Emily was her only child and according to her file and my experience over the last three days was nowhere near potty trained and lacked a whole bunch of basic pre-academic skills; and so her own guilt and anxiety was likely causing her to project a lot of things.

But I didn’t feel like being fair just then.  It was a crap day so far.  I was going to have to pay a good chunk of change to get my washing machine fixed.  I was on my last pair of clean and neatly pressed slacks and was going commando because said machine was on the fritz. My shaving razor was getting dull, so I’d had to practically scrape the stubble off my cheeks; my beard trimmer wasn’t much better.  

And to top everything off, I was missing my lunch again, so I was getting hungry.  These things always seemed to be scheduled right when I was supposed to have lunch.

So yeah, I was in no mood to be fair just then.  Life wasn’t fair.  So why should I have to be?

My face was a placid mask of calm as I quietly thought bad things about Bankhead. Bankhead was a Resource Compliance Specialist:  Essentially, a glorified secretary whose sole job was to keep minutes for and run these types of meetings, as well as make sure everyone else had their paperwork properly filled out.  It was a thankless job, but she made more money than me, so she didn’t need thanks.  “For this meeting-”

“Excuse me,” Emily’s mother cut Bankhead off.  “I don’t want to waste everyone’s time and would like to skip past the red tape.  Can we please just get to discussing my concerns?”

Bankhead stopped, and my coworkers and I exchanged quiet but anxious looks.  I might be the only one standing on my chair, but we were all on our toes.  Yup, this was going to be one of those mothers.  Even the way Martha Dunwhich was dressed-high end navy blue skirt suit with bleached blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail and sunglasses resting on her head- just screamed “I want to speak to your manager” levels of entitlement.

Bankhead was shaken a bit.  “Oh um...of course.”

“I’m sure that Mr...Mr…” Mrs. Dunwhich paused as if looking for the right words.  She looked at me.  “What was your name again, honey?”

I smiled back politely. “Gibson.” I said.  “Clark Gibson.” Typical Amazon.  Couldn’t even be bothered to remember my name ten seconds after I’d said it, never mind all of the times she’d already seen it in meeting invitations and classroom announcements.

“While I’m sure that Clark is very good with children, I’m not sure if the classroom he’s in is the best possible setting for my daughter.”  Wow. That was a new one.  Not only could she not bring herself to call me by my last name, but she couldn’t even verbally confirm that it was my classroom; just the classroom that I happened to be in.

Bankhead adjusted her glasses.  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Dunwhich, but Oakshire Elementary has only the one Pre-Kindergarten classroom.”  Bankhead was opening with the old ‘you-don’t-have-a-choice’ gambit.   

“Mr. Gibson is an exceptional teacher,”  Miss Sosa, the O.T. chimed in.  “He’s very good at implementing therapies into his everyday curriculum so that students make gains throughout the year.”  Nods all around the table. Inwardly I smiled a bit.  Acknowledgement felt good.  Had I been a bit bigger, I might’ve sat down and leaned back in my chair a bit.

“Plus, all of his students end up potty trained by the time they get to Kindergarten.”  Thank you Mrs. Skinner.  Not quite the endorsement I was hoping for, but I’d take it.

“What are his qualifications?”  Again, she was talking about me, but not to me.  Typical.

Times like this are always rough for me:  Do I speak up for myself, thus asserting my professional authority, or do I rely on the so-called benevolence of Amazonian professionals to continue to speak for me?

The women sitting around the table had done enough I’d decided.  Time to sell her on my own merits.  “I’ve got a bachelor’s degree in Elementary Education with up to date certification on Early Childhood education as well as ten years of experience teaching.”  I was tempted to go into professional speak and add in more technical education terms than were necessary, but decided to go with my gut and speak plainly.  “I’ve got former students walking all over campus and they’re all doing quite well.”

Her nose wrinkled a bit in disgust.  “And when were you potty trained?”  Boom.  Point Blank calling my adulthood into question.

This was a trap.  I knew it was a trap.  It wasn’t Raine Forrest levels of obvious, but it was still pretty blatant.  If I told her that I’d been potty trained at two, she might accuse me of having a superiority complex or being uppity.  If I lied and said around three or four, that could be ammo, too.   Emily wasn’t even in Pull-Ups yet.  Even asking about that bit of information was calling my competence into question. 

I knew how to dodge this attack.  “Like most skills, potty training is more about having it than when you got it.”  

The mother repeated the question.  “When were you potty trained?” 

I shrugged nonchalantly.  “Oh, just like most people,” I told her, “it was so long ago that I don’t remember.”

Slowly, decisively, the woman asked. “Then why are you pooping your pants?”

“Excuse me?!” I felt my blood boiling.

“Why are you pooping your pants?”  She said it even slower that time.  Everybody, myself included, scowled.

Ms. Winters spoke up for me.  “Ma’am, that is highly inappropriate!”

“Check him,” the parent of my newest student said.  “After three years of changing diapers, I’d know that smell anywhere.  Check him.”

The thing about skin is that it tends to tune things out. Unless things are too tight or too bulky we don’t tend to notice that we’re wearing clothes.  Bugs can land on our arms and unless they skitter too much or sting or bite, we might not know that they’re there.  Nobody feels how cold the water is once they’ve been in the pool long enough.

And me?  I didn’t realize that I’d shit myself until the first semi-solid clump started dripping down the near back of my inner left thigh.

The world stopped.  It froze.  Sound didn’t register in my ears. Light and shapes and colors and the people in the room stopped registering my eyes. My jaw hung open stupidly and my eyes went wide and unblinking.  My lungs didn’t contract as much as they shivered.  And my heartbeat thundered through my entire body.

I had shit my pants.  In public.  In front of no less than five Amazons, and I hadn’t even realized it was happening until just after.

I was doomed.  

Doomed.

No amount of quick thinking or careful word play or exploiting social moores or technicalities was going to save me.  

Bankhead was behind me. I only knew it was her by her voice and her absence from behind her laptop at the head of the table.  “Excuse me, Mr. Gibson.”  Two fingers hooked into the waistband of my pants.  Not even with my belt cinching everything around my waist to the point of leaving marks would those two fingers be stopped.

“No…” I whispered.  Not like this.  Not like this.

“Let me just che-...” the Amazon stopped mid sentence.  “Whoah!”  I didn’t see the look on Bankhead’s face.  But I did see the look of surprise in the various therapists eyes and the smug knowing look in Mrs. Dunwhich’s.  

I felt the cooling, greasy feel of brown stained shirttails being pulled out of my pants and streaking them against my backside.  I felt more juicy, warm, disgusting shit streaking down my legs as my colon ejected a second shot into my slacks.  Most of all, I felt the raging pain of a massive cramp welling up inside me like a balloon that was filling up far too fast.

BLUUUUUUUUUUUUURT!

My body was betraying me; verbally signalling to the entire room what it was doing.  I opened my mouth to scream, nothing more than a pathetic, high pitched wail came out as the back of my pants became stained and my own feces started coating my legs.  Overtaxed with shock and surprise, my bladder gave out too.  If the smell and the sound didn’t give it away, the growing wet patch on my crotch sealed the deal.

Amazonian hands scooped me up under the armpits and placed me on the meeting table.  Just as quickly, all the others scooped up their papers and backed away from me as if I was a leper.  I heard Bankhead say,  “We can wipe down the table later.  Easier than cleaning carpet.”

“Why don’t we get him out of here?”  Skinner asked.  “Clean up the walkway instead?”  I knew why.  They didn’t want to chance for even an instant that I might escape.

I could see it in their eyes.  I was a Little who’d just had an accident.  I needed to be punished.  I needed to be diapered.  I needed to be coddled and primped and conditioned.  There was also a look of pity in their eyes.  

Pity.  

Sympathy.  

But not empathy.

I wasn’t an adult any longer.  Not to them.  I wasn’t even a person.  Just a doll.

My knees buckled as my body let loose one last report.  I bent over and buried my hands in my face, even as a putrid puddle formed beneath me; tears and pee and diarrhea all mixing together.

Kill me.  Kill me.  I just wanted to die right then;  but I lacked whatever manic and cruel cunning that some people become possessed of to self-harm.

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to reschedule,” Sosa said.  I could hear the door opening and footsteps getting farther away as people exited the meeting room.

“Hello?  Front office?” It was Bankhead on the phone.  “We have an emergency! It’s Gibson!  Get the nurse!”

I just started wailing.  No more words.  Not just then.  No more sight either.  I closed my eyes and let my body be wracked with sobs. 

I don’t know how much time passed between that phone call, and when the door next opened.  I don’t even remember if Bankhead stayed in the room with me or if she just leaned against the door in case I got any ideas of escape. 

Time had lost meaning for me. No more time.  Out of time.  Game over.  

Hope you had a nice life, Clark.  Hoped all that flirting with disaster and high minded ideals of teaching Amazons a better way was worth it.  Because it’s over now.

I heard the slight squeal and whine of hinges in need of oiling as the door to the meeting room opened back up.  I didn’t bother to unbury my face.  Fuck the nurse.  Fuck that bitch.  I might’ve been crying just then but I wouldn’t let her see it.  I’d stay in my tight little ball, lying in my pool of piss and shit and spit and tears.   I’d make her pry me open from my little self created cocoon.  I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

Even if she spanked me I wouldn’t give in.  I’d cry and scream, sure.  But I’d be cursing with every breath as long as I was coherent enough to actually make words.

 I felt her hand on my back.  It was gentler than I imagined it would be.  She didn’t rip at my clothes.  She didn’t try and manhandle me or pick me up just then.  The nurse just rubbed my back as I shuddered.

 “Oh, Clark.”  She sounded sad.  Very sad.  “I’m so sorry, baby.”  She also didn’t sound anything like the school nurse.

Snot dripping onto my mustache, I unburied my face, sat up on my knees, and looked over at my shoulder.  “Beouf?”

Even through her glasses I could see her eyes starting to shimmer.  She was wearing rubber gloves and a matching apron.  Slung over her shoulder was a plain khaki colored satchel bag.  I could see the changing pad poking out of it.  “Hey, hon.”

Time stopped again.  I started bawling again. I re-buried my face and was shrieking and crying and making so much noise; none of it actually words in any known language.  Beouf, damn her, just stood there and gently patted me on the back.  “It’s okay.  It’s okay.  Everything’s gonna be okay, sugar.”

It wasn’t.  Nothing was going to be okay ever again.  I kept crying.  I don’t know if her being there made things worse or whether I kept bawling in some sort of infantile attempt to delay the inevitable.  Both maybe?

“Clark?”  she said.  She was still rubbing my back.  “Clark?  Can you hear me?”

I didn’t respond.  But in all of my screaming and self-pity I had already exhausted myself.  Beouf didn’t have to talk over me.  She just had to wait me out.

“I know you’re having a bad day, sweetie,” she said.  “But Mrs. B. has to clean you up.” Fuck.  She was referring to herself in the third person, now.  Et-tu Beouf?  I remained silent.  “I’m gonna clean you up, okay?”

I could feel her jostling my loafers off my heels.  “Tracy!” I yelped.  

My shoes were off my feet.  I heard the rustle of a garbage bag as they went in.  “What about Tracy?”

I got back on my knees as my socks were stripped off my feet.  “I want Tracy!”  I said.  “Please! Let me talk to Tracy!”

“Turn around, first.”  For the second time that day, two Amazonian hands manhandled me.  This time I was spun around and sat on my feet, just to the right of the murky puddle I’d been sitting in.  “Now what about Tracy?”

“Tracy,” I said. “I need to talk to Tracy.  Now.”

Beouf shook her head.  “Sorry, Clark.  Tracy’s busy right now.  Maybe after school.”

My hands shot down to block hers going for my belt buckle.  I looked at her.  That misty eyed sadness was gone.  Beouf was all business now, and she was in the business of regressing Littles. 

“No,” I said.  “Don’t.  Please, Melony.  Please.  Just don’t.”  I almost never called her by her first name. Foolishly, I thought it might strike a chord in her.

“Do you want to take your pants off yourself?”  Her voice was even and patient, and even a little less deep than how she normally talked.  Like she was a calm and rational adult trying to calm a child.
It had the opposite effect on me.  “No!” I said.  “No, I don’t!”

“Then I’m going to have to take them off.”

“No!” I repeated myself.  “No! No! No!” I suppose I could have made a more articulate argument, but it’s very hard to be well spoken on the worst day of your life; especially when you feel that any argument you make will fall on deaf ears.  I folded my hands over my belt buckle, imagining that it would make some kind of impenetrable shield; an unlockable gate. A lie, to be sure, but a lie that made me feel better. 

Lightning quick, Beouf’s hands went for my collar, ripping open and popping off the buttons of my good shirt.  

“NO!” I screamed.  Reflexively my hands bolted upward in some vain attempt to slap at her wrists.  

I”d fallen for it.  As soon as my hands were above my waist, Beouf lowered hers, unbuckled my belt and unceremoniously yanked my pants down to my ankles.  “There,” she said.  “Now step out.”

I stood there gawking, using my hands to try and mask my manhood.  My whole skin turned pink.

Beouf wasted no time, forcing me to step out of my own pants.  With rubber gloves on, she forced one foot out, then the other.  I almost fell over trying to keep my balance.  The pants, along with my wallet, phone, and keys inside them went into the thin clear garbage bag provided by the custodians.  “You don’t need to be embarrassed, Clark,” she said.  “You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.”

For those of you who are reading this in the comfort of your own homes; I know that there will be more than a fair share of armchair quarterbacks talking on MistuhGwiffin.web on what I could have or should have done.  I should have played it safer.  I should have fought harder.  I should have kicked Beouf in the teeth.  That I must be a Little Helper or have gone full native by this point and wanted to have my clothes and my very essence literally stripped away from me.

To those brave Littles reading this, I say: Talk and action are two very different things. And it’s a lot harder kicking an Amazon in the face when you’ve shared coffee with that face for over a decade.  

That’s the thing they never tell you on MistuhGwiffin.web.  It’s always some random Amazon that ends up diapering and adopting you.  Never anyone you know.  There’s no emotion besides terror in those encounters.  Maybe that’s why so many Littles distance themselves from anyone but other Littles and maybe a few Tweeners.  Because Beouf treating me this way hurt me more and felt like a greater betrayal than any of the other close calls I’ve ever had.
 
It felt like there was a great weight on my face, like there were fish hooks tied to anvils at the corners of my mouth just dragging them down.  “I guess you haven’t…”  I relaxed my shoulders and forsook my modesty long enough to slip off the remnants of my shirt.  There was a weight pulling down on that shirt too.  A weight that was pulling down on all of me; on my everything.

I knew in that moment that I would never smile again.  My life would be one long, exhausted, empty frown.

“Good boy.”  She maneuvered the changing mat behind me and laid me down.  “This will make it easier to clean you up.” 

I didn’t reply. There was nothing I could say.  ‘Lawyer’, wouldn’t work.  ‘Tracy’ wasn’t getting me what I wanted.  What else was I supposed to say?  ‘Union’?  Beouf was my representative! She was the Union at Oakshire Elementary!

She started at my legs and ankles.  “You didn’t do anything wrong, Clark.  You’re not in trouble, hon.”  Had I the energy I would have rolled my eyes. Beouf was half right.  I hadn’t done anything wrong.  I was in the greatest trouble in my life.

Beouf had just started wiping my cheeks when the door opened again.  Mrs. Brollish came in.  “I just heard,” she said.  “How are we doing?”  She definitely wasn’t talking to me.

“Just cleaning him up.”  My old mentor didn’t take her eyes off me. “Done in a couple minutes.”

I saw Brollish sniff and make a face.  Most of my leavings were still on the table.  Good.  At least it was making that old hag’s life a little less pleasant.  “I’ll make sure to have the custodians clean this place as soon as you’re done.”

“Yes ma’am,” Beouf dragged yet another wipe over me.  “Thank you.”

Brollish looked down at me.  “Clark,” she said. “Mr. Gibson.” She at least had the decency to talk to me like an adult one last time.  “Due to the evidence I see here before me and witness testimony from multiple members of our staff as well as a parent, I am invoking the maturity clause in your contract.”  She turned toward the door and walked out.

I shuddered, and not just because that was the exact moment when Beouf chose to scrub between my cheeks.  Bitch didn’t even wait for me to have all the shit off of me before she fired me.  I might’ve cried, just then, but I was too shellshocked to react much more strongly.

Life wasn’t fair.  What did I expect?

The nurse was coming in just as Brollish was leaving, wheeling in something heavy on a dolley.  It was something like a big glass tube that was almost as big as a Tweener and framed with steel.  Near the top end was a latch and a panel with different knobs. The inside of the glass had wired bulbs, like heat lamps at a fast food joint all up and down it.   All told, it looked like something of a cross between a bug zapper, a tanning bed, and a cheap air conditioner.  And it looked vaguely, hauntingly familiar.

“Still have it from last year,” the nurse said to no one in particular.  “Lucky thing the high school hasn’t asked for it back.”

My voice came surging back. “NOOOOOOO!”  I started thrashing, even as Mrs. Beouf had my ankles in her hand.  “NOOOOOOO! NO! NO! NO! NO!  FUCK THAT! FUUUUUCK THAT! FUUUUUUUUCK!”

I was twisting and clawing at the wood, my teeth gnashing and my mouth foaming as I tried to shake loose.  I bent my knees and I kicked out.  I would kick Melony Beouf’s teeth in and get away.  I would run naked through the streets all the way back home and ride buck naked all the way to Misty Brook if it meant staying out of THAT hell hole contraption.

What I got instead was another pair of Amazonian hands pinning me back down on my back.

“Was it something I said?” the nurse asked.

Neither of us answered her.  Beouf finished wiping me down like I was a rowdy two-year-old, and I shouted with unfathomable rage?  Beouf was hard to be angry at, deep down.  Too much experiences, too much surprise, and shock.  But I’d just been fired from a decade long career and this idiot was talking about me like I couldn’t understand basic speech.

The school nurse kept holding me down, while Beouf went and retrieved the shiny silver shower cap and goggles dangling from the tube.  My screaming somehow found a way to intensify.

“Clark,” she said when I was finally out of breath.  “Mrs. B. is going to put these on your head and over your eyes.  You need to do your best to keep them on.  Don’t struggle with them and don’t fidget.  If you try and take them off, you could end up bald and with no eyebrows.”  She shoved the cap over my hair, satisfied with her own explanation.

My beautiful red hair, flecked with bits of gray and white.  Soon it would be the only hair I had left.  “Why?”  I asked.  “Why are you doing this to me?

“Because this will make it easier to keep you clean and take care of you.”  Instead of answering my question, Beouf just sidestepped and purposefully misunderstood my question. I didn’t care much about the reasoning behind zapping every hair I’d gotten post puberty, saving that it made it easier to pretend that I’d ever gone through it.

Typical Amazon.

The goggles came next.  I was forced back up into a sitting position so they could be locked into place, and the world went as dark as my emotions in that moment. They weren’t goggles.  They were a blindfold.  

Fitting.  I was about to be executed.

I’d like to think it was Beouf who picked me up and started to slide me down into that horrendous contraption. A final gentle mercy. The burning slap on my bottom as I tried to spread myself out and wedge myself from being shoved down makes me think it wasn’t.

The inside was slick.  I must’ve looked like some kind of slug sliding down a windshield as my head was pushed down.  Going under for the final time.  Drowning.  Dying.

“Wait! Wait! Wait!”  I heard Beouf call out.  “Clark! Stick out your left hand!”
Whether or not I would have complied became moot.  A hand plunged down and yanked it out for me.  “Almost forgot the ring!”

“Oh good catch!” I heard the nurse say,  “That could have been dangerous!”

My wedding ring.  My symbol of commitment and devotion to my wife:  Cassie.  My partner.  My equal opposite who balanced my ideals with her pragmatism.  The only woman I had ever loved...

With a quick twist, that symbol was taken from me, my hand shoved back down into the pit of despair with the rest of me, and the lid was closed.

“Give me back my ring!” I cried out!  As big as the contraption was compared to me, I could still barely stand in the innermost layer.  I was practically forced into the fetal position.  I jutted the flats of my palms upward, trying.  “Give me back my ring!  Please!”

The lid wouldn’t budge.  I was trapped.  I didn’t care.  “GIVE ME BACK MY RING!”  I heard no reply, just the low buzzing of coils heating up.  With the goggled blindfold on, it was dark and warm in this place, and getting warmer by the second.  “GIVE ME BACK MY RING!”

I needed that ring!  I needed it.  It was my connection to Cassie and so much more.

The Little girl at the barbecue joint.  The one screaming as she was being taken to the restroom to get her diaper changed. The one who’d been a wife and mother and screamed so.  She hadn’t had a wedding ring either.

Even through the black out tint of the goggles, I saw the light surrounding me; Felt the heat starting to envelop me.  Inside the tube, the light was bright.  Bright light.  Like the light at the end of the tunnel.  

The light of death.

“GIVE! ME! BACK! MY!”
********************************************************************************************
I woke up in a cold sweat, practically rolling out of bed, screaming my lungs out.  “GIVE ME BACK MY RING! GIVE ME BACK MY RING!”

Cassie was on her feet and running around the bed to meet me not three seconds later.  We were both naked in the dark.  She held me while I came down from my panic attack; while the world of that all too real nightmare faded back into my subconscious.

“It’s okay,” she told me.  “It’s just a dream.  It’s just a dream.  Whatever it is, it’s just a dream.”

I didn’t dare speak above a whisper now that I was fully awake. “I know,” I told her.  “I know.”  I wouldn’t be going back to sleep that night.  That was something else I knew.

Walking over to the computer, I logged onto the school’s website and started filling out forms for time off and requesting a substitute.

“What are you doing?” Cassie called over to me.

“Calling out sick,” I said.  “Taking some time off.”

“It’s only the first week of school,” Cassie said.

“Don’t care,” I hissed back, my voice barely audible over the hum of the computer.  “I need it.”

Cassie and I teased.  Cassie and I fought.  But when we could tell that one of us was at our wits end, we backed off each other.  “How much time?”

“About a month,” I said.  “That’s how much time off I have stored up anyways.”

“Why that long?  What are you going to do?”

I didn’t answer her until I’d finished clicking all the right links and making sure no one from school was going to come looking for me.  “First?” I said.  “We’re going to get out of Oakshire.  I’m quitting my job.  This will make them think that I’m not and get me a couple more paychecks.”

“What then?”  That’s what I loved most about Cassie.  She wasn’t talking me out of this.  She just wanted to know what I was thinking.

“I think I’ll become a writer,” I told her.  “Write on the go.  Publish online.”

“Oooooh,” Cassie said.  “An artist and writer, team?  I like.  Maybe I could do illustrations.”

I smiled at her and gave her a kiss right on the lips.  “Maybe.  But first I’ve got to write a novel.  Memoirs.  Non-fiction.”

(The End)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

************************************************************************************************
If only that had been the end.  If only I had listened to Cassie; listened to my common sense.  Seen the signs for what they were.

That wasn’t the end.  

No.

That was just a fleeting last minute fantasy that my brain concocted right as every skin cell in my body was lit on fire.

My face, armpits, genitals, chest, all of it.  Everything hurt.  Everything.  But the physical pain felt directly proportional to how much hair got zapped away down to the root.

Pain.

So much pain.

The kind that makes you beg for death.  The kind that stretches out and just as you think you’re developing something of a tolerance for, either it waxes or you wane.  I don’t think I screamed.  But not for lack of trying.  A proper scream would have required the strength to draw air into my lungs.  Any sweat or tears that may have resulted from the heat and the stress would have evaporated instantly.  If I had had an open cut it would have been cauterized on the spot.

It was as if every follicle, every cell in my skin was being stabbed to death by a thousand needles made of light.  It wasn’t a quick death, either.

I lost consciousness.  That’s when I had that last fleeting glimpse of a future that might have been had I not been so stupid.

I woke up on the floor.  Tired.  So tired.  I was still naked.  Beouf had moved the changing mat over to the floor.   I couldn’t move.  Everything hurt.  So tired.  So tired.

She was rubbing ointment on my skin.  My flesh looked raw; close to bleeding. I couldn’t feel it, but it looked ghastly.  Almost like the model of a person where the muscles remain, but the epidermis has been peeled back.  The goggles had been taken off me and I could feel the air conditioner blowing in my hair.

Good.  At least I still had hair somewhere.

“Shhhhh,” my old mentor hushed and cooed at me while she coated my tummy.  “The nanites in this lotion will help your skin feel better.”  It was true.  The balm had a cooling effect.  It was like slipping into a nice cold tub of goo after a really nasty sunburn at the beach.   

I tried to open my mouth, but my throat was too dry to speak.  She lathered it on my face.  My nose.  My ears.

“You’ve been through a lot.” She kept going.  My legs. My toes.  The soles of my feet.  “Mrs. B. is gonna take care of you, though.  You can rest.”  My pubic area.  My penis.  My testicles.  My taint.  “Go to sleep, baby.  You’re safe.”  The backs of my legs.  My butt.  My asshole.  “We’ll talk after you wake up.”

Before I closed my eyes, the last thing I saw was Beouf unfolding a fresh diaper.  The last thing I felt was my rump hitting the soft padding.
 

[Moon3ye]

First I was angry because I thought you troll and again with a nightmare.

Now I'm just curious how it continues.

Who adopts him?
How will Cassie fare?
Did it just happen because he was really just an immature Littles in the end or was he poisoned?

Oh I am so curious.

[BabyJilly_S]

Oh man, the shark tank got him at last  It was a dangerous game he was playing, I wonder who did the deed?.....

[TerranV]

Double fake out! Then again the chapter title said it all. 

Yeah this reeks of a poisoning. The timing couldn't have been worse.

 

[YourFNF]

It was Beouf who betrayed him wasn't it?

[BabySofia]

10 minutes ago, YourFNF said:

It was Beouf who betrayed him wasn't it?

Personally I don't think it was an Amazon... My guess is Cassie personally. The last few months she has behaved more and more neurotically. 

[TerranV]

45 minutes ago, BabySofia said:

Personally I don't think it was an Amazon... My guess is Cassie personally. The last few months she has behaved more and more neurotically. 

She actually was on my list there as well. A long shot, but she would be the one person he would never suspect. 

The question would be: why? He's the primary breadwinner in the relationship. She has alot to lose without him. 

Maybe she figured if he went down of his own accord, she would get dragged down with him. So she cut the cord herself and is already getting somewhere safe.

[Moon3ye]

2 hours ago, TerranV said:

She actually was on my list there as well. A long shot, but she would be the one person he would never suspect. 

The question would be: why? He's the primary breadwinner in the relationship. She has alot to lose without him. 

Maybe she figured if he went down of his own accord, she would get dragged down with him. So she cut the cord herself and is already getting somewhere safe.

Well main earner. She is an artist and is obviously as good as she can afford to sell her work without direct customer contact.

Then she will now sell her house which is probably worth quite a bit and then she will move to her parents in the trailer park.

But yes she is a really good call who poisoned him. And honestly I can understand it.

I wouldn't be surprised if now when they go to Clark's house to settle things or even to pick up Cassi a letter is found from her where it says: Clark I will love you forever but you are too extreme you live way too dangerous I hope at your school one of the good Amazons caught you I'm gone and you won't judge me to a life in diapers because of your attitude towards life.

 

[YourFNF]

3 hours ago, BabySofia said:

Personally I don't think it was an Amazon... My guess is Cassie personally. The last few months she has behaved more and more neurotically. 

That's honestly a good point, it's unlikely someone other than Beouf would be able to catch him off guard although mistakes do happen especially under stress and Beouf has had years to act so why now? And what's with the missing diapers? It could be Tracy.... ?

[Sarah Penguin]

[Cute_Kitten]

Absolutely brilliant story...but there's one huge, crucial element missing that's essential to every story ever written. I've left it out of my own stories. So has WB. Even Baby Sofia has. In fact, a lot of authors have. ?

The missing crucial element is....

CHICKEN DIAPERS!! 

?

   

 

Double posting, because either the editing tool or my computer is being a poopy butt, but....in srs bidniss mode now....

I love the twists and turns this story is taking. That's always been one of your strongest writing skills is flipping expectations around and keeping readers on their toes, thus keeping them engaged. But it always feels very natural and organic to the story, not a forced plot=point. ?

[Moon3ye]

On 7/18/2021 at 4:34 AM, Personalias said:

“You’ve been through a lot.” She kept going.  My legs. My toes.  The soles of my feet.  “Mrs. B. is gonna take care of you, though.  You can rest.”  

I just noticed the section.

I really hope this means that she will adopt him. She would probably be the only person who treats him halfway normal. 

[TerranV]

51 minutes ago, Moon3ye said:

I just noticed the section.

I really hope this means that she will adopt him. She would probably be the only person who treats him halfway normal. 

She also said they'd talk when he woke up so I'm guessing that yeah, she will adopt him or at least offer. 

He's definitely going home with someone, though.

[Bonsai]

Now, will all his coworkers fully betray him? Which will be each one’s true colors?

[BabyJilly_S]

Given that Clark was generally careful with food and drink it does point to Cassie as being a possible culprit.

So I was thinking of reasons that she may have done it and wondered if the trip to her parents was part of it. At that time he got called a helper, so they know who he works for (and with) and he had a tweener drive them there (probably viewed with equal suspicion to Amazons). Maybe this was too much for them and they viewed him as a security risk so he had to go.....

She appeared to love him so it would probably take something like family to be able push that button.

[Moon3ye]

19 minutes ago, BabyJilly_S said:

Given that Clark was generally careful with food and drink it does point to Cassie as being a possible culprit.

So I was thinking of reasons that she may have done it and wondered if the trip to her parents was part of it. At that time he got called a helper, so they know who he works for (and with) and he had a tweener drive them there (probably viewed with equal suspicion to Amazons). Maybe this was too much for them and they viewed him as a security risk so he had to go.....

She appeared to love him so it would probably take something like family to be able push that button.

Cassie has also been justifiably paranoid about Clark's behavior and working with the Amazons.

I also think it was her and that she planned it to happen at school in the hope that at least with a little luck he would be adopted by one of his colleagues who would be nice to him.

I could, if it was Cassie, absolutely understand Cassie. He loved to challenge the Amazons and he also loved the adrenaline rush that the work brought. I mean he didn't tell Cassie about the almost kidnapping at the end of last school year. Why do you think? Because even though he would deny it, he loved the thrill of the adrenaline in his body.

I'm really curious to see what happens next.

[TerranV]

I too am on the "it was Cassie" train. The only thing that gives me pause is that it is still an extreme step. Presumably she loved him, yet she would damn him like this. 

If it was her, its still a real shitty thing to do. Especially to your spuse. Its one thing to be reckless, quite another to deliberately screw someone in such a serious way to save yourself from a possible issue down the road.

Here's hoping Clark finds a way out of this... eventually.

[Moon3ye]

5 minutes ago, TerranV said:

I too am on the "it was Cassie" train. The only thing that gives me pause is that it is still an extreme step. Presumably she loved him, yet she would damn him like this. 

If it was her, its still a real shitty thing to do. Especially to your spuse. Its one thing to be reckless, quite another to deliberately screw someone in such a serious way to save yourself from a possible issue down the road.

Here's hoping Clark finds a way out of this... eventually.

I lost my sympathy for Clark after he went back to school after almost being kidnapped at graduation.

After that, he and Cassie should have gone to Cassi's parents and stayed among their own for the time being.

Clark is getting what he deserves. He who plays with fire must live with getting burned.

And way out depends on how the society is there.

Can a Little who has lost his maturity get it back?
Does the Amazon who adopts him allow it?
Strongly influenced by who he is adopted by?