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

[WehavePi314]

Interesting that in a game where you’re supposed to make nonsensical connections, a famously nonsensical riddle comes up… 
 

Makes me wonder what Wonderland is like in that dimension.

[YourFNF]

On 9/14/2021 at 1:24 AM, WBDaddy said:

ne of the most beautiful aspects of this piece is how it speaks to the "sympathetic" (aka virtue signaling) racism/ableism/classism/gender-ism in our current society. 

This!

[YourFNF]

On 10/2/2021 at 9:32 AM, Personalias said:

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

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

She left the room and locked the door.

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

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

A lot of cheap shots and low blows but that's all Clark has left. Frankly everyone in that room deserved it. The kind of things I would have done TBH. Probably would have thrown in something about fascist bigots and treating me like pet as well. ?

On 10/8/2021 at 10:17 PM, Personalias said:

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

TBH excellent strategy and exactly what I would do. Malicious compliance

[littlepinkdargon]

Just started reading and I'm two chapters in and I must say, you have an amazing skill. The flow, the details. The little things that might mean something later on. Breathtaking so far. I look forward to continuing reading this tale.

[something101]

Did Personalias get taken to the diaper dimension? I'm beginning to wonder since there hasn't been a new chapter lately. 

[SGTbaby]

10 minutes ago, something101 said:

Did Personalias get taken to the diaper dimension? I'm beginning to wonder since there hasn't been a new chapter lately. 

No he is taking a quick December break given real life but this story is not finished I assure you 

[something101]

11 hours ago, SGTbaby said:

No he is taking a quick December break given real life but this story is not finished I assure you 

Thanks for the info I take it he'll be back in January then? 

[SGTbaby]

12 hours ago, something101 said:

Thanks for the info I take it he'll be back in January then? 

Yes

[Personalias]

Chapter 47: Creeping Ivy
The next two hours were a blur.  Usually, that expression means that everything moved fast.  Not so in this instance.  The timer went off at a snail’s pace. It was like watching the world go by encased in amber.  Swimming through jello.  This sense of “other” that made everything drag on and on and on.

It wasn’t because of boredom either.  There was just too much going on for me to focus?  Who was crying in the other room?  What happened?  Was my bladder full enough to pee?

The play area was the most normal station.  Nothing but toddler and baby toys. I sat on the floor with my back against a shelf, and most of my body hidden by a dollhouse.

“Clark! Look at me! I made a pony!”  The block construction looked nothing like a horse.  It was however sturdy enough to hold up the ragdoll.  If I hadn’t known any better, I’d have assumed the jutting in the back that propped the doll up was on purpose.

“That’s nice Ivy.”  Was it just a regular kid cry?  Like a routine being interrupted, or was he being scorned?  A boy. I’m pretty sure it was one of the boys.  Should I pee now? Would anyone notice?  I felt the slight aching sensation, but that might have been a placebo effect.  Having to go to the bathroom, because I was thinking about it.

Ivy poked me in the shoulder. “Why aren’t you playing?”
“Huh?”

“Do you want me to show you how? A lotta new kids don’t know how and they gotta learn. I’m really good with pretend food and playin’ kitchen!”

So much wrong with that statement. “No thanks, Ivy.”

The reading area was full of children’s stories.  Decent reading level, but still easy reads.  Lots of “classic” stories that have no doubt shaped Amazonian worldviews for generations.  The Three Little Pigs.  Little Red Riding Hood. The Brave Little Toaster.  Anything that was personified as ‘Little’, eventually accepted that they needed somebody bigger, stronger, and more grown-up to protect and take care of them.

Not everything was pure propaganda: The Cat in the Spats, The Diggengest Hog, and an old copy of The Breeze In The Trees were shelved also.  A couple books that might have been in my student library were there, too.  The Shape Family, The King Learns to Count.  Color Me Surprised.

Nostalgia and escapism tempted me.  It might be nice to spend just a while just blocking out the nursery around me and forgetting about the world. That’s what Beouf and Zoge wanted though.  And put stories like Dennis the Diesel Engine and Journey Into Imagination Land right next to Are You My Mommy? and I Wish I Was a Grown-Up presented the idea that all the stories were just as valid as one another.

“Clark? Can I read to you?  I’m a good reader! My Mommy says so!”

“No thanks, Ivy.” I leaned back and pulled one of the beanbags over my legs like a blanket.  “I’m just going to close my eyes.”

My mind was still whirring. Was that crying kid one of the three year olds or the four year olds?  I’d barely gotten to know the three year olds.   Were they being yelled at?  Should I pee now?  Would it be better to hold it in and let it go all at once?  Or just in little spurts?  

What would Cassie think of all this? Secretly, that was an answer I felt I already knew.  But I kept the secret to myself.  I needed what hope I could get.

“Some cats stay kittens,” Ivy read. “Some doggos stay pups.  Just because you’re done growing doesn’t mean you’re grown up.”  My eyes shot open.

“Ivy, I thought you said you weren’t going to read to me.”

“I’m not,” Ivy said.  “I’m just readin’.” She looked down to her page and kept reading.  “And that’s just fine. No one is quite the same. So be Little and giggle and have fun playing games.” I rolled my eyes. Because of course she didn’t know how to read to herself.

I turned my head and looked at the cover. An illustration of what must be a Little boy in just a T-shirt and diaper sitting on the bathroom floor grinning up at the reader, a pile of toilet paper pooled by his feet.  The Title was “Done Growing Up: By Dr. Jerry Wolf.

 I bit my tongue and swallowed any comment I was about to make.  I wondered vaguely if I could rip pages out of a book discretely enough so that no one would notice. Maybe a page a day?  I’d have to hope that Ivy wouldn’t be my shadow.  She’d totally tattle on me.

“Some are born to be a mother, some are born to be a dad.  Some are born to be a baby and that’s not at all bad.”

I’m not going to quote from that book further.  I’m not afraid of copyright infringement, but I refuse to give that awful mess of mindfuck gaslighting any more publicity.  It’s practically an Amazonian cartoon put on still paper.

Suffice it to say, Ivy read it...out loud...the whole thing...

Zoge’s station was with clay.  “Teamwork clay,” Zoge called it.  I had to guide Ivy’s hands to help her make what she wanted. Then she had to do the same for me.  Another desensitization premise.  Get used to people doing hand over hand with me and violating my personal space.

Zoge showed both of us.  Naturally, she didn’t offer either of us to guide her hands.

“I wanna Octopus!” Ivy said. “Clark, can you help me make an octopus?”

I grabbed the top of Ivy’s hands and began to work her fingers for her, flattening out the clay and then making it into a ball.

Definitely couldn’t pee now.  Too much sensory input.  Too many people looking at me.  Would I even get changed before lunch? Or was this just all another trick to getting me used to sitting in wet pants?  What did Tracy tell the students who remembered me?  Had she cried over me? At all?

“Mrs. Zoge,” I asked. “Can you fill up my bottle again?”

“It’s almost snack time, Little one.  You can wait.”  It wasn’t mean. Just the patient retort of someone used to teaching delayed gratification.  And as always her speech had that vaguely musical quality to it.  “I’ll fill your bottle first thing at snack time.”

Ivy made her eyes into saucers. “Pleeease, Mommy.  He’s been super good!”

Zoge’s mouth twisted.  “Alright,” she sighed.  She took my bottle and went over to the sink.

“Thanks.” I said.

“Welcome.” A beat. “Instead of an octopus you could help me make a jar.”

“A jar?”

“One time, a long time ago, Mommy and Daddy were watching a movie on T.V.  Two grown-ups did this and made a jar instead of octopus.  But it was on a spinny table thing.  Would that make you feel better?”

I rattled my head.  “Huh?”

“Yeah, but the boy was standing behind the lady, and the lady seemed to be really really liking it, and this pretty music was playing.  Mommy said it was just pretend.  That’s when I learned that grown-ups play pretend too.”

The reference clicked.  “Oh oh. Um...no.”

Ivy nodded. “Okay. I just thought maybe if we did this more like the grown-ups you might like it better.”  I didn’t say anything.  So close and yet so far away.  “Clark?” she asked.

“Yeah?”

“What’s it like pretending to be a grown-up?”

I had no idea how to answer that or why it had even been asked.  Ivy was more messed up than I thought.  Her Mommy came back with my bottle, and Ivy took the opportunity to pop her pacifier back into her mouth.  Coincidental? Or asking me to keep a secret?  I didn’t know.

I stalled through the rest of that center and chugged the water bottle down.  Ivy made do using just my one hand.  Apparently, we were making a flower together.

“Why do you get the octopus and I get the flower?”

“Do you want the octopus?”

“No.”

And on it went.

I let out a belch, but covered my mouth with the crook of my elbow

“Need help?” Zoge asked.  

I pictured myself being picked up and burped. “No, thank you!”

“Okay,” Zoge said easily enough.  “Just let me know. It’s okay to ask for help.”

I finally managed to pee just before snack time.  Ivy and I were at the independent center working on a strange puzzle: Three dimensional. Stuck together without the usual grooves of jigsaws.  But no idea of what it was supposed to be.  And the puzzle moved itself everytime a new piece was put in.

“The trick is to not build it as you want it, but as it could be.”  She put a piece onto a standing oval and it fell down into a prism.  I added a piece and it just collapsed into a broken pile.  Wrong piece I guess.

“What does that even mean?”

Ivy grinned. “I don’t know. I just think it sounds cool! I’ve never finished it but I can get it pretty high before it breaks.”  If Ivy the Lifer wasn’t sure how to work this, what hope did I have?  How did this puzzle even work? Magnets?

But at least she kept quiet. No reading. No. “Look at this”. No odd questions.  This was genuinely challenging for her.  Everyone else seemed preoccupied too.  Alone...or as close to it as I was likely to get.  Relatively quiet.

I let go, and hoped it’d be enough to get me back into white sailor shorts.

“Pee-pee?”  

I jumped at Ivy’s voice.  “How could you tell?” I whispered.

“Your breathing changed.  Also your eyes were looking down like you were tryin’ to aim. Lotta boys do it before they get unpotty trained.  Don’t worry.  I don’t think the grown-ups notice as much.”

“I’m an adult.” I hissed.

Ivy managed to get the puzzle into a tower shape.  She had to stand up from her seat and raise her arms to reach the top.  Showed just how useless the hem of her dress was.  “I know,” she said. “So am I.  But done growing doesn’t mean grown-up.”

I closed my eyes and shuddered to suppress my rage.

“Poo-poo?”

“No!”

Snack time finally happened.  There was no snack table, proper.  Even in Beouf’s class there was only so much real estate.  Instead, the activity table and the two kidney tables were repurposed.  

Beouf passed out paper towels to stand in for plates and Zoge was right behind her with a box.  Me?  I couldn’t find a place to sit.

“Sorry,” Shauna said. “I’m saving this seat.”

I looked around.  “Who? Ivy?”  She was the only besides me not seated.

“I just...am.”

“Nope.” Billy said at the other kidney table.  “Just nope.”

“Don’t be a dick,” Chaz whispered.  He was the only one that was buckled into a booster seat. He was still strapped into his seat.  People had come to him.  Chaz was the only one who needed strapping in.  It was only just then that I realized I hadn’t seen the guy walk in, I don’t know how long.

“No way.  I’m not a dick!” Billy whispered. “He is!”  

“Clark,” Beouf called. “Snack time. Time to sit down.”

“Yeah, Clark.” Billy mocked. “Go sit down.”

Chaz threw Billy the dirtiest of looks.  “Come on man…”

“What are you gonna do?” Billy asked.  “Tell the teacher on me?”

I backed away.  The fight wasn’t worth it.  Not here.  Not now.  Not yet.  Unless some miracle happened, I was gonna be back here tomorrow.  This was a tomorrow fight.

I had to get through today.

A tiny but incredibly strong hand grabbed me the wrist and dragged me the rest of the way back to the activity table.  “You can sit with me, Clark!” As if I had a choice, socially or physically.

Old instincts came to the surface in Ivy’s Iron grip.  “Pull your chair out for you?” I asked.  

The doll’s eyes lit up.  She let me go and bounced on the balls of her feet.  “Yes please!”  She lightly clapped her hands.

I pulled the chair out for her.  “Here ya go.”

“My my.  Such a gentleman.” Ivy said, plopping down.  “That’s what Mommy says to Daddy when he ‘members to pull her chair out for her.”  

I rubbed my wrist.  Was that a bruise?  “Just being polite.”
Napkins and graham crackers followed.  “Yummy.”

I picked one up and nibbled at it.  If snack time was anything like breakfast, I’d be expected to finish.  Might as well.  Not bad.  Kind of bland.  Kind of sweet.  In the back of my mind I remembered a little factoid that whoever invented this honey flavored cardboard did it as a way to reduce sexual urges and discourage masturbation.  Yup.  That tracked being served in this room.

“Ivy,” I said.  “Do you normally sit by yourself at snack time?”

Ivy took a giant bite and then swallowed. “Not all the time. Lots of kids sit by me.”  Bits of crumbs tumbled out of her mouth.

I frowned.  “So it’s me?”  I’m not sure why that made me feel bad.  It wasn’t her fault that she was as far gone as she was.  Even in prison, you had to have friends.

“Nuh-uh.” Ivy said. “It's just all my old bestest friends went to another daycare. We still get to play sometimes, but they don’t go here anymore.”

I took another bite.  “Why’d they leave?”

“They learned how to be good babies.  Mommy says Mrs. Beouf has a waiting list.  I only get to stay because Mommy works here.”  

That was a weird thought:  Ivy was a kind of regression litmus test.  The better a captured Little got on with her, the more likely they were to have gotten with the program. Only people broken down into forever toddlers and eternal infants could get along in earnest.

Another disturbing thought.  Ivy was a catalyst. Exposure to a fully mind fucked Little hastened the breakdown.

“But your Mommy works here too,” she said.  “So you’re not gonna have to leave, either.  We can be best friends forever.”

The crackers weren’t nearly as palatable all of a sudden.

Beouf milled around and refilled bottles with water.  She was also carrying around a container of flavoring.  Turning plain water into punch.  A treat.  When she came to me she asked, “Clark, would you like some cherry added to your bottle?”

She had a clear plastic cup with her, also filled with water.  Before I could reply she squirted some in and drank from the cup herself.  She smiled slyly.

Damn her.  Damn her for anticipating my paranoia and disproving it immediately.  Damn her for attempting to de-escalate before I even had a chance to object.  It was exactly the sort of thing I would have done for one of my students if they were weary about a new food.  

“If you don’t like the taste, you don’t have to drink it all.  Just try.”  

 Damn her for being a good teacher.

I sighed.  “Fine.”

“Here, we say, ‘Yes please.’” she chirped.

Typical.  “Yes, please.”

She squirted some in and then rescrewed the top on the bottle.  I took a sip, my lips getting used to the feeling of pulling on the rubber nipple.  

“It’s yummy, isn’t it?” Ivy asked. I nodded and kept drinking.  Besides (hopefully) ensuring that I’d get some measure of modesty back before lunch, drinking made it so I didn’t have to talk to her too much.

I hoped that crying kid was okay.  Maybe he was just sick. Maybe they called his parents and he went home for the rest of the day.

Mrs. Zoge popped up behind me.  “Clark, stand up.”  She said sweetly.  

I obeyed.  I clenched my teeth. The waistband was pulled back and she took a look down inside my diaper. I felt her hand pat my backside. This was it! This was it! Okay! Now the front...just two fingers inside the leg cuffs and... “Okay. Sit down.”

I did. My feet felt like they’d been kicked out from beneath me.  I looked up at the Yamatoan. She was already doing the same to Ivy, oblivious to my look of shock and betrayal.  I was wet!  I’d peed myself and now needed changing!  I wanted my shorts back!  That was the deal!  The covenant!

Zoge didn’t notice.  Ivy did.  “Mommy and Mrs. Beouf don’t change you at snack time unless you reeeally need it,” she said after she sat back down.  “Like poopy.  Or super super about to leak wet.”

“Come on Chaz,” I heard Mrs. Zoge say loud and clear.  “Let’s get you changed.”  A chorus of giggles went up from Chaz’s group. Noses were held. Fingers were being pointed.  “Annie, you’re next.  And try not to bounce in your seat too much.”  Annie quieted down.  I couldn’t see her face, but I saw her shoulders slump.  The others just giggled more.

“Annie’s STINKY!”

What was with this group?!  I’d seen fifth graders, practically middle schoolers, who picked on each other less.  Kids can be cruel.  Littles can be crueler.

I gripped the bottle with both hands, tilted my head back and slugged back more punch.  I’d have to debase myself further to merit a change.  Might as well get to work on it.

“Hey Clark?”  Ivy tapped me on the shoulder.   “Do you wanna play on the playground later today?”

I waved her off.  “Sure, Ivy.  I’ll hang out with you.  Keep you company.”  As if that’s what I hadn’t been doing for the last two hours.

“Clark?”

Again. I tried to stop from rolling my eyes.  “Yeah?”

“Can I give you something?”  

I didn’t see the devilish look on her face.  I should have recognized it. I should have read her body language.  Listened to her tone.  I’d seen it before.  I should have asked, “what?”. I didn’t though.  “Yeah,” I said, not even looking at her.  “Sure.”

That’s when Ivy Zoge leaned over and kissed me.

[Moon3ye]

I remember you saying at the beginning of the story that we shouldn't underestimate Ivy and not just think of her as a regressed Little.

Why do I have the feeling after this chapter that she is somehow, even if I don't know exactly how, involved in the whole situation that Clark is experiencing in order to have a friend who doesn't leave her like apparently the others.

[TerranV]

3 hours ago, Moon3ye said:

I remember you saying at the beginning of the story that we shouldn't underestimate Ivy and not just think of her as a regressed Little.

Why do I have the feeling after this chapter that she is somehow, even if I don't know exactly how, involved in the whole situation that Clark is experiencing in order to have a friend who doesn't leave her like apparently the others.

Ivy is certainly more on the ball than she initially seemed. I'm starting to think she's playing up how regressed she is so the Amazons mostly leave her alone.

It seems like she's trying to teach Clark how to do the same. 

[BabyJilly_S]

Welcome back, I hope you had a nice break.

Enjoying the machinations in class. Not everything is a straightforward as it seems...

[littlepinkdargon]

oh. snap. either this is going to launch a nuclear event or fireworks. i'm leaning towards nuclear event.

[something101]

Just a thought I had at work, earlier when we found out that beouf knew about Cassie despite Clark not talking about her at work I thought cassie was behind it because beouf knew about her but what if Cassie got adopted by someone who knew beouf and also knew Cassie was married to clark?

[Sarah Penguin]

platypus

[bobindiapers]

Welcome back, and thanks for another great chapter! I thought Ivy describing the pottery scene from Ghost was really cute. I'm really curious how regressed she is - is she really just a toddler happily living a care free life or is it an all act? Or, most likely, somewhere in the middle. 

The next chapter is going to be really exciting.  Clark's reaction to the kiss will have huge implications for how he is treated in class. If he rejects Ivy's advances she will probably feel hurt and will probably stop helping him get special treatment with her mommy and Mrs Beouf and could actually go the other way and start making things much harder for him.

[YourFNF]

I'm continuously amazed at how you've created such a chilling work of dystopian horror with zero gore and minimal violence. It's basically pure psychological horror and it works brilliantly.

[Cute_Kitten]

Not sure if I've mentioned this or not, but I feel bad for Ivy since none of the other Littles like her very much, and I think there's more to her than meets the eye. I think she's not as regressed as people may believe- both Amazons and other Littles. 

[Personalias]

Chapter 48: Aftershocks
Puckered lips planted a wet sloppy kiss right on my cheek.  I let out a confused and angry yelp, thrashing my arms and legs, batting away and slapping Ivy even as I fell out of my chair. “GAAAAAAH!”  

I landed on the carpet and kept scooting away, my eyes fixated on the Zoge’s ‘baby girl’ like she was a deadly cobra and I’d just been bitten.  My ears became deaf to Ivy’s sudden and surprised shriek and my heartbeat thundered in my chest.  In my periphery, I registered everyone else staring, some with jaws open and bits of cracker crumbling from their mouth.

She’d kissed me. Ivy Zoge had gone and kissed me. Had she been an actual child instead of a woman close to my own age dressed like an eighteen month old, I might have thought it cute in an innocent sort of way.  Something to be corrected, yes, but no harm no foul.  

But Ivy wasn’t really a kid, just a doll that had been conditioned to act like one. She was, unfortunately, a peer.  An acquaintance at best; a strange one. but still a peer.  Janet had already kissed me, and I’d already lost count of how many times I’d had my cheeks condescendingly pinched, but it was different with Janet.  In a weird way, my Amazonian ex-friends got a pass.  I didn’t expect as much from them.

It’s not like Ivy had wrapped her arms around me and stuck her tongue down my throat.  She didn’t try to make me grope her or flash her tits at me or grab my junk. Had she been as young as she acted, it would have been kind of cute.

Yet...

So many emotions: I wanted to scream; to curse at her.  To fucking smack her upside her head, if not punch her in the nose and hope for blood.  I wanted to yell and flail and cry in frustration and surprise.  I wanted to run, to waddle over back to the door that led to my own classroom and claw at it and pound on it; or better yet, make for the front door and just dash out into the open in some wild hope that I could make it all the way to the street where a car would slam me into the pavement and put me out of my misery.

I wanted to spit at her; or hide behind Beouf and point accusingly.  I wanted to insult her and call her a dumb ugly Helper Doll that was too dumb to know that every other Little with a pinch of sense despised her and for good rason.  That she’d creeped me out long before this and that her very presence was anathema to me.
I wanted to say anything and everything that I could just then to hurt the dumb girl.  Big words.  Small words.  Take your pick.  

Fortunately, some small part of my past life still remained.  “No!” I pointed.at Ivy.  “Not cool, Ivy! Not cool!  I do not consent! I DO NOT CONSENT!”

The stunned silence was met with giggles and cat calls. “Oooooooooo!”

“B-b-but,” Ivy stuttered. “You said I could give you a kiss.”  She seemed genuinely stunned. Shocked, even.

The Littles at either table were laughing harder.  I heard fists pounding down on the table.

“Ivy…” Zoge started to say.

We ignored them.  “No,” I repeated myself.  “You asked if you could give me something!”

Beouf was eying us.  “Clark…”

“A kiss is something,” she insisted.  Her bottom lip was starting to shake and shudder.  “It’s a very special something.”

“That’s a lie by omission!” I shouted.  “If you wanted to give me a kiss or a hug or anything where your body touches mine, you should have asked, first!”

“I DID!” she whined.

The Amazons were quietly approaching us.  The other inmates were leering and jeering, happy to have the entertainment.

I put my hands on my hips, tilted my head, and tapped my foot. Even in a sailor suit and diaper, mannerisms I’d developed as a teacher came so naturally to me. “So if I asked if I could give you something and you said yes, it would be okay to give you a punch on the nose?”

More howls of laughter from my unwanted audience.  Thankfully adrenaline, indignation and tunnel vision helped me blur them out in the moment.

Speaking of howling… “NOOOO!” Ivy yelled. “A kiss is a good thing!”

“NOT IF I DON’T KNOW IT’S COMING!”

Her entire posture was changing.  Ivy Zoge was deflating like a used parade float right before my eyes.  “Would you have let me kiss you if I had told you?” she whimpered.

“NO!”

Ivy burst into tears and threw herself on the floor, burying her face in her hands and kicking her legs.  She was saying something, but it was either in Yamatoan or just too garbled from her sobbing and bawling that I couldn’t begin to figure it out.

Zoge bent over and picked her up.  Patting her back and saying something in Yamatoan.  She looked at Beouf and jerked her head towards the front door.  Beouf quietly nodded and Zoge walked out the front door, shushing and cooing the woman-child in soft soothing tones.  With Ivy out of the room, my peripheral vision cleared up, and I got a full view of the rest of the room.

Some, like Tommy and Jesse, were shooting sad looks towards the door and shaking their heads. Others, like Shauna, Sandra Lynn, and Mandy, were glaring at me like I’d just kicked a puppy.  Billy, Annie, and even Chaz were making mock kissy faces at each other and laughing like they’d just seen high comedy.  

Great. A big dumb baby woman forces herself on me, I explain it as best as I can (and rather civilly if I do say so myself) and I’m the asshole.  I stood my ground a few feet away from the rectangular table.  I was shaking with rage, and despite the fact that I wasn’t wearing any pants, I felt like my skin was on fire like I was running a high fever.

Beouf took a knee next to me and placed her hand on my shoulder.  “It’s okay,” she said.  “You didn’t do anything wrong.  You’re not in trouble.”

“Is Ivy?”

“Let me and her Mommy worry about that.  I’m very proud of how you handled that, Clark.”

It took a lot for me to keep staring straight ahead instead of snapping at her.  Proud?  What did she have to be proud of?  People can be proud of other people’s behavior and accomplishments if they helped develop it; a taught skill for instance. ‘I’m proud of you for bringing up your grades. That extra tutoring we’ve done has really paid off.’

Or if they’ve seen a person’s struggles and wanted to note the improvement. ‘You’ve got your drinking under control. I’m proud of you.’

Beouf had no claim to either. Being ‘proud’ of me was just something condescending to remind me who was in char-

“You handled those big feelings so much better than you did at the shower,” Beouf said. Oh...oh yeah. That.  “I could tell from the look on your face that you really wanted to say something nasty to hurt Ivy, and you didn’t.  Good job controlling yourself, kiddo.”

A whole host of new words and what to tell Beouf boiled up into my brain.  I bit my tongue and stared off into the middle distance, instead.  “I think he’s gonna cry…” I heard someone whisper.

“Do you want a hug?” Beouf asked me.

Silently, I shook my head.  Even I wasn’t sure if I had actually shook it or if my tensed up muscles were still just vibrating.  Either way.  I didn’t want it.

My mentor stood up and looked around. “Class,” she said.” Before we transition to whole group, I just wanted to tell everyone that Clark did the right thing.” All eyes were on her. “What’s our touching rule in this classroom?”

Hands shot up.  Shauna, with dark skin and her black hair done up in beads was called on. “Nobody can touch you without your permission,” she said with a kind of rote quality.  Then she hastily added, “Except for if a grown-up needs to help you with something.”

“That’s right.  And what should you do if someone is touching you in a way you don’t like, what should you do, even if it is a grown-up?”

“Tell a grown-up,” the class responded in unison.

Annie’s hand raised, but she didn’t wait to be called on.  “Why isn’t Clark in trouble? He didn’t tell an adu-...I  mean grown-up.”

Beouf smiled as if Annie’s trying to throw me under the bus was simple precociousness.  “No, baby, Clark isn’t going to get in trouble.  What he did was use his words to express his needs.  It was very mature of him.”

I shouldn’t have felt pride in that, but I did.  A trickle of hope in a dried up riverbed.  Maybe I could get through this after all.  I wouldn’t be able to talk sense into any Amazon, but maybe I could over the long term talk them into a slightly less intense form of crazy.  I also felt the stares of the other prisoners on me.  In their eyes I was turning into the suck-up; the teacher’s pet.

In that moment, my attitude could be described as ‘Fuck ‘em’.  It’s not like I was making any friends my first day.  Might as well take my comfort where I could.

“Okay everyone,” Beouf clapped her hands together.  “Snack time’s over, go check your schedules.”

As one big crinkling mass, we went over to the wall where our toddler visual schedules were. I took the black pentagon off the paint stick and saw the matching symbol over by the whiteboard. The other infantilized adults were taking their symbols to a basket just beneath the spot where the marker’s rested and taking a seat in the semi-circle just like they had after breakfast.  More circle time stuff it seemed.

“Do I have permission to kiss you,” Billy asked Annie.  

“Yes you do.” Annie said.  The two snuck each other a peck on the lips and snickered.  Billy looked directly over at me and I just pretended.   “May I give you a kiss?” Annie said down to Chaz.

“Totally,”  Chaz pushed himself up to his knees and got a smack on the cheek for his troubles.  “Thanks babe.”  

A new behavior had been introduced, and already a certain segment of the population were toeing the line, seeing how much they could get away with.  Practiced behavior and a bit of bratting to test the waters and push the envelope.  I’d seen it plenty of times with my own students over the years.  How childlike.  

There was no mention of Ivy, however.  No murmurs of waiting for the girl, or wondering where she and Zoge had gotten off to.  No idle hoping she was okay.  Not even scowling or mentioning how she’d completely freaked out.

Thinking back to my real classroom, if one of my students had been so much as checked out early for a dentist appointment, there’d be at least two children wondering where they were, when they’d be back, and if they were feeling alright.  Same went for late arrivals, absences, or any other break in the scheduled routines.  Kids, real kids, can be brats in the worst ways; but they can also be tremendous busibodies in the kindest and most empathetic of scenarios.

More proof that we weren’t kids; just damaged adults forced to play along.

At the kissing exchange, one of Beouf’s eyebrows cocked up behind her glasses, but then she busied herself telling Littles to spread out and was playing with an in classroom sound system connected to her computer.  Had she lectured them on public displays of affection, she could have reprimanded them, but her focus was on consent ironically enough, bodily autonomy.  Woman was obviously choosing her battles.  In some bizarre way, she still had the mentality of a veteran educator.

I took my spot in the semi-circle with the others so that my back was to the bathroom and I could see the classroom door.  I caught a flash of Zoge walking by, a bawling Ivy in her arms.  I couldn’t hear outside, but the body language said that Ivy was still having a full on meltdown. I leveled my gaze so that I couldn’t see more.

“Stand up everyone,” Beouf instructed  “Spread out and make a circle.  Give each other some room.”

Easy enough. We did.  Plenty of space.  It’s like no one wanted to touch me.  “Ivy cooties,” I heard someone whisper.

“We’re going to start our whole group session with some movement games.  Ready?”  

“Mrs. Beouf,” Jesse called out.  “Clark doesn’t-”

“I have a feeling he’ll catch on, quick.”  A knowing smile was thrown my way.  Beouf power walked to her computer and clicked a button.

A voice came out of the speakers.  “Walk.”  A voice said.  Immediately a meandering, hum drum tune started playing.  It was just shy of elevator music, the kind of background music those old cartoons would walk to while speaking exposition, even though the background was the same house, tree, and rock over and over again, ad infinitum.

Cartoon?! Out of paranoia I looked to Mrs. Beouf, trying to make sure there were no ear plugs or anything that might filter out a subliminal message.  Of course there weren’t any.  Beouf was a lot of things, but she was no Raine Forrest. In some ways that made it worse.  In trying (poorly) to end my adulthood with poison and typical Amazon ploys, Raine was at least acknowledging it.

Everyone started walking clockwise around the circle we’d made.  A few even did so with a bit of flare, purposefully swinging their arms or tucking in their elbows.  Even Chaz crawled and bobbed his head side to side, as if strolling along on his hands and knees was the most natural and normal thing in the world.

We no longer looked like toddlers toddling, but like toddlers play acting at being adults.

“Gallop.”  The tune changed to something out of a spaghetti western, hoofbeats and twangy guitar included.  Immediately everyone started stuttering their steps, galloping like a horse.  A few whinnies went up as boys and girls started imitating horses for good measure.

I sighed. I did know this game. Like the back of my hand, in fact. It was one I had my three and four year olds do.  A generic track of stock music correlated to a type of animated movement. Next there’d be a quiet, almost spooky xylophone number for tip toeing around, and a frantic fast paced run, and a lazy gliding skate and so on and so forth.  Then the track would randomize and play without the verbal instructions and the kids would have match their movement to fit the tune without prompting.

Good clean fun...if you’re actually a child.

Typical.

I could do this game in my sleep.  No concentration needed whatsoever. It was completely mindless to me.  Was it degrading? Yes.  Absolutely.  But at least I didn’t have to sing any songs about what a baby I was or how Hi-Diddly-Dee a big boy’s life wasn’t for me, or whatever.  If this was all I had to do, I could make it through my first day in Hell easily enough and get to see Cassie one last time.

Practically no conscious thought was required on my part.  This was a bad thing. A very bad thing.  Some people, when given a mindless activity, just zone out and let their minds go numb.  They literally think about nothing.  Hum to themselves.  Get lost in a haze of their own amorphous thoughts.  Other people, lacking mental stimulus, invent their own.  Fixate and go deep into their own heads, whirling and whirling about until their brain starts turning into a blender.

If you’ve read this far, you don’t need to guess which type I am.

The front door opened and Zoge came in.  She was still carrying Ivy, but the babied Little’s wails had downgraded into sniffles. The pair walked around our play circle in a wide berth headed for the bathroom.  

I do everything I’m told and I have to play a dumb baby game in a wet diaper.  Ivy throws a tantrum and gets changed afterwards.  How was that fair?

A stray thought:  What would Cassie think about Ivy kissing me?

Surely, she wouldn’t be jealous, or possessive. Ivy had gone Full Native.  She was a Doll; the Amazon ideal of the perfect perpetual child.  It’s not like some strange woman off the street had hit on me.  Even if a stranger had made advances, it’s not as if I had reciprocated.  I hadn’t kissed back.

It wasn’t cheating by any measurement.  None whatsoever.

Cassie would be furious with me, though.  I knew it.  Deep down, she’d hate me for it.  Not because a Little Girl had planted one on my cheek.  That was a big nothing burger for my wife.  What would make her livid beyond words was everything else.

I was adopted by my work friend.

My mentor was now my teacher and her assistant’s pet was my classmate.

I’d lost my job, my name, my identity, and my marriage.

I had been betrayed at every conceivable level.  The very same support system of ‘good’ Amazons that had protected me from Brollish and the others hadn’t been saving me as much as saving me for themselves.

Cassie wouldn’t be furious with them, though.  She wouldn’t be surprised.  She’d be angriest with me.

How had she reacted with that Little in the restaurant?  Or the one on the bus?  If I had seen them with a kind of quiet pity, she’d viewed them with a simmering contempt.  They’d played the game and they’d lost.  They’d done something to deserve the treatment they were getting.  Littles that ended up being rocked in a giant’s arms weren’t victims, they were losers who lacked the common sense and ruthlessness to survive in the cruel real world, and so were sentenced to a plush pastel one.

When I’d made Amazon and Tweener friends, my wife had warned me against playing with fire.  She’d helped up our standard of living, and still maintained ties to her survivalist family.  My own folks were locked up in a retirement fortress.

I was the only one stupid enough to play the game the Amazon’s way.  I’d lost.  I was a loser.

So how would she look at me?  She wouldn’t even see me, would she?  Even if Janet kept her word and Cassie would be safe, she’d never forgive me for leaving her alone. I was just another deadbeat husband who couldn’t pay the bills.  Went to my job and didn’t come back thanks to management.

Just another statistic.  Just another anecdotal post on mistuhgwiffin.web. A tragedy. A loser.  My very existence right now was offensive to her.  What if the love of my life didn’t want to see me?
Should I even bother trying to see her the one last time?  And if I didn’t, what did I have left to hope for?

“Is he okay?”

“What’s he doing?”

“I think he’s pooping, again.”

“Nobody looks like that when they’re poopin’.”

“You do.”

“I do?”

“Clark?” I heard Mrs. Beouf’s voice break into my thoughts.  “Clark, baby? Are you okay?”

I had stopped.  At some point, unbeknownst to me, I had walked into the middle of the circle. And stopped.  Frozen. Knees locked. Fists clenched.  Eyes slammed shut.  I was shaking again. Trembling.  I wasn’t crying.  I would not cry.  Between all the terrible thoughts bombarding my mind, a single automatic command snuck in.

Don’t cry.

Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry.

My breathing slowed and my teeth gnashed.  I would not cry.  I would not break.

Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry.

“I think he’s flipping out.”

“Awww, is the poor baby gonna cryyyyy?”

“Clark?” Beouf asked again.  “Can you hear me?  Clark?”

I wouldn’t cry.  There was as much chance of that as the morning dew raining upwards.  No crying, as much chance as the sky turning green.  No crying.  There was as much chance of that as...as…

There was as much chance of me crying right then as my own wife being happy to see me one last time…

I wasn’t crying.  I wasn’t crying, but it felt like there were fishhooks lodged in the corners of my mouth, pulling them downward towards the floor.  And just as much as I knew I wouldn’t cry then, a little voice on the inside of my head also told me that I might never smile again.

My feet tilted and my knees buckled.  Eyes still shut, I could feel the floor rushing up to greet me.  Should I tuck my head?  Or should I ragdoll and just bash it against the carpet.  It probably wouldn’t hurt.  Too much.

Giant arms snatched me and lifted me off the ground. “Gotcha!  It’s okay, Clark.  I gotcha.  I gotcha, hon.  It’s okay.  I’m here. I gotcha.”  

Finally, I decided to open my eyes.  Melony Beouf was looking down at me, an expression of genuine worry on her face.  The last time I’d remember her looking that concerned was when we’d found that essay.  I’d cried in front of her then.  I’d felt safe enough too.

Humongous steps carried me into the nap room.  “Clark, can you understand me?”  

I nodded.

“Can you talk, hun?”  

“Yes,” I said weakly.

She placed me in a crib.  I didn’t resist.  I didn’t see much point in resisting just then.  The back of her hand pressed against my forehead.  “You don’t feel feverish.  How are you feeling?”

Like the world was crumbling around me in new and devastating ways.  I just shrugged.

“I think you’re a bit overwhelmed,” she said.  “And that’s okay.  You’ve got a lot to get used to.  Things are changing all over the place and it’s all happening very fast.  That’s common for early Maturosis.”

I gazed down at the pastel train bedsheets, not bothering to look at her.  What the fuck do I do? Where did I go from here?

“I’m going to give you some quiet time to be in your thoughts,” Beouf said. “Give you some time to just be alone.  You don’t have to take a nap but if you want to, you can.  Okay?”

My head lifted just enough to make eye contact; it felt like my frown deepened to compensate.  I nodded.

My mentor turned babysitter raised the crib railing and left the room briefly.  She came back with my bottle and a rattle.  “If you get thirsty,” she said.  She leaned over the railing and shook the rattle.  

The jingling pulse threw my brain for a loop.  It was one of those rattles; like the kind from the shower. I swooned and laid back in the crib. Started sucking down even more water.  Why not?  I needed to be soaking if I was going to go to lunch dry and two hands holding a bottle left no room for a rattle that messed me up like a double shot of tequila.  Problem solved.  

“You can play with this if you want.  If you don’t, that’s okay too.” Beouf walked back to the door.  “Do you want the lights off or on?”

“Off,” I said.  I didn’t want to see myself right then.

She obliged.  “I’ll check up on you a little later, okay?”

I made no reply.  Beouf left me alone.
What to do?  What to do?

The tunnel vision that had kept me going forward now had a light at the end, but the light burned.  What choice did someone make when every choice was a bad one?

If Janet had told me the truth, there was no need to visit.  Cassie was smart.  She’d figured out why I hadn’t come home last Thursday.  The house was hers now.  As was my bank account and any money the school still owed me as an employee.  She was as set as she was going to get.  

What could I say besides ‘Sorry’?  Would it matter?  Was there a way I could escape?  A way she could rescue me? A way we could be together without us looking back over our shoulders for the rest of our lives?  Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face.

Life had given me a concussion, and I didn’t have a plan as much as I had scraps of hope, kind little lies that wouldn’t even let me get through the day.

Cassie didn’t need me.  She probably wouldn’t want to see me.  I just couldn’t let her go.

I might have dozed off, or I might have entered a gigantic feedback loop of jouskas on what I’d do IF I got through this first day. The second day still seemed so far away.  I might have wet a little more or just strained my bladder trying to pass the time. No clue.

The bottle was about half empty, when something inside the room changed.  The door to the nap room slid open and I sat up, hands shooting over my pelvis as if I had anything left to hide.  I’d been left with my thoughts long enough to feel embarrassed again, so at least I had that going for me.

It wasn’t Beouf who walked in.  Nor was it Zoge.  This person was much shorter than either of them.  Still, she was a sight taller than me.  The Amazon fifth graders towered over me.  She stood just barely the same height as them, on average.

There in the shadows of the naproom, Tracy looked at me on the other side of the crib bars..  “Hey, Boss…”

[TerranV]

Oh boy. Tracy you have some explaining to do...

I'm excited for the conversation that is about to happen.

[Moon3ye]

I still don't feel sorry for Clark.

I still believe that Ivy is more devious and sneaky than we all think.

I'm really curious about Tracy's excuse for not helping him as promised.

Still think Cassie is already safe with her parents by now and that will either make Clark give up or cause such a meltdown that his new mommy will get special permission for hypnosis. 

[Sarah Penguin]

:)

[littlepinkdargon]

I'm expecting a tantrum from Clark for getting screwed over.

[BabyJilly_S]

Oh my , this conversation is going to be interesting  

[YourFNF]

Whelp Tracy clearly owes an explanation. This is going to be interesting......