Wild Ride

[Personalias]

Charlie and Samantha were drunk.  Regardless of what you’re about to read, please keep that in mind.  Also, being more than a little tipsy was perfectly acceptable in this context.  Cheap beer and fried foods are the hallmark of any good carnival, and Charlie and Samantha had had so much of the former and not enough of the latter that things were elevating themselves to “Best Carnival EVAR” levels.  Sometimes a belly full of booze and grease, in just the right ratio, was all someone needed to be happy. 

Getting “carnival drunk” wasn’t the ideal way to spend a Saturday afternoon, but rarely were things ideal in either of their lives. 

Samantha was rail thin, with petite breasts that her mother had sworn would grow more during puberty.  Mom had lied.  Then Mom remembered that her own breasts had really filled out after Samantha had been born.  Samantha was in no rush to test this theory.  Big breasts for eighteen plus years of responsibility was not a fair trade off in Samantha’s leger.  She compensated by showing off what she had; bare midriffs and long blond hair looked perfect in this not quite chilly fall season.  

Charlie (not Charles, never call him Charles) was taller and more heavy-set.  It didn’t give him the gruff look of a midwestern linebacker.  Charlie was more chubby and soft.  Charlie looked almost delicate, with baby fat he’d never quite grown out of.  To compensate, Charlie had developed a mouth in middle school and pushed it to near dock worker levels.  If Jonah Hill could get by on crass charm, so could he, Charlie reasoned.

And yet, it worked. So far it had turned out pretty well for both of them. Charlie had himself a cute little girlfriend that made him feel big and strong instead of soft and fat. Samantha had a guy who could make her laugh, and the chubby dudes always tried so much harder in bed.

The pair of lovers stood in front of the entrance to the ride, a massive two story structure, painted in alternating panels of pastel pink and baby blue. Two years before this spot had featured a particular attraction called “The Mixer.”  The man had said “Keep your head and arms inside The Mixer at all Times,” but Bill Matthews Jr. - a daredevil just like his old man- had decided to ignore that rule.

The carnival came to an early and grisly end that year when Bill Jr. was decapitated.  They found his head next to the snow cone concessions, and Bill Sr. had yet to be the same again, ranting and rambling some kind of bizarre conspiracy theory about  “what the Queers are doing to our soil” to anyone at the trailer park that would listen.

In place of The Mixer was a different attraction: Mr. Stork’s Wild Ride.  Neither he nor she knew what to make of it.  The two just stood there for a moment, puzzling at this gaudy monstrosity.  It was Charlie who first spoke up.  “What kinda haunted house is this?”  His voice carried up above the ringing bells, obnoxious buzzers, and canned musical sound effects that permeated the hot afternoon air.  Speakers in front of Mr. Stork’s Wild Ride seeped out an electric keyboard rendition of “You Must’ve Been a Beautiful Baby.”

“I don’t think it’s a haunted house,” Samantha said.  She leaned up against him, hiding in the shade.  There were benefits to having a squishy boyfriend.  She pointed to the decorations of happy babies carried in bundles by storks.  “I think it’s a kiddie ride or somethin’.”

Charlie nodded and let out a belch.  “Then why aren’t there any kids?”  That was weird.  There were no children or parents anywhere around.  Considering it was a crowded carnival, this little spot was an oasis of emptiness.  It was as if The Mixer had left a curse on this spot. 

 Besides, if this was a kiddie ride, why wasn’t it with the others? Mr. Stork’s Wild Ride was about as far away from the bouncy houses, carousel, and tiny train as possible. The tilt a-whirl and gravitron were the closest attractions, but this didn’t seem to market to the thrill-seekers either.  If not them, then who?

“No ticket taker guy, either,” Samantha noticed.  “Maybe it’s broke.”  They were silent a moment more as the alcohol sloshed around in their brains, simultaneously multiplying their curiosity while lowering their inhibitions.  “What kinda ride do you think it’s supposed to be?”

Samantha’s boyfriend belched again.  “I dunno.  Maybe like a funhouse, or somethin’?”  It was a fair guess.  There were no carts or tracks to suggest a seated ride.  Whatever attractions or distractions the ride had to offer lay beyond the closed door to the far right side of the two story house.

“Isn’t like...the stork an old timey euphe-...” Samantha stopped.  She was having trouble finding the right words.  “Euphe-...euphe-..

“Expression,” Charlie helped.  “Issa expression for being knocked up.”  They both laughed.  Alcohol made everything funnier.

His partner giggled like a schoolgirl. “Yeah.  Thassit.”  She looked to the left and the right, like a cartoon character checking to see if the coast was clear.  “Wanna go in?”

Charlie wasn’t getting it.  “Why do you wanna ride on a baby ride?”

Samantha tip-toed her fingers up her boyfriend's belly. “I don’t,” she said.  “I wanna ride you.”

“Huh?”

Samantha leaned in and whispered to her boyfriend.  “I’m so horny,” she moaned.  “I’m horny right now and I wanna fuck your brains out and I don’t wanna wait and I wanna get on top of you inside an abandoned funhouse.”   She planted a kiss on his lips for emphasis and reached down to grab a feel through his jeans.  His penis understood, even if his brain didn’t.

Finally his brain caught up.  “You’re still on the pill, right?”

“Yuh-huh.”   Samantha felt him trying to undo her bra through her shirt before she stopped him.  “Not here,” she whispered.  She jerked her head towards the unmanned funhouse.  “There.”

The two had made the beast with two backs in a variety of places: their old high school’s football field; several gas station bathrooms; and in Samantha’s car on the side of the road one late and rainy night.  They’d lowered the health code rating for the local pizza place from an A to a B and Charlie had lost his job there because of it.  Never had they done it during the day, though, and concealed in a broken down funhouse seemed more daring than anything yet attempted.

Afternoon delight, indeed.

Hand in hand they rushed to the entrance only to find it sealed tight against them. Without thinking, Charlie rammed his shoulder against the door.  A few swift boots followed to no avail.  Lastly, he tried to pry it open with his bare hands. Overwhelming sexual arousal can give a man amazing strength, just not enough to pry open a magnetically sealed sliding door.

“Hey hey hey,” Samantha hissed.  Charlie stopped to see her pointing to some kind of computer kiosk inlaid into a nearby metal panel.  “What about using this to get in?”

Charlie was still that perfect combination of tipsy and horny.  “Pfftt. I can’t break down a metal door by throwin’ a computer at it.  Might have porn on it, though.”

Samantha slapped him hard on the shoulder.  “No, stupid! It’s a log in screen.”

Charlie blinked and looked at the screen.  “How many occupants?” he read.  “Oh shit!  Is this high tech or something?”

“I don’t know,” Samantha said.  “Just do it.”

Charlie pressed the number 2.  “Enter age of first occupant.”  He was well beyond the point of being able to read silently.  “Twenty...two.”  

“Why does it wanna know our age?” Samantha wondered aloud.  Unrealistically, she imagined that maybe this was a room to have sex in and all parties had to be the age of consent.  Why the fuck not, her booze addled brain reasoned.  There were public nursing stations, was it that far a leap in logic to have public fucking stations? 

Charlie could only focus on so much at one time and it was taking everything he had just to read at the prompter.  Shouldn’t have had that last beer, he reckoned.  “Enter gender of first occupant.”  Dang.  If it was gonna be that kind of question, he wish it would have said ‘Sex?’ so he could have said ‘yes please.’   “Okay babe.  Your turn.”

“Age of second…”  Samantha looked up from the screen.  “This is stupid!”  She was so sloppy drunk that locks of her dirty blonde hair kept getting in her face, and no amount of blowing was going to work.  Fortunately Samantha was slightly less drunk and so she was able to read in silence.  

The previously impenetrable door slid open with a hiss.  A pre-recorded voice, one tinged with the grainy quality of old speakers and older recordings.     “Come on in kiddos! It’s time to play!”  It was what they both thought of as a clown’s voice.  It spoke with a kind of half speaking, half sing-song laughing quality, like a bad Goofy impression.

Charlie leaned out of the way and made an after you gesture. “Ladies first.”  He was a gentleman after all.  And if there were any jump scares, better her than him. 
 
Samantha wobbled in, feeling a cool blast of air hit her from the outside. This thing couldn’t be broken.  Broken rides weren’t air conditioned.  The moment she stepped past the threshold, a flash of light engulfed her, causing her to see spots.  “FIRST. OCCUPANT. SCANNED.” A dead sounding computer voice said.

Samantha blinked.  “Oh shit...high tech.”  She kept wobbling forward.  It had been so dark inside, and there were still spots in her eyes from the flashes that she couldn’t make heads or tales.  Charlie was close behind her.  He hadn’t seen the flash of red light and so was equally blindsided.

“The fuck?”

“SECOND. OCCUPANT. SCANNED.”    

The door hissed closed behind him.

“Ooooooh...spoooky!” he joked.  It was still dark inside the funhouse.  Not dark enough for him to avoid getting elbowed in the ribs.

A television monitor dropped out of the ceiling, and the drunk couple found themselves being basked in the bright glow of the monitor.  In front of them was a cartoon stork.  He wore glasses and an old timey delivery man’s vest and hat, just like in the old cartoons with Bugs Bunny.  The biggest difference was that the cartoon didn’t present as drunk. No hiccups or droopy eyes here.  Thankfully Charlie and Samantha had that covered for him.  “Welcome to Mr. Stork’s!” It said.  “Let’s get acquainted before we play!”

A panel opened up in the ceiling.  From out of that panel a mechanical tendril snaked out, a white glove affixed to the end of it.  “Holy shit, babe!  This IS high tech! Look at the anima...the ani...the fuckin’ robots!”

“What’s your name, sport?” the cartoon stork asked.  A robotic hand pointed right where Samantha was standing.  She leaned to the left and then to the right, but the hand still tracked her.  Meanwhile, the screen had gone eerily still, a frozen picture; a digital painting.  More likely the introductory recording was on pause and waiting for input.  Whatever fancy schmancy tech made this thing had skimped on some of the subtler details and the ride was falling into uncanny valley territory.

Samantha looked to Charlie.  Her boyfriend only shrugged.  “Uh… Sama-”

The cartoon stork came back to life with a flicker, like a conversation tree on a video game branching out.  “Nice to meet you…”   

 “SAM.”  The voice wasn’t the Stork’s, but that same deadpan computer voice that had spoken up when they’d been blindsided and flashed.  

Samantha stood up a little straighter.  “Nuh-uh! I’m Samantha!  I was gonna say Samantha!”  All Samantha got for her bitching was a gloved pat on the head.

“And what’s your name, dear?”  The stork cartoon asked.  Now the glove was pointing at Charlie.

Charlie mouthed the words  “Dear?” over to Samantha.  Samantha shrugged.  “Charlie…?”

“A pleasure to meet you...CHARLENE!” Charlene?  Charlene?!  Charlie was indignant beyond belief.  

“I didn’t say..-!”

But the ride didn’t listen.  The screen blinked out for a second, and the stork came back into view.  A new sequence was loading. “Oh boy! It’s so great to make some new friends!” The stork said. “But saaaaay, you can’t play looking like that? Can you?”  It shook its head slowly. “What’s that?  I can’t heeeeear you!” 

The cartoon had gone full audience participation mode, it seemed.  “No?” Samantha said.

The stork clapped its wings together; a used car salesman about to make a deal. “Let’s get you ready…SAM...and...CHARLENE.”  Each time their so-called names were said the cartoon paused and that deadpan computer voice filled in the gaps.

The lights flashed again,   “The fu-?”  Charlie’s last words were interrupted by sliding panels revealing more metallic, white gloved, tendrils.  Fast as a cobra and strong like a machine, the mechanical hands grabbed at them, clutching onto their arms and legs.

Futilely, the pair struggled as the tendrils gripped at them and dragged them to the floor, laying them out into a spread eagle position.  The television monitor rose back up into the ceiling, leaving the two prostrate and screaming while their eyes adjusted to the light.

Once they were finally able to crane their necks up from the floor, their screams of frustration turned to gasps of disbelief.   They were at the edge of what could only be described as a giant nursery, painted in the same gaudy hues of pink and blue and pictures of Mr. Stork playing with happy babies along the wall.  

Just past the next doorway, the floor was littered with stuffed animals, baby furniture and various children’s toys made large.  Charlie hadn’t thought rocking horses could be made that large.  What there weren’t, Charlie realized, were stairs.  The top floor of this place must have all sorts of mechanical gizmos, such as the mechanical arms that were pinning him to the floor.  

“Stop!  Reset! Safeword! Control-alt-delete! Pause!”  Nothing he yelled out was working.  “ARUBA! JAMAICA! SANDWICH!  A place this high tech had to have some kind of switch-off!  But what?  “ADULT?! GROWN-UP?! RATED-R? NC-17?!”

While Charlie contemplated the possibilities of voice command, it was Samantha who noticed something off about the decorations.  “Those aren’t babies on the wall.”  Indeed, the cartoon characters playing with Mr. Stork and being carried as bundles were all dressed like babies and in diapers, but their limbs were too long, their torsos too big.  Some of the baby girls had breasts.  “Those babies are...adults?  The hell is this ride?”

The ride went on without warning.

“OCCUPANT. ONE.” The computer droned into the speaker.  “MALE. AGE. TWENTY-TWO. MONTHS. NAME. SAM.”

“Male?” Samantha scoffed, still struggling against her metallic bonds.

“Months?” Charlie echoed his confusion.  He’d put in his age at Twenty-two years...oh fuck.  Is that what the ‘MO’ had meant next to the blank spot where he’d entered his age?  He’d just thought this contraption was built in Missouri.

“OCCUPANT. TWO.  FEMALE. AGE. TWENTY-ONE. MONTHS. NAME. CHARLENE.”

The two fought against the metal tendrils, finding their own limbs just weren’t up to the task.

“STEP. ONE. DECONTAMINATION.”

In a flash, the white gloves started stripping the pair down.  Shoes. Socks. Shirts.  Underwear.  Everything.  Considering that the ride thought Samantha was a “Sam,” it did a good job of unhooking her bra and removing it for her.  A synth pop version of ‘This is the way we…’ started playing over the rooms’ speakers to drown out their cursing.

If the music had had lyrics, it might have gone “This is the way we strip-off-clothes, strip-off-clothes, strip-off-clothes, this is the way we strip-off-clothes, so early in the morn-ing. They had wanted to be naked in this room...just not this manner.  

Not that Charlie’s penis was too particular.  “Babe! It’s not what you think!”  Charlie sputtered out.  “This is NOT what I wanted.”  Samantha said nothing, lest her rock hard nipples be brought into the conversation.

“Just get us out of here!”  she yelled.  “Heeeeelp! She called out.  “Stop this crazy thing!  Turn it off! Throw a switch!  Unplug something! Call the manager!”

 A panel in the wall opened up and mechanical gloved hands shoved their crumpled and wrinkled clothes into a steel compartment, packing everything in tightly, before making them disappear back behind the panel.  The flash of red and white through the cracks of the panel made Charlie worried. The smell of smoke and burning denim told Samantha that they weren’t getting their clothes back.

“GOOD. BABIES.” The computer said.  “NO. MORE. SQUIRMING.”

This announcement, of course, made them realize that they’d stopped struggling.  Naturally, the two redoubled their efforts.  Despite all their thrashing, they remained virtually paralyzed, practically helpless little ragdolls.  They were already wearing out.

“STEP. TWO. HEALTH. AND. GROOMING.”

Against their will, their legs were lifted up and folded back onto their stomachs.  Samantha felt like a folding chair; Charlie now knew what a half-deflated beach ball looked like.  Soon, they both knew what it was like to have their temperature taken rectally.

Charlie was the first to see the lubed up rod.  “Oh god. Please no!  Please no!”  The ride did not listen.  Charlie’s protesting lasted up until the moment the thermometer entered his rear.  “MOMMY!”

“Mommy?” Samantha screamed at her boyfriend.  “Did you just say…? COOOOOOLD!” she cut herself off.  Both were silent for an uncomfortable half minute as the cold rods rested inside them.

“TEMPERATURE. FOR. SAM. NORMAL.  TEMPERATURE. FOR. CHARLENE. NORMAL”

They sighed reflexively as the foreign objects were removed, yet any relief the pair might feel was short lived. 

“GROOMING. COMMENCING.”

A pair of military grade electric razors found their way to mechanical hands.  “Why even have hands hold the razors?” Charlie wondered.  He continued to struggle as his arms, legs, and pits were shaved clean, with little grates opening up in the floor to collect the body hair.  He only stopped when the razor was dangerously close to his public area.

As he was being manscaped, another set of mechanical hands grabbed the sides of his head and held him still.  Charlie’s hair wasn’t particularly long, but he was way overdue for a haircut.  Instead of that happening, his mess of tangled hair was wrapped in curlers, while creams were rubbed in.  He was getting a perm.

Meanwhile, Samantha was having the opposite experience:  She had already shaved most of her body.  A certain swimsuit aesthetic had been important to her.  When the razor came for her, it went straight for her head.  In a matter of seconds all of her long, (some might say luxurious) hair was off her head, leaving her with a military style buzz cut.
  
“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK FUCK! STOP! STOP!  SOMEBODY STOP!  CALL A MANAGER!  STOP! RED LIGHT!  SHUT IT DOWN! I’M SUING! I’M SUING YOUR ASS OFF!”

The machine did not listen.  It just kept shaving as hot tears leaked onto Samantha’s cheeks.  A plastic head covering made its way over Charlie’s scalp, another tube piping in hot air over his chemically treated hair.  The perm was almost done.

“STEP. THREE. DIAPERING.”

They shouldn’t have been surprised, given the circumstances and the way things were progressing. Yet hearing it announced out loud like that made it seem all the more real to the trapped duo. The diapers themselves, of course, really hammered it home. 

Words were lost for a moment as two very large diapers disposable, perfectly sized for them, were brought into view.  Samantha rattled off a stream of no’s that sounded like a gatling gun as hers was unfolded..  Her shaved head was a memory, an afterthought, as her legs were raised into the air, her hips starting to hover off the ground.

“Please!” she begged as the bulky thing was slid beneath her.  “Don’t do this! I’m a grown-up! A big kid! I’m not a BAAAAAAABY!”  

Charlie was only now realizing how out of shape he was.  He was too winded to do anything other than moan and whine as his ass went skyward.  “Ooooooh….uuhhhh….nnnn...nnn….”  Even more embarrassing, his erection had yet to abate.  Why was this turning him on?!

To add insult to injury, neither of the infantile undergarments were a traditional unisex plain white.  Samantha’s was white with a dark blue trim and absolutely covered with dinosaur decorations; the kind of diaper a little boy might wear.  The one positioned beneath Charlie was pink and decorated with bunnies; a diaper a girl’s parents might buy if they were ever insecure about an infant’s femininity. 

Their legs were suspended long enough for each of their bottoms to get a good powdering, and then with mechanical efficiency, the diapers were drawn up and taped on, encasing their loins in padding and soft plastic.  If not for the circumstances, they might have found it oddly comfortable.

They were not, however, comfortable.  Charlie’s legs were forced apart, his chubby thighs and tummy accentuating the girly diaper nicely.  The term “baby fat” took on its original meaning for Charlie.  Charlie felt soft.  Charlie felt timid.  Charlie had gone flaccid in a matter of seconds.  No amount of swearing or cursing could make him feel tough or manly right now.  

Samantha’s legs seemed boney to her.  Laying down, her breasts weren’t that impressive.  Without her hair, she didn’t feel remotely feminine.  The diaper was just the salt on the wound.

“STEP. FOUR. FEEDING.”

Charlie’s moaning and Samantha’s crying did not help their situation in the least.  Hoses with rubber nipples descended and made a bee line for their mouths.  As a thick, creamy, liquid like substance flowed out of the rubber nipples, mechanical hands held human jaws in place and pinched down on human noses.

Drink or Drown.  That was their only choice.  Drink or Drown.

Survival instinct outweighed pride and the two began gulping down the creamy stuff. It slid down easily.  Too easily.  After a few panicked swallows, they were allowed to breathe through their noses again. The stuff tasted like milk.  Milk and…?  Neither of them could quite place the taste, but something was off about the stuff.  The increasingly bloated feeling as they involuntarily gorged along with a growing gurgling in the guts hinted at the secret ingredient.

“STEP. FIVE. BURPING.”

Down from the ceiling, two tackling dummies with smiling nanny faces painted on were lowered onto the ground.  Carefully, like puppets, the two were carried, dangled, and then draped over the dummies.  

A grainy, almost pull string voice cooed to each of them as their weight was shifted over onto the dummies..

“Awwww, poor little girl’s got a full tum-tum, doesn’t she?”  On the verge of vomiting, Charlie could only groan in reply.

“Big strong boy needs his burpies, yes him does!  Yes him does!”  Samantha shuddered, praying that this nightmare would end.

 White gloved hands supported their diapered bums while others snaked around patted their backs.  A new cocktail of drugs swimming their bloodstreams, and bloated heavy bellies made them powerless to resist.  They could only mewl as they were patted on the back, and gas bubbles forced themselves up to the top.  Samantha was the first to belch, but Charlie’s was louder.  

“Thank you…” Samantha whispered.  “Thank you…urp.”

“GOOD. BABIES.  ALMOST DONE.”  As if to reinforce their babied state, the hands started rubbing their backs, soothing them as the last of the belches worked their way out of their system.  The crinkle of their diapers filled their ears as each was given one last pat for good measure.

Almost.  Finally.  This was a weird ass ride.  Let’s finish this.  It was getting harder to think.  Harder to do anything other than blush and cry and want to crawl into a hole and die.

“STEP. SIX. PLAY CLOTHING.”

Charlie found his chubby legs being threaded into a frilly pink diaper cover, sealing him into his disposable prison.  Meanwhile, a baggy T-shirt was being yanked over Samantha’s head.  “Mama’s Lil’ Man,” it read.  Her breasts were completely obscured.

A pair of pinstriped overalls that stopped at the knee followed for Samantha. Plain white socks and velcro sneakers made their way onto her feet.  Her previous body image shattered.  “OCCUPANT. ONE.” The machine repeated.  “SAM. AGE. TWENTY-TWO. MONTHS.”

The dress that was yanked over Charlie was just as frilly and pink as his diaper and cover; a matching set.  Just as Charlie’s chubby cheeks made it past the collar, the mechanical hands decided to undo the rollers.  He looked every bit the pudgy little girl, hair in curly ringlets.  As he was lowered to the floor, long pink socks were rolled up past his knees just before a pair of lacy booties were strapped on. “OCCUPANT. TWO.  CHARLENE. AGE. TWENTY-ONE. MONTHS.”

The two were set down in front of each other; disgusted and embarrassed with each other as much as themselves.

Out of the ceiling the monitor again, and the two were met with the not quite crisp animation of a certain stork.  “Oh my! That looks so much better...SAM...and...CHARLENE.”  Another blinding flash made the two wince.  When they were done blinking they saw their own uncomprehending faces on the monitor.  To their own eyes they looked horrifying and bizarre; big baby freaks.  “Isn’t that a pretty picture?”

The screen lifted up, but not before two jumbo pacifiers, one pink and one blue, were shoved into their confused and gaping mouths.  “The fugh?” Samantha mumbled past the rubber bulb. She tasted something sweet and bitter, like cough syrup and her tongue instinctively licked the stuff up.

Charlie tried to spit his out but found his lips would not cooperate.  The sweet sticky stuff on the bulb was some kind of adhesive.  It was like having a mouth full of marshmallows and an inability to swallow.

Oblivious to their emotional state, the mechanical hands pushed them through the nearest door, locked knees and muffled protests be damned.  The second door hissed closed behind them, the stork’s voice was piped into the giant nursery. 

 “You kids can play in the nursery as long as you like,” the recording said.  “We’ve got girl toys over here for...CHARLENE.”  The room dimmed just enough so that Charlie could notice the spotlight shining over piles of dolls, tea sets, and vanity mirrors.  “Over here we’ve got boy stuff for...SAM.”  Samantha’s attention was drawn to plastic baseball bats and toy race cars.  

“You can stay here and play for as long as you like,” the recording droned on, “but once you’re done, it’s out you go so other little boys and girls can take a turn playing.” At the far corner, opposite of the locked door they’d first entered, a curtain peeled back and an exit sign pointed the way out.  The two saw shafts of sunlight poking through just before the heavy curtain was slid back into place.

The couple looked at each other, and even though they couldn’t talk properly, they knew what the other was thinking.  They wanted to escape, yes.  Just not looking like this.  

They didn’t have time to converse or formulate a plan, sadly. “WARNING. PLAY. LEVELS. LOWERING.”  The computerized voice announced.  “BEGIN. PLAY. OR PREPARE FOR EVACUATION.” Mechanical hands started nudging them on their patted bottoms towards the exit.  Menacingly, the curtain peeled back again.

With an “eep” and an “oop” the two took off into the playroom; better to stall and delay the inevitable.  Going back to old nostalgic routines, Samantha went for the pile of dollies as her sissified boyfriend tried to waddle over to the race cars.

The ride intervened. “Ah-ah.” the cartoon stork’s voice came in.  “I think you two are confused.”

Mechanical hands grabbed each by the wrist and led them to opposite sides of the room.  “You don’t wanna play with dolls...SAM...do you want the other kids to call you a big soft sissy?”  Charlie, or maybe it was ‘Charlene’, sucked on the big bulbous binky, feeling terribly inadequate.
“Let’s get some of that boyish energy out!”

A treadmill manifested under Samantha’s feet.  “How about some tag, sport?”  The floor beneath her started moving. Samantha did the only thing she could.  She ran.  The bulky diaper made it harder for her to run, the pacifier lodged between her teeth made it more difficult to breathe.  But the moment she tried to leap off one way or the other, a tendril caught her and put her back in place.  “We’re not done yet, little mister.”

Charlie was being pushed to a softer, gentler part of the room.  “You don’t wanna play with those icky boy toys...CHARLENE.” The ride said.  “How are you going to get boys to like you if you don’t look pretty enough?”  Still running on the treadmill, Samantha couldn’t help but rub the top of her now bald head and fight back tears.

The ride shoved Charlie down onto a pillowed seat in front of a vanity mirror.  Between the cushion under his bottom and the cushion on his bottom, Charlie’s bootied feet barely grazed the floor.  “Let’s get you dolled up...CHARLENE.”  A harness whipped around and belted Charlie to the chair.

Hands wielding lipstick, rouge, and eyeshadow shot out from the vanity mirror and started caking makeup all over Charlie’s face.  He managed to hold up his arms to block the incoming assault only briefly.  Far too soon his hands were being held down and out so that his nails could get painted.  “A manicure will make boys like...SAM...really stand up and notice you.  As soon as you’re immune to cooties anyway.”

“Pwph phop…” he begged the machine. “I’mma bgbuoy!”  The ride did not listen. 

“Big girls don’t cry.” The stork’s voice reminded him.  “It makes their mascara run.  Speaking of which!”

All of his struggling and humiliated whining only resulted in Charlie lightly bouncing on his cushioned rear.  Such bouncing, when combined with booze, fried food, and the special ingredient inside the so-called milk he’d been force fed, had a very noticeable effect.  Charlie moaned into his pacifier as his bowels made their intent known.  

Running is also good for active and regular bowels.  A poor dressmaker’s dummy clothed in overalls, the hint of a blue-ish dinosaur diaper peeking out the end, was dangled just in front of Samantha like a carrot in front of a particularly dim horse.  “That’s right...SAM...catch him!  Tag him!  You can do it!”  Needless to say, it’s difficult to tag something when every instinct in your insides is telling you to clutch your stomach.

The duo’s bodies gave up at about the same time, but their experiences were vastly different.  Samantha felt her control lapse all at once, the mess in the seat of her diaper rapidly filling up and pulling away from her with every accelerated foot fall.  “Mik...it...stp!” Her bladder gave out at the same moment, causing the diaper to swell and balloon in her shortalls, sagging down against the clothes and sloshing between her thighs with every step.

Charlie’s, on the other hand, was more gradual. He’d squirm in his seat as a ribbon was being put in his now curly hair, or try fruitlessly to avoid a layer of powder being applied, and something would slip out.  The back of the pink bunny diaper got a little warmer.

And then it happened again.

And again.

Squirm. Grunt. Squirt. Repeat.

Even after the makeup was done, Charlie was forced to remain seated in his own expanding mess. “So your nails can dry, dearie.”

With nothing left to lose and nothing left to let loose, Samantha took a flying leap at the dummy.  She managed to barely graze it.  “Good job...SAM...way ta go lil’ guy!”  She lost her balance and was sent tumbling backwards into a cushioned wall.  Apparently the ride had planned for this.

The fall didn’t hurt as much as it had startled her.  Even more startling was the feeling of the messy diaper beneath her.  The entire mess had smooshed up against her all at once and she now had to face what she had been forced to do to herself.  From behind her pacifier, she let out a long, low wail that would make an actual infant proud (if wailing was something that babies took pride in).

She was sweaty. And dirty. And ugly.  And sitting in a pile of her own shit.  It couldn’t get much worse than this.

Sitting splay-legged and feeling absolutely wretched, she looked down and saw that there were brass buttons along the inseam.  Like a cat clawing for a mouse, Samantha dug her fingers in and tried to pry the snaps loose.  She could see the bulging soiled undergarment in between the buttons, but it eluded her. 

“I unt ow” she scream mumbled.  “Pls gt meh ow! Lul meh owt!”  Little did she know that a subtle magnetic charge had been applied to the buttons, making it all but impossible for human fingers to unsnap them.  Safety first.

A monitor lowered in front of her and the stork blinked into existence.  “Aww...did the baby boy have an accident in his diaper?”

Samantha nodded.  She didn’t care what the damn machine called her, just then.  

“Did you go pee-pee or poopie?”  Samantha felt like someone was strangling her from the knot that had risen up in her throat.  “Aww, that’s okay, lil’ guy,” the stork said. “Boys are harder to potty train, anyways.”  A white gloved hand chose that moment to pat her on her bald head.  “Go play.”

Samantha almost broke down just then.  She could feel the mess clinging to her with every ginger and dainty step she made.  The only thing she could do to calm herself was to clench her fists, and suck on her pacifier.

It was then that Charlie was released from his bonds.  By that point, there was more mess inside Charlie’s pink bunny diaper than inside of him.  Based on the view in the mirror he looked absolutely adorable; more a Baby Charlene than a Charlie any day.  It was almost a relief when he stood up and let his body give in, pushing the rest of the solid waste out into the seat of his already disgusting diaper. 

Almost.  

Seeing each other free but broken, the couple ran into one other’s arms- the only arms that felt welcome to them.  “Mmmm srry,” Charlie cried.  “Uh fuhd ep!”

“Uh fuhd ep, tuh!”

They held each other, not caring about the smell.  Their tears slid freely onto each other.  There was no shame anymore; only two people who’d been pushed to the edge.  Despite everything, it felt good then, holding each other.  Even though the act did nothing to improve their present predicament, it lifted their spirits, just a little. 

An experiment was once conducted where baby monkeys were taken away from their mothers and offered two artificial surrogates.  A “wire mother”, that contained a nutritious bottle but nothing else; and a “cloth mother” that was warm and comforting but provided no nutrition.  Surprisingly, the baby monkeys chose the “cloth mother” every single time, only transferring to the surrogate wire dummy when they absolutely had to.  On a very basic, very primal level, Samantha and Charlie might relate to those poor baby monkeys.  They were each other’s comfort; that bit of warmth in an otherwise insane and cold machine.

Had their mouths been free they would have kissed each other’s tears away and whispered empty but comforting reassurances that everything was going to be alright.  They settled for nuzzling each other’s tears and gently cooing to each other.  If nothing else, the sounds of comfort helped where no words would come.  

“WARNING.  PLAY. LEVEL. LOW.  COMMENCE. PLAYING. OR. BE. CHECKED. OUT.”

The curtain to the outside drew back, menacingly.

There’s a special kind of ability that not everyone has, most common among close siblings, war buddies, and true lovers: the ability to communicate without words.  This place, this so-called-ride, would go on indefinitely.  They’d have to play and play and play until it kicked them out. 

But if they could somehow manage to endure until it got dark, things might not be so bad.  It would still be humiliating, but not as humiliating. The two nodded to each other, now in perfect sync.  Now, if only they didn’t have to do so with their backsides cake in shit.

The damn monitor repositioned itself in front of them.  “Whew!” The stork flapped its wing in front of its beak.  “We’ve got two stinky babies here!”  As if to emphasize the machine’s point, white gloved hands patted the backs of their loaded pants.  “Who’s getting changed first?”

Charlie nodded to Samantha.  Samantha raised her hand.  “SAM...didn’t your daddy ever teach you about ladies first?”

Charlie shook his head violently.  “Mmm-mmm!” He waved his hands out in front of him to ward off the stork.  As much as he wanted to get out of his disgusting soiled undergarment, he wanted more for Samantha to be helped first. He wanted to be the hero.

The ride’s tendrils scooped Samantha up and carted her over to a changing table.  Samantha was on the verge of manic happy tears. Anything to be out of this.  Just let it be done.  But before she was laid down to be changed, the stork’s monitor slid over to her.  “I almost forgot.  Are you a good boy?  Only good boys get their diapers changed.”

Samantha nodded her head, feeling as though she might give herself whiplash. “Mma gud buoy!” Samantha sobbed behind her pacifier.  “Mma gud bay buoy!”  It was just too much for her, right then.  Samantha’s sighs were audible as she was strapped down.  “Juh peeh, gemee ouffa fish.”

The changing table itself manifested hands that began to strap Samantha down and unbutton the snaps on her shortalls, peeling the bottom half back and re-exposing her dinosaur diaper.

The tapes were peeled back, releasing a fetid stink into the closed space.  Apparently the diapers had a modicum of odor control, after all.  Even worse, the mess had creeped around to Samantha’s front.  Looking at herself and smelling everything at point blank range, it took everything for the poor girl not to vomit on herself.

“WARNING.”  The dull, dry computer voice chimed again.  “PLAY. LEVEL. LOW.”

Charlie waddle-sprinted over to a low table set with dishes and tea pots.  They couldn’t afford to get kicked out yet!   Scared beyond reason, Charlie did the only thing he could think of: he started pouring an empty plastic teapot into empty plastic tea cups so that dolls with unblinking eyes could not drink from them.

“PLAY. LEVEL. RISING.”  He was doing it! He was doing it!

“You don’t need to play waitress...CHARLENE.” the stork’s voice chimed in.  “It’s your tea party.  Sit down!”  

Charlie whimpered behind his pacifier as white gloved tendrils maneuvered him over to an empty seat and forced him down and spreading the mess in his diaper around.  “Are you having fun, little girl?”

“Mmmm...hmmm!”  Charlie was not, in fact, having fun.

“Remember: Good little girls drink tea with their pinky up.”  Jaw quivering and sucking on the glued in pacifier, Charlie extended his dainty digit.

The cold wet wipes felt heavenly on Samantha’s tender regions.  Contrastly, feeling the muck and mush in his disposable panties was pure hell to Charlie.  Charlie looked over his shoulder and back over to the adult sized changing table.  

Beneath the table, Charlie stomped his feet in rapid succession. “Cuh aw!”  This was taking too long.  He was beginning to be able to feel an itchy, almost gritty feeling down below.  Is this what real kids had to go through?  How awful!   Silently, the sissified boy prayed this didn’t mean he’d get diaper rash.  How did real babies deal with this kind of thing?  Perhaps it was because, like Charlie and Samantha, they didn’t really have a choice.

“I think someone needs a refill...CHARLENE.  Enjoy yourself but be a good hostess, just like your mommy has shown you.”

While Samantha was getting pampered (literally), Charlie was having to get up and do laps refilling imaginary tea.  The low kiddie tea table was just wide enough to where Charlie had to get up and pretend to pour.  The chubby boy didn’t know which he hated more, the feeling of his mess spreading around every time he sat down, or how he swore he could feel a mass peel off and pull away whenever he stood up and moved more than a few steps. He’d had to refill and sit himself back down on three different occasions by the time Samantha had been wiped, powdered, re-diapered, and her crotch buttons re-snapped.

“There ya go...SAM!”  The ride said after Samantha was taken off the table.  She’d been in a dirty diaper, and she’d been in a clean one.  She definitely preferred the clean one.  The butchefied girl didn’t get a chance to enjoy any time on her feet, however.  The tendrils manhandled her right onto the back of a very large rocking horse.  “Yee-haw!  Ride ‘em cowboy!  Bust that bronco!”  To top it off, a tiny cowboy hat was placed on her head and strapped around her chin.

Finally (finally!), the machine picked Charlie up and carted him over to the changing table.  “Are you a good girl?” the stork’s voice asked.  Charlie knew better than to argue.  He just giggled and batted his eyelids as he nodded.  “Good girl!  You’re so very cute!”

Charlie’s enthusiasm at having his frilly panties pulled down and his diaper undone was only matched by his disgust once the pink bunny diaper was opened.  The cute outer decoration in no way matched the insides.  So...that’s what his own penis covered in feces looked like…  Charlie knew then that’s he’d never ask Samantha for anal ever again.

Samantha didn’t have time to notice her boyfriend fighting off retching.  This particular rocking horse had an additional feature.  It vibrated. It vibrated in all the right ways. “Yeeee haw!” The ride prompted.  “Ride ‘em hard!”

Sam obeyed.  

She closed her eyes and rocked on the horse, enjoying the motion and feelings down below that were being stirred up.  With each rock, she started to grind in the opposite direction.  Rubbing herself.  

“FUN. LEVELS. RISING.”

She wasn’t here.  She wasn’t on a rocking horse.  She wasn’t in a diaper.  She wasn’t bald.  She wasn’t anywhere.  The only thing she was, was horny.  Perhaps it was the alcohol.  Perhaps it was the stress.  Perhaps there was more than just a high powered laxative in that milk she’d been force fed.  Samantha didn’t know.  All she did know was that she wanted her underwear to get wet and sticky again… just not with pee.

“FUN. LEVELS. RISING.”

Charlie frowned behind his pacifier as his bum was powdered and the new diaper slid under him.  It wasn’t completely unexpected, but still very unwelcome.  Just as Samantha had, Charlie decided that the feeling of a clean diaper was preferable to a dirty one.  Quietly, he took it a step further in his mind.  This change felt infinitely better than the first one.   There was a kind of catharsis that came with soiling oneself and being renewed.  Maybe this is why kids were so hard to toilet train these days.  Diaper changes felt good.

“FUN. LEVELS. RISING.”

All of Charlie’s unexpected introspection came to a rattling halt when his rhumba panties were pulled back over his new diaper and he was set on the floor.  “Good girl!  No squirming!”  To add insult to injury, he felt his bum get felt up again, scooching him forward.

The sissy boy made it exactly three steps before he was on his back, his girlfriend tackling him and lifting up the hem of his dress.  “Mmmmph?”  he mumbled.  

Samantha didn’t notice.  She was too busy straddling him. “MMMMMMPH!” Samantha screamed back past the rubber bulb stuck in her mouth.  When they had stumbled into this madhouse, Samantha had done so with the express purpose of reaching climax.  She was going to get her climax and it would not be on a stupid horse.

Just as before, Charlie’s penis caught on faster than his brain.  The fresh diaper became tighter as his penis grew to attention. He’d never done this before.  Not in clothes.  Not gagged.  Not on his back.  

Charlie had grown up with some... let’s say ‘old-fashioned’ views on love making. In this instance, he had always made it a point to be on top. Samantha was on top, and though he wouldn’t admit it to himself, Charlie was liking it.

“Oh,” the ride seemed to notice.  “Looks like you two are doing a little play wrestling.  I’ll allow it.  Just remember to be careful...SAM...little girls like...CHARLENE...are delicate.  Be gentle.”

She was not.  Not at all.

The two rubbed and bumped and grinded against each other; the layers of clothing and padding forcing them to thrust and grind all the harder so that any sensation was felt.   Charlie did his best to compensate by reaching up and playing with Samantha’s tiny, almost invisible breasts.  He kneaded them with his hands and thrust his hips as hard as he could; using the crinkling of their diapers to sync up and create a kind of rhythm.

Crinkle, crinkle.

“Mmmph!”

Crinkle, crinkle,

“Mmmph!”

Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle.

“MmmmmmPH!”

Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle,

“MmmmmmmmPH!”

They closed their eyes and pretended that the bulbs invading their mouths was something very different belonging to the other.  Their moans reached a crescendo and Samantha threw back her head in ecstasy while Charlie heaved and thrust a final time.

“MMMMMMMMMMMMMPH!”
Their diapers weren’t clean anymore.  This time, both of them were happy that they’d soiled themselves.

Samantha collapsed and rolled over into Charlie’s arms.  Charlie moaned and spooned her, just relieved to be in the moment with her.

Such moments weren’t made to last in Mr. Stork’s Wild Ride.

“FUN. LEVELS. BELOW. ACCEPTABLE. LIMITS.”  Neither one moved.  They were exhausted and sweaty and sore all over, having practically given themselves the most bizarre form of rug burn.

“FUN. LEVEL. THRESHOLD. UNACCEPTABLE.”

“Sorry kiddos.  This isn’t a nap room, it’s a playroom.”   The curtain peeled back one final time, revealing that not nearly enough time had passed.  The sun was very much out, and passing shadows showed that people were still very much about.

The babified couple scrambled off the floor.  Samantha tried her best to crawl for the toy cars.  Charlie rolled away and practically leaped towards.  Both were snagged by their waists and lifted up toward the ceiling. 

The monitor with the stork lowered a final time.  “It’s been really fun...SAM...and...CHARLENE...but if you want a nap, you have to ask your mommies and daddies to put you down.”  The back door opened to the fairgrounds.  “Buh bye!”

The pair went sailing through the exit and tumbled onto the dry fairground grass.  Charlie was first on his feet, adrenaline pushing him faster and harder.  He reached up and helped Samantha up.  The two held each other and squeezed each other as hard as they could; their traumatic experience temporarily outweighing their mounting embarrassment.  

They hadn’t been in there nearly long enough. Their plan had been ruined. The only thing working to their advantage was that they looked so different that no one would recognize-

“Is that Charlie?”  A voice called out.  Charlie made the mistake of whipping his head around.  “Holy shit, it is!  He looks like a little girl! Pacifier and everything!”

“If that’s Charlie,” another voice added, “Is that Samantha? What the fuck! She’s bald!”

The two made a mad dash, their gaits unnaturally wide and toddlerish as they ran from the fairgrounds covering their faces and screaming into their pacifiers all the way.  They zigged and zagged, ducked and weaved all the way through the parking lot.   But when they got to Charlie’s car....

“Muh keesh!”  Charlie realized. “Muh cah keesh!”  His keys had been in his pockets when they’d gone on the ride.  His current getup didn’t even have pockets.  Samantha patted the pockets in her own outfit, and came up empty.

“Hey!” A voice called out.  The couple looked out into the parking lot, thinking that an acquaintance or friend might be on their tails, ready to torment them.  

What they got instead was a stranger, they realized  They lived in a small enough town where everybody knew everybody; that was going to make the coming weeks after this debacle so much worse.  The stranger’s clothes made him stand out all the more: clean pressed pants and black shoes, with a red and white striped jacket unbuttoned over a white shirt.  The matching straw boater hat he wore made him look like he was one fourth of a barbershop quartet.

Or an old timey carnival worker. 

“Hold on just a second there, you two.  “You’re forgetting something.  Sam and Charlene, right?” He grinned, as if already knowing the answer.  “Right.”

“Mmmm?” they said, surprised.  How did he know those names?

They’d just met the man, but there was something about his voice that was decidedly familiar;  his voice sounded almost exactly like a certain stork.  “You folks forgot your keys,” he said.  He handed Samantha Charlie’s keys and wallet.  Samantha hadn’t brought her own.

With his other hand the carnie handed an envelope to Charlie.  Charlie opened it up, and practically dislodged his jaw at what he saw.  “The fuck?!”  The pacifier finally managed to drop from his mouth.  Inside the envelope was picture after picture after picture of two very big babies being dressed and diapered, crying and playing with dolls and running on treadmills.  The last few pictures even showed them ‘wrestling’.

 “Souvenirs,” the carnival barker said.  “I already have my own copies.”  He gave the couple a wink before turning around. “Beats the hell outta The Mixer, doesn’t it?”