Without Merit: What Happened at the Lake House? (2/4) 6/10/22

[Sarah Penguin]

Poor hungry cubes.

[LittleFenny]

5 hours ago, kerry said:

I am even more impressed with this remarkable conclusion than I have been by the story as a whole all along. Major kudos!

Indeed. I have to wonder if some of those three letter agency folks are in for an interesting future. The Entity(ies) seem to be restricted to the vicinity of the town but clearly are able to exercise influence outside it. They should probably be very worried about Katie.

 

But I'm impressed as well by the ending.

[XyXy]

Thank you for writing a captivating and well written story. I enjoyed it thoroughly, even if part of me hoped to see Adam in diapers at the end. This is an angle of diaper control I have never considered, so it was new to me. Good job concluding a great story!

[D503]

Phenomenal story - some great sci-fi themes and immersive character development. And some delicious humiliation of course.

Would love to see what happens with Jeremey as a side-bar and maybe, just maybe, Adam's video leaks and he goes on a quest to destroy the entity!

Thanks so much for sharing ?

[direking]

On 9/28/2021 at 2:07 PM, kerry said:

Do you mean DEFCON 2? 5 is the least problematic, not the most.

Yeah, I think I got that backwards. I may fix it in post or just leave it. Thanks for pointing that out.

 

On 9/28/2021 at 11:03 PM, ABAlex said:

Really well done on this one. Love the slow burn, especially when you know where it will inevitably end up. Poor guy though lol. 

Thanks for the nice comment. I'm a big fan of your stories.

On 10/4/2021 at 2:40 PM, kerry said:

I am even more impressed with this remarkable conclusion than I have been by the story as a whole all along. Major kudos!

I appreciate the nice words, and sticking with the story, even through the rough bits. For a new writer, the encouragement is worth so much to me.

On 10/4/2021 at 7:47 PM, LittleFenny said:

Indeed. I have to wonder if some of those three letter agency folks are in for an interesting future. The Entity(ies) seem to be restricted to the vicinity of the town but clearly are able to exercise influence outside it. They should probably be very worried about Katie.

 

But I'm impressed as well by the ending.

Thanks for the nice message.

The email sent by a 'rogue agent' Katie kick starts an entire chain of events. I'll explain more in the Author's Note, which I'm about to write. Without Merit was supposed to be short prequel to a series of stories in the Lovington Effect universe, a small town similar to ones seen in the Twilight Zone, where nothing is what it seems on the outside.

Let's just say things start to really escalate town-wide, the response from the government is going to be less than orthodox, resulting in a chain of stories involving some of our characters we met in Without Merit. So they're going to react, but not in the way that we'd think they would.

As far as the influence goes, I think the conservative nature of the Entity's 'government', called the Council, keeps them within a small place where they can do their work without many noticing. That short email may force them out of their shell a bit.

If there are future works, Katie may find herself between the Council and whoever is sent to investigate the Lovington Effect. Maybe a bit of cat and mouse. However, that's getting really ahead of myself.

 

On 10/4/2021 at 11:58 PM, XyXy said:

Thank you for writing a captivating and well written story. I enjoyed it thoroughly, even if part of me hoped to see Adam in diapers at the end. This is an angle of diaper control I have never considered, so it was new to me. Good job concluding a great story!

Thanks for the kind words!

Yeah, it's kind of a bummer that he got away. I wonder if he gets through the future stories in Lovington just as unscathed? If Adam remembers what actually happened at the lake house, he's in Diane's hands and not Katie's.

17 hours ago, D503 said:

Phenomenal story - some great sci-fi themes and immersive character development. And some delicious humiliation of course.

Would love to see what happens with Jeremey as a side-bar and maybe, just maybe, Adam's video leaks and he goes on a quest to destroy the entity!

Thanks so much for sharing ?

Thanks for your kind comments throughout.

I plan on revisiting Lovington with a variety of shorter stories. Jeremy will most likely make an appearance in one of those stories. I think Adam is done being a main character, but he will show up, and he may have another battle on his hands.

 

[kerry]

I was hoping as I read the ending that you might be starting a series. Good to know you're thinking the same way. ?

[ABAlex]

Oh no problem, and thanks! LOL 

[boondoggle]

Just wait until these Entities find out there are perverted humans out there who get off on being humiliated and infantilized!

[direking]

On 10/7/2021 at 12:55 AM, boondoggle said:

Just wait until these Entities find out there are perverted humans out there who get off on being humiliated and infantilized!

It would probably be a boon to tourism.

I can only imagine winnebagos full of ABDLs waddling about, or bringing their significant others, while waving jazz hands around for the Lovington Effect to work Its magic.

I'm going to hijack this funny comment for a short announcement. I hope you don't mind.

I was planning on writing a Author's Note, but I got distracted by writing a Lovington 'one-shot' that turned into five chapters. I'm still working on the 'one-shot', but I'll paraphrase what I was planning on writing in the note for this story; at least the important parts.

Without Merit was supposed to be a short prequel that introduced a Sci-Fi town and a situation, to give a background to a much larger overarching story with shared characters. It just kept going and going, which wasn't a bad thing. However, the bigger story is going to be written in small vignettes, and out of chronological order, to make it easier for me to write. I'm still worn out from the 30 chapters of Without Merit, it took almost a full year for me to write, so I don't want to tackle a big story for awhile. Finishing is important to me, and it's hard for me to do.

So stay tuned if you want more Lovington Effect.

 

 

 

[direking]

Wow! It's been a wild year since I posted this story last June. I remember being so nervous about pressing the little blue button at the bottom of the page. Today, I still am.

It was finally finished up by the time the fall rolled around, but for some strange reason, I never asked for it to be moved into the completed story section. The truth is that I'm not done with Adam, Charity, Marisa, or Katie; and Lovington is not done with them. Here's a peek into what's coming next for those characters, and a little teaser for the bigger story that I had in mind.

If you haven't read 'Without Merit', you're going to want to do that.

If you're like Adam here, without a full memory of the events of that long weekend, you may want to relive those chapters again. Or not. It's a lot to read. However, if you do, you get to re-experience the story that led to these fragments, these lingering effects, of a completed puzzle that was pulled apart.

Thanks for reading.

Warnings: Anything is possible in Lovington. Especially the smutty parts.

---------

What Happened at the Lake House?
---------

Chapter 1: Adam
 
“Mom!”
 
“Mom!”
 
Adam shot up from his pillow.
 
He was screaming in his sleep. Again.
 
The nightmare was back. The red eyes. The ghost girls. The whispering shadows. The whole shebang.
 
It was just like the time before, and the time before that. His face was covered in cold sweat, the same with his soaked t-shirt. He felt so… wet.
 
“Mom!”
 
The eighteen year old screamed again, but the door to his bedroom remained closed. No pitter-pattering of his mom’s slippers against the carpet. Not even a light came on in the hallway. Where was she?
 
When this had happened before, his mom would rush in and comfort him in her arms. Then she would remind him that it would all be okay. Someday, but not today. There were scars that weren’t properly healing. Perhaps more time would be the remedy.
 
Adam opened his glowing blue eyes.
 
Seriously, what was taking mom so long? Her room was just down the hall, she was normally so much faster, bolting into his room with such speed that her nightgown flowed behind like a caped crusader.

Then Adam remembered that she was out of town, she had won a three week cruise to Europe was a limited time offer, meaning she had to leave immediately or lose out on the prize.
 
Lucky her.
 
Unlucky him.
 
He was to face another nightmare all by himself. It was something a kid would fear, but Adam was hardly a kid, and these nightmares were something beyond the land of dreams. They were something else entirely. It didn’t matter whether he knew he was asleep or not, nothing he did seemed to keep them out of his unconscious mind.
 
First things first.
 
His room was wrong.
 
A funny, technicolored light snuck in from beneath the door to the hallway, sliding a few feet into the dark room. A shadow skirted across the pale light, followed by a sickening giggle.
 
Adam rose up higher in his bed, propping himself up by the back of his elbows. His heart pounded in his chest.
 
“Who’s there?”
 
No answer.
 
Boom! Boom!
 
He heard a loud rustling from behind the closed closet door. The banging of plastic hangers against metal rods. The sounds of oncoming chaos inside, his hanging clothes bouncing about, caught in a hurricane.
 
The strange neon light snuck out from under the closet door as well. It captivated his attention, lulling him into frozen disbelief.
 
Boom! Boom!
 
The brass handle rattled, and the closet door shook against its frame. A poster of the Kanto region Pokédex flapped like a harried flag in the still air. The overhead light buzzed and flickered, a strobe-like effect that made the room shimmer.
 
The closet shot open with a flash, and a silhouette of a cheerleader stood against the eerie, swimming light.
 
It was happening again.
 
The shadow spoke. “Adam, you were so, so naughty.”
 
It was Charity. He knew her. At the same time, THAT was SO not Charity. Something else was in his room with him.
 
That ‘something’ that wasn’t Charity ran her hands down the too-small cheerleading costume, accentuating her breasts before slithering down to her sides, and stopping at her short skirt, pulling it up over her shaking hips. She wasn't wearing panties.
 
“Adam, can you tell me how a mouth says sorry without saying a single word?”
 
He may have felt wet, but his mouth was dry. No words came out. For some reason, Adam couldn’t fully remember - and in some ways, he did. It was all just out of reach.
 
The selective amnesia was something he'd grown used to - like a bad smell. He couldn't get too angry at his situation, 'Acceptance' was the word of the day. However, Adam was accustomed to making 'Acceptance' work for him, especially how hard he worked to make things acceptable. So Adam would do things like he always did; stupidly and clumsily, and in his own way.
 
He stuttered, “Go… go away.”
 
Adam closed his eyes.
 
And the cheerleader was gone.
 
Sometimes this worked, other times not so much. Adam tried to slow his breath like his therapist had instilled in their first session. This was within his nexus of control, she had claimed he was suffering from lucid dreaming, and that he was the ringleader of this terrible circus. Adam begged to differ.
 
In and out.
 
In and out.
 
In and out.
 
It would all go away. He would wake up, and it would all go away. It wasn’t real.
 
It sure felt real.
 
Adam embraced the calm before the storm.
 
Boom! Boom!
 
His dresser began to shake from across the room. Its brass hinges clattered against the IKEA grade wood, it quaked in place before slamming against the wall. Drawers opened to flying onesies, coveralls, and a giant Pikachu footsie floated in the air before it fell lifeless to the ground.
 
Boom!
 
The room reverberated like the inside of a drum. No, no. This wasn't fair at all. He needed it all to go away.
 
Adam pulled the covers over his head like a scared child. “Please. Go away.”
 
It was darker under the blanket, but Adam wasn’t afraid of the dark. He was afraid of what lived inside of it. He’d seen its red eyes.
 
Boom! Boom! Boom!
 
The banging dresser was joined by other noises in the room, the opening and closing of closet doors, the rustling of Pokemon posters against the wall, pulled free by an invisible wind.

Voices that he didn't recognize whispered all around him.

They told him things.

They wanted him to remember.
 
Adam would hide here until it all went away. This strategy never worked, but at least he could pretend it would under the covers.
 
The room quieted, but it was far from over.
 
He felt an impression on the bed next to him, an added weight from an added presence.
 
Oh, jeez.
 
The presence would wait until he pulled the blanket from his face, it would stay there all night if it had to. Adam had fought the good fight before, but he knew it was better to face his fears head on, and rip off this psychological band aid.
 
With trembling hands, he lowered the protecting blanket.
 
This time the nightmare wore the face of Marisa Hartmann, and it sat so close that he could smell its shampoo.
 
Fear is a strong emotion, it grabbed ahold of him by the throat. Adam couldn’t scream anymore, taking in short gasps of air like a hyperventilating puppy.
 
The false Marisa didn’t care how much she scared him. The homecoming queen shushed him with a threshing of her tongue behind tightened teeth. Marisa was the more caring of the two beings that visited him at night, more malicious and more motherly.
 
Shhh. Shhh.
 
"I need you to stay cute, Adam. Just stay cute.”
 
Adam shook his head.
 
“Please stop this,” he panted.
 
“I’m sorry, Adam.” The beautiful girl ran her hands through his brown hair. “I just don’t see you that way.”
 
He wilted in place.
 
Yes. They could touch him in his dreams, his therapist didn’t believe him. Neither did his mom. They would say things to him, they would touch him, and the red eyes would watch from the dark corners of his room.
 
Adam whispered, “You’re not real.”
 
Marisa didn’t respond to him, or his request. She purchased a tight grip on his scalp until it started to hurt. Even in his dreams it hurt.
 
“Stay cute. Stay small. Stay mine.”
 
“Stay small.”
 
“Stay mine.”
 
All of the whispers spoke in unison, repeating its mantra with devilish intent.
 
Another voice sang out through the dark. A different one, belonging to a girl he once knew.
 
“I warned you, Adam. I told you not to remember. That whatever protection that you had would fade away once you did. Now you’re so close to losing everything.”

He recognized it. Understood its meaning. It made him want to fight back.
 
Adam raked an arm against the one holding him in place, ripped himself free from Marisa, and rocketed out from his bed. The stalwart castle that made him a man, that gave him a backbone, put a fire in his heart. A fire that was stoked by these nightmares, but a fire just the same.
 
He ordered, “I told you to leave me alone!”

This time, his words didn’t work.
 
The ghost of a girl clasped her hands together and stood up to join him. Marisa was a little taller, her height was sometimes intimidating. So she lowered herself by putting her hands on her knees. Her smile sickened him, gave him an ill feeling all over.
 
“It looks like we got ourselves a poopy Pikachu. He can’t play with his Pokémon friends with a messy diaper. Can he? Can he?”
 
Adam felt it push out between his legs, his least favorite part about his nightly journeys: the dirty diaper.

He could actually feel the disposable diaper taped around his waist. At least the bad dreams spared him the shame of having messed himself. The Pampers BabyDry came pre-pooped, Adam squirmed as he felt the waste press against him. It tackled all of his senses. How it sagged, how it smelled, and how the pacifier tasted between his lips.
 
This isn’t real.
 
This isn’t real.
 
This isn’t real.
 
But it sure felt real, even when he knew it was just a dream. A ‘real’ dream.
 
The pacifier choked away any chance of protest as his clothes transformed into his nightly uniform. His sweat-wet shirt and shorts were replaced by a skin tight yellow footsie with a cute zig-zag tail. The nasty diaper was now even more tightly pressed against his bottom, and he was helpless to it all until ‘they’ changed him.
 
Adam looked like a giant baby — and that’s how Marisa would treat him now; a nightly rendezvous with dirty diapers and diaper changes … and other things.
 
The room grew darker around him, an enclosing shadow made his world smaller and smaller until it was nothing but overpowering whispers.

A tendril of shadow curled around his right arm, then another wrapped around his left. His nightmare lifted him from the ground, Adam fought against its control, twisting his body and kicking his feet. It swung him back and forth in the empty air. Shadow tendrils transformed into purple hands, feminine faces formed from smoky apparitions, all with red eyes. The faces of Marisa Hartman, Charity Brown, Lindsey Hartman. Even his mom.

Adam thrashed against their hold, his arms and legs completely wrapped in their darkness. In the real world, he was probably kicking against a bundle of blankets that he had wrapped himself within, but Lovington was hardly the real world, especially in its nightmares.
 
Shhh. Shhh.
 
They tossed him onto the bed, his sheets shot out from the corners of his mattress, tying him to his nightly sacrificial altar. A blanket wrapped around his torso, a tummy-strap belonging to this ‘changing table’. 
 
Adam tugged as hard as he could against the restraints, he thrashed and screamed, his lost words muted by the pacifier. His fighting only tired him out, time was on ‘their’ side, and not his. The ‘somethings’ in his dream were more patient than Adam, waiting until his eventual surrender, and it was coming ever closer by each passing second.
 
Unfurled blankets spun into knotted ropes that pinned his hands above his head, the other two at his feet lifted his ankles into the air, spreading his legs as far as the Pikachu footsie would allow. Spread and eagled, Adam turned his head away as it pressed his stinky mess against him. He wanted out, and not just out of this nasty diaper.
 
The yellow tailed footsie began to magically unsnap, one snappie at a time, revealing a not-so-fresh diaper. Adam was thankful for the one camera POV to this dream. The smell was bad enough, the sight would’ve been too much.
 
A ghost of Marisa took position next to his head; a shimmering Charity joined him on the bed, and leaned in over him, making a home between his forcibly spread legs.
 
“So, what are we going to do with you, sweet boy?” purred Marisa, she raked her fingers through his hair. It felt so, so cold.
 
“Whatever we want, Mars.” Charity pressed her hand over him, cupping his manhood through the disposable diaper.
 
What did they want? Please, he'd do anything that they asked. What did they want?
 
“To give in, Adam,” Marisa answered his internal question. “That’s all we want, for you to give in and become our baby boy... Charity, get the baby oil. Time to finish this.”
 
Everything was so blurry -- a lone shadow figure stood at his door.

Was that his mom?

No way!

She was probably soaking up rays in the Mediterranean right now.

Then who was in his room with him?

It was feminine in its posture, unmoving from the doorway. It didn’t help, or hurt; just a voyeuristic presence that wanted to see how this story would end. It should have known already, it had been there before, and seen the same ending night after night.

It always ended with his eventual surrender and never any other way.
 
“Adam, we’re going to make you cum," Charity got in his face to purr out her naughty words. "But you’re not going to think about how sexy we are, or anything like that. You’re going to cum to thinking about your life as our diaper boy.”
 
“When you do, you’re ours."
 
"When you do, you're ours."
 
"You're ours..."

Realization struck like a hammer.
 
You came, Adam.

You were supposed to be their diaper boy.

This was the moment where it all went wrong, a divergence from the script. A fragment of a broken memory, not a realistic dream. Somehow his brain was all messed up, and now he was paying the price every night in his unconscious.

Charity started to rub his diaper with the loving care only this nightmare could provide. Marisa whispered stories into his ear; stories without end, only more and more foggy beginnings. All with reasons for him to give in and become what he always a was: a baby and not a 'legend'.

Adam tried one more time to free himself from their hold, but he was trapped, forced to endure — now the pleasure would take over.

Charity’s experienced hand rustled against the crotch of the diaper, another patted and pressed against his messy bottom. A plastic tapping reminder of his sordid state. Her hands cupped, tightened and squeezed, milking, pulling, bringing about a tortuous release. It moved faster and faster as Marisa’s stories turned naughtier and naughtier.

The pressure mounted. His hardness ached. They moaned. He pleaded. They laughed at his screams. He couldn’t shift himself away, the ropes tightened when he did. His mind was completely screwed, unable to tell the difference between the inside and outside of these dreams within dreams. In its finality, he moaned into his yellow pacifier, arched his back, and exploded into his diaper.
 
That's how they all came to an eventual end, the fading of the light, their show was finally over.
 
As always, the morning came.

Adam was free to face the day.

The unending nightmares were what dominated his nights, but Adam was the one that had to deal with the waking consequences, the long and tired days, the fading of hope that it would all go away. Time was hardly a remedy at all, because it seemed like it was getting worse by every passing day.
 
He lifted his head from his pillow and turned on his lamp atop the night stand. Adam rubbed his tired eyes. His room was as it should be, with no Pokemon posters on his walls because he tore them down after going to the lake house.
 
That strange weekend somehow started all of this nonsense. The three days that he shared with Marisa Hartmann, Charity Brown, and Katie Nguyen - there was also Mrs. Hartmann, but she only showed up in his bad dreams every now and then. Always showing up at the wrong time.
 
Of all his late night visitors, Katie Nguyen was never anywhere to be found. It was like his mind formed a callus of sorts, a blank spot that surrounded her and her actions for those fateful few days. Why was she the only one to never visit him in his dreams? Something was different about her.
 
Adam shook it off.

He touched his sticky underwear and grimaced. Yes, they were always ‘wet dreams’ - wet dreams about diapers.
 
He opened his nightstand, brushing aside his acceptance letter to Lovington Preparatory Academy to get to his journal.
 
His focus returned to the envelope, staring at the depiction of a three dimensional cube used as a sigil for the college. The strange thing about this cube was that every time he looked at it, it just seemed… different.
 
Maybe it was an aspect of its design, perfectly minimalist with confusing angles.
 
Maybe it was the fact that the cube could change with every appearance.
 
Maybe a cube decided what it wanted to be, when it wanted to be it.
 
Sometimes a cube is just a cube, except when it’s not.
 
Adam collected his thoughts, then moved on from the cube; thinking about Lovington Prep instead. It helped him to think about the future, even if he secretly obsessed about the past.
 
He was lucky enough to be accepted into the new school in town; it felt weird, the old lab in the center of downtown Lovington hadn't even been completely renovated yet. However, the feds behind the grant promised that they would have it ready in for the fall semester, and the government never lies.
 
Community college on a full ride scholarship offered an opportunity to escape Lovington that wasn’t there before. An offer Adam was just smart enough to take.
 
Despite being a dweeb, Adam didn't have the best of grades. His mom was elated when this opportunity literally landed in his lap, but Adam would have traded it all for a good night's sleep. One without ethereal visitors. 
 
His tattered dream journal lay under the acceptance letter. His therapist thought it best to document what he saw at night, even if he did keep the events to himself. These were absolutely private, because of... well, because of the freaking dirty diapers.
 
Page one revealed the scribbles of a kid gone wrong, an unwrapped psychological mess, a mind map of his dreams with arrows drawn to chase theories and draw connections. Key words were circled like ‘cheerleader’ and ‘closet’, ‘costume trunk’, and strangely the word ‘Webber’ which pointed to ‘Baby Store from Hell’. Each idea he dreamed while asleep, he investigated while he was awake. A detective not in diapers.
 
However, there were problems, a hidden decay to his investigation, and some questions just went unanswered. Adam looked at a plot line of his journal, only to be confused as to why it was there.
 
‘What’s going on with Jeremy?’ followed by a ‘Who’s Jeremy?’

It felt hopeless. The entire charade never led to any revelations, the search for more memories only increased the frequency, and clarity, of the bad dreams. Almost as if his journal fueled the shadows, fed the red eyes, giving them the means to mock his efforts with their nightly visits.

Adam flipped through the filled pages of the journal, stopping where he always stopped.
 
One question sat alone on the final page, untouched by arrows or scribbles. Not even written in his usual frantic chicken scratch that typically came post-nightmare. It was the only question that needed answering, the Rosetta Stone of this experience.
 
‘What Happened at the Lake House?’
 
Adam looked at the lone question, still without any answer, and whispered under his breath:
 
"Oh, jeez."

[Zylo1893]

Great stuff as always.

[direking]

Charity is by far my favorite character to write. It was a lot of fun to write things from her perspective as she deals with some lingering effects from the Lovington Effect.

All characters are over 18. This is one of ‘those’ chapters.

———

What Happened at the Lake House?

Chapter 2: Charity

The real Charity Brown was all the way across town — in a dark alley, in the backseat of a pick-up truck, doing what she always did there.
 
This Buck character was something else. Or was it Chuck? The former cheerleader couldn’t remember. They all had different names that rhymed, and they all did it the same way. Boys were boring.
 
Charity played the doggie in doggie style, her tight fitting black dress was just a bundle of cloth hanging from her torso. Her chest and the rest, fully exposed. That's all the boys wanted to get at anyways, the goodie-parts. Her short blonde hair was matted to her forehead. Summers in Lovington were hot and sweaty, unlike this bland sexual encounter, which was just sweaty.
 
Meanwhile, Buck slammed himself into her again and again, pawing at her breasts, pretending he was man enough to talk dirty.

He grunted, "You like that, slut?"
 
No self-respecting girl liked being called a slut. Even while acting like one. Or especially while acting like one.
 
It didn’t matter what they called her, or said to her, affectionate or not. The heat of the moment was the only thing on her mind, and where she should put her hands. There were so many things to hold onto in the backseat of this truck. She had plenty of choices while on all fours, taking whatever Chuck, or Buck, could give her.
 
Their hook-up was as far from true love as intended, all starting with a beer at a nearby dive bar. Still disappointing, though. The sounds of slapping flesh was usually music to her horny ears - now it played out like a tired song on the radio. Maybe she was expecting something… more.
 
Charity could tell he was close to finishing; judging by his tightening, sweaty hands around her waist, and the desperate panting and quicker thrusts. Ah, the classic piston-pumping position where she pretended that she actually liked the way he ‘fucked’ — if she could call it that. Charity faked another loud moan, they usually picked up the pace when she barked like a dying seal.
 
This was a game she was used to playing.
 
However, this familiar game was less fun than it used to be. The sexual envelope had already been pushed to the extremes, and Charity had somehow met her limits.
 
This was doing nothing for her.
 
“I’m gonna… I’m gonna,” Chuck tried to warn her of his oncoming orgasm.
 
Charity wasn’t anywhere close to completion. Where were his manners? He’d forgotten the golden rule of hooking up with Charity Brown. Ladies first.

She hooked her leg around his, changing the angle of friction, putting a stop to the manic thrusting.
 
Buck-Chuck asked, “What’s wrong?”
 
“On your back, cowboy.”
 
Charity had the commanding presence of authority, and the sexual experience to match.
 
Boys tended to do what she wanted when they were so close to getting what they wanted. The passionate couple maneuvered themselves to get in the right position, then Charity expertly straddled him, easily sliding back into coitus.
 
Much better.
 
Charity belonged on top, like a cherry on a sundae.
 
She rocked her hips back and forth, slowly getting into a natural motion. Bucky boy tried to grab her around the torso, but Charity slapped away his greedy hands. Boys needed to learn when girls were in charge. It was a valuable lesson that Chuck had managed to miss on his way to adulthood. A lesson Charity was more than happy to teach.
 
To teach a big baby boy.
 
A big baby boy! Yes! The thrill from that thought made both her heart and hips pump faster. Sex was like 90% mental, it was a head game that constantly needed new stimulus. Like Baby Buck getting clucked. There it was, she felt it, that envelope that was just about pushed too far.
 
Charity moaned, “Oh, baby.”
 
And she meant it.
 
The fantasy electrified like touching a live wire. Almost like the way people would electrocute themselves by being unable to pull free from a deadly current. Charity happily grabbed on, cupped both breasts with her hands. The fantasy was the only thing to still shock her into orgasm. She couldn’t quite point where it came from, but the new fetish was going to drive her home.
 
“Oh, baby!”
 
“Oh, baby!”
 
He called out from beneath her, “You like that, baby?”
 
She shut him up with a firm hand over his dumb mouth. He was a stupid catch, but he still knew better than to put up a fight.
 
Charity was bouncing up and down now, pulling a rogue strand of hair from her cheek, and sliding it behind her ear. A rising heat broke out in all the right places, it fed her desire like fuel to a furnace. Charity was burning.
 
She leaned down over Buck, her voice husky and her words naughty.
 
“Say that you’re a baby, and you’ll love what happens next.”
 
He mumbled through her palm, “What?”
 
Charity removed her hand away from his face. He'd have to play along if this whole 'orgasm' thing was going to play out. These new psychological stipulations had just showed up out of nowhere, and she needed a different kind of 'role play' now to feel anything.
 
“Baby. You’re a baby. So stick your thumb in your mouth.”
 
He chuckled. “I don’t know, that’s some freaky stuff.”
 
Charity paused the fun ‘sexing’ to correct his line of thinking. He feebly pushed deeper hoping for more contact, but that was coming on her terms, and not his.
 
“Baby,” she put emphasis on the word. “You knew I was freaky before bringing me to this lovely backseat. Now do what I ask, or I’m going to tell everyone at the bar about the lack of power in your punch, the lack of stick in your shift. Catch my drift?”
 
Yeah, truck driving Buck-Chuck didn’t like that one bit. He slowly brought his thumb to his mouth, sliding it between his lips as Charity thankfully renewed her riding.
 
Charity squealed, “Oh, baby!”
 
Most girls pictured something else while in the act, the sex magazines told her that much. Charity imagined her little boy Buck was dressed like a baby. There was no questioning ‘why’ in the heat of the moment. It just was, just like Charity.
 
The illusion was easier now that he looked like one, with his thumb in his mouth, his pants around his ankles, a wetness wrapped around his… big… throbbing… soaked…
 
She was so close now. She knew just what to think about.
 
Charity closed her eyes to complete the fantasy. Instead of a thumb, a pacifier. Instead of a t-shirt, a rolled up onesie with a cute dump truck and little snappies that clinked just above his belly button. It made her burn in all the right places.
 
And underneath his exposed tummy-tums there was something more, a confirmation of sorts.
 
The heat was rising. She was almost there.
 
*squish squish squish*
 
Charity heard the diaper sing with every thrust. What diaper? The imaginary disposable diaper taped around little Chucky’s bottom. Cute and thick, loudly crinkling in rhythm with each pelvic push.
 
Maybe it was wet. Oh, yes!
 
Maybe she had to pull his thing out a leg gaither to get to what she needed. Mmmm.
 
Maybe he made a messy, and he was just changed in a fresh di-dee. Tapes ripped open, plastic padding still under his bottom, a wee wee covered in powder, and baby blue pacifier in his dumb mouth.
 
Maybe he’d call her mommy.
 
That was it. The sweet spot. She was his mommy, and he was her grown baby. Charity kept her mind there as she rode to fruition.
 
Charity moaned as she came. “Oh, Baby!”

……
 
Chuck dropped her off at the same curb where he picked her up, under the neon sign of Lovington’s only dive bar. Puddles on the sidewalk caught the glamor of the bright red sign, as neon as the nineties.
 
He leaned out the window. “You’re one kinky bitch, you know that?”
 
Charity adjusted her mini skirt then shouted back. “No, you’re the first to figure it out.”
 
Buck revved the engine as he slapped the side of his car door, giddying-up on out of there, kicking up water from the road onto the sidewalk. Which Charity had to dodge.
 
She gave him the finger as he drove off, hoping that he saw it, not caring if he didn’t.

Then Charity did what she always did after a good lay: regret everything.
 
Life was going nowhere. Her path was pretty laid out while in high school, but now — she didn’t want to think about it. That’s probably what the booze and boys were all about. A brief escape for Charity Brown.
 
It was impossible to leave Lovington; everyone pretended that they could.
 
Sometimes it felt like the town ran in circles, that no matter how many times you tried to break out, it pulled you in deeper and deeper like a whirlpool or a flushing toilet. The latter being a fitting metaphor for this kind of town in Nowheresville, United States.
 
Then there was the invite to that school: Lovington Preparatory Academy. The chance to become a cheerleader again. And on scholarship.
 
A chance to get some college behind her as she… who was she kidding? Charity Brown was a Lovington lifer, she would pay her sentence here in the backseats and at the dive bars; ending up recollecting the years in a rocking chair on an old front porch.
 
Loud country music pounded outside the brick walls of the bar, and it was even louder inside. So that’s where she went, maybe there would be another Buck, or Chuck, waiting in the wings. And another chance to travel via orgasm.

She was surprised to see two new faces at the bar. Both middle aged, both dark hair, somewhat ‘together’ if Charity saw them right. The guy big and strong, the lady more refined, with pale skin and dressed like she just came from the office. Big strong guy wore sweats like he just came from the gym.

She slid in next to them, a little bit of her natural curiosity drove that decision. These two weren’t regulars, she’d never seen them in Lovington before.
 
Charity had their attention as well, it was easy to do in the smoky air and dim lights. She knew she was the hottest thing in the bar at all times.
 
The woman with the dark hair put a soft hand on her shoulder. "Hi, are you Charity Brown?"
 
Charity rolled her tongue across her inner cheek before answering. "It depends."
 
"My name is Christine," she said while pointing to herself, then she turned to point at the guy behind her. "And this is Beau. We used to live here."
 
After a swig of her beer, Charity gave Beau a one-over. He was cute, muscle bound, even at his late age he'd somehow maintained a baby face.
 
Now, what was the deal with the baggy sweatpants? There needed to be a queer eye for this straight guy. With a solid makeover, he'd enter a 'maybe' category.
 
For a tough guy, he looked incredibly nervous. His eyes darted from one face to another, as if he was being chased by someone, or he was about to be figured out. Christine had given the impression that the two were a couple, so it would be best if Charity got it over with.
 
Charity said, "I'm not going to have a threesome with you guys."
 
"What?" Christine screamed over the music.
 
Whatever. Charity would say it again.
 
"I said that I'm not getting into a threesome with you guys. I've done it before, and it gets messy. In different ways, of course."
 
The middle aged woman seemed to take her rejection in earnest. Good for her.
 
"That's not what we're here for, Charity."
 
"Oh, really?" Charity smiled around the bottle at her lips. "That's what everyone is here for, you just haven't figured it out yet. Take your time, look around and enjoy the sights - just not with me."
 
Christine shook her head. "I just want to ask you some questions, that's all."
 
Charity performed a perfect eye roll. She was so good at those, it said so much without saying a single word.
 
'How does a mouth say sorry without saying a single word?'
 
Her own voice echoed in her head.
 
A voice she couldn't keep out, just like how she couldn't get out of Lovington. The former cheerleader threw the bottle back, the alcohol made her forget, or remember. Or remember to forget. Something slowly ate her conscience from the inside like a rotten apple with pristine red skin.
 
Besides helping her remember to forget, beer had many other benefits. It made the loud country music that played in this bar palatable, and it made numbskulls like Chuck-or-Buck look way better than they did in real life. Either way, the drinking was a good thing. It kept whatever it was that ate her conscience at bay.
 
"Did it hurt?" She giggled like she told a joke.
 
Christine shook her head. "What?"
 
"No, no. We're doing it all wrong," Charity corrected. "I did your part and you just said my part. Your question is, 'Did it hurt?' And I'M supposed to say 'What?' Then you're supposed to say, 'Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?'"
 
Miss or Mrs. Christine suddenly got serious. Too serious. She needed to learn to relax, allow what happens to happen, to learn to 'go with the flow'. Charity glared at her empty beer. It hurt.
 
The older woman sounded frustrated. "That's not my question, Charity Brown."
 
The man behind her looked mighty impatient with the way things were going. The one introduced as Beau slid way too close to Charity. 

He smelled of baby powder and something else she couldn't quite put her finger on. A scent that was less bar-like, but it was hard to tell with so many bodies pressed together. His hand snuck over hers on the bar, Charity initially thought to tug it away. But he was somehow comforting, invigorating… absolutely thrilling.
 
They met eyes. And Charity felt suddenly lost.
 
Beau spoke. "Honey, I need you to tell me one thing."
 
Charity blushed. This guy was good, breath-takingly good. "Um.. Yeah?"
 
"I need you to tell me what happened at the lake house."
 
She froze in her spot. A sudden chill washed over her, and it wasn’t from the bar’s busted A/C. Tiny goosebumps ran up and down her arms, Beau clasped her hand tighter on the bar. There was something so wildly out of control here in this conversation, like riding a motorcycle that was heading off a cliff. And Charity loved this feeling. It made her feel so alive in this dead place.
 
"Oh, you heard about that, huh?" She turned to the bartender for another beer. She got one, even without an ID.

The former cheerleader took a long chug before slamming the bottle down to explain.
 
"It all started with this crazy dude named Adam. This wild child went all college level crazy and we had a blast, there was a video that circled the internet. Wild times."
 
Beau shook his head. He was disappointed in her, and she didn't like the feeling of letting him down.
 
"You know that's not what happened, don't you?"
 
Not what happened? Of course that’s what happened. She told the whole school about it, and they carried the kiddo around like a conquering hero. That’s why they called him ‘the Legend’.
 
"No.. that's not.. I mean..."
 
Charity grasped at something. Not the beer. Not the closest cute boy. Or a human being with a pulse. She grasped at something on the inside, a thorn that needed pulling free, and this was going to hurt. Charity lived by her own philosophy, her belief system was the sail that weathered each oncoming storm. Whatever happens, happens. Sometimes ‘going with the flow’ meant hitting rocks in the lazy river called life.
 
“It’s okay, Charity.” Christine shifted closer to Charity from her other side. “We’re from the government, and we’re here to help.”
 
For the first time in a long time, Charity had nothing clever to say.

[kerry]

I'm enjoying the ways in which these stories are intertwining with each other...