AN HOMAGE TO VINCENT VEGA, SEASON THREE, SCENE 89: THE MOMENT OF TRUTH: LINH

[Babypants]

SHOP 'TIL YOU DROP

“So far, this has been quite an adventure. I would never have guessed that there was a Lebanese grocery store in the Twin Cities, never mind an Asian supermarket inside a warehouse down an alley in a rundown industrial zone! And you've only lived here for a couple of months. How did you ever stumble upon these gems?”

Sofia removed the bottle of breast milk from Ian's lips. In both stores, she had unzipped his heavy winter coat (a frayed hand me down that she was determined to replace before she returned home) before loosening his trousers so that she could perform diaper checks in a deserted aisle. Standing in front of him, Sofia had been careful to block the view as she poked around inside his baby pants. She had taken her time, pretending to be thorough, but basking in the warmth of her power over him.

“One of my colleagues took pity on a badly underpaid first year professor, and gave me a guided tour of where to eat, drink and shop in the belly of the beast. Think of it as survival training.”

Sofia had parked outside the mall, pushed the seat back, and directed Ian to lay with his head in her lap so that she could feed him. Manoeuvring in the tight quarters had been tricky, but they had managed. She had unfastened Ian's trousers and pushed them down to his knees, allowing her fingers once again to probe inside his diaper. It was nicely wet, giving her sufficient reason to change him inside the mall. True, the bulky hospital diaper could hold a lot more pee, but there was a store in Ian's immediate future that was sure to embarrass him.

While he nursed on the warm breast milk, Ian could feel his cock straining for release from its cage. Sofia's fingers were performing a highly erotic dance across the surface of his vinyl pants, and without the heavy canvas diaper cover to interfere, his body was responding …

To my mother-in-law to be! This is sick, but yeah … this woman is hot!

Ian sucked harder on the nipple, debating whether or not he should be thankful for the cage that imprisoned him. A part of him badly wanted to fall to his knees and perform oral surgery on Mommy's concha, as it was called throughout Central America.

And why the Hell do the Brazilians call it a tree frog?

Sofia's hand slipped inside his diaper, and began to explore. Ian moaned, and tried to concentrate on the breast milk cocktail that he was now eagerly slurping down.

Looking down on the baby in her lap, Sofia smiled. Ian had demonstrated so little self control that she judged it best to keep him permanently caged.

Selling Sarah on the idea shouldn't be hard at all …

. . . .

“Sis, I honestly don't know how you've survived all these years.”

Priscilla looked at Vickie with genuine pity in her eyes. “You don't know how to make coffee. You don't cook. There's no fruit or veg in the frig. You start the day at Mickey D's. And then to top it all off ...”

Priscilla flung the door to Vickie's walk in closet wide open.

“There's this. Just how many pairs of shoes do you own?”

“Um, last time I checked … eighty-four?”

“You're not sure?”

“Not really. Do we count the slippers and flip flops?”

“We count everything.”

Priscilla shook her head as she eyed the twin rows of hangars that housed Vickie's collection of designer this and designer that.

After Vicki had left for the hospital, she had taken her time exploring the apartment. A couple of minutes sufficed to inventory the kitchen, but she took a good deal longer to work her through the bathroom. When it came to lotions and potions, it was obvious that her new sister had spared no expense.

And then she had gone through the closet. At a guess, Priscilla reckoned that there was over a hundred thousand dollars worth of merchandise on the floor, the hangars, and the shelves. The handbags alone would have drained her bank account.

Moving on, she had emptied the twin dressers. Sweaters, scarves and undergarments now covered every square inch of the king sized bed. Vickie's formidable collection of sex toys had been moved to the slightly dusty surface of the dining room table.

“Do you have a locker down in the basement?”

“Sure … just like Ian's.”

“What's down there?”

“Uh … suitcases … a few boxes with clothing and stuff that I've been meaning to donate.”

“Enough to pack all this stuff up?”

“Are you kidding? We can use the suitcases, and there's some garment bags in the hallway closet, but that's it.”

“Then we're gonna need a lot of boxes, so here's the plan. You get to work here, and I'll run around town scooping up boxes wherever I can find them. By the time I get back, you should have everything sorted into two piles-- one the stuff that you'll need over the next couple of weeks, which you'll take to Rita's. The rest will be going into my bedroom. I'll take a load in my car, but I'll ask Mom to send Amos and Bob over here to help after they finish up with Ian's furniture. If we can use Amos' truck, we won't need to rent a U-Haul. Sound like a plan?”

“Uh … how am I supposed to know what I'll need to wear two weeks from now? That's an eternity!”

Impatiently, Priscilla grasped Vickie by the shoulders, and gave her a shake. “Sis? Hello? Mission Control to Doctor Robinson? You aren't going to be dating anymore, and you definitely don't need to go on dressing like a high class hooker. Most of this stuff is so daring that we can't even donate it to Goodwill! Maybe some of the sorority girls can find a home for your stuff. I swear, Cindy Carlson could be your lady in waiting!”

“You want … you want to give my stuff away?” If Priscilla hadn't been holding her upright, Vickie might have fainted.

“Sis, don't you get it? You're going to be in diapers for a long, long time, so think in terms of convenience. What can you wear that will make it easy for Mom or me to change you? And when you have a baby … got any nursing bras? Do you have any blouses that you can unbutton with one hand while cradling a baby with the other?”

Priscilla leaned forward to kiss Vickie gently on the cheek. “Sis, it's time to move on; the future is going to be knocking on the door quicker than you think.”

“Don't leave me, Pris; please, don't leave me.” Vickie swept Priscilla into her arms, and hugged her tight. The thought of being abandoned terrified her.

“Never, Sis … never! We're family, and that's never going to change!”

. . . .

“And here we are,” Sofia declared as she nudged Ian in the direction of the infant's and maternity wear shop.

“Is this where Sarah purchased the breast pumps?”

Ian was genuinely curious about the shop and its wares. He suspected that technology had modernized the birthing process in ways that he could not begin to imagine.

“One and the same … and … more importantly, this is where she bought Vickie's diapers. With any luck, we'll stroll out of here today with a whole new wardrobe for you.”

“Please, no more baby dresses, okay? I have yet to try on all the ones that Vickie bought me!”

“Hmm … we'll have to do something about that.” Sofia opened the door, and ushered Ian inside. “Perhaps a fashion show later this evening?”

“Hello! Can I help you?”

Ian turned, to find himself face to face with a gray haired, matronly woman in her mid-sixties. Her smile was warm and inviting, putting him instantly at ease.

“Good morning,” Sofia replied. “I hope so. My name is Sofia, and this is my future son-in-law ...”

“Professor Grady. Welcome, Sir; my name is Mary Dearing, and it is an honor to have you in my shop.”

“You know me?” Ian wasn't simply taken by surprise; he was genuinely confused.

“Oh, yes. I saw you on TV Thursday morning, when you brought those sorority girls home.” Mary pointed at a small black and white television on the counter next to the cash register. “I was very impressed with the way you put all those horny frat boys in their place! Now, how can I help you?”

“On Wednesday, my daughter was here with some of her friends. You sold them a number of breast pumps, but you also had some adult diapers that Sarah bought for Vickie.”

“Oh, yes! I remember them well. They helped me with a teenager who was in the shop buying diapers for his bedwetting problem. Please tell your daughter that Tommy's mother is very happy with his new diapers and baby pants. And he has really taken to his pacifier! Did the new diapers work out for your big baby as well? She was so cute, I just wanted to eat her up!”

“That's why we're here,” Sofia reached out to grip Ian's arm. “The diapers that you sold us have worked out so well for Vickie's daytime needs that we decided to bring Ian along and see if they would serve equally well for him. His breast milk diet has made him as poopy as a newborn, so during the daytime we have to change him so often that these hospital diapers offer more protection than he needs. Ian is eager to wear something thinner, so I hope to walk out of here with four dozen to start. If they hold up in the wash, we'll want a lot more.”

“I understand. Let's take him back to the storeroom. Ian, these diapers come in various sizes, so I will need you to remove your clothes so that I can take your measurements. Would you like a pacifier to help you stay calm?”

“I have one in my purse.”

Sofia opened her bag, and hauled it out. She waved it in Ian's face.

“Oh, that's very nice,” Mary matter of factly commented.

“He needs it at night. Mittens and the pacifier are slowly putting an end to his nasty habit of biting his fingernails.”

Mary reached out to grab Ian's hands, which she examined closely. “Oh, my, this is very bad. You're right, Sofia; he definitely needs a pacifier.”

“Open wide, baby; here comes your binky!”

Sofia had a devilish glint in her eyes, and Ian knew that she wanted him to protest so that she would have an excuse to take him into the storeroom and spank him. Since this was not a hill worth dying on, he obediently opened wide and began contentedly sucking on the binky. Sofia was visibly disappointed, so he knew that he had won yet another round.

“This way, please,” Mary indicated as she marched off to the rear of the store. Opening the door, she pointed at the changing table. “Take off everything except your socks, but let me get your measurements before you climb up on the table. I'll give you a minute to get started while I close up the shop.”

“You're doing very well, Ian.” Sofia complimented him as he undressed. “You bite your nails because your mother took your pacifier away too early. The solution is obvious; you can have your binky for however long you need it.”

Ian's only response was to suck more vigorously. He was now so used to the pacifier that he suspected he would miss it if Sarah took it away at night.

“My, but your quick,” Mary exclaimed when she came back with tape measure in hand.

Knowing that anything he attempted to say with the oversized pacifier in his mouth would sound like gibberish, Ian chose to say nothing.

Mary handed a notepad to Sofia, and went efficiently to work, calling out each measurement as she took it. When she was done, she told Ian to climb up on the table, and asked Sofia to pull down his baby pants while she went out to collect a diaper in the right size.

“Best to use the four pin method on diapers this bulky,” she noted when she returned. She patted his groin, and nodded. “You're wet, and definitely in need of a change. The problem with these thick diapers is that you're more prone to getting a diaper rash because your caregiver doesn't change you often enough. Your Mom is right; these diapers will be much better for you all the way around.”

Mary unpinned Ian's diaper, and ordered him to raise his hips so that she could slide it out from under him. On command, Ian pulled his knees back to his chest so that the shopkeeper could wipe and powder his butt; when he lowered his knees, she moved on to his groin.

“What's this,” she asked, fingering Ian's cage.

“A chastity cage,” Sofia explained. “Ian has no self control, so this not only prevents him from straying off the reservation, it keeps him from masturbating.”

“My late husband could have used one of these,” Mary lamented. “There ought to be a law making all men wear them!”

“Oh, I agree,” Sofia rejoined. “But in Ian's defense, it should be said that he agreed to be locked up because he knows that he can't keep it in his diapers. And unfortunately, the world is full of women who find big babies like my son-in-law irresistible.”

“That's hardly surprising.” Mary reached out to pinch Ian's cheek. “He's absolutely adorable, and so well mannered. Now, let's get our big baby into his new diapee ...”

“And he needs new baby pants … preferably pink.”

Sofia was staring defiantly at Ian, all but begging him to spit out his pacifier and fight back. The more she toyed with him, the more determined she was to spank him.

“Oh, that won't be a problem. Would you like plain, or with ruffles?”

“Ruffles?”

“They're very cute.”

“A half dozen of the pink, and two with ruffles. I want to see if they will go well with his baby dresses.”

“He wears dresses?”

“Ian suffers from Multiple Personality Disorder. He shares this body with a little girl called Anna. The dresses are to make her feel more comfortable when she surfaces.”

“Amazing! I would love to meet her-- and to babysit her. Please, take my card and call me when you need help, with either Anna or Ian. He's just so adorable!”

“The … the scarring doesn't upset you?”

“No, Dear, it doesn't.”

Mary's fingers caressed the ugly scar that was a permanent testament to the MASH team's desperate effort to save Ian's right lung. Then they drifted down to the ugly dimple where the sniper's round had hit home.

“I know how this happened; believe me, I know.”

Mary looked Sofia in the eye, giving her a glimpse of the very hard woman lurking behind the pleasant smile. Mary Dearing had been seventeen when the Depression struck, putting an end to her dreams of going to college. She had seen her husband off to war in 1942; he had survived the grenade, but the concussion had damaged his eardrums so badly that he had balance issues for the rest of his life.

Mary patted the hideous scar that covered so much of Ian's left thigh, the look in her eyes now far, far away. “Believe me, I know.”

“You're very kind, and thank you for your help.”

Sofia reached into her bag, and pulled out another baby bottle. “Would it be all right if I fed him here?”

“Take your time, Dear. I'll just finish diapering him, and then get back to work.”

. . . .

As soon as he got off the elevator, Herb Canon rushed down the hallway to the men's room. The pressure on his bladder was intense, and he was fumbling with his zipper even before he reached the urinal. Several drops of pee dribbled into his underpants as he frantically grabbed his penis and squeezed hard enough to staunch the flow before the dam completely burst.

Leaning his head against the cool tile, Herb took stock of how the morning had gone so far. He had taken his time over the third cup of coffee, and as a result had had no time to dip into the john before roll call. His bladder had begun to complain while he sat through the daily report, and by the time the morning ritual finally dragged to an end, he was in serious trouble. He couldn't gamble on standing in line and waiting his turn downstairs, so he had opted to head upstairs, praying that one of the twin urinals in the men's room on his floor would be free.

It was, but he hadn't quite made it. Zipping up his fly, Herb could feel the dampness in his underwear. He had vague memories of wearing pull ups when he was three or so, and seeing the disappointment in his father's eyes when he didn't make it to the potty on time.

It's deja vu all over again, Herb thought. Wonder if Yogi Berra has these problems …

Two more years … can I make it?

Julia's right, I'll have to cut back on the caffeine … and on the beer. Maybe just shots from now on? No more chasers?

But no diapers, okay? Well, maybe at night … maybe … if Julia is going to wear a diaper to bed, I'd look like a fool if I said 'no' when I'm the one who's got the problem.

But no diapers during the day, okay? I mean, really, the john is just down the hall, and I'm not chained to this friggin' desk. I can go whenever I have to …

Two more years … just two more years …

. . . .

“What's the matter, baby, you look preoccupied. Your diaper checks have gone smoothly, and the lady in the maternity shop was really nice about helping me change you in the storeroom. And these new, more lightweight diapers should be much more comfortable while still getting the job done.”

Sofia had led Ian to the food court in the center of the mall, each of them carrying a pair of large shopping bags boldly stenciled with the shop's name in bright, pink letters. He could feel people studying them, the difference in their age defining them as a very odd couple indeed. At least, he thought, Mary Dearing had been kind enough to put his new baby pants at the bottom of the bags. It seemed unlikely that anyone would get close enough to realize that the diapers were adult in size.

“And having you and Vickie wearing the same diapers,” she continued, "will make all that laundry go more smoothly. So, tell Mommy what's wrong. Is it the cage? Does it pinch?”

Trying to make it casual, Ian studied the shoppers at the tables around them. Most were well dressed women in their thirties and forties, seated in pairs, or college girls traveling in packs. Chatting quietly over an early lunch, perhaps comparing their latest finds, the older generation clearly took high fashion seriously. In contrast, the younger generation were on the hunt for something new and provocative that would make them stand out at whatever party they were planning to attend later in the evening. All over the Twin Cities, with term papers and final exams looming just over the horizon, the kids would be partying hard on this, the last Saturday in November.

Ian reckoned that in such close quarters Sofia's voice would easily carry to two or three dozen of their neighbors. He wasn't worried about the college girls, who were so wrapped up in themselves that nothing short of an earthquake was likely to get their attention-- and in Minnesota earthquakes were rare in the extreme. Being born and raised in southern California, he had checked.

No, it was the older generation that worried him. Their hearing was keen, and their awareness of their surroundings keener still. Trying not to make eye contact, Ian's eyes roved from table to table, the technique well practiced in the jungles of Southeast Asia less than a decade before. Four women were staring at him, and another pair had turned in their seats to discover where the running commentary on diapers and cages was coming from.

“I'm sorry, Mommy; you've been very considerate. And no; so far, it's been surprisingly comfortable.”

Ian kept his voice low, and chose his words carefully. He did not want to add fuel to the fire that Sofia had already lit, no doubt on purpose. But if he was too ambiguous, she might press him about the cage in greater detail. He needed to take the lead.

“But pink baby pants, for both of us. Really?”

“Yes, baby, because what you are wearing now looks so institutional. These are really adorable, and I especially like the dressy pairs with the ruffles. Remember, just like I told the lady in the maternity shop, these are really for Anna, just like the baby dresses that Vickie bought you last week. It's all about suppressing the male libido … about giving Carlie a better chance to communicate with her.”

Ian watched several pairs of eyes widen, zeroing in on the big baby and his mommy. But Sofia had given him an opening, and now he needed to take advantage of it. The trick was to make it clear that this was about helping another-- helping Anna.

Ian nodded in agreement. “You're right, of course; it's just that I feel so silly. Pink baby pants.”

“The feeling will pass,” Sofia curtly remarked. “Are you hungry? Do you want to have another bottle now rather than waiting until we get back to the car?”

“I could use a beer,” he shot back. “Do they sell it here?”

It was a lame response, and Ian knew it. In this game of verbal tennis, Sofia had just scored a point with a passing shot. He reckoned that he was down 40-30.

“Do you want your binky, baby? It always calms you when you get upset.”

Game to Missus Haikonnen …

Ian didn't need to look around; Sofia had scored a direct hit.

Time to face facts, Street. From the moment she walked in this morning, the lady has outplayed you at every turn. You are simply not in her class. Time to regroup.

Frantically searching for a way out of the humiliating trap into which Sofia had led him step by carefully planned step, Ian saw a familiar figure walking into one of the corridors leading away from the food court.

“I know one of those guys.” Ian gestured in their direction. “Stan something or other … a fraternity guy. Lamda house?”

“Probably shopping for a new outfit to wear to the party. Girls aren't the only ones determined to be trendy.”

Now that she had publicly embarrassed him, Sofia could afford to be magnanimous.

“Yeah, I laid out a fortune the last time I strolled Carnaby Street,” Ian deadpanned. “But you'll be pleased to learn that I passed on the tie dye shirts and the kipper ties; I wouldn't want anything to clash with my pink baby pants.”

Sofia burst out laughing, turning still more heads. “Ian, I swear to God, if Sarah was my younger sister rather than my daughter, I would be plotting to steal you away from her. You cook, you have a wonderful sense of humor, and I'm told that you are great in bed. What more could any woman possibly want?”

More heads turned, and Ian decided to go with the flow. He winked at a buxom blonde seated two tables away. She looked to be about his own age, and had the Faye Dunaway look down pat, up to and including a very stylish beret.

“Do you think she'd like to check my diaper?”

Ian knew that Sofia was paying serious attention to their surroundings, and he was willing to bet that buxom blondes on the prowl for fresh meat ranked high on her personal threat meter.

Time to have a little fun …

Staring hard at the mysterious yet beautiful blonde, he raised his eyebrows, then treated her to an enigmatic smile.

Will she take the bait?

The blonde nodded in his direction as she excused herself to her companion and gracefully rose to her feet. Casually strolling to their table, she spared Sofia only a passing glance.

“Good morning, Professor Grady. It's an honor to meet you. My name is Jennifer Pauley. May I join you?”

[Babypants]

Quickie historical quiz:

One of baseball's all-time greats (a 15 time all-star), Yogi Berra is celebrated today for his enormous impact on the English language; in the US, he is now quoted more frequently than Shakespeare.  Which of the following is NOT a "Yogi-ism," as these pearls of wisdom are called:

A.  It ain't over 'til it's over

B.  It ain't over 'til the fat lady sings

C.  It's deja vu all over again

D.  The future ain't what it used to be

E.  When you come to a fork in the road, take it

F.  We made too many wrong mistakes

G.  You can observe a lot just by watching

If you are a baseball fan and in the neighborhood, the Yogi Berra Museum and Learning Center, on the campus of Montclair State University in New Jersey, is worth a visit.

[mushy bottom]

Love how this is playing out.  Ian has to please a MIL who is smart, with decades of experience he lacks.  Good to see him hanging in there.

[CDfm]

Great chapter.  Ian is a very patient person. I would have turned fifty shades of red being talked to and about like he was. I bet the ladies are going to like his new ruffled baby pants. 
Not positive but I think b was not one of his quotes. 

[mushy bottom]

B is my choice as well.

[Babypants]

22 hours ago, CDfm said:

Not positive but I think b was not one of his quotes. 

 

11 hours ago, mushy bottom said:

B is my choice as well.

And B it is!  Thank you both for playing.

[Babypants]

On 3/21/2025 at 11:11 PM, mushy bottom said:

Love how this is playing out.  Ian has to please a MIL who is smart, with decades of experience he lacks.  Good to see him hanging in there.

 

On 3/22/2025 at 12:56 AM, CDfm said:

Great chapter.  Ian is a very patient person. I would have turned fifty shades of red being talked to and about like he was

Many thanks for these kind words.  I was tempted to title scenes 80-82 "Game," "Set," and "Match" because as we shall see that's how Ian views this contest.  Us married guys know how hard this game is to play because the odds are so stacked against us.  I'll leave it to readers to decide whether we have a clear winner, or end up with a rain out.

[CDfm]

How true 

[littlebopeeper]

Ian reminds me of Ali and his rope a dope routine.  But what really got me here is seeing the same ending to this chapter that also finishes the latest chapter in the other story.  Don't recall ever seeing a writer do this before.  Neat.

[Babypants]

Touche deux fois!  I worked up the staging for these mall scenes a long time ago.  They are a tribute to the money exchange scene inside the department store ladies dressing room near the end of Quentin Tarantino's Jackie Brown.  What you see in the film is not happening in chronological order, but QT gives you time stamps that can be used to decipher the actual order of events (which an enterprising youtuber has done in a 9 minute plus video).  Here, Cindy and her friends are inside Dream Weaver at the same time Ian and Sofia are inside the maternity shop

[littlebopeeper]

On 3/26/2025 at 11:03 PM, Babypants said:

 What you see in the film is not happening in chronological order, but QT gives you time stamps that can be used to decipher the actual order of events (which an enterprising youtuber has done in a 9 minute plus video)

I'm embarrassed to admit that I've seen the flick maybe 3 times, and I totally missed how this scene was playing out until I watched the James Neumann you tube video you mentioned.  Of course, it also took me a long time to catch on to what was going on in Pulp Fiction.  Thanks for posting this.

[mushy bottom]

Pulp Fiction also fooled me.  I only caught on at the end, when we're back in the diner.  But I like the way you cross these 2 stories.

 

 

[Babypants]

On 3/31/2025 at 4:13 PM, mushy bottom said:

Pulp Fiction also fooled me.  I only caught on at the end, when we're back in the diner

 

On 3/28/2025 at 10:00 PM, littlebopeeper said:

Of course, it also took me a long time to catch on to what was going on in Pulp Fiction.

In this scene, the segment between Vickie and Priscilla actually rests on the diner scene in Pulp Fiction.  It reads as dialogue/action/dialogue and appears to be in chronological order, but it isn't.  It's action'dialogue.  Later, I will use stanzas from the Delfonics Didn't I as chronological markers for an entire scene that is constructed the way the money exchange occurs in Jackie Brown.

[Babypants]

THE MOUSE THAT ROARED

“Please.” Ian gestured at one of the two empty chairs. “And if your friend would like to join us, she's welcome.”

“Thank you, Professor; that's most kind of you.”

“Please, call me Ian.”

“Jennifer.”

“And this is my soon to be mother-in-law, Doctor Sofia Haikonnen.”

“Ah!” Jennifer's smile was radiant. “So that's why you call her 'Mommy'.”

“You heard us?”

Sofia's plan publicly to embarrass Ian was going better than she had hoped. And Jennifer's reaction gave her all sorts of ideas for how to proceed with Bob's training as her submissive.

“Oh, yes … and I would be happy to do his next diaper check. How do you go about it?”

“Oh, same as with any toddler; I just loosen his trousers enough to let my fingers do the walking.”

This time, Jennifer laughed outright. Ian and Sofia were highly amusing, even outrageous. She liked them both.

“Have we met?” Ian had an eye for buxom blondes, and couldn't place her.

“No. I saw you on television several times on Thursday … you and those sorority girls of yours. They're here, by the way … no doubt looking for something outrageous to wear to the Delta kegger, or maybe just to conceal their diapers.”

“They're here? What, all of them?” Ian was flabbergasted. He had expected Bernice to ground the whole house.

“Crawling all over the mall. But I just saw Cindy and her mom in Dream Weaver a few minutes ago, with Kim and Mel. There was another girl with them, tall and thin, but I don't know her.”

“Tippi Bjornsen would be my guess,” Ian mused.

“Your caregiver?” Sofia's eyes it up.

“One and the same,” Ian conceded.

“You have a sorority girl … what … changing your diapers?” Jennifer was astonished.

“Yeah, 'fraid so,” Ian conceded.

“Ian was badly wounded in his last engagement, and there's still a shell fragment lodged in his spinal cord. Changing his diaper is something that he can't safely do for himself, so my daughter has arranged to have him receive care when he's on campus.” Sofia hastened to correct a misunderstanding that would cast her daughter in a bad light. She was having fun with Ian, but there were limits to how far she was willing to go.

Remembering what Ian had said to the frat boys when he got off the bus that brought the girls home from jail … his offhand comment about R&R … Jennifer's hand flew up to cover her mouth. Her mistake was obvious, and deeply embarrassing. She looked at Ian with equal parts pity and admiration.

“So, how do you know my daughters?” Sensing Jennifer's discomfort, once again Ian was quick to change the subject.

“Oh, I'm a Kappa … class of sixty-six. I'm very active in our chapter, and I'm proud to say that I know most of the girls on Fraternity Row at sight.”

“Now, there's a coincidence,” Ian chuckled. “My closest friends are the Freemans, and Elaine is not only a Kappa but also a member of the national board. She used her powers of persuasion to move two of your girls over to ZAP. You'll be happy to know that they've settled in nicely.”

“Jackknife and Slasher,” Jennifer laughed. “And you know Elaine? My God, how small the world has become! I met her at a function in DC several years ago. This is amazing!”

“Terri, you've got to join us,” Jennifer called out as she turned around. “Ian is best friends with Elaine Freeman!”

“Terri's also a Kappa,” Jennifer whispered; “she was a year behind me.”

“Congratulations, Professor, on your appointment to the Panhellenic Council.”

“You know about that?” Teresa Bradley was another stunning blonde, although not as well endowed as her companion.

“Oh, Professor,” Terri laughed, “by now there won't be a sorority chapter anywhere in the country that's out of the loop. Our grapevine is a well oiled machine! Has Karen Walsh brought you up to speed?”

“She's the current Council president,” Jennifer explained to Sofia. She often felt ignored when attending dinner parties with her husband's colleagues, and she tried hard not to treat others similarly.

“Other than mandatory attendance at keggers and toga parties, not a whole lot.”

Ian's stoic expression didn't change, not even when all three women laughed loud enough to cause heads to turn yet again. Spotting some of the college girls looking up, he felt like he was really on a roll.

“Seriously,” he went on, "I gather that they need help with fundraising, and expect me to keep the Dean off their backs. On both counts, it would help if they would stop sparking riots and getting themselves arrested. Don't get me wrong; I love Cindy Carlson, but she is driving me crazy!”

“Speaking of the devil.”

Jennifer was looking over Ian's shoulder, causing him to turn around.

“Mom, look! There's our new Dad!” Cindy was waving excitedly, and she rushed forward with Kim, Tippi and Mel in hot pursuit. Emily Carlson was left to bring up the rear.

Ian looked around, but there were no larger tables available, so he began scrambling to grab empty chairs wherever he could find them. Seconds later, Mel and Kim pulled a nearby table alongside, and suddenly Ian found himself surrounded by eight attractive women, four of them in bulky diapers that couldn't be missed by anyone who even glanced their way. For the first time since Sofia had dragged him into the mall, Ian felt like he was hidden from view.

“Dad, this is Emily, my Mom. Gosh, I'm surprised to find you here. Did Mom tell you that we'd be here, and ask you to come along and keep us out of trouble?”

“Mommy, Cindy is referring to ZAP's house manager and my adoptive parent, Bernice Miller. Everyone, this is my mother-in-law, Sofia, whom I shall henceforth address as 'Mommy' because this conversation is beginning to feel a lot like a remake of Abbott and Costello.”

“Who,” Cindy asked.

“That's right,” Ian nodded. “Who's on first.”

“First what?”

“First base. Who's on first.”

“Why are you asking me, Dad,” Cindy replied with a perfectly straight face. “I don't know who's on first ...”

“Stop it,” Emily barked. People at several of the other tables were clapping, and Ian's companions were laughing so hard that some of them were tearing up.

Ian gave Cindy a hug, and whispered that he would explain later. But he wondered if he was holding the next Gracie Allen in his arms. Cindy was a natural who only needed the right straight man to take the comic world by storm.

“Gotcha,” Cindy crowed. “Seriously, Dad, everyone knows Abbott and Costello. They're the best!”

“Holy Cow!” Ian rocked back on his heels. “Cindy, that's incredible! You really had me going there!”

“Next stop, Hollywood,” Cindy crowed. “This morning, a producer called from American Bandstand. They want me to do the Cindy Shuffle on the air!” She broke into an impromptu version that delighted a number of men walking around the food court.

“Do you want me to put in a good word with Dick Clark?”

“You know Dick Clark?” Jennifer didn't know whether to take Ian seriously or not.

“Met him once in Viet Nam. He was doing a USO tour up in the Highlands, and Charlie tried to crash the party. My men got seriously pissed because they thought they would miss the Playboy bunnies. There was a brief pause while we took care of business, and then a good time was had by all. Dick and I chatted for a bit after the show.”

“Sarah warned me about this,” Sofia mused. “All the places you've been and the things that you've done. You never talk about them, but occasionally you let something slip, like palling around with Dick Clark in Viet Nam.”

“And then there's my Mafia pals,” Ian smiled. “Cindy, forget the Bandstand. I'll make a few phone calls, and then we'll head out to Vegas. We'll start with a lounge show at one of the hotels on the Strip, and then work our way up from there … Grady and Carlson. We'll resurrect vaudeville from the dead!”

“Ian, stop it!” Emily knew just how gullible her daughter could be. “There's a lot of empty space in Cindy's skull, and you're filling it with dangerous ideas. Now, both of you, sit down!”

The two comics hastened to obey, but a moment later Cindy was back on her feet. “They know about the Cindy Shuffle, but they don't know about the shimmy shake! Gran taught me, and I'm good!”

Cindy began to move her shoulders and her hips, her whole upper body gyrating to music that only she could hear.

“I did the shimmy when I was starring in our school production of Scheherazade a couple of years ago. If I can figure out a way to tie them together, the sky's the limit!”

“How's your diaper holding up, Dear?” Emily was determined to bring her daughter back down to earth. “And Ian, what about yours?”

“I changed him a few minutes ago in the maternity shop,” Sofia interjected.

“The maternity shop? Is your daughter expecting?”

“Not yet, but we're hoping that will change soon. No, Sarah wanted me to buy Ian some new diapers-- something less bulky.”

Sofia reached under the table, and pulled one of the shopping bags out. She took a diaper off the top of the stack, and laid it on the table.

“May I,” Tippi politely asked as she reached out to feel the material. “Sarah wants me to be his caregiver on campus. This is a lot lighter.”

She opened the diaper, trying to get a sense of how much it would hold. “How often will I need to change him?”

“Roughly every two hours. On his breast milk diet, he poops as frequently as a newborn, and it has pretty much the same texture.”

Sofia reached into her purse, and pulled out Ian's last bottle to show the others. Cindy and her friends took it in stride, but Emily, Terri and Jennifer stared at the bottle in open disbelief.

“They breast feed you,” Terri somehow managed to squeal.

“Not yet, but we're all keeping our fingers crossed. Ah, but you don't know ...”

Ian could see the consternation on all three faces. “I'm polyamorous, and Sarah is generous enough to share me with the four other women that I've fallen in love with this month. Three of them also want to have babies, so if things work out, we'll be drowning in breast milk. I'm getting a head start-- this stuff is definitely an acquired taste-- but we all expect to end up there. It's healthy, but just as importantly, it takes a potential source of jealousy off the table. In a commune like ours, that's important.”

Ian stole a glance at Sofia. Fifteen love …

“You're living under the same roof with five women, and sleeping with all of them?” Jennifer was not judgmental by nature, and being married to a prominent surgeon required her to behave as impeccably as she dressed, but at the moment she was well off the fairway, deep in the rough.

“There are others who would like to join us, but I don't think I could cope with the stress.”

Thirty love ...

“Besides, I have all these daughters to look after, and at the moment it feels like I'm failing them.”

“That's not true,” Tippi hissed. “Not even remotely true. You kept us out of jail … you kept us from tearing the house apart. We're failing you … we're the ones who need to do better.”

“Here, here.” There was no missing the conviction in Tippi's voice, and Emily was thankful that it was one of her younger sisters who had spoken up in Ian's defense. “You saved the house, Ian, and all of us owe you a debt that can never be fully repaid.”

“If you'd like to make a down payment, I could use some family recipes.”

Emily looked at Sofia, hoping that she knew what this was all about, but Sofia was obviously just as puzzled as everyone else in the group.

“Okay, Ian, I'll bite.” Emily was sure that she was being set up, but she wanted to hear the punch line. “Why do you need family recipes?”

“For the cookbook I'm writing.”

Ian had donned his poker face-- the one he perfected during briefings for the idiots who periodically summoned him to Saigon. Staff officers didn't get out very much, and he suspected that what they knew about the war came largely from Walter Cronkite.

“You're writing a cookbook?”

“Ian's cooking tonight,” Sofia warned, “for roughly twenty people, We're doing Greek.”

“Yes. I'm thinking of calling it Cooking With Breast Milk ...”

Cindy hooted, and started drumming the tabletop.

“When we get home, I'm going to whip up some breast milk yogurt, then convert it into tzatziki. It will go well with the roast lamb. Tomorrow morning, I'll treat everyone to breast milk biscuits and pancakes, and for dinner I'm thinking fettucini a la breast milk.”

Forty love ... 

"That explains your new hair styles,” Ian went on, abruptly changing the subject. “It's straight out of the twenties, right along with the shimmy. Costumes?”

Ian was pointing at one of the garment bags draped over Kimberly's left arm, but he had noted that each of the girls was carrying an identical bag from a shop called Yesterday's News.

Kim jumped up, and excitedly opened the bag. She pulled out her flapper dress, and held it up to her shoulders. “For the party tonight, and if it goes well, maybe help us cut the line to get into Moby's. What do you think, Dad?”

“Can you do the Charleston?”

“Cindy's gonna teach us.”

“Then what I think is that Thug's in real trouble.”

“And if our flapper outfits don't make the grade, there's always ...”

Melanie stood up and pulled a pair of elaborately studded pants out of her bag from Dream Weaver. “Ta da … high waisted bell bottoms! But it's gonna take a crowbar to get this on over my diaper! Moby's, here I come!”

“Don't worry about getting in.” Ian shrugged nonchalantly.

“You'll make a call?” Jennifer was grinning from ear to ear. Diaper or no diaper, she had come to the conclusion that Professor Ian Grady was the catch of a lifetime.

“Yeah. Hell, for all I know, Spats own the joint. And if he doesn't, he sure as hell knows who does. Besides, we need to give him a head's up. He'll want to send a few of his boys along to look after you, like they did last night. Which reminds me … Tippi, tonight? I want to introduce you to Harriet Belmondo. She runs the diaper service for Spats. If I'm not around, you can always reach him through her.”

“Wait a second,” Terri gulped. “Are you saying that Lullaby Diaper Service is owned by the mob?”

“Spats is a man of many parts,” Ian observed; “he's a shrewd businessman, and Lullaby is apparently quite profitable.”

“But … but … I used Lullaby for both of my children! Are you telling me that I was forking money over to the Mafia?”

“Looks that way,” Ian grinned. “But I like Spats, although I should note that I've been doing business with the Mafia all over the world for a number of years. Lest you judge them too harshly, the Outfit runs Vegas, and it's by far the safest city in America. If you walk down the Strip at two in the morning, you are not going to get mugged.”

“That's what slot machines are for,” Emily laughed. “They aren't called one armed bandits for nothing!”

“Can you call all the parents of the girls Missus Marshall has recruited for the house? If we lose them, Mom says that ZAP will be in real financial trouble.”

Tippi was chewing on her lip; she was worried that the brawl they had caused at the hockey game would come back to haunt them, and she had no illusions about how a drunken outing to Moby's was likely to end.

“Yes, and be sure and let them know that the sorority has a Mafia don keeping an eye on things.” Terri was still trying to come to terms with the fact that she had handed money over to Lullaby month in and month out for over six years.

“And Fraternity Row's new Dad is known to one and all as 'Secret Agent Man',” Ian reminded her. “And Elaine is married to Donald Freeman, the CIA's deputy director in charge of our covert activities worldwide. I do favors for Donnie, and I do favors for the Mafia. Elaine knows the score, Terri, and she's fine with it.”

Sofia stole a look at Ian out of the corner of her eye, and she noted that Emily Carlson was openly sizing him up. Ian was charming and soft spoken, but when the mask slipped, one sensed a very different personality hiding in the shadows. She was familiar with the Studies and Operations Group because a junior officer who had been traumatized by his experiences in the field had taken to drink, and then started telling tales in the bars that he frequented. He had been swept off the street and deposited in the secure wing of her Psych ward, where in all likelihood he would remain for the rest of his life. SOG had been the tip of the spear in Southeast Asia, several of its units suffering a hundred percent casualties in dead and wounded. The senior ranks had been decimated, and then some. Ian was one of the few unit commanders who had made it home alive.

“Ian, I am going to call a meeting of the board, and I would like you as well as Bernice to attend.” Emily had decided that the moment was at hand to get down to business. “We need to host a reception at the end of term, with an eye to winning over the parents of our prospective new members. Cindy wants to do a theme event-- a Roaring Twenties formal affair straight out of The Great Gatsby. If the board agrees, I will want you to make the rounds and sell the fraternities on the idea, complete with tuxedos for all the young men attending. Can do?”

“Can do,” he agreed.

“I would also like to invite you and Sarah to dine with us. Andrew, my husband, is eager to meet you.”

“I would be honored, but you will need to talk with Sarah. When it comes to our social life, she makes all the decisions. My only request is that you invite our whole exotic household, and that includes Tippi.”

“What? Me?” Tippi was taken completely by surprise. She had never thought of herself as part of the family to which she was admittedly attached.

“Tip, I don't leave people behind, at least not willingly. And the one time it happened has left a bad taste in my mouth.”

Ian looked at her steadily, the mask stripped away. Every woman at the table could feel the command presence that had been lurking behind the facade.

Ian folded up the diaper and put it back in the bag. He was ready to head home and do battle with his new kitchen.

. . . .

Shit!!

Herb Canon paused in mid-stroke. It was the end of the month, so in addition to the run of the mill investigative reports that needed updating, he was saddled with writing performance reviews for the men and women in his unit. Herb worked major crimes, which in practice meant anything involving a weapon. Since car jacking was way up, with an organized gang apparently hitting parking ramps all over the downtown area, his typewriter was getting a real workout.

Herb gritted his teeth and squeezed his legs, but to no avail. His bladder was relentless.

Getting up from his desk and grabbing the newspaper, Herb headed for the men's room. He tried to be nonchalant, but couldn't help but wonder whether one of the other keen eyed desk jockeys had remarked that this was his third trip in the last two hours.

And will anyone notice that my coffee mug has been banished to the nether regions of my desk? The damn thing has been sitting next to the phone for more years than I care to count. Used to be the case that when I got up, it was to hit the percolator. And now it's the God, damned toilet …

Opening the door, Herb was relieved to discover that he once again would have the men's room to himself. Sticking to his spur of the moment plan, he headed straight to the porcelain throne, closing and locking the stall door in his wake.

Make it look like number two … I mean, everybody's got to take a dump, right? And that's why God invented newspapers …

Herb eased his trousers and his slightly damp underwear down to his ankles, and took a seat. The sports page beckoned, but it would have to wait until he had answered nature's call. These days, his bladder definitely had a mind of its own.

With the riot at last night's college hockey game above the fold, the sports page cried out for attention, but Herb couldn't get his mind off his troubles.

Maybe I can get by with wearing the thermal underwear that guys sometimes need when shoveling the driveway. It's padded, so the brief can handle a little pee …

Maybe, just in case, I should wear rubber pants, or maybe whatever Vickie and Pris had on over their diapers the other night at the bar. There's gotta be something short of diapers …

Two more years … just two more years …

. . . .

“Did you enjoy your trip to the mall, baby? Did you?”

“Yeth, Mommy,” Ian managed to mumble around the nipple that Sofia was keeping firmly in his mouth.

Returning to the car, they had gone full circle, Sofia insisting that he finish the last bottle of breast milk in her purse before driving home. Ian was once again laying awkwardly across the front seat with his head in his motherin-law's lap. She had pushed his pants down to his ankles, and while he nursed she was once again performing a thorough diaper check. Although she had changed him less than an hour earlier, he was already both wet and dirty.

“Just like a newborn,” Sofia teased as she brought her finger up and waved it under Ian's nose. “Now that your body has adjusted to the breast milk, you can expect to mess fifteen or twenty minutes after every bottle. This will make it easy for Tippi to schedule your diaper changes at the office … which reminds me. You'll need to have two, maybe three diaper pails to hand. You'll probably be lugging one home every day.”

Ian reached up to grasp the bottle with both hands. Sarah was his Mommy, and if she wanted her mother to treat him like an infant, he would go with it. He had entered into this relationship with his eyes wide open, and he had no intention of backing out. Besides, when the showdown finally happened, the illusion might buy Street Racer the precious seconds that, in battle, were often the difference between life and death.

[CDfm]

I have been waiting for this for a little bit.   Checking every time something new was added. 
It was a great new chapter. Ian continues to adjust to the situation no matter what. Even though it’s forty love I still think Ian can come back and at least make a duce.  His newest mommy I am sure has other plans. I am looking forward to seeing the next chapter. 

[Babypants]

8 hours ago, CDfm said:

Ian continues to adjust to the situation no matter what. Even though it’s forty love I still think Ian can come back and at least make a duce.

Thanks, but he skunked Sofia in this game.  Hence "The Mouse That Roared."

[mushy bottom]

Tom & Jerry?

[Babypants]

20 hours ago, mushy bottom said:

Tom & Jerry?

Oddly enough, I debated calling this scene "Tom & Jerry" or "Sylvester and Tweety."  I wanted to go with the latter because at the moment Ian and Tweety are both caged-- but how many readers have ever heard of Tweety?  Gracias!

[mushy bottom]

I tawt I taw a puddy tat!

[littlebopeeper]

Loved this chapter because it looks like Ian and Sofia have come to respect one another.  And Cindy is just an incredible character.  I always look forward to reading about her latest antics.  More, please! 

[Babypants]

ANNOUNCEMENT: a fifteenth tranche, consisting of scenes 43-44, is now up and running on the STORIES page of the site.  Once again, comments have been removed to enable readers to enjoy the story without interruption.  The balance of season 2 will follow.

[mushy bottom]

Terrific chapter. Really liked the Abbott & Costello skit.

 

[zwergi]

Eine tolle Geschichte mit vielen  Wendungen,  ich liebe  Sie.

[Babypants]

18 hours ago, zwergi said:

Eine tolle Geschichte mit vielen  Wendungen,  ich liebe  Sie.

Vielen Dank.  Es geht viel Spass zu schreiben.

[Babypants]

Quickie entertainment quiz:

The Mouse That Roared was a terrific novel that was turned into a darn good movie.  What famous comic actor played the mouse that roared?

A.  John Cleese

B.  Jack Lemmon

C.  Jerry Lewis

D.  Peter Sellers

E.  Dick Van Dyke