littlebopeeper Posted June 2, 2023 Share Posted June 2, 2023 On 5/31/2023 at 6:14 PM, Babypants said: Quickie historical quiz: Which of the following groups had the best selling rock album worldwide in 1979: A. AC/DC B. Bee Gees C. Eagles D. Led Zeppelin E. Pink Floyd And the answer is: Pink Floyd, The Wall. Got it in my record cabinet. 1 Link to comment
Babypants Posted June 3, 2023 Author Share Posted June 3, 2023 VICTORIA'S SECRET “So, this will be your room if you want it, for the whole holiday weekend. Sarah probably won't be back until very late on Sunday; I can drop you at work on Monday morning, and she can pick you up in the afternoon and take you home.” Vickie's hand was gripping the doorknob, but she had yet to open the door. “You'll find the furnishings a bit unorthodox, but the upside is that it's very quiet. You should be able to grade all your tests with time to spare.” Vickie opened the door, and stood aside to let Ian pass. She slid into the room behind him, and eased the door shut. Ian did not know that he was now locked in. It required another six digit code to unlock the door. Ian did not have it, and Vickie was not about to give it to him. Staff had firm instructions never to share any codes with patients-- and Ian was now a patient, the necessary paperwork safely locked away in a file in Rita's office. Ian gawked at his surroundings. Although there were no windows, in many respects he was standing in an ordinary two bed hospital room. There was a desk and swivel chair, with cabinets overhead-- the design ubiquitous in doctor's offices worldwide. There was a bathroom cubicle, but he immediately noticed that there was no toilet. Ah, but there's no need for one, not with all the patients in diapers. Hospitals aren't famous for spending money on nonessentials … Ian ran his hand over the examination table. It was virtually identical to the ones on which he had been laid out literally dozens of times in Japan and Hawaii, with one glaring exception: it featured open shelves, and the shelves were lined with what appeared to be dozens of diapers-- the same, large hospital diaper that he was now wearing under his diaper cover. Vickie will need to change me pretty soon. Hope she's got the key. Now, where's the diaper pail … Ian looked around, but couldn't spot it, so he presumed that it was out of his line of sight in the bathroom. He also couldn't figure out where they were storing his baby pants, but since there was no closet, they figured to be in one of the cabinets, along with the oils and powders that were his main line of defense against diaper rash. Vickie continued to hover in the doorway, watching him like a hawk. He had lingered over the changing table, and he was studying everything in the room-- everything except the pediatric crib that could easily house him, and the elaborate set of restraints neatly decorating its surface. It dominated the room. So he really is a baby, she decided. Pretending not to see it is such a giveaway. Now, if only he'll fondle the restraints, pretend to examine them. Do it, Princess! Do it! Vickie fought to keep her pulse from racing out of control, her breathing suddenly harder and more shallow. Ian hesitantly approached the crib, taking in the scale of it, realizing that it would hold him easily even if he was fully outstretched. He stood an arm's length away, trying to make sense of the latticework of leather restraints that covered its surface. The materials seemed to be identical to the restraints that he had been wearing when he entered the ward, but these looked much more formidable. Do it, baby! Do it! Vickie could feel her nipples harden, the heat beginning to flow through her body. She was already wet, knew that she was flooding the room with her pheromones. Would her scent enslave Ian as it had so many of the men she had picked up in bars and lounges over the years? But no man had ever excited her the way Ian Grady did, not even remotely. She still didn't understand the attraction, but she wasn't about to deny it. Ian reached out to finger the ankle restraints … Get in the crib, Ian! Go ahead, try it out. For God's sake, just do it! He was studying the waist harness, not quite sure what the crotch piece was for … Get in the crib, Ian! For God's sake, get in the crib and lie down! I'll start at your ankles and slowly work my way up, watching your eyes, watching you accept, as the locks click home one by one, accept that you're just a helpless baby, accept that you belong here … accept that you exist to please me … The most curious feature of all, Ian decided, was the elaborate head restraint. Why would they go to such trouble to keep a guy from turning his head? And I'll finish by immobilizing your head so completely that all you'll be able to do is stare up at me … at my naked body … sliding ever so slowly in on top of you … mounting you … inviting you … commanding you to eat me and eat me and eat me. And if you're really good at it, maybe I'll return the favor, or maybe I'll just tease you endlessly, make you beg for what I really don't want you to have … Ian turned away from the crib, facing her. “Vickie, could you change my diaper? I'm really soaked!” . . . . “Upsy-Daisy, baby,” Vickie cheerfully said, patting the well padded top of the changing table. Her game face had already slipped neatly into place, but she was still watching Ian closely. His seemingly genuine lack of curiosity about the crib and its state of the art restraints was a crushing disappointment, but Vickie was far more worried about the immediate consequences of her near orgasmic blowout-- or rather, the lack of immediate consequences. Am I losing my touch? Why isn't he pawing me? Damn it, the only thing he can possibly smell in this room is my pussy juice! He should be all over me like white on rice! What gives? Ian hoisted himself onto the table and stretched out, getting comfortable. Gracefully entwined fingers supplied a makeshift pillow at the back of his neck. Will I have to finger fuck his ass again? Vickie walked around the table, found the dangling strap, and casually tossed it across his chest. Reversing course, she positioned the strap just beneath his armpits, then yanked it tight and secured it. It's time for plan B ... Ian wasn't going anywhere. There were other straps at the bottom of the table, but they would have to wait. The next order of business was removing his diaper. Clean his bottom, slip a new diaper under him … then finish tying him down … have some fun … “It's way too tight, Vickie; is this strap even necessary?” “It's standard procedure, baby; we can't have patients rolling off the table and breaking a bone or two when they hit the floor.” “Oh, okay … makes sense.” Ian yawned; he was emotionally exhausted, and ready to call it a day. He closed his eyes, ready to nod off, surrendering completely to Vickie's highly skilled touch. Vickie unlocked his diaper cover and, unbidden and with eyes still closed, Ian raised his hips so that she could remove it. His baby pants came next, and Vickie had just finished removing his diaper pins and lowering the sodden fabric when another stream of piss came pouring out of him. Vickie hastily raised the diaper and held it in place, waiting for the stream to slow to a trickle and then halt. My nephew did that the very first time that I changed him! But Ian's not a baby … well, not physically at least, and I really want to find out how he stacks up. So, baby, you're not going anywhere until Mommy's ready to haul out her tape measure and record your … um … your vital statistics? You'd be amazed at some of the things that go into a patient's chart! Vickie gently tapped the top of Ian's thigh, and instantly he raised his hips. She removed the diaper and tossed it into the diaper pail that he had failed to spot, in a recess that was directly beneath his navel. Another tap on the thigh, another pair of raised hips, and a fresh diaper unfolded beneath him. Ian settled into place, only to feel Vickie pushing on his knees. This was his cue to raise and hold his legs so that she could clean his bottom, and he did so without conscious thought. When Vickie finished, a slight push in the opposite direction was all the instruction Ian needed to lower his legs. We make a good team, the fleeting thought bubbling up in one of the few corners of his conscious mind that was still alert to his surroundings. He's so docile, she thought, marveling at his lack of resistance, the ease with which she could get him to do her unspoken bidding. Vickie stepped decisively to the bottom of the table, and with a deep sense of satisfaction surveyed her helpless captive. Not helpless enough, she grinned. Quickly and efficiently, she secured his ankles in heavy leather shackles, and then just as quickly pulled the straps taut that anchored them to opposite sides of the table. Idly giving one of his ankles her now customary pat, she slid up to look down upon her true prize-- her captive's still flaccid penis. She touched it with an outstretched finger, caressed it. Then she looked up, wanting to gauge his reaction. Vickie's eyes opened with astonishment, and her jaw all but hit the floor. Ian was sound asleep. Ian was in point of fact gently snoring. Shaking her head in disbelief, Vickie snugly pinned his diaper, but without the added protection of his vinyl pants, she knew that it was just a matter of time before he leaked all over the changing table. I'll deal with the mess later … and he looks so cute lying there, sleeping away, wearing nothing over his widdle diapee. Thank God I've stashed a Wand in my locker! . . . . Vickie stormed into Rita's office and, without waiting for the invitation, dropped into the only chair that wasn't covered with files. It was transparently obvious that she was well and truly frustrated. “Spare me the denials, Rita; we all know that you can control the feeds from in here, so just turn the damn video on!” Rita looked at her blankly, her mind still focused on the paperwork that was far too slowly making the journey from desktop to filing cabinet. What is it this time, she wondered. And then she remembered room eleven. Shrugging, she reached over and flipped a switch on the elaborate console that occupied a permanent spot on the right side of her desk. A second switch accessed the feed from the chamber, and sure enough … Rita burst out laughing. She kept repeatedly shaking her head, looking back and forth between Vickie and the screen. No wonder she looks so frustrated … “Vic, are you losing your touch? I mean, really. You've got him trussed up like a chicken. He's totally at your mercy … every man's secret fantasy. No baby pants … no cover ... nothing but a diaper. Where's the old fire down below?” Still shaking her head, Rita slapped the desktop with the palm of her hand. Then she reached up to wipe the tears out of her eyes. “No, I mean, come on! His cock should be standing to attention, the diaper doing double duty as an umbrella! But he's sound asleep! What gives?” “I DON'T KNOW,” Vickie wailed. “He wasn't interested in the crib … the restraints didn't turn him on … WHAT THE HELL IS THE MATTER WITH THIS GUY?” Rita leaned far over the desk. “Can you keep a secret?” “No,” Vickie protested, “but tell me anyway!” “Sarah says that he has a limp dick, so don't feel too bad.” “Huh? If Sarah said that, then she's the one who's losing her touch. Oh, I don't mean to say that, lengthwise, Ian's another Johnny Wadd, but trust me … trust me … Ian's a tree trunk! I swear, you could stack a roll of quarters on his dick, and it wouldn't droop!” “No way!!!! Wait … wait … what do you know that Sarah doesn't? What's Ian's dirty little secret?” “I finger fucked his ass twice. He really gets off on prostate massage.” Rita snapped her fingers. “Now I get it,” she exclaimed. “No wonder you looked like the cat that had swallowed the canary when you waltzed out of her earlier. No wonder, indeed! But ...” Rita leaned back in her chair, and stared at the ceiling, running the implications through her mind. “Interesting … in the immortal words of Sergeant Schultz, “very, very inter … esting. Is there any possibility that our little prince is in point of fact a little princess?” “Well, the thought has crossed my mind.” Vickie leaned back in her chair as well, a huge grin lighting up her features. “Armed with his measurements, I paid a visit to one of my favorite boutiques a couple of days ago. Now that the cat's out of the bag, let's just say that I have something in my locker that we can use to test his responses.” “So we may have been barking up the wrong tree from the get go,” Rita concluded. “Are you going to tell Sarah,” Vickie smirked. “I don't know … I really don't. She's not like you, Vic; I get the impression that she's not all that adventurous in the bedroom.” “Just a good, hard spanking to get his attention, then roll him over … mount … ride … dismount.” Vickie grinned maliciously. “That's what I call foreplay!” “And all I want to do is breast feed the poor bastard,” Rita lamented. “Seriously, my maternal instincts are totally out of control and I'm so frustrated that I could climb the walls! I'm planning on going out and buying a breast pump next week.” “Get me one too,” Vickie screamed. “You can feed him breakfast, and I'll give him lunch! Saturday nights will never be the same!!!” “Hey, I know,” she added as she stood up to pull a bright yellow tape measure out of her pocket. “Look! I was going to take measurements for you to note in his permanent file. Why not include my report on his response to prostate massage, and hint at the implications? Just keep to the usual bureaucratic style … but make sure that Sarah sees it next week!” “I like it, Vic,” Rita said as she mulled it over. “I like it a lot.” “Then it's a plan … but what are we going to do about Ian right now? I don't want to leave him like that, damn it! I want him in the crib … in restraints … but I want him semi awake and watching while the locks all go clickety, click. If he doesn't object, then it means we're doing it with his consent!” “Agreed. But unfortunately, we don't have a fourteen foot tall Amazon on the premises, who could just pick him up, lay him in his crib, and leave you to get him ready for beddie-bye. It's a nice fantasy, but … “She wouldn't fit through the door anyway,” Vickie sulked. “Hey,” she went on, “did you ever see Attack of the 50 Foot Woman?” “So, what are we going to do about Ian,” Rita asked, trying to bring Vickie back to the ongoing problem in room eleven. “I don't know. If you're going to get out of here anytime soon, I suppose we should wake him and get him dressed to leave with you. That is the plan, right? You're supposed to take him home, keep him away from the bottle, and put him to bed?” “That's the plan,” Rita admitted, “for the whole weekend. But frankly, I'd rather leave him here for the night. I need sleep, and I'm not going to get it if I'm worried that he's going to sneak out to the kitchen and start boozing it up. Besides, I want him to continue interacting with Kettering. We're learning so much about both of them … we need to keep the relationship going.” “And Becky?” Rita laughed again. “We really owe Ian for that one! Yeah, I'm going to task Becky with babysitting both of them. She's got first shift tomorrow, and it's tradition that staff and patients eat turkey together ...” “Which brings us back to Ian. How are we going to get him into the crib?” Rita and Vickie looked at one another, and then burst out laughing. They had both had the same thought … “Amos and Andy!” 4 Link to comment
littlebopeeper Posted June 4, 2023 Share Posted June 4, 2023 "He wasn't interested in the crib ... the restraints didn't turn him on ... WHAT THE HELL IS THE MATTER WITH THIS GUY?" What a fantastic line to give to the hottest nurse I've ever met in a story anywhere. Are Rita and Vickie really going to breast feed Ian, or are they just sharing an erotic fantasy? Can't wait to find out. 1 Link to comment
CCApril Posted June 4, 2023 Share Posted June 4, 2023 And here I thought Nurse Marge was more of the Sgt Schultz! Being restrained in the crib and being used by Nurse Victoria sounds like a blast! Being restrained in the crib and left there for the night after the fun? Not so much. He is never going to get those papers graded. April 1 Link to comment
Babypants Posted June 5, 2023 Author Share Posted June 5, 2023 Quickie historical quiz: The legendary Johnny Wadd was in reality: A. Bob Chinn B. Larry Flynt C. Hugh Hefner D. John Holmes E. None of the above Link to comment
littlebopeeper Posted June 6, 2023 Share Posted June 6, 2023 On 6/5/2023 at 9:41 AM, Babypants said: Quickie historical quiz: The legendary Johnny Wadd was in reality: A. Bob Chinn B. Larry Flynt C. Hugh Hefner D. John Holmes E. None of the above RIP, John C. Holmes Link to comment
Babypants Posted June 8, 2023 Author Share Posted June 8, 2023 On 6/4/2023 at 2:29 PM, CCApril said: And here I thought Nurse Marge was more of the Sgt Schultz! Being restrained in the crib and being used by Nurse Victoria sounds like a blast! Being restrained in the crib and left there for the night after the fun? Not so much. He is never going to get those papers graded. April Never fear! Ian will be hard at it on Thursday morning, although you might find the circumstances a bit unusual. And there is definitely more to Marge than meets the eye. Indeed, there are many twists and turns up ahead, and the next chapter comes with one of those yellow signs warning you to slow down to 20 MPH. Link to comment
Babypants Posted June 9, 2023 Author Share Posted June 9, 2023 GHOST IN THE MACHINE Vickie entered the six digit code, and quickly stood to the side as the door buzzed. She didn't want to get trampled when the behemoths charged in. Andrew McCullough was a living legend. Twenty-four years old. Able to bench press a school bus. Six foot three inches and two hundred and twenty pounds of wall to wall muscle. The only man in the history of Minnesota high school football to rack up sixty yards in penalties on a single play-- but then he was also the only man in the history of Minnesota high school football to pick up a line judge and throw him over a fence. Andrew didn't like it when you blew the whistle on him for being offsides. Andrew had come close, but in the end he'd fallen a few credits short of earning his diploma. It was clear to all parties concerned that Providence had singled out Andrew McCullough to be a hospital orderly. The Personnel Office congratulated itself on beating out every other hospital in the Twin Cities in the free for all that occurred when it became clear that Andrew was not college bound. Amos Waring was a bit different. If Andrew was a gentle but somewhat ill-tempered giant, Amos was a walking fire hydrant with a mean and nasty disposition-- but then guys who walked around with forty six inch shoulders on a five foot eight inch frame couldn't exactly buy their clothes off the rack at J.C. Penney's, and that tended to make them a bit truculent. Amos had been in his element in Viet Nam. He had eagerly signed up for his third tour in return for being cut loose from the stockade. The army had been equally happy to have him-- soldiers who could out wrestle a fully grown Komodo dragon were, after all, a rare breed. At twenty-eight, he was persona non grata in three Asian countries, and known to inspire road blocks to keep him out of the state of Wisconsin. At the end of his shift (Amos and Andy always worked the second), he generally ventured off to terrorize the seedy and sometimes violent bars that lined Lake Street for miles. This was organized crime territory-- or rather it had been until Hubert Humphrey kicked the mob out of Minneapolis during his stint as Mayor, a herculean feat that catapulted him to the Senate and ultimately to the vice-presidency. In the aftermath, there was really no one to keep the lid on, and Amos had been known on more than one occasion to send it sailing. He had, for example, once lost his temper and taken it out on an unlucky pinball machine, picking it up, carrying it outside, and contemptuously hurling it in front of a passing Lake Street bus. The Third Precinct had a holding cell with his name on it, and the Personnel Office counted itself lucky to have him on the payroll. On busy nights things could get a tad out of hand down in the ER, but Amos and Andy never seemed to have any trouble restoring order. “You wanted to see us, Ma'am?” Since Amos was a man of few words, it always fell to Andy to learn the score. “You two are always welcome to break bread with us, Andrew. You know that. How are things down in the ER?” “Quiet, Ma'am … they're always quiet on the night before a big holiday. But they'll liven up a bit come the weekend.” “I'm sure,” Rita agreed, in her best deadpan voice. “So, are the two of you free right now to help me out with a little problem?” “Anything for you, Ma'am. We always meet the most interesting people up here on seven.” “Thank you. Vickie and I need the two of you to move a body ...” “Dead or alive,” Amos interjected. “Alive, Amos … and don't look so disappointed.” Amos was visibly crestfallen. “It's a patient in the secure ward, in room eleven. He's fallen asleep on the changing table, and we would like you to pick him up and deposit him in his crib, but gently … without waking him overly much. A bit groggy would be ideal. Think you can do that?” “Yes, Ma'am … not a problem.” “Good. Vickie will lead the way. And guys, try not to break anything. Our supply budget is a bit strained at the moment.” “Bummer,” Amos whispered as he walked through the door. Rita returned to her paperwork. She was hungry, and if Amos and Andy could get Ian settled to Vickie's satisfaction, she was planning to call it a night and head home. Glancing at the screen, she noted that Ian was still sleeping peacefully. . . . . Vickie entered the six digit code, but stepped aside to allow Andrew to enter the room first. Amos went second, and Vickie brought up the rear, the door clicking shut behind her. The two orderlies casually scanned the room before allowing their eyes to come to rest on the sleeping figure on the changing table. Both noted that the patient was well restrained, although his arms had not been immobilized. “What's his problem,” Andrew barked. “Ex-military,” Vickie answered. “Three tours in Viet Nam … badly wounded … brought a lot of ghosts home with him ...” “How many medals,” Amos cut in. “Four Purple Hearts that we know of ...” “Fuckin' A! You are dealing with some serious shit here.” “Don't we know it,” Vickie sighed. “Have you guys heard of PTSD … Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder?” Both looked at her blankly. “It's a new term kicking around out at the VA-- a tag for the mental health issues that are plaguing thousands of Viet Nam vets nationwide.” Vickie nodded at Ian. “He's one of three that we have in the ward as we speak. The VA people are hoping that if they give the problem a fancy medical-sounding name, then Congress will sit up and take notice, pass an appropriations bill and give us the resources that we need to fight back. Right now, the problem's overwhelming, and this poor guy has it worst than most. He came home fully incontinent, diapers 24/7, and there's little reason to think that things are ever going to get better for him.” Amos was staring at the ugly scarring on Ian's left thigh. “This didn't put him back in diapers,” he muttered. “No,” Vickie agreed. She was unfastening Ian's restraints, getting him ready for the transfer. “You can't see it, but there's a lot worse.” “Fuckin' A,” Amos repeated, this time more softly. He knew all about the ghosts. They chased him nightly through the bars down on Lake Street. “I'll take his shoulders,” Andrew nodded; “you take his feet.” They were a well practiced team, and it helped that the changing table and the crib were at the same height. The transfer went smoothly, but Ian's eyelids rapidly fluttered as he started to come awake. He didn't spot Vickie, and he was unaware of the crib that had become his new home, but through the cobwebs he did catch a glimpse of Amos and Andy. “What's up, gentlemen,” he asked in a voice that seem to rise up out of thick fog. Later, Sergeant Amos Waring would have a hard time explaining why he had suddenly come to attention and thrown a crisp salute to his fellow veteran, lying there in the crib. It wasn't so much that he was an officer, although that part was screamingly obvious. It was the wounds. This man had gone down into the trenches and fought side by side with the men under his command. He was definitely not some rear echelon desk puke. In Amos Waring's universe, four Purple Hearts bought some serious respect. . . . . As soon as Amos and Andy were out the door, Vickie rushed back to the crib. Ian was still only half awake, but he was struggling to sit up inside its close quarters. “No, baby, for now, aunt Vickie wants you to lie back down. Someone … probably Becky or me … will teach you how to use the pull-up line in the morning. But now it's time for you to go nighty-nites. Shhh.” Gently, but using both hands to make her point, Vickie forced Ian to lie down. “Where's Rita,” he sighed. “Still hard at it. She thinks it would be best if you slept here tonight. And I'm sorry, but we have nowhere else to put you. But don't worry; there will always be a nurse keeping watch, making sure you're safe. Are you comfy?” “It's okay.” “Now, I'm going to change your diaper, and get you back inside your baby pants and diaper cover. I want you to work with me just like before, okay?” “Okay.” With Ian's help, Vickie quickly changed him. Hearing the soft click of the lock closing on his diaper cover sent a jolt of electricity surging through her body. She could feel the tension building inside of her. “You are such a good baby,” she whispered, her lips grazing his. “Now, give me your hands; its time for your mittens.” Silently, Ian offered her his hands. He had grown so accustomed to the thick canvas that prevented him from biting his nails in his sleep that he felt uneasy without them. Vickie reached below the crib, found the two mittens that she had left dangling there earlier, and efficiently placed them on his hands. One by one, she tightened the bands at his wrists, and then closed the locks, a second and a third gentle click the reward for her efforts. She could feel the heat building; she silently swore that she could feel it coursing through her veins. Now for the moment of truth … the waist belt … Glancing up at her captive, she saw that his eyes were half closed and his arms now lying loosely at his sides. He was already lying on the waist belt, which was firmly anchored to the crib's steel frame. It was a simple matter to take the two loose ends of the top strap and cinch them tight, bring up and tighten the crotch strap, then insert the lock … Click Ian did not react. If he had, he would have discovered that he could roll neither to right nor left. He had been very scientifically pinned to the mattress. Vickie moved on to his ankles, and then to his thighs. She no longer expected any resistance, and she did not meet with any. Four more gentle clicks, and Ian could still flex his muscles, but he could no longer move his legs. Vickie nodded to herself. He is truly submissive. It's almost like he wants this … wants to be completely helpless, totally at my mercy. And yet it's not kink, so I wonder what he would say if Rita offered to let him stay like this indefinitely. Would he agree, or leave it to Sarah to make the decision for him? There was one last task to complete. Vickie laid his wrists inside open cuffs that were attached to the waist belt. She cinched the bands, inserted the locks, and listened to the last pair of clicks that sealed his fate. Little Baby Ian now belonged to the Circle, a body of seven nurses whose agendas overlapped but did not always agree. Vickie quietly raised the crib side, heard it lock into place. It could only be lowered by stepping on a lever mere inches off the floor. Even if Ian somehow escaped all his restraints, he would never be able to escape the crib. Vickie dimmed the lights, and prepared to leave. She glanced up at the camera, double checking that it was monitoring little baby Ian. Yes, the light was still on. She knew that the thick plastic cover that was all but welded to the top of the crib was as clean as it was transparent. Ian was now just one more fully restrained patient in the most secure ward in the entire hospital. . . . . Vickie retreated to Rita's office, an oasis of bright light in a ward otherwise dimmed for the night. “I know,” Rita said as she looked up from her paperwork. “I've been watching the feed. That went far more easily than I thought it would. He really does want to be our little baby.” “Were you joking earlier about breast feeding him?” “Not at all. I'm looking forward to it.” “Me, too,” Vickie grinned. “Our very own little baby. But where does this leave Sarah?” “She works down on three, and I can deny her access to this wing at any time. She's a pragmatist; she'll agree to share.” “That's harsh.” “I would prefer the carrot,” Rita shrugged, “but at the moment a stick is all I've got.” “So, you've finished Ian's file?” “Just about … and there's more than enough here to warrant involuntary committal. Oddly enough, I think that Sarah will agree with just about every sentence in the assessment. Willfully self-destructive … alcohol abuse … a danger to himself … a textbook case, really.” “You must be hungry … ready to call it a night?” “Yeah. Just let me shift Ian's feed to Julie. She's already got the rest of the ward up and running on her console.” Rita's fingers flew over the keys. “I know a 3/2 joint on Lake Street that does great cheeseburgers and hash browns. It's not too far out of your way ...” “Give me the address and I'll meet you there. I'm too tired to go home and cook.” Together, Rita and Vickie exited the ward, and took the elevator down to the floor that connected directly to the parking ramp. Tomorrow was another day. . . . . In room eleven, Ian Grady turned his head slightly to the left, away from the camera. A light smile creased his lips. More than one therapist had cautioned him that you could run yet never quite hide from yourself. Ian flexed his arms and legs, testing his restraints. He was pleased to discover that Vickie had done a first-class job. She really was a very good nurse, not just bar bait. Ian could feel his diaper getting wet, the hot pee far too quickly turning cold and damp against his skin. He wondered if someone would come to change him if he started to cry like a baby. I'll need to practice, because messy diapers are really no fun at all … In her office, Julie Neymar noticed that the new patient in room eleven was fidgeting. She was the third shift charge nurse, and she knew all the signs. She noted the time on a chart, but they were short staffed on the eve of one of the most celebrated holidays of the year, so if he needed his diaper changed, he would just have to wait. Perhaps until morning. But the shrinks all missed the point. You run, but it's other people who hide you-- if you can find them. And now I have. I'll leave it to Sarah and her circle of friends to make all of my decisions for me. Just deal me out. I'M DONE WITH MAKING DECISIONS!!! 3 Link to comment
littlebopeeper Posted June 10, 2023 Share Posted June 10, 2023 So many twists, and I didn't see one of them coming. Amos and Andy are fantastic characters, and poor Vickie. That poor nurse needs real sex before she explodes! 1 Link to comment
Babypants Posted June 13, 2023 Author Share Posted June 13, 2023 Quickie cultural quiz: When it comes to beer, Minnesota sits on an island all by itself. Which of the following is true: A. Minnesota is the only state in the union selling 3/2 beer; B. 3/2 measures alcohol by weight; C. 3/2 beer is also known as near beer; D. Convenience stores and gas stations can only sell 3/2 beer; E. Grocery stores with an attached liquor store can only sell 3.2 beer if there is a direct entrance between the two stores; F. Minneapolis issues full liquor licenses to some bars, but only permits the sale of 3/2 beer in others; G. All of the above. Link to comment
littlebopeeper Posted June 15, 2023 Share Posted June 15, 2023 Not sure about E, but I'm still going to guess that it's all of the above. Pity that other people aren't playing. Makes me wonder if there's anybody in Gen Z who's ever heard of Johnny Wadd. Link to comment
Babypants Posted June 17, 2023 Author Share Posted June 17, 2023 TRUE CONFESSIONS “You look tired,” Sofia observed, “more than tired. You look down. Is everything all right at work?” “Mom, it's the same old, same old. Every day, we win some and we lose some. But lately? Lately, it seems like we're losing more and winning less.” Sarah was massaging her coffee cup, but she had barely taken a sip. And her Finnish pastie, a Thanksgiving morning breakfast tradition that went back unbroken to her early childhood, also sat largely untouched. More alarming still, she had yet to dip even one bite of her mouthwatering treat in the small mountain of ketchup that also graced her plate. Up on the Keweenaw peninsula, the Finnish pastie was akin to a religious experience. The twelve or sixteen ounce pastry shell was stuffed sinfully full with diced beef, ground pork, carrots, onions, potatoes and rutabaga. No true child of the Keweenaw would ever commit the sacrilege of covering their pastie with gravy, like the barbarians who lived elsewhere in the U.P., or their cousins in Minnesota and the Dakotas. Many of the tourists who flocked to the peninsula to enjoy its stunning fall foliage, confusing the pastie with pot pie, requested gravy. What they got instead was an earful. The more diplomatic members of the bakery community settled for stern looks and a dress down in Finnish. Not everyone, however, was quite so forbearing. “Child, you have hardly touched your pastie,” Kaarina complained. “I baked it for you myself; it is not store bought.” Kaarina Koskinen was Sarah's spry 77 year old grandmother, a retired RN who continued informally to practice her profession. In this remote, rural corner of America, midwives played a critical role in the medical infrastructure. “I'm sorry, Gran; I just don't have much of an appetite at the moment. I've really got a lot on my mind.” “Well, your mother administers the largest hospital on the peninsula. She has to deal with all of your problems, and a great many more besides. And, as you can see, none of it has affected her appetite!” Kaarina gestured at her daughter's empty plate, the barest trace of ketchup having been left behind. “So,” she continued, “it must be boy trouble. Have you found a boyfriend? And why did you not bring him up to meet us?” Kaarina was worried about her granddaughter. She's thirty-two, and still without prospects. If she does not act soon, I will never have a great grandchild to spoil … “I do have a boyfriend, Gran, but it's complicated … really, really complicated.” Have you spoken to Rita yet,” Sofia interjected. She could read her daughter like an open book, and it was obvious that she was troubled. Sofia suspected that she had come home in search of advice, but it would not do to rush her. “I tried last night before I went to bed, but she wasn't home or at the office. And it's the same story this morning. I'm getting worried … she's supposed to be babysitting my boyfriend.” “Babysitting him?” Kaarina made no effort to keep the incredulity out of her voice. “How old is he anyway? Two?” “Oh, come on, Mom,” Sofia cut in, with a sharper edge to her voice. “We all know that men are nothing but big babies. The only difference between a grown man and a two year old ...” “Is the price of his toys,” Kaarina laughed as she finished her daughter's thought. “You're right, of course. Ah, but I'm getting old,” she sighed, “and I sometimes forget even life's most basic truths.” “Ian's thirty-three, Gran, but you're right as well. Much of the time he behaves like a two year old-- and that's on his good days. On his bad days, I feel like I'm coping with an eight month old! Would you believe that he still bites his fingernails?” “NO,” Kaarina giggled; “are you kidding us?” “Nope. And for all I know, he still sucks his thumb in his sleep. Or he would if I didn't send him to bed with mittens locked on ...” “Like a certain little girl of my acquaintance,” Kaarina chortled, staring at her daughter. “It took me almost three years to get your mom's thumb out of her mouth!” “Are you living together,” Sofia quietly asked. “No, Mom, we're not. Actually, he has the apartment directly above me. But I'm hopeful that this relationship is really going somewhere. Ian's gentle and kind, considerate, thoughtful ...” “Does he have a good job,” the ever practical Kaarina queried. “Gran, he's a university professor … at a university that's lucky to have him.” Kaarina clapped her hands with delight, her face lighting up with joy. Maybe I'll get my great grandchild after all! “So, cutting to the chase: is he the one?” "I think so ...” Kaarina clapped again, and with even greater enthusiasm. “All men are babies, Pupu, which is a very good thing because it makes it so easy for us to manipulate them into doing what we want! So what if he behaves like a two year old? At least you don't have to change his diapers!" "Actually, Gran … I do.” “Huh,” Sofia and Kaarina exclaimed more or less simultaneously. “Ian's incontinent, both bladder and bowel, and he's all thumbs when it comes to changing his own diapers, so I do it for him, with Rita's help and that of a few other nurses in our circle.” “So, you've fallen in love with a big baby … an honest to God big baby,” Kaarina whined, her disappointment evident. “Pupu, I want to have a great grandchild. I'm looking forward to changing diapers one more time, but this is ridiculous. What are you doing?” “I told you, Gran, it's complicated … really, really complicated.” “I could use some help in the kitchen,” Sofia pointed out. “We have eleven more guests coming to dinner, and I haven't even started the sapas. Pickled herring is your specialty, Mom, so get to work!” . . . . Becky was aghast. She was watching the video feed for the second time, her mind still not crediting what her eyes were seeing … Ian being laid in the crib by Amos and Andy ... the surreal moment when Amos snapped off a crisp salute … the methodical, almost slow motion way in which Vickie systematically locked Ian's restraints, imprisoning him so completely that he would barely be able to flex a muscle through the long hours of the night. “With all due respect, Rita, but have you lost your mind? Didn't Tuesday night's debacle teach you anything? My God! You've got that poor man fully restrained in the most secure room in the most secure wing of this entire hospital! HE DOESN'T BELONG THERE!” “No, he doesn't,” Rita agreed. “But he's there of his own free will. Do you see him offering any resistance to Vickie? Physically? Verbally? I don't. I think he's right where he wants to be-- and Tuesday night was the first time that Sarah and I have made any progress in finding out why.” “But how … how did you get him through the door in the first place? Does he have any idea of what he's got himself into?” “Yes, he does, and we can all thank Vickie for having the insight to spot his Achilles heal. It's his sense of duty, Becks-- and yes, it's really that simple. I begged him to help with Don Phillips and Phil Kettering, told him what it would take and what it would mean for his permanent record, and he signed on the dotted line without any hesitation at all.” Rita brought up another feed. “Now I want you to see what happened after dinner-- the second time that Ian and Phil started talking. We struck gold here, but your name came up in the conversation in a way that leaves you with a decision to make. It's going to be obvious what I want you to do, but like Ian, it's something for which you will have to volunteer.” Rita began replaying the tape, leaving Becky to watch in rapt silence … "Would widdle baby Ian like his aunt Vickie to babysit him for a while? Hmm?” “Is she your girlfriend?” “Huh?” Ian whirled around; Becky could see that Phil had taken Ian by complete surprise. “I like her … I like her a lot.” “What about you, Phil. Is there a nurse on the staff that you really, really like?” “I like Becky.” A wistful smile creased Phil Kettering's rugged features. “I like her a lot.” “Becks, it's Vickie's day off, so I would like you to march down to room eleven, wake the baby up, release him, change his diaper, get him properly dressed, bottle feed him-- there are two bottles of breast milk in the ward frig set aside for him--and then track down Phil and pair them off. This includes sitting down with them over our Thanksgiving meal … you know the tradition.” “And you want me to do what? Get inside Kettering's defenses? Ian's? Both of them?” 'Precisely. Oh, I don't want you to start probing, but if they continue batting their wartime experiences back and forth, just insinuate yourself into the conversation … something simple like asking them to explain something that you didn't understand. The idea is to get both of them accustomed to your presence, and talking to you.” Becky leaned back in her chair, evaluating the risk, but also the reward. She knew how she would answer, but she wanted assurances. “Is there any limit to how far I can take this?” “So long as you use common sense, none whatsoever.” Rita leaned forward, and paused while she carefully considered her next words. “It's not Ian and Phil that I'm worried about, Becky. It's you. I want you and everybody else on staff who interacts with Ian to test his need for dependency in general and for being treated like a baby in particular. This should be a walk in the park for all of you. But you need constantly to keep in mind that Phil will relate to you as an adult male-- a sexually charged adult male. Keep a firm grip on your emotions, and on the signals that you're sending him. Do not start something that you are not prepared to finish!” . . . . Becky entered the code to unlock the door to room eleven, and entered as quietly as she could. Still trying not to wake the baby, she crept to the desk and deposited Ian's briefcase on the floor. Then she approached the crib. It's one thing to see this on video, and another to see it up close. My God! He really is our little baby Ian. Even with the restraints, he looks so peaceful … or is it because of the restraints? There is no tension in his body at all; truly, a crib is where he belongs. Becky touched the bottles of breast milk in the pockets of her smock. Like Rita, she couldn't wait to see Ian's reaction to a bottle feeding. And when he was changed and fed, she intended to march him over to the desk, sit him down, lay a dozen blue books out in front of him, and order him to get to work. How quickly will he transition from infant to adult … and vice-versa? And which personality should we be treating? Could it possibly be the case that we'll have to treat both? The young nurse bent low over Ian's mid section and took a sniff. Yep, he's my little poopy pants … so, let's get him out of the restraints … “Wakey, wakey, baby; it's time to rise and shine!” On impulse, Becky planted several big, sloppy kisses on Ian's abdomen, causing him to laugh uncontrollably. So like a baby … “I need to change your diapee, baby; you are very wet and very poopy. So, let's get you from your crib to the changing table, shall we?” Ian groaned. “I know, baby, I know. You love your crib and you want to stay her all day, but it's very hard for aunt Becky to change you here. Let's get you onto the changing table.” She grabbed both of Ian's wrists, and rolled him onto his side; getting him onto his feet and then onto the changing table proved less difficult than she had expected. With the baby fully cooperative, cleaning Ian's messy bottom and getting him into fresh diapers and baby pants went quickly, and equally getting his diaper cover pulled up and locked tightly into place. Becky marveled at his complete lack of resistance to being treated so openly as an infant. “Now, it's time for your bottle!” Becky got down on the floor, and placed Ian's baby bottles at her side. Both were soft pink, and again she wondered whether he would see the significance of what she was offering him. Following her lead, Ian laid down with his head cradled in the beautiful nurse's arms. When she waved the first bottle in front of his eyes, Ian's mouth fell open, eagerly awaiting the nipple that was now just out of reach. Becky eased the teat into his mouth, and instantly the baby began to suckle. It was a completely natural and deeply instinctive reaction. Ian's eyes slowly closed, but he continued to nurse. He was hungry, and the warm milk tasted wonderful My little baby … my sweet little Ian. Aunt Becky wants you to stay like this forever and ever. It's wrong to force you to grow up when you just want to be a little baby. Rita and Sarah have got to understand that what they are doing is not in your best interest. The crib is where you belong, not in Sarah's bed. . . . . “My God,” Marge exclaimed, nodding at the video feed coming out of room eleven. “If I wasn't seeing this with my own eyes, I never would have believed it! He isn't play acting. Ian really is an infant trapped in a grown-up's body!” “Let's see how he reacts when Becky tells him that he's been drinking human breast milk. Then she's going to offer him a pacifier … a pink pacifier.” “You suspect that he's … what? A transsexual?” “Sarah says that he can't get it up, but Vickie tells me that he gets raging hard-ons when she penetrates him and teases his prostate. So, the idea is worth pursuing, hence the pink baby bottles and pacifier. If he accepts both, then I want to lose his male clothing and take him home in a dress … ideally, something really frilly, really infantile … something that a baby girl might wear.” “That's going to be hard to find on Thanksgiving Day.” “Not to worry. Vickie got here well ahead of us. She went shopping on Monday. I'm not sure that we want to know how or why, but she knew exactly where to go to find a princess dress for Ian. It's hanging in the garment bag” Rita nodded in the direction of her office door. “May I take a look?” “Of course” Marge closed the door, and unzipped the nondescript garment bag. “Oh, my,” she whispered, “if Ian really is a princess poopy pants, he's going to love this! Just look at it … pink satin, short enough to show off his diapers, all the expected frills and flounces ...” “Take a look at the back side,” Rita encouraged. “IT LOCKS,” Marge exclaimed; “my God in heaven, IT LOCKS!” “If he's wearing this when I take him home,” Rita grinned, “I'll conveniently forget where I placed the key.” “I have a suggestion … two, really.” “Go on.” “The first is that I hang this at the foot of his crib. This way, when he's going beddiebyes, it will be in his direct line of sight. Even if he initially resists, curiosity might get the better of him. As for the second, I think that we should make his locking diaper cover a permanent part of his wardrobe. Babies don't change their own diapers, and boy or girl, our Ian really is just a baby. And now that Ian's secretary has signed on, there is no longer any reason for him to concern himself with his diapers at all. Let's give Amy and everyone else responsible for his care one of the unlocking devices; this will drive home to him in the most direct way imaginable that he is helpless and dependent upon his aunties to keep him clean and dry.” Rita nodded in agreement. “When she comes in tomorrow, I'll tell Vickie to have Amy stop by on her way to work. We can give her the key, but I also want to give her four bottles of breast milk-- two for Ian's lunch, and one for his mid-morning and midafternoon snack. I want to start weaning him off of regular food; a newborn's poop is a lot easier to deal with than an adult's. And from the looks of what we just saw on the feed, Ian will be only too delighted to have ba-bas on a regular basis.” And in the fullness of time he will be nursing at my breast … and Vickie's … and maybe Sarah's. We are going to create the ultimate safe space for our little princess, and oh so gently prod him to break down his wall. If this works, I'll be writing papers and delivering lectures for years to come! . . . . “Mom, you're a wonder … you and Gran both. The cousins all came back for seconds, even thirds, and my nieces and nephews all seemed to have a great time. And you have an entire hospital to administer. How do you find the time to prepare a feast for fourteen people?” “It's called compartmentalization,” Sofia laughed. She and Sarah finally had the kitchen to themselves. Kaarina had taken her turkey coma and gone happily to bed, and their extended family, groaning under the weight of all the leftovers that Sofia had deposited in outstretched arms, had finally gone home. The Thanksgiving ritual had once again gone off without a hitch. “Desserts on Sunday, the green beans on Monday, the cranberries on Tuesday … the trick is to leave as little as possible for Thanksgiving day itself. Believe me, dear, I have this down to a science!” “You certainly do,” Sarah agreed. “So, are you ready to talk about your young man … about what happened?” “Meaning?” “Sarah, a thirty-three year old, fully incontinent male is … I was about to say unusual, but that doesn't cover it. This is rare in the extreme. There are only a couple of things I can think of, and an industrial accident seems unlikely. So, that leaves us with a really bad automobile accident or ...” “The war,” Sarah quietly finished; “Viet Nam.” “I see.” Mother and daughter sat quietly for several moments. “We are talking about a combat veteran, then?” “Yes. Mom, he won't talk about it. All I've got out of him so far is that he was awarded four Purple Hearts. I don't know his rank or unit, how long he was over there … nothing. He won't talk to me, and every time I circle around the edges of it, he shuts down completely. He freezes me out.” “That's actually fairly normal, Sarah. Your father fought his way across the Pacific, and I knew that he was wounded on Okinawa, but it wasn't until ...” Sarah wrapped her arm around her mother's shoulders, and hugged her close. “Until after he passed that I discovered the Silver Star in an old foot locker. He never talked about the war, Sarah, not once.” “And grandfather?” “The same thing. He was wounded in the Battle of the Somme in 1918. He came home, went to work in the mines, got married, raised a family … Kaarina was barely out of high school when she had me. Nineteen years old! That's life,” she sighed. “You must be so disappointed in me … thirty-two, and on the cutting edge of spinsterhood.” Sofia laid her head on Sarah's shoulder. “There are no words to describe how proud I am of you,” she whispered; “no words.” “And I know you too well,” she added, “to think that incontinence … changing Ian's diapers … that it would have any impact on your feelings for him. And I can see that you love him; it's as plain as the nose on your face.” Sofia sat up straight. “It's something else that's making you hesitate-- and we don't need to discuss it right now. We have the rest of the weekend. Whenever you're ready, we'll put our heads together and try and work it out.” “Now,” Sofia added as she stood up. “Why don't you give Rita another call? You must be anxious to find out how Ian likes being babysat by your best friend!” 4 Link to comment
CCApril Posted June 17, 2023 Share Posted June 17, 2023 Sarah has the most understanding mom! But will there be any Ian left for her after the other Nurses get done with him? I'm not sure how well the other soldiers will open up to Ian if they see him in a baby girls dress. It could have nasty ramifications for his job as well. How did I never have a Finnish pastie? Are they still popular in Minn? Can I get one at the state fair? April 1 Link to comment
Babypants Posted June 17, 2023 Author Share Posted June 17, 2023 1 hour ago, CCApril said: Sarah has the most understanding mom! But will there be any Ian left for her after the other Nurses get done with him? I'm not sure how well the other soldiers will open up to Ian if they see him in a baby girls dress. It could have nasty ramifications for his job as well. How did I never have a Finnish pastie? Are they still popular in Minn? Can I get one at the state fair? April Let me answer this in two parts, starting with pasties. At the time of this story (1979), I could call up a bakery in Two Harbors (North Shore), place my annual pasty order, and then wait for the owner to have a full truckload, at which point I'd get a call back telling me the evening on which he'd be driving down! Service right to the door, and I didn't even have to pay in advance. Ah, the good old days. Nowadays, we place an order with Roy's up in Houghton, then drive up for fall foliage, make the rounds, and pick up our load on the last afternoon when we're driving home. We always get 3 dozen for ourselves, but we also pick up for friends all over the neighborhood, sparing them a 6 to 7 hour drive each way that we would be making in any event. During COVID, we brought almost 200 back on one trip. Now, without further ado, and going east to west, here are the 12 that we recommend: Lehto's Pasties (St. Ignace). By the way, it's pronounced St. Ignis. Hiawatha's Pasties (Naubinway). Muldoon's Pasties (Munising). Lawry's (Marquette). The Pasty Oven (Quinnesec) Jean Kay's / Dobber's Pasties / Antonio's Pizza, Pasta and Pasties (Iron Mountain). Roy's (Houghton). Toni's Country Kitchen / The Hut Inn / Connies (Calumet). Last month, we suffered a big loss with the closure of the Haleva Cafe in Hancock, which would have been the 13th on this list. There was a restaurant of some kind on that site since 1891; now we have to find new digs for our Norwegian and Swedish breakfasts. 1 minute ago, Babypants said: Can I get one at the state fair? Not sure. Have only been to the MN state fair once, and that was decades ago. And to judge from our neighborhood, the Finnish pasty is still going strong. 1 Link to comment
Babypants Posted June 18, 2023 Author Share Posted June 18, 2023 15 hours ago, Babypants said: Sarah has the most understanding mom! But will there be any Ian left for her after the other Nurses get done with him? I'm not sure how well the other soldiers will open up to Ian if they see him in a baby girls dress. It could have nasty ramifications for his job as well Now for the second part of the answer, regarding story content. "I'm done with making decisions." Concluding scene 12, this line doubles the reader back to the same line in an equally revealing skein of introspection in scene 1. This is what Quentin Tarantino does in Pulp Fiction, and it's a technique that I like because it seals off the first part of the story from what follows. The current scene then becomes what is known as a bridge. It connects to the second part, and allows new characters to be introduced as if the story was just starting out. This technique allows a large cast of characters to be introduced over time instead of compressing them into the opening chapter/s. Here Kaarina and Sofia get the traditional biographical dump, but Bian will be built up over more than one scene. Thirteen "chapters" in, and you have to meet the character around whom the whole story arguably pivots. How nasty of me! You are going to like Sofia. Indeed, I suspect that you will get a good laugh out of what's coming in scenes 15 and following. The cast of nurses is so large because of something that a police officer told me almost 30 years ago that goes to the heart of story telling-- something that even seasoned professional writers have been known to miss. The baby dress and other props are also there for a specific reason. There is little that I can say without giving the game away, but it would probably help to put yourself in Rita's shoes. She's an intelligent, educated, caring and experienced clinician who daily addresses the question of how to move the needle for patients, knowing that there's a clock running, dictated in part by statute and in part by her budget. She's really up against it. 1 Link to comment
littlebopeeper Posted June 19, 2023 Share Posted June 19, 2023 Sofia is great, the kind of down to earth lady that sensible middle age guys should be dating. And I think Sarah's grandmother is one of my best friends. You've said nothing about Ian's family. Does he have one, or has he been battling PTSD on his own? He would be really lucky to have three such caring women looking after him. Where's the quiz? Link to comment
Babypants Posted June 20, 2023 Author Share Posted June 20, 2023 Quickie medical quiz: In the United States, how many years of medical school does it take to become a Doctor of Psychiatry? A. 4 years B. 6 years C. 8 years D. 10 years Link to comment
Babypants Posted June 22, 2023 Author Share Posted June 22, 2023 THE MANY FACES OF IAN GRADY “You are such a good baby,” Becky whispered as she wiped Ian's face with a damp cloth. “Did you like your milkies?” “Uh huh. They was gwate.” Wow! He is even beginning to talk like a young toddler! “It was very special milk, my sweet little poopy pants … very special. It was breast milk. Would you like to have more?” “Uh huh.” Could he possibly end up pre-verbal? “We have plenty for you. You can have it every day, as many times as you want, but first you have to do something for me.” Becky got up and walked over to the desk. She picked up Ian's briefcase, opened it and scattered blue books and pens across the surface. Then she looked back at her charge. “Crawl over here to your auntie Becky, and sit in this chair.” She patted the seat, and Ian obediently crawled over and hoisted himself up. He looked inquiringly at his nurse. Becky pulled a large, pink pacifier out of her pocket, and wordlessly held it up in front of him. Ian opened his mouth and willingly accepted the gift. He began instantly to tease it. “I want you to grade a dozen of these blue books. When you finish, I'll give you another ba-ba. Now, get to work!” Ian rapidly sorted the blue books into different piles-- one for each of the four questions that had appeared on the test. Picking up a red pen, he opened the top blue book in one of the piles, and began to read. Becky watched as he proceeded to score the essay with check marks and marginal comments. When he finished, he wrote a long summary note on the last page, and affixed a grade. Throughout, he continued to nurse on his pacifier. As Ian was picking up his second blue book, in the office Rita and Marge were looking at one another with open disbelief. “There's no transition,” Rita whispered, “none whatsoever. One second he's a baby who can barely speak, and the next he's a mature adult going about his job. Is the pacifier a binding agent?” Rita scribbled a note, reminding herself to have Becky try the experiment without the pacifier. “Marge, do you have any idea what this means for therapeutics?” “Charly,” Marge replied, her voice equally awed; “do you remember Charly?” “Of course. Cliff Robertson at his best. But Charly was the product of surgery. This is totally different.” The two senior nurses watched Ian methodically grade blue book after blue book. When he finished the first dozen, he put the marking pen down and turned to Becky. “Ba-ba, auntie Bec...kee, ba-ba. Bay-bee dursty!” All this with the pacifier still firmly wedged in his mouth. “You're such a good baby,” Becky said again as she stroked his hair. “Now, get down and crawl back to the changing table. Auntie Becky will go get you another nice, warm ba-ba.” As she approached the door, Becky looked up at the camera and mouthed the word “more.” She knew that Rita and Marge were both evaluating the scene that had just played out in room eleven. She would follow up the next bottle feeding with another round of blue books, check her baby's diaper, then hopefully have an adult to escort out to the atrium for the rendezvous with Phil Kettering. But no matter how you cut it, we're going to need a lot more breast milk! . . . . “We meet again.” Ian nodded at Phil Kettering as he sat down to his right. Different time, same station. Just me and the Everly Brothers “When's chow? I sort of missed breakfast.” “Rumor has it 14:00 hours … turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans … the usual. Maybe we'll get lucky and they'll toss in some cranberries. How did you miss breakfast?” “I spent the night in eleven-- a crib with all the trimmings. Becky parted the seas, changed me, and then proceeded to bottle feed me … breast milk, no less. Not exactly filling, if you know what I mean.” “Can't say that I do. What did it taste like?” “Oh … sort of like the hooch juice that we tanked up on over in Cambodia. But, hey, with my head cradled in Becky's lap? It could have been machine oil for all that I cared. I was sightseeing, my friend-- and nurse Becky's got a pair that are truly a sight to see!” “I know. I like her, you know? I like her a lot!” “That's good, because she says that you are her favorite patient. She thinks that you're a hunk. She wants you to get better, blow this place, and take her out on a date. You game?” “She thinks I'm a hunk?” “Yep. No accounting for taste.” Ian looked up, and saw Becky meandering slowly in their direction. Right on cue. “Say hey, Willie Mays, here she comes!” Ian nudged his seatmate, and nodded in her general direction. He noted that Becky's hair had recently encountered a brush, and that her makeup was oozing sex appeal in all the right places. “Let's impress her with sordid tales of our feats of far off derring-do,” Ian whispered in Phil's ear; “it's a well known fact that heroes get nurses all hot and bothered.” “So, you were saying that you were a Delta rat. My Tho?” “Yeah.” “You were down there during Tet?” Becky quietly sat down to Phil's left, but she kept her eyes moving around the room, pretending that her attention was elsewhere. “Yeah. They hit us during the night on the 31st … first night of Tet. Took us completely by surprise. Over a thousand strong. It came down to hand to hand in the streets, and it took us a while to get control of the situation. Late the next afternoon. I crapped my pants so many times I lost count. That's what I remember most … the smell … feces, urine, the gas from oozing guts that made the streets so slippery. And then there was the sound … guys on both sides dying, calling out for their mommas. I still hear them in my sleep … what little I get.” Phil leaned his head against the wall. Glancing to his left, he saw that Becky was sitting close. She smells so good … “After that, I pretty much spent the rest of my tour doing the boogie shuffle ...” “Jitterbugging,” Ian surmised. “Yeah, in and out, in and out, over and over again. Bravo Company's luck ran out on 26 Feb. We hit a village called Binh Phu, but they had the LZ mapped, and laid on mortar fire as soon as the choppers hit dirt. Hottest LZ imaginable. We lost over half our complement. Got out without a scratch, and ended up going Riverine. Different outfit, same shit. Honest to God, I don't know how I survived.” Becky's hand slid over to pat Phil lightly on the thigh. “I don't understand half of what you two just said. What's jitterbugging?” “Oh, small assault units at the tip of the spear,” Phil explained. “Helicopter air assault teams,” Ian added. “We were just probing … see what we could stir up. If we boogied ...” “Got into a firefight,” Ian interpreted. “Then we'd call in the gunships to light up the perimeter. A-1 Skyraiders saved our butts more than once.” “But not at this Binh Phu?” Becky sensed that they had hit paydirt. A nondescript village halfway across the globe was ground zero for the nightmares that had brought Phil Kettering home without the will to live. “I hit the ground before the chopper did,” Phil sobbed. He was rocking back and forth, drowning in the memories, not fathoming just how close to the surface they really were. “Went out the right side, rolled, and came up ready to rock and roll. Ricky … my best friend Ricky Naull … he went out the left … straight into a white phosphorus mortar round. He screamed … Jim Bradshaw … these were guys I went to high school with, junior high … and they screamed, begged for someone … anyone … to kill them.” Becky wrapped her arms around him, hugged him close … “And I couldn't do it,” he screamed; “I COULDN'T DO IT!” Survivor's guilt, Becky judged, hugging her haunted warrior still more tightly to her chest. Phil was sobbing uncontrollably now, breath coming to him in giant heaves. “Let it go, Phil,” she soothed, “just let it go. Can you hear me? Just let it all out. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. However long it takes, I'm here. We'll get through this together.” Major Ian Grady climbed abruptly to his feet, and held out his hand to warn off the two male orderlies who were rushing out of the corridor to come to Becky's rescue. And they stopped dead in their tracks. Becky was rocking her patient, comforting him in the tone of voice that parents everywhere used to calm small children awakened by demons in the darkest hours of night. As for the man standing behind them, the mysterious patient from room eleven? There was steel in his eyes, and it gave them pause. Both men had served, in different branches of the military, and both knew command presence when they encountered it. This man had it in spades. Being careful to keep his hands loosely at his sides, Ian ambled over to make their acquaintance. “Gentlemen,” he winked, the devil dancing in his eyes, “as you can see, Nurse Becky has everything under control. But she gave me breast milk for breakfast, and it's run right through me. So, who do I see around here for a diaper change?” Utterly dumbfounded, one of the men wordlessly pointed at the open door leading to the changing room. “Thanks,” Ian said as he casually wandered off-- only to stop dead in his tracks as he neared the doorway. Gagging, he frantically waved his arms in front of his face. The stench was overwhelming. Taking a deep breath and trying his best to hold it, he charged forward, only to find himself quickly surrounded by laundry carts piled high with wet and dirty diapers. There was a lone changing table, and beyond it a single nurse, Playtex gloves reaching almost to her elbows. At least I think it's a she; with that gas mask, it's hard to be sure … The creature gestured at the changing table, it's invitation clear. Ian readily accepted, even as he lost the battle and had to take his next breath. He wanted to pass out, only to discover yet again that life is just not that merciful. Instead he coughed and he sputtered as the creature efficiently went about the all but automated process of stripping him bare, cleaning his messy bottom, and girding his loins with a fresh diaper and baby pants. He did, however, get his old locking diaper cover back. As the lock clicked home, he felt a momentary sense of triumph, knowing that he had somehow survived yet another hot LZ. But it faded as he stood up and finally spotted the sign painted in crude letters over the doorway: WELCOME TO THE HOTEL CALIFORNIA And below it, in much smaller print, some wag had added the parting verse: YOU CAN CHECK OUT ANYTIME YOU LIKE BUT YOU CAN NEVER LEAVE Rita, you sadistic bitch, I swear to everything that's holy … I AM GOING TO GET YOU FOR THIS! . . . . “This had better be good, Rita, as in really, really good.” Vickie took off her coat and swept the last of the snow out of her hair. “It's snowing like crazy out there, the road's are a nightmare, the hospital's a morgue, and I'm now officially a no-show for a very promising Thanksgiving dinner. Thank you very much.” “How many invites did you get this year?” “Four.” “And you accepted them all?” “Of course. If I can't score a single guy at a Thanksgiving dinner, you can stick a fork in me because I am well and truly done. Now, while I'm still in the mood to be polite, what's up?” Rita had the tape rewound and ready to go. She had already moved Vickie's favorite chair around to her side of the desk. She gestured for Vickie to join her, and then hit Play. “Vic, I'm giving you full credit for what you're about to see, and you deserve every bit of it. Without your insight, none of this would have happened. Act One took place in eleven, when Becky went in to run an impromptu experiment on Ian. Watch.” Rita ran the first tape to the end, shutting it off at the moment when Becky had left the room to get Ian another bottle of breast milk. Then she sat back, savoring the moment, waiting for Vickie to share her thoughts. For her part, Victoria Robinson was dazed. “Did we … did we … just throw everything the textbooks taught us about dissociative disorders out the window? All of it?” “I believe so,” Rita murmured as she prepped the stage for Act Two. It would only take a moment for Reiko, Candy and Marge to join them. “It's not possible,” Vickie protested. “No one can be that divorced from reality and still function.” “It's only impossible until it happens, Vic; we all know that our profession is simply a work in progress.” The three other nurses drifted in and leaned against the window. “Did you manage to reach her,” Rita asked as she swiveled her chair to face Reiko. “She's on her way up,” Reiko confirmed. “But she's working ER, so I had to clear it with her supervisor. Rita, there are going to be a lot of questions asked about this.” “I know, and I'll deal with it.” “Would someone like to tell me what the Hell is going on,” Vickie complained. “We're waiting for a Vietnamese RN, a friend of Reiko's. Her name is Bian Nguyen. She's a refugee … one of the boat people … and apparently the only Vietnamese medical professional on salary at this hospital. I want her to see what happened next, and then we're going to decide what to do with Ian's request.” “I'll wait for her at the door,” Reiko murmured as she left. Rita's telephone rang. “Stevenson,” she snapped. Finally, Sarah sighed, relaxing her stranglehold on the telephone in her mother's home office. 4 Link to comment
littlebopeeper Posted June 24, 2023 Share Posted June 24, 2023 On 6/20/2023 at 6:07 PM, Babypants said: Quickie medical quiz: In the United States, how many years of medical school does it take to become a Doctor of Psychiatry? A. 4 years B. 6 years C. 8 years D. 10 years c. 8 years Thanks for taking the time to find a way to tell us what Ian and Phil were talking about, because without a guide I wouldn't have had a clue. As it is, I still don't understand "hooch juice." I thought this was a kind of moonshine made inside prisons. And what does it have to do with breast milk? Link to comment
Babypants Posted June 25, 2023 Author Share Posted June 25, 2023 I didn't realize that "hooch juice" had a broader application; thanks for bringing this to my attention. Should have known it, since my paternal ancestry was KY moonshiners, and my maternal FL rum runners during Prohibition. In SW Pacific, a hooch was anything that served as a shelter from the elements-- a lean-to, a pillbox, a sandbag reinforced bunker, or my favorite, the hut with a thatched grass roof and bamboo walls, with geckos to take on the mosquitoes. "Hooch juice" in Cambodia is diverse, with a very deadly rice wine leading the way. Most guys drank a concoction that was based on sugarcane juice, while I preferred pineapple. "Hooch" is popular throughout Asia, with my all-time favorite being the South Korean "soju" (a big seller in Cambodia). 12 hours ago, littlebopeeper said: c. 8 years Thanks for taking the time to find a way to tell us what Ian and Phil were talking about, because without a guide I wouldn't have had a clue. As it is, I still don't understand "hooch juice." I thought this was a kind of moonshine made inside prisons. And what does it have to do with breast milk? As for the breast milk, it is very sweet compared with formula, which is a characteristic of hooch everywhere. It is, after all, a combination of fruit juice, sugar, and yeast. 1 Link to comment
Babypants Posted June 26, 2023 Author Share Posted June 26, 2023 Quickie historical quiz: Historians of rock and roll have long debated the meaning of the verses in the Eagles' Hotel California. What might the lines "And still those voices are calling from far away / Wake you up in the middle of the night" reference? A. Ghosts B. Heroin C. Materialism D. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder E. All of the above F. None of the above Link to comment
Babypants Posted June 27, 2023 Author Share Posted June 27, 2023 MY SECRET GARDEN “Rita, where have you been? I called your office last night … your home. And again this morning. What ... is ... going … on?” “I'm sorry, Sarah, but you know what it's like during Thanksgiving week. Everybody's short staffed, and we're all doing double and triple duty. And when we finished up last night, Vickie and I went to a Lake Street bar to grab some Juicy Lucies. One thing led to another, and we ended up closing the place. I didn't get home until after one in the morning. And this morning? Sarah, this place is a zoo. I've got half a dozen people in the office as we speak.” “And Ian? What about Ian?” Sarah waved frantically to her mother, who was standing in the doorway. She put the phone on speaker so that Sofia could join in. “Ian stayed here last night, Sarah … in the secure wing.” “WHAT? WHAT THE HELL IS IAN DOING IN THE SECURE WING?” “Helping me. Sarah, at my request Ian signed the paperwork for a voluntary admit, and he went straight inside to work with two Viet Nam vets who came to us off the streets. They won't talk to us, Sarah, any more than Ian will, but I was gambling that they just might talk with him. And it worked! We've had a major breakthrough with Phil Kettering; Becky's with him right now. And Ian … Ian's signaling us that he wants to take on Don Phillips over Thanksgiving dinner. Don's been catatonic since he got here.” On screen, Rita was watching Ian lift an imaginary fork to his lips over and over again, pausing only to turn around and regularly check on Becky, Don and Phil. “Right now, we're scrambling to see how we can assist. Reiko's come up with an idea-- send someone in who can speak Vietnamese with Ian. If Phillips won't react to English, maybe … just maybe … he'll react to Vietnamese if he hears it all around him. So we're waiting for an ER RN, Bian Nguyen, to come up … do you know her?” “Vaguely … a nodding acquaintance in the cafeteria.” “Rita, hi, this is Sofia. Sorry to butt in, but I take it that Sarah's boyfriend has been doing some heavy lifting. How did he get the other soldier … Kettering? How did he get the other soldier to open up?” “Sofia, hi … it's incredible. He sat down next to Phil, and just started rambling on about his own war experience. And Phil responded. It took two sessions, but Ian opened the door enough that now I know what to ask Glenn Albright for out at the VA-- an after action report at a village called Binh Phu. Once I've got that report in hand, it should be straight sledding, especially since Phil's ga-ga over a nurse who is holding his hand even as we speak ...” Rita was staring at the video feed; it was clear that Becky had penetrated Phil Kettering's defenses. But has he penetrated hers? God, Becky, I warned you … I warned you! “Rita, I want him! You've got two in your ward? Well, I've got seven in mine. Seven!” “Mom, wait,” Sarah cut in. “Rita, tell me that Ian is free to walk out of that ward any time he wants …” “Of course he is. But Sarah, you need to prepare for this. None of us think that he wants to leave. We put him in eleven last night. Amos and Andy put him in the crib, and Vickie did the honors with the restraints.” “YOU RESTRAINED HIM?” “Vickie was just testing his responses, but he offered no resistance … none whatsoever. Sarah, he can come home with me tonight, but I will bet you anything that he will choose to stay in eleven until you come back. It's his safe place, Sarah, and I want you to think about that long and hard. Going forward, I do not want you involved in his therapy. I'm handing him over to Vickie. Your job is to be his girlfriend and his mommy-- the human component of his support structure-- but we are not going to let Tuesday night happen again. Are we clear on this?” “We'll discuss it when I get back.” “Agreed. And here is a little of what we've learned so far. Ian did three tours with Special Forces, fought in Laos as well as Viet Nam, and was a Major when he left the service. Despite his incontinence, he wanted to go back, but the army refused. So, he resigned his commission and went back as a civilian to take care of some unfinished business. We have no idea what it's about, but there are clear indications that in his mind he's still not done out there. I want Vickie to pursue this angle, in the hope that it will lead us back to whatever it is that's eating him alive.” Rita looked up. Reiko had returned, with their Vietnamese guest. “Sarah, we can do this, but you have to give us time. Now, I have to go, but I have Sofia's telephone number, and I will call you back with an update before calling it a day.” Rita hung up before Sarah could reply, then turned her attention to their guest. She judged Bian to be in her early forties, but remembering that she had been a refugee, she quickly revised her estimate to mid to late thirties. She was tiny and compact, but her eyes were alert and her gaze calculating. She's reading the room, gauging the mood … always a good sign. Bian worked her way around to Rita's side of the desk, and studied the imagery being supplied live by the video feed. She did a double take and then looked up, her confusion evident. “What he doing here,” she asked. She reached out and delicately tapped the image of Ian Grady, who was looking directly into the camera, still pantomiming shoveling food into his mouth. “He is good man, and fine soldier. What he doing here?” . . . . “Daughter of mine, methinks the time has come for us to speak of cabbages and kings.” Sofia beckoned for her daughter to take the desk chair. “Mom, it's like I told gran; it's really, really complicated.” “Well, let's see if we can't simplify it.” “Okay.” Sarah paused to organize her thoughts, trying to factor in the information that Rita had just dumped in their laps. “Okay. My boyfriend is a decent looking, super intelligent guy with the proverbial heart of gold. He thinks about others, and he likes to make people comfortable, so he's a natural for the classroom. With his gift for languages, he could make a fortune in the business world as a go-between, but he doesn't seem to care about money, possessions … any of it. Mom, if you saw his apartment? There's no table and chairs, nothing in the bedroom except the bed … he lives like a monk.” “Hmm. He sounds like a people person. And yet you seemed surprised that he agreed to help Rita and her two troubled vets. What am I missing here?” “I think … I think she's manipulating him, using his sense of honor-- a soldier's sense of honor-- to get him to do what she wants. And I don't like it.” “Why? Sarah, women have been using manipulation to control men since the beginning of time. It's in our DNA. And from my vantage point, it looks like Rita has simply drafted Ian to help with two of her patients. Believe me, if I can get my hands on him, I'm going to do the exact same thing! So unless you think that Rita has a hidden agenda ...” “We do have an agenda, Mom, and this is not part of it. Ian has a problem with alcohol, and Rita is supposed to be babysitting him, not 'testing his responses' to being put down in a pediatric crib and fully restrained.” “And she's doing that … why? Why does he need a safe space? A crib? Restraints? And what did she mean when she said that your job is to be his girlfriend and his mommy? HIS MOMMY? Come on, Sarah, out with it! What is this all about?” Sarah threw her hands in the air in defeat. “The alcohol is easy enough to explain. Something bad happened to him out there … something really, really bad. He's using liquor to hold his demons at bay, so we're going to dry him out, take away his crutch, and force him to deal with the guilt head on.” “Which is straight out of the textbooks. Likewise having you and Vickie playing good cop, bad cop. But what isn't straight out of the textbooks is treating him like an infant … swaddling him with restraints. Would this be the part of your relationship that you keep calling 'really, really complicated'?” Sarah nodded in mute agreement. She badly wanted to tell her mother everything, but at the same time she did not want to embarrass herself. Above all, she did not want to be judged. She took a deep breath, summoning the courage to start a conversation that had no logical beginning and no inevitable end. “Mom, do you know what a D/s relationship is?” “Of course,” Sofia laughed. “I have read The Story of O, and my copy of Nancy Friday's My Secret Garden is very well thumbed!” “MOM, NO!!! Are you telling me that … that” “That at my advanced age I still have an active sex life, and occasionally indulge in a bit of role playing? You bet your sweet bippy! You'll meet Bob tomorrow night.” Sofia grinned from ear to ear. There was her daughter, sitting there, slack-jawed and wide eyed … “Pupu, if you could just see the look on your face! Now, would I be correct in assuming that you are a Dominant, and Ian is your submissive?” “Yes ...” “And did the two of you sign a contract?” “WHAT? A CONTRACT? MOM … WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?” “It's customary for the couple in a D/s relationship to put the terms that govern their relationship in writing, lest there be any misunderstanding of what the roles require. Barring that … do the two of you at least have a verbal understanding?” “Absolutely. I am in total control … make all of the decisions for both of us. He knows that I expect complete obedience, and that he will be punished if he's naughty, talks back, or disobeys me without a really, really compelling reason.” “You spank him?” “Yes.” “Good. Are you giving him maintenance spankings?” “What?” “Maintenance spankings, pupu.” Sofia rolled her eyes; her daughter's naivete amazed her. “You keep a written log of his misdemeanors, and set aside a time each week for the two of you to sit down and review the entries. Then you spank him … just as I spanked your father week in and week out for more than twenty-five years.” “Huh?” “Shocking, isn't it,” Sofia smirked. “Well, no matter. I'll draw up a contract for you, but first I need to know more about the mommy part of this relationship. How old is your baby?” “Mom, I don't ...” “Oh, come, dear. Do you keep him as a two year old? Eighteen months? Twelve? Six? He gets no say in this matter, you know. This is just one more thing that, as the Dominant, you decide. And if he rebels, you spank him. It's really that simple.” “But I haven't given any thought to ...” “Do so. Rita said that he welcomed being crib bound and fully restrained, which suggests that he wants to be treated as a newborn. That would put a bit of a dent in your sex life, but on the other hand he sure doesn't seem to be behaving like a toddler. Maybe an eight month old? Crawling? Pre-verbal? When you spank him, does he cry convincingly?” “Gosh, yes! Mom, Vickie spanked him on Tuesday night, and he was bawling just like a baby! That's when we made our first breakthrough, and finally learned something about his time in Viet Nam.” “Ah, so that's what Rita was referring to! Pupu, she's absolutely right. You need to stay far away from his therapy; you're his mommy, not his therapist!” “Okay, okay … I see what you mean … what you both mean ...” “Now, about your sex life ...” “What sex life?” “You mean you haven't?” “Not yet. Every time I change his diaper, it … well, it just lays there.” “Oh, dear. Well, is he any good with, you know, his tongue?” “Mom, he's a magician! He can do things with his fingers and tongue ...” “Have you tried penetrating him anally? A prostate massage? Maybe there's a little girl in there that's just dying to come out and play.” “Mom, what? No … NO WAY!” “It's just foreplay, dear, just foreplay. You get him hard and then you mount him, but for your pleasure, not his. If this really is a D/s relationship, then you want to limit his orgasms. In your situation, I'd seriously consider doing away with them altogether. After all, he's just a baby, and baby boys get hard, but they don't come. You should milk him, tease him, give him ruined orgasms, but never let him experience the real thing. Orgasm denial and spankings will transform your incontinent adult into a happily babbling baby boy in no time at all.” Sofia stood up and walked over to a large filing cabinet. Bending over, she opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a thin, nondescript folder. “Would you like to read the contract that your father and I signed?” 5 Link to comment
CCApril Posted June 28, 2023 Share Posted June 28, 2023 Wow! Great chapters. Where to start... 1.) Talk about a bombshell! She knows him from Vietnam. Sllllllllooooooowwwww intro. I like it. 2.) Juicy Lucie - Sounds so good! 3.) Soju - In Korea in 1986 we drank smurf juice - Soju and fruit wine. And lots of cheap beer. Did they snap the top layer off? The old guys in Korea would snap the bottle and flick the top layer off. Used to have a layer of formaldehyde. 4. Yes. I love Sofia. What you never know about your own parents. Link to comment
Babypants Posted June 28, 2023 Author Share Posted June 28, 2023 41 minutes ago, CCApril said: 3.) Soju - In Korea in 1986 we drank smurf juice - Soju and fruit wine. And lots of cheap beer. Did they snap the top layer off? The old guys in Korea would snap the bottle and flick the top layer off. Used to have a layer of formaldehyde. South Korea has long been one of my favorite travel destinations-- first world everything at high third world prices. So, fly into Incheon, take the bus over to Gimpo, pick up the rental car, and take off. Stunning scenery, especially in the fall, great food, young people eager to practice their English, rich culture and history-- and soju. Ah, soju. I have never had it out of a bottle. My late wife and I prowled restaurants and truck stops in the middle of nowhere, sampled it by the cupful out of urns (bathtub gin, in short), and when we found one we really liked, we brought out the empty water bottles and loaded up before moving on. Most of what we were sampling had a market radius of only 5 to 10 kilometers, so it was often the case that we ventured less than a hundred miles a day. You would not believe the alcohol content by volume of some of the stuff that we were downing. Still, it was mild compared with the snake wine that we drank in Kunming, but I'll save that for another story. 1 Link to comment
Babypants Posted June 28, 2023 Author Share Posted June 28, 2023 12 hours ago, CCApril said: 4. Yes. I love Sofia. What you never know about your own parents. Sofia, at 58, is the first of the older, steadier hands to be brought into the story, which has hitherto been given over to a cast aged 24-34. One tactic to keep a story fresh is to look at events from a different generational perspective. In her own mind, Sarah is mature, but in her mother's mind she still has a long, long way to go. But Sarah is only 32, so her mother has been experiencing life as a day to day proposition for roughly 9,500 more days than Sarah. It does tend to matter. 2 Link to comment
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