AN HOMAGE TO VINCENT VEGA, SEASON TWO SCENE 54 (IN LOCO PARENTIS)

[Babypants]

13 hours ago, CCApril said:

1.) Talk about a bombshell! She knows him from Vietnam. Sllllllllooooooowwwww intro. I like it.

Chapter 11 in BB's and scene 12 here in Homage are what are known as bridge chapters in the writing biz.  We are both writing stories with a large cast of characters, and it is not practical to try and introduce them all in the opening chapters.  By sealing off part 1 of a story, which you did with April's fleeing of the scene and I did with Ian's deep-seated fear of making decisions being hammered home, both stories have recycled and made the introduction of new characters seem a natural rather than forced part of the narrative.  At the same time, however, established characters can be given a new lease on life.  April is now in the center of things on your end, and I will be reshuffling my deck of nurses as well, in keeping with the fact that the story has moved from Rita's townhome to a large urban hospital.  

Hopefully, readers of our two stories will end up asking a common question: what next?  I will be doing my best to keep them asking that question right up to the last chapter because who the heck wants to read a mystery when you know "whodunnit" halfway through the tale?  In this vein, Bian is a critical character, and I sure hope that this site supports the Vietnamese script.  If it doesn't, I've got some major league editing to do up ahead.

[Babypants]

Quickie historical quiz:

"You bet your sweet bippy" is an iconic American euphemism of the late 60's and 70's that was inspired by television's need to evade censorship of commonplace expressions such as "you bet your ass."  Who first popularized this line?

A.  Johnny Carson

B.  Redd Foxx

C.  Bob Newhart

D.  Rowan and Martin

E.  The Smothers Brothers

[kerry]

Rowen and Martin

 

[Babypants]

1 hour ago, kerry said:

Rowen and Martin

Correct!  But we should also give credit to Redd Foxx, who ran with it on Sanford & Son.  These guys made a mockery of the censorship gods, who terrorized live TV broadcasting in the 50's and 60's.  

[littlebopeeper]

Holy Hannah!  I did not see this coming, so well done.  And thanks for letting Sofia take her daughter to school.  We old timers do know a thing or two.

[Babypants]

PRINCESS POOPY PANTS

“You know this man?” Rita was stunned.

“Yes,” Bian replied.

“But where? How?”

“In Hue. I was nurse at Central Hospital when VC violate Tet … Vietnamese New Year. When VC come to hospital, they shoot doctors, patients, nurses. Husband shot. I go to American compound, stay many weeks, nurse wounded soldiers. This man … Captain … shot three times. I fixed shoulder, then leg, other shoulder. Never give up fighting. Very good soldier. Speaks my language … what we call sinh cao. You say 'high born.' Like priest, only warrior.”

“I told you,” Reiko hissed, “samurai.”

Rita held up her hand to silence them all. “Bian, this is very important. Do you know how long Captain Grady had been in Viet Nam before Tet?”

“Yes. He told me … five months.”

“September of '67.” Reiko was calculating out loud. “Three tours … Rita, I've got it! We're not looking at a degenerative process. We're looking for a specific event that ended his third tour sometime in late '69 to late '70. Something happened on that battlefield-- not a mistake but something so dishonorable that the shame is killing him. A samurai cannot live with shame.”

“We need some way to narrow it down,” Marge observed. “By 1970 we were fighting in Cambodia … Laos … remember, that's what the Kent State massacre was all about-- the expansion of the war. An officer with Ian's language skills could have been just about anywhere.”

“He also speaks high born French,” Bian added in an attempt to help.

“First things, first.” Rita wanted to get the meeting back on track. “Bian, I want you to go into the secure wing and talk with Ian … with Major Grady. If you wish, you can speak English when you are alone, but only Vietnamese when this patient can hear you.” Rapidly juggling images, she brought up a feed that zeroed in on Don Phillips. “No English in his presence; do you understand?”

“Yes, but why?”

“Major Grady is trying to help this man, another veteran. We want this soldier to hear your language because it might set him off … get him to speak or act. Then we can help him. So, this is what I want you to do ...”

Rita laid out the whole plan, which also involved Marge and Vickie as well as Becky and herself. When she finished, she threw everyone out of her office and picked up the phone.

Sorry to spoil your holiday, Amos, but I need Sergeant Waring to minimize the damage if Corporal Phillips explodes. And, yes, by all means, bring Andrew along. This might well be a Thanksgiving to remember!

. . . .

Well, I did give it the good, old college try …

Ian was hungry. No, truth be told, Ian was ravenous. He had stared at the camera, dramatically rubbing his stomach, then pantomiming a fork shoveling food into his wide open mouth.

Hello? Knock, knock? Is anyone there, or is the whole freaking staff zonked with a turkey coma? I want a steak, damn it! Medium rare, with a baked potato and sour cream nudging the bloody ceiling. And how about fresh asparagus? How do babies survive on this shit, anyway?

He had mentally reviewed the taste of the breast milk, and all things considered, had come to the conclusion that it wasn't altogether bad. But then Ian had had occasion to drink yak milk.

And then there's Bactrian camel milk … top of the pops for the lactose intolerant!

Ian turned around to survey the room yet again, only to conclude that nothing much had changed. Don Phillips was still doing his enigmatic Buddha routine. Madonna and child had nothing on Becky and Phil. The two keen-eyed orderlies were paying close attention to where Phil's hands were wandering, in the process completely ignoring the guy in the middle of the room who was having a go at standing on his head.

Maybe he needs a diaper change …

Ian decided to tackle the orderlies, on the theory that at least one of them had to have a candy bar secreted somewhere on his person. He slowly crossed the room, trying to enter their field of vision before he got close.

Success!

“Guys, I'm starving. Could one of you wrestle me up something to eat?”

Ian decided to nickname them Barney and Fred. He loved the Flintstones.

Especially Pebbles.

Barney and Fred looked at one another, and then they both stared at Ian. “The Thanksgiving meal will be served in about two hours,” one of them answered.

“Sounds good, guys, but by then I'll be passed out on the floor, dying from malnutrition. So, I'd really appreciate it if one of you could get a hold of Rita and tell her that I need real food, preferably a New York strip from Murray's, medium rare with all the trimmings. You can contact the outside world, right?”

“Wait here,” one of them replied, “and I will try and communicate your needs to Miss Stevenson.” He disappeared into the chamber that Ian now thought of as Hell's own diaper changing room, only to reemerge a bare minute later.

“Miss Stevenson has instructed me to escort you back to your room.” Barney's tone (or was it Fred?) was as bland as his expression. “This way, Sir.”

Ian had learned a lot of nasty tricks during his time in Southeast Asia, and he knew that he could dismantle the two orderlies in a matter of seconds, but doing so would not get him any closer to his next meal. Instead, he put his head down and meekly shuffled down the corridor. Once he was inside room eleven, he made one last attempt at getting something, anything, to eat. Barney (or was it Fred?) pointed at the blue books scattered across the desk top.

“When you have graded another twelve blue books, Sir, someone will bring you something to eat.” He closed the door, which locked with an audible click.

Ian sat down at the desk, not quite sure whether he should grade blue books or eat them. In the end, it was his sense of duty that prevailed-- that and the belated realization that his diaper was once again heavily soiled.

. . . .

Twelve blue books later, Ian put down his red marking pen and swiveled to face the camera above the door. He began counting in his head, and had reached forty when he heard the door click.

So someone's paying attention after all …

“Hello, Princess! Are you being a good widdle baby?”

“Vickie!” Ian jumped to his feet, as delighted as he was surprised. “What are you doing here? Don't you ever get a day off?”

“This is my day off, Princess, and I want to spend it with you … with my sweet little Princess Poopy Pants. I want to give you a big reward for helping Rita, and for helping Phil. He's had what we call a Breakthrough. Becky will take it from here, and don't be surprised if you get an invitation to their wedding. Did you know that Phil was a carpenter in civilian life? Or that he dreams about designing and building his own furniture line out of exotic woods?”

Ian shook his head. He knew a little about the soldier, but nothing about the man.

“That's great, Vickie; I mean, Phil seems like a pretty nice guy, and Becky's a wonder. I hope that it works out.”

His face turning red with embarrassment, Ian lowered his gaze to study a spot on the floor.

“Vickie,” he stammered, “I, uh … well, I mean … um, you know, my diaper … I'm really messy, and I stink! Can you change me? Please?”

He is so unbelievably cute! But it's time to set friendship aside …

“Princess, pardon the pun, but we need to clear the air.” Vickie's tone was suddenly cold and distant. “Your auntie Rita has asked me to become your therapist, and I have agreed to take you on. So, first things first. From now on, when we are alone, you will always address me as Aunt or Auntie Vickie. If you fail to do this, you will be punished, and like any other baby, your punishment will take the form of a spanking. And it will hurt … I promise you, every time I spank you, it will hurt. You have to earn the right to address me by name. Helping Rita and Phil … these were the first adult things I have ever seen you do-- your first baby steps away from infancy to adulthood. I”m going to reward you for that, and if you can help Don Phillips, this will earn you a second reward. Then we shall go on a journey together, and the more cooperative you are, the more rewards you will earn. If you got all that, say 'yes, auntie Vickie'.”

“Yes, auntie Vickie.”

“Good, now get down on the floor and crawl over to the changing table … which brings us to rule number two. In this room, when we are alone, you will remain on the floor and crawl about. You are not to stand unless I am physically assisting you. Any violation of this rule will get you a spanking. You may, however, stand up and walk normally when others are present; again, the rule about crawling applies only when we are alone. Do you understand?”

“Yes, auntie Vickie.”

“Also good. Now, get down on your knees and crawl over here.”

Ian hastened to obey, and Vickie dropped to her knees to confront him. She cupped his chin, and forced him to look into her eyes. She wanted to make it very, very clear to her patient that she was all business. Play time was over.

“This is your moment of decision. You are here voluntarily, so all you have to do is tell me that you want to leave, and I will open the door, walk you out of this facility, hand you your clothes, wait for you to get dressed, and then take you out to the waiting room. You can leave with Rita, or, if you want to go home, I'll get you a cab.”

“That's option number one. We'll still be friends, but your therapy stops here and now, and you and Sarah will just have to make the best of it. Option number two? Option number two is you formally request that I become your therapist, and you agree that we keep going until you have achieved your Breakthrough. Ian, I do not want there to be any misunderstanding about this. You are not going to waste my time by starting something and then running away when we start to make progress … very painful progress. If you have the courage to see this through, I promise you that we'll tear down the wall, banish the ghosts, and you'll get your life back, just like Phil Kettering is doing right now in the other room. No more drifting through the days like a zombie … you'll be whole, and you and Sarah will be happy. That's the prize, if you have the courage to reach for it. Do you?”

Ian shivered, and it wasn't from cold. For nine years, he had dreaded this moment. He had kept the wolves at bay during the long months at Yokosuka and Tripler, but in his gut he had always known that there was a wolf out there somewhere that would sink its teeth into his very soul, and not let go. And now that moment had arrived. Sweat erupted on his brow, and he could feel the blood draining out of his face.

Three weeks ago there would have been no decision to make because three weeks ago I hadn't met Sarah, so I would never have ended up on the path that brought me here. What would Sarah want me to do?

“Aunt Vickie, I need to talk to Sarah ...”

“No, Ian; you don't. I'm sorry, but this has to be your decision. If it helps, just keep focusing on the fact that Sarah will still love you no matter what. Focus!”

An alarm bell was starting to ring inside Vickie's brain. Without his formal consent, she could not become his therapist. Surely he knew this. Why was he reacting so strangely?

“The only question is whether she will be getting a zombie who's just going through the motions, or this wonderfully complex guy who's a baby that she can mother one minute, and a man that she'll respect and admire the next-- the man who's giving his all for Rita and Phil, and in an hour or so will try and help Don. Who do you want Sarah to marry?”

Ian closed his eyes, and rubbed his temples. He was boxed in, he knew it, and the room was starting slowly to spin around him.

This was all preordained … from the moment that I met Sarah, there was never any way out … He bit down hard, took a deep breath, trying to fight off the dizziness. If he could just hold on ...

“Aunt Vickie, if you are still willing, I want to become your patient … want you to be my therapist. And I promise that I will see this through to the end.”

Ian suddenly looked up, directly into her eyes. And in that instant Victoria Robinson grasped what it was that Amos Waring had seen, and the two orderlies who had halted in their tracks when he confronted them. This was a man who kept his promises, no matter the personal cost.

But on that last day, in that last battle, he had broken one.

And it was killing him.

. . . .

“This changes everything.” Marge was rapidly processing the implications of what they had just witnessed.

“I know.” Rita had decided to keep her replies to the minimum. The two senior nurses were encamped in Rita's office, watching the events in room eleven run their course.

“You have his signature on a voluntary committal form, and he has just verbally agreed to full-on therapy inside the secure ward. It would be easy for you to make the case on Tuesday for his involuntary committal, but that would put an end to his career, and we are not going to do that.”

“Agreed. I have already worked up his file, but it is for Sarah, not the court. I want her to be good with this.”

“She'll come round, but Vickie is a loose cannon. She needs to understand that all of the rules governing a patient-therapist relationship are now in play. She can't let her personal feelings get out of control.”

. . . .

“From now on, in this room, until further notice for me Ian Grady does not exist. Oh, we shall talk about him, and other members of staff may want to converse with the Major, but you are just my little Princess Poopy Pants-- not a man, not a baby boy, but a baby girl. It's understandable that a baby girl can't get it up for her mommy Sarah, but we both know that Princess Poopy Pants just loves to have Nanny Vickie finger fuck her ass, and we both know that only baby girls get off this way. But of course I could be wrong about this, and you can easily prove me wrong by showing mommy Sarah what a big boy you are when she changes your diaper. For that matter, you can show me what a big boy you are when I change your diaper! Show me what I see when I play around with your prostate and you'll have proved me wrong. That's how you go back to being my little baby Ian, which is just one short step away from being a man. Do you want to be a man, Princess?”

“Yes, auntie Vickie! I'm not a Princess! I swear, I'm not!”

“Then, let's get you up on the changing table so that auntie Vickie can change your icky diaper. Here's your chance to prove it.”

. . . .

“Rita, she's skating awfully damned close to the edge.”

“Vic's a pro, Marge; she'll bend the rules, but she won't break them.”

“The problem here is that Ian isn't just another patient; he's her friend. And it's pretty obvious that she wants to take their friendship to the next level, and in the process push Sarah out of the picture. Personally, I don't care whether they get it on or not, but that's what the car park is for. I'll say it again: the ward is off limits.”

“Agreed, and if she crosses the line she'll face a Disciplinary Hearing. But let's not jump to conclusions. I want to see how the diaper change goes, and how she plays it. Then I'll head in with Reiko and Mrs. Nguyen and brief him on what we've been planning. When we get him into the dining area, you grab the princess dress and hang it on his crib, then come back here and wait for Amos and Andy. As soon as they arrive, I want the three of you to go in and take your places at the table. We want Phillips to crack, but I've worked up a seating chart to keep the wreckage to a minimum. Candy is laying it out as we speak; just give the guys a heads up … oh, and find out if Amos speaks any Vietnamese … the kind that one hears in a whorehouse. I'm betting that what Phillips kept hearing out there in the night wasn't exactly the Queen's English.”

. . . .

“Such a stinky baby! Oh yes she is!” Ian giggled as his auntie Vickie swiftly ran her fingernails all over his tummy. “Princess Poopy Pants is just a little stink pot; oh yes she is!”

Vickie had removed Ian's diaper cover and tossed it aside, making way for his baby pants, which went straight into the diaper pail. Then she had tackled his diaper, discovering in the process that all the rumors about breast milk were true. Ian's poop was runny and yellowed, just like a newborn's. She used the clean edges of his diaper to good effect, then efficiently finished the job with baby wipes. She pinned him into a clean diaper, slid a fresh pair of baby pants over his obliging hips, and then directed him to get down on the floor to receive his reward. Ian's penis wasn't hard as a rock, but Vickie was relieved to see that, after her well practiced ministrations, it was at least semi erect. She had taken her time with the cleanup, using her fingernails here and the tips of her fingers there as she worked baby oil into the folds of his skin and caressed the surface of his cock and balls. A liberal application of baby powder had afforded her a second opportunity to bring his member more fully to life, and she had taken full advantage of the opportunity.

Vickie eased to the floor, and just as Becky had done earlier in the day, she invited Ian to lay with his head cradled in her arm while she fed him his bottle. Despite his earlier complaints, Ian once again began eagerly sucking down the warm breast milk. Still, he moaned as Vickie's free hand wandered around his body, sliding with gentle pressure over the glistening surface of his vinyl pants. Vickie had deliberately foregone the locking diaper cover, knowing that the thick canvas effectively doubled as a chastity belt. She wanted Ian to cum, and her fingers were drawing him ever closer to the edge, but the ethics of her profession made demands upon Victoria Robinson eerily similar to the way in which duty called out to Major Ian Grady. So, while he nursed, she gently guided his hand to his groin, and just as gently urged him to claim his reward.

His body arced, and she removed the nipple from his mouth. His climax, long frustrated by the diaper cover that in due course would once again imprison his loins, was thunderous.

Even as she hugged him close, Vickie sighed deeply with relief. Until this moment, she simply hadn't been sure whether her arsenal of erotic tricks would get any response at all.

Maybe this isn't a psychological issue … or maybe only partly so. We need to schedule Ian for a full neurological exam. Pudendal nerve damage explains his incontinence, and erectile dysfunction sometimes goes hand in hand. There's no cure, but electrical stimulation can help. Does Sarah have a Wand? Would she be willing to use it? Does she have any idea of the commitment that this relationship is going to demand to make it work? Can you deal with the simple, ineluctable truth that Ian might never be capable of making love to you spontaneously? But he needs to work with me, no lies, no evasions before I'll even think about letting little baby Ian out to play. That's a long way down the road ...

Vickie bent over and lightly kissed her charge, whispering in her ear that Princess Poopy Pants was such a good baby, and that her auntie Vickie was so very, very proud of her. Just twelve more papers, and her sweet little baby girl would get still another reward, oh yes she would. Then Vickie offered her the nipple, and Ian resumed nursing as if he had never been interrupted. She gently rocked her, then smiled up at the camera.

Not for the first time, Victoria Robinson had bent the rules, but she had not broken them

[CCApril]

Pebbles is so cute! I hope they end up calling him that. More layers to Ian. I'm really interested to how the baby girl part of Ian came about. I get that being the baby gives up all responsibilities and it is easier to hide from yourself. Is being a baby girl a way to hide deeper? Or is it a fetish (not quite the word I want) side? These nurses are brilliant. This can't be the first time they had other vets talk to these guys. It is a combination of Ian being a warrior but also broken that gets through?

Can't wait for the Thanksgiving meal fire works. Hmm is Ian going to get any turkey? And beg to differ with Aunt Vickie, grading his papers was also an adult thing to do. Granted they are controlling the pace now. But I bet they are thoroughly reviewed and well graded.

On this Independence day it good to remember those that fought so hard for our country. It does not matter when or where or why the did it. They went. It has always been hard for me these days. People find out you were in the army and they stand up and shake you hand "Thank You for your service!" Why are you thanking me? I spent 3.5 years in Army during one of the most peaceful times ever. Find someone that deserves your thanks. This country has plenty of them. 

Sorry to soapbox in the middle of your wonderful story. 

April 

[Babypants]

1 hour ago, CCApril said:

On this Independence day it good to remember those that fought so hard for our country. It does not matter when or where or why the did it. They went. It has always been hard for me these days. People find out you were in the army and they stand up and shake you hand "Thank You for your service!" Why are you thanking me? I spent 3.5 years in Army during one of the most peaceful times ever. Find someone that deserves your thanks. This country has plenty of them.

Hi, April!  I'll tackle your comments about the story separately, but this one I wanted to address first.  When you enlisted, there was no way that you could foretell the future.  The country may have been at peace, but six months later you might have found yourself on the front lines of a shooting war anywhere in the world.  And even peacetime service is no picnic.  Do you remember PT at 06:00 hours?  Bad food and lousy accommodations?  A pittance for a paycheck?  And how about lousy haircuts?  When you were home on leave, I hope that you had a steady girl because in my experience it was hard to get a date when your head resembled a fuzzy cue ball!  The important point is that you were giving back to a country that has gifted you with a wealth of opportunity to forge a good life for yourself and the people you love.  Your heart, and your head, were in the right place.  Thank you for your service.    

[CCApril]

Hah! Not just the fuzzy cue ball. I had to wear the dreaded BCG's.  (Birth Control Glasses for those not in the know)

 

[Babypants]

On 7/4/2023 at 12:43 PM, CCApril said:

Can't wait for the Thanksgiving meal fire works. Hmm is Ian going to get any turkey? And beg to differ with Aunt Vickie, grading his papers was also an adult thing to do. Granted they are controlling the pace now. But I bet they are thoroughly reviewed and well graded.

Thanksgiving dinner will be served in scene 18.  Rita wants it to be memorable, and she's going to get her wish.  Vickie is following SOP here: control the conversation, and keep it tightly focused on what moves therapy forward.

[Guilend]

I'm excited to see if Vickie takes it too far or if in the end Sarah blows up and throws a tantrum because of Vickie and her treatment or relationship with Ion and Vickie has to put Sarah in her place with a good bare bottom spanking and thick diapers. Or you know, I'm fantasizing, again lol. 

[Babypants]

On 7/4/2023 at 12:43 PM, CCApril said:

More layers to Ian. I'm really interested to how the baby girl part of Ian came about. I get that being the baby gives up all responsibilities and it is easier to hide from yourself. Is being a baby girl a way to hide deeper? Or is it a fetish (not quite the word I want) side? These nurses are brilliant. This can't be the first time they had other vets talk to these guys. It is a combination of Ian being a warrior but also broken that gets through?

The second act in this scene has Ian facing the camera.  He's pantomiming a guy wanting to eat, but periodically turning around to see what's happening behind him.  This is also the beginning of the preceding scene 15.  There Rita reads it as Ian signalling that he wants to have a go at Don Phillips over dinner, which is consistent with why he is in the secure ward in the first place.  But now we learn that he is simply begging for food, and he is turning around periodically to check the perimeter.  I have deliberately worked a lot of confusion and misunderstanding into this story because I wanted it to mirror the messiness of ordinary life.  So, he strongly denies that he has a problem with alcohol, but these professional nurses disagree, and they have heard the denial many times before.  Now, roll that over to the Princess Poopy Pants personality.  In this scene, Ian denies it just as emphatically, but Rita and Vickie are determined to pursue this (each for her own reason).  Vickie is alert to other possibilities to account for Ian's apparent erectile dysfunction, but neither of them is getting anywhere near the simplest explanation of all.  I'll scatter quite a few hints, but I'm never going to disclose the answer.  It's a mystery that readers will have to work out for themselves.

Your last thought goes to the core of the story.  Rita and Vickie have increasingly strong feelings for Ian, and each is trying to work through them.  At the same time, Rita is trying to isolate what it is that makes Ian special in the eyes of the other veterans in this story.  She is asking the right questions, but her life experience, professional training and cultural bias are all conspiring to dismiss a truth that has already been scattered all over these pages.  As Vickie gets closer and closer to the truth, our nurses will discover that it is revealing as much about them as it is about Ian.  Hope you continue to enjoy. 

[Babypants]

Quickie historical quiz:

Fred Flintstone and his quarry boss had a tempestuous relationship, with Fred being fired and rehired so many times that only a die hard series fan could possibly keep track.  Who was Fred's boss?

A.  Rick Boulder

B.  Flint Granite

C.  Chip Hollyrock

D.  Rocky Rubble

E.  Nate Slate 

[CCApril]

Is it sad I get the cartoon one? Might be my age and interests.  

Mr. Slate!

[Babypants]

15 minutes ago, CCApril said:

Mr. Slate!

Correct!

You should know that, as a major stockholder in the Acme Corporation,  I am currently hard at work trying to fit one of my best customers, Mr. Wile E. Coyote, into this story.  Wile is now 74 years old, and arthritis is taking its toll.  Ah, but the Road Runner is no Spring chicken either.  Wile's arch nemesis, Mr. Bugs Bunny, has reached out to me about starting GoFundMe pages for both of them.  Bugs would do it himself, but as he rightly points out, it is difficult for the dimensionally challenged to open accounts on line.    

[Babypants]

A COMEDY OF ERRORS

Sarah closed the file, and stared up at her mother. “All those years … was I simply blind, or were the two of you that skilled in deceiving me?”

“It was probably a combination of the two,” Sofia conjectured. “But what you need to understand is that I rarely had to discipline your father. We rarely disagreed about anything important, and when it came to raising our daughter, we were very much on the same page. If he disagreed with my decision, I always listened very carefully to his objections. I welcomed his counsel. Sometimes I took it, sometimes I didn't. But it was always my decision. Even when he was certain that I was wrong, he obeyed me. That is the essence of a D/s relationship.”

Sofia pulled up a chair, and sat alongside her daughter. “Now I have questions, more or less for the record. Let's go right to the heart of the matter: do you love him?”

“Yes.”

“And does he love you?”

“Yes.”

“Does he respect you … trust you?”

“Absolutely.”

“Do you respect and trust him?”

Sarah thought hard about how to answer the question. “I trust him implicitly. And I respect the man, but not his judgment. He is deeply principled, and I am going to have to learn to respect his boundaries. But he is punishing himself, and I am going to put an end to it. I WILL NOT ENABLE HIM! I will be the mommy that he wants me to be. I'll change his diapers, and clean his messy bottom. I'll nurse him at my breast. I'll do all these things and more because I love him, but Ian and I both understand that this relationship will endure only if he submits to me … gives me total control.”

“Then a D/s relationship … a contract … will work for you. Do you want to use mine as a template?”

For the first time since she had come home, Sarah's smile was heartfelt. “Thanks, Mom; it turns out that I really am your daughter. And I want the same relationship with Ian that worked for you and Dad. Your contract will do just fine.”

. . . .

Victoria smiled down at her beautiful baby, and ruffled her unruly mop of hair. “Do you love your mommy?”

Ian nodded, but he remained silent. Silent, and expectant.

“And does Ian love Sarah,” she continued.

Ian frowned, not understanding the question.

“We know that Princess Poopy Pants loves her mommy very much, but does the princess think that grown-up Ian loves Sarah?”

Finally getting it, Ian smiled. “Yeth, Auntie Vickie; Ian wuv Sarah sooo much!”

Yes! Vickie gave herself a mental pat on the back. She wanted to condition Ian to see himself as Princess Poopy Pants, and to think of his adult personalities in the third person. She reasoned that the Princess might be able to talk about the trauma that the Major and the Professor so feared.

But do they have the same memories? Or will this be another dead end?

“So tell me, Princess, where is Professor Grady? I don't see him anywhere!”

Ian laughed. “Professor Grady sits at that desk and grades blue books, auntie Vickie.” There was genuine merriment in his voice as he nodded in the direction of the desk on the other side of the room. There was a neat stack of thirty-six blue books to one side, and an untidy pile scores deep littering the rest of the surface. “In this room, he exists only when you will it.”

“And who are you the rest of the time?”

“I'm just a baby, auntie Vickie. I wuv my crib and my ba-bas ...”

“I know, baby, and you can have them for as long as you like. But what about when you go home? You have no crib at home. Will Princess Poopy Pants be going to bed with her mommy, or will Sarah be wrapping her arms around Major Grady?”

“I don't know, auntie Vickie; I don't know. I want to be whatever mommy … whatever Sarah … wants me to be. I wuv her sooo much!”

“Well, right now, I want to speak with Major Grady about his time in Hue. Can I do that?” Vickie continued to tousle her hair.

“Only if you promise to get me something to eat, aunt Vickie. Princess Poopy Pants may be able to get by on breast milk, but Major Grady is really in the mood for a thick steak, medium well, with all the trimmings. Breast milk just doesn't cut it!”

“Well, then, Princess Poopy Pants should be delighted to settle for turkey with all the trimmings,” she laughed. Vickie was scrambling to conceal her amazement. She had been schooled to look for triggers when working with split personalities, and it was rapidly becoming clear that Ian didn't need them.

“What I want to know is whether Major Grady really exists. I'm still not convinced that there's anyone in this room with me except Princess Poopy Pants!”

“I don't understand, aunt Vickie. Why Hue?”

“I want to find out whether Princess Poopy Pants and little baby Ian have the same memories as Major Grady. And as it happens, we have a Vietnamese nurse on staff who remembers the Major from his time in Hue. You will be meeting her shortly. I want to hear the Major's perspective on what she has already told us happened during Tet. Later, I will check to see if Princess Poopy Pants remembers any of this.”

“Can I stay here, aunt Vickie? I really like the way you cradle me.”

“Hmm. Normally, I would refuse, but you have been such a good girl today that you deserve a treat. Sooo … you told Phil that you were with Special Forces in Nha Trang; what were you doing in Hue?”

Even as Vickie concentrated on building a mental diagram of Ian's personality matrix, she was sliding her fingers under one of the thigh bands on her vinyl pants. She was not at all surprised to discover that she was already quite damp. With breast milk now the mainstay in her diet, she calculated that she would soon need twelve to fifteen diaper changes a day. In fact, she was confident that she would need another poopy diaper change before they adjourned for dinner. More diaper changes meant greater dependence, and greater dependence was a lever that she intended ruthlessly to exploit to ferret out the truth. She had already decided for the time being to stay far away from little baby Ian because he was uncomfortably close to the Major and the Professor. She would use him as a buffer, and leave it to Sarah to choose the infantile personality that she wanted to mother.

Diaper rashes are nasty, Princess, but they are also unavoidable. Vickie's fingernails were tracing lazy circles on the Princess' thigh … Spankings and foreplay aren't the only tools in my arsenal by any stretch of the imagination!

. . . .

“Tet was a comedy of errors-- a nationwide engagement for which neither side was prepared because they ruled the ground by night, and we ruled the air by day. We crushed them on a hundred different battlefields, only to find out that we had lost the war in the only theater that really mattered … the one in people's living rooms back home. We didn't know it at the time, but Tet was the beginning of the end.”

“All I know is that Tet was the Lunar New Year, and that an armistice allowed all the soldiers to go home and celebrate with their families.”

“And the North violated the armistice.” The Major completed Vicki's thought. “Most of the ARVN … the South Vietnamese army … was scattered all over the country. Only a few of their senior officers heeded our warnings and kept their units intact. But down in Saigon, MACV did have its head in the game.”

“MACV?”

“Sorry … Military Assistance Command Vietnam. General Westmoreland and friends. Anyway, MACV didn't believe that the truce would hold, so they wanted to take advantage of the lull to reposition our forces for the big offensive that the North was obviously planning. But where? There was a raging debate going on in Saigon that started in the ballroom of the Huong Giang hotel in Hue; it's a beautiful old colonial hotel on the south bank of the Perfume River, in what's called New City. The government buildings, the university, one of the biggest and oldest hospitals in the country, the radio station … and our own MACV compound … they were spread out along the shore, facing the ancient Citadel on the north bank, which was the symbolic heart of Viet Nam, and almost totally undefended. There were about a hundred Americans inside the compound, a few more manning the boat ramp and the radio tower-- and thirty-two of us inside the hotel … intelligence pooh-bahs all, except for a couple of techs who handled our communications gear. We were there to try and make sense of all the reports coming in about massive enemy troop movements.”

“So you were what … a spy? Some kind of James Bond in a uniform?”

Ian chuckled, amused by the very idea. “Nope. I was the youngest officer in the room, but the only one who spoke the language. There were only three of us who had been in the field, working the villages, and out there I kept the fact that I was fluent very much to myself. It's amazing how much you can learn when the other side is convinced that you can't understand a word they're saying. And what I learned, in more than thirty villages, was that the Viet Cong were everywhere, that they were well armed and utterly ruthless, that they were coercing peasants who just wanted to be left alone into submission. I argued that we needed to fight with bulldozers … level the villages and tear up the ground. I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that we would find weapons caches in every village from the DMZ to the Delta, but no one in the higher ranks wanted to hear it because most were chasing medals and slots in the Pentagon, and you needed to win big battles to get a seat on that particular bus. By the time the first shots were fired in the wee small hours of Feb one, the debate was pretty much over. Saigon had been notified that it was the DMZ, either Pleiku or Khe San, and the marines were on the move ...”

Ian suddenly started coughing, and he didn't stop until breast milk was running down his chin. Vickie grabbed a diaper off the nearest shelf and mopped up the mess, which had dribbled onto her baby's gown. “Going forward,” she smiled, “you're going to need a bib. And I'm going to start burping you after each bottle. That should be fun for both of us.”

Yeah, about as much fun as a root canal. Now, where was I? Oh, yeah ...

“Or rather, it was their equipment that was on the move! The choppers were hauling everything north … everything but the marines. It's called pre-positioning-- first you move the goods, and then you move the guys. Long story short, the North caught us completely flatfooted. And in Hue, we had nothing to fight with except small arms and the odd grenade. At 8 AM we could see the VC flag flying over the Citadel, and we figured we'd be dead before noon. But there was no movement on the bridge carrying Highway 1 across the river, and no movement in the streets to our south. We lucked out because the North's command was as inept as ours. So as the sun went down there we were, a bunch of Davy Crocketts defending a Vietnamese Alamo. We just had to find some way to hold on until Sam Houston could ride in with the cavalry, in the form of the 1st Marine division. The guys were south of the city, but a big chunk of their equipment had gone north. Anyway, we did hold, and on the sixth we knew that we'd made it because the North blew the bridge. It took another three weeks for the marines to clear the city, in the aftermath of which we counted more than ten thousand Vietnamese civilians dead or missing. That hospital I mentioned? Within easy walking distance of the hotel? It was a charnel house.”

He's talking, but it's all textbook stuff. And I'll bet anything that this was not, repeat not, what all those faculty wives and girlfriends on the prowl wanted to here at dinner parties. What were you doing, Ian? For six long days and nights, what were you doing out there? Were you chasing medals?

“How did you survive? I mean, you must have been badly outnumbered..”

“Mostly by keeping our heads down ...”

“No. Stop right there. Princess Poopy Pants will be crying herself to sleep tonight because she is going to be spanked … spanked hard … and all because you just lied to me. Get this, and get it good: if Professor Grady misbehaves, Princess Poopy Pants gets spanked. If Major Grady lies to me, Princess Poopy Pants gets spanked. She is your responsibility. Now, let's try it again, Major; how did you survive?”

“I told you the truth,” Ian protested. “We kept our heads down ...”

“No, you didn't. I know for a fact that you were wounded on three separate occasions during those six days, so stop lying to me!”

“Okay, okay! You win, all right? You win!”

“We only found out what was happening long after the fact, from prisoner interrogation. Two battalions of the North's best, the 1st and 2nd Sapper battalions, were supposed to hit the compound and the hotel simultaneously at 04:00, while three more battalions of regulars were tasked to seal off the whole south bank-- two crossing the river to the west of us and a third coming up the river from our southeast. But they had no heavy weapons … nothing more than what they had hauled in on their backs over the Ho Chi Minh trail. 2nd Sapper hit the compound right on schedule, but for some reason decided to retreat as soon as the guys returned fire. 1st Sapper didn't show up on our doorstep until 05:00, which gave us plenty of time to organize a defense. The two battalions to the west didn't cross the river until 04:50, and the one that was supposed to come up in support for 1st Sapper actually got lost! If you want to know the meaning of surreal, try imagining a battalion commander pounding on the door of a gas station at five thirty in the morning to ask for directions! In retrospect, it's easy to understand why they never tried to lauch an all-out assault on our positions-- nobody, and I do mean nobody in this farce, had ever fought in city streets. The landscape? Broad boulevards, lots of parks and plazas, and plenty of tall buildings. We scrambled to find places that we could use as sniper nests, which is exactly what the other side was doing. Every time you peeked out from a window or around the edge of a building, you were taking a chance. Donnie Freeman went down out in the open; we lobbed smoke grenades, and then I went out to drag his ass to safety. Only somebody got lucky and put a round through my shoulder … clean through. A simple patch job. Then they clipped me with a ricochet … can you believe it? A ricochet! But hey, when you're fighting in buildings with cement walls, just put your trusty AK-47 on full auto and pump thirty rounds through the window. What the Hell; you're bound to hit something, right?”

Ian suddenly sat up and stared across the room, but Vickie knew that it was Hue that he was seeing, not the desk and its scattered blue books.

“By the last day … we had never been resupplied, so we were pretty much out of everything. I mean, roast rat was beginning to sound like a real treat. And then the North blew the bridge. Well, someone had to go out and assess the damage … see whether there was enough clearance in the channel for PBR's to reach the boat dock.”

“PBR's?”

“What we called the brown water navy. We used patrol boats a lot, including for things like resupply. Anyway, guess who got the short straw? Why, it was yours truly. Coming back, I took fire, and one of the rounds tore up my left shoulder pretty good. My third and last visit to the compound, where Vietnamese doctors and nurses fleeing the hospital had set up shop for the duration. I gave them a fair amount of business.”

Ian turned his head and looked her straight in the eye. “Happy now, aunt Vickie?”

Vickie winced. It wasn't the anger in Ian's voice-- she had expected that. It was the bitterness in his eyes.

If the eyes are indeed a mirror to the soul … and they're powder kegs, all of them, just waiting to explode. We got off easy with Phil, but Don …

Vickie checked Ian's diaper once more. He was wet, but she decided to postpone his change until he pooped.

And I hope that Rita's got her shit together.

. . . .

Vickie looked up when the door opened, and was relieved to see that Rita and their Vietnamese co-worker had arrived. Ian had shut down so completely that she wasn't sure what personality she was dealing with. The silence had become oppressive.

Rita and Bian quietly approached, but Rita held back when Bian stopped at Ian's side, gazing down on the diapered patient whom she had nursed so long ago and so far away. It was odd to see a man who had so adamantly refused to wear a combat diaper sitting on the floor in the real thing. She reached out and lightly ran her fingers over his left shoulder, wondering if it had properly healed, whether the pain had finally gone away. No one fleeing the hospital had thought to carry supplies, so they had had to make do with what was available inside the compound. And they had run out.

Unbidden, tears began to well up in Bian's eyes. Eleven years had passed. She had stood over her husband's bullet riddled corpse. She had fled her country on a leaky boat. She had built a new life in a strange country whose customs mystified her, and whose language was a constant challenge. But nothing that she had experienced afterwards could dislodge the horror that had gripped her on the fifth and sixth of February, in the year that Christians called 1968. Operating without morphine or any other anesthetic. Sterilizing with alcohol, the bottles carried from the hotel bar by heroic men braving sniper fire, risking their own lives for those who had fallen but might yet be saved. The two days had been hard, but the nights had stretched into eternity.

He never went home, she suddenly realized, looking at the ugly scar on his left thigh, knowing with certainty that it had not been there when the helicopter had evacuated him. He stayed, and he continued to fight …

Bian knelt on the floor before him, and reached out to take his hand. And now he fights a new war … new, yet somehow the same. Will it ever loosen its grip?

“Hello, Captain Grady. Bạn có nhớ tôi không. Do you remember me?” Bian's voice was little more than a whisper.

For a long moment, Ian was certain that he was dying, the vivid memories of a later life nothing more than shadowy dreams meant to ease his passing.

And then he remembered, and he opened his eyes.

“Hello, Mrs. Nguyen. And yes; I remember you very well. Và vâng. Tôi nhớ bạn rất rõ”

He covered her hand with his own, a deep sense of warmth flooding his body.

“We must fight again, to save the other soldier. Bạn đã sẵn sàng chưa?”

“Đúng … I'm ready.”

“Rita will explain.”

And kneeling at their side, Rita proceeded to do so.

[Babypants]

Quickie historical quiz:

Fifty years ago, what is today known as Dissociative Identity Disorder (D.I.D. for short) was called Multiple Personality Disorder (M.P.D.).  Treatment centered on which of the following:

A.  Electro-shock therapy

B.  Hypnosis

C.  Medication

D.  Talk therapy

[Guilend]

A. Eletro-shock Therapy 

[littlebopeeper]

56 minutes ago, Guilend said:

A. Eletro-shock Therapy

 

sorry-- wrong answer

1 hour ago, Babypants said:

D.  Talk therapy

 

3 minutes ago, littlebopeeper said:

D.  Talk therapy

I believe that this is the right answer.  It can't be drugs because what's in use today didn't exist back then.  Hypnosis was probably in use, but it would just be a way to get the subject talking.  Electro-shock therapy went out of style when they closed the asylums in the mid-60's, and dumped the inmates in the streets.  Some ended up in jail, and some became the first homeless.  The Viet Nam vets in this story are sort of a second homeless generation.

[littlebopeeper]

On 7/8/2023 at 3:58 PM, Babypants said:

Even as Vickie concentrated on building a mental diagram of Ian's personality matrix

I recall this from Psych 101.  You figure out how many personalities you are dealing with, the age and sex of each personality, etc.  You look for the trauma that started it all off, which is generally something in childhood like abuse of some kind.  What looks different here is that Ian's trauma occurred as an adult on the battlefield.  Or is it?  You've told us nothing about his family history.  Is it possible that he has different personalities as a result of both traumas as a child and also in combat?  That would be mind boggling!

[kerry]

This story is amazing both as an ABDL piece and as historical fiction. I was eleven years old in 1968, aware of the war, the protests, and in general how things were going over there. I've also seen just about every movie ever made set during the war...but I really did not know precisely what was happening and why. Thank you for writing a story that is so enlightening. 

[Babypants]

On 7/10/2023 at 7:03 PM, littlebopeeper said:

You figure out how many personalities you are dealing with, the age and sex of each personality, etc.  You look for the trauma that started it all off, which is generally something in childhood like abuse of some kind.  What looks different here is that Ian's trauma occurred as an adult on the battlefield.  Or is it?  You've told us nothing about his family history.  Is it possible that he has different personalities as a result of both traumas as a child and also in combat?  That would be mind boggling!

Ian is an only child, born to working class parents who were killed by a drunk driver when he was 19.  We shall learn more about his history when Sarah returns.  We shall also see that he has been traumatized more than once, and that his case is more complex than Rita or Vickie understand at this point in the story.  

[Babypants]

On 7/11/2023 at 4:07 PM, kerry said:

This story is amazing both as an ABDL piece and as historical fiction. I was eleven years old in 1968, aware of the war, the protests, and in general how things were going over there. I've also seen just about every movie ever made set during the war...but I really did not know precisely what was happening and why. Thank you for writing a story that is so enlightening. 

Kerry, thank you very much.  What movies by their very nature cannot convey is the smell of the battlefield, nor can they convey the heat and humidity of a place like Viet Nam in the rainy season.  I was in Hue, and was laid up by a heat stroke in the very hotel that I've mentioned here.

I value your comment because I wanted to test the waters with this story.  Would there be an audience for a period piece predating disposables?  Could a story written from the incontinence angle compete with the AB/DL format?  And above all, could a story driven by character and plot find a home on a site like Daily Diapers?  As someone who has both published and edited a great deal over the decades, I can say unequivocally that there is a great deal of talent on display in this story forum, and as readers we should salute the efforts of those who combine imagination with good story telling to entertain us-- free of charge!

Again, thank you for a thoughtful reply. 

[Babypants]

A THANKSGIVING TO REMEMBER

“Do I really need to wear this thing,” Ian asked as he pointed at the diaper cover that Vickie was fluffing out.

“Yes, Major; you cannot leave this room without it. No exceptions are allowed inside the ward, not even for you. Now, you know the drill; let's get it over with.”

Bian and Rita had left moments earlier, Rita wanting to spare her most prized patient the humiliation of a diaper change in front of a nurse whom he had known so long before, and for whom he obviously had a deep and abiding affection. Vickie had just finished up, still another poopy diaper going into a bin that was rapidly filling. She reckoned that the breast milk would cause Ian to mess six to eight times a day. Changing him was grunt work, but it was a price that she was more than willing to pay because over time poopy diapers yielded a far more intense state of psychological dependence than merely wet ones. The diaper cover further reinforced his need to rely on others for help with his most basic bodily functions. His messes, and his inability to do anything about them, were just two more quivers that she was prepared to use ruthlessly to break down his resistance and finally get to the truth of what had gone so badly wrong on his last combat mission.

Ian was smiling up at her, and she couldn't help but once more run her fingers through his unruly hair. Her own smile was far more tentative.

He trusts me, but he doesn't know me. He thinks that he's still dealing with good, old, fun-loving Vickie, the queen of the Saturday night frolics. He doesn't have any idea of what a cold bitch I can really be, the bitch that he's going to be dealing with in this room. I just hope that he doesn't end up hating the sight of me.

On impulse, Vickie leaned over to kiss him lightly on the lips.

Oh, Ian, if only … If only …

. . . .

What the Hell?

Ian stopped dead in his tracks, and pivoted to look back down the corridor. Marge had just passed him, stone faced, and carrying a garment bag. He watched until she paused just long enough to enter the code, then opened the door and disappeared into one of the rooms to his left. He wasn't sure, but if he was counting doors correctly, it was his room that she had just entered.

“Come on, Major, we need to claim our seats.”

Vickie was tugging on Ian's arm, trying to hurry him into the dining area, but he wasn't having it. Stubbornly, he held his ground, and less than a minute later Marge reemerged, but without the garment bag. Walking back up the corridor, she paused just long enough to pat Ian's well padded rump and offer him a decidedly maternal smile; still wordless, she then carried on to exit the ward.

Now what was that all about?

“Did you make another poopie in your diapee,” Vickie asked in that tone that mothers worldwide reserve for their toddlers. She ran her fingers around the thigh bands, and then the waist of his diaper cover. Ian involuntarily shuddered as her fingernails grazed his skin. It was enough to shake him out of his reverie, and led by the wrist he meekly followed in Vickie's wake.

. . . .

“Này, GI, tôi giết bạn tốt!

I swear,” Amos snickered, “if I heard that once outside the wire, I heard it a thousand times ...” “Này, GI, tôi giết bạn tốt!” “Này, GI, tôi giết bạn tốt!”

“Hey, GI, I kill you good,” Ian whispered very, very softly into Vickie's ear. He did not want Don Phillips to hear him speaking English, and he had already decided to go out and get drunk with Amos Waring at some point in the very near future-- and to hell with Vickie and Rita and Sarah and all the rest of them.

Civilian life sucks … and I'll bet the Sarge feels exactly the same way …

Ian nudged Phil Kettering, who was seated on his immediate left. “Did you hear that down in the Delta,” he mouthed.

Phil nodded. “Constantly,” he muttered.

It's a good thing he's right handed because I don't think Becky's going to let go of his left anytime soon …

Ian had to admit that Rita had planned the op well. Andrew McCullough was seated to Vickie's right, and Barney (or was it Fred?) was standing discreetly behind Becky. Don was seated directly opposite, sandwiched in between Marge and Rita. Amos was to Marge's right, Bian to Rita's left, and Fred (or was it Barney?) was standing in the shadows behind Bian.

If Donnie wigs out, there'll be an orderly lighting him up … an orderly, or me …

“Này, GI, em gái của bạn bú cặc tốt!” Ian suddenly screamed it out, his eyes on Bian, eyes begging for forgiveness from one of the gentlest souls it had ever been his privilege to meet.

I'm not this man … I'm not this man … I'm not this man …

Stuffing exploded out of Amos Waring's mouth. Ian felt Phil go completely rigid beside him. Bian was looking at him as if she had never seen him before …

“Je … zus,” he heard Phil mutter. Phil was beginning to stir beside him, and it suddenly dawned on Ian that nobody had got around to filling him in on the program.

Marge and Rita had visibly tensed …

On the wrong target, damn it! I don't have time for this!!!

Ian lashed out, slamming Phil's right wrist hard into the table top, so hard that he could hear ice cubes rattling in cups the length of the table.

“Này, GI, tao đụ mẹ mày, cả em gái của mày nữa!”

Ian screamed it out at the top of his lungs, over and over again, knowing exactly what Phillips had heard out there in the night, night after night, while he walked perimeter. He stole a glance at Amos, realized that this one was not in the Sergeant's repetoire. Mercifully, Phil also seemed to be none the wiser.

But Corporal Donnie has heard it all before … oh, yeah, and then some, probably more than me … Well, at least Vickie's got her head in the game …

Out of the corner of his eye, Ian could see that Vickie was zeroed in on Don Phillips …

But she's watching his eyes ...

Ian was watching Donnie's hands.

“Này, GI, tôi giết bạn tốt!”

He'll clamp down … use them to catapult ...

“Này, GI, em gái của bạn bú cặc tốt!” …

over the table straight at me ...

“Này, GI, tao đụ mẹ mày, cả em gái của mày nữa!”

Ian watched Donnie's hands ball up into fists …

“Này, GI, em gái của bạn bú cặc tốt!”

Taking a deep breath, Ian went for it, pitching his voice high, imagining the falsetto voices beyond the wire that had greeted Donnie night after night after endless night …

“Hey, GI, your sister suck cock good!” The blood was draining out of Donnie Phillips' fists …

“Hey, GI, I fuck your mother up the ass!” His body shrinking in upon itself …

“Hey, GI, I fuck your mother good, baby sister too!”

Donnie Phillips screamed, stood, and launched himself across the table, aching to kill his tormentor with his bare hands. But Ian, a fraction of a second faster, was already in motion, determined to blunt Donnie's attack in mid table. They crashed into one another, dishes, cups, food flying everywhere, Ian blindly reaching out to grip Donnie's right hand, now little more than a claw trying to rake his throat.

Huh?

Vickie was suddenly piling on, hitting Donnie hard in the cheek, hitting him with …

A drumstick?

And then Andrew McCullough, all two hundred and twenty pounds of him, flew through the air.

The table creaked.

Donnie had somehow sunk his teeth into Ian's shoulder, the bad one that caused him so much pain on winter's dampest days.

He screamed.

The table groaned.

Vickie kept pounding away with her drumstick.

Amos joined the party, sliding over mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce to grab Donnie Phillips by his hair and pull him off the Major.

The table collapsed.

Surveying the damage, Barney and Fred decided to help Amos drag Donnie out of the mess that had once been Thanksgiving dinner. But they tamely stood aside when Amos lifted Donnie off the ground by his shoulders, looked him square in the eye, and proceeded to pile drive him into the nearest wall. Donnie slid down it with a shriek, his catatonia now a thing of the past.

“Played middle linebacker my junior and senior years,” Amos offered to no one in particular. “Made all-state, too.”

“Mr. McCullough,” Ian hissed as he spat bits of turkey out of his mouth, “it was nice of you to join us.”

He held out his right hand, and the two men shook, neither overly worried about the mashed potatoes now greasing their palms.

Andrew grinned bashfully. “As I told Ms. Stevenson just yesterday, Amos and I … well, we do meet the most interesting people up here on seven. But Major, I swear, you do take the cake!”

“Speaking of which? I'm starved. What does a guy have to do to get something to eat around here?”

“Try this,” Vickie laughed as she ran her finger through a mound of mashed potatoes and gravy, and wiggled it in front of his face.

Ian obligingly opened his mouth, and began sucking on her finger. He took his time, determined to be thorough.

Vickie shivered with delight. “And this,” she grinned, swiping her now much mutilated drumstick through the gravy.

Ian chewed contentedly, and then reached up to pull her closer. Leaning forward, he began to lick the cranberry sauce off her chest.

Vickie moaned, arched her neck, closed her eyes, held her breath, and orgasmed on the spot.

Fuck regulations! And fuck this stupid power struggle between Rita and Marge, and that shit faced Director who wants Rita out the door. I am going to fuck you, Ian Grady, right here, right now, and I don't give a fuck how much cranberry sauce you shove up my cunt in the process. I am going to fuck you and fuck you, and to hell with it! They can all stand around and watch, they can applaud, hell they can pipe the video all over the fucking hospital … sell tickets … I … do … not … care!

Vickie attacked Ian's mouth, forcing her way inside, wanting to explore every square inch of him.

Ian welcomed her.

Vickie was blindly pawing at the pocket on her smock, searching for the key to Ian's diaper cover. But it was gone, buried somewhere in the Thanksgiving rubble. She shrieked in frustration.

Ian gently reached up to ease Vickie down to his chest, wrapping his arm around her, and breathing deeply into her perfumed hair. Which is now full of mashed potatoes and gravy. Oh, well …

And what the hell is a guy supposed to do who falls in love with two women at the same time, one for all the right reasons, and the other for all the wrong?

Ian vaguely heard Donnie Phillips shrieking in the background, a banshee wail that seemed to have been summoned forth from the very depths. And a voice kept disturbing the peace that now enveloped him. Was it Marge? Someone was praising him, thanking him over and over again for having done so well. It didn't matter.

And to top it all off, I need someone to change my diaper. This damned breast milk …

Ian lovingly patted Vickie's back, and buried his head in her hair, gently kissing her over and over again.

Oh, Vickie, if only …

If only ...

[Babypants]

Quickie self-defense quiz:

If you had to defend yourself against assault at the Thanksgiving dinner table, what would be your weapon of choice?

A.  A bowl of gravy

B.  A bread plate

C.  A burning candle

D.  A glass of wine

E.   A turkey drumstick