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AN HOMAGE TO VINCENT VEGA

 

GIRDING FOR BATTLE

 

Liberated from the lanyards, and with the black marker pen safely housed in other hands, Ian set out on the next leg of his long day's journey toward drunken night.  Although a clock was definitely ticking, he was taking it slow, using a supply cart as a makeshift walker, determined not to embarrass himself by crashing to the floor of yet another corridor.  He breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief when he finally opened the door to enter the cavernous realm of the warehouse, a young clerk hovering behind a counter directly ahead.

 

“Good morning.  I'm looking for Crummy,” Ian spat out as he approached the counter.  “Is he around?”

 

“Yeh, man … over there.”  The clerk nodded towards a small office off to Ian's right.  “But you can't go in there!  Staff only … and you don't look like staff!”

 

“I'm not, but Gayle Soderberg sent me down here to pick Crummy's brain.  Lullaby Diaper Service needs about fifteen hundred adult diapers and accessories, and I'm the middle man.”

 

“Let me guess, man.  This is about the sorority girls that are going to be wearing diapers for the duration.  That's cool, man; I dig it.”

 

“You've heard what happened?  All the way down here?”  Ian was impressed.

 

“Nah.  One of the girls came in just ahead of you.  She's raiding the supply bins as we speak.  Spiffy chick, man … I mean, real down low.  We're gonna do some weed when I get done here.”

 

“Really,” Ian smiled.  “Sorry to bend your elbow, but she's shining you on.  I brought some grade A shit back with me from sampan land, and she's not interested, so a dime bag of Maui Wowie isn't going to score.”

 

“Bummer, man … serious bummer.  I was looking forward to sniffing her butt after she dumps a load in her diaper.  A seriously new kind of high.  Can you dig it?”

 

“Works for me, but she's high class.  Way out of our league.  Say, what's your name?”

 

“Elvis, man.  You know?  Like Costello?”

 

“Scrape me, Elvis,” Ian exclaimed as he held out his hand.  “Accidents Will Happen is my middle name.”

 

“That why you wearing one of our diapers,” Elvis asked.  “Sorry, man, but it's kinda obvious.”

 

“No harm, no foul … can you dig?  Now, about Crummy ...”

 

“No biggie, man … just minding the candy store.  Hey, Crummy!  You got a visitor!”

 

Giving Elvis a thumbs up, Ian casually strolled the short distance to the nerve center of the hospital complex.

 

.  .  .  .

 

Janis was in a quandary.  The canvas diaper covers had been easy, especially since the keys were pinned to one of the O rings on each pair.  She knew that the diapers would present no challenge since they were all the same size.  All she had to do was stack them a hundred deep on her cart, and that would be that.

 

The vinyl baby pants was a different story altogether.  Holding a pair sized small, she had her doubts.

 

Our diapers are monstrous!  Tip might be able to squeeze into this pair, but surely no one else in the house would even come close!  So, maybe three of these for Tip …

 

I'm pretty average, but I'm wearing a large.  Kim's gonna need extra-large … ah, here we are!

 

Methodically, Janis ran each of her forty sisters through her imagination, trying to picture the heavy diaper tightly pinned around each and every waist.  If the vinyl pant was too loose, it would leak at the thighs; if it was too snug, it would never get pulled up into place.

 

While she worked, Janis was vaguely aware that her bladder needed relief, while the jailhouse breakfast was starting to make its presence felt in her bowels.  It was only a matter of time before she would be using her diaper, not simply wearing it.

 

And to her infinite embarrassment, Janis realized that she didn't know how best to go about peeing and pooping herself.  She was so frustrated that she wanted to scream.

 

I NEED ADVICE!  I NEED SOMEONE TO TEACH ME HOW TO DO THIS!

 

Janis looked up at the ceiling, but if she had a guardian angel, she was nowhere to be found.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Jerry Cromwell, I presume.”  Ian had knocked lightly on the door of the cramped office, the gunmetal desk and swivel chair dwarfed by the tall filing cabinets that lined the walls.

 

“One and the same,” Crummy replied as he looked up to take the measure of his uninvited guest.  “And you are?”

 

“Professor Ian Grady, and I come in peace.”

 

A big smile creased the balding, middle-aged man's face.  “It's an honor to meet you, Major, and welcome to my lair.  Your reputation precedes you, and I'm not talking about the one you've earned inside these walls.”

 

“Sorry, but I don't follow.”

 

“I was a lifer, Major … a supply sergeant at Cam Ranh Bay at the same time you were in country.  All those crazy orders that you put in … remember the two hundred pounds of live Maine lobster that you had us fly in?  A lot of your orders and requisitions passed through my hands.  Is it true that you were hand feeding that pet python of yours?” 

 

“Heineken beer,” Ian grinned.  “And Pete's still going strong.”

 

“Good to hear it,” Jerry smiled.  “For us supply guys, the war wasn't half bad.  Not like for you guys out in the bush.  Anyway, what's up?”

 

“Gayle Soderberg sent me down.  Hopefully, she's finding a place in the candy striper program for the forty-one sorority girls we nabbed stealing diapers around town.  Spats Belmondo was not amused ...”

 

“Not someone you want for an enemy.”  Jerry steepled his fingers while he thought about it.  “The guy's got his fingers in a lot of different pies.”

 

“I bought him off, and a big part of the arrangement is for the girls to wear and use diapers 24/7 for the rest of their stay at the University-- his diapers.  But Harriet Belmondo, who manages the diaper service for him, doesn't have the inventory.  Gayle is going to tide Lullaby over out of your stock, but we need to lay our hands on fifteen hundred to two thousand for the long haul.  Gayle suggested that we take some off your hands at a discount, and/or buy new … using your services to get the best wholesale price possible.”

 

“You're going to need more than two thousand … a lot more.”

 

“Harriet calculates that the girls will be going through thirty-five a week; that's a bit less than fifteen hundred.”

 

“Yeah, but you measure the life expectancy of the diapers in terms of the number of times they can go through the laundry cycle.  You're going to get one hundred to … yeah, a hundred twenty five max.  So, count on two years for brand new diapers, maybe a bit more if your equipment is top of the industrial line.  If you buy our used, you get what you get … no guarantees.”

 

Jerry reached for an adding machine.  “Do you know the total number of months these girls are down for?”

 

“No.”  Ian shook his head.  “It could be anywhere from six months to three and a half years.  Damn.  I'll sit down with the girls around six, and sort this out.  Can I pass the number to Harriet, and let her deal with you directly?”

 

“Sure thing.”  Jerry took a piece of scratch paper, and wrote down his number.  “This bypasses the switchboard.  If I'm here, I'll pick up.”

 

“Many thanks.”  Ian held out his hand.

 

“My pleasure,” Jerry said as they shook.  “Amos says that, for an officer, you're all right.     Purple Hearts still count for a lot in the ranks.”

 

“A couple of them were hard earned,” Ian sighed.

 

“Yeah,” the now rotund supply sergeant agreed.  He was looking at the bulky diaper girdling the Major's loins.

 

“Yeah, I guess they were.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Janis, we really do need to stop meeting like this!”

 

Ian had come up on her in the corridor.  Janis was visibly struggling to push a supply cart piled so high with diapers that they towered over her head.

 

“Professor Grady!  Oh, thank God!”

 

“You look like you could use some help.  Pushing this monster is a job for two.”

 

“Thank you!  Thank you!  Thank you!  I have to get up to Four, and I'm afraid that the cart will tip when I try to wheel it onto the elevator.”

 

“Then you go in first.  I'll push, you pull, and between us we'll get the job done.”  Ian slid in close beside her, and lent his weight to hers to get the cart back in motion.

 

“I need your help with something else,” Janis whispered, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.  She was way beyond embarrassed.

 

“If I can.”  Ian smiled encouragingly.  “Fire away.”

 

“I need to pee,” she confessed, “and very soon I'll need to do number two.  And I don't know how!  In a diaper, I mean.”

 

“Ah,” Ian muttered as he caught on.  While they continued to push the cart down the corridor, he gave it some thought.  “Probably best to pee a bit here and pee a bit there rather than flood the diaper.  Too much, too fast, and you could end up leaking.  You're not incontinent, Janis, so it's a matter of muscle control.  You can control this, though it might take a bit of practice in the beginning.”

 

“And pooping?”

 

“Tougher call.  My diet is heavy on breast milk, which makes my stool mushy.  It oozes out, and runs wherever it can find room in my diaper.  But you're probably expelling large chunks, which don't have much wiggle room in a tightly pinned diaper.”

 

“This is really tight,” Janis admitted.  “Doctor Stevenson knows what she's doing.”

 

“That she does,” Ian agreed; “that she does.”

 

“The elevator is just ahead,” Janis warned.

 

“Not a problem,” he assured her-- and it wasn't.

 

“In the beginning, when I was eating a lot of food that was slow to digest, I had these long, fat chunks that … well, it was like hitting a brick wall when they shot out, and most of them got stuck half way!”

 

“Oh, yuck,” Janis exclaimed as the elevator slowed.  They were nearing the fourth floor, and they stopped talking while they concentrated on muscling the cart out of the elevator.

 

“Anyway, nature must be served, so I sat down anywhere I could find, jiggled my butt to get the stuff spread out, then stood back up to let my body finish taking care of business.  It was nasty stuff for the nurses stuck with changing me, so they took charge of my diet … lots and lots of high fiber foods.  After that, things got a lot easier, and now the breast milk has pretty much eliminated the problem altogether.”

 

“So, today … right now … if it gets stuck?  I have to sit down, wiggle around, and turn it into a poopy pancake?  That's beyond gross!”

 

“And it'll probably stink too,” Ian laughed sympathetically.  “Had that happen a few times,” he added.

 

“But who's going to change me,” Janis quaked, trying hard to keep her voice down.  “It's disgusting.”

 

“Well, if you can have a BM before we get back on the bus, Marcia will do it.  At the house?  I suppose Bernice will change you.  Do you have a housekeeper?”

 

“Sure … a housekeeper and a cook, but they aren't paid to change diapers.  And poor Missus Miller can't do this all by herself!  She needs help!”

 

“How about your boyfriend?”

 

“I don't have one!  I'll probably never have one!  What boy would want to even touch a girl who pees and poops herself?  I'm going to be an old maid!”

 

“Doubtful,” Ian smiled.  “Elvis thinks you're hot; he even wants to sniff your poopy bottom.”

 

“That guy?  He's weird, and he smokes pot!  How did he get a job here?”

 

“Not sure, though I did write him a letter of recommendation.”

 

“What!  No way!”  Looking at Ian's face, seeing the humor dancing in his eyes, Janis started to giggle, and then she started laughing helplessly.  And then her eyes went wide.

 

“Oh, no!”  Without thinking, Janis reached out to clutch Ian's arm.  “I just … I just peed myself!  And I can't stop.  Oh, God!”

 

“Hush.”  Ian swept her into his arms and patted her back, trying to calm her.  “It's going to feel like walking around in a damp bathing suit.  You'll be fine.”

 

“I need someone to change me,” she whispered, fiercely holding onto his shoulders with her upturned hands.

 

“Marcia will take a peek, but unless you're really soaked, she'll leave you be because your diaper will hold a lot.  Believe me, Janis:  you'll be fine.”

 

“Now,” he concluded, “did you leave one of the keys on Marcia's desk, as you were instructed to do?”

 

“Uh huh,” Janis whispered again.

 

“Then let's get this cart where it's supposed to go, and get back downstairs.  We're not getting out of here until all forty-one of you are properly diapered, and that has to be sooner rather than later because I have a class to teach less than ninety minutes from now.  Andiamo, Bellissima!”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Lookin' good, Tip; those blue scrubs are really you!”

 

Melanie was grinning from ear to ear, affectionately rubbing it in.

 

“And that diaper?  Wow!  You've finally got the ass that you've always wanted!  You'll need a stick to beat the boys off!”

 

Tippi grimaced, visibly stalling while she tried to come up with a suitable comeback.

 

“You know who else wears this particular diaper, Mel?  Godzilla!  It took me ten minutes to get my jeans up, but I could never get the snap closed.  A kind hearted nurse in the Psych ward took pity on me, and loaned me her threads.  So, guess what all of us are going to be doing this weekend … shopping for new clothes!”

 

“Shopping,” Cindy exclaimed.  “Galleria here I come!”

 

“I'll drive,” Vickie laughed as she rubbed her hand up and down her own well padded rear.  Still at loose ends while she waited for Ian to return, she had been passing the time by getting acquainted with some of the girls.  After their interviews, they were milling around, waiting for Janis to come back and the trips to the fourth floor and diaper purgatory to commence.  For her part, Vickie felt like she was doing The Time Warp, once again in her element.  PISS was the only place she had ever lived that truly felt like home, her sisters in the house her one true family.  Melanie … Cindy … the easy going way in which the girls related to one another was forcefully reminding Vic of what she had once enjoyed, only somehow to let it slip away.

 

“You seem so comfortable with your diaper,” Joyce Wiggins observed.  “Have you been wearing one for a long time?”

 

“Less than a week,” Vickie laughed, her eyes sparkling with merriment.  “It's actually kind of fun, and diaper changes are a hoot!  Try and imagine the look on your boyfriend's face the first time you tell him that you need your diaper changed … hint, hint.”

 

“He'll run for the hills,” Kimberly flatly declared.

 

“Otherwise known as Kim's boobs,” Melanie chortled.  “Our very own Fraulein D Cup!”

 

“Try telling him that you think you're getting a diaper rash,” Vickie suggested.  “Ask him to rub lotion all over your butt … ask him to take his time, and do it right.  Still think that he's going to run away?”

 

“You're right,”  Imagining the moment, Kim was grinning wickedly.  “He'll end up sporting the hard on to end all hard ons!  My poor baby!”

 

“Always remember: forbidden fruit is the tastiest fruit of all!”

 

“And forbidden it shall remain,” Cindy groaned, “because we won't have the keys to these canvas covers-- and neither will our boyfriends!”

 

“Are you sure?”  Vickie had an equally mischievous twinkle in her eye.  “Because as I understand it, the court has put Ian in charge of you for the whole of your probation, and the Judge is leaving it up to him to work out the details.  So, get your grades up, and keep your noses clean.  He has a kind heart, and like every knight in shining armor, he is vulnerable to a damsel in distress!”

 

“Our sorority Dad,” Joyce sighed.  “This is going to take some getting used to.”

 

“I'm going to be changing his diapers,” Tippi smugly announced.

 

“SAY WHAT!!”  Cindy was stunned, but no more so than any of her sisters.

 

“When the Batgirl goes back to her cave, Sarah … his fiancee … will need someone to take her place-- someone she can trust.  I'm the ideal candidate because I'm going to be wearing this chastity belt for the next three and a half years.  She's going to mentor me, and in return she wants me to keep an eye on him … keep him out of trouble.  It's a fair trade.”

 

Tippi was watching Vickie out of the corner of her eye.  She didn't know what the lady doctor's diapers were all about, but it would be fun, she thought, to babysit her as well.

 

And if we can somehow get the Batgirl to start wearing diapers, I would be only too happy to take charge of all three of them ...

 

And I would definitely keep them out of trouble!

 

“Speaking of our new Dad ...”  Melanie was looking over Tip's shoulder.  “He just walked in with Janis.”

 

“Then it's time to face the music,” Cindy sighed.  “Come on girls!  Let us charge boldly towards our diapered fate!”

 

“Ian!”  Vickie shouted to get his attention.

 

“We need to get back upstairs … to Rita's office!  Suzie wants to speak with you … says it's urgent!”

 

Ian nodded, turned to whisper something in Janis's ear, and then used his fingers to pantomime walking down the corridor.

 

Excusing herself from the circle of her newfound friends, Vickie rushed to Ian's side, and together they headed for the elevator that would whisk them aloft.

 

Janis reported to Marcia that they were ready to proceed, and in a matter of moments she was leading a half dozen of her sisters to the elevator that she had just exited.  When they returned to the cafeteria to await transport back to the house, they would all be heavily diapered. 

 

It remained to be seen whether any of the girls would still be able to fit into their pants.

 

.  .  .  .

 

Bernice looked up when Vickie and Ian walked into the office.  “Let me summarize.”  Bernice had decided to be blunt.  “Once the word gets out that you work for the CIA, Suzie's afraid that the hard left student groups will start howling for your head.  The campus will play host to sit-ins and demonstrations, all carefully orchestrated for the local news shows.  I share her concern.”

 

Priscilla got up from her seat, and offered it to Ian. 

 

“She apparently has a plan to nip this in the bud,” Bernice went on, “but it requires your approval.  In your situation, I would take all of this very seriously.”

 

Ian slid into the vacant chair, thinking about it.  Kent State and its riotous aftermath had come and gone while he was prepping for the raid on North Viet Nam, and then carrying it out.  The Left had moved on during the long months of his hospitalization, the feminist revolution now in full swing.  America's humiliating withdrawal from Saigon lay more than four years in the past, and no one in the US looked to be picking a side in the current conflict between China and Viet Nam.  Would anyone on campus care about this sort of thing any more?

 

Ian suddenly realized that he really didn't know much about the popular causes of the moment for the simple reason that he hadn't been paying attention.  Common sense dictated that he defer to Bernice and Suzie.

 

“Let's give her a call.”

 

Rita dialed, and Suzie picked up on the first ring.

 

“Vickie and Ian are here,” Rita began; you're still on speaker.”

 

“Hi, Suzie,” Ian cut in.  “First things, first: thank you for last night.  You were very patient, and very sweet.  Now, I gather that you've come up with a plan to keep me from walking into a firestorm when we get back to campus.  What have you got in mind?”

 

“My first thought was to round up some frat boys to help Priscilla maintain order, but a few bloody noses would be playing right into the hands of our friends on the Left.  So, I want to avoid a confrontation, and the best way to do that is to go behind the scenes and pointedly remind our esteemed President that the university has a lot to lose financially if it picks a fight with the government.  I figure that the best person to make the call is your boss, but not until I've schooled him on who and what to threaten around here.”

 

Suzie was impatiently drumming her fingers on her desk.

 

“The CIA is in the phone book, Ian; did you know that?”

 

“No … uh … actually, I didn't.”  Ian was squirming in his chair, and visibly turning pale.

 

“I can call the number here in front of me, and run the gauntlet until I reach someone who'll take me seriously, but things will go a lot more quickly if you get on the horn, give the Director my number, and tell him to get back to me … preferably yesterday.  Sorry to put you on the spot like this-- Priscilla told me that decisions can be a flash point for you-- but we are running out of time.”

 

Ian could feel the room beginning to spin.  He closed his eyes, trying to ward off the sensation that he was being pulled into the vortex, being sucked down, back to his last battlefield and all the horrors that had followed.

 

Priscilla didn't wait.  Reaching into her pocket, she grabbed the ampule, and cracked it under Ian's nose.  She was not about to let him lose consciousness, not about to let the decaying corpses in that far-off village lay claim to still another piece of his soul.

 

ELAINE

 

“I recognize the area code, but not the number.  That you, Street?”

 

“In the proverbial flesh, Donnie.  Just another working stiff paying his dues.  How goes it on your end?”

 

The Deputy Director leaned back in his chair.  'Proverbial' was code for 'in a group of friendlies'.  'Stiff' meant 'pay close attention', and the question said that Ian was unsure of his ground.  In short, the ball was about to land in Donnie Freeman's court.

 

“Elaine sends her best, and the girls want to know when their favorite uncle is coming to dinner!”

 

Roughly translated, Donnie was saying 'message received', and asking how urgent the crisis was this time.

 

“Next trip east, but I have no idea what to get Jennifer for her birthday.”

 

Immediate.  High priority, but use your own judgment.

 

Jennifer was Donnie's eldest.  Ian would have used Alison, the Freeman's middle daughter, to indicate 'soon'.  Roberta, the youngest, was code for 'when you can get around to it'.

 

“Donnie, we're on speaker, so let me introduce you to some of the ladies in my life.  I'm here with Doctors Robinson and Stevenson, Vickie and Rita respectively.”

 

“We meet at last,” Donnie boomed.  “I'm Donald Freeman, one of Langley's Deputy Directors.  Ian and I go back a long way.  He took a bullet for me in February of sixty eight, and then we shared a hospital room in the Philippines for a couple of months.  I'm honored that he's asked me to be his Best Man.”

 

“Vic and I are looking forward to meeting you in person,” Rita replied.  “Will your wife be coming?”

 

“All five of us,” Donnie laughed.  “And if you need a flower girl, Roberta will happily volunteer.  She's our youngest.”

 

“Priscilla Canon,” Ian went on.

 

“Officer Canon, it's a pleasure.  We have a slot waiting for you at Quantico; just let Ian know when you're ready to ship out.”

 

“Not until Athens is behind us,” Priscilla grinned.  “When Irina's around, Ian definitely needs a bodyguard!”

 

Rita and Vickie looked at her curiously.  They were both thinking that Sarah was right: Ian definitely wasn't sharing all of his secrets  … at least, not with them.

 

“And I am honored to introduce Missus Bernice Miller, who is the house manager of Zeta Alpha Pi, one of our sororities.  She defines grace, Donnie … and her husband fell on Hill 255.”

 

“Then I am equally honored,” Donnie said-- and he meant it.  Princeton, and the United States Army, ran through the generations of Donnie's family, as well as Elaine's.  Her father had served in the OSS, and Ian and Colonel Wendell Oliver were very close.  Both had waged war in the shadows, and both had received medals that could never be publicly acknowledged.  They were hidden away in a secure vault at Langley.

 

“To business,” Ian concluded.  “Do you remember Suzie Marshall?”

 

“I do.”  With Vickie on the call, Donnie chose to leave it at that.

 

“She has confirmed that my connection to the Agency has become public knowledge, and is spreading across the student body.  She and Bernice both believe that left wing student groups are going to raise the kind of hue and cry that makes its way into the nightly news.  Suzie wants to talk with you, one on one … pass you information that you can use to pressure the university President, and make this all go away.  If it helps, the campus police chief is both an enthusiastic proponent of law and order, and a friend of Bernice's of many years standing.”

 

Over a thousand miles away, a huge smile creased Donnie Freeman's rugged features.  It wasn't hard to read between the lines-- in fact, Ian's message was coming through loud and clear.

 

“Give me her number, Street, and I'll give her a call.  Better yet, I'll have Elaine give her a call.  She's a Kappa through and through, so she and Suzie will at least be speaking the same language.”

 

And this won't be the first time that Lainie has fronted for the Agency …

 

“But no promises, okay?”

 

Ian couldn't help but grin.  Elaine Oliver Freeman was the sister that he had never had, and Alison and Roberta were his goddaughters.  The four Freeman girls could always be counted on to hold Donnie's feet to the fire.

 

Ian wondered who would make the call.  Would it be Donnie, or the Director himself?

 

.  .  .  .

 

“This reeks,” Cindy complained.  “Blue scrubs are definitely not my color!”  Like Tippi, Cindy had discovered that Godzilla's diaper couldn't really be muscled into a pair of tight fitting jeans.  She was also on the hook for a new wardrobe.

 

“I can make do with Kim's pants,” Melanie noted, “but where does that leave Kim?”

 

In her senior year, Kimberly had led her high school basketball team to the state tournament championship game, where she had suffered a heartbreaking two point loss.  She was the tallest girl in the sorority, and the nurses on the fourth floor had been unable to find anything to fit over her diaper.  She was returning to the cafeteria with a hospital gown tied around her waist like a makeshift sarong, and it would have to do until she got back to the house.  Kimberly suspected that she would be spending hours on the phone, pleading with equally lanky girls in the others sororities for something, anything, to wear to class on Friday morning.

 

“Don't worry, Kim!”  Melanie patted her on the back.  “When we're walking out to the bus, you get in the middle, we'll cover you, and no one will be any the wiser.”

 

Kim and Melanie hugged, both of them trying to take the measure of their tight fitting diapers.

 

In groups of four and six, the diapered sorority girls gradually returned to the cafeteria to await Professor Grady.  They all knew that the bus would drop them at the curb, and that they would have to run a gauntlet of hooting and jeering frat boys as they made their way up the driveway and into the house.

 

And without exception, each and every one of the girls was giving thought to the inevitability of ending up in a poopy diaper, and being unable to change herself.  Some dreaded this state of abject dependency, while others found the prospect secretly thrilling.

 

After a bit of experimentation, three of the girls quickly discovered that there was a way to rub the massive diaper against their clits, and get a reaction.  Imagining themselves locked helplessly in perpetual chastity, each rode the wave to its crest, and bathed in the afterglow of a quiet yet satisfying orgasm.

 

Although she would never openly admit it, Joyce Wiggins was definitely of the opinion that her diaper offered some really kinky possibilities.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Good morning.  I'd like to speak with Suzie Marshall, please.”

 

“Speaking.”

 

“Miss Marshall, my name is Elaine Freeman, and I'm …”

 

“Excuse me, Miss Freeman.  I don't wish to be rude, but I'm expecting an important call, and I need to keep this line clear.”

 

“I have three children, Miss Marshall, and Ian Grady is godfather to my two youngest.  This is your important call.”

 

“You're Ian's boss at the CIA?”  Suzie was incredulous, and Elaine could hear it in her voice.

 

“No,” Elaine laughed, “not at all.  Technically, Ian doesn't work for the Agency, but my husband does, and Ian is his closest friend.  If you're wondering, my husband is a Deputy Director, and the guy who sends Ian gallivanting all over the world.  They have been doing favors for one another … well … for a very long time.”

 

“Ever since his daughter ...”

 

“Precisely.”  This was a subject very close to Elaine's heart.  Sitting quietly, watching Ian playing in the back yard with the girls while their father sweated over the BBQ grill, Elaine had shed quiet tears more than once, tears safely hidden away behind her dark glasses.  Ian loved the girls, and they loved him just as passionately in return.  He connected with children, and it infuriated her that he had been denied the joy of raising his daughter.  Periodically, Elaine felt compelled to remind her husband that the search for Linh was about far more than national security.  This was about family, and the honoring of one's debt to others.

 

“So, you know why I want to speak with your husband ...”

 

“Yes.  Miss Marshall ...”

 

“Please!  Call me Suzie.”

 

“And I'm Elaine … Lainie to my close friends.  I'm a Princeton grad, Suzie, and a Kappa in good standing.  Indeed, I serve on our national board as well as the chapter's.  Since you and I both speak sorority, and I follow university affairs closely, Donnie thought that it would be more productive for the two of us to talk.  Now, how can KAP be of help to PISS?”

 

“Ian's affiliation with your agency has gone public, and I'm betting that by late afternoon the tale, much embellished with each retelling, will have spread from one end of campus to the other.  The usual groups will gather tonight to plot and scheme, and a sit-in at the President's office will follow tomorrow morning, along with demonstrations outside Ian's classrooms, and possibly his office.”

 

“The usual playbook,” Elaine observed.  Nationwide, the houses were conservative bedrock.  Neither Suzie nor Elaine had any use for the semi-professional agitators spawned by the anti-war movement of the previous decade.

 

“And Friday is a slow news day, so they're sure to get live coverage.”

 

“And does your Faculty Assembly meet on the first Monday of the month?”

 

“It does,” Suzie concurred, “and no doubt some of the young Turks will offer a motion condemning the hiring of a veteran with blood on his hands.”

 

“Solution?”

 

“As it happens, the Dean who chairs the Assembly is an acquaintance of mine … an intimate acquaintance.  If you'll pardon my French, I've got him by the balls, and he well knows how much I enjoy squeezing them.  The Assembly won't be a problem.”

 

“Which leaves the university president.”

 

“A good, old boy who's scared of his own shadow.  He will bend with the breeze, so I want your husband to hit him with a gale force wind.  Preferably tonight.  The housekeeper is off on Thursdays, and El Presidente likes a martini in the library at six thirty sharp.  Make the call ten minutes later, and he will pick up.”

 

“Vulnerabilities?”

 

“Money, of course.  He's there to rake it in, so your husband should gently threaten to take it away.  Federal funding of faculty travel is terribly competitive these days, isn't it?

And then there are the grants from the National Science Foundation and the NIH.  Audits can be rough, and faculty are not known for their bookkeeping skills.  A probe could yield embarrassing results; I'd drop the word 'scandal' into the conversation.”

 

“Suzie, you are a woman after my own heart.  Does Ian know what you're doing?”

 

“Of course not.  As far as he's concerned, we're talking about the wedding, and how many bedrooms you'll need for your family.  It goes without saying that you will be my guests while you are in town.  Oh, and you should know that tonight Ian will be strutting his stuff in a cop bar-- a drinking contest with something called Hong Kong Rules.  If the press corner him tomorrow, hangover aside, he won't have a clue.”

 

“Hong Kong Rules?  Oh, dear God!”

 

“That bad?”

 

“Suzie, it's basically drink until you pass out.  Ian did an R&R in Hong Kong that is the stuff of legends.  First, he got smashed; then, he wandered the streets looking for Suzie Wong!  As the story goes, the cops found him passed out in a gutter, and more or less carried him back to his hotel.  Someone actually put him to bed, and I know damn well that it wasn't Suzie Wong!”

 

The two women shrieked with laughter, but Suzie wasn't quite done.  She recommended that Donnie encourage El Presidente to defend the students' right to protest, but only outside, where it would not interrupt classes and violate the rights of other students.  At the very end of November, the Quad would benefit from a little heated rhetoric, and this being a typical Minnesota winter, cooler heads would definitely prevail.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“No, Janis … I'm sorry, but no.”

 

“But I'm wet, Sylvie; you said it yourself.”  Janis was whining like a petulant two year old.  “I'm wet, and it's sooo uncomfortable!”

 

After frantically locking over three dozen sorority girls into their diapers and baby pants, Sylvia Anderson's patience was at an end.  This was easily the most bizarre shift that she had ever experienced in her long years on the floor, and she just wanted a break from the semi-organized chaos.  She simply wasn't in the mood to humor Janis Marsden.

 

“Janis, you're a little damp, but that's it.  This diaper can take several more wettings, and then and only then are you going to be changed.  Think!  Right now, you are wearing one of our diapers, at no cost.  But soon you will be wearing a diaper from Lullaby's service, and the more diapers you use, the more it's going to cost you or your parents.”

 

“But I ...”

 

“No buts, Janis!”  Sylvia had unlocked Janis' cover, and performed the standard diaper check.  The girl hadn't messed, and her diaper was barely wet.  “I swear, if you were my daughter, I'd take you into a vacant room, close the door, put you over my knee, and give you a good spanking.  You are acting like a spoiled toddler, and I'm not going to put up with it.  If you want me to change you ...”

 

Hands on hips, Sylvia glared at Janis.

 

“If you want me to change you,” she repeated more calmly, “all you have to do is stand there and poop yourself.  Then I'll change you.  So, get to it.  Squat, twist your nose the way toddlers do when they're just about to soil themselves, and I'll happily change you.”

 

Janis began to sniffle, and then she reached up to wipe her eyes with the back of her hand.

 

Sylvia thought that Janis must have been an adorable toddler.

 

And in some ways, she still is.

 

“I'm waiting, Janis, but I don't have all day.”  Hands still on hips, her expression cold and businesslike, Sylvia continued to stare Janis down.  The other girls had taken their punishment like adults, but at heart Janis really did seem more like a child.  The trauma of being arrested, and now of being returned to diapers, had stripped away much of her fragile claim to being a mature young woman.

 

“It's time for you to join the others, Janis.”  Sylvia nodded in the direction of the elevator that would send her on her way to the cafeteria.  “But come back a little before three, and I'll check your diaper last thing before going home.  If you're wet enough, I'll change you then.”

 

“But that's hours away,” Janis protested.  “I can't hold it that long!  I'll be soaked!  I'll leak!”

 

“Nonsense,” Sylvia scoffed.  “Your diaper can take whatever you dish out, and still be ready for more.  In fact, this is a lesson that you need to learn, and now is as good a time as any.  When Professor Grady returns to collect the keys, I will instruct him not to change you under any circumstances.  The sooner you get used to wearing a soaking wet diaper, the better!  And just you wait … just you wait until you experience your first diaper rash!”

 

Janis shuffled her feet as she began to sniffle more loudly.

 

“You're not a baby, Janis,” Sylvia concluded.  “But you sure are acting like one.  Now go!”

 

Sylvia angrily pointed at the elevator, and head down, her diaper all but invisible under her dress, Janis slowly walked away.  Riding down to the basement, all she wanted to do was go home, and let her mommy take care of her.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Are we still on speaker,” Donnie asked.  Rita had picked up on the first ring.

 

“We are,” she confirmed.

 

“Street, I just got off the phone with Elaine.  It sounds like she and Suzie really hit it off., and everything's taken care of.  Suzie will put the five of us up during the wedding free of charge, and she gave us a lot of tips about the realities of life in Minnesota during the wintertime.  I've got one more call to make this evening to get things squared away, but I expect it to go smoothly.  See you on the flip side.”

 

“Thanks, Donnie.  I'm having a hard time coming to grips with the fact that Jennifer is now a teenager.  How did the years slip away?”

 

“Too many balls in the air, I suppose.  I thank God for Lainie every day.  Oh, and don't forget to send the Colonel a wedding invitation.  He may or may not attend, but he would be hurt if you didn't remember him.”

 

“I will be hurt if he doesn't come, and I have the perfect place for him to stay.”

 

Ian was smiling at Bernice.  He knew how much Wendell Oliver would enjoy her company.

 

He was still smiling when Rita hung up.

 

“Well, Secret Agent Man,” Priscilla grinned.  “Report!”

 

“Elaine gave Suzie the stamp of approval, and told Donnie to proceed.  I just have to get through the day, and Donnie will get the cat back into the bag sometime this evening.”

 

“All of that was somewhere in this conversation?”  Vickie was dumbfounded.  “What?  Do the two of you speak in tongues?”

 

“Sort of.  But Suzie is putting up the Freeman clan, and I do hope to persuade Bernice to host the Colonel for a night or two.  Our conversations are always legitimate, but sometimes we choose our words rather carefully.”

 

“And now it's time for a diaper check,” Priscilla declared.  Looking around the room, she started counting on her fingers.

 

“Ian, do you realize that every woman in this room has changed your diapers at least once?  Is there an entry in the Guinness Book of World Records for the largest number of women changing one guy's diapers?”

 

Ian just smiled.  If there was such a record, he was fairly certain that he owned it.

 

“Can you … uh … just do it right here?  We really do need to get going if I'm to have any chance of making it to my twelve thirty class.”

 

“Why not,” Priscilla grinned as she looked quickly around the room.  It was obvious that her friends had no objection to seeing Ian with his pants down.  “But who, I wonder, should do the honors?   I know!  Bernice, you are going to be doing a lot of diaper checks for years to come, so here's your chance to show us your technique!”

 

Priscilla handed Bernice the key to Ian's diaper cover.

 

“Take off your jacket,” she ordered.

 

After he draped it over the back of his chair, she unfastened his belt buckle, lowered the zipper, and eased his pants over the bulging mass of his diapers.  With his trousers safely gathered around his ankles, she unlocked and loosened the cover just enough to allow her to reach in and feel inside the front of his baby pants.

 

“You're damp,” she declared, “but not enough to warrant a change.  Now, turn around so that I can check your bottom.”

 

Ian awkwardly shuffled until his back was fully turned.  He felt Bernice pull the back of his vinyl pants aside.

 

Bernice's new found friends all giggled when she bent over to inspect his back side.  A narrow opening at the small of Ian's back allowed her to sniff the inside of his diaper.

 

“Still clean,” she announced as she stood up.

 

“Ah, how disappointing!”  Vickie's laugh was wicked.  “Auntie Vickie was so looking forward to watching auntie Bernice change the big baby's poopy diaper.  Ah, well … maybe tonight!”

 

“Careful, Victoria,” Bernice warned.  “At evening's end, I expect to be changing all three of you out of your wet and probably messy diapers.  Which reminds me … who is the keeper of your key?”

 

“That would be me,” Rita admitted.  “And the plan is for me to change her just before the fun gets under way, then again first thing in the morning.”

 

“And have the poor thing get a diaper rash?”

 

She already has a diaper rash.”

 

“All the more reason for me to change her before she goes beddy-by … and doubtless in the morning as well.  I'm still debating whether to send Priscilla off to work in a diaper, or let her have her big girl panties back.  If it's a diaper, rest assured that all three of my big babies will have their baby pants pulled up, and their covers firmly locked in place!”

 

“Now, that would be a sight to behold,” Rita crowed.  “Indeed, we could make a fortune if we sold tickets!  But seriously … Ian, look me in the eye and tell me that you want to have a baby with Vickie.”

 

“With Vic, with Pris, with Sarah … and with you.”  Ian was looking her in the eye as he spoke, and he did not flinch.  Everyone in the room knew that he was speaking from the heart.

 

“A drunken orgy is not what I have in mind-- not for any of us.  So, how about this for a compromise?  The three of you stay locked up when I leave the bar, but I'll drive over to the sorority house and keep Bernice company.  When you stagger in, the two of us will pass judgment.  Unlocked only long enough for a diaper change, or unlocked for the balance of the evening, to act on your feelings for one another.  Ian, you keep insisting that you do not have a problem with alcohol.  Well, here's your chance to prove it!”

 

.  .  .  .

 

Resting his chin on dimpled fingers, Donnie thought about the rest of Elaine's conversation with Suzie Marshall-- the part that Suzie insisted was just between the three of them, and not to be shared with Ian.

 

It was hard to quarrel with Suzie's core finding: they had been searching for eight years, and they had come up empty.  It was time to chart a different path.

 

What Suzie didn't know was that Irina had been doing some heavy lifting, accessing records in Hanoi and Saigon both-- records that had made it increasingly clear that the massacre had been carried out neither by the Viet Cong nor by North Vietnamese regulars.  If only by process of elimination, they were making progress.

 

But they were running out of time, and both Donnie and Ian knew it.  Trafficking small children across international lines was a heck of a lot more difficult than transporting adults.  Governments that turned a blind eye to one came down very hard on the other.

 

Suzie's proposal was bold, and then some.  Instead of denying the truth, endorse it.  Go public, and hold nothing back.  Share Ian's story with the world, and ask the world to take up the search.  Pressure the bastards, and be ready to pounce when they panicked and made a mistake.  Stop messing about, and bring these children home.

 

Donnie Freeman was glad that it was not his decision to make.  He would have to take a walk, down a long and luxuriously carpeted hallway to the Director's office.  It was his decision to make, unless he decided to punt.  There were only four men in the entire government who could break the seals on Ian Grady's file, and only one of them outranked the Director.

 

The President of the United States.

 

POST MORTEM

 

Sarah was seething, although she was hiding it well.  At lunch time, the hospital cafeteria was generally busy, but on this, the last Thursday in November, it was a madhouse.  Vickie's decision to pin the photograph of Ian's wife and baby girl to the bulletin board, and to frame it with hand written cards referencing murder and massacre, had triggered an emotional firestorm among the assembled doctors and nurses, hitting those who had served in the military especially hard.

 

How will poor Bian react when she learns about this?  And did we really need Reiko to dive off the deep end on one of her samurai rants?

 

The image of Reiko Matsumura leaping to her feet and screaming “samurai” when Ian suddenly appeared on a live news feed from the Zeta Alpha Pi sorority house was seared into her consciousness, along with the image of her fiance turning thumbs down to a reporter's suggestion that he was disabled and entitled to a pension. 

 

No, Ian won't play that game although his car is buried under a snowbank because he can't afford a new alternator.  A hero doth have his pride.

 

Doctors had cheered when he sarcastically noted that he packed Immodium AD when venturing abroad, not a Walther PPK or one of Q's exploding alarm clocks.  And the whole hospital had stomped its collective feet and roared its collective approval when he proudly proclaimed that he was en route to a drinking contest against a quartet of off duty cops, with Amos Waring tagging along, cast as his very own Sancho Panza.

 

And then the piece de resistance: Vickie jumping up to announce to the world that she would also be on the team that Ian was leading into ritual combat, a seedy Nordeast bar now suddenly transformed into a gladiatorial arena pitting the hospital against the cops.

 

And the staff loved it.  Men and women, doctors and nurses … an uproar climbing the scale to full on pandemonium, the hospital against the world.

 

And no doubt that obnoxious Emmett Bailey will tag along to broadcast live, treating us to a blow by blow description as our mighty athletes finally consume one alcoholic beverage too many, and rendered unconscious, slowly sink to the floor …

 

Whose diaper will be the first to fail?  Will Amos even condescend to wearing a diaper?  So many questions …

 

… and now, a word from our sponsers!  But stay tuned, sports fans, 'cause we'll be right back!

 

Sarah glanced at Rita, but her expression was inscrutable, offering neither encouragement nor rebuke.

 

Did I miss the staff meeting where it was determined that Ian isn't an alcoholic after all?  Did the memo consigning his bottle fed breast milk to the trash heap never cross my desk?  Is there an escape clause in our D/s agreement that I overlooked?  Something that allows him to stay out all night, sleep wherever he wants and with whomever he wants?

 

Seething, Sarah decided that the time had come for the two of them to have it out, so when his heart to heart with Rita was finished, she would summon him to her office to find out what the Hell was going on, and to lay down the law.  She would tell him bluntly that she no longer trusted him, and she wanted his goodies safely and securely locked away inside a chastity cage.  There would be no discussion, none whatsoever.  It was time for him to honor an agreement that he had entered into of his own free will.

 

.  .  .  .

 

Exiting the elevator, Ian, Priscilla and Chief Mischof were immediately assaulted with loud but off-key chanting:

 

HEY, HEY … HO, HO … BABY KILLER'S GOT TO GO …

 

HEY, HEY … HO, HO … BABY KILLER'S GOT TO GO …

 

“Not terribly original,” Ian observed.

 

“Definitely out of date,” the Chief agreed.

 

“Disappointing turnout,” Priscilla added as she caught sight of the demonstrators.

 

Rounding the corner, Ian quickly surveyed the corridor.  The protesters were occupying the space between the two doors to his classroom.  They obviously thought that they controlled both entrances, but there were no cameras covering the protest, no third party to protect them.  They were relying on the forbearance of the handful of campus police officers to their front and rear.

 

They were a dozen strong, and from his point of view, what they occupied was the killing ground.  With more than two dozen strikes at his disposal, not counting the damage that he could do with his forehead and elbows, his knees and feet, in such crowded quarters it would take him less than forty seconds to dispose of them all. 

 

Taking the lead, he strolled up to the protesters, some of whom were holding up hand made signs with hastily scrawled slogans.  He had seen it all before, and was neither impressed nor intimidated. 

 

He waited patiently for the bell to ring, and then spoke for the first time.

 

“Excuse me.”  Ian picked out someone in the front of the pack more or less at random.  “I'm Professor Grady, and I need to get through; please move aside.”

 

“The baby killer speaks!”  The young man, who sported long, dirty hair and an equally unkempt beard to complement the holes in his jeans and the grime on his sweatshirt, was looking at a girl to his left.  She had a serious case of acne, and her hair was so stringy that he thought it would be great fun to tie it up in knots.

 

“I have killed a lot of people,” Ian nodded, “in fact, well over two thousand.  But they were all about your age or a bit older … no babies in the lot.  Sorry to disappoint you.”

 

“You work for the CIA,” the girl hissed; “you're a fascist tool.”

 

“Well, I did vote for Nixon; that's true enough.”

 

Ian smiled at her pleasantly.  He would use a heart punch to kill the boy, and a carotid strike to put the girl out of her misery.  Four seconds, tops.

 

“And I do have a license to kill, in the sense that I can kill you in the presence of witnesses and still get away with it.  It only takes one phone call to summon a disposal team to collect your corpse and toss it into a nearby incinerator, while a second group systematically erases all evidence of your existence from the relevant data bases.  Typically, it takes about forty-five minutes.  Afterwards, if your parents stubbornly insist that they had a son or daughter who's gone missing, they'll be institutionalized in a facility for the criminally insane.  We generally use one in Colorado that gets mighty cold in the dead of winter.”

 

Ian continued to smile pleasantly, but the smile did not reach his eyes.

 

The girl shivered, and it was not because she was cold.

 

“In the presence of all these pigs,” the boy bravely hooted.  “I don't think so.”

 

“We have orders from on high,” the Chief fibbed:  “observe, but do not interfere.  We just keep the curious away until the disposal team takes over.  Cuts down on the paperwork big time.”

 

Walt's tone was friendly, but transparently insincere.  He was staring hard at Ian's right hand, which was out of the protester's line of sight.

 

“You'll be dead before you hit the floor,” he added without looking up.  “Should take about six seconds.  Alternatively, you can take your demonstration outside … camp out on the Quad for all we care.  Just don't disrupt classes or harass faculty in their offices.  We no longer tolerate that sort of thing.”

 

“Chaz, the Quad will give us a lot more room.”  The girl was tugging on his sleeve.  “And, we'll get press coverage.  It will work in our favor.”

 

“Yeah,” the scrawny kid agreed; “if we play our cards right, the front page.  All right, everybody,” he said as he whirled around, “we're done here.  Let's head for the Quad, and make some noise!”

 

Ian was less than two minutes late for his lecture on communal bathing in a Japanese ryokan or onsen.  There were a few places in Kyoto that he was keen for his students to try.

 

.  .  .  .

 

Waiting until the ruckus died down, Sarah nudged Vickie to get her attention, then nodded at an empty table in a distant corner of the room.   Picking up her tray with her lunch still only half eaten, she walked off without saying a word to anybody, leaving Vickie awkwardly to follow in her wake.  For her part, Rita delayed only long enough to whisper instructions to Marge, who began intently watching the bulletin board.  The photo and the captions that Vickie had posted were still getting a lot of attention, and Marge, Becky, Candy and Reiko had to be prepared to intervene if something went seriously wrong.

 

“How's your diaper holding up,” Sarah asked when Vickie sat down opposite her.

 

“A bit wet, but not messy.  These new diapers actually seem to be pretty good.”  Vickie was referring to the supplies that Sarah had purchased for her at the maternity shop the previous afternoon.

 

“Good,” Sarah spat out as Rita sat down with her own half eaten lunch.  “And how's your diaper rash?”

 

“Itchy,” Vickie admitted.  “And I still hurt from my spankie.”

 

“Good,” Sarah repeated; “and if you don't have a good explanation for disobeying all my rules with this absurd drinking contest, your next spanking will make the last one seem like a walk in the park.  Now, what's going on?”

 

“Ian and I both thought that Priscilla and Amos would make a cute couple, so we put our heads together and came up with the drinking contest.  Since Amos has made it abundantly clear that he wants to go out drinking with Ian, it really didn't take much imagination on our part.  What we missed, of course, is that Priscilla was keen to come along because she's madly in love, but not with Amos!”

 

“Ah, the best laid plans,” Rita giggled.  There was something about Vickie and Ian playing matchmaker for Amos that was infinitely amusing.  “And you couldn't shut this cockamamie scheme down when you discovered the truth because that would hurt Amos' feelings.”

 

“And Priscilla wants us to keep going,” Vickie laughed, “because her father thinks that Ian is bad news; he wants Secret Agent Man to get out of his little girl's life, and never mind the fact that his little girl is an experienced police officer who's fallen head over heels in love.  So, the current plan is for Ian and Herb to do a little male bonding over tequila shots.  If they can stay upright and somehow stagger out of the bar arm in arm, Pris reckons that all will be forgiven.”

 

“And did any of you ever pause … ever ask whether you should pitch any of this by me?  Vickie, what in Hell is the matter with you?  And you, Rita!  The three of us agree that Ian is an alcoholic, specifically a binge drinker, and yet both of you seem to think that encouraging him to get tanked in a drinking contest is all fine and dandy!  God!”

 

“That's funny, Sarah,” Rita said as she raised both arms high overhead, the gesture signaling her disgust at how the conversation was proceeding.  “Yes, Ian is an alcoholic; we all know it.  BUT HE DENIES IT.  And we can't treat him as long as he is in denial-- you know that perfectly well.”

 

Dropping her arms, Rita leaned forward, invading Sarah's personal space.  “Damn it!  I want that man to give me a baby!  Do you think that I want alcohol coursing through his system when I get pregnant … his, or mine?  Don't be ridiculous!  I want him to sober up, which means that I want him to admit that he's an alcoholic!  So, I've given him an ultimatum: after they win this ridiculous frat boy drinking contest, the three of them are going to end up back at the sorority, which is where I'll be waiting for them.  Bernice and I are then going to conduct a trial by fire.  They'll be more tequila waiting … a chance for them to toast their triumph one more time.  Only, I'll ask Ian to prove that he's not an alcoholic by turning it down.  If he does, I'll unlock all three diaper covers, retire gracefully, and leave them to spend the rest of the night making love, in any manner they see fit.  But if he takes that drink, they stay locked up, and you will then have my full support in getting him into that chastity cage of yours.  I do not want him getting anybody pregnant until we get the alcohol out of his system.  I'm fine with the breast milk diet, Sarah ...”

 

“And so is Priscilla,” Vickie hastily interjected.  “But give him a half dozen condoms on your way out the door, and plead with him to use them.”

 

“A half dozen?  Isn't that overkill?”

 

“Yep, but here's a tip from a pro: always give a man twice as many condoms as he could possibly use.  It inflates his ego, and makes him feel like King Kong atop the Empire State Building.”

 

All three women burst out laughing, each of them pondering the fragility of the male ego, and the hard work that a woman had to invest in turning her guy into a competent lover.                                                             

 

“But we have to get real, here,” Rita continued  when the laughter died down.  “Unless you plan to keep him locked in a crib forever, a 24/7 baby, you have to make allowance for the fact that he's an adult, with a fully functioning brain.  He needs adult stimulation, both intellectually and physically, or he'll disintegrate right before your eyes.  So, take away the booze, but in return reward him with his much beloved steaks and baked potatoes.  Reward him, Sarah … don't just rely on punishing him.  This is where you're getting it all wrong.”

 

“Carrots and sticks,” Vickie murmured; “carrots and sticks.  And remember, I'm going to be your baby forever!”

 

Vickie's eyes were bright with excitement.  “I'm the one who belongs in a crib,” she crowed.

 

“Me!  Not Ian!”          

.  .  .  .

 

“We must be living in an alternate universe,” Priscilla observed; “I'm thinking Lovecraft.”

 

“At the Mountains of Madness,” Ian asked.  They were walking back to his office after his Japanese lecture had come to an uneventful end.  A campus police officer was in the lead, and a second bringing up the rear. Walt Mischof was taking no chances.

 

“Were you serious … I mean, about killing them all and getting away with it?”

 

“Yes,”  Ian saw no need to elaborate.

 

“Close quarters combat,” Priscilla mused; “would they have posed much of a challenge?”

 

“No,” he shrugged.  “Penned up in that hallway the way they were?  Less than a minute.  You'll learn the tricks of the trade at Quantico.”

 

“And yet, in a few minutes I'll be changing your diaper, then cradling you in my arms to nurse on bottles of breast milk.  I love babying you, Ian, and you are so docile.  It feels so real, and yet ...”

 

“And yet, I'm capable of killing a dozen people in less than sixty seconds?”

 

“Exactly.  You make me feel so whole-- a lover and a baby, all rolled into one.  And yet you are capable of killing so casually.  It takes some getting used to.”

 

“Having second thoughts?”

 

“No.  I saw you tense, and I knew that you were getting ready to strike.  The Chief knew it, too … I could hear it in his voice.  But do you know what I felt?  Relief!”

 

Ian said nothing, simply waited for her to continue.

 

“I kept thinking that, if anyone ever came for our children, you would make a mess of their day.  You wouldn't turn into a weeping Willie, begging the bad guys not to hurt us.  No, you wouldn't hesitate for a second.  You'd go on a killing spree, then pick up the phone and call a disposal team to come take out the garbage.  And when it was all over, one of us would have to change your dirty diaper.  At the Mountains of Madness indeed.”

 

“And here we are,” Ian mused as the four of them exited the elevator and went round the corner to his office.  “And not a headhunter in sight.”

 

The corridor was awash in coeds, some of whom he recognized from office visits over the last couple of days.  The sororities were still shielding him, but now there were a fair number of clean-cut young men awaiting him as well.

 

“Excuse me, Professor,” a tall, blonde young man said with a radiant smile.  “We're fraternity brothers, and ROTC.  If you can spare the time, we'd all like to hear more about how to get the max out of an R&R.”

 

“Happy to oblige,” Ian grinned.  “Just give me a few minutes to scarf down some lunch, and we'll start office hours early.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“So, the bottom line: now that we've heard the worst of it, are we still going ahead with our plan, modified only to include Priscilla?”  Sarah already knew the answer, but she wanted both Rita and Vickie to say it out loud.

 

“Vickie?”

 

“Absolutely.  And I can speak for Priscilla as well.  If you bail, Sarah, she will marry Ian.”

 

Rita and Sarah exchanged puzzled looks.

 

“And how did you arrive at that decision … and does Ian know?”

 

“Not yet.  But it's logical.  Children need grandparents, and neither my parents nor Rita's are up to the task.  But Pris says that her parents are getting impatient … like, 'would you please get on with it because we're not getting any younger' … that kind of impatience.”

 

“Like my grandmother,” Sarah smiled; “she's made her wishes in this department altogether too clear.”

 

“And Rita, from what you said earlier, it's obvious that you haven't changed your mind.”

 

Rita nodded.  “I don't mind admitting that I've had doubts, because there was a part of me that thought none of this makes any sense.  So, why was I doing this?  Why?  And then I watched him with Janis … all that love and caring … the gentleness.  And I thought about all the pain that washes across his features when he thinks about his daughter … how much he loves her.  And suddenly, I understood.  I've spent my whole adult life searching for Ian, and I never even knew that I was looking.  I want to have children, but not with a man who's so obsessed with his career that his children are just an afterthought.  Ian's greatest strength is his sense of balance … having his priorities in the right order.  He doesn't care about money; he cares about people.  We've all seen it … we all recognize it, but I never credited what I was seeing until he got down on his knees to comfort Janis.  And then it clicked into place.  This is the man I want to father my children, because he will always be there for them.”

 

“What about you, Sarah,” Rita asked in turn.  “Are you still in, or are you bailing?”

 

“Truthfully?  “Ian and I have a broad outline, but we're still filling in the details.  We're a work in progress, and I'm willing to put a great deal of effort into making our relationship succeed.  Frankly, what worries me more at the moment is the two of you.  If today was a trial run for our household, the outcome was disastrous.  Both of you had some idea of what was coming in that conference room, yet you left me to lead with my chin.  Why?  And this drinking contest.  That's the sort of thing that you're supposed to bring to me.  You lay out the facts and give me your recommendation … we discuss the pros and cons, and then I make the call.  Whether you agree or disagree in private, we present a united front to Ian when it's his well-being that we're considering.”

 

“You're right, Sarah,” Rita apologized; “we didn't think it through, which is just another way of saying that our new relationship is also a work in progress because it's so different from our long-standing friendship.  But let me repeat: it's obvious to the rest of us that you and Ian have hit a rough patch because you are trying to micromanage the relationship instead of managing it.  He's all but begging you to be the decision-maker, but that doesn't mean that you have to decide whether he's eating egg salad or tuna salad for lunch.  You need to step back, and concentrate on the essentials.  By all means, treat him like a baby … Ian and Vickie both, because at the therapeutic level it's to their benefit.  But don't make the mistake of thinking of two functioning adults as babies.  They're not, and they never will be-- they both have jobs, and they both do them well.”

 

“It's hard,” Sarah countered with a resigned sigh.  “He asks me to make decisions, and when I do, he debates whether or not to follow my lead.  But when I try and engage him … make it a team decision?  He retreats into a shell.  He's holding so much back ...”

 

“Pris and I were just talking about this,” Vickie observed.  “We want him to speak up, but he's secretive by nature, and he has trust issues.”

 

“Keep trying,” Sarah urged.  “Go after the little things: does he like his peanut butter creamy or chunky?”

 

“It's a good strategy,” Rita concurred.  “Get him in the habit of talking.  Make him feel safe … make him feel that he can talk to any of us about anything that concerns him.”

 

“So, we're in agreement, then.  We all know the cost, but we're all going to pay it.  We build a home for the five of us, for our children, for Ian's daughter, for the other survivors.  We accept the limitations on our freedom of movement that go with living in a high risk environment.”

 

Sarah spread her arms across the table, palms up.

 

Rita and Vickie both reached out to renew the friendship and community that Sarah was offering.  They had absorbed a heavy blow, but long years of deep friendship sustained them, and with it their hopes for the future.

 

PICKING UP THE PIECES

 

“How's his diaper?” Deliberately ignoring Ian, Rita directed her question to Priscilla. Since Ian was no longer responsible for his diaper changes … indeed, could no longer even touch his diapers, she wanted to use frequent diaper checks and random but increasingly frequent diaper changes to reinforce his state of complete dependence on the women who now shared his life.

 

The revelations that Ian had proffered in the conference room had shattered Rita's longterm plans, although for the time being she reckoned that he could still be housed in one of the pediatric cribs that she had set up in the makeshift nursery, and even kept fully restrained. Inevitably, however, everything would change with the first pregnancy, when he would need the freedom to respond instantly to any threat-- but at a minimum that moment lay five to six weeks in the future. For his long term well-being as well as Vickie's therapeutic assault on his deeply seated guilt complex, Rita therefore reasoned that they needed not only to continue building up the Princess Poopy Pants persona but also to speed up the process. It was still the only tool at their disposal that could shatter the wall behind which his psyche retreated when under duress. Everything that she had learned convinced Rita that successfully treating Ian might, at some point, mean the difference between life and death. And now she was finally about to find out just how deep the trauma ran.

 

“I changed him about twenty minutes ago,” Priscilla responded as she glanced at her watch; “shortly after three. I'll change him again at the sorority house right before we leave for the bar.”

 

“I'll check him when we're finished here, then send him downstairs to see Sarah. She will probably change him before sending him on his way. Are you driving him over to the sorority?”

 

“Yes, but first I want to track down Amos … make sure that everything is squared away for tonight.”

 

“Check the ER, and if he's not there, the cafeteria. He is not going to respond well to the news about Ian's wife and daughter. We're all worried about him.”

 

“Me too. I'm hoping that the drinking contest will give him a chance to blow off some steam.”

 

“Just remind your cop friends that he's a vet, and that he has issues. Tonight, they need to be not just patient but tolerant.”

 

“Consider it done. My Dad will be there, and he'll make sure that things don't get out of hand.”

 

“Good … very good.” Rita finally turned her attention to Ian, whose body language radiated tension. “Ian, before we get started, I want to apologize to you. My behavior this morning was inexcusable, and all the more so because I had at least some sense of what you were going to say before I walked into the room. I should have been thinking about you and your daughter … should have given no thought to anything but helping you. And instead? Instead, all I could see was my plans for our future going up in smoke. I walked out of that meeting cursing my selfishness, and wondering just when I ceased to be a compassionate person. I'm sorry … truly, truly sorry.”

 

“It's hard to let go of our dreams.” Ian shrugged, not at all sure what he was supposed to say in response to Rita's apology. “But I'll repeat what I said earlier. I want the three of you to step back and really think about this. I am asking so much of you, and offering so little in return.”

 

“That's not true, Ian … not even remotely true. We have weighed our feelings, and over lunch, we exchanged views in rather blunt terms. Vickie and I lectured Sarah on how badly she is mishandling your relationship, and we are going to go right on doing so. You're going to be stuck with Vickie forever, and with me as well. My moment came when Janis erupted, and you rushed to her side. I have been second guessing myself ever since I realized that I had feelings for you. 'What is this all about', I kept asking myself. And suddenly, it was all so clear … I've spent my whole adult life looking for a decent guy who's smart and hard working, a success … but also gentle and loving, and destined to win the Father of the Year Award hands down. And there you are.”

 

“There you are,” she murmured yet again.

 

“Four wives … forty-two surrogate daughters that we know of ...” Priscilla had a mock innocent look on her face. “Husband and Father of the Year!”

 

“Forty-two?”

 

“Wendy Stafford. You really made an impression on her during your office hours-- her, and Suzie both. Suz is working hard to make good ZAP's losses by persuading other bed wetters to follow in Wendy's wake and migrate to the house.”

 

“Suzie is a fantastic lady! Why the hell didn't I wake up this morning to find myself in love with her? How in the name of God does this work?”

 

 “Give it time,” Priscilla laughed. There was genuine merriment in her eyes. “Remember, we had been chained together for more than forty-eight hours before we realized that we were in love. These things take time!!”

 

Rita clapped her hands, delighted at how the conversation was going. And Priscilla, she decided was a great catch: the more time she spent with the police officer, the more she liked her.

 

“Priscilla, let me ask you straight out: do you like babying him? The diaper changes? The bottle feedings?”

 

“I love it! It's so intimate … maternal, and at the same time erotic.”

 

“Good … very, very good. There's a little baby girl inside Ian, whom we call Princess Poopy Pants. Vickie has locked the personality down, and installed a trigger that allows her to summon the Princess. Sarah and I will be going through the same program to enable us to achieve the same result. Vickie is using the Princess to attack the wall that Ian's psyche is hiding behind; that's what these seizures are about.”

 

“His inability to make decisions,” Pris surmised.

 

“Exactly. And we have to do this before one of us gets pregnant. Priscilla, given what Ian has told us, we have to start from the presumption that we're going to be attacked, and that it will come as a surprise. Ian has to be able to make decisions while taking live fire, and right now that's beyond his reach.”

 

Priscilla nodded; everything that Rita was saying made sense.

 

“Ian, do you agree with my take on the situation?” Rita had given this moment a lot of thought, and she had come to the conclusion that it was best to make Ian feel like an active member of the team, and not simply a patient.

 

'Yes, absolutely.” Ian shifted his attention to Priscilla. “I have no awareness of the Princess, but I accept that she's real. There are holes in my memory, Pris, things that have occurred during the last week of which I am completely unaware. These gaps correspond to the times when she takes over my mind and body. It's scary, but I think that Vickie's right. The one, sure fire way to break down the wall that I hide behind is to threaten her. My need to protect the people I love amounts to a compulsion.”

 

“Like Janis.” In her head, Priscilla was replaying the scene in the conference room.

 

“Like, Janis,” Ian agreed. “Okay. Rita, what do you want me to do?”

 

Rita shifted in her seat, thinking about how to frame her response. “Ian, you freely admit that you have trust issues, but I'll say it again: communication is the key to a polyamorous relationship. We need you to fight your instinct to keep everything bottled up, and not let anybody in. At lunch, Sarah gave us an example that seems ridiculous on the surface, but it goes to the heart of the matter: do you prefer crunchy peanut butter, or creamy?”

 

“WHAT?” Ian was so taken by surprise that he came half way out of his seat. “Creamy, of course; the crunchy stuff gets stuck between my teeth!”

 

“Now ask Priscilla an equally innocuous question.”

 

“Um … o … kay. Um … do you like cream in your coffee, or sugar?”

 

“Neither. I take it black. It's a family tradition.”

 

“Priscilla, from now on? Every time you think of something like this? Speak up. And Ian? You, too. For example, don't you think that it would be a good idea to find out my favorite color?”

 

“Yeah,” he smiled. It would make buying presents a heck of a lot easier!”

 

“So, ask me.”

 

“Rita, what's your favorite color?”

 

“Plum. But I like bold colors, not pastels. And the same goes for Sarah and Vickie. Priscilla, how about you?”

 

“Definitely bold. Pastel does not agree with the Minnesota winter.”

 

“What about the summertime?”

 

“Good catch, Ian!” Priscilla was beaming. “Pastels are for Spring and Summer.”

 

“And your favorite color is …?”

 

“Not going to tell you! I want you to figure it out on your own!”

 

“And short of breaking into your bedroom, how am I supposed to do that?”

 

Rita burst out laughing. Men, she thought to herself.

 

“Well, duh! Can you think of a subject dearer to the heart of one Sergeant Herb Canon than the likes and dislikes of Daddy's little girl? Honestly, Ian! I swear, there are times when you men are all dumber than rocks! What else do you plan to talk about with my Dad tonight? Irina, maybe? I'm sure Daddy would love to hear all about the time you and Irina were playing Tarzan and Jane in the jungle!”

 

“And who, pray tell, is Irina?” Rita kept it casual, but she was burning with curiosity.

 

“General Irina Orlov of Soviet military intelligence … the femme fatale we're going to toast with ouzo when we get to Athens.”

 

“Don't forget the Kalamata olives,” Ian interceded. Ian's all night trysts with Irina in the shadows of Mount Lycabettus had inspired more than a few fits of jealousy in the carpeted halls of Langley's top floor.

 

“Imagine! A Soviet general eagerly waiting to change Ian's dirty diaper one more time!”

 

“She's changed your diaper? A SOVIET GENERAL?” Rita's eyes were close to bugging out of her head.

 

“What can I say?” Ian was smiling modestly.

 

“A great deal more! Ian, this is what I mean … the life that you've led. Damn it, come Saturday night? I want you to entertain us! And no more of this nonsense about everything being top secret. Is the Taj Mahal worth visiting? Do people really get seasick riding around on a camel?”

 

“I did,” he shrugged.

 

“So, come Saturday night, tell us the story! Let us into your life!”

 

Ian took a deep breath, thinking about it. Maybe the funny stuff that sometimes happens, like that night I flew into the wrong country …

 

“A little booze might loosen me up a bit.”

 

“No. Sorry, but no. It's a tall glass of cranberry juice if you behave yourself, and bottle fed breast milk if you don't. Tonight is the last hurrah, Ian, and that includes Athens; I do not want my child conceived in an alcoholic haze, and when our baby is born, I want you to be able to keep us safe. No alcohol dulling your reactions, and no guilt paralyzing you in a moment of crisis. The two are opposite sides of the same coin.”

 

“Hear, hear,” Priscilla whispered-- but loud enough for Ian to catch it.

 

“Cranberry juice is for breakfast. At night, I prefer limeade on the rocks. Not lemonade … can't stand the stuff.”

 

“You see,” Priscilla laughed triumphantly; “you can let us in! Such a good baby! Yes, you are!”

 

“Ian, tell us the truth: do you like being babied?” Rita made eye contact, and held it.

 

“Yes and no … and yes, I know how lame that sounds. Rita, literally dozens of nurses changed my diapers during the nine months that I was in military hospitals. A few were warm and caring, but most were efficient to the point of being mechanical. Changing dirty diapers goes with the job, but let's not sugarcoat the fact that it's a lousy way to earn your paycheck. The occasional display of compassion lifted me out of the dumps more than once.”

 

“So, when one of us changes you?” Rita trailed off, and gestured for Ian to elaborate.

 

“With each of you, it's a different experience. Pris is playful when changing me, and when she cradles me in her arms … all the love that I see in her eyes? I don't want the moment ever to end. I see the same warmth in your eyes when you're nursing me, Rita, but your diaper changes are very much in the 'let's get it done' mode. Why not take your time, and let your fingers do the walking? Sooner or later, we are going to make love in the midst of a diaper change, and I would much prefer sooner to later!”

 

“So, you're out to knock down my wall? Get me out of my shell?”

 

“Umm … more like dislodge a few bricks, so that I can peek inside and get a sense of the landscape.”

 

“And if it's dull and dreary?”

 

“A single rose is invisible in a rose garden, but it brings life to the desert.”

 

“Oh, that's good! I mean, really; that's seriously good! Did you try that line out on Irina?” In Priscilla's estimation, Ian's stock had just increased tenfold.

 

“I'm getting weak in the knees,” Rita confessed. “Delivered with just the right note of sincerity, that line would cause over half the women in this hospital to swoon. This really is flyover country.”

 

“Vickie is another story altogether.” Ian chose to ignore the editorial comments. “When she babies me, it's therapy and nothing more. “Licking food off of each other's fingers is our idea of foreplay. We charge each other's sexual batteries.”

 

“When Vickie was in San Francisco this summer, she visited a polyamorous commune called Kerista.” Rita had been enthralled, as everyone in the department had been, when Vickie laid out the details. “Since there are more women than men in the group, the guys have to sleep with a different woman every night in a fixed rotation. Since the women can't sleep with one another, they spend a certain number of nights alone in each cycle. And to make matters even more interesting, a guy can also have sex with any woman he wants outside the rotation! They call it a 'freebie'.”

 

“No thanks,” Ian said, and he meant it. “Oh, I'm good with the rotation, but I would much prefer to tie it to when you're ovulating. Besides, in a small group like ours, we can't afford to play favorites. Rita, suppose that on your day in the rotation, I also had a freebie with Pris. Then, the next day I have a freebie with you while sleeping with Pris. Sarah and Vickie would be seriously unhappy campers.”

 

“The real problem,” Priscilla teased, “is who gets stuck sleeping with you after it's Vickie's turn. You're not the Eveready bunny! She is going to wear you out!”

 

“You're right,” Ian grinned; “I will definitely need to have some time off!”

 

“Which brings us to Sarah,” Rita noted. “Ian, she really wants to treat you like a baby because reducing you to infancy will give her absolute control over your life, and for some reason this really turns her on.”

 

“Yeah, Vickie's told me pretty much the same thing. I want Sarah to make all of the big decisions … or rather, for the four of you to do so. And she can even make the small decisions when we're together … things like what I should eat for breakfast or dinner. But she can't grade my exams or write letters of recommendation. She can't decide what I'm having for lunch when we're apart. And above all, once one of you becomes pregnant? She can't incapacitate me. I can defend my family, but not if I'm heavily restrained and locked in a crib like in room eleven!”

 

“And Vickie and I are going to continue hammering that point home. It looks like her mother is coming for a visit this weekend; hopefully, Sofia will be able to reason with her.”

 

“How serious is the threat, Ian? Have you and your friends at Langley made any progress at all?” Priscilla knew that she was going to make a baby with Ian, and she did not want their child to grow up behind a wall of armed security.

 

“It's more a process of elimination than anything else. Irina has access to intelligence in Viet Nam that we can't touch, so it's really up to her. I'm hoping that she wants us in Athens to update what's she's learned in Hanoi and Saigon.”

 

“Long time coming.”

 

“Give it a rest, Rita. The Viet Cong were not exactly big on record keeping, so this is a matter of Irina going in and finding the right people and then interviewing them. It takes time.”

 

“Sorry. It's begun to dawn on me that people like you and Irina are what stands between us and another Cuban missile crisis, but it's hard to come to terms with the fact that the professionals on both sides are working together to keep the politicians from destroying the planet..”

 

“It is what it is, and you have just described the situation very well.”

 

“So Becky got it right, didn't she.” Priscilla was tying the scattered pieces into a coherent puzzle. “Langley wants you to have children to replace you in the field, not spies but go betweens.” She nodded to herself, the truth finally becoming clear.

 

 “Yeah. As I said in the conference room, that't what this is all about. Priscilla, we leave nothing to chance. To the contrary; we plan far ahead.”

 

“You need to give Irina a baby.” Priscilla was blunt.

 

“WHAT???”

 

“Well, it's obvious, isn't it? Imagine a world in which our son or daughter, gifted with this talent, acts in concert with a similarly gifted child born to you and Irina. They would be the ultimate Failsafe mechanism.”

 

“Sorry, but can't see it happening.” Ian had the grace to blush.

 

“So cute,” Priscilla grinned; “and don't worry. I'll take Irina out for coffee, and make all the arrangements. Talk to her about her patriotic duty …”

 

“She needs to talk with Sarah,” Rita said as she snapped her fingers. “As head of household, it will be her responsibility to fit Irina into the rotation when we're in Athens.”

 

“Oh, dear God,” Ian whined. “Would the two of you please … pretty please … lay off?”

 

“Careful, Ian,” Rita warned. “This is a huge decision, and huge decisions … well, you know.. Priscilla, do you have an ampule in your pocket?”

 

“Always,” she acknowledged.

 

“Good. Then, let's start with the basics. Ian, the question of who you sleep with … the very idea of a rotation … is this your decision to make, or is it Sarah's?”

 

“Sarah's,” Ian sighed. He knew exactly where Rita was going, knew that he had already lost.

 

“Correct.  She will manage our sex lives the same way she does everything else in our household. And she will be rational. The four of us will doubtless be taking our temperatures every morning before we get out of bed. Headaches, tender breasts, unusual vaginal discharge-- there are quite a few markers that indicate when we're approaching peak fertility. For your sake, let's just hope that the four of us are not on the same monthly cycle.”

 

“Oldest goes first,” Priscilla declared.

 

Ian simply looked at her.

 

“I have the fewest eggs,” Rita explained, knowing that Ian didn't have a clue. “Our lab tech made it clear to me that I need to get a move on.”

 

“A romantic evening would be nice,” Ian suggested hopefully. “A candlelit dinner for two … a twirl around the dance floor-- and I'm not talking that disco shit. My back's not up to it.”

 

“Murray's,” Rita smiled. “Murray's … Jax … both good choices.”

 

“And a steak, medium rare,” she continued.  “A monstrous baked potato piled high with sour cream, chives, and bacon?”

 

“You know me well,” Ian smiled in turn. He had already had this conversation with Rita more than once.

 

“Don't think Sarah would approve.”

 

“I don't plan on asking her.”

 

“Not a good idea.”

 

“To the contrary; it's the only way to fly. The way I see it is Sarah controls the calendar, and you ask her to clear an evening for us to go out and spend some time together. Once we're out the door, you're in charge … as Vickie or Priscilla would be. If there's a place that you really want to go, then we'll go there. I'll honor your desire to keep alcohol off the table, but I'll order dinner for myself, thank you very much.”

 

“And you'll eat your fill, leaving me to wonder whether you'll have another blowout before I get you home.”

 

“Sleeping with me will definitely put a certain thrill in your … how did you describe your life? Oh, yeah: 'dull and dreary'.”

 

“Have to make a lot of phone calls … find out which restaurants are okay with me changing you on the floor of the ladies room.”

 

“Be sure and ask whether the door locks ...”

 

“Good point … if my fingers are going to do the walking, we definitely don't want anyone else barging in.”

 

“And on that note, I think I'll take my leave. Ian, I'll wait for you in the cafeteria.” Priscilla got up, but paused in the doorway on her way out. She dramatically jiggled the handle, confirming that the door would lock when she closed it. “It may be food with Vickie,” she observed, “but with you two it's clever word play. I swear, the pheromones are so thick in here that you could cut them with a knife!”

 

After Priscilla gently shut the door, Rita and Ian were left to sit staring mutely at one another, each trying to find the magic words that would paper over the awkwardness of the moment.

 

“She's right, you know.” Instinct drove Ian to admit the truth. “Now that I've dislodged a brick or two, I can see what lies behind the wall, and it's not a dull and dreary landscape.”

 

Still silent, eyes wide with desire, Rita was petrified that Ian would take the next step, even as she longed for him to do so. He stood up, and walked around the desk, towering over her. Reaching down, he grasped her hands, and eased her to her feet. “I am in the presence of a volcano,” he whispered, “too long dormant … ready to erupt. I love you.”

 

Taking her in his arms, Ian tenderly kissed her, only to feel Rita kiss him savagely in return …

 

Hard and then harder ...

 

Hand groping his heavily padded ass …

 

Still imprisoned by his arms, she leaned away to stare into his eyes. Ian's feelings were so raw, so authentic, so transparent. She could see them in his gaze, feel them in the way that his hands caressed her.

 

“Take off your shoes,” she commanded, though her voice was little more than a whisper.

 

Awkwardly, Ian lifted first one foot and then the other, hastening to obey.

 

“Now your jacket.”

 

It landed on the desk, mere seconds before Rita attacked his tie, and then the buttons on his dress shirt. She pulled Ian's undershirt over his head, then unbuckled his belt and tugged hard on his trousers; it was only with difficulty that they ended up around his ankles.

 

“Sit on the desk, so that I can get your pants off.” For good measure, Rita even removed his socks. Apart from the canvas diaper cover encasing his baby pants and thick cloth diaper, Ian was now completely nude.

 

Opening a filing cabinet, Rita removed a changing pad, and unfolded it on the floor. Ian stood over it, and Rita used her key to unlock his cover. She pulled the canvas, and the vinyl pants lurking within, down in one fluid motion. Then she knelt on the floor just long enough to get them off his legs before casting them aside. Standing up, Rita reached out to massage Ian's crotch.

 

“A bit wet,” she murmured. “Down on the floor so that I can change you.”

 

Ian once more hastened to comply.

 

Kneeling at his side and taking her time, Rita released each of the four pins holding his diaper in place, and slowly lowered it. Ian quickly became fully erect, and he shuddered when she grazed his member with a fingernail.

 

“I see what you mean about letting my fingers do the walking,” she said, as she repeatedly ran her fingernail up and down his shaft.

 

Eyes closed, barely breathing, Ian was holding onto the changing mat with tightly clenched fists.

 

Rita stood up, kicked off her shoes, and then disrobed. She took her time, pausing only when she was down to her bra and panties. “Look at me, Ian, and tell me: do you like what you see?”

 

Ian cautiously opened his eyes, to find Rita standing over him, legs astride, hands on hips.

 

“I love you,” he repeated.

 

“I can see that,” she smirked as she toed his hardened shaft. “Now, on your knees. Use your teeth to remove my panties, and then bathe me with your tongue. Rumor has it that your tongue is magical. Let's see if the rumors are true ...”

 

 Ian didn't need to be told twice, and looking down upon his kneeling form, gripping his shoulders hard to steady herself as the waves of pleasure washed over her, Rita reveled in the power that she was exercising over her lover. She had to bite her lip, and do so repeatedly, to keep from moaning loud enough for the entire department to hear. It would not do, she kept reminding herself, for Marge to find out what they were up to.

 

“Such a good baby,” she purred. “And you're right … diaper changes are the ideal time for us to make love. Do you want your auntie Rita to mount you, baby … do you?”

 

“Please, aunt Rita; please take me! Please!”

 

“Then lay back, and grip the changing mat with both hands. Don't let go!”

 

When Ian obeyed, Rita eased herself down onto his rock hard shaft. Then she bundled up her panties, and wiggled them in front of Ian's face. “Open wide, baby! We are being very naughty, and it would not go well if my colleagues heard you screaming. No, we must be very quiet.”

 

Ian opened wide, and savored the taste of her. “Now, I want you to lie there, and be still. I am going to make our first time memorable for the both of us. I will set the pace, and I will be very disappointed if you cum before I give you permission. If you are close to coming, slap the changing pad, and I will back off until I'm ready to finish you. Nod if you understand, baby.”

 

Ian nodded. He was determined to make a memory that would last a lifetime, for both of them. And to his very great surprise, Ian soon discovered that Rita was an imaginative but very disciplined lover. She would set a tempo, and then alter it without warning, her climaxes sometimes easy to anticipate, and at other times catching him unawares. Repeatedly, she walked him up to the edge, only to retreat and organize a fresh attack on his ravaged cock.

 

When she finally permitted him to climax, it felt as if gallons of cum were gushing out of him, no end to it. Rita adroitly capped the flow with a tampon, and then proceeded to clean Ian up and pin him back in the same diaper. It still had, she observed, plenty of life left in it. Moments later, she relished the slight click as Ian's canvas diaper cover was once again locked firmly in place.

 

Eyes still closed and adrift on a postcoital cloud, Ian continued to lie motionless on the changing pad.  Nearly asleep, he was not even aware that he was still sucking on Rita's panties until she prized his mouth open and gently retrieved them. She grimaced when she saw that they were dripping with saliva, but all was not lost: like any sensible doctor or nurse, Rita kept spare underwear in a desk drawer.

 

While she redressed, Rita also warmed a bottle of breast milk. When it was ready, she dropped to the floor, propped her back against the desk, and nudged Ian to roll over and slide into her arms. He was barely conscious when she pressed the bottle to his lips, and he began to nurse on the warm milk. Ian was still nude save for his diaper and cover, and Rita could not resist drawing lazy circles on his tummy while he continued to nurse. Maternal feelings now competing with erotic, Rita fully grasped what Priscilla had meant when she described Ian's diaper changes as both erotic and maternal at the same time.

 

Breast feeding become foreplay … but six times a day? God! I'm going to go mad with desire!

 

Cradling Ian in her arms, his body completely relaxed …

 

It's time. Sorry, my love, but it's time.                 

  

 

 

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