After you've finished reading, you might want to return to the DailyDiapers Story Index

 

AN HOMAGE TO VINCENT VEGA

 

REVELATIONS 2

 

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?”  Marge was on her feet, glaring at Reiko, and it was anyone's guess whether she was about to explode, or melt down.  “YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS!!”

 

“Why not,” Reiko calmly retorted.  Although it was only ten o'clock in the morning, Marge was acting like a senior citizen who had taken out membership in the dreaded Sundowners club.  Cool, calm and collected was the order of the day.

 

“Where to start?  Well, let me see,” Marge mused.  “You're going way beyond sixth sense … talking about some kind of transference for which there is not a single precedent to be found anywhere!”

 

“Speaking in tongues?”

 

“Oh, please,” Marge sneered.

 

“Well, there goes Acts 2,” Becky muttered.

 

“Agnes Ozman,” Reiko hit back, her voice still calm and hopefully soothing.

 

“You should read Goodman and Samarin,” Marge growled.  She was rapidly losing patience with her younger colleague.  “Then let's consider the fact that Ian has no awareness of Princess Poopy Pants, so how did this transference occur?  His daughter was preverbal when last he was home … do you want to argue that she initiated this when she was an infant incapable of conceptualization?  Puh … lese!”

 

“The limbic system.”  Wide eyed, Candy was struggling to come up with an hypothesis that would situate Reiko's argument in physical reality.  “It stores preverbal memory, which can be accessed by the child at an early developmental stage ...”

 

“Under the direction of a therapist,” Marge was quick to respond.  “Are you suggesting that whoever kidnapped Linh was kind enough to send her to a therapist to mitigate the trauma?”  Her voice was dripping with sarcasm.

 

“They call her Anna.”  Reiko could see where Candy was going.  “They gave her a name, and then they began to raise her … educate her … all for their own selfish purposes.  Something that they did triggered a memory of her father, and now she can sense his pain-- a classic sixth sense episode, nothing unusual about it.”

 

“Oh, really?  Reiko, even if I grant all of this … and that's a big 'if' ...”

 

Marge began walking around, thinking on her feet, ticking off points on her fingers.

 

“Linh, wherever she is, may well think that she can sense her father, but her anxiety level must be off the charts.   So, there's that ...”

 

Deep in thought, Marge was barely aware of the circle gathered around her.

 

“And we could make the case that Princess Poopy Pants, the sad little girl who shares a physical body with Ian, would transfer these negative emotions to Linh, only she can't reach her so she fills the gap by creating Anna out of thin air ...”

 

“Okay, I can live with that,” Marge nodded firmly.  “Princess Poopy Pants is Anna, or rather, Anna is a figment of Princess Poopy Pants' imagination.  But where does Carlie come into this?  There's no blood tie ...”

 

Marge abruptly stopped pacing, and turned to confront Rita.  “You're right.  We have to give Princess Poopy Pants an extended period of consciousness … one long enough to see where her developmental cycle ends.  Maybe it will turn out that she's Ian's age, which would be a classic case of DID.  Or maybe she's still a little girl … two or three years old ...”

 

“And if she turns out to be nine, going on ten?”  Rita thought that Marge was doing a brilliant job of scattering the pieces of the puzzle across the table, but she did not want this one to get mislaid.

 

“Then Ian and Carlie are going to have to get very, very drunk-- at which point Vic steps in, and summons the Princess.  Carlie takes over … interviews her.  We record the whole, damned Q and A, and everybody caught up in this circus sits down to study it-- all in the hope that someone will be able to make sense of what we're hearing.”

 

“So, that's the plan?  Pitch Ian overboard for however long it takes to age this Princess of yours?  And if she's ten, you pour so much tequila into us that our brains start leaking out of our skulls, yet I'm somehow supposed to remain coherent enough not only to communicate with Anna but conduct a formal interview?  This is what you propose to tell your boss tomorrow morning?”

 

Carlie was systematically making eye contact with everyone in the room, hoping that there was at least one person who would object to this insanity.

 

“Yep,” Reiko smiled.  “That's the way we roll.  A pretty dull Saturday morning … what we call Lessing's Folly.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Not what I expected,” Ian commented as he looked around the cafeteria.

 

Driving across campus to the Student Union, Ian and Priscilla had tried to imagine how a cross section of the student body would react when Secret Agent Man got off the escalator and took his place in line to order lunch.  Ian had his heart set on a greasy cheeseburger and fries, and he was prepared to demand Ranch dressing even if it triggered a riot.  Greasy food, he reckoned, was the only weapon at his disposal to ward off the never ending onslaught of breast milk that Sarah had laid out for his future.  If he was going to go down, damn it, he was going to go down fighting.

 

The worst case scenario?  Students politically left of center would band together to pelt him with deviled eggs and mushy Brussels sprouts.  The best case?  They would be ignored by students none the wiser, despite the fact that he was sporting a gaudy sweatshirt proclaiming his promotion from the pedestrian ranks of first year faculty to the exalted status of Fraternity Row Dad (1979).

 

It didn't turn out that way.  Sitting on a plush throne obviously “borrowed” from the Faculty Lounge three floors up, at a table surrounded by velvet ropes with a sign overhead ominously proclaiming that it was reserved for diaper thieves, Ian sort of felt like he had dropped into a seedy spaceport bar for a sit-down with Han Solo.  But Han didn't have a half dozen gorgeous young sorority girls competing to run off and collect his burger and fries.  Han didn't look around, and everywhere see smiling male and female faces looking back at him.   Like Led Zeppelin, the band that he idolized, Ian simply felt dazed and confused.

 

“I know it's hard.”  Priscilla was gently patting him on the arm, trying to console him.  “Being a celebrity on a college campus … being idolized by nubile young maidens lining up to throw themselves at your feet, praying to Aphrodite that they might be chosen to grace your bed ...”

 

“Oh, please.”  Ian rolled his eyes, at once deeply honored and deeply embarrassed by the reception that had awaited them.  Being escorted to ZAP's table by a handsome young Adonis, an air horn doubling for the trumpets of old-- Ian had to admit that Karen Walsh was going all out to make sure that he didn't welsh on his promise to become the Faculty Advisor to the Panhellenic Council.

 

“So, meetings on the second and fourth Wednesdays of the month during term, mandatory attendance at all keggers and toga parties, and Mel will fill me in on the rest.  Is that about it?”  With a straight face, Ian was summarizing Karen's somewhat tedious description of a Faculty Advisor's responsibilities.  He much preferred his version to hers.

 

Adonis, whose real name was Stan Carmichael, coughed so hard that the Tab he was guzzling ended up all over his bright red sweater.  He was the Lamda house delegate to the Council, and he had the hots for Cindy.  He couldn't wait to get his hands on her heavily diapered, super sexy butt … and if there was a way to get his hands inside her makeshift chastity belt, he was going to find it.  Saturday night couldn't come fast enough.

 

“Dad, you're outrageous,” Melanie tsked.  “But,” she added, “that's why you're our Dad!If you're not a few tacos short of a combination plate, you don't belong in ZAP!”

 

“Too right!”  Cindy was squirming in her chair, trying to get her diaper to stop pinching the inside of her thighs.  Giving up, she jumped to her feet and began jiggling her super sexy butt.

 

Stan Carmichael almost had a heart attack on the spot.  Saturday night definitely couldn't come fast enough.

 

“Joyce, we need to borrow Babs for a while.”  Not wanting to stir the pot, Priscilla was careful not to address her associate or even glance her way.  “I'm meeting Vickie and my Mom for lunch, to begin sorting out the adoption.  Ian wants to walk back to get some fresh air, and he has to have a police escort everywhere he goes on campus, especially now that certain groups are out for his scalp.  Could you and Babs do the honors?  I should be back sometime after one to collect her and hand her over to Carlie.”

 

“What about his diaper?”

 

“Can you and Babs handle it?  He needs a diaper check before going down to his twelve thirty class, and if he's poopy someone needs to change him.  Everything you'd need is on top of the filing cabinet in his office.”

 

“Not a problem.  I changed my baby's dirty diaper this morning; one more won't kill me.”

 

“Good.” Pris reached into her pocket and pulled out the key to Ian's diaper cover.  “If you have to leave before I get back,” she said as she handed it over, “you can leave it with Amy.  She's one of the secretaries in the main office just around the corner from Ian's.  She knows what's what.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

At lunchtime on the last Friday of the month, the delicatessen was a madhouse.  Savvy charge nurses like Sarah Haikonnen phoned in orders for their entire department just before the sandwich kings opened for business.  Candy stripers, sometimes in twos and sometimes in threes, donned their winter coats and braved the elements.  Staggering under the weight of pastrami and reuben sandwiches, chips, potato salad, pickles, brownies and mint bars, they made their way back across the boulevard, through the hospital's winding corridors, up the elevators, to their Nurse's Station.  Ravenous RN's, many of them not yet halfway through a twelve hour shift, were known to descend in packs, armed with coffee or iced tea, hoping to steal a minute or two from their demanding schedules to wolf down whatever they could grab.  A candy striper risked being trampled if she wasn't quick on her feet, but in Sarah's department they ate well, and they ate for free.

 

Standing at the end of the counter and well out of the traffic flow, Julia Canon was anxiously watching the door.  Rita had phoned to let her know that Vickie was on her way, so it was only a matter of time, but to Julia it seemed as if the seconds had turned into hours.  She could feel her heart pounding in her chest.

 

And then, once more, the door opened, and Vic was there.  Spotting Julia, her face lit with joy, and she began edging through the crowd.  Unbuttoning her coat, the sunlight streaming through the windows setting her blonde hair on fire, Vickie finally crossed the room.  But she was not quite sure what to say to her new Mom.

 

“This will get easier,” Julia whispered as she wrapped her arms around her new daughter and hugged her tight.  “But right now, there are just two words that I desperately want to hear … just two.”

 

Julia closed her eyes, waiting.

 

“Hi, Mom.”

 

“Them's the ones,” Julia laughed as she hugged Vic a second time.  “Hi, Sweetie … and welcome home.  I've got lunch waiting … Rita told me what you like.  We'll eat in the office, so we can laugh and cry and chat without embarrassing ourselves.  Pris is already here.”

 

Mouthing a thank you to the manager working the cash register, Julia opened the door and ushered Vic inside.  Priscilla had been pacing impatiently, but she rushed forward to throw herself into Vickie's open arms.  Deliriously happy, the two young women hugged and danced until Julia wrapped her arms around them both.

 

“My two girls,” she somehow managed to get out.  “Such a simple thing to say, but God!  How good it feels!”

 

“A cop and a shrink get together with a private eye,” Priscilla laughed.  “What happens next?”

 

“The private eye leaves a message for the judge, asking him to call her at home tonight.  Details must be discussed, the mystery solved: where, and when, shall the adoption occur?”

 

“Two adoptions … two for the price of one!”  Priscilla couldn't contain her happiness.

 

“Two?  Methinks the mystery deepens!”

 

“Didn't Rita tell you?”

 

“That my little girl likes her reuben toasted, with chips on the side?”

 

“No, Mom!  Ian!  Bernice is going to adopt Ian!!”

 

“WHAT?”

 

“It's true!  Missus Miller is going to adopt Ian!  Tell Judge Reynolds that we want a joint ceremony ...”

 

“At the hospital,” Vickie threw out; “or maybe somewhere on campus.  We want to celebrate our good fortune with our friends-- and we have lots of friends!”

 

“Done!”  Julia began steering the girls to the desk, where the food was already laid out.  “Let us eat, and while we dine, let us talk of matters momentous … of diapers, and the old goat too proud to wear them, though the need is great, the private eye's patience at an end!”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“I'm sorry this took so long,” Ian apologized as he opened the door to his office.  “I have good days and bad days.  This was one of the not so good days.”

 

“You should sit down and rest for a couple of minutes,” Babs advised.

 

“Please, Dad.  We can spare a few minutes before changing your diaper and heading down to class.”

 

Joyce was deeply worried, and it showed.  Walking away from the Student Union, everything had seemed fine as they approached the overpass that knit the two halves of the campus together.  But Ian had slowed walking up the incline, and slowed quite dramatically on the downslope.  In obvious pain, he had begun to lean more and more heavily on his cane, but he had never said a word, never cried out. 

 

For the first time, the reality of war, and the damage that it might inflict on the young men sent off to fight their country's battles, was staring Joyce Wiggins in the face.  Watching Ian struggle, having no idea what if anything she could do to help, her mind kept returning to his last battlefield and the terrible wounds that he had suffered in his determination to leave no one behind.  It was the warrior, she grasped with a sudden flash of insight, crippled in a warren of rice paddies half a world away, who was now dragging his body through the urban slush.  Her Dad had simply traded in one battlefield for another.

 

One battlefield for another …

 

Inside Babs Patterson's mind, fear and shame were locked in mortal combat.  Joyce was looking at her, a hint of desperation in her eyes, the question obvious:

 

What are we going to do?

 

The policewoman in Babs Patterson knew that Professor Grady was in trouble, and she was reviewing their options.  Without a walkie talkie in hand, none of them were good.  They would have to keep him upright, and hope that a passing stranger could be persuaded to rush ahead and call for help.  Fire and Rescue was less than five minutes away, but in the dead of winter, out in the open hypothermia could claim a victim in less than ten.

 

He's not your father …

 

She had called him Diaper Butt in front of the whole bar, and said one terrible thing after another to his face.  And he hadn't reacted.

 

He's not your father …

 

Her conscious kept sending the same message, and she had ignored it, doubling down on the insults.

 

He's not your father …

 

His gentleness terrified her.

 

He's not your father …

 

If she opened the gates, allowed one good man inside her defenses, a stampede would follow, and she would be trampled underfoot.

 

He's not your father …

 

She had sank to the floor, humiliated not so much by her defeat as by her stupidity.  And he had helped her to her feet and steadied her with one hand while comforting a distraught college girl with the other.

 

And in that moment of total emotional clarity, her world view had collapsed, shards of illusion left scattered across the barroom floor.  Her life was little more than a broken mirror.

 

She would not let him fall … that was unthinkable.  Once, though badly wounded he had carried a dying soldier across the battlefield.  If it came to it, she resolved to carry him on her back, across this frozen wasteland.

                

He's not your father ...

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Again,” Priscilla frowned.

 

“Again,” Julia confirmed.  “On the front porch, in front of two of the sorority girls.  I had to put newspapers down in the entryway, and undress him there.  Honestly, it smelled like we had an untrained puppy in the house.  Enough is enough.”

 

“At home, Dad's running to the bathroom every hour or two,” Priscilla explained.  “God only knows how he's managing when he's on duty.”

 

“And he gets up to go pee two or three times a night, every night,” Julia fumed.  “It's been ages since I got a good night's sleep.”

 

“Has he seen a doctor?”

 

“One of your colleagues across the street … Sharon Villers.  Herb has an enlarged prostate.  She says that it's commonplace among middle aged men in sedentary occupations.  She wants him to get some exercise, and cut back on the drinking.  Is he taking her advice?”

 

“Noooo,” Priscilla and Julia said more or less simultaneously.

 

“Sharon's good at her job, and she's conservative when it comes to treatment.  He … Dad … Dad shouldn't ignore her.  The problem won't go away on its own; it will only get worse.  He won't like any of the more aggressive approaches.”

 

“Victoria, I have an idea, but I need to pick your brain.  Why are you in diapers?”

 

“Mom, I'm … I've been sexually active since I was fourteen, and I haven't been very picky.  This didn't start with the diapers; it started with the locking cover-- my chastity belt.  It wasn't practical to run down to Sarah's office every time I needed to use the toilet, so the diapers were the obvious next step.  Then we discovered that I respond to  being babied, and Sarah discovered that she likes babying me.  She loves me, but she also disciplines me.  I need both.  She's a good Mommy.”

 

“And you use them for both eliminations?”

 

“Yes.  I no longer use the toilet.”

 

“Is this causing any problems at work?”

 

“Not really … or maybe I should say, not yet.  Sarah and Rita both change me, and the diaper that I'm wearing right now doesn't seem to be drawing any attention.  It gets the job done, but it's also discreet.”

 

“Pris, what about you?  The diaper you were wearing last night was enormous; did you have trouble getting to sleep with all that bulk between your legs?”

 

“No, Mom.”  Priscilla had a sheepish look on her face.  “Between the alcohol and being happier than I've ever been in my life, I was on Cloud Nine.  Can you believe it?  I slept like a baby!”

 

“Which reminds me,” Vickie added.  “We're packing up Ian's apartment this afternoon, and we want to take down Pris' bed and move his in.  It's a king, and the mattress is good.  Will it fit?”

 

“Tight fit.” Julia was mentally walking through Priscilla's bedroom.  “But we can make it work.  Do my girls want to sleep together when they're home?”

 

“Absolutely!”  Pris and Vic were both nodding vigorously.

 

“Only if you are both well and truly diapered,” Julia warned.  She was staring hard at Priscilla.

 

“I'm good with that,” Pris quickly conceded.  “And then there's the question whether I should wear diapers all the time, just like my sister.”  She was staring equally hard at her mother.

 

“You'd be willing to do that?”  Julia was dumbfounded.  She loved the idea, and not just because she wanted an excuse to spoil both of her daughters in ways that she could never do if they insisted on being treated as mature adults.

 

“If it makes it easier for Vic to be comfortable with us?  In a heartbeat!  And no, Mom; I'm not being all noble and self-sacrificing.  This ends when I go to Quantico, or one of us gets pregnant.”

 

“Good … although I confess that I would very much like to baby you both.  And Vickie? I'm eager to start changing your diapers and feeding you your ba bas!  Priscilla?  Yours, too!”

 

“Then you'll need this.”

 

Vickie fished into her pocket, and pulled out the key to her diaper cover.

 

“For you, Mom,” she blushed as she proudly handed it over.  “But you should talk to Mommy Sarah; she will help you put my layette together.”

 

“Tomorrow night?  At Rita's?”

 

“Can you come?”  Priscilla was ecstatic.

 

“Absolutely … wouldn't miss it for anything!”

 

“But what about Dad?  What about … you know … Saturday night at The Pig Sty?”

 

“I've made other plans-- and they involve my two beautiful daughters and their oh, so lovely diapers!”

 

“Mom?”  Priscilla smelled a conspiracy in the making, and she was so excited that she was about ready to jump out of her own skin.

 

“I'm going to help myself to one of your maxi pads, Dear.  And tonight, I'm going to put my foot down and insist that your father wear it inside his pj's.  No more trudging off to the bathroom at two in the morning.  He agrees, or he can go sleep on the couch!”

 

“Maxi pads?”  Vickie was aghast.  “Mom … Mom, it's like asking him to sleep with a loaf of French bread in his underwear.  He'll be up all night!”

 

“That's the idea.  Then, tomorrow night, when I drop him off at the sorority?  He doesn't know it yet, but he's going to be staying the night in Bernice's guest room.  He will have two choices: brave another maxi pad, or wear the nice, comfortable diaper and vinyl pants  that Bernice has waiting for him.  Pris, that's where your diapers come in-- and mine.  No more caffeine fueled stakeouts with me desperately holding my bladder until I can get to the nearest Mickey D's!  From now on, when I'm freezing my butt off in some high school parking lot, I'm going to be wearing one of Vickie's diapers and a reliable pair of baby pants.  And when I have to go?  I'm gonna go!”

 

“Mom!”  Pris and Vic were both clapping their hands, both seeing what their Mom had in mind.

 

“So you want me to wear diapers not so much to make things easier for Vic, but to help Dad come to terms with his bladder issue?”

 

“That's the general idea,” Julia confirmed, proud as always that her quick thinking daughter had got there before her.  “He won't be near as embarrassed if we're all in the same boat.”

 

“And there's no liquor in the house; Bernice has a strict policy, and she doesn't bend it for anyone.”  Vickie marveled at the thought that Julia had put into this scheme.

 

“How about that!  Sergeant Canon doesn't know it, but he is going to have his first liquor free Saturday night in ages, and he will be sleeping over in The Diaper House!”

 

.  .  .  .

 

Sitting by herself in the hospital cafeteria, Carlie was idly spooning her coffee, a bowl of clam chowder set out in front of her.  It was barely touched and cooling rapidly, her thoughts far, far away.

 

Marge's hypothesis made sense to her, and no one in the room had actually rejected it outright.  Given that Princess Poopy Pants was as real as Ian, what was to prevent her from summoning Anna out of the depths of her own imagination, and shifting some of her feelings of guilt onto her creation?

 

It makes sense … a lot of sense …

 

There's just one problem …

 

Marge is wrong.

 

Carlie didn't know this to be the case, but she could feel it, and the feeling was incredibly strong.  

 

But, she wondered, did it necessarily follow that Reiko had got it right.  Were Anna and Princess Poopy Pants not only one and the same, but Ian's daughter?

 

Carlie couldn't answer the question for a very simple reason: Anna had listened attentively to what Marge and Reiko were saying, but she hadn't reacted to either.

 

And that was the moment when Carlie began to doubt her own sanity.

 

She had lied to Ian and Bernice-- to everyone at the kitchen table.  Yes, it was true that she had not been able to connect with Anna when Ian awoke at her side, but she had neglected to mention that it was because the little girl was still fast asleep.

 

Not so in the conference room: there she had been wide awake, an invisible presence at Carlie's side.  Finding herself trapped for all intents and purposes in her very own, personalized episode of The Twilight Zone, Carlie had followed the raging debate through not one but two pairs of eyes.  And Anna had kept her poker face from start to finish.  She had given nothing away.

 

Carlie could still sense the child, sitting somewhere behind her, in the shadows in some distant corner of the vast chamber.  She was still, and quietly watching as the coffee swirled round and round in the cup, mirroring the chaos in Carlie's mind.

 

And if she were suddenly to turn, Carlie knew that the child would not be there.

 

She had lacked the courage to blurt out the truth in the conference room.  She was, after all, inside a securely locked psychiatric ward-- and she very much feared that the truth would not set her free.

 

And so, like Anna, she had kept her silence, donning the mask that she habitually wore when testifying in the courtroom.  She had given nothing away.

 

Who was Anna?  Ian was more than a mile distant, and her rational mind refused to concede that the child could be in two places at once.  Had she somehow transferred her presence from her father … to what?  What was Carlie to Anna?  What?

 

But there was a third possibility, one that Marge and Reiko had both missed.  Did the little girl inhabit her mind?  Was she a figment of Carlie's own imagination?  Or could it be that, as Ian had so recently discovered, there was a second personality hiding inside Carlie's mind, a presence that something in the air last night at the bar had finally brought out into the open?  There were so many possibilities.

 

The coffee had cooled, but the spoon had taken on a life of its own, and tiny waves broke against the edges of the cup, first on one face and then the other.

 

And in the recesses of Carlie Voight's mind, a nine year old child who held the fate of so many lives in her delicate hands curled up into a ball and began to cry, the roaring waves muffling the sound of her tears.

 

QUO VADIS?

 

“Want some company?”

 

Startled, Carlie looked up to see Rita hovering over her, a cup of steaming coffee in hand.  Not at all sure that she was doing the right thing, Carlie reluctantly gestured for her to take a seat.

 

“I spotted you when I was going through the line,” Rita explained as she sat down opposite the distracted policewoman.  “Take my word for it: neither the coffee nor the clam chowder are going to get better with age.”

 

Carlie blushed, belatedly realizing that while she had been idly stirring her coffee, her soup had begun to solidify.  She had no idea how long she had been sitting at the table.

 

“Want to talk about it?”

 

“Talk about what?”  It was a lame response, and Carlie knew it.

 

“This morning?  At the house?  You mentioned that you have a mask that drops into place when you're on the witness stand.  Carlie, I testify on the last Tuesday of every month in matters that sometimes get contentious.  I have my own mask, and while I'm sitting out there waiting my turn, I get a bird's eye view of my fellow professionals and their masks.  I've seen it all before.  Your mask slipped into place when Marge was making her case, and when Reiko took over, you shriveled up.  I swear, you looked like someone had knocked you to the ground, and you were protecting yourself as the blows started landing.  So, I'll ask again: do you want to talk about it?”

 

“I need to, because it feels like I'm losing my mind.  But if it gets out that I'm seeing a shrink ...”

 

“It won't.  Right now, we're just two friends chatting over coffee.  But say the word, and I'll take you on as a patient.  I'll even put it in writing … got the form sitting in one of my filing cabinets upstairs.  You know the drill: anything you tell me is confidential.”

 

“You'd go that far?”

 

“Farther.  When it comes to Ian, you have no idea how far I'm prepared to go.”

 

Carlie nodded.  She had to talk to someone, and she couldn't think of anyone better qualified than Rita.  She definitely didn't want to discuss Anna with a police psychiatrist.

 

“Doctor Stevenson, would you be willing to take me on as a patient?”

 

“Yes.  We can process the paperwork later, but as of this moment anything that you say to me will be held in the strictest of confidence.”

 

Carlie nodded again, before taking in a huge breath and letting it out slowly.

 

“It's Anna,” she said in a voice that had dropped to a whisper.  “She was in the room; it felt like she was sitting right next to me.  She was listening, but she didn't choose a side.  I kept waiting for her to respond in some way, but she just sat there.  Nothing ...”

 

For a very long moment, Rita also said nothing.  Her mind was racing, unwittingly retracing the path that Carlie had followed as the coffee crashed in gentle waves against the sides of her cup.  There was nothing in the textbooks or the scientific journals that even hinted at the possibility of a DID personality transferring hosts.

 

“How old would you say she is?”  Rita felt like she was trapped in a maze, and she was desperately seeking a way out.

 

“Nine or ten, just as you seem to have suspected.  Reiko's right, isn't she?  You got there ahead of the rest of us … figured out that Anna is Ian's daughter.”

 

“It's the only logical answer … the only one that locks all the pieces into place.”

 

“Or it was,” Rita sighed as she took a sip of her coffee.  “Now, it looks like we're back to square one.”

 

“Could Anna be me?  How did Ian describe Princess Poopy Pants?  His alter ego?  Maybe it's Multiple Personality Disorder, but I'm coming up on forty.  Why now, when I'm in a good place?  Why not earlier, when I was coming to terms with being lesbian, seeing the disappointment in my parents' eyes?  None of this makes any sense.”

 

“Which proves that you're as sane as the rest of us,” Rita smiled.

 

“Thanks, but when you consider that I walked out of the conference room convinced that the lunatics were running the asylum ...”

 

“In our business, spitballing ideas is the key to a productive session.  But, hey, if you want crazy, I'll give you crazy.  Ready?”

 

Carlie gestured for Rita to continue.

 

“Just to the right of the exit … see the bulletin board?”

 

Carlie turned in her chair, and spotted it.

 

“There are two pictures of Ian on the board.  I want you to get up, walk over there, and take a look … a good, long look.  Then, come back and tell me if Anna joined you.  And Carlie?  You should know that emotionally these photos have hit some of the veterans working here very hard, Amos being one of them.  If they get to you, don't be ashamed of your feelings.  We'll explore them together.”

 

Nodding, Carlie took another deep breath before getting up to walk across the cafeteria.  As Rita watched, Carlie's body stiffened, and she reached out to touch one of the photos, caressing it.  Time seemed to stop, and then Carlie's head sagged, and her shoulders began to shake.

 

Rita bided her time, giving Carlie space.  Eventually, she turned away from the board and slowly retraced her steps to the table.  She sat down with a heavy, defeated sigh.

 

“I was a Criminal Justice major,” she said without preamble; “always wanted to protect and serve.  Probably had something to do with riding herd on two younger brothers who were constantly getting into trouble.  Anyway, when I graduated, I decided to join the army … figured it was a good way to put my degree to work, get some real world experience.  My first two years were stateside, and the duty was pretty ho-hum.  But in sixty-six I was sent to Hong Kong.  I was there for fourteen months, in a period when over two hundred thousand military personnel were taking R&Rs in the Colony each year.  All these young kids, getting two or three days to blow off steam in the bars and brothels.  Drunken brawls were a daily occurrence, and then there were the Star Ferry Riots ...”

 

Carlie fingered her coffee cup, remembering the riots … gangs of Chinese youth and American GIs and sailors mixing it up in the streets, the British garrison being called out with bayonets fixed …

 

“I rode a desk, but at night you couldn't get away from the screams … the crying … the nightmares.  I think I aged fourteen years in those fourteen months.  The photos?  In Hong Kong I saw thousands of guys like Ian; it's taken me years to stop seeing them in my sleep … years.”

 

Rita sat quietly, wanting Carlie to continue.  She was listening attentively, but she was also thinking about Phil and Don, Ian, Manny and Amos.  How many of the people who worked around her, she wondered, were haunted by these memories.  Only days before, she had observed a nurse looking at Ian's photograph, then rushing off to the nearest restroom, her hand clasped over her mouth to hold back the vomit.  How many of her own colleagues needed counseling?

 

“Sorry, I guess you're not here for true confessions.”

 

“What?  Carlie, listen to me!  Not only do I want to hear every detail, I need to!  Down here, up in my office-- wherever makes you feel at ease.  All that puke you saw on my smock happened when Ian described the aftermath of the massacre in his village.  No one in my department is prepared for this.  You can help us … teach us.  Please, pass on what you've learned, so that we can help others.  We can't do this alone!”

 

“And you won't have to.  Rita, last night I told Ian that our department is ready and willing to pitch in, and I meant it.  My two brothers?  Joshua had a student deferment, but Caleb joined the Marines.  He was at Khe Sanh when he was short time, and he's always described the last six weeks there as a long march through Hell.  He was a nineteen year old kid who'd seen too many John Wayne movies.  In the beginning, he wanted to be a hero; in the end, he just wanted to make it home in one piece.”

 

“I'd like to talk with him.”

 

“I'll make the pitch, but don't hold your breath.  He's keeping a lot of stuff bottled up inside.”

 

“The wall,” Rita sighed.  “Look, I want you to work with all of us, but especially with Marge.  Right now, she's one on one with a vet in our secure ward who was all but comatose until Ian came along and found a way to open him up.  Helping vets is her cause, and I'm planning to let her run with it.  You in?”

 

“I'm in.”

 

“If you're free, come by tomorrow around ten.  You won't be able to attend the whole of Lessing's Folly, but when you are in the room, I guarantee that you will be the star of the show!”

 

“I bet,” Carlie smiled.  “Or will Anna get the top billing?”

 

“Want to tell me what happened?”

 

“It's strange.  I was looking at the photos, thinking about Caleb, and she kind of blinked into being right beside me.  I could feel her standing there … a presence?  An aura?  Rita, it's very hard to describe what I sense when she's nearby.  I thought maybe she would speak to me, ask me something about the photos.  But she didn't.  I think she looked at them, but I'm not really sure.  Nothing seemed to register.  Sorry.”

 

“Don't be.  Carlie, we're … by the way, what's that short for?”

 

“Carlotta.  My mother was quite taken with the heroine in Arnold Bennett's Sacred and Profane Love.”

 

“Don't know it.”

 

“Don't tell my mother if you meet her, but you haven't missed much.”

 

“Promise.”  Rita solemnly crossed her heart.  “Now, about Anna: we're all pitching pennies in the dark.  We're unlikely to get anywhere unless she speaks to you, so I'm sorry, but it looks like you and Ian are going to have to get drunk again.  Think you can handle it?”

 

“If Julia still has cash in hand, I'm up for it.”

 

“Good.  Now all I have to do is persuade Sarah that this is medical research … a critical part of Ian's therapy.”

 

“Got a suggestion for  you.”  Carlie's expression was deadpan.

 

Rita look at her expectantly.

 

“Let's give Julia a break.  When you run all this by your boss, finish up by proposing to use department funding to pay for the booze.  You might even try and persuade him to conduct the experiment inside your facility.  All in the name of science, of course.”

 

Rita simply couldn't help herself: she burst out laughing.  Carlie probably thought that she was being outrageous, but Rita knew that her colleagues would jump all over any half baked idea that would reinforce her department's already scandalous reputation.

 

Right then and there, Rita decided that Carlie should be welcomed into their household.  Run the training course at Quantico, then come home to take charge of external security around their new home while Priscilla managed the inside.

 

And, she thought, Sarah would love the idea, as she loved every idea that strengthened their family.

 

And if Sarah really is bi ...   

 

.  .  .  .

 

“It's been quite a day,” Babs quietly observed as she accompanied Ian to his afternoon class.  He was still carrying his cane, but for the moment at least, was making progress without it.

 

“I mean, here I am … a police officer who's out of uniform when I'm supposed to be on duty, and wearing a diaper that I can't remove because it's locked on and I don't have the key.  I have a new Mommy who's a college girl several years my junior; she's making me use my diaper, and has already given me a spanking and banished me to the corner to contemplate my sins.  The spanking hurt like hell, and to top it all off, I find out that my partner thinks I'm a bitch, and that I'm getting exactly what I deserve.”

 

“Actually,” Ian corrected, “Carlie thinks that you are getting what you need.  There's a difference.”

 

“True,” Babs conceded after giving it some thought.  “My last relationship was with an older woman, and she treated me like a child.  But being returned to infancy is like following Alice down the rabbit hole.  This diaper is really uncomfortable.  Honestly, I don't know how you get through the day wearing that monster you've got on.”

 

“You get used to it,” Ian shrugged, “and there are advantages.  I have all of these smart, beautiful women changing me every couple of hours, and it's an intimate moment for both of us.  It can be highly erotic, and it definitely builds trust.”

 

“So, you think I should go with the flow?  Become Mommy's little baby girl?”

 

“What I think isn't important, but if you want my two cents worth, the first thing I'd say is that you shouldn't let the difference in age bother you.  I have met quite a number of couples where the younger person-- the wife--  was more mature than the somewhat older husband, and Joyce strikes me as possessing a great deal of common sense.  But you should also keep in mind that she is going to be wearing and using diapers for at least the next six to seven months.  She has no choice in the matter.  Would your relationship work if you are wearing your big girl panties while she's pissing and pooping her diaper?”

 

“No … no, I guess not.  I hadn't thought of that, but you're right … it wouldn't work at all.  But my job ...”

 

“That one's for Carlie or your Union rep.  But shouldn't you talk it over with Joyce as well?  Sarah is my Mommy, Babs, and I wouldn't dream of unilaterally making a decision about something that could jeopardize my job.  The problem, whatever it is, will always land on her desk.  She might ask me to share my thoughts, but she is under no obligation to do so.  Either way, she will make the decision, and there is no appealing it: her word is final.  Ours is a D/s relationship of the Mommy/baby variety.”

 

“And you're good with this?  A man with your military background?”  Babs was amazed by what she was hearing.

 

“Very much so.  Oh, I don't want her to decide what I eat for lunch in the Faculty Club, but if we are dining out, she may well order for me without bothering to ask what I feel like having.  I took orders in the military, Babs, so if it helps, think of Sarah not as my Dominant or Mommy, but as an officer higher up in the chain of command.”

 

“So, Sarah is the general, and you are a junior officer.  Where does this leave Priscilla?”

 

“Somewhere in the middle.  Priscilla, Rita, Vickie … Carlie if she joins up … they will all defer to Sarah, and I shall happily strive to obey each and every one of them.  If I'm naughty or disobedient, I go over somebody's knee.  I was spanked twice last week, and once so far this week.  One of the topics up for discussion tomorrow night will be the scheduling of my weekly maintenance spanking.”

 

“Mine, too.   Can you believe it?  Mommy has made it clear that she is going to spank me every week as a matter of principle.  I just hope that she uses her hand instead of Mister Holeywood.  I was bawling my head off long before the tenth and final blow.”

 

“And you're good with this?”  Ian looked at his companion with a twinkle in his eye.

 

“Touche,” Babs smiled.  “And yes, I am, because Carlie's right: I need this.  I'm praying that Mommy … that Joyce can help me get my head screwed on straight.  Ian, it took last night to drive home the fact that right now I'm in a bad place.  I said terrible things to you, and I meant every word of it.  And then you turned out to be this gentle, kind, compassionate guy who put the lie to all of my self-serving broadsides against the male of the species.  I owe both you and Carlie an apology.  Mommy wanted to do it in the cafeteria, but that would have been the wrong audience.  You shall both have it at Rita's party tomorrow night.  It won't be a crowded cop bar, but it will serve.”

 

“And then both of us will be spending the night in our cribs.  Locking mittens and pacifiers for sure, and we may also end up in full restraints.  It should be interesting because Vickie is also supposed to be crib bound.  Wonder which one of us is going to share.”

 

“If Mommy gets her way, you and I will end up sleeping together.  We might even find ourselves chained together.  She wants me to pay full measure for the nasty way I treated you.”

 

“Can you handle it?  Being in bed with a man?”

 

“Since we are both wearing chastity belts, it won't be a problem.”

 

“And if she insists that you change my messy diaper, instead of simply watching … you know, the way you did in my office a few minutes ago when she changed me?”

 

“I won't be happy about it, but I'll do it.  When I was introduced to Mister Holeywood, I got religion, Ian.  Take my word for it; I am now a true believer!”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Got room for two more?”

 

Arm in arm, Vickie and Priscilla had gradually made their way through the hospital, telling everyone who would listen about the adoption.  The word spread like wildfire from one floor to the next.  Everyone who knew about Vickie's miserable childhood was delighted by the news.

 

“Carlie, I spotted you earlier when I was heading across the street to conspire with my new sister and our mom.  You looked like you were doing a postmortem, so I decided to sneak out without bracing you.  Everything okay?” 

 

The professional in Vickie was alarmed by Rita's presence.  It was easy to guess what they were discussing, and she feared that she and Pris were intruding on a very delicate conversation.

 

“Oh, Rita was just schooling me on how lunatics can draw big paychecks while running their own asylum.”  Carlie was genuinely happy to see her new friends, for that was how she regarded both Pris and Vic.  “And yes.  Upstairs?  I thought that all of you were certifiable.  But Rita assures me that this is how you guys roll.”

 

“You going to do Quantico and move in with us?”  Priscilla's take on what was bugging Carlie Voight was a little different from Vickie's, and she wasn't big on beating around the bush.

 

“Ian mentioned it in passing.  Should I take him seriously?”

 

“Very,” Priscilla nodded.  “All he has to do is make one phone call, and you're on your way.  I'm thinking the two of us would split the security detail, with you taking the perimeter.”

 

Rita coughed so hard that she brought up her latest sip of coffee.

 

“Sorry,” she apologized.  “I was wondering how to bring this up a bit earlier.  It did not occur to me to try the direct approach.”

 

“Wait a second,” Carlie protested as she leaned back in her chair.  “Are the three of you seriously asking me to move in with you?”

 

“Yep,” Vickie chimed in.

 

“What about Sarah?”

 

“Piece of cake, especially if you're good with changing diapers … mine, Ian's, my sister's ...”

 

“Huh.   Pris, are you …”

 

“Yep.  Vic, Mom and me … we're putting up a united front to convince Dad that latchkey incontinence is not the end of the world.  Mom's had it with cleaning up behind him every time they come home from their weekly outing to The Pig Sty.  Enough is enough.”

 

“I swear, you people are nuts!  But at the moment, my sanity is questionable at best, so I need to talk to Sarah ...”

 

Rita choked a second time.

 

“She's up on Three,” Vickie noted, looking around the cafeteria to make sure that Sarah had not come down to eat alone.  “Why don't you go talk to her?”

 

“But don't take too long,” Priscilla warned.  “We need to get over to campus, and the sooner the better.  Babs is covering for me … Ian's security detail.  But I want to hand her off to you before two, when his office hours get going.  You're supposed to sign her in or sign her out … whatever … then take her back to the sorority house and hand her off to Joyce.  Mommy misses her baby.”

 

“You paired Babs off with Ian?”  Carlie was astonished.  “Are you ...”

 

“Crazy?”  Priscilla shrugged.  “Maybe so … but then I don't know what her problem is.  What I do know is that Ian is the answer.  If Joyce is the stick, and that much is obvious, then Ian is the carrot.  Working together, they might just be able to give our colleague her life back.”

 

Carlie got to her feet.   “Third floor?”

 

“Out that exit, and about forty five yards down-- elevator on your right.”  Rita was pointing.  “Sarah runs the whole post surgical ward, so anyone can direct you to her office.”

 

“Pris, you going to wait?”

 

“Be right here,” she smiled.  “Follow me to campus, and I'll take you to Ian's office.  I'll show you how to change a war hero's poopy diapers!”

 

“One last thing,” Vickie cut in.  “Rita, Carlie … this is important.  Which one of the seven dwarfs do you think changed Snow White's diapers?   I voted for Happy, and Pris said that I was weird.  She voted for Grumpy, and Mom took Doc.”

 

“Bashful,” Carlie answered without hesitation.  “Definitely has to be Bashful.”

 

“Nope,” Rita objected.  “I'm with Vic; it's gotta be Happy.  He got to play with her equipment ...”

 

“Dear God!  You two really have gone off the deep end!  Carlie, you sure you want to join this madhouse?”

 

“I'm sure, Pris … very sure.  Don't know about you, but I'll fit right in!  Now, what are we going to do about Babs?”

 

.  .  .  .

 

Standing in the dimly lit shadows at the rear of the classroom, Babs felt more miserable, and more ashamed, with each passing minute.  The largely male cohort of students had jumped to their feet when Ian entered, his sweatshirt earning him a standing ovation punctuated with the names of fraternities that a handful of the students shouted out.  Then, as the class proceeded, what she witnessed was not so much a lecture as a conversation, in which a somewhat older and more seasoned traveler offered cultural tips to a younger cohort soon to venture abroad for the first time.

 

The atmosphere was relaxed and warm, and no one snickered when he turned to face the  blackboard, the bulge of his diaper fully on display.  As the minutes passed, it became more and more obvious that he was not Diaper Butt in their eyes; if anything, his handicaps intensified the respect in which his students held him.  Slowly but inexorably, therefore, Babs was forced to acknowledge that the horrors of her own family background had set her up to commit one of the worst of all sins-- prejudging a man, and condemning him without a hearing.  She could only pray that the humiliation she would endure at Rita's party would somehow atone for her misbehavior.

 

When the bell rang, some students immediately headed for the exits, but other flocked to the lectern to thank Ian for taking Zeta Alpha Pi under his wing, and then to congratulate him on his appointment to the Panhellenic Council.  It was fully ten minutes before the last students took their leave, and Babs and Ian could make the return trip to his office.  They made small talk as they slowly proceeded through the underground corridors, but Bab's mind was elsewhere.  Would Priscilla be waiting for them?  Would Carlie?  Would his secretary answer the call, or would the task of checking Ian's diaper fall to her?

 

And if he needed to be changed, what then?  Babs had long feared that the crucible moment would take the form of an accident victim-- someone needing CPR to hold on to life itself.  She had steeled herself to do what had to be done, told herself that anonymity would be her shield.  But she and Ian were now well acquainted, and changing his diaper was an entirely different order of the universe.  Could she clean poop out of the folds of his skin, and take a wet wipe to his penis and balls?  Or would she freeze up ... become as useless as she felt as they walked through the underground warren?

 

Startled, she looked down to see that Ian was holding her hand, his thumb drawing lazy circles on the real estate that lay between knuckles and wrist.  She looked into his eyes, and rocked back on her heels, not expecting to see pity mixed with understanding.

 

“I grew up in East Los Angeles,” he murmured.  “What some might call a working class neighborhood, though it was as poor and violent … as ridden with despair … as any slum.  I was shot in the fourth grade, at a Saturday matinee.  In the sixth, I was knifed … out on a playground where there were no adults to supervise.  And in the fifth grade ...”

 

Oh, no!!  Oh, God no!!!

 

Babs knew what was coming, but her feet were frozen to the ground.  She couldn't move, couldn't run away.

 

“I was raped.  And I couldn't tell my parents because it was the son of the man my mother worked for.  She would have confronted him … lost her job … so I kept it secret.  Fleeing to the main library downtown was a way to avoid him, and that's where my life's odyssey truly began.  But to this day … in the hospitals, the worst moments were when the doctors were poking and prodding me.  Without the pain killers and the sedatives ...”

 

Ian nodded, knowing that without the meds he would have freaked out more than once.

 

“But I'm fine with women, no problems whatsoever.  A sorority is a perfect fit for me.”

 

Eyes closed, Babs stared at the ceiling and howled, the cry of a deeply wounded animal that had lost all hope.  She collapsed into Ian's arms, chest heaving, the sobs racking her as twenty years of bottled up pain and rage shattered in an unguarded moment.

 

Ian wrapped his arms around her and gently patted her back, seeking not so much to calm her as to give her shelter.  At The Pig Sty, almost from the start he had glimpsed the ghosts that were haunting Babs Patterson.  After all, he knew them well.

 

And now they were unleashed.

 

Would it be better, he mused, for Babs to work with Vickie, whose upbringing was equally scarred, or would someone like Marge be the better fit … someone with less skin in the game?

 

Students, young men and young women alike, had come flocking.  And now they stood, gathered round, no one knowing what to do, no one knowing even what question to ask.  But their silence was respectful, for each and every one of them had his or her own measure of pain locked away in a vault deep inside the human heart.

 

“Quo vadis,” Ian whispered into her ear, remembering what the Apostle Peter, fleeing Rome, had asked the risen Jesus when their paths crossed on the Appian Way.

 

Peter had turned about, and returned to Rome to summon arrest and crucifixion.

 

It was time, long past time, for Babs Patterson to turn about, and do battle with the demons that ravaged her spirit.

 

Ian would be there to help, as perhaps Babs would be there to help him.

 

“Quo vadis,” he whispered again, only this time to give direction to his own thoughts.

 

It was time.

 

For Anna's sake if not for his own, it was time.

 

MOVIN' OUT

 

“Babs and I were in the same class at the Academy,” Priscilla commented as she smoothly changed lanes.  She had hustled Ian out of his office at three on the dot, urged him to beat feet toward  the car that she had left illegally parked in a red zone, and dashed to the nearest freeway on ramp.  When trying to beat the rush hour traffic beginning to pile up southbound on Interstate 35, seconds mattered.  Especially on Fridays, when the office grunts fleeing the shimmering glass towers in the heart of downtown were in no mood to take prisoners.

 

“She graduated near the top of the class.  Believe me, Ian, out on the firing range she'd leave Dirty Harry in the dust.  Still, no one wanted to partner with her because she had no sense of humor and no finesse.  She's always been the bluntest of blunt instruments, and I say that as someone who sees her in action at The Pig Sty roughly fifty times a year.”

 

Ian sucked in his breath as a slush covered pickup cut in front of them with less than half a car length to spare.

 

Priscilla didn't even blink.

 

“Does anybody in this state actually know how to drive,” Ian grumbled.  “Honestly, Pris, if you pulled that stunt on the Long Beach freeway, someone would pull up alongside and blow your God damned head off!”

 

“Temper, temper,” Pris admonished.  “Besides, half the vehicles out here are headed to your apartment.  Rita, Vic … even Sarah.”

 

“I know, I know.  Sarah called me during office hours with the good news.  She somehow convinced Heidi to come in and work her full shift today so that Sarah would be free to help pack up my apartment.  It costs her nothing to put in twelve hours next Wednesday in return since we won't be meeting with Vic's lawyer friend until five or so.”

 

“Now, getting back to Babs ...”

 

“Nice try, by the way,” she added as she glanced at Ian out of the corner of her eye.  “But you should know that the police are like a pack of bloodhounds … relentless.  Once we get a whiff, we will pursue it until we uncover the truth.”

 

“Pris, I don't follow ...”

 

“Stop it, Ian!  Right now, you're on for a maintenance spanking tomorrow night, but if you lie to me, it's going to turn into the real deal.  This is not the time to bob and weave because I've known Babs for a long, long time-- and I barely recognized the woman sitting in your office.  What the hell happened?”

 

“We talked.  Walking back from class, we talked.  I was pretty sure, the way she was carrying on last night, so I … I took a chance, confided in her.  I told her about something that happened to me a long time ago, something buried deep in my past.  And it opened the floodgates.”

 

“Go on,” Pris encouraged, her eyes never leaving the road.  They were coming up on Spaghetti Junction, the most dangerous stretch of highway in the entire state.

 

“I can't.”  Ian was resolute.  “It would be a betrayal of trust, and I won't do that.  She needs help, and I'm going to try, but it won't work unless she's ready.  She has to want this, Pris; there's no other way.”

 

“What kind of help, Ian?  It's obvious that she has issues, and the Department has licensed psychologists to help an officer in crisis.  We look after our own.”

 

“I need to talk to Rita … maybe to Vickie.  Technically, I'm her patient, so she has to treat anything I tell her confidentially.  I don't think Babs wants anyone associated with the Department to come anywhere near this.  In her shoes, I would stay as far away from the workplace as I could get.”

 

“So, you have a deep, dark secret that you're hiding from all of us.  Ian, this isn't going to end well, and the longer you procrastinate, the worse it's gonna be.”

 

“I know, but I'm worried about the Princess … about Anna.  She doesn't need this, Pris; believe me, she doesn't need this.  I have to find a way to face up to what happened without it all spilling into her lap.”

 

Ian laughed, a sound so bitter that Priscilla involuntarily flinched.

 

“Do you ever ask yourself how she's handling the diapers?  The piss and the poop … relying on the good will of others to keep her clean.  I'm used to it, but she seems to be a little girl with a life of her own.  How does she feel, and what can I do to help her?  I ask myself that all the time now: what can I do to help her?”

 

. . . .

 

“I could get used to this,” Sofia contentedly sighed as the Cessna 172 Skyhawk dipped in and out of the clouds, their southwesterly course chasing the sunlight across the late afternoon sky.

 

“Good weather all the way, so we're cruising at eight thousand, making a hundred and five knots … one hundred and forty three miles per hour for you landlubbers.  Two hours from Houghton to Crystal, so with the time zone change we'll be on the ground a little after five Central time.  The sunset should be spectacular, my Dear … truly spectacular!”

 

“Ground transportation?”  Sofia glanced over at Bob.  With his starched white shirt, Italian silk tie and aviator sunglasses, her boyfriend looked like he had just stepped out of an airline commercial advertising safe skies and exotic locales.  The reality, of course, was that he owned and personally managed the largest hardware store in the Upper Peninsula. 

 

Sandy haired Bob Pinkett was in his mid fifties, a few years younger than Sofia herself.  They had been well paired from the outset, but as Sofia had explained to her daughter at Thanksgiving, Bob still had a few rough edges that needed smoothing-- happily so since they gave her the opening she needed to mold him into his new role as her submissive.

 

And you are going to look so cute in your diapees and baby pants!  Don't need them, you say?  Well, you will, my Dear … you will.  Mommy has all sorts of potions in her medicine cabinet, drugs that will make you start peeing like a racehorse, with less and less control.  It's just a matter of time ...  

 

“Already taken care of.  Hertz loves me, and they do go the extra mile to keep me happy.”

 

“Good to know, since we'll be doing this regularly once our first grandchild arrives on the scene.”

 

“And does this earn your hard working pilot some extra privileges when we're down on the ground?”

 

Sofia slapped his hand, which had come wandering over to her thigh.  Intentionally, she put far more force into the blow than the situation required.  It was all a lead up to his first spanking.  Once Bob Pinkett had gone over her knee, she could get serious about training him.  Diapers, a chastity cage … if she had read him right, the all powerful businessman needed his Mommy to bring balance to his life.

 

“The only privilege you've earned so far is a good, hard spanking!  The first of many!”

 

“Is that a promise?  Will Mommy spank me if I'm a bad boy?”  Bob absolutely loved this no nonsense, take charge side of Sofia's personality.  She presided over the largest hospital in the region, and day in and day out she handled the pressure with ease.  He admired her professionalism, and in the bedroom he was happy to follow her lead.

 

Bob couldn't wait for his first spanking.  It sounded like fun, and he knew exactly where they would end up.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Listen up, everybody,” Sarah called out as she hung up the phone.  “That was my Mom.  She and Bob are on their way, and should be here in half an hour or so.  They're spending the night in my apartment, which means that Ian and I shall be sharing his new crib.”

 

“Going to try out the restraints?”  Vickie couldn't resist the urge to poke the mama bear.

 

“Tomorrow night, perhaps … not tonight.  Want to guess where you'll be bedding down, baby girl?”  If Sarah could take a punch, she could also throw one.

 

“Okay, let's take stock of where we're at.  Pris, let's start with you.”

 

“I've emptied out his storage room, and swept it clean.  Everything in the bathroom is packed up except for soap, a towel, baby powder and wet wipes.  I'll change him just before we leave.”

 

“Ian and I have dismantled the bed,” Vickie reported, “and I've cleaned out the closets.  His jackets and pants are in the garment bags, and apart from a spare diaper, everything else is boxed up.  We'll also take the diaper pail with us.”

 

“I'm leaving my key with Mom.  In the morning, she and Bob can let Amos in and help him get the bed out to his truck.  Pris, where does that leave you?”

 

“I'll call Mom before we leave.  If she's already taken my bed apart, I'll bunk with Vic; otherwise, I'll go home.  Either way, Amos and I can switch the beds around.  No problem.”

 

“Rita?”

 

“Ian's dismantled the stereo system, and put everything away in the original boxes.  The TV also goes tonight, as is.  We've used towels to cover the paintings, and wrapped them in the bedding.  Each of us will take one; drive slowly, and there shouldn't be any problems.”

 

“Just one change in plans for tomorrow”, she continued.  “I really like the stereo and TV tables, so I want Amos to bring them over as well.  So, the two couches are the only thing that we need to put in storage, and that's just until we move into our new digs.”

 

“Which leaves the kitchen,” Sarah concluded.  “Mercifully, there's not a lot here, and I've already put the pots and pans in my car.  So, I reckon that when Mom and her boyfriend get here, we'll feast on whatever takes our fancy, then see to the dishes, the silverware, and the food and drink afterwards.”

 

“Dibs on the Greek gunk and the pita bread,” Vickie yelped.  “And the prosciutto and those big, black olives.”

 

“The rose and the red are both really nice,” she added hopefully.

 

“Sorry, Sis,” Priscilla cut in, beating Sarah to the punch.  “But we're all on the wagon-- and no one gets to fall off.”

 

“You're so mean,” Vic growled.

 

“That's what baby sisters are for,” Pris shot back.

 

“All right, you two … enough, already.  Or do you both need a little corner time?”  Hands on hips, Sarah was glaring at the two women while debating her next move.  “I'm not above spanking you both, here and now … and Priscilla, if you insist on acting like a brat, your mother has encouraged me to treat you like one.  Roughly translated, this means that you are this close to being put back in diapers!”

  

Sarah held up her hand, the thumb and forefinger so close together that a dime wouldn't have slipped through the gap.

 

“Already done,” Vickie crowed.  “Starting tomorrow, Mom's putting Pris' caboose back on the old diaper train.  It's a devious plot to encourage Dad to wear a diaper when he goes to The Pig Sty.  Mom says that the entryway is beginning to smell like a urinal, and she wants it to stop.”

 

“Is this true, Priscilla?  Is your mother putting you back in diapers?”

 

Priscilla nodded.  “It's just temporary.  Mom's also going to start wearing diapers on the job.  Dad's having a lot of accidents, so the hope is that he'll see the light when he discovers that the three of us are already diapered.”

 

“Not to worry, Sweetie,” Sarah said in a tone that suggested Priscilla should be very worried indeed.  “We'll all do our part, but we also need to get your Dad in to see a urologist.  It sounds like the bill's come due for all those years he's spent sitting behind the wheel and riding a desk.”

 

“Already on it,” Vickie explained.  “He's been in to see Sharon Villers, and it's what you would expect … an enlarged prostate.  I'll have a word with Sharon and set up a treatment plan.  The nice thing about having a doctor in the family, Pris, is that we can do this on the sly.  No markers in his official file, and the best part yet?  No bills to pay!”

 

“Works for me,” Priscilla smiled.  “Now, I'm hungry, and I spotted a summer sausage when I was prowling around in the frig earlier.  But what are we going to drink?”

 

“I've got that covered,” Sarah laughed.  “I've got enough Tab downstairs to keep us all wired for the rest of the night.  We shall eat and dine well!”

 

“And tomorrow night?”  Rita was running the numbers in her head.  “Ian, it looks like we'll be setting out food and drink for a minimum of seventeen; what are you planning to cook?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Well, it's obvious that your taste buds are far more sophisticated than ours, so from now on the kitchen is your domain.  What exotic treats would you like to serve?”

 

Ian pursed his lips, thinking about it.  “I'm feeling Greek at the moment-- and there's no point in letting my stash of Retsina go to waste.  You up to driving me around town in the morning?  The shops are spread out.”

 

“No can do,” Sarah advised.  “Lessing's Folly, remember?  But not to worry.  Mom will drive you around.  It will give the two of you a chance to get acquainted, and if you need help in the kitchen, she's always keen to learn new dishes.”

 

“I could definitely use a second pair of hands, but I have to warn you: we're going to make a mess.”

 

“Mom and I will handle the clean up,” Vickie volunteered.

 

“Huh,” everyone in the room said more or less simultaneously.

 

“Hey, I'm supposed to carry my weight around here, but I don't know one end of a dust mop from the other.  Who better to teach me than my new Mom?”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Thanks for taking the wheel, Soph.  Landing in that crosswind was no fun.”

 

Driving south on Highway 100, Bob was rolling his shoulders when he wasn't massaging his calves.  The Skyhawk's trim tab made for a highly maneuverable aircraft in clean air, but a pilot had to muscle the beast onto the ground when conditions were less than ideal.

 

“You looked like you had everything under control,” Sophia rejoined.  “I was very impressed.”

 

“Now you know why I hit the gym every week.”  Bob's smile was weak.  “In certain situations, physical fitness counts for a lot.  Anyway ...”

 

“Anyway, you want to know what awaits us down in Bloomington.  Well, if things are going according to plan, Sarah and my future son-in-law will be packing up his apartment.  Rita and Vickie, who are Sarah's colleagues and two closest friends, are pitching in to help.”

 

“And you know Rita, right?”

 

“I do.  If I had the chance, I would hire her in a heartbeat.  She's a very impressive lady.  I've never met Vickie, but it sounds like she lives life in the fast lane.  And as for Priscilla ...”

 

Sofia shook her head, thinking about it.  “What can I say?  On Monday morning, a policewoman on the campus detail is assigned to escort Ian around campus to keep aggressive corporate headhunters at bay, and less than seventy-two hours later they're proclaiming their love for one another.  Ian's polyamorous and my daughter, God bless her heart, is rolling with the punches.”

 

“So, Sarah is sharing her fiance with three other women, and this weekend they're all moving in together?”

 

“Right.  That's why we've got the use of Sarah's apartment for the duration.  But there's a big party at Rita's tomorrow night.  Apparently, Rita's parties are something else.  I'm going, and I'm sure you're invited.  However, getting back to Bloomington could prove to be a problem.”

 

“I'll think about it, but no promises, okay?  Let's concentrate on getting through tonight first.”

 

“Works for me.  And Bob, one last thing.  I'm told that Ian's diapers are on the thick side, and highly visible.  So, try not to stare, and don't be shocked if Sarah or one of the others takes him into the bedroom to change him.   Nobody makes a big deal out of it, and considering how Ian came to be incontinent, that's as it should be.”

 

“Understood.  We can always talk about sports.  Who knows?  Maybe he's a fisherman!”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“You, or me?”  Sarah made it a question because she and Ian both knew who had knocked on the door.  Still, while it was Sarah's mom, it was Ian's apartment.   He was starting to appreciate her talent for making his decisions while leaving him the illusion of choice. 

 

“Me.  However battered and bruised, it's still my home.”

 

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Ian opened the door.

 

The two strangers stared at one another for a long moment, Ian ignoring the man hovering in the background.  His first, perverse, thought was that he was a very lucky guy indeed.  Sofia Haikonnen's beauty may have lost some of its glow with the passage of time, but her features were still strong and she was elegant and composed-- a woman very much in charge of the world around her.  It was obvious where Sarah's assertive nature came from, but also her beauty.  The woman Sarah would become twenty-five years in the future was standing in his doorway.

 

Ian's welcoming smile was warm and sincere, and he reached out to shake her hand.

 

“Hello, Sofia.  I'm Ian.  Welcome.  Hope the two of you are hungry because cleaning out my refrigerator is what we're down to.”

 

“Starved.”  Sofia's smile was equally gracious.  “Lunch was a long time ago.”

 

While Bob and Ian said their hellos, Sofia hugged her daughter and Rita in turn.  With Sarah finishing up the introductions, Ian got busy collecting napkins and plates.

 

“Bob, there's beer and wine in the frig … soft drinks and bottled water.  Help yourself to whatever suits your fancy … well, everything except for the breast milk.  That's reserved for Vic and me.”

 

“Seriously?”  Bob couldn't tell whether Ian was pulling his leg or not.

 

“Seriously.  Last night, Pris, Vic and I put away dozens of shots of tequila in a drinking contest at a local cop bar.  We won, but it was our last hurrah.  The five of us are swearing off alcohol while we're trying to make babies ...”

 

“And since we all plan to breast feed,” Priscilla brightly remarked, “we'll be abstaining for a long, long time.  We're going to be awash in breast milk, so Vic and Ian are getting a head start; the rest of us will be joining the breast milk band wagon in due course.”

 

“How does this work?  I mean, well … if you don't mind me asking … one guy and four women.”

 

“Sarah will be managing our household, but it's patterned after a commune that I visited out in San Francisco this summer. Right now, it's just fun and games-- Ian slept with Pris on Wednesday and Rita yesterday.  It's Sarah's turn tonight, and mine on Sunday.”

 

Watching Bob gape while his brain wrestled with the fact that Ian was living every man's most popular adolescent fantasy left Vickie grinning from ear to ear.

 

“But once we're all living under the same roof, we'll do daily fertility checks, and adjust our schedules accordingly.”  Rita thought that Vickie was having way too much fun at Bob's expense.

 

“Vic's a maneater,” Sarah explained to her mother, “so right now we're scheduling Ian's days off immediately before and after she devours him.  Ian's greatest fear is that two or more of us will be at peak fertility at the same time.  He will end up begging for mercy, which may not be forthcoming.”

 

“Well, it sounds like you've got everything under control,” Sofia concluded.  “Are you going to take my advice and limit the sexual activity to his crib?”

 

“Absolutely!  We've already got the nursery organized.  In fact, we've got two pediatric cribs in there sitting side by side.  Lower the railings, and there will be plenty of room for a menage a trois.”

 

“But that's only when we're sleeping with Ian,” Rita cautioned.  “Now that we know Sarah's bi, I'm planning on sleeping with her as well as Vic and Pris.  And that's just for starters.  Tomorrow night, you'll be meeting other women who want to move in with us ...”

 

“MY DAUGHTER IS BI?”  Sofia thought that Rita must be joking, but then she remembered that Rita couldn't tell a joke to save her soul.  “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?”

 

“Tomorrow night, you'll meet Carlie and Babs, the two policewomen on the team that we defeated last night.”  Rita decided to give Sofia and Bob the whole wacky story in one shot.  “Ian fell in love with Carlie in front of all of us, but she's lesbian, so he should be striking out … only it turns out that Carlie can somehow communicate with the female personality that shares Ian's body.  We call her Princess Poopy Pants, but Carlie insists that she is called Anna … we don't know by whom.  So, Ian and Carlie have got their thing going on, and meanwhile, Carlie suspects that Sarah is bi, so she wants to move in with us to see where that goes.  And I want to sleep with both of them, only Carlie says that I'm too masculine for her taste.  Babs is also gay, but her personality is strikingly different from Carlie's.  She lost a couple of side bets last night, so she'll be getting the full baby treatment and a well earned spanking at the party.  Vic will administer it, but she'll be teaching a sorority girl who's clamped on to Babs how to do it right.  Joyce is one of the several dozen girls whom Ian has adopted en route to becoming the faculty advisor to the Panhellenic Council, and withal Fraternity Row's Dad.  He's even got the sweatshirt.”

 

Ian excused himself just long enough to grab it off the couch, and with Priscilla's help, to put it back on.

 

“As you've just seen,” Rita continued, “Ian has trouble dressing himself.  He was wounded far more severely than he's let on, so it's very much to his benefit that he now has four caregivers who are devoted to him.  What else?  Oh, Priscilla's parents are adopting Vickie; Beatrice Miller, who runs the sorority that Ian has more or less joined, is adopting him with the blessing of all of us.”

 

“Don't forget Anna,” Vickie encouraged.

 

“Yes.  Ian, I called a meeting of the entire senior staff this morning, and Carlie joined us to share her experience and her perspective.  Anna was the sole topic of conversation.  We had a spirited debate, which will continue tomorrow morning in John's presence.  I've asked Carlie to attend, so that we don't have to speak for her.”

 

“Did she agree?”

 

“She did.”

 

“And the subject of this debate?”

 

“Her identity.  Reiko and I have come to the same conclusion, independent of one another-- and it's at odds with the textbooks.  Marge is in the opposite camp, so this edition of Lessing's Folly could get a bit heated.”

 

“Go on.”

 

“Some of us have come to the conclusion that Anna is … that Anna is your daughter.”

 

“WHAT?”  Sofia was taken completely by surprise.

 

“It's true, Mom.  Her name is Linh.  Nine years ago, when Ian was in the hospital, someone raided his village.  They murdered his wife, massacred everyone except the very small children.  Ian's friends back East think that they didn't know which child was Ian's, so they took them all and then murdered everyone to cover their tracks.  She's important, Mom; if she has inherited his ability to absorb languages, with time and training she could be turned into one of the most dangerous weapons on Earth.  The CIA has been searching for her worldwide ever since Ian and his friends put all the pieces together.”

 

“And they've come up empty,” Bob surmised.  “But you hope that Anna possesses information that would allow the Agency to narrow the search.”

 

Bob's heart went out to Ian.  He had sent two sons out into the world, and like any loving parent, he had his own fears.

 

“Precisely,” Rita concluded.  “This may be our best chance to bring our daughter home.”

 

“About Babs.”  Ian wanted to take up the case of another lost soul.  “Vic, are you still my physician of record?”

 

“I am.”

 

“So, anything I share with you is privileged unless I give you permission to pass it on to others?”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

“Then I want to talk with you about Babs before she shows up tomorrow night.  She has a problem, she needs help, and I want to offer it to her.  But I don't know where to turn.”

 

“How about when I'm doing KP?  We can talk while I change your diaper.”

 

“It's a date,” he weakly replied.  “And thank you, Vic.  This is deeply, deeply personal.”

 

“I'll treat it as such, Ian.  I promise you; you have my word on it.”

 

  

 

 

After you've finished reading, you might want to return to the DailyDiapers Story Index