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Chapter 23: Family Time

It had taken a good fifteen minutes to coax Sherry to leave him at his own house without coming inside.  He was about to try to get off the lie of the century to his dad, so that some sense of normalcy could prevail in his house, at least till he got a hold of things, and Sherry’s presence was a factor Chris couldn’t rightly account for.  She was supportive of him, but he didn’t need anyone double checking one version of his story against another one.  That was the only support Sherry would likely be able to provide.

It took another fifteen minutes of him pacing in his family’s garage, trying to work up the courage to go inside and confront his father; to prove, or at least convince his dad that he wasn’t some kind of freak.  But Christopher was having trouble finding his courage.  He’d been gone less than two whole days, and already he felt like he was some stray dog pissing in a wolf’s territory.

For starters, there in a nearby trashcan, right where he could see it.  Was the opened package of Depends sitting right on top of the heap.  The top stack of adult diapers leaned lazily over itself like books where the bookends had been taken.  It was covered in a day’s worth of grime, but Dr. Cole had taken the time to show his son proof of what he had found under his son’s bathroom sink, and that there was no denying it one way or another.

Yet deny, deny, deny, was what Chris intended to do.  This was a conversation that Chris had never hoped to have with anyone, least of all with his father.  Even worse, was that to Chris’s knowledge the rest of the world was now completely ignorant of his fetish.  Adult Babies and Diaper Lovers never existed, as far as the rest of the world need be concerned.  A lifetime ago, or about a week ago, depending on how you were measuring, Chris could have at least taken some cold comfort knowing that there were resources he could show loved ones to explain his kink better than he could have.

So instead, he was going to lie up a storm.  In the car ride over, before he was interrupted by a crazy old man claiming to be a magician, he had spun an elaborate web of lies about a young pre-med student so overworked that he was starting to experience nighttime enuresis, but he was so ashamed about needing diapers to control it, that he was losing sleep over it, causing even more emotional instability.  It was all horseshit, but maybe if Chris pretended hard enough, it would be real for the thirty seconds it would take to lie to his father.

As Chris entered the house, he got the distinct feeling that it was about to be the longest thirty seconds of his life.   Chris could hear the TV all the way from the laundry room, and it sounded like a bunch of grown men talking.  No laugh track, lots of shouting.  That meant that Dad had manned the main TV, and was likely watching Sports Center, or whatever new Sports Analysis program was on ESPN.  The volume indicated that he didn’t care to be bothered with interruptions.  
 As Chris walked into the family room, Dr. Cole turned the sound off.

“Christopher,” the doctor regarded his son coolly.

“Dad,” Chris answered.  Maybe the air had just kicked in, but Chris felt a chill run down his spine when his father locked eyes with him.

“You’re home earlier than I expected.”  Damn…he had expected Chris to walk home.

“Sherry gave me a ride.”  This was quickly becoming an interrogation, Chris felt.

“She have your old basketball uniform, too?”  Dr. Cole gestured to Chris’s blue and silver basketball uniform that he hadn’t worn since high school.   Chris’s eyes narrowed at that.  He hadn’t expected to be quizzed on his outfit.  Chris felt his face grow warm.

Holy shit!  Maybe that hadn’t just been him sulking in sour grapes.  Maybe his dad had actually intended for him to walk home from the hospital naked?  But then, does that mean that Roxanne had dropped off the clothes without his father’s consent or even knowledge?

“It fits me better than anything the hospital had.”  Chris responded.  Dr. Cole gave off a dry chuckle at that one.

“It does at that,” he said.  “It does at that.  Anything else we need to discuss?” It was less of a question, and more of a challenge, daring Chris to talk when the decree handed down yesterday had been “We shall not talk about this”.

Chris, stared his father, and said, “No, sir.”

“Good.” And that was that.

Chris felt himself meandering away from the TV, and his father’s gaze.  Ashamed at himself for not being able to meet his dad’s gaze.  Then out of the corner of his eye, he saw the door to Sammy’s room, and something clicked.

Upon, seeing Sammy’s closed room door, Chris knew immediately what had bothered him in the garage a few minutes before.  

The Depends package had been at the top of the trashcan in the garage, but knowing Dad, he would have thrown the offending garments away as soon as he found them, sometime before the reaming in the hospital yesterday.  The package shouldn’t have been at the top of the trashcan.  And while Chris wasn’t exactly Rain Man, he had only taken the one Adult Diaper out of the pack, but anyone could tell that the more than one had been removed since.  Someone had dug that pack up, taken a few more diapers out, and not replaced it at the bottom of the trashcan.

His father’s surly attentions directed once more at the latest talking heads show on ESPN, Chris crept towards his oldest little sister’s room.  

“Sammy? You in here?” Chris called in, poking his head in the door as he opened it.  It was still painted pink from its time as a nursery, but now decorated with posters of boy bands and teen heart throbs, a small TV on one side of the room, and a bed on the other.  

A perfect, immaculately made bed, in a very clean room.  A clean room with nothing to hide in it, but with the door shut.   Chris slid in and eased the door shut behind him.

A few days ago, when he had first emerged out of his baby fantasy land, Chris had come to the door to find it locked, with a decidedly nervous Sammy behind it and bedsheets clearly strewn on the floor.  Roxanne would not have been happy, Chris had thought then.  But something wasn’t adding up.

Samantha wasn’t the sloppy one, Brianna was.  Bri was the precocious one, the sloppy one, the artist and free spirit in the family.  Chris could bet 50 bucks that Bri’s room was a pig sty right this second, with toys strewn about her bedroom floor and a bed that resembled a bird’s nest rather than a little girls’ room.  Roxanne had lovingly joked on more than one occasion that if she had had Brianna first, Samantha would never have been born.

Sammy was the polite one, the neat one, the people pleaser and future socialite.  When she was three, Sammy would literally play “Clean the room” instead of actually playing with toys.  So why had her door been locked, and her sheets on the floor?  There hadn’t been any other mess in the room.

“You know why” a little voice in the back of Chris’s mind whispered.  “You just don’t want to admit it.”

“She was just playing a dumb kid game, was all”, Chris whispered back to the voice, a voice that he wasn’t sure was his conscience or something else.

“She had the sheets wrapped around her like a diaper,” the voice persisted.  “That’s why the door was locked.  That’s why it took her a minute to get to the door.  That’s why the sheets were on the floor.  She panicked, ripped them from her waist and dropped them to the floor.  She’s just lucky that she wasn’t bold enough to put them on under her pants yet.  You know it’s true.”

Chris only shook his head mutely.  Maybe he was going insane.

“You’re not going crazy,” the voice whispered.  “You’re just a freak.”  Chris knew that wasn’t his voice he was hearing anymore.  “Look on the bright side, you’re not the only freak in your family.”  Chris did the best he could to ignore the voice as he scanned the room.  He was looking for something.

“That’s right,” the voice coaxed.  “Prove me right.  Prove us both right.  Find those diapers she stole from the garbage.”  Chris eyed the bed.  Had Sammy’s pillows always been that fluffy?  Or had she slipped in some extra padding..  He had to know, to be sure, and so he inched closer to the bed.

“Jackpot,” Chris heard the voice proclaim inside of him.  As he got closer, he thought he saw a familiar flash of white plastic coming from inside the pillow case.  Slowly, like he was reaching for a coiled snake, Chris’s hand drifted towards the pillow, somehow knowing what would be contained within.

“Chris?” a voice snuck up behind him.  “What are you doing in my room?”  Chris whirled around.

“Sammy!” Chris yelped.  It took everything he had to make sure his eyes didn’t dart nervously around the room like he was looking for an excuse.  He found himself biting his tongue just so the words ‘This isn’t what it looks like’ wouldn’t come pouring out of his mouth.  What came out instead was, “I was just looking for you!”

“Why?”  Now it was Sammy’s turn to look uneasy.  

“Oh, you know,” Chris hemmed and hawed, sticking his hands back into his pockets.  His fingertips came alive at the feeling of fake paper money crammed into his pockets.  Then he remembered the encounter with the crazy old magician less than an hour previous.  

“Thought we might play a game, y’know, for old time’s sake.” Chris suggested.

“What game?” Sammy asked, her eyes wandering past Chris and to the pillow on her bed.  

“Monopoly!” Chris proclaimed with fake enthusiasm as he reached into his pockets and threw wads of paper money into the air.  “Ta-da!”  From the look on Samantha’s face, she was either bewildered or bemused and couldn’t quite decide which.

“You. Are. So. Weird.” she finally decided.  

“That’s me,” Chris confirmed, “lately anyways,” he added in mostly to himself.  “So whaddya say, kiddo?”  Samantha got that look on her face that told Chris she wanted to refuse but didn’t want to hurt his feelings.  Bri would have just said nope, turned around and walked away.  Then again, Bri, Chris suspected wasn’t hiding a Depends that was still too big for her under her pillow.

“Don’t ask me how I know this, but I really, reeeeaally need to play Monopoly with you and Bri, right now.”
“Look, maybe it’s the meds I’m on or something,” Chris lied, “but I want, no, need, to play a game of Monopoly with you and Bri.  And I have a feeling, the sooner, the better.”  Now it was time for Samantha’s eyes to dart around in discomfort.  Chris figured it was time to turn the tide of this conversation.

“I am willing to bribe you, both of you.” Chris added.

“How?” Now Sammy was interested.  “Money?”

“Better,” Chris replied

“Better than cash?” Samantha asked.  Now, she was interested.  

“I have a car, independence, and more free time than a third and fifth grader-“

“Sixth grader,” Samantha corrected.

“-soon to be sixth grader,” Chris allowed, “are given.  If I give you cash, you can spend it however you like, but Roxanne and Dad,” Chris paused for emphasis, everyone in the Cole family knew who the hard case in the family was, “will be there supervising you at whatever store you go into.”  Chris waited to let it sink in.  It was time to take a gamble that this version of Sammy had the same sneaky streak that his “big sister” variant from his time as a big baby possessed.

“Play one game of Monopoly with me, and I’ll go to any store you want and buy something for you, without your mom or Dad knowing.  No judgement, no questions asked.  Our secret.  You don’t even have to tell me right away what you want.”  

  He saw a glimmer in her eyes and recognized it instantly.  It was the glimmer of greed.  A flash of hunger in those eyes.  Though secretly he hoped it was something more PG, like a CD of a band that her parents wouldn’t approve of, Chris thought he already knew what his sister was thinking of.

“Same deal for Brianna?”  Samantha asked for clarification.

“Same deal for both of my little sisters.” Chris confirmed.  He was so close to closing the deal, he could feel it.

“Does Bri get to know what you’d be getting me?”  Sammy looked worried.

“Not at all.  The only person who’d know is me.  Neither of you would know what I’m getting for the other.”  Then his mind flashed to advertisements he saw on certain websites that no longer existed anymore.  “Discretion guaranteed.”  That seemed to do the trick.  Samantha finished wrestling with herself.

“Deal.” she said.

“Wait…” Chris added, forgetting a detail, just in case his hunch was wrong.  “It can’t be anything illegal.  I’m not buying you beer, cigarettes or drugs.”  He was still a big brother after all.

“Deal.” Sammy reconfirmed.

Within five minutes of searching, and the offer of a bribe to Bri, Chris found himself sitting at the kitchen table, the Monopoly board unfolded.  To his left was Sammy who was busily sorting out and organizing the various properties, and to his right was Brianna who was readily sorting the crumpled Monopoly money that Chris has been clutching in his hand.  

“This better be worth it,” Chris muttered to no one in particular; still hoping that somewhere the ridiculous old man was somehow listening.

“What’d you say, Chris?” Sammy asked, looking up from the Park Place property deed.

“I said thanks guys.  I needed to get my mind off…stuff.  I’ll make sure it’s worth it.”  

Sammy seemed to accept this.  Bri just kept sorting and absent mindedly shook her head.  

“Weird,” was all she said matter of factly.  Then she started dealing out the money.  But rather than start out with with the gray 1’s or the ever popular orange 500’s, Brianna started dealing out turquoise 20’s.

“One for Chris, one for Sammy, one for me.” Bri said, giving each of them a single “20 dollar” Monopoly Bill.

“Bri, we’re supposed to have six 20’s,” Samantha started to chide the youngest sibling.  “And you’re supposed to start with five ones, and….”

“Shhhhh,” Brianna quirkily replied.  “I’m working on it.”

“One, two for Chris, one two for Sammy, one, two for me.” Brianna said, not breaking rhythm.  Now each of them had three “20 dollar” Monopoly Bills.  

“Briiii,” Sammy whined.  “While we’re all young, please?”

“Hold on a sec,” Chris motioned for the older of the two to stop.  “I think she’s on to something.”  The wheels in Chris’s mind started turning.

“Oh my god,” Sammy’s eyes practically rolled out of her head.  “Are you serious?”  Despite Samantha’s protestations, Brianna went on as if her older siblings weren’t even there.

“One, two, three, for Chris.  One, two, three for Sammy.  One, two, three for me.”   Now finally, each player had six “20’s”.    

“Bri, why ARE you dealing like that?”  Chris finally had to ask.

“I dunno,” Bri shrugged.  Just seemed like a fun game within a game for me.  “Reminds me of something I saw on a cartoon one time.”

“Pfft,” Samantha griped, “real mature, Bri.”

Chris vaguely remembered a bit like that from a long forgotten cartoon show.  

“Yeah, Bri,” Chris said, “But isn’t that supposed to go something like, ‘One for you and one for me; two for you and one, two for me?  That way, you get three bills, when I only get two and six bills when I only get three?”

Brianna shrugged.  “Yeah, but that didn’t seem fair.”  

“Actually,” Samantha joined the conversation in earnest this time. “It kind of reminds me of a pattern we learned in math class earlier this year.”

Chris was great at memorizing the causes and diagnosis of various ailments, and great at running computations, but something wasn’t quite clicking.

“You mean like ABC, ABC, ABC, on and on again?” Chris asked indicating each sibling around the table as either A, B, or C.

“No!” both sisters scoffed in unison, incredulous that their brother wouldn’t recognize such a simple pattern.

“You’re thinking of a repeating pattern, Chris,” his fifth grade sister lectured.  “Bri’s doing a growing pattern.”

A lightbulb went on in Chris’s brain.
“You mean instead of A, B, A, B, A, B…” he took a breath. “The pattern is A, B, AA, BB, AAA, BBB, and so on?”  Each time, he motioned to himself as “A” and the formerly empty spot across from him at the kitchen table now, occupied by Wubby, as “B”.

“Well,” Sammy corrected, “In this case, i Bri’s pattern would be A, B, C, AA, BB, CC, AAA, BBB, CCC,”. She motioned between them indicating Chris as A, herself as B, and Brianna as C.  

Chris was already doing the math inside his head and paying no attention to Samantha’s correction.  How could he have been so oblivious?  So stupid? He jumped out of his seat.  “Bri! Sammy!  You a two are geniuses!” he exclaimed before sprinting upstairs to his room.

“Hey!” Sammy called after him, “What about the game?”

“Just a second,” Chris called down, “I gotta check something on my calendar.”

“Okay,” he heard Bri’s voice echoing, “but I’m getting bored!”

“Just keep dealing!” Chris shouted, “Even if we don’t play, I’ll bribe you later!”

“Kay!” both of them agreed.

Chris slammed and locked his door behind him.  Digging through his desk like a badger, he was able to rummage out a pen and paper.  With frantic strokes he sketched out a rough grid, representing a calendar.  He hadn’t had an actual concrete physical calendar since he was in middle school, so he had to make one from scratch.  He only needed this month anyways, so a simple grid would suffice.  He put in the numbers and the dates, and then labeled the two part of each column “Monday”, “Tuesday”, “Wednesday”, and so on.    
Finally, being thorough to the point of anal retentiveness, Chris made one final Key in the bottom right corner.
A= Adult Day
B= Baby Day
Chris glanced up and saw that Wubby had once again appeared on his bed, practically spying over his shoulder.  At this point, Wubby was one of the few things that actually didn’t surprise Chris.  He turned back and stared at the bear, and thought about the Depends that his father had found under the sink in his bathroom.  

“Not worth the risk”, Chris decided before quickly ripping the bottom right corner clean off his homemade calendar and making a quick trip to his personal bathroom to flush the key down the toilet.  He would just have to remember what A and B meant for the purposes of this exercise.  Feeling more secure in himself, Chris took a deep breath as he put the pen down to the paper and began to recall the recent events in his formerly normal life.

“One for A” he said, pointing to the Calendar of his first day of Summer Break. The day after he had turned in his last term paper, thrown out all of his adult baby diapers, signed out of his adult baby message boards and come home.  He had spent the majority of the day driving home from college, but there had been absolutely zero baby stuff in his life at that point.  A completely normal day. A total purge. Not coincidentally, he now felt, it was that night that he had re-found Wubby, bejeweled eyes and all.

“One for B”, he moved to the next day.  When he woke up in a giant crib, in a giant wet Pampers, was taken to the library, pooped his pants in front of his sisters, babysat by Sherry and then put back to bed.

“One, two, for A”, he counted the next two days of the week.  The first day of being bewildered that no one remembered him as a baby anymore, and then him making a series of assumptions, which led to Sherry walking in on him in a wet but very adult diaper, and him outing himself as a diaper wearer- even though for some reason she already knew that.  But still other than that, it was two really mundane days.  Except for that night he began searching the old sites to find out that they didn’t exist anymore.  He had started to have a panic attack, crying and even peeing himself up until…

“Midnight,” Chris hissed under his breath.  The beginning of a new day.  That’s when reality shifted and he found himself back in the nursery again, with Roxanne tending to his needs of a clean diaper and a dry bed.  And he spent the next day as a giant baby.

“And the next, Chris muttered to himself, before groaning “Angela,” and shuddering in revulsion at what the little terror had put him through.  Still, that was “One, two, for B”.  And he had been ultimately victorious against the kid, even to the point where she got a taste of what it was like to be dressed up against her will again.  Chris had been drifting off to sleep that night, victorious, until…

“Shit…” Chris whispered.  “Til Midnight.  Start of a new day”.  That’s when reality had shifted underneath him again, and Chris had gone from a comfy crib to a confining hospital bed, and everyone had seen him as an adult…one who had had a nervous breakdown because his last active act as an adult was to be throwing an absolute temper tantrum and pissing all over himself.
  He spent the next morning receiving visitors, and being confronted by his family, and a terrible near sleepless night being observed.
“That’s one,” then got out of the hospital today, and came home.  
“That’s two,” He marked today’s date and yesterday with an “A”.  He marked the next day with an “A?”.

“And if I’m right, that’s three for A as of tomorrow.  Which means after tomorrow, there will be three days of…” he dared not voice his hopes aloud.

He logged into his computer, and got into g-chat.  Sherry was on, thank goodness.  Worst case scenario, he could at least make plans with her.
Cole4.0: Hey!
SunnySher: Hey you!   How’d it go?
Cole4.0: Went well enough.  Not a lot of talking, but no shouting either.
SunnySher:  Good enough, I guess.
Cole4.0: Change of subject?
SunnySher:  Sure, what’s up?
Cole4.0:  Date?
SunnySher: When?
Cole4.0:  Tonight’s no good.  Gotta show family I’m sane tonight.  Tomorrow night?
SunnySher:  Uh..yeah!
Cole4.0:  Dinner?  Movie?
SunnySher:  You bet!  When do you wanna pick me up?
Cole4.0:  Late.  Pick you up at 7:30?  Dinner by 8:00?  Movie by 9:30?
SunnySher:  So if you were to drop me home, right after, it’d be what? 12:00?
Cole4.0:  Yeah about that time.
SunnySher:  Aren’t you worried about your folks?
Cole4.0:  Nope
SunnySher:  They gonna be worried about you?
Cole4.0: Not if they know I’m with you.  You can be my
Chris hesitated a moment, then typed in “babysitter”.
SunnySher: Ha…ha…that was so funny I forgot to lol.
Cole4.0:  Would you have preferred to be my “chaperone?”
SunnySher:  …..ew…no chaperone sounds old.  I’ll take babysitter.
Cole4.0: My sexy, sexy babysitter.
SunnySher:  You are definitely feeling better.
Cole4.0:  I feel like I’ve gotten a little perspective all of a sudden.  See you tomorrow night?
SunnySher: Tomorrow night it is!
Cole4.0:  Gotta go crush some kids at Monopoly
SunnySher: Have fun. Love you! Bye!
Cole4.0: Love you too! Bye!

Chris logged off, and didn’t even flinch when he found Wubby right by his desktop.  “And if I’m right about this, Wubby,” Chris licked his lips, “Right after my date, the fun really begins again.”

“Maybe it does, and maybe it doesn’t” a voice inside Chris whispered back, non chalantly.  “It’ll only be temporary though.  Doesn’t change things here, does it?”  

Chris smirked.  “You overplayed your hand this time, Wubby.  Now if you’ll excuse me,” he bowed mockingly, “I have a game of Monopoly to play with my sisters,” and with that he walked triumphantly out of the room.

“Dumb kid,” Wubby’s blue eye whispered to the red one, “he still thinks we’re the bear.”

“One can hardly blame him,” the red eye responded back.  “He’s right about one thing though.  You did overplay your hand this round.


“Obviously. You’ve made clear harsh truths about his father and his sister over the course of two days.  A similar blow on the third day tomorrow runs the risk of pushing him to my side of the fence when his moon is up.”

“Let him have his third straight day.  Let him stew in what he’s learned.  He’ll benefit from it.” The blue stone said.

“How do you figure it won’t just push him to my end of the pool?” the red one inquired.

“Found out about his sister early, didn’t he?” the blue eye lectured.  “He’s not alone anymore if you ask him.  But if he chooses you to win this Game, then she’ll be the one that’s alone and confused.

“Oh my!” the red one practically shrieked with the delight.  “You’ve become a bit of a bastard with this one, haven’t you?”

“I work with what I’m given,” the blue one humble bragged.

“This will be quite a Game indeed.”


Mature Content

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                                   Chapter 22: Car Trouble

“Chris?” a soft voice beckoned to Chris from the quiet soft womb of his sleep.  “Chris?  Baby, wake up.”  Chris felt a soft, feminine hand gently shake his shoulder.  He simply rocked in the cradle of his dreams. “Chris, baby?” the voice persisted.  “You need to wake up, now.” The voice, Sherry, was not doting or overly gentle, and becoming more insistent with each syllable. Chris’s slumber began to shake from a gentle cradle rocking to an earth quake.  His breath caught in his chest as he snorted and was being roused.  
   His exhausted mind went from the tired hibernation of a dreamless sleep to a kind of restful alertness.  His mind was becoming active before his body, and he entered a kind of panic mode.  ‘What was happening?’ his consciousness vaguely wondered.  Were they home yet? But if so, why the urgency in Sherry’s voice?  Were they in some kind of car crash?  Doubtful, Sherry was starting to nag him, but she’d be screaming if it were a real emergency.  Perhaps he was wetting in his sleep again, only now without the protection of an adult diaper to shield the upholstery of Sherry’s car.  That made sense to Chris.  
  ‘But wait a minute,’ Chris wondered to himself as his body unconsciously shifted with each of the gentle shakes his girlfriend was administering him, ‘I don’t really have that problem, that’s just the story I’m going-‘

   “NOW!” Sherry’s voice practically shouted, breaking Chris from his train of thought.  It wasn’t a half-second later that Christopher Cole IV opened his eyes.  
   “I’M NOT A BABY!”  Chris shouted at the top of his lungs as he sat forward.  His eyes for at least the second time today glanced down at his crotch expecting to see a spreading wet spot or feel the bulkiness of a diaper between his thighs.  When he was rewarded with neither sight, he was met with a slight giggle coming from Sherry.

   “Hon,” Sherry chided with a condescending chuckle,  “It’s been like, 10 minutes, tops.”  She shook her head in amusement, the sound of concern in her voice completely erased.  “Nobody wets in their sleep THAT quickly.  Well maybe a baby, but that’s less like bedwetting and more like going to the bathroom one last time before bed.”  Chris shrunk down in his seat little, Sherry’s words hitting closer to home than she realized.

   “Oh, yeah, right,” Chris said, trying to shake the cobwebs out of his head. “So why’d you wake me up?” he asked still bleary eyed.  He looked out the passenger side window of Sherry’s car and noticed that the scenery wasn’t moving.  The car wasn’t moving either, he noticed as his senses started to wake up with the rest of him.  The air wasn’t on, and there wasn’t the low hum of the engine slightly and subtly reverberating through the floor.
Chris gave a big audible yawn that echoed through his head right as Sherry started talking.  She was definitely going to have to repeat that.  “We ow a ass,” Sherry sounded like over his yawn. But that didn’t make much sense, did it?  Damn, but Chris was drained. He had pulled more than his fair share of all-nighters studying for exams and finishing term papers, but the following day was usually a walking crash waiting to happen.  Wait…

  “Did we just crash?!” Chris asked, the blood beginning to pump through his veins again; a small shot of adrenaline racing to his brain.  Sherry, for her part just shook her head as if he had asked one of the world’s dumbest questions.

   “Does it look like we had a crash?” she gestured around.  They were on the side of the road, but other than the car being immobile and definitely off, there was no sign of a collision.  Chris’s eyes beheld no car, nor semi, nor tree, or even a ditch.

“I said,” Sherry paused for emphasis, “We’re out of gas.”

“Oh,” Chris replied almost stupidly.  “How did that happen?”

“The tank read as full,” she told him, “I think my gas gauge must be broken.”

Chris heaved a sigh, now becoming weary once the threat of immediate danger had been disproved.  “How far to the nearest gas station?” Chris asked, already unbuckling his seat belt.  He was going to have to walk to the nearest one, buy a can to fill up with gasoline so he could walk back and fill up the car.  It was a great topping on the shit sandwich that his last few days had been since waking up in a psych ward.
Sherry placed her arm on his chest to stop him from moving.  

“Whoah whoah whoah, easy babe,” Sherry said looking into his eyes, a sympathetic smile lining her lips.  “I’ll go get the gas.  I was only waking you so that you wouldn’t be freaked out if you woke up in a hot car and I wasn’t there.”

“Seriously?” Chris asked, guiltily feeling a little relieved that he wouldn’t have to trek down the road and back.

“Yeah,” Sherry confirmed, “You look like you feel terrible.  I’m not letting you do that to yourself.  I mean, I’d normally like the company, but I don’t think you’d be up for making the trip. Besides,” she added, “the nearest gas station is only like a mile, mile and a half away.  So it’s not that far.”

  Chris was too tired to pull any macho but-I’m-the-man stunts.  Laying back in a car with a window opened for the time it would take Sherry to reach a gas station and back would suck, but it wouldn’t drain the life out of him like making the journey himself would.  His eyes were already closing of their own accord when Sherry said…

“Wait, what’s that noise?”  Sherry asked, her head tilting to the side.
“What noise?” Chris asked, not hearing anything.
“Just listen”.  And so they did.

At first Chris couldn’t hear anything.  He had to open the passenger door and take a step out to even hear anything outside the car.  Sherry had already taken similar initiative.  The stretch of road that they were on was unusually placid this time of day.  Either lunch hour traffic had just ended, or had yet to truly begin.  Then, faintly, Chris heard it.  It was quiet at first, and then louder, and louder.

Putta-putta-pop-putta-putta-pop-putta-pop-putta-pop-putta-pop-pop-pop-pop!  It was a bubbling, burbling noise that was almost cheery or whimsical in nature.  It was the sort of perfect, not quite real bubbling sound that was in the background of every fake mad scientist’s lab in every cheesy kids cartoon.  
Pop-pop-pop-putta-putta-pop-putta-putta-pop-putta-pop-pop-pop-pop!  It was almost happy, like whatever contraption, and it was a contraption, somehow Chris knew this, was built more as an amusement than for any practical reason.  

Then, on the horizon, the vehicle came into view.  “No. Way.” Sherry giggled in disbelief.  “Chris, you gotta see this!”  Chris fixed his gaze where Sherry had been looking and made out the shape of a car.  But it wasn’t anything even close to modern. It looked like a polished up, near mint condition, Ford Model-T, all steel boxes with four wheels on the bottom.   It didn’t vroom as much as it chugged along the highway, and Chris thought that it looked more like it belonged in a vintage cartoon, than a history reel.  It seemed to sway as it moved, with a gentle rocking motion, almost as if the thing were alive, and jauntily bobbing its head.  The car wasn’t driving, as much as it seemed to be taking a stroll.

What really caught Chris’s eye, though, was the driver.  He was old, at least eighty if he was a day.  And even from this distance, Chris could make out the devilish goatee and the shock of white hair coming out from under the top hat that completed his silhouette.  Chris’s mind flashed back to what had only been a few days ago and remembered the mall.  

“Oh no,” Chris said before opening his door back up to slide back inside the car.  “Oh no, no, no, no!”  

“Chris, we need to flag him down,” Sherry insisted.

“Sherry, this guy is trouble, trust me!”  Chris practically yelped.  

“How could he be trouble?” Sherry replied incredulously, “He looks older than my grandpa, I think we could take him.”  Chris was having none of this and shut his car door, and actually locked the door as though that might accomplish something.  “Also,” she added, “poor people don’t drive in cars that poor people drove like a hundred years ago, rich people do.  Maybe he can help us.”

“He’s crazy!” Chris shrieked with rising panic.  
“When you’re rich, it’s called eccentric!” Sherry countered.  Sherry just didn’t understand.  There was something off about this guy.  He had run across this guy in the mall just the other day, and the looks he gave Chris, the conspiratorial winks; the slight ribbing and the way he had phrased things to Bri and Roxanne.  Chris had known somehow, that the old man in the mall with his goofy getup and magic tricks had seen Chris for what he really was, and past the lie.  He had known that Chris wasn’t really a baby, but a young man in diapers.  That thought alone made Chris want to piss himself, and not in the fun way.

 Chris was about to retort when his own thoughts were drowned out by the ‘putta-putta-pop-pop-putta-pop-putta-putta-putta-pop’ of the strolling jalopy that had pulled up right behind Sherry’s car on the side of the road.  He had pulled over!  Chris couldn’t stop himself from mouthing the words ‘oh no’ again and again.  
  He glanced in the rear view mirror, as the Model-T’s ignition shut down and ‘putta-pops’ ceased.  The old man was out of the car, and walking forward.  Chris made out the baggy black pants with the purple stripes, and the white wingtip shoes.  He tilted the mirror to take in the red and yellow checkered shirt, covered by the red and black polka-dot vest.  Sherry had ignored Chris’s warnings and was already walking toward the crazy old coot, oblivious to the danger he must present.  

   He whipped his head around to see with his own eyes and suddenly spotted Wubby in the back seat.  The bear, who hadn’t been there before, Chris knew, was silently smiling up at him with its thin thread stitching and mismatched ruby and sapphire eyes.  Furthermore, it was now holding the bag of psychiatric medications that had been prescribed to him in his stuffed stubby arms.  The unexpected surprise, combined with elements that were increasingly becoming beyond Chris’s ability to control, sent him into a minor panic attack.

  “Shit!” Chris jumped, and then practically hurled himself out of the car, face first into the dirt.  It was as if Chris had thought the car was moving at 100 miles an hour with no breaks and was about to crash and the only way to save himself was to fling himself from the hurtling metal casket.  It would have been slightly amusing if it hadn’t been so sad.  

   Chris oomphed as he landed almost directly on his face and felt the wind knocked out of him.  The world came up in spots and flashes.  A whining ringing sound filled his ears and his chest hurt as he tried to breathe.  He felt Sherry’s gentle, feminine hands grab his shoulder and start to lead him to his feet.

   “Young man, are you alright?” a voice of a concerned old man came through the ringing.  Chris’s vision cleared, and he found himself staring face to face with that all too familiar face.

   “Wizard!” Chris sucked in his breath.  The codger winked at him in return.  

  “Not quite,” the whispered in a tone that Chris was sure only he could hear.  “Why Mister Cole,” he spoke up in a voice that both Sherry and Chris could hear, “It’s so good to see you again.  How was the hospital?”  
   Sherry was by Chris’s side and engaging.   “Chris, you know this guy?”

   “Oh, I’ve known Chris since he was in diapers,” the strange old man replied, his cat-that-ate-the-canary smile coming into full bloom.  “Why it seems like just a few days ago, earlier this week in fact.”
   Chris just stuttered and stammered, utterly flabbergasted.  What could he say? ‘Sorry hon, but the last few days I’ve been flipping back and forth from being normal and being a giant baby.  This guy’s in on the secret for some reason.  I think he’s magic’.  Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen.

  “What?” Sherry voiced her own disbelief.  “Chris, you never told me you knew this guy.  Is that why you didn’t want to see him?”

    “,” Chris stuttered.  His own whimpering was drowned out by the old man’s laughter.

     “Bwahahahahaha!”  the old man chortled before wiping his eyes.  “I’m terribly sorry about that, young man,” he said in his not-quite English accent.  “I didn’t mean to put you in a spot with your lady-friend.”  He turned to Sherry.  “I’ve never met this young man in my life.  I’m just an old humbug having fun at a young man’s expense.”

   “But how?” Sherry asked, letting her question hand in the air

   “I do believe introductions are in order,” the ridiculously dressed man spoke, carrying all the pomp of a performer about to go into a spiel.  “My name is Professor Bumble, owner and proprietor of Professor Bumble’s Very Humble Auto Shop and MAAAAAAAAAGIC EMPORIUM” the last words echoed out into the open air.  He flicked his wrist and produced a business card.  Chris eyed the ring on his finger, and saw that this time it was a sparkling blue sapphire.

   “You’re a..” Sherry searched for the word.

  “I’m a magician,” Professor Bumble helped her, “I magish.”   Sherry returned the joke with a short polite laugh through her nose.  Chris didn’t even favor him with that much.

  “Yeah…but- “ Sherry started to say.

 “How did I know?” the magician interrupted, “Well as L. Frank Baum pointed out, most magic is the result of clever observation and the manipulation of perception.”  He gestured towards Chris.  “I deduced Mr. Cole’s name because I was fortunate enough to glimpse the name on his basketball jersey.”  He stroked his beard in thought.  “I don’t recognize the colors, so I’d guess that is your high school jersey, but that you’re not in high school anymore.  You’re not tall enough to play college ball either.”

 “Wow, you’re good,” Sherry complimented the strange figure in front of them.

  “How’d you know about the hospital?”  Chris found himself being drawn in.  He desperately wanted to believe this was all coincidence, but couldn’t allow himself.

  “It’s the only major landmark within miles of here.” Professor Bumble said with an admittedly professorial tone.  “That, and I noticed the bear with the prescription medicine in the backseat while your girlfriend was picking you up off the ground.  You’re a little old for a Teddy, but that looks like a boy’s bear to me.  I’m presuming it’s a childhood toy to comfort you during your stay.”

   Sherry was about to open her mouth to ask something, when a withered hand was raised to cut her off.

  “I’m an old man, my dear,” Bumble smiled, not unkindly.  “I’ve been around long enough to notice how a young lady looks at a young man.  Friends and relatives don’t look at friends and relatives like you did to him when he tripped and fell on his way to meet us.  There’s attraction there, and more than a little love.”

  Sherry didn’t blush as much as she lightly glowed, and shrugged her shoulders.  “Meh, fair.” Then she looked down at the business card in her hand.  “So you’re a magician,” she paused, “….. and an auto mechanic?”

  “It’s admittedly a niche market,” Professor Bumble replied, “but you’d be surprised how popular it’s becoming.”

  “I thought you ran the arcade at the mall,” Chris jumped in.  He immediately felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.  He turned to Sherry.  She had already cocked an eyebrow to ask him the question.  “Bri told me about the new arcade.  The name Professor Bumble kind of leaves an impression.”

 “Played like a true player of the Game,” the Professor remarked; his grin going from catlike to shark smile in an instant.  Chris’s ears pricked up.  His brain heard the capital G in that last word.

“What game?” Sherry and Chris both asked simultaneously.

“Why Game of magic!” the codger chuckled.  “It’s all about altering perceptions! You remembered something that you heard, and presented this information at the right time so that it seemed you were more informed than either I or your lady friend assumed.  As soon as your audience believes you know more than you really do, you’ve already got them half way entranced.  

“Yes,” he went on, “I am the proprietor of that establishment as well.  Get them hooked on magic young, get them hooked on magic old.  Young or old, it doesn’t matter in my eyes.  Young or old.  You’re a little bit of both, aren’t you Mr. Cole?  Oh yes. You, Mr. Cole, you’re a regular ‘Whizzzzzzard’!”  And then he began to belly laugh at a joke that only he and Chris could possibly understand.  His laughter was cut short as a flock of white doves burst from his top hat, fluttering and flapping into the sky.

 “Damn,” he swore.  “I need to stop losing birds.”  He removed his top hat from his head and shook a pillow’s worth of feathers out.  The awkwardness of the situation just spread with the feathers in the air.

   “Ummm…you said you were an auto mechanic?”  Sherry prompted.  “I think my gas gauge broke.  My car won’t work.  Any chance you could help us out?”

   “Oh…of course!” The old man lit up, before reaching into his hat and literally taking out a lit light bulb.  He pointed to it with his free index finger, his eyebrows mugging for the young couple.  “That just gave me an idea!”

Chris couldn’t take much more.  This was getting more ludicrous by the moment.

 “OKAY!”  Chris blurted out.  “We get it, you’re a magician, now can you please stop clowning around?!”

 The old man stopped, and the bulb went dim.  Chris heard a quiet thunder rumbling in the distance.  “I am NOT…” the bulb exploded in the old man’s hand, “a clown.” Chris and Sherry just stood there, eyes wide, both uncomfortable, with only Chris suspecting that there was more going on here than an eccentric old man with a magic act. There was a pause, and all was dark. Then sunshine seemed to come back into the world.

 “Now, let’s see about getting you two back on the road and on the right path, shall we?” Professor Bumble smiled walking towards their car. Chris and Sherry only looked at each other in disbelief as the hood to Sherry’s car was popped open.

  “Now let’s see what seems to be the problem,” Bumble said putting his face under the hood.   Jets of purple, yellow, and green smoke blasted out from under the hood.  Sherry’s car engine had just become a pyrotechnics display at a rock concert.  The old man’s head snapped back, and he began coughing and sputtering.  

   “Seems like a clown to me,” Sherry whispered to Chris.

  “Shhhh!”  Chris hissed at her.  “He’ll hear you.”  

   Professor Bumble stumbled out of the techno-color display, his face now tie-dyed save for his ivory beard and mustache.  He coughed a bit, and snorted green and purple smoke from his nostrils.  He seemed to have his a fist full of wadded pieces of paper.

   “Well, I found your problem,” the old humbug said, “It seems your engine was clogged with” he coughed, “Monopoly money.”  He held out his hand as though to prove it.  Sure enough, he had wads of ‘500’ ‘100’ and ‘50’ dollar bills, all colored yellow and blue and more than paper-thin.  “Go start your car.”

  “Seriously?” Sherry asked the old man.  “I’m pretty sure it’s the gas gauge.”

  “Go try it,” he gestured, “if it doesn’t work, I’ll pay for a tow truck myself.”

  Sherry looked at Chris.  Chris nodded his consent, and Sherry walked back to the driver’s seat.  The old magician leaned in and spoke quietly to Chris

  “The Game is very confusing, I realize,” Professor Bumble spoke confidentially, almost comfortingly, “but if you’re going to play it, you need to figure out the rules.”

  “What game? And what are the rules?” Chris asked.  Finally, this guy was being upfront.

  “I can’t tell you right now. Otherwise I’d be breaking the rules,” the Professor answered.  “Figure out the basics first, then come to me when you’re ready.”  

   Sherry’s car roared to life while she turned the key.  “Hey, hon!” Sherry yelled over her car,  “Don’t ask me how, but it worked!”  She waved to him.  Chris waved back.  The old guy was starting to talk straight, now was not the time for interruptions.

  “Awesome!” Chris waved back. “I’ll pay him.” He turned to the geezer.  “How the hell do I figure that out?” Chris whispered.

   Professor Bumble did a half shrug.  “Take your time, and pay attention instead of getting wrapped up in everything.  In the meantime,” he placed the crumpled play money in Chris’s hands, “go play with your sisters; perhaps as the big brother, this time.  Monopoly’s a kids’ game, but not for babies I’d imagine.”

   Chris knew a hint when he heard one.   “Ooooooookay,” he said.  “How much do I owe you for the car?”

   “Oh nothing,” the magician waved off the question, “this one’s on the house.  Remember, you have my card when you’re ready.”  Chris instinctively reached behind his ear and grasped at nothing.  He looked at the old man.  “You must not be ready yet,” he said.  Safe travels, my boy.  Safe travels.”

  Then the old man abruptly ran back to his Model-T, started it up, and sped off.  This time, there was no “putta-putta-pop”.  This time the car did not sway back and forth like it was on a leisurely stroll.  Instead it zipped off like a racecar with an engine that roared like a lion.

The adrenaline from seeing the old man once again, vanished as quickly as the Model-T did on the horizon.  Chris was tired again.  Perhaps more tired than he had ever been.  But he had work to do.  It was only a clue, but he felt he was on the verge of a breakthrough of making sense of the madhouse his life had turned into.

Completely numb and emotionally drained, Chris dragged himself to the car and slid into the passenger side seat and buckling up.

“That was really weird,” Sherry told Chris.

“I know.” Chris agreed.  
“No wonder you wanted to avoid that guy.”

“Yup.”  Chris sucked on his top lip.

“Did we just get punked or something?”


“Well, what do we do now?”  Sherry asked.  

Chris sighed, “Let’s go home.  Maybe play some Monopoly.”


“YOU HAVE HAD YOUR MOON!” the two voices boomed in the streets of San Francisco.  “NOW CHOOSE!”   Joseph Abraham Norton stood in the street, dripping in a cold sweat.  It was time.  He had known it was coming, but did not want to decide, not yet.  Please not yet.  

To one side of him on the street was a crown, glowing red with the heat of the San Francisco summer.  He knew that if he put that crown on his head, he would reign as Emperor Norton the 1st of America.  He would rule over America with plans to conquer both Canada and Mexico.  Soon an entire continent would bow to him.  Better than that, no one would ever seem to remember that it should be any other way.

To the other side was a simple wooden cross, painted blue, with the paint already peeling, and from it came the chill of a rainy night.  The life that simple cross offered was the exact opposite of salvation.  His life had been ruined, his business in shambles, and people thought him a gibbering madman.  At best, he was a town mockery.  Why did the damn idol take the form of a cross?  Was it mocking him, and his Christian sensibilities?

 Damn his idleness, and damn his daydreaming for wanting something bigger than being a businessman.   Damn him for thinking, wishing even, that things be different than they are.  This world was no place for dreamers, it turned out, lest those dreams find a way to haunt you.

  He licked his lips in temptation and leaned towards the crown.  Then he thought better of it and withdrew.

 “No,” he declared.  “I have lived as Emperor.  But the war I’d unleash would be too much.  Too many people would die so that I might reign supreme.   I might make a good ruler, and fix this blasted country, but too many would suffer for my vanity.  I will not have that on my conscience.  I will not have that on my soul!”
     Joseph reached into the air and plucked the pauper’s cross from it, holding it to his bosom.

“This is my cross to bear.  If I must choose between being Royalty or ruined, so be it.  Better me than an entire continent.  I’ll keep up this act.”   And then the world conformed to his choice, as Joseph Norton’s clothes became the rags of a ruined pauper, and people passed him by, pointing and laughing about the article he had “written” proclaiming himself Emperor.  He shed a single tear, and then smiled.  He had a lot of work to do.

And so that Game was played:

Though he was a pauper.  “Emperor” Joseph Norton became a curiosity and even tourist attraction of his age, claiming to be the rightful Emperor of the United States.  Local restaurants accepted money that he made himself as legal tender, and he dressed in fine clothes given to him by the local government to enhance his reputation and stature.  

Once, when he was arrested as a madman for his claims to the throne, the Police Chief released him, saying “that he had shed no blood, robbed no one, and despoiled no country; which is more than can be said of his fellows in that line.”  From then on, the policemen of San Francisco were required to salute him as he walked by.

When he died, it is estimated over 10,000 people attended his funeral.
So, I'm having a kid.  A real one.

On that note, I'd get a kick if anyone was interested in commissioning me.  If I could tell my future son one day that I paid for his diapers by writing about diapers, I feel like a winner .  More stories to come, regardless.

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Pick Up

Christopher Cole IV sat in a wheelchair the next morning, being wheeled out of the hospital, a bag of prescription medication in his lap and the morose expression of a condemned man approaching the gallows on his face.   His lie to the girls about not sleeping well turned out to be a self-fulfilling prophecy, and he had witnessed the sun set the previous night and rise this morning without even a hint of sleep to comfort him.

   His mind wouldn’t let him.  He couldn’t stop thinking about the bizarre yet warm fantasy world he’d been drawn into, and the harsh and cold reality- a reality without fantasy- that encased him at present.  Was he truly mad or at least dreaming as he had initially suspected?  No.  Most certainly not. His memories of his time as a literal adult baby were far too vivid and lucid to be the deranged fantasy of a waking dream. But how to convince anyone of that fact was beyond his capabilities at present.

   Worse yet, in order to preserve himself from his loved ones, he had by necessity been concocting a web of lies and excuses.  Chris had known secrecy before, mind you, but they were lies of omission; the lie of “Nothin’”, when someone asked “What were you doing in there?”.  Chris didn’t even have that anymore.  His whole family, even Sherry, now knew “something” was going on, but none of them knew “what”; only that he had been acting strangely over the last few days since returning home for summer break.

  Everyone, though, had a different view of what that “something” was.  Samantha and Brianna knew that he had had a mental breakdown that involved him pissing himself right in his own room (he really had). But reality had for some reason adjusted itself, so that everyone remembered he had gone into an infantile fugue state soon after, when to Chris’s memory he had spent two straight days wearing oversized Pampers and sleeping in a crib instead of incontinence briefs while strapped to a hospital bed.  The two had bought his lie about sleep psychosis and an old fashioned stress break down.  They had wanted to believe it.

    Roxanne had walked in on Chris’s breakdown just as the magic of Wubby the Teddy Bear had begun to take effect and warp the world around him, and while Chris remembered the scene changing to a simple matter of a wet bed and a leaky diaper; Roxanne’s experience was likely of a thrashing 20 something throwing chairs around his bedroom while the woman had likely been forced to dial 911.  Chris had told her half -truths; the emotions without the details as he knew them.  Roxanne had left it at that and accepted it as all she needed to know at the moment.  

   Sherry, Chris’s sweetheart and girlfriend, now knew about Chris’s supply of diapers- in this reality at least- and had known about them for some time, now.  However in this reality (Chris made sure to keep internally referring to his current situation as “THIS reality” instead of just “reality”, something about all of this wasn’t normal either no matter how much his rational mind insisted), Sherry had written it off as a simple case of a young man having a bed wetting problem and trying to hide It for fear of turning his girlfriend off.  God bless her for assuming the best about him.  In a way she was closer to the truth than any of them.  He had bought diapers before with the express intent of using them and hid them from everyone; for the express purpose of how he feared they might react.  It’s just that accidentally peeing his pants had nothing to do with it.

   Chris’s father, Dr. Christopher Cole III, M.D. had found all of the evidence and more and made entirely different conclusions.  Chris’s father found the diapers hidden under his bathroom sink; found the google searches for “Adult baby” and had assumed that Chris was a pedophile of some sort.  Dr. Cole KNEW that Chris was a pedophile in the same way that the people of Salem KNEW that they had been hunting and trying witches.  There was no convincing the man otherwise.  Not that there was any evidence to convince his Dad, Chris had somberly thought while tossing and turning in his bed.

   This reality Chris found himself trapped in was almost the same as his real life before coming home from college in every way except for one important detail:  Infantilism did not exist.  There were no ABDL websites, no ABDL products, or any mention of the fetish in any form of media that Chris could find.  Even “Oprah versus Adult Baby Midget”, had ceased to exist.  Circumstance propelled by Wubby’s magic had first buried Chris so deep in the closet that he found Narnia on the other side, and then dragged him out of the closet while slamming the door shut and bricking it up so that no one could even take a peek inside.  The closet world of Chris’s fetish didn’t exist anymore.  It was all or nothing, it seemed.  And in this world, it was nothing.

    Chris felt like nothing, too, his father had seen to that.  Dr. Cole was not a man of half-measures.  His experience as an Emergency Room doctor hadn’t given him the luxury of a wait-and-see approach.  Every problem was solvable in some form or another, and if it wasn’t, then the person was just going to die, and there was nothing that could be done about it.  No sense in crying, just move on to the next person who can be saved.

    Dr. Cole had written Chris off as “dead”, and had already moved on.  Chris was a sexual deviant as far as his father was concerned, and a danger to society who just hadn’t got caught yet.  Worse yet, Chris was a threat to Dr. Cole’s and his family’s reputation.  The only thing worse than being a sexual deviant was being the father to a sexual deviant.  What might the neighbors think?  So Dr. Cole had written Chris a big prescription of “don’t talk about it ever again”, to be refilled as often as necessary.  There would be no explaining to his father.  His father didn’t want to hear any explanations and Dr. Cole was a man who got his way.

      Those last, cutting words of “You are a Cole, not an invalid. And definitely not a freak,” had echoed through his head all that night.  Those words, the way “freak” had practically been spat out, had been bouncing around his brain and just wouldn’t leave.  That’s what his father had thought of him.   He was a freak to be quietly swept under the rug until he straightened himself out.  That’s what had kept him awake.
   Between the choice of being trapped in a fetish story, and living in a world where his father hated him, Chris knew which he’d choose.  He couldn’t live in a world where his own father had all but in name disowned him.  He just couldn’t.  Yes, the thought had crossed his mind that in the fantasy world, he might never grow up, and that his whole family might see him as a baby forever, but that was better than being the family freak, wasn’t it?

    All that night he kept staring at Wubby in the visitors chair, its eyes coal black again, instead of the sparkling blue and red that always seemed to signal that something magical was about to happen.   But the damned bear did nothing, save sit there the whole night.  Additionally, Chris’s own active imagination and paranoia had kept him awake.  At first, when he was alone, he’d part way suspected, part way hoped, part way feared, that he was going to lose bladder control.  His fantasy world seemed a lot like the stories he had read so many times, and the most common trope about a dream world was that it leaked over to the real one and the protagonist inevitably lost bladder and bowel control and wound up needing to be diapered “in real life”.  Naturally the cycle continued from there, till for better or for worse, the subject was completely mentally regressed and more or less treated like a real baby in the real world, and depending on the author this was either a thing of joy or a thing of horror.

    Evidently, this wasn’t going to be like one of those stories.  While Chris had needed to go to the bathroom more often, due to the IV the hospital staff had insisted on inserting into him, Chris had maintained perfect bladder and bowel control.  He had not had even one accident.  Not even close, damn it!

   As day turned to night and night shifted into late night and beyond, the sleep deprived young man even hoped that perhaps, at his lowest of lows, reality would shift again and he’d return to his baby-self.  Overcome with tears, reality would freeze again and rearrange itself.

   The railings of his hospital bed would shoot up around him and turn wooden, becoming a proper crib.  The nurse call button would dance out of reach and turn into a baby monitor as the walls would become pastel blue once more.  An adult incontinence brief would appear magically, or maybe even a pillow would wrap itself around his loins and transmogrify into a puffy white diaper with cartoon characters on the front just as his hospital gown reconfigured itself into a onesie.  The next thing he’d know, he’d be back in his nursery, ready to go back to sleep before releasing a stream of pee-pee into the diaper as he drifted off.

  He allowed himself to break down, thinking of all that was wrong with his life, and hoped against hope that he would get to be a big baby again; but all thinking about this really accomplished was him crying with an erection.  Even more annoying, was even beating off wasn’t enough to relax him so that he could sleep.  So, with no other options, Chris had seen the sun rise that morning.

   True to his word, Dr. Cole pulled some strings and Chris was being released just before lunch.  It must have been quite a few strings, considering that standard procedure typically required at least 72 hours of observation to make sure the patient wasn’t going to relapse.  But, Dr. Cole typically got his way.  There was no mention of a ride waiting for him when he was released, so Chris, already in a foul mood for reasons that have already been explained, suspected he’d have to do his own “walk of shame” all the way back home.  He wouldn’t put that past his Dad just to get a point across.

     However, a nurse had dropped off some clothes just after breakfast that morning.  Apparently, Roxanne had left some clothes for him to change into, and they had been forgotten about till just before check out.  “How conveniently petty”, Chris thought.  

     They were his blue and silver basketball shorts from when he played back in high school and a matching jersey.  Roxanne had definitely dug this out of the closet at home, though for the life of him, Chris couldn’t fathom why.

       Chris had been a decent player, but a better bench warmer, as it turned out, and had really only done it to meet new people and impress Sherry.  He played for his junior and senior years, scoring a whopping career total of 6 points, and had basically hidden the uniform in the back of his closet since graduating High School.

 Chris had gone through the whole “freshmen fifteen” phase of gaining weight his first year at college; the allure of Taco Bell every night had been too strong.  But he had shed it through diet and a lot of jogging as soon as he realized that he didn’t want to buy new clothes and/or order a size up of fresh Bambinos.  So, the clothes still fit.  In fact, Chris couldn’t help but think, the short weres baggy enough to where he could probably wear a diaper underneath and no one would notice, and the jersey would probably cover up any bit of a diaper peeking out over the waistband as they so often did.

   There was no underwear though, not that Chris minded.  Free-balling was fine by him at the moment, (though there was a Tom Petty joke in there somewhere that he just couldn’t wrap his head around).  So, Christopher Cole IV, pre-Med student in his early twenties was escorted out of the hospital wearing an outfit that he hadn’t worn since high-school.  In a bizarrely mundane way, his age regression was in fact commencing, just at a snail’s pace and at a stage in his life that wasn’t that long gone from him.
   “Here you go,” the nurse announced as Chris was wheeled past the final pair of automated sliding doors.  Chris blinked and squinted as the sunlight hit him in the face.  Even a short time being stuck bombarded by the hospital’s fluorescent lights had sensitized him to actual factual sunlight.  

    Shielding his eyes, Chris stood up and took steps forward on the hot concrete of the hospital parking lot.  He sensed, more than heard the nurse turning around with the wheelchair and going back through the solid glass doors into the hospital.

   “Hey, babe,” a familiar voice called out nonchalantly while he adjusted to the noon-day sun.  Like out of a movie, or a mirage, Chris’s eyes zeroed in on the sound of the voice, and a smile came to his face as the form came into focus.  Those hips, that hair, those lips.  Chris couldn’t help but smile.

    “Hey, babe,” Chris called out to Sherry, as he took her in.  She wore jean shorts and a pink t-shirt with a black headband holding back her auburn hair.  His eyes traveled up her legs, to her hips, his mind briefly wishing her top was just a little shorter so he could catch a peek of her belly-button, and up to her perky breasts, before settling in on her face.  She was leaning against her 2000-something red Honda, and smirking at him, as if mildly amused at his stumbling about in the sun.  

    “Damn,” he whispered to himself.  He had gotten his rocks off during his adolescence more times than he could count, picturing a cooing Roxanne holding his diapered form to her breast; but Sherry had the distinct advantage of being someone whom Chris’s libido lusted after in more than one way.  The night that Sherry had been magically cast in the role of Chris’s Adult Baby-sitter had been a weird twist on one of his regular little fantasies, but she was still the only woman in Chris’s life that he genuinely lusted after.   Chris had just as many fantasies about going all the way with Sherry, as he had ones of her babying him, or when he was feeling particularly imaginative, her being babied beside him.

    More than that, he had actual memories to go on, too, to fuel and reinforce his lust.  They hadn’t “rounded the bases” yet, so to speak- one of them always chickened out, or life gave them one more reason not to; what if the condom broke, or a roommate or family member way to close by to hear- but they had done almost everything leading up to it.  No homeruns yet, but plenty of doubles and a few triples.

  Maybe it was religion.  Both of them had grown up and gone to the same church.  Both of them had had the same “wait till marriage” mentality beaten into their heads since before they really understood what they were supposed to be waiting for.  Maybe God wanted them to wait till they got married.  Maybe not.  Though in the deepest part of his mind, this craziness at least confirmed that there were some things science couldn’t really explain, so God was not completely out of the possibility.  What neither of them really wanted to admit was that, flirt as they might, they were two sheltered suburbanite kids from well-to-do families who were overly paranoid and afraid to take that last risky plunge into adulthood via sexual activity.  That’s what Chris told himself anyways.

    They hugged each other, and Chris closed his eyes in relief as he felt her breasts against his body.  “I’m so glad it’s you,” Chris sighed in relief.

   “Who were you expecting?”  Sherry asked as Chris released her from the hug.

   “No one,” he answered.

  “No,” she persisted, “Who?  Really?”  She smiled.  She was enjoying this.  

   “No one,” Chris laughed.  “I mean literally no one.  I thought I was going to have to walk home by myself.”

   “That wasn’t going to happen,” Sherry replied.

    “Hello?” Chris answered back,  “Have you met my father?  He’s pretty pissed.”

    “Really?” she asked.  “I didn’t get that vibe at all.  I don’t really get vibes from him at all, though, y’know?”  

    “Yeah,” he sighed, deflated.

   “What’s he mad about, anyways?” she half asked, half wondered.  SHIT!  Chris should not have said that.  He was too tired to make up a convincing lie right now.

   “He…” Chris began, then stopped himself.  Too late now, he supposed.  “He may know about the…well you know…” he trailed off.  Sherry stood there, shaking her head very slowly.  She didn’t know.  “He found the diapers” he hissed under his breath.

   Sherry’s eyes began to widen in realization, then narrowed back down into a confused, if thoughtful expression.  “So?”

 Chris grunted with exasperation.  “So…” he hesitated, then elaborated, “so, he thinks I’m some kind of freak.”

   “Because you wet the bed?”

   “He doesn’t think I wet the bed,” he grimaced, “He thinks I’m a pedophile.”  

There was an awkward pause, and then Sherry guffawed so hard that the birds and squirrels in the noon day parking lot were sent scattering in a panic.  Chris just stood there for several uncomfortable minutes as Sherry leaned against the car, holding onto it like a drunkard trying to keep her footing.  

   “Sorry,” Sherry finally said, still giggling slightly while wiping a tear from her eye.  “That’s just, really funny to me, y’know?”  

    “Why is THAT funny?!” Chris wanted to know, slightly indignant.  Wait, was he defending his father’s accusations?  “I mean, this is not a good situation I’m in here.”  Sherry, for her part, just waved him off.

   “Here, turn around, let me check something,” she instructed, making a circular motion with her finger.  “I think you put your old jersey on inside out, let me see the tag.”  Too baffled to argue, Chris did as told and faced the hospital with his back to his high school sweetheart.  He felt a slight gust of air on the crack of his ass as Sherry pulled back the waistband of his shorts and looked down inside.

  His mind flashed back to a very similar diaper check a short time ago.  But he wasn’t wearing a diaper, was he?  As if on cue, he felt a warming sensation in his crotch, and a swelling sensation of his pants getting tighter. Was he wetting his pants?
   ‘Oh no, the realities are bleeding over again!’ Chris thought, in a panic.  He felt the tingling hot sensation in the front of his pants, and reached down to cover his embarrassment, lest the wet spot of his pee be seen on the front of his shorts.  Not that it would matter, within seconds he’d be standing in a puddle of his own piss, he knew.  

    But he felt no wet spot on his crotch.  His ears were filled with a plastic, almost crinkling noise.  A diaper?  No, the transformation was happening again!  Right now when he was finally getting some relief, someone who understood and supported him.  That was how this cursed shift always seemed to happen!  Right when he wasn’t ready!

“Thought so,” Sherry proclaimed knowingly, looking down into his diaper.  Had he pooped his diaper too, and not realized it?

    “Aaaaaaah!”  Chris screamed, as reality slowed down to a halt.  Soon, he knew, Sherry was going to be declaring him in need of a change and strip him down to just his diaper before changing him in the back seat of her car and then strapping him into a modified baby seat.  Then it would be time for another ride on this roller coaster.

     “Knew it,” Sherry interrupted Chris’s scream.  “You’re not wearing any underwear.”  She stepped around and looked at Chris.  “And,” she added with satisfaction, pointing to his crotch, “if just me looking at your bare butt makes you that excited, I highly doubt you’re a pedophile.”

    Chris took stock of his surroundings.  Time had not, in fact, stopped as it had before a reality shift, it hadn’t even slowed down.  Chris had not, in fact, suddenly been wearing a diaper underneath his basketball shorts, nor had he wet himself.  The sudden rush of heat to his genital area had simply been due to arousal not incontinence, and his shorts feeling smaller the result of his penis swelling, not his diaper.  The slight crinkling and rustling noise had been from the plastic bag holding his newly prescribed medications, still in hand as he had instinctively whipped his hands to his crotch.

  “Over react much?” Sherry chuckled as she walked back to her car, and opened the door, to get in.

  “That was not cool!” Chris spat as he opened the passenger side door and slid in.

   “Fine,” Sherry remarked, turning the engine on. “I’ll never give you an erection again.  I promise.”

    “Not what I meant!” Chris blushed, as he buckled up, absentmindedly tossing the unneeded medication into the back seat.  “And you know it!” he added.  

    “Yeah, but got your mind off your dad, didn’t it?” she teased.
   “Fair enough,” he conceded.

    “Besides, we’ve seen enough of each other,” she added.  “This week I got the shock of my life and got to walk in on you with a wet diaper on, I think I’m a little entitled to some fun.”

    There was an awkward silence that followed as Sherry backed out of the parking space.

    “So…besides stuff with your dad, did you at least sleep well?” Sherry asked as they pulled out of the parking lot.  “I think I woke you up there, but you kind of look like crap, y’know?”

    “Yeah, I know.” Chris yawned.  “I didn’t sleep all night.  I was just too scared to close my eyes.”

     “Wait,” Sherry interjected with new concern in her voice.  “Wasn’t this whole mental break down thing due to a lack of sleep?”  The blood in Chris’s veins turned to ice as soon as the words hit his ears.

    “Talked to the girls?”  Chris asked nervously.  

   “Yeah,” she confirmed, “why?”  

    Chris was at an impasse now.  Did he tell her something resembling the truth, or did he let her believe the lie that his little sisters had so easily swallowed?  At least with Roxanne he hadn’t needed to change his story.  She hadn’t heard the first draft to begin with.  To switch things up with Sherry would be trickier.  But could he really let her go on believing what had to be an obvious lie to anyone with at least a middle-school education?  Then Sherry took the matter out of his hands.

   “Wait, I get it!” Sherry exclaimed as the lightbulbs in her head came on.  “That’s why this is happening, isn’t it?”

    “What’s happening?” Chris asked, completely not following.

   “You’re a bed wetter and embarrassed about it!”

  “Huh?”  The hamster in Chris’s brain hadn’t just stopped running, the poor thing had had a stroke and was now seizing up.  Where was Sherry going with this?

   “Think about it, hon!  You didn’t want to wet the hospital bed last night, buuuut you didn’t want to wear a diaper because of how your dad made you feel about wearing them.  So you couldn’t sleep!”  Her eyes were becoming exited, like someone who had just solved the mystery ahead of Benedict Cumberbatch’s Sherlock and now got to brag to all of her friends.  Chris, still not quite seeing where this was going nodded dumbly.

    “So,” she concluded, “you hide the diapers, because you’re ashamed, but you have trouble sleeping without them since you’re afraid to wet the bed-“

    “-And the lack of sleep is making me go crazy and have breakdowns.”  Chris said dumbly, a relieved numbness overtaking his body.  

    “It’s like you’re in a Catch-22 or something.” Sherry said.  “Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.”

    “You have no idea,” Chris said, as he put his head back.  

Holy crap.  It made sense.  It made complete and total sense.  Sherry had, in fact, come up with a way to make all of his bullshit make sense.  If he hadn’t known the truth, he’d believe it himself.  Her complete faith in him and wanting to see the best in him had helped her concoct for him a plausible explanation, at least for now.   He still had to erase his browsing history, come up with a way for “Adult Baby” to fit into this explanation, and he’d have to get it past his Dad, but maybe there was still a way to survive this world, or at least do damage control with his family.

    Chris smiled, and finally having at least one good thing happen today, started to softly snore in the passenger seat.

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Chapter 20: The Wake

   An hour later, Chris laid back in his hospital bed, the sheets pulled up to cover his legs.  He had spent the better part of the hour, planning and plotting his next move in the drama that his life had become.  How to explain this to his family without coming off like a liar or a lunatic:  That was the question, wasn’t it?  Still in the visitor’s chair, holding a “Feel Better Soon” card, was Wubby.  The whole hour long, Chris was tempted to walk over and at least turn the bear around so it wasn’t facing him; but deep down he was certain that Wubby would be turned back around and staring by the time Chris laid back down in the bed.
 Chris was tired, both physically and emotionally but he had eaten the so called “breakfast” of dry toast, orange juice and scrambled “eggs” that the hospital had given him.  Hospital food: the one thing on this planet that might be worse than school cafeteria food.  His dad had joked with him before that the terrible food was an incentive for the patient to get better and get out.  A rare joke from his father, to be sure, and therefore a precious gem of a memory that Chris hoarded to himself.  Chris had the distinct feeling that there would be no jokes told today.
 When the family came in, the room stopped being a patients’ room in a hospital and became more akin to a viewing room at a funeral home, and Chris was the corpse. And whether it was grief or morbid curiosity, everyone wanted to see the corpse at a funeral.  The family came in and talked to him in small trickles, even though he was sure they all came to the Hospital at once.  No one wanted to rouse the madman Chris had become in their eyes by crowding into the tiny room.  Logically, Chris actually assumed that Dr. Gupta had told them to visit in small doses, but this was small comfort compared to the look of worry in their eyes as they came.  Chris would have to use his words to beat that worry into oblivion and hope that it wouldn’t be replaced by something worse, like anger or revulsion, or even doubt.

    Brianna and Samantha were the first to be alone with him.  Sammy immediately took up a station by his bedside, her beanpole frame complimenting the pole holding the I.V. bag that was still tethered to him.  Her eyes were probing him for something, questioning him with a strange fascination, even though her mouth was drawn shut.  
  Bri walked over to the visitor’s chair and regarded Wubby for just a moment, before tossing the stuffed animal on the floor.  She then plopped herself down and fluttered her lips the same way a horse does.  That was Bri for you, the true baby of the family. She was always comfortable in her own skin, and not particularly caring if she pleased anyone; which oddly enough was kind of endearing.  Bri was the first to break the silence.

   “You crazy?” she asked, bluntly.
   Chris guffawed at the directness of the question.  No “How you doing?” or “Are you okay?”, just “You crazy?”

    “I think I might have gone a little crazy,” he told them.  “But I think I’m alright.”  He took a deep breath and was about to start his homespun excuse when-

    “Did they really put you in a diaper in here?” Sammy blurted out.  Chris whirled his head around.  He caught sight of her expression.  He caught a flicker of excitement in her eyes; an ember of hope.  Sammy’s eyes quickly darted toward his crotch.  She was scanning for the tell-tale bulge of a diaper.
    Shit!  Not here too!  Sammy was only supposed to be fascinated by diapers when Chris was the baby, and even then she wasn’t SUPPOSED to be fascinated by diapers.  There had to have been some bleed-over from when this reality reasserted itself over his fantasy one.  Chris made eye contact with Samantha, and both of them started to blush from embarrassment.  

    “So you, uh…heard about that, huh?” Chris sheepishly asked.

    “Sorry,” Sammy whimpered, looking away.  “It’s just kind of funny, that’s all.”  A tiny, forced, fake smile appeared on her face.  She laughed awkwardly through her nose.  It was a fake laugh.  There was nothing funny about this to her.  If anything, Chris could tell, Samantha was actually a little jealous.

     “Why’d you go crazy?” Bri cut in to the awkward moment, seemingly oblivious to her older siblings’ feelings.  Chris could have hugged Bri right then, he was so grateful for the opportunity to slip into the lie he had concocted.

       “You girls know what sleep psychosis is?”  Chris began.  Both his sisters shook their heads.  “Well I haven’t been sleeping well since I got home from school, since before I got home from school, actually,” he paused, waiting to hear them object or provide counter evidence to his lie.  They gave none, and just waited for him to continue.  “Sleep psychosis is when you don’t get enough sleep, and then kind of just go….well…crazy till you get some more.”

     There was silence for a time.  The girls waiting for Chris to elaborate on his lie, and Chris waiting for them to accept it.  Absently, Chris wished that he was on some type of heart monitor or some other piece of equipment that made regular, reassuring beeps to mark the passage of time.

   “So you went nuts,” Bri finally spoke, “because of insomnia?” the look on her face was incredulous, but not necessarily disbelieving.  It was the face of a girl going “Seriously?  That’s weird,” not “Seriously? You expect me to believe that bullshit?”  
  “I think it’s more like insomnia taken up a couple notches,” Chris elaborated on his con.  “I don’t mean I didn’t sleep well, I mean like I didn’t sleep at all, for close to like…two days straight.”  Both sisters nodded.  Good. They were buying it.  Time to wrap it up.

  “At least, that’s what I think happened,” Chris added, sounding like he was correcting himself.  “I guess I’ll know more when the chief psychologist or psychiatrist or whatever tells me what he thinks.  My best guess is I’ll be out in a day or two after they observe me and know that I’m not going to go crazy again.” He saw a shadow of doubt cross their faces.  “Look,” he cut off their concern, “I’m really, really sorry if I scared you guys during my um..err…episode.  I hope you two can forgive me for what happened.”

   Both girls looked as if they were about to melt with the love and pity they felt for their big brother right then.  Of course they forgave him; they were just worried about him and didn’t want anything bad to happen to him.  They told him as much about a second after he was done speaking, but their faces had telegraphed the sentiments long before their voices announced it.

That was the trick to it: top off a big lie with a sprinkling of sincerity. All was forgiven, Chris knew, at least to them, and it was time to move on.  For the girls, that meant not talking about this once he got out of the hospital- for Samantha, anyways- Brianna would likely bring this episode up after enough time had passed where it wouldn’t hurt Chris so much, as much as annoy him so she could rub it in his face.  For Chris, moving on meant that the practice round with his sisters was over and now it was time for the real challenge.  

    He sat up in his bed and opened his arms, and each of his siblings walked over to him in turn and gave him a hug before leaving. Chris glanced over Bri’s shoulder, to see Wubby back in the visitor’s chair, “Feel Better Soon” card still being held, even though Chris was certain that neither Samantha, nor Briana had picked him up off the floor.

    “Who brought in the teddy?” Samantha wondered aloud.

     “You mean Wubby?” Chris waved the question off.  “Oh, I think your mom must have brought him in to make me feel better.”  Chris knew this to be a lie before he even finished the sentence.

   “Kay kay” Sammy accepted the lie as she crossed the threshold.  “By the way,” Sammy added, poking her head back in through the door.  “Why do you keep calling her ‘your mom’?  She might not have given birth to you, but she’s kind of your mom, too.”

   Roxanne came in next, but this time, her jasmine perfume did not accompany her.  She looked tired, like she hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep for several nights.  Chris reasoned that maybe she hadn’t.  Her hair seemed stringy and straight in some places and tangled and curly in other places.  She had no makeup on to conceal the dark bags under her eyes.  Her shoulders slumped a little when she walked, and even her breathing had the not-quite-yawning rhythm of the exhausted.  She may have literally just woken up before driving over to the hospital with Dad and the girls, and Chris would wager that it hadn’t been a very restful sleep.

   “Hey baby,” she whispered as she leaned in and gave her step-son a hug.  She draped her arms over Chris, and he felt the full weight of her slight frame on him.  Just when Chris was wondering if Roxanne had fallen asleep on him, she withdrew and gave him a hug.  She smiled at him, and even her smile seemed exhausted.  

   “Um, you can sit down if you need to,” Chris motioned over to the padded chair.  Roxanne looked behind her at the chair with Wubby and the card.

    “Thank you,” Roxanne said wearily, as she took Wubby’s spot and sat him on her lap.  “Who brought your bear in?”

    “The girls snuck him in for me just a second ago,” Chris lied.  “Look, Roxanne, I just wanted to say”

   “Hold on,” Roxanne held up her hand to signal.  “I’ve got some things I need to ask first.”  Her voice was serious, almost grim.  Chris’s breath caught in his throat.  She looked at him, and Chris could feel as if she was looking through him, as if she knew he was prepared to cover her in lies before he even spoke them.

   “Chris, this thing; this that you’re going through; with you crying and screaming…” every word was becoming measured, like she was afraid to ask it.  Chris thought she might be on the verge of tears.  “Is it, is it because…I mean does it have anything to do with me and your father?”

   Now it was Chris’s turn to look incredulous.  She had been blaming herself and Dad?  How the hell did that come about?  

   “No! Don’t be ridiculous!” Chris blurted out, completely unguarded.

   “Are you sure?” Roxanne half-pleaded, her eyes on the verge of desperate relief.

   Chris turned the question over and over in his head.  In a way, Roxanne was definitely a part of this.  He had the weirdest mix of oedipal crush, childlike adoration, and adult respect for her. Since he had returned home from college he had been getting his fantasy made real in small doses- the good and the bad- and she was part of that fantasy, he could not deny that.  But was she the cause of it?  No.  No she wasn’t.  And was she responsible for all this?  Was this her mess to clean up?  No.  No it wasn’t.

   “I’m sure,” he told her.  “Why, what’s going on?”

   Less of a sigh and more of a gasp of relief flooded out of Roxanne’s throat when Chris absolved her, and she looked up.  “I was so worried about you, Chris.  Do you have any idea?”  Chris had seen Roxanne as an adult, and had gotten used to over the years seeing her slip into “Mommy Mode”, but this may have been the first time he had seen her enter “Mother Mode.”

  “I do now,” he said.  “I’m sorry.”

   “I’m just glad you’re talking again,” Roxanne reassured her step-son.  “You were a mess there, kid, you have no idea; and we’ve all been worried sick.  And when I came into your room that night to check up on you, I knew, I just knew that something was wrong, and a few minutes later…well, do you remember what happened?”  Chris nodded mutely.  “With everything that’s been going on with your father and I, I thought that maybe that’s what had been upsetting you and the stress had pushed you too-“.

   “What’s going on with you and Dad?” Chris interrupted.  Roxanne went silent, and her eyes flashed panic.  She looked worse than the person who accidentally spoiled the ending to your favorite book.

   “You mean you’re father didn’t tell you?”

  “No. What?” Chris asked and the question hung in the air like a balloon.

 “Look, that’s not important,” Roxanne waved the question away.  “What’s important is you getting better and getting back to yourself.” She stood up and walked over to the bed with fresh resolve in her step. Wubby tumbled to the floor out of her lap.  She had the fresh resolve of someone wanting to change the subject.  “Now, honey, has the doctor told you, or do you have any idea about WHY this whole thing happened.” She looked down at him into his eyes.  Ah yes, the old “Look me in the eye” trick,” Page 356 of the parent’s handbook.  It was a variation on it, to be sure, one motivated by love and worry instead of doubt and anger, but it was the same thing.
  Chris winced as he bit down on his tongue.  As much as the little boy in him wanted to tell her the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth, the rational adult in him knew that best case scenario she’d think him a liar.  Sometimes the truth was just too fantastical to believe.  The “sleep psychosis,” bit wouldn’t fly here.  

  He quickly struck a compromise with the two parts of himself.  Just as an actor might mourn their character’s dead brother on stage, and produce that sincerity by thinking about how sad they were when their goldfish died; Chris could tell her the truth in feeling, without giving her the truth in fact.

   “I’ve got some ideas,” he answered, “but I’m not really sure.  I just haven’t really felt like myself since I got home from college.”  He was building up steam, he could feel it.  “It’s like one day, I’m regular old me, but something is missing.  And the next day I feel this completely different side of myself, but the old part of me is gone.  It’s like I’m teeter-tottering.”

    Roxanne looked him the eye, and nodded.  He had told her the truth, even if it was only the emotional truth.  Perhaps that’s all that mattered.  She looked into his eyes and brushed his hair off his forehead.  

   “You poor thing,” she said, and let that sentiment just float in the air.  For several minutes they said nothing and just regarded each other.  “Your father’s outside, waiting,” she finally broke the silence.  “He says he wants to talk to you in private about this.”  Chris felt himself go rigid.  Dad?!  Here?!  Nononononono!  Chris jumped as Roxanne rubbed his forearm soothingly.

   “It’ll be okay, hon,” Roxanne comforted Chris.  “He just wants to talk.  He’s just as worried as the rest of us.  But you know how your father is about sharing his emotions.”  Chris did know, better than most.  That slow, dry, dismissive joke the other day while Chris had sat in the highchair was about as jovial as the man got, and unless it was a sporting event, his dad never shouted.  He never had to.  Ever since Chris could remember, his father had used words like a surgeon with a scalpel: slowly, cuttingly, and precise, never using more than necessary to obtain the intended effect.  Chris had definitely taken more after his mother in the personality department, and to an extravert like Chris, his father could be almost alien.

  “Me and the girls are still right outside the door,” she told him.  “Don’t worry.  You’re his favorite, so I don’t think he’ll be too hard on you about this.”  Chris smiled politely at that.  He thanked her and told her that he loved her, and then on something of a whim asked:

  “Oh yeah, how’s Barbara?”

   Roxanne’s expression changed for some reason, and Chris couldn’t quite read it just then. “I wouldn’t know,” was all she said in a flat tone before grabbing the door handle.

   Roxanne opened the door and slipped out, as Chris’s father strode in.  A chill filled the air as Dr. Christopher Cole III walked in.  He was still dressed down in his dark blue button up shirt, black slacks with matching socks and loafers.  His hair, as always, was impeccable and neat enough so that a military man might be envious.   His eyes regarded Chris coldly, and he just stood there.  

    Chris could see that his father hadn’t been sleeping as well.  But where Roxanne looked more beaten and weary for the fatigue, it only made Chris’s father seem fiercer.  His eyes were more sunken in than usual, and his jaw moved back and forth as he ground his teeth together.

 Dr. Cole eyed the door, like a burglar on the lookout for the cops.  Slowly, the man turned around in the room on a pivot and took it all in.  Door, whiteboard, TV, and finally the chair, Wubby newly appeared on it.  His eyes fell on Wubby, and he readjusted his posture so that he was facing the stuffed bear.

  He was staring at the bear, Chris realized, staring into its mismatched twinkling gem eyes.  Perhaps he was entranced by them; or perhaps he was locked in a contest of wills with the plushie, daring it to blink first.

“Dad I-“  but Chris couldn’t finish.  Dr. Cole had whipped his head around and cast the full weight of his gaze on his son.  Chris’s eyes searched the room for something to focus on, he couldn’t bring himself to look his father in the eye right then.  He wanted to be able to look at something, anything, other than his father.  Wubby’s beady eyes had turned back to coal black.  Dr. Cole had won the staring contest.
“I know about the diapers,” Dr. Cole finally spoke up.  His voice was barely above a stage whisper, but it echoed through the little room all the same.  Chris felt his face heat up.  Chris tried to say something, but someone had poured quick drying cement down his vocal chords.

 “At first, I thought it was drugs,” Dr. Cole told him, “but then the toxicology reports came back negative.  So I started looking in your room.  Guess what I found under the sink.”

  “Dad,” Chris began.

  “No,” his dad cut him off, voice still barely whispering.  “I don’t want to hear it.  The girls told me about the sleep psychosis bullshit you just shoveled on them and I already talked to Sherry.  Bed wetting?  Really?  She might be that naïve, but I know.”

   Chris couldn’t feel the thump of his hear anymore.  It had sped up in intensity to a low hum.  Chris had dreaded that this day might come, and now that it was happening, he wanted nothing more than to curl up into a protective ball and die.

  “Dad, I didn’t want you to find out this way,” Chris whispered, trying desperately to keep his composure.  He could feel the salty tears breaking past his eyes and flooding out onto the plains of his face.

“How did you want me to find out you have pedophilic urges?!” Dr. Cole snapped, his voice raised to normal conversation volume, his lips curled back into a snarl.

 “WHAT?!” Chris shrieked.  “I’m not-“

  “Quiet,” Chris’s dad hissed back down to a whisper.  Chris tasted blood in his mouth, he was biting his tongue so hard. “You’re wearing diapers, but you’re not incontinent, you’re lying about it, and you’re searching google for Kiddie Porn” he spat, “with phrases like ‘adult baby’ and ‘autonepiophilia’ and ‘paraphilic infantilism’.  And you’re doing it all in. My. House.  I don’t even begin to know what ay-bee-dee-el is.” His voice had lowered to a whisper now, but his facial features had intensified.  He wasn’t a doctor right now.  He was a prosecutor, and his own son was the accused and guilty until proven innocent.  “You’ve even got a God Damn Teddy Bear!  At your age!  For fuck sakes, I wouldn’t be surprised if you faked this whole breakdown thing just so that you could have someone put a diaper on you.”    
   Dr. Cole stood up and regained his composure.  His breathing slowed, and he hid his rage behind a mask of calm.  This was too much.  Chris had to make it right, but how?  There were no websites or research studies or any evidence at all any more to prove that he wasn’t this…this…Chris couldn’t even bring himself to think it.

    “Dad, pleeeease,” Chris almost to wailed.  “I can expla-“

   “No,” his dad spoke up, firmly.  “No.  Don’t explain it.  I don’t want to know.”  He turned his back to Chris.

   “But Dad,” Chris begged,  “just let me-“

   “No Christopher,” his dad wouldn’t let Chris even finish a thought.  “This is something we are never going to talk about after this.  I don’t know anything, and I don’t want to know anything.”  Chris saw his father visibly exhale like a smoker after taking a long drag.  “Dr. Gupta suspects that your recent outbursts may be nothing more than unchecked bi-polar disorder, and maybe he’s right.”  There was a pause.  

  “But even if he isn’t, Christopher, here’s what’s going to happen:  He’s going to keep you here for observation, and you’re going to be on your best behavior while here.  I’ve pulled some strings already so that you’ll be discharged tomorrow morning.  He’s going to prescribe some medication to you and you’re going to accept that.  I don’t’ really care if you take it or flush it down the toilet.”
    Chris just sat there, feeling more and more numb with each syllable his dad uttered.  The judge was passing sentence on him, and he didn’t even get his defense.  He didn’t even deserve his defense in the court of Dad.

   “Then we’re not going to talk about this again,” Dr. Cole continued, “You can stay at the house for the rest of the summer, because I love you, but as soon as the summer is over, you go back to college and you start applying to med-school.  Then you get your life back on track.  Is that understood?”

   Chris bowed his head.  “Yes sir,” was all he said.

   “A few years down the road, when you’ve completed your residency, if you’re still having these urges, you can save up some of your own money and go on a secret vacation to some South Asian bordello or whatever, where they cater to this kind of shit.”  That last proclamation hurt Chris more than any of the accusations.  “But,” he emphasized,  “we will never talk about it, and you had better take precautions so as not to get caught.”  He turned around to look at Chris’s quivering, crying on the verge of bawling form.  “Do you understand?”

   “Yes sir,” was all Chris could say.  It was the only answer his father would accept.  Dr. Cole walked back to his son’s bedside and put a big hand on his son’s shoulder.  He sniffed the air distastefully.

“You are a Cole,” he growled, “not an invalid. And definitely not a freak.” He added with emphasis.  But that last part didn’t ring true in Chris’s ears.  He knew, as far as his dad was concerned, that he was a freak.


   “YOU HAVE HAD YOUR MOON!” The two voices boomed in the empty field. “NOW CHOOSE!”  Ward stood before the two stones in the field, contemplating his next action.   Later, more civil generations would remember him as a young boy; but for his time he was certainly man enough, even if his voice still cracked on occasion.  That was the reality of life these days.   No matter what, Ward realized on an unconscious level, however, that the reality of the situation didn’t seem to matter.  The stones had seen to that.  His story, if it was ever told, would likely remember him as some gangly youth, just barely off his mother’s tit, -despite the bulging biceps he had built in the smithy- confronted by destiny.

The first stone glowed red like a hot coal on the forge that he had worked only a short time before all this madness.  It was smoothed and polished, like an egg ready to hatch.  In it was a shining, glimmering sword of the purest steel.  Even now, it whispered to him, like a scarlet lady wanting another roll in the hay.

Its brother, the second stone, was as blue as a freshly frostbitten corpse in the dead of winter, and as jagged as the wildest mountain peak.  The dull scythe, a farmer’s tool that had not yet become synonymous with death, embedded in it whispered different promises to the young boy.  They were not, however, promises of happiness.  They were merely the assurances of the sad facts of a common, unremarkable life, much like an old man who predicts the future to a young man by simply recounting his own life.    

   “So what’s it to be?” Ward wondered aloud.  “Arthur the King? Or Wart the Peasant?”  If he chose the sword embedded in the red stone, he’d get to be king, perhaps even the greatest king ever.  Gwen, the noble girl who barely noticed him as a black smith, and who was disgusted with him while he was the dirty peasant, was madly in love with him and devoted when he was Arthur.  

 That high and mighty French tosser, Lance, was his best friend when he was Arthur.  And a true and noble friend he was.  He wasn’t even mad that Ward, or Arthur as they called him during his scarlet days had stolen Gwen’s heart from Lance, because in that version of things, Gwen had never been Lance’s to begin with. She had always been Arthur’s.  

   “But would it mean anything?” The voice of the blue stone whispered to him.  

   Ward knew that if he chose the scythe in the blue stone, that his life would be unremarkable again, but worse off than even before.  Before, he had at least been an apprentice black smith.  During his azure days, he wasn’t even that, but the lowest serf.  Worse yet, he was an orphan, without even the old Blacksmith there to adopt him and apprentice him.  And yet, how enlightening had his azure days been!  How clearly he had seen the world for what it really was when he looked up from the bottom.  He could perhaps make the world a better place, not just for himself, but others as well with what he had learned during his time as Wart.
   “But will you be able to climb from up the bottom?”  The voice of the red stone giggled.  The red one had a point.  But, as the old man, (the wizard, wasn’t it? No, that wasn’t quite right) had told him, regardless of which life he chose, he’d always have the memories of his other life with him.  Perhaps he could choose one stone and use what he learned while under the influence of its brother to make his way.

 One thing was certain though: It was either to be Arthur or Wart.  Ward was dead now, and no one would ever remember to mourn him.  It was the Sword or the Scythe, and there would be no in-between this day.

   “I make my choice,” Ward boomed, “that is no choice at all.”  Ward grabbed the pommel of the sword and with a mighty heave, pulled it from the red stone.

    “My choice is made!” Arthur, King of the Britons roared in triumph.

  And so, that game was played, and Ward, for some time Wart, but now Arthur, would go on to live a life so extraordinary that he is only remembered as legend; his deeds relegated to the realm of the impossible and fairy tales.


United States
I've been a closet AB/DL my entire life. My parents and close older family members probably suspect from when I was too young and dumb to know to hide my fascination. Then again, it probably got written off as "a phase", as soon as I got older and started not talking about it.

My friends may suspect, but if they do, they're kind enough not to say anything about it. The weird thing is, I have some friends that are open fetishists of different sorts; mostly furs. So yeah, I'm a bit of a coward. Even my name is a reference to that.

I'm not using anything even close to my real name, and anything with "Diaper" or "Baby" in the name was just too cliche. I'm so much more than just my fetish. We all are.

I'm just so paranoid that I'm going to be branded by it. So do I use a persona and change up my writing style and tone to further disguise myself? Live the internet dream by pretending to be someone much cooler than I am?

Or maybe just a simple Alias? Be myself with the exception of my name?

Persona+Alias= personalias

I'm actually scared some of my friends will find this page, and find enough clues to figure out it's me. I console myself with the question: "What the heck were my friends doing looking at AB/DL stories and pics anyways?"

My wonderful wife is the only person in my life who officially knows my secret. It was she who encouraged me to take some of my ideas, write them down and post them online for others to see.

The thing that it's happening. Now that I'm becoming part of the online community. I can't help but wonder why I didn't join sooner.

Thanks for reading this. It was really cathartic.
So I haven't written anything lately.  Laziness, writer's block, and some real-life troubles have made it harder and harder to sit down at the keyboard for a prolonged period of time.

The thing is, I still have lots of ideas.  That might be another problem.  I've got so many ideas, it's hard to prioritize and focus.  I'm also afraid I might forget an idea, AND I have little to no idea which ideas might be good (or at least entertaining) and which one's I should probably stay away from till I refine them.

The best I can do is write them down here and hope the people that watch me and visit my page will give their input and thoughts.  If not, worst case scenario I've got a list of ideas where it will be harder to lose them.  None of these ideas are particularly original and everyone puts their own spin on them anyways...and I'm not getting paid for this so I've got nothing to lose there.

Ideas: Listed in order as they occur to me, not in order of preference.  Purposefully leaving parts vague because I love the enjoyment of writing a surprise or a funny joke.  Definitely leaving out the endings (if any) that I've thought up.  That way I have some wiggle room.

The Bagman-  This is actually a story in progress that I'm writing right now.  It's less of an AB/DL or AR story, but more of a story of revenge and the mafia with elements of AR and AB/DL in it.  A young man is systematically finding ways to assassinate high ranking Mafia heads, and a professional hitman, the Bagman, is on his trail.  What makes it AR is...well there's a reason why no one has ever found a body of the Bagman's victims.

One Hit Wonder- This spawns from my personal neurotic fear that I already hit my creative pique writing Dante's Infanzia.  A has-been Rockstar makes a deal with a demon for fame and fortune.  The catch is, his fame and fortune comes back in the form of a hit reality TV show where he's an Adult Baby...he's not really does he keep up the act and take the fame and fortune unhappily ever after?  Or does he come clean as a fraud but stay true to himself as a person? Loosely based on Faustus in much the same way that Dante's Infanzia was based on the Divine Comedy.

Wrong Address-A short story about a guy who is minding his own business when reality decides to slap him around a little bit.  A babysitter comes to his home, ready to sit for a little tyke that she's never met before.  She's at the wrong house...obviously, but doesn't seem to realize it and assumes that the man is her intended 18 month charge....naturally absurd things happen that proves reality right.

Futurama Fanfic (I need a better title)- A Futurama Fanfic where the Planet Express crew gets stranded on a planet inhabited by an offshoot of the big Amazonian cave-women.  The difference being they assume that anyone smaller than them is a baby.  (actually considering trying to write this to a screen play).

The Power of Dreams-  A typical High School loser buys a magic potion to make his dreams come true.  The problem is, the man selling the potion never said he'd be able to control his dreams...or what he'd dream about.

College or Cribs?- (Or perhaps Diapers or diplomas?).  One of the funny things about being an AB is the desire to be treated like an infant; but there's still a desire and necessity both socially, physically, and psychologically, to be an adult.  So we're pulled between two extremes.  The concept for this story is a college student who is an AB gets the ability to experience his ultimate fantasy of a second infancy; AND he can switch back to being an adult.  The catch is, each time he switches- it gets harder to switch back.  ie:  One of these times, he's either going to be stuck in his grown up reality, or his baby one...forever.  So he has to decide which extreme would be better for him.

The Daycare Job-  Honestly...this one is a lot like Dante's Infanzia, as it's about a place where adults are treated as babies and it's mystically enforced (it's MAGIC...I don't have to explain it!)...just a little darker.  I probably won't write this one anytime soon as I got a lot of that out of my system with Dante's Infanzia.  There are a few differences in mind that would make it different; such as the main character would have their full mind, but be unable to talk, and there'd be more traps and twists to make him babyish.

What does anyone think?  Any advice or thoughts on my priorities?  Meh...either way

P.S.  Just thought of some more story ideas that I forgot to type down.

Stepford Babies- (Working title) Female protagonist moves to a new town for a job.   Something's very odd about the kids there and their parents though.  Not a direct parody of Stepford Wives, but I love that feeling of paranoia of 1 person versus an entire town.  No robots, but there's a neat twist that I am loathe to spoil.

Stranded- (Working Title).  Two space explorers (gender undecided...probably a woman and a man with alternating points of view depending on each chapter.)  crash land on a strange alien world, inhabited by strange alien giants.  To their horror they discover that the humans are treated as babies there.  Too soon, they realize that that species' infants just happen to look like adult humans.  So they're trapped on a world where everyone thinks they're babies...and based on the rituals, traditions and bizarre and painful looking technology...they might not want to admit that they're grown up...better hope this species has a LOOOONG life where their babies stay that way for a LOOOONG time.

Questions- This one is a twist that almost is given away instantly, so I don't mind telling on myself.  So many AB and mental AR stories start with the main character being an adult and goes into their regression and plenty end the story once they're babies.  What if this was the opposite?  What if there was a story where the mental AR has already happened, and it's starting to wear off and little by little the character is coming back to their adult self and remembering/discovering the events that led up to their regression.  This is called Questions because at the beginning the character believe's they're 2ish and is asking simple 2 year old questions like "Why is the sky blue, why is water wet..why why why."  and little by little the questions are getting more complex as he or she is noticing inconsistencies.

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KidGood Featured By Owner Jul 8, 2015
Wow I never new you had one of these too. Came a cross your stuff make me just want to write.
silverhedgehog-99 Featured By Owner Feb 23, 2015
Where you at, man? This page is starting to gather dust.
jetg951415 Featured By Owner Aug 2, 2014  Student General Artist
Hey, being a coward is better than dealing with my problems. Go read my deviantID bio.
silverhedgehog-99 Featured By Owner Jul 12, 2014
Been a month since I last bugged you. Bug, bug, bug, bug, bug. Just doing what you told me to do.
silverhedgehog-99 Featured By Owner Jun 11, 2014
Time to bug you. More College or Cribs soon, si vous plait.
Personalias Featured By Owner Jun 11, 2014
silverhedgehog-99 Featured By Owner Jun 11, 2014
I'm good with that. :D (Big Grin) 
TwistXL Featured By Owner Jun 5, 2014
Personalias, I'm a big fan of your stories. I start one then end up reading the entire series, you really know how to capture the reader. Thank you for sharing these with us.
Personalias Featured By Owner Jun 6, 2014
Thank you so much for reading them!  Working on more...I promise....I promise.
silverhedgehog-99 Featured By Owner Oct 19, 2013
You didn't get into another car wreck, did you?
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