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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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(Contains: nudity, sexual themes, strong language and ideologically sensitive material)
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.
Mature Content Filter is On
(Contains: nudity, sexual themes, strong language and ideologically sensitive material)
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.
   

  ELSEWHEN- SHORTLY AFTER THE FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE, OR NEVER (HISTORIANS STILL DISAGREE).

   “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.
Mature Content Filter is On
(Contains: nudity, sexual themes, strong language and ideologically sensitive material)
 Chapter 19: Hospital
  Chris was startled back into consciousness by the crisp rapping on wood of a knock on the door.  His eyes snapped open with a start, just in time to be burned by the flick of a light switch.  The muscles in his corneas ached and retracted as the fluorescent lights buzzed on without warning.  Chri’ss face became a raisin as it crumpled up almost involuntarily.  He tried to shield his eyes with his hand, but he had forgotten that his arms and legs were restrained.  He received barely a quarter inch of movement followed by a sudden halt for his troubles.  
   “Good morning, Chris,” an unfamiliar voice with a dark timbre sang as his eyelids refused to open. “How are we feeling today?” It was a woman’s voice, that much was obvious; but nothing else really stuck out. He was obviously in a hospital of some sort, but Chris had so many questions in his head:   How did he get here?  Why was he strapped down to the bed?  Where was his family?  Why was he still wearing a diaper? How long had he been like this?
    How was he feeling?  Pretty damned confused to say the least.  He was confused enough that he didn’t think to answer the woman’s question.  When his eyes had stopped aching from the rather sudden exposure to light, with no warning he might add, Chris opened his eyes once more.  The woman who had walked in, who had said good morning to him, had been a nurse.
    She was a black woman, in her 30’s or 40’s by the look of her.  She kept her hair up in a bun and wore pink scrubs.  She wasn’t skinny, but Chris wouldn’t say overweight either, and if she was, she carried it well.  “Pleasantly Plump” might be the best word for it, but Chris had never found someone who actually found that phrase flattering.  Chris’s eyes darted around the room where they came to rest upon a whiteboard on the wall facing him.  It said “Your Nurse for Today is:” and the name “Gloria” was written on it in red dry erase marker.  Above it was a digital clock that read 6:13.
   “Well, I bet you would like to get out of that wet incontinence brief, wouldn’t you?” the nurse, Gloria, said.  Chris looked down, and saw the rather obvious bulge of a diaper around his waist.  It was apparent even under the hospital gown that Chris had awoken in.  He averted his eyes, and blushing, nodded his head.  He looked up to her and saw that she wasn’t even looking at him.  She was busying herself with putting some latex gloves on.  It was only then that she turned around to face the young man strapped to the bed.
    “Oh, almost forgot,” Gloria corrected herself before turning and speed-walking out the door, her shoes squeaking with each step.  Two seconds later, she walked back through the door holding something.  It was square cut, and double folded with a line going down the center.  It was purple with a light plastic sheen.  A diaper, Chris recognized, an adult diaper specifically, or rather an incontinence brief, the politically correct medical term.
   Chris’s breathing hastened.  This stranger was going to change him?!  He had been changed by a stranger, Barbara, just yesterday, but then he had been a baby, at least.  Now he was back from being Chris the baby to Christopher Cole IV, pre-med student.  His modesty was viciously reasserting itself.
   The nurse flung the top of his hospital gown back onto his stomach, revealing the adult diaper, its wetness indicator faded after a long night of use.  There were no amusing decorations adorning the landing panel of the diaper, only a pinkish purplish hue, and six little tapes secured the absorbent undergarment to his body instead of the two big ones that he had become accustomed too.
  Chris’s eyes widened in horror as Gloria’s hands reached to undo the first tape of the diaper.  He felt almost as weary of this as when Sammy had been trying to change his diaper, yesterday; though he could do even less about it than before with his hands securely fastened to the bed.  At least this was a medical professional instead of a pre-teen. Truth be told though, really the main reason most people in the hospital don’t mind when a nurse or doctor sees them naked is they are too tired or hurt to care.  Chris was neither and this was getting awkward, fast.
   “Umm…” Chris blurted out, “is this really necessary?”  The nurse froze, looking at Chris as if it were for the first time.  
    “You talked,” she said.  The way she said it made Chris realize that she hadn’t expected him to; perhaps hadn’t expected him to be able to.
  “Yes ma’am,” Chris nodded.  There was silence as Chris and the nurse just stared at each other.
    “Do you know your name?” Gloria asked after much too long.
    “Christopher Cole, the fourth.”
    “Do you know where you are?”
    “Um…a hospital?”
     “How many fingers am I holding up?”
     “Three.”
     The nurse looked absolutely flabbergasted.  Apparently holding up three fingers and asking Chris to count had been her trump card.
    “Um…Gloria,” Chris started to say,
   “How did you know my name?” Gloria cut him off, seeming amazed.
   “Uh….I read the whiteboard…?” Chris motioned with his head.  Gloria seemed on edge but nodded.  Apparently she was having a stranger morning than Chris was, or so she thought anyways.  She continued to nod to herself and her lips pouted while she considered.  Chris felt his bladder ache as the fog cleared from his head.  He had wet in the night, but the tank was refilled now.
    “So,” Chris said breaking the silence, “can I please go to the bathroom?”  
   “You need to go?” Gloria asked.  Another stupid question.  Chris did his best not to roll his eyes.  What wasn’t he communicating properly?  Chris just nodded his head quickly, trying to convey urgency.
   “I’ll have to check with the doctor,” Gloria said before standing up,  “can you hold it?”  Chris wasn’t happy, but yes, yes he could.  He told her as such and the nurse shuffled out of the room, taking the adult diaper with her.  Chris grumbled to himself.  As far as he could remember, as of yesterday it was no big deal if he pooped his pants, and today he needed a doctor’s note to take a whiz.
   Chris looked over to the corner, where the plush pleather chair for visitors was located.  Wubby, his teddy bear, was propped up on it, holding a card that had “Feel Better Soon” scrawled on it in crayon.  Chris remembered the last thing he had said, late last night to the bear, while he had lain in his comfy crib.  ‘I’ve overcome the last hurdle you threw at me.  What else you got?’  
“Me and my big mouth.” Chris growled.  It seems that just when he had about given up, Wubby plunged him into some fantasy reality where he was some overgrown infant, and just when he was getting comfortable there, Wubby dragged him out where he would find himself in some God awful situation.  
   Chris was beginning to doubt his own theory that he had the power and that Wubby was just a manifestation of his will.  A world where infantilism didn’t exist….maybe….just maybe. But even in his most self-loathing state, Chris would never will himself into this mess; not even subconsciously.
 The minutes dragged and stretched on.  This was made worse by the fact that he really had to pee and there was nothing to occupy his attention other than his aching bladder and wall mounted clock.  The nurse could have at least turned on a T.V. or something before she left.  It’s not like he could hit the call button either, his hands bound as they were.
   Chris began to assess the situation.  Clearly he was in a hospital, in a diaper and tied to the bed.  They only did that to patients who were a serious risk to others and to themselves.  He glanced at the IV still in his wrist.  Maybe however he got here, the doctors were concerned that he’d try to remove it.  But why the diaper?  Catheters were more efficient overall and less likely in the short term to cause or spread infection.
   Undressing himself so he could look himself over was out of the question at the moment, but some form of emergency surgery seemed unlikely.  Nothing hurt. Period.  At least not the kind of pain you’d associate with going under the knife.  He wriggled his nose and detected no intruders, so no feeding tube; that likely meant that he had been responsive and conscious enough to give food.
  Chris was tempted to just relax his bladder and soak the already used diaper, but some part of him didn’t want to.  He feared that he’d be looked down upon for having an “accident”.  He wouldn’t be some small child to these people, but incompetent and somehow lesser if he did so.  No, he wanted out of this place as soon as possible and the fastest route home likely started with being able to hold his piss in.
  Just as Chris was having second thoughts about the whole to pee or not to pee thing, Gloria the nurse walked back in, a man in a white lab coat, presumably a doctor.  Chris couldn’t get a good look at the doctor as he was almost literally on the nurse’s heals and her head or her shoulder, or a clipboard or a shadow kept obstructing view of his face as he entered.  Chris couldn’t see the face, but he did see the doctor’s pants.  
   His pants were a familiar black with purple pin stripes, clashing entirely with the black and white wingtip shoes.  “Well, Nurse Gloria,” a hauntingly familiar if muddled British accent crashed into Chris’s ear drums, “what seems to be going on here?”  Chris was no longer believing in coincidences. There couldn’t possibly be someone who dressed that ridiculously other than the old man at the mall.  What had his name been again?  He had been magic, Chris remembered that much.  He was some kind of a-

  “Wizard!” Chris yelped.

  “I beg your pardon?” the doctor asked, stepping forward in front of the nurse.  Chris was wrong.  Dead wrong.  Apparently there were at least two people who shopped at the same absurd clothing store.  The man standing before him was at least half a foot shorter than the gangly old carnie out at the mall, clean shaven, and more importantly, Indian.  
 “I said I have to whiz…hard.” Chris bit his lip.

  “Ah, well, I can sympathize,” the doctor said, looking Chris in the eye before going back to whatever chart he had been eyeballing.  “But can you hold it for a few minutes while I ask you some questions?”  Chris groaned inwardly.  He really did have to pee, now that he was thinking about it.  But right now, he felt he was in no position to make demands.

  “Shoot,” Chris said after a long sigh.
  “Do you know what day it is?”
   Chris did some math in his head.  Assuming, time was moving normally for him regardless if people thought he was a baby or not…hmm…He came home from college Friday night, woke up as a giant baby that Saturday, was completely normal on Sunday, and had Sherry walk in on him in the adult diaper (much to his chagrin) that Monday morning.  He had been a baby again all day Tuesday, and the little “playdate” with Angela was yesterday- Wednedsday- so by default, that would make today –
  “Thursday?”
 
   “Very good,” the doctor nodded.  “And are you aware of how long you’ve been here?”

   “Since Tuesday?”

  “Correct,” the doctor confirmed.  “Now, do you know why you are here?”.  Chris caught site of Wubby, sitting in the guest chair.  The doctor and nurse were half blocking his view so that he could only see half of Wubby.  Wubby’s blue eye glittered in the sunlight.

  Images flashed in Chris’s head.  Before the transformation had happened, he had been in his room, alone, looking desperately for any evidence that his fetish existed.  There had been none.  Zero.  Not even a trace.  Even the so called “sexologists” and researchers that identified it as autonepiophilia, or paraphilic infantilism, didn’t seem to exist anymore, or at least their research didn’t.  Chris had felt at an all-time low; just like he had felt before he had realized that there were others, that here were people like him.  He had taken all of this in in silence and something in him had just…snapped.  

  “Oh….yeah…” Chris whispered.
 
“I beg your pardon?” the doctor asked.

  “I had a…” Chris gulped, his mouth suddenly becoming dry and scratchy.  “I had a nervous breakdown.”  This wasn’t a question.  It was fact.  He had been wailing and bawling his eyes out.  He had chucked his computer chair across his own wall and probably and had been howling like a maniac.  If Roxanne hadn’t burst in the room in a panic, it may have escalated.  He wasn’t in “fight or flight” mode so much as he was in “destroy everything else or destroy self” mode.  When at the height of his mania, time had frozen and the infantile reality had reasserted itself.  And just as how his family seemed to know nothing of his time as a big baby, and believed he had been doing the sorts of things he would normally do as a young adult, his family was equally unaware when he was treated as a baby that he was ever anything but.

   So when time froze in the midst of his panic attack, a nervous breakdown over a piece of his life disappearing had been downgraded to a wet bed and a leaky diaper.  Even with all the strangeness, the time as a baby had been somewhat cathartic at the very least; therapeutic even.  But just as life went on without him when he was a baby, and vice versa, he supposed his family could not have ignored the giant tantrum he had been throwing right before.

    The terrible to mediocre Adam Sandler movie with the magic remote control came to mind.  While Sandler had been “fast forwarding” through life, his body was left on auto-pilot.  The same principle clearly applied here.  While Chris had been in “baby mode”, his adult-self had gone on doing the same things he had done right before the switch.  This wasn’t so bad before the first change, since all he had been planning on doing was waking up, whiling away a few hours and then going on a date with Sherry; and apparently that’s what everyone had remembered him doing.  But right before the second change he was in the middle of losing his mind…and apparently that’s what everyone had remembered too, now that he was an adult again.
  The thought that he had perhaps really had been going crazy, and just couldn’t settle in his mind.  The last two days had been too vivid, too coherent, too real to just be his imagination.  
Why the transitions though?  Why onto one high followed by a new low? What was the connec-

 “Are you alright, Mr. Cole?” the doctor broke Chris from his own reverie.  Oh yeah, people noticed when he was quiet now and expected him to talk.  How quickly he had almost forgotten.

  “I’m fine, Doctor…?”
 
   “Gupta,” the Doctor finished.

  “Doctor Gupta,” Chris pleaded, “may we please continue this conversation, after I’ve used the bathroom?”

  “Yes, yes,” Dr. Gupta nodded, “that’s fine.  You do seem quite cognizant right now.”  He turned to Gloria.  “Nurse, if you’d please unfasten Mr. Cole and give him some things to clean up with.”

   The nurse walked to Chris’s bedside, and undid the restraints.  “There are some wet wipes by the toilet,” she instructed, “once you’ve cleaned up, just leave the brief on the floor, and I’ll get it on my way out.”
   
    Chris nodded briefly as he ran sat up and shuffled, toward the bathroom.

    “Careful!” Doctor Gupta cried in alarm.  “Don’t forget your I.V. bag!”  

   So, Chris was denied complete privacy due to a bag on a pole connected to his wrist.  The bathroom was too small for him to maneuver with the pole holding the I.V. bag, so he had to settle for the door open only a crack.  He unceremoniously ripped off the tabs holding the brief together and was pissing into the toilet bowl before the brief managed to land on the floor with a sodden plop.  Oh, there was something quite gratifying about holding your bladder and then emptying it somewhere other than your pants.  He looked down at himself, and realized that his pubes had been shaved.  The stubble was just beginning to grow back.

    Once the stream stopped, Chris grabbed a couple of adult incontinence wipes and cleaned himself up.  Wiping himself lacked the intimacy and feeling of vulnerability that having someone else do it gave him.  Still, he at least kept something of his dignity.  

     When he was ready, he took a deep breath and then trudged back in the hospital room proper, Doctor Gupta and Nurse Gloria still waiting for him.  He sat down in the bed, positioning his hospital gown so that everything would be covered down there.

  “So…” Chris began, letting the word hang in the open air.

   “So…” Dr. Gupta returned.

    “Psych ward?”

     “Correct.”

    “What happened?”

     The doctor took a deep breath and then exhaled.  “You were brought here when your family dialed 911.   You were incoherent and flailing on the floor.  You did not respond to speech.  The paramedics had to sedate you to keep you calm.  You’ve more or less been in what is termed a fugue state since this morning.”

      Chris nodded.  That was about where he had left off before his trip into baby land.  “The restraints?”

    “When you were admitted, you resisted any and all attempts to draw blood, or insert a needle into your skin.  We thought it might be an allergic reaction, or drugs.  That and you were thrashing about unless you were chemically or physically restrained.  We didn’t know what was in your system, so we opted for physical restraints, at least at first.  Though we did give you more sedatives so that you wouldn’t thrash too hard.”

   “The diaper?” Chris asked.  “Why not just a catheter?”

   “You began defecating on yourself,” the doctor replied curtly.  An awkward pause followed.  

   “Feeding tube?”

   “Not necessary, actually,” Doctor Gupta explained.  “You took solid foods quite well, provided they were spoon fed in small pieces to you.”  Chris shuddered at that mental image.  That had to have been awkward.  A nurse feeding him as a vegetable conjured a much different mental picture than a mommy feeding a him as a baby.  Now came the hard questions.

  “You know my dad?” Chris looked down in shame.

   “I do,” Doctor Gupta confirmed.  “He’s the head of the Emergency Room, though we don’t cross paths overly much.”

    “Does he know about this?”

    “About you being awake and responsive?  Not yet.” Doctor Gupta told Chris.  “But he is off today, and I promised to call your family if anything changed.  The fact that we’re having this conversation is most definitely a change.”  Before Chris could ask his next question, Doctor Gupta answered it for him.  “I wouldn’t be surprised if they were here within the hour.”

    “Good,” Chris said in resignation.  That’d give him just enough time to think up some excuse.
Back from Teddy Con!  It was awesome.  Now on to writing more CoC!  Expect Updates this week!

deviantID

Personalias
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 is...now 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 though...so 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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:iconsilverhedgehog-99:
silverhedgehog-99 Featured By Owner Feb 23, 2015
Where you at, man? This page is starting to gather dust.
Reply
:iconjetg951415:
jetg951415 Featured By Owner Aug 2, 2014  Student Artist
Hey, being a coward is better than dealing with my problems. Go read my deviantID bio.
Reply
:iconsilverhedgehog-99:
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.
Reply
:iconsilverhedgehog-99:
silverhedgehog-99 Featured By Owner Jun 11, 2014
Time to bug you. More College or Cribs soon, si vous plait.
Reply
:iconpersonalias:
Personalias Featured By Owner Jun 11, 2014
Soon....Sunday?  
Reply
:iconsilverhedgehog-99:
silverhedgehog-99 Featured By Owner Jun 11, 2014
I'm good with that. :D (Big Grin) 
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:icontwistxl:
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.
Reply
:iconpersonalias:
Personalias Featured By Owner Jun 6, 2014
Thank you so much for reading them!  Working on more...I promise....I promise.
Reply
:iconsilverhedgehog-99:
silverhedgehog-99 Featured By Owner Oct 19, 2013
You didn't get into another car wreck, did you?
Reply
:iconsilverhedgehog-99:
silverhedgehog-99 Featured By Owner Jul 10, 2013
...Helloooooooo? Anybody home?
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