The Middle of the End
My name is Richard, not Richie.
I am not a baby, I’m an adult.
I’m twenty eight…no thirty. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
(Keep it together Rich. Keep it together. You know numbers. You still know numbers. JUST FOCUS! START OVER!)
My name is Richard, not Richie.
I am not a baby, I am an adult.
I’m thirty years old.
Gwendolyn is my wife, not my mommy…mother…fuck!
(Keep going. Power through.)
(That doesn’t sound right. Something with numbers though. Something with numbers. Ones and zeroes. Computer programmer? Maybe. Let’s try that out.)
My name is Richard, not Richie.
I am not a baby, I am an adult.
I’m thirty years old.
Gwen is my wife, not my mother.
I’m a computer programmer.
(Yeah that sounds right. Keep going.)
I don’t need to sleep in cribs.
I don’t need to drink from a bottle.
I don’t need to be spoon fed.
I don’t need diapers.
I don’t need any of this baby stuff.
One day, I will wake up, and this will all be over.
I’m lying in a crib, staring up at the dangling ducks on the mobile like I do every night and afternoon nap, reciting my mantra in my head. It’s getting harder to concentrate, harder to focus, and it’s not just because I’m getting sleepy.
I don’t even get a pillow, I’m so young…I’m treated so young…I’m actually thirty-…ish… I think. Maybe late twenties…it’s hard to tell. I’m wearing feetie pajamas with airplanes on them, and a diaper underneath.
I think I’m dry right now, but it’s hard to tell. It’s hard enough to tell how long this bucket of crazy that’s my existence has been going on, the days just seem to blur together. Whether my diaper is wet or not- that’s something that’s beyond me at the moment. I’ll be wet in the morning, that’s for sure, and I’m in a nighttime diaper. So unless I wake up in the middle of the night, bawling, I’m probably not getting changed till the sun is up. So me being wet or not at the moment is irrelevant. By the time a grown-up; my wife; sees me tomorrow, I will be.
Shit, I gotta stop doing that: Referring to other adults as “grown-ups”.
I’m losing it. I’ve been losing it. I’ve been losing it since that day when everything turned upside down. I still can’t make sense of anything anymore. Reciting this mantra- reminding myself of basic facts about my life before-is the only thing that keeps me hanging on instead of going full on retard. Never go full retard.
Heh…that was a joke from some movie, but I can’t for the life of me remember which one. I haven’t watched anything that wasn’t animated in I-don’t-know-how long.
But I’m slipping: The mantra gets messier every time I recite it. Shorter too, I think; like I’m forgetting stuff that I used to put into it. I’m getting basic facts wrong; remembering them wrong, or just feeling off about it. Hell, maybe I was an accountant before my life went south. I don’t know.
The mantra’s losing its meaning too. It used to give me focus, I think; like meditation, or prayer. I’m afraid that it’s becoming just something that I just say right before I drift off to sleep. “Now I lay me down to sleep, my name is Richie, I’m not a baby, I’m an adult, and if I die before I wake I pray the Lord my toys to break so all the other kids can’t have them.”
And every time I go to sleep, a little less of me, the real me, comes back.
I’ve got to remember more than just words. I’ve got to remember how it all happened. What did I do to deserve this? I didn’t piss off a gypsy, or enter a magic shop, or volunteer for a hypnotist act or do drugs. God I wish I’d done drugs, then this would all make sense. I’m tripping balls or something and any minute I’m going to wake up hung over. But it’s been too long for that.
It’s been way too long. Was it a year ago? Thereabouts. Yeah. Maybe a year ago, when I pulled the car over to go pee. I don’t even remember where I pulled over. Maybe it was a bowling alley. Maybe it was a church. Or a college campus. I honestly can’t for the life of me remember. All I remember is it was a place where you wouldn’t normally think of childcare, but you wouldn’t think it that weird that they had a daycare or something like that. Bowling alleys have daycares, right? Right.
I had been driving, with Gwendolyn; my wife, (not my mommy) and I really had to pee. We had been driving for a long ways. Vacation? Road trip? Business? Going to a concert, maybe? I can’t remember anymore. It’s all fuzzy. You’d think I’d remember the exact day, but so much of my memory leading up to that moment has become multiple choice.
I wanna say that it was for something fun. Gwen had her hair down, and she was wearing that top that I really like: The blue one that shows a lot of cleavage. It makes her rack look like it did when we were in college. Damn she looks hot in that thing. And that long dark hair of hers, I don’t care if she’s already starting to gray a little bit up top; likely the result of stress from whatever the fuck her job was…or is… I can’t remember and she never tells me where she goes to work anymore. It’s just “work”.
I’d look at her dressed like that, in that skirt that stops way above her knee, and get to thinking “If it weren’t for me needing to pee so bad, I’d pull over and take her right now. We’d do it in the road like the Beatles song.”
Gwen loves the Beatles. She’s an old soul. I don’t know if she still likes the Beatles, but she did a year or so ago. Now she just listens to Raffi, and the Wiggles when I’m around. That kind of kiddie garbage. No more “obla-dee obbla-da”. Now, it’s just “skinamarink-a-dink-a-dink”.
If I had known that would be the last time I was gonna be in the driver’s seat, I would’ve pulled over and humped her in the back, Volkswagen be damned.
Now, were we on our way somewhere fun, or on our way home? I don’t know. I don’t fuckin’ know. I’m getting over it and moving on before I lose that memory forever, too.
All I know right then is that I have to pee somethin’ fierce. The dam’s about to break, and I need to find a toilet since ten miles back. So, we pull off the interstate-I miss the gas stations, traffic is so bad and won’t let me turn- and we come to the first place that likely has a bathroom. Maybe it was a bowling alley. Maybe it was a campus of some community college. Maybe it was a church, for all I know. Not important anymore. Beyond me now. Moving on.
I rush into the place, ready to burst, and no one is there. Hallways- there were hallways, I’m sure- are empty. Doors are closed. No one’s around. If it was a bowling alley, the lanes were empty. If it was a college, class wasn’t in session. If it was a church, the rapture must’ve happened.
So I’m in an empty building, alone- Gwen didn’t have to go, or something, so she’d just wait in the car- and I’m about to piddle on the carpet like a little purse dog, when I see a sign. It says “Nursery and Restrooms” and has a little arrow pointing left. So of course, I take a left.
I walk left. Then I run. Then I dash. Then I sprint till I finally, finally, get to a door that says “Nursery”. It’s got a construction paper rainbow over the word and little happy face stickers all over the door. No bathroom, though.
There’s no toilet in sight, I must’ve run right past it, and I’m squeezing my legs together and shuffling my feet in a little potty dance like I’m three or something. So I do the one civilized thing I can think of and I knock on the door.
From here on out, I feel like I’m remembering things more clearly. The details are sharper; more definite. Maybe I ambrainwashed or something, and that’s why from here on out everything is so much more clear. I’m not remembering things as they were, but as I’ve been made to remember them. Maybe I’m not really remembering this as much as I think, and I’ve just relived this nightmare so many times in my head that it’s become real to me; the details exaggerated till they become fact instead of exaggeration.
Doesn’t matter. I don’t know. But maybe there’s a clue in them. Moving on.
I knock on the door and a woman answers. She looks like maybe she’s in her late forties, or early fifties, but life hasn’t wrecked her yet. She’s a little bit taller than me- not that I’m a giant or anything but it sticks out in my mind- and she’s got light brown hair that’s tied back into a bun. Her chin is square like an army drill sergeant and her eyes have this glint to them that says ‘Don’t fuck with me’. Definitely a mom look.
She’s got a sky blue shirt on with little decorations of baby clothes like onesies, and t-shirts, and pants, and bibs and the word, “B-A-B-Y” printed out on building blocks, all along a thin black line, like her shirt was the sky and someone took a ton of little baby clothes and hung them out to dry on her shirt. Yeah, she worked here.
“Yes, can I help you?” she asks, all business-like, before looking at me, my hands pinching my dick with me doubled over in pain. My kidneys hate me so much right now. “Oh,” she giggles a little bit. “Do you need to use the bathroom?” I nod frantically and she opens the door for me so I can squeeze through, still dancing. “Come on in” she says.
She points me straight ahead, and asks me my name.
“Richard,” I say as I’m practically tripping over myself to take a piss.
“Are you hear to pick up or drop off?” The nursery lady asks.
“Neither,” I tell her. “I just gotta go!” and I dash to the door with a little toilet on the front. I’ve got tunnel vision at this point. A derby horse with blinders on could still see around him more than me. For me it was straight ahead and nothing else.
“Okay, go on, Richie” the lady giggles after me. If there are kids in this daycare place right now, I don’t notice ‘em. I might be tripping and stepping over a couple of tots on my way to the john. I’m only hoping there isn’t some toddler on the pot so I don’t walk in on them. Last thing I need is to wind up on some list because preschoolers don’t know how to lock a bathroom door. But the lady seems cool with it, so I think I’m in the clear.
I open the door, and my belt is already unbuckled. The door closes, and my pants are already around my ankles while I’m twisting the little lock on the door so I don’t get walked in on. That’d be another great way to end up on the list. “What was he doing at a daycare bathroom if he wasn’t a parent?” they’d ask. “Why didn’t he lock the door?” You read about this kind of shit all the time.
Fuck the zipper, I’m not wearing any underwear that day, I’m not thinking straight, and I’m not getting my cock caught in a zipper as I make a desperate dash to relief. I am literally hopping to the toilet.
I lift the brown shell up, I aim in the middle, not even bothering with the seat, and I fire my steam out. My own moans of relief drown out the sound of piss hitting a plastic bottom. My brain is in too much ecstasy to realize that I should be hearing the sound of liquid hitting liquid and that normal toilets don’t have brown shells for lids.
It’s only after that my bladder is empty that I stop and take stock of my surroundings. I’m in a single, one person bathroom. With a little sink that you’d have to bend over to wash your hands in. There are little paintings and posters on the walls about remembering to wash your hands, and to wipe when you’re done, but no normal toilet.
Instead, right in front of me, is a turtle. A. Fucking. Turtle. It’s a plastic potty, like a two year old would sit on, but a heck of a lot bigger. The lid is patterned like a shell, with the rest of it being a nauseating dark green color. Right out in front is the turtle’s head with a big goofy smile and vacant, lifeless eyes. The turtle was smiling at me while I pissed inside its shell.
I think I had a sandbox like this once, back when I was in kindergarten, only with more urine in it- mostly from cats.
And it’s a scaled-up version of a toddler toilet in every way, too. Big. Plastic. And no plumbing or flushing mechanism. Right then, my mind is racing. I just pissed into a plastic potty. Me. A grown-up. My stomach is doing flip flops, I’m so embarrassed.
Then I see a sign above the potty: “If you need help, go ask a grown-up.” I wanna dash out the door, out of the nursery, through the empty hallway, and out to the parking lot back to Gwen so I can get my trip going again, but I’d feel like a real heel if I didn’t at least fess up to my mistake. Somebody is going to have to dump my piss down the pipes and that doesn’t seem right to me. Maybe if I explain it well enough, they’ll at least let me do it myself; no hard feelings. The potty looks big, but it’s mostly plastic, so it doesn’t look that hard to pick up, even filled with a couple of my leftover liters in it.
I reach down and hike my pants up and button the snaps up. I don’t bother to buckle my belt. It’s not there anymore. (It’s not there anymore? Wait a second…why was it gone?)
Where the fuck did my belt buckle go? Oh my God! I just had a breakthrough! The changes were starting right then and there! And my pants didn’t have snap buttons before! The changes were starting by the time I was in the bathroom! I could have sworn it was the sippy cup full of juice that did it. Maybe it was something in the air, or the place itself. Shit, don’t forget that, Richard! Don’t forget that! Moving on.
So, pants back up, I poke my head out of the bathroom and call out, “Excuse me?”
The tall lady in the nursery turns her head and says, “Is something wrong?” Her brow furrows like she’s concerned or something. I’m beat red just thinking about how my pee is taking up space in a plastic bowl that I can’t just flush away. I just nod my head, feeling sheepish.
“Got a bit of a problem,” I start to explain, but before I can even get the rest of the damn sentence out of my throat, she’s on me. The bathroom door is open, and she’s right in my personal space with her hand on my chest, pushing me backwards.
My hands go up instinctively and I find myself backing up instead of pushing back. I don’t know if this lady is pissed, or what, but I’m not looking for a fight, so I just go on the defensive. I’m back in the bathroom with her, and now the door is closed.
Then, still looking me in the eyes, her hands go for my pants and unbutton them. Simple as that.
“Whoah!” I start to say something, but she’s yanking my pants back down to my ankles. “Hey?! Don’t?!” I’m sputtering out, thinking this lady’s trying to give me a blow job or something. Yeah, I sound like a creep saying it like that, but how many stories do you hear about a grown woman unbuttoning a guy’s pants without any kind of warning and it not be sexual?
Before I can do anything about it, she pushes me back again, and the next thing I know, my cheeks are spread sitting on the giant turtle potty.
The lady takes a knee beside me and grabs my penis in one hand. I freeze. I don’t dare stand up. I don’t dare move. She’s got me just north of the balls. I’m expecting her to start squeezing or yanking or something, but instead she’s just holding my cock daintily in her fingers; thumb on the bottom, two fingers on top.
“What are-?” I start to say and then she presses her free pointer finger to my lips.
“Shhhh” she cuts me off. “Go potty first, big boy. Then we’ll talk.” She’s got my dick pointed at the back of the potty turtle’s head. It’s a splash guard, I realize, for little boys that are too young, dumb, and short to aim down. This crazy bitch expects me to piss sitting down like I don’t have the coordination to relieve myself standing up the way God intended.
No one’s ever talked to me this way, and I feel myself go three shades of red. I’m too scared to move, though. Also, I’m running on empty, urine-wise, this woman has my dick in her hands and is watching me way too closely, and with the sudden rush of blood that I’m experiencing to my nether regions…well let’s just say that I’m having the weirdest case of performance issues ever. I want to pee to get this over with and be able to run out of here, but I just can’t.
“Having trouble?” she asks me, as if that weren’t obvious.
“Yeah, but-“, I start to say, but she cuts me off again.
“Denise!” she calls out. “Denise! A little help, please?”
Another woman opens up the bathroom door and pokes her head in. She looks closer to my age, maybe even a little younger. She’s blonde, and her hair is kept back in a ponytail. It’s obvious by her identical shirt that she works here too. I don’t remember seeing her when I was pee-pee dancing in, though.
“Yeah, Kate?” this new girl, Denise asks. She’s staring right at me, naked from the waist down, with my penis clearly in this lady, Kate’s hands. Denise doesn’t even flinch. She doesn’t bat an eyelid. I don’t register to her. I might as well not even be there. I’m not a real person to her, or something. I’m a fixture with the bathroom. I’m practically part of the big plastic turtle potty that I’m sitting on.
“Sippy cup of apple juice?” Kate asks the younger woman, also not paying any attention to me.
“Comin’ right up,” Denise says before slipping her head out, but the door is still open a crack. I don’t hear anything. As far as I know, me, Kate, and Denise are the only three people in the whole building. They must be getting their jollies off on me, I think.
Kate looks up from the door back up at me. “She’ll be right back with some apple juice,” she says to me as if I didn’t hear everything. “Let’s see if that helps you go potty.” I just sit there like a putz. I could pop her in the eye; maybe make a break for it. She’s got about an inch or two on me when we’re both standing, but I’ve got more muscle on my body, the element of surprise is on my side and my adrenaline is definitely pumping and telling me “fight or flight”. She’s also kneeling right now; not what you’d think of as a fighting stance. Worst case scenario, my common sense tells me, she digs her nails into my dick and I get scratches in some very uncomfortable places.
Still, I could get away and this just becomes one hella weird story to tell after a whle.
But what if I don’t get away? What if she or her sick friend have some kind of pepper spray or Taser or something? Then the cops get called and it’s my word against two women who work in a fuckin’ nursery. I’m not even a local, so it’s not like I’ve got character witnesses or anything. I decide not to act and just see how this all plays out. That was Hamlet’s great flaw too, I think.
“Here you go,” Denise leans back into the little bathroom again, holding a decent sized plastic mug with two handles on it. Just like before, she looks at the woman who’s holding my privates hostage, and not me. I mean, she’s looking at me but she’s not really acknowledging me. Just as quick, she pops her head out, and the door finally closes, leaving me alone with just the one psycho woman holding my penis to the back of a potty turtle’s head.
“Drink this,” Kate hands the sippy cup to me, and almost instinctively I grab onto the handles. “This will help you go potty.”
I want to get this over with as quickly as possible, so I tilt it back and pour the apple juice inside down my throat. At least I think it was apple juice. It was sweet, and a little tangy I guess. More poetic men than me would describe it in more detail, but really, it was just apple juice to me. Nothing to write home about, not that I intended to write home about any of what was going on just now. Get me out of here let me pee in front of this sick woman, and let me get back to my car so my wife and I can get back on the road.
For the longest time, I’ve assumed that there was something in that juice that made what happened happen; like I was drugged or something. But the no belt thing now makes me think more was going on than I thought. Gotta stay focused and remember, though. What went on that day is the clearest that I can remember anything. Everything before then has been swallowed up in a never ending series of feedings, naptimes, bath times, and diaper changes. That’s why I have the mantra: To keep what little I still have.
Holy shit, that last time on the turtle potty might have been the last time I relieved myself outside of my own pants. Rambling again. Stop that! Talking to myself? Fine. Rambling to myself? I’m drawing the line. Cut it out. Moving on. Just remember.
So there I am, chugging juice from a sippy cup, while a forty-something lady points my Johnson at a splash guard on a giant toddler toilet like I’m a two-something. Gwen’s gotta be wondering what the hell is taking me so long, but I absolutely do not want her to see me like this.
“I’ll sing a song to help you relax,” Kate, the nutter, tells me, uninvited. Then she starts singing this dumb little song, my prick still between her fingers. It’s a little like that one song: ‘I like to eat-eat-eat apples and bananas’ but it’s missing a few beats.
“I can go poop-and-pee…on the potty,” she sings to me like this is my first time. I mean, it’s my first time that I can remember where someone else is holding my dick for me; it’s not like it’s my first time taking a piss, but it’s definitely the first time where this level of bullshit has happened. “I can go poop-and-pee…on the potty.” I’m more weirded out by this than anything, but if I’m showing it, she’s ignoring it.
Her voice echoes off the bathroom walls. I gotta admit, it’s kind of pretty. Not professional level, mind you, but nobody sounds professional in the bathroom. Kinda sweet though. The fuck am I saying? Moving on! Moving on!
Finally, after about two or three minutes, I feel something, and a little spurt of pee comes out of me. It’s not much- barely a dribble-but it splashes against the back of the turtle’s head.
“All done?” Kate looks up at me, her eyes making it a genuine question. It’s like my cock is a loaded gun and she’s a little afraid to let go cause it’ll go off. Mortified beyond belief, I nod. Then she let’s go of me and claps her hands while cheering. “Yaaaaay Richard!” she says
“Can I get up now?” I ask her. I probably shouldn’t have asked her. I should’ve just stood up. But things were just too weird for me and I was failing on every level to take control. Moving on.
“Uh huh,” she says, and I stand up, feeling like I’m almost home. I reach down to pull my pants up, but then Kate bats my hands away with a slap. I jerk my hands away from my own slacks like I just got caught trying to sneak a cookie. “Don’t worry,” she says, “let me,” and she grabs my pants and starts shimmying them back up my thighs. My dumb ass lets her.
Just when I can feel the elastic waist band of my slacks start to brush against my bum, (Elastic waist band? Holy shit that’s another difference I didn’t notice before…the fuck happened?) she stops and I hear a little gasp from her.
“Richard,” she says, her voice echoing off the wall with an accusation building up right behind it. “Two questions.”
“What?” I gulp, feeling like I’m going to regret this.
“Where’s your underwear?” Kate asks, like I’ve done something wrong.
“I’m not wearing any today,” I tell her. What? I like free-balling. It’s not like there’s a law saying that I have to wear them. It’s not like I came in there wearing Underoos and ditched them in a trashcan or something.
“And what’s this?” she points to something on the front my pants. Her tone is like the lawyer that just asked the guilty schmuck the case winning question, proving that he did it; he killed old lady Whithers or some such bullshit.
I squint my eyes and look down at the front of my pants. She folds them forward so I can see a little better. Maybe a quarter inch to the right of the zipper, is a wet spot. A tiny wet spot. It’s like somewhere between the size of a dime and a penny. Okay, so maybe I leaked a little out in the last few milliseconds. It happens. It’s not a big deal. If you weren’t looking directly at my crotch, (which you shouldn’t be), and weren’t looking for it, (which again you shouldn’t be), you wouldn’t even notice it. It’d be dry inside of five minutes, anyways.
Her hand is on my chest again, and she’s pushing me back. I don’t want to move, but the back of my legs hit the big turtle potty and my knees instantly buckle. I’m sitting back down on the potty again. “Sit here,” she tells me, pointing her finger at me, “just in case.” She turns towards the bathroom door again. “Denise?” she yells. Denise pokes her head in again.
“Richard had a little accident,” Kate says. My jaw drops to my knees. “Do we have any extra shorts or undies for him?”
“Hold on, I’ll check,” Denise tells Kate before her head disappears out of the bathroom again.
“What-?” I start to complain, but the crazy woman just puts another finger to my lips and I find myself unable to speak up.
“Just hold on, Richard,” she whispers to me, all soothing like. “Miss Denise is checking.” The door opens again and Denise pops her head in.
“Nothing in his size,” she says to Kate, not me. I’m still invisible. This is an ‘A-B’ conversation and they’re making sure that I ‘C’ my way out of it. (Shit, can I still spell? R-I-C-A…R-I-C-C…fuck my life. Moving on.) Point is, I’m thinking “Of course there isn’t anything in my size.” I’m a grown-up. I’m too friggin’ big for anything they have.
“Pull-ups?” Kate asks.
The word “Seriously?!” might as well be tattooed on my forehead, I’m so confused and indignant. Who do these people think they are? Thing is, Kate’s face is completely straight. The pull-ups question is a serious and genuine question to her.
“Only girls’” little blonde Denise says. She’s doesn’t even smirk.
“Doubt mom would like that,” Kate clicks her tongue.
“Nope,” Denise agrees. Why are they even talking about this? I don’t know. The real question is why am I not running? Something about this still has me paralyzed. For some reason, I’m still waiting to see how this all plays out. Hamlet’s flaw.
“Well then we’ll do what we have to do and then explain it to his mother,” Kate sighs. Denise disappears yet again and Kate turns to face me, my ass still kissing the plastic seat. She looks anxious, but not afraid; like she’s about to break bad news.
Kate takes a knee and looks me straight in the face. She’s wearing nursery scrubs and she’s suddenly the doctor telling me I’ve got three months to live.
“You’re not in trouble,” she tells me solemnly. “But you’ve had a little pee-pee accident, and your pants are wet.”
“So?” I ask her. “Who cares? Just let me go, and I’ll be out of your hair.” She sets her hand on my shoulder, like she’s trying to comfort me.
“You know I can’t do that, Richie,” she tells me, full on serious. “I wouldn’t be doing my job if I let you walk around in pee-pee pants.”
“Look, lady,” I say, “my wi-“
“Your mommy won’t be mad,” Kate interrupts me. “We’ll explain everything to her when she comes to pick you up later today.” Right then, Denise slips in, holding something in her hand. Something white and rectangular and plastic looking.
Kate turns her head to Denise. “Help me get his pants off.”
“WHAT?!” I yell, my voice echoing off the bathroom floor. I try to stand up, but before I do, both of Kate’s hands are on my shoulders and she’s standing over me. She’s pushing me down, and my arms are pinned to my sides all of a sudden. I expect to be able to push her back or off or something, but she’s not budging. I’m grunting and groaning like a motherfucker, but this crazy bitch who’s only an inch or so taller than me and who I’ve got to have like fifty to a hundred pounds on isn’t even struggling.
Like, I’m not a fighter or anything, but I should be doing better than this. She should at least have to be right on top of me, straddling my naked ass with and pinning me with all of her weight. Basic physics, right?
But she’s not. She’s standing off to the side, holding me down on a humongous child’s toilet and all I can do is grunt and strain so that I at least feel that I’m putting up a good fight. I’m not, though. She might as well be Thor’s hammer or something, and I am definitely
Meanwhile, my shoes are off my feet and little blonde Denise is working my slacks off of me. I’m kicking and flailing my legs, trying to kick her teeth out by this point- fuck pressing charges, this has gotta be some kind of assault- but it’s not working. She just yanks my pants off and holds my legs by wrapping just one arm around my ankles. The other hand is still holding the white plastic looking thing. I might as well be a fly in a spider’s web.
“It’s okay, Richard. It’s okay!” They both say while I’m doing everything I can to get free. Meanwhile I’m cursing and screaming for help that’s not coming. Maybe Gwen will hear me and come running. Why isn’t she here yet? It feels like it’s been at least ten minutes since I left the car, all told.
When I’m panting and heaving, red faced and feeling exhausted, Kate loosens her grip, and looks me in the eyes again.
“Are you done?” Kate asks me.
I nod yes, out of breath and feeling like I’m out of options.
“Now listen, sweetie,” the older woman says like she’s talking to a child, taking my chin in her hand. “You had a little accident. We’re not mad. It happens sometimes to boys your age.”
“All the time,” Denise confirms, still holding my legs. Everything in me is telling me to run and hide, but Hamlet’s flaw has run its course. I’m in too deep now. (I gotta wonder if this was the point of no return, or if there was other opportunities that I didn’t take. Moving on.)
“But the thing is,” Kate keeps talking, “Miss Kate and Miss Denise don’t have any extra big boy undies that fit you. We don’t even have any boy Pull-Ups. But we can’t let you go walking around wearing pee-pee pants and we definitely can’t let you walk around naked, either.” She takes a deep breath. Here it comes, I sense. “So we’re going to have to put you in a diaper.”
“Diaper?!” I shriek. Then it clicks that that’s what Denise is holding; an adult diaper. What kind of fucked up place are these crazy witches running?! I feel Denise clamp down on my legs with superhuman strength, bracing for another round of my flailing. I don’t give her the satisfaction.
“It’s okay,” she shushes me and then starts trying to reassure me at rapid fire speed. “It’s okay. You’re not in trouble. This isn’t a punishment. You’re not a baby. You’re still a big boy. You can still use the potty if you need to. It’s just a diaper is all that we have that will fit you right now. ”
“But, but, but,” I stutter, trying to interrupt this woman and not finding the words.
“You don’t have to use it,” Kate talked over me. “You just have to wear it till your mommy comes and picks you up.”
“But my wife is in the car-“ I argue, “I can just leave and-”
“No you can’t, honey,” Kate cuts me off. “Your mommy left you with us to take care of you, and that’s what we have to do till she gets back.”
“But my wife is right outside in the car!” I shout. “Let me go get her!”
“That’s not what mommy said,” Kate says looking deep into my eyes. “She said she’s be right back after she ran some errands in the car. Isn’t that right, Denise?”
“That’s right,” Denise echoes.
“GWEN!” I shout at the top of my lungs. “GWEN HELP!”
“Gwen?” Denise talks over me.
“Mom’s first name,” Kate says over her shoulder. Then she turns back to me. “Look, you’re not gonna get in trouble for wearing a diaper,” she lectures to me as if that’s my biggest concern. “When your mommy, when Gwen gets here to pick you up, we’ll tell her what happened. If she gets mad; she’ll get mad at us. Okay?”
Damn right, she’d get mad at them. This is unlawful imprisonment. This is kidnapping, including literally treating me like a kid.
“Now, you have two choices, Richard” she says to me. “You can either be a good boy and let me put a diaper on you, and you can go play till someone comes to pick you up, OR you can make a bad decision, and we’ll still put a diaper on you, but you’ll be in time out instead. Which is it?”
It’s only going to be a matter of time before Gwen comes looking for me. Maybe I can run, then. Worst part is, I know that I’m going to end up diapered regardless. There’s something weird about these chicks. Something not quite human. I’d rather stay on their good side.
“Okay,” I say. I’m resigned to my fate. This is gonna be one hell of story. I’m sure I’m gonna look back at this one day and laugh. Denise lets my legs go, and Kate takes a step back from me. She holds out her hand behind her and Denise slips her the adult diaper.
“I got this one,” she says to Denise, and Denise opens the bathroom door and walks out again with my pants, socks, and shoes. “You can stand up,” Kate says to me, and I do what she says. I’m covering my junk and I’m hunched over, feeling really fucking small right then, in more ways than one.
Kate looks at me and giggles a little bit. “It’s okay, Richie. Nothing I haven’t seen before.”
I was going to say that she hadn’t seen mine before, but that wasn’t true. So I just keep quiet.
“Lay down on the floor,” she orders me, and I crouch down, feeling the cool tile beneath my now bare feet. Then I ease on and lay down. It’s crowded here and I barely fit lying down. It’s cold too. My ass is sticking slightly to the tile. The lady takes a knee next to me and starts to unfold the diaper in front of me.
I get a closer look at it, and I notice that this isn’t an adult diaper. It’s got little decorations on it. Teddybears with balloons and parachutes and stuff. I didn’t know they made kid diapers that big.
I let out a little “ugh” of surprise and discomfort as she slithers her arm underneath my knees and lifts my legs up into the air. If she has just asked for me to raise my hips I would have planted my feet and pushed, but she didn’t. Instead she just pushes my legs back till my ass is in the air. Meanwhile, I’m still covering my crotch out of embarrassment.
I watch helplessly as she slides the unfolded diaper under me and sets me down on it. It feels soft on my bum and it crinkles as my weight comes down on the thick padding. It’s warm and comfortable compared to the hard, cold, bathroom floor tiling.
“Move your hands,” she tells me, and I obey, knowing that I can’t do much about it anyways. “Spread your legs,” she tells me. I do what she says. Then Kate, this fucking nursery worker who I’ve known for all of ten minutes, tops, pulls the front of the diaper over me. She reaches down to my left side and tucks the front end past the back. She pulls the back of the left side up over the front and tapes it on to the front. Then she does the same for the other side.
The whole thing goes taut, and encases me. It’s only held together by two big pieces of tape; it’s practically a patchwork hanging by a thread. But you wouldn’t know it by the feel of it. It’s one solid, soldered together unit. Yup. I’m wearing a diaper now. The baby perfume from the damn thing invades my nostrils. I can practically taste the stuff.
Kate stands up first and leans over. “That’s wasn’t so bad, was it?” I don’t say anything. I’m probably gonna shoot my mouth off and I don’t want some kind of ‘roided up superwoman spanking me- I wouldn’t put it past her. She leans over me and offers me her hand. I take it and she helps me to my feet.
When I stand up, I realize something feels off; and I don’t mean about how I have to stand with my legs further apart than I’m used to. And I don’t mean how the frilly little leg gathers tickle the inside of my thighs. I’m not talking about how my blue t-shirt only comes down past my waist, barely managing to cover up the little cartoon bears on the diaper, either. (Was it a t-shirt when I came in? I could’ve sworn it was at least a polo shirt or something with a collar. Moving on)
It’s Kate. She seems… taller. A couple of minutes ago she had maybe an inch on me, but now I’m craning my neck up to look her in the eye. I come up to about her shoulder all of a sudden. My shoes didn’t give me that much lift, did they?
I try to move past her and get out the bathroom, but Kate blocks my way. “Just a second, Richie,” she tells me.
“Now what?” I complain.
“You better wash your hands,” she tells me.
“What?!” The word just leaps out of my throat.
“You might have had a pee-pee accident,” she says, “but you still got most of it in the big boy potty. Good job!” She raises her hand and offers it as a high five. I don’t move. She puts her hand down. “Big boys wash their hands after they go to the potty.”
“Are you serious?” I ask.
“That’s what big boys do,” she answers, completely missing the point of my question. “You’re a big boy, aren’t you?”
What a ridiculous question! I nod.
“So let’s wash your hands.”
Suddenly I’m being shoved towards the little sink. It doesn’t seem as little now, though. I don’t have to bend over as much. Kate’s leaning over my shoulder now, turning on the sink.
She grabs my wrists and runs them under the water. “First we get ‘em wet,” she announces. Then she grabs a bar of soap and puts it in the palm of my hands. I’m like a puppet as she has me rub my hands together building up a foam, “Then we get them good and soapy.” I drop the soap and she doesn’t say anything. She just keeps having me rub my hands together. “Then we rinse them off.” It’s that scene from “Ghost” all over again, only I’m the little spoon and the soundtrack is her telling me how to wash my goddamn hands.
She reaches past me again, and turns the water off, and grabs a paper towel and hands it to me.
Drying my hands: This she lets me do by myself.
“All done,” she announces, as if I don’t friggin’ know. I throw away the little brown paper towel into some dinky trash can, and then I feel her hand on my shoulder. I whirl around and face her. She is still waaaaaay to close and in my personal space. She doesn’t seem to notice.
“Remember,” she says to me, “You’re still a big boy who knows how to use the big boy potty.”
I cock an eyebrow. I nod. Uh…duh?
“I don’t want you going potty in your diaper on purpose,” she rambles on. “You’re potty trained. You’re a big boy and I still want you to act like it. If you need to go potty, just come get me and I’ll help you take your diaper off. You’re not going to pee-pee in your diaper on purpose, are you?”
I just shake my head, but probably not for the reason she thinks.
“Okay, good.” She nods. I turn my head towards the bathroom door. Never before have I wanted to be out of anywhere worse than right then. Her hand is on my chin and I’m looking her in the eyes again.
“Oh, one more thing,” she adds. “If you do have an accident, come and tell me or Miss Denise about it. Don’t play around in a wet diaper. You won’t be in trouble, and we’ll just come back and change you in here like a big kid; not out on the changing table with the babies. Is that okay?”
I just stand and stare at her for a hot minute, saying nothing. Then I say the only thing that I can think of: “The fuck is wrong with you?!” That was a mistake.
Her eyes light up, her nostrils flare, and her lip curls into a snarl in all of half a second. Weird daycare lady to werewolf; no full moon required.
Before I know it I’m spun around and in a headlock. Her grip is a vise and I’m straining to breathe. My eyes are scrunched tight. I’m digging my bare feet in. My toes are curling. I’ve got one hand pushing against her back. I’m punching her back. Punching her kidneys. My other hand is wrenching at her elbow. I try her forearm. I try her wrist. I’m trying everything to wrench out of this hold she’s got me in.
It’s. Not. Working.
I’m a dumb dog with its head caught in the whole in the fence. She’s the fence.
“Okay,” I choke out. “Okay! I’m sorry.” Nothing. No response from her. My eyes are still closed. Then I hear the sink come on.
My eyes open. I see a feminine hand with a wedding ring on it reach into the sink and grab a foamy bar of soap.
I know what’s about to happen. I try everything. I kick. I buck like a horse, both legs going airborn. I think at one point, I manage to wrap around her leg in a weird bear hug. All that does is make me look like a little piss ant dog dry humping her. I even try going limp and dropping my weight. All that does is choke me.
It’s right then that a big bar of soap, the same one that I was having my hands washed with, is shoved right past my lips, and my dumb ass doesn’t even clench my jaw. My tongue is immediately tasting all kinds of foul. Instinctively, I start biting down, trying to…I dunno spit it out, or get some traction, but Wonder Woman’s aunt is just shoving that vile piece of perfumed animal fat in my mouth. Little flakes are scraping off onto my teeth.
So now I can’t breathe and there’s soap in my mouth. With all the UFC pay-per-views I bought, you’d think I’d have learned a move or two, but I hadn’t.
“This ends, as soon as you stop fighting.” I hear. I can’t breathe. My muscles ache. My face is red and my mouth is foaming. I stop struggling and I do everything I can to stop from puking as she slides that slippery brick around my mouth from side to side and front to back. It might’ve sounded like some kind of whimpering if you were listening in, but I was just clamping down on my gag reflex.
Finally, finally, she lets me go.
“Rinse,” I hear her tell me. She doesn’t have to tell me twice. Before the sound of her voice stops echoing off the bathroom walls, I’m already hunched over, my mouth to the faucet and I’m gulping, and swishing, gargling all the nasty out of my mouth. I spit into the sink and out come bubbles.
I stand up and wipe the last bit of saliva and bubbles onto my arm sleeve, and I hang my head. Rainbow colored teddy bears holding balloons are waving to me from just below my shirt. I’m going crazy. I just know it. Even then I realized that my shirt couldn’t have gotten shorter. But somehow it did.
“You will never use language like that again,” Kate tells me. It’s not an “or else” in her mind. This is fact.
I nod. I’m beaten. I’m humbled. My eyes…my eyes aren’t tearing up. I must be remembering that part wrong. I’m losing stuff all the time, new details…fake details are just coming in to replace those memories. That’s it.
“Okie dokie,” Kate decides, “Time to go play.” She opens the door and half-scoots, half-pushes me back out into the nursery area. She pats me on the butt and that garbage bag crinkling fills my ears as I cross the threshold.
My eyes bug out and I feel all the blood drain away from my face at what’s in front of me. I expect to see an empty floor, with maybe Denise somewhere. Maybe not, I didn’t see her coming in, why should I see her now? What I don’t expect to see is…is…is…this!