Unfair-Chapter 126: Family Planning (Patreon)

Chapter 126: Family Planning

I didn’t blink for close to twenty-four hours after breastfeeding from Janet; probably longer. At any given moment, my eyes were closed shut as I tried to hide from my own conscience and consciousness, or open and staring into some invisible middle distance whilst I relived that terrible ecstasy and berated myself for it.  

Helen Foster, my Nana, had hit the nail right on the head. I’d fallen in love. Somehow, somewhen, I’d gone and fallen in love with my captor. I’d gone Full Native in a way that Ivy couldn’t possibly conceive.  

How had I been so stupid? It was so obvious looking back. That’s why I started taking risks like Silly Sock Day.  That’s why I couldn’t tell her that I hated her no matter how angry I was. That’s why I constantly thought of her as ‘Janet’ and not ‘Grange’. And yes, that’s why I unloaded with both barrels into a certain horse faced douche. All it took was the most primal, sensual, and intimate experience of my life for me to admit to myself.

I was a traitor to myself and everything I thought I stood for and no amount of justification or lies I told myself would help me pretend otherwise. I’d done the worst thing I could possibly conceive of.  I let myself feel something beyond hot contempt or cold manipulative calculation for an Amazon and it was goddamn mother fucking love!  

Cassie forgive me, I never meant to. How would I ever explain this to her if we were ever reunited? How could I find her or get my old life back without hurting Janet? I didn’t know, and for once I didn’t have the confidence that I’d find a way.

The only thing I could do to stop from completely hating myself was to kick the can further down the line and to keep as much to myself as possible. Janet could never know.  If she did; if I told her…I didn’t know what would happen but I knew it wouldn’t be good.

To combat this, a pacifier stayed in my mouth as much as I could get away with it, just so I wouldn’t have to talk. Just so that I wouldn’t have my mouth open for any other nipples. I tried sucking on it, fidgeting with my lips or twiddling the bulb with my tongue, but quickly stopped.  The measure of disappointment and then disgust at myself made me retreat deeper and deeper into silence.

Janet’s parents were more than happy to talk over my head and settle for simple non-verbal communication on my part. Helen knew the score and considered it natural in the way a kindergartener might have a crush on a pretty teacher. In her mind, there was really nothing to talk about where my feelings were concerned.

“This has just been marvelous, Janet. You and Clark have been amazing hosts.”

Janet was completely enthralled by her parents’ approval. “Thanks, Mom.”

Her mother continued to gush.  “I always miss you, honey, but I didn’t realize just how much until just now.”

“Just like old times, Pookie,” her dad chimed in. “Just like old times.”

“In the best way,” her mom agreed.  “It’s just a shame our trip is so short. We really should have taken more time off.”

“Yeah, those bas-...” Bill eyeballed me and self-corrected, “I mean those jerks at the office want me back on Saturday.” He shook his head to himself. “Gosh I can’t wait to retire.  Especially if it means I get to spend some more time goofin’ around with ol’ Clarky boy, here.”

“Would you like that?” Janet’s Mom asked me.  “Would you like your Nana and Pop Pop to visit you more often?”

I startled myself as if asleep and nodded my head, only processing the question after the fact. My response earned me what felt like that ninety-eighth kiss on the forehead. The pacifier’s shield was big enough so that it was impossible to tell what way the corners of my mouth were pointed. Little victories, am I right?

Janet swayed with me on her hip. No more bouncing and bumping, no more externalizing of nervous energy. There was none to externalize. She was completely in her happy place and became a boat rocking on the gentlest of oceans.  

“You two gotta come visit us for the summer, Pookie,” Janet’s father said for what was sure to be the dozenth time.

“Don’t worry, Dad. You’ll get your ballgame with the grandbaby.”

“Along with the diaper bag,” my new Nana smirked at her husband. “Just you agreeing to that feels like a miracle.”

“Why wait till summer?” Pop Pop asked. “Don’t you teachers and kids get time off before then? Isn’t Spring Break still a thing?”

Without realizing it I made a noise.  Spring Break? Spring Break brought back all sorts of unpleasantly pleasant memories. Memories of Littles on stilts in trenchcoats and too much booze.

And my wife.

“You okay Clark?” Janet asked.

Without thinking I nodded, but it didn’t get the attention fully off of me.

“Maybe he’s hungry?” Helen suggested. “Or needs a change?”

“I don’t think so,” Janet replied, checking me anyway. I didn’t so much as flinch or roll my eyes. “Not too wet and that doesn’t look like his hungry or poopy face.”

My slow head shake corroborated her diagnosis. I was neither hungry, nor poopy.  At the suggestion, I felt a not so strange feeling back in my throat; an itch for something sweet, warm and creamy and with no coffee in sight.  I wasn’t hungry. I could eat, though.  Really, I was just hoping for an excuse.

Shame kept me from asking.

“Anyway, Dad,” Janet said. “Spring Break could be doable, but then we’d have to take a raincheck for the summer. Travel is kind of expensive on a teacher’s salary.”

Her parents gave a look to one another. Her mom nodded and her dad started digging something out of his pocket.  “Maybe we could visit you more often,” her mother offered. “You could show us around town next time.  Take us on a tour.”

“Yeah,” Janet said. “I think we’d like that. Right, Clark?”  

Another nod from me. Cue forehead kiss ninety-nine.

“About that salary thing,” her father said. “Your mother and I’ve been thinking.”  He pulled a plain white envelope out of his baggy cargo shorts.  “We figure we could help you out with that.”

Janet let out a quiet gasp.  “Oh, no. You guys don’t have to do that.”  She reached out and accepted the envelope anyway.

“We know, dear,” Janet’s mother assured her. “This is something we want. It’s not a criticism. It’s not an obligation.”

Janet held me steady with one hand and the envelope to the other. “But you’ve already gotten Clark-”

“Let us spoil both of you.” her father interrupted. “It’s not much, but why wait till we’re dead to give you something nice?”

Still, Janet resisted. Her pride was wrestling against her humility. No one gets into teaching thinking they’re going to be rich, but it’s hard to turn down free money. That it was a gift from her parents, people with a bad habit of seeing her as a child despite all evidence to the contrary likely felt like an admission of defeat on her part.  I could relate.  

“You already came here and helped with the feast,” Janet replied. “You already said it, Daddy, you’re not retired yet.”

Her father shrugged matter of factly. “We’ve still got more money than you do, Pookie.”

Her mother circled beside Janet and placed her hand on Janet’s shoulder opposite me.“Think of it like this,” she said. “If Clark were an Amazon child, we’d open a college fund and contribute to that every year. This is the same thing. A nest egg to take some pressure off.”

“Diapers are expensive,” her dad shrugged again. “Spend this on that.” He flicked his wrist like he was swatting away a fly. “Or buy yourself something nice, or whatever. Whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?” The words came out of Janet as though hypnotized. She bit her lip.  “I don’t know….”

“Open it, dear.”

Janet flipped open the unsealed envelope.  Were I at the right angle, I would have been able to count all of her teeth. “Are you sure?”

“Sure I’m sure.”

Five-thousand bucks isn’t a lot in the big scheme of things. To a recently divorced teacher who had spontaneously Adopted a Little on pure impulse, however, it was close to two months’ salary. “Oh…oh wow! Mom! Dad!  Thank you!”

We were  drawn in and sandwiched into an incredibly uncomfortable group hug; the most uncomfortable form of unification so far.  

“Think of it like Clark’s birthday present,” Nana said. Her brow furrowed. “When is his birthday, anyways?” she asked Janet.

My hand hadn’t even begun to reach for the pacifier.  “March twenty-eighth,” Janet answered confidently.  Of course she knew.  That would have been in my personnel file from work, along with the stuff that had been in my wallet. When she put her mind to something, she was dedicated.  That was something that I…nevermind….

“Oh we definitely have to come back for that!” Nana beamed, wickedly. “How old is he going to be?”

“He’ll be thirty-three,” Janet informed them.

“Thirty-three going on two!” her mother jabbed my cheek with her index finger. “Am I right?”

Janet made no effort to correct her mother.  “Something like that. We’re still collecting data on his Developmental Plateau, but that’s where a lot of it is leveling out, give or take six months.”

No outburst of rage came from me. Nor did she brace for one. Perfectly in sync, so it seemed.  We both went back to lazily swaying in the living room.

“Are we supposed to celebrate his birthday or his um…er…Adopting day?” Janet’s dad pondered.

“Huh…” Janet grunted. “I’m not sure.”  She finally remembered I was attached to her and asked, “What do you think, baby?”

A question I couldn’t get out of with a simple yes or no.  I let the pacifier drop and offered up,  “Both?”

That got a full and hearty belly laugh from all assembled.  “He would say that, wouldn’t he? Good one, Clarky boy.”

“That’s my Clark.”

“That’s my grandbaby.”

I went back to a feeling of defeated self-loathing despair and spent the rest of their visit blurred out. I don’t even remember if the above exchange happened early Thursday evening after my nap, or on Friday morning before we were piling up in Janet’s car to go back to the airport.

It all bled together to me while I relived the wonderful yet shameful ecstasy I’d allowed myself to be subjected to.  Janet drove to the airport. Her father and I teamed up staring out the window. Her mother gabbed the whole way, planning a birthday party that was still months away.

“I was only half-kidding when I said ‘thirty-three going on two’,” she rambled. “One of my Facetome friends does it with her Little girl. Every year she throws a big party for her baby’s third birthday. Invites all of her Little friends. Makes a theme of it.  Last year her daughter was Little Bo Peep, and all of her playmates got to be the sheep.”

“What happens the next day?” Janet asked, eyes still on the road.  She didn’t check the rear view for my reaction.  Not that I reacted.

“That’s the best part! Baby girl goes right back to being two!”

I made no comment. I tilted my bottle back and drank my ‘goat’s milk’, drowning myself.

My birthday.

I was going to spend my next birthday in diapers.  I was going to spend every birthday for the rest of my life in diapers.  Suckling on Mommy’s titties when I was hungry.  Playing with my classmates in the morning.  Hanging out with Melony in the afternoons.  Check-Ins with Amy on Thursday nights and playdates with her or Ivy on the weekends.  Vacation time with Nana and Pop Pop over the summer.

Was that really so bad?

I’d be loved. I knew that.  I’d be with someone I loved, too, even if it was a different kind of love. It was a baby’s life. I wasn’t one, but was that really so bad?

Practically everyone else in my life had fooled themselves into thinking I was an infant. Why not me?  It’s not like anything was ever going to go back to normal, right? Janet wasn’t going to take away the cabinet latches and socket plugs. The impossibly comfortable play mat in front of the television wasn’t going anywhere.  I wasn’t going to get my tablet back. I wouldn’t be able to lie to myself and say that I hated my Mommy.

No way to reach out and get help. No leads on Cassie. A half-baked plan to escape and a heart torn between two impossible goals. I wasn’t escaping. I just wasn’t.  

Come March, I’d have a birthday party with a big ‘2’ on the cake, and the next morning Janet would greet me as her super talkative one-year-old.  If I was lucky, Nana and Pop Pop would spring for a bounce house, assuming I could hint to Mommy that it’s what I wanted. Except Amy couldn’t jump. We’d need to find some way to include her. Something that didn’t involve sticking non-food in her mouth.

Maybe Zoge had some tips. She’d thrown Ivy dozens of toddler birthdays and Ivy seemed grateful. I’d have to invite Ivy, too, come to think of it.

I should have been crying, or screaming, or sulking, I supposed. Instead I just felt depressed.  Not even depressed, just supremely disappointed in myself.  This is what the real defeat was. I’d been broken, and they didn’t need any subliminal messaging or discombobulating bells to do it.

The car pulled into the airport parking garage. Janet’s folks got out and unloaded their bags. I was removed from the car seat and set down on my feet for one last goodbye.

Janet’s mother took a knee, first. “Goodbye Clark!” Nana gushed at me. “It was nice to finally meet you.”

“You too,” I smiled politely.  I’d be seeing her, I supposed.

“Who’s a good baby?” she asked, chirping.

“I am.” My voice was tired and monotone, but not combative.

“Yes you are!” She agreed.  “Yes you are!”  She gripped me tight enough to where if I hadn’t already been wearing a Monkeez I would have needed one. “Mmmmm…I just wish I could take you home with me and eat you all up!”

I laughed out of a sense of bitter absurdity more than enjoyment. I never understood that particular idiom.  Why was cannibalism cute when done to a small child?

“Wait till summer, Mom,” Janet assured her.

Pop Pop bent over and offered his fist. “Put ‘er there, Clarky boy.”

I punched his fist as hard as I could and without hesitation. The results were expected. “Atta boy!”

“Bill?! Again?!”  Nana pinched nose and fanned the front of her face. Janet actually started coughing from the stench.

“What, Helen?” The big man chortled. “It wasn’t me. It was the boy. You saw. He pushed my button.”

“I ought to put you back in diapers!” Janet’s mother scolded him.

Her husband picked up their bags.  “As long as I’m not the one changing ‘em.”

“I’M TELLING YOU!” A voice, both panicked and outraged, broke in. “I DON’T HAVE MATUROSIS!”

A Little boy, naked save for the fresh diaper taped around his hips, was doing everything he could to break out of the grasp of his new Mommy. “Big boys don’t pee their pants, do they?” the Amazon clucked her tongue.

“THE FLIGHT ATTENDANTS WOULDN”T LET ME GET UP OUT OF MY CHAIR TO GO TO THE BATHROOM!” he wailed. “AND YOU LITERALLY KEPT FORCING ME TO DRINK THOSE SODAS!”

The giantess, so perfectly composed, seemed all the more reasonable by comparison. “I hear making excuses is a sign of Maturosis onset.  If you were really ready to be an adult, you’d just admit you went pee-pee in your big boy pants all by yourself and move on.”

“OKAY! YOU’RE RIGHT! I PEED MY PANTS! JUST LET ME GO!”

“Why would I do that?” the Amazon asked rhetorically. “You’re obviously experiencing Maturosis. You need a Mommy to take care of you.”

Even when his voice dropped down to a whisper, the acoustics of the garage let me hear every pathetic word.  “But you said…”

“Honey, you went pee-pee in your big boy pants. Big boys don’t pee their pants at all.”

The Little renewed his screaming. “PLEASE! LET ME GO! MY FAMILY IS EXPECTING ME! MY FLIGHT GOT DELAYED AND I TOLD THEM-”

A single finger to his lips was enough to silent them. “I’m the only family you need now, baby boy.  What was your name again?”

They walked by us. The latest local victim of Amazon cosseting and I made the briefest eye contact while he was looking over her his new Mommy’s shoulder. I broke off my gaze and saw my own warped reflection in the polish of Janet’s car.  

A baby stared back at me. He was barely two if that, with curly hair and a pacifier nervously shoved between his lips. He’d been dressed in a full body romper, and sneakers in case he got restless and needed to toddle around.  The diaper bulge between his legs was evident, but an experienced caregiver could tell that he didn’t need to be changed just yet.  Nothing about his stance indicated he was uncomfortable, so he was nowhere near ready for potty training.  Probably still ate most of his meals in a high chair, assuming he wasn’t exclusively breastfeeding, (keyword ‘exclusively’).

I didn’t even remember sticking the pacifier back in. The only thing I couldn’t make out in the blurred, warped reflection were the baby’s eyes.

“HELLLLL-”  The last cry was cut off by the slamming of a car door.

Black Friday strikes again. Sorry, new kid. Tough break. At least she believes in Maturosis. If your Mommy lives close to Oakshire, maybe I’ll see you on Thursdays.

“Bring back any memories?” Helen Foster asked her daughter.

My own Mommy sighed wistfully out her nostrils. “Yeah. Kind of.”

“If she’s half as good a Mommy as you, Pookie” William Foster said, “That’s a really lucky Little boy.”

Janet bit her lip, nervously. “Yeah.” She bent over and picked me up. “I sure hope so.”

The final round of hugs were exchanged, Bill and Helen Foster walked off to check in for their flight, and I was buckled back into my car seat..  “Hey,” Janet said. “Thank you.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “For wha-?” I mumbled around the pacifier.

“Being you.”  Her smile lit up the backseat. “I’m really lucky to have you in my life.”

I wanted to melt. “Nana and Pop Pop awe lucky ta haf you.” I deflected.

She wobbled her head around as she considered my compliment. “Maybe,” she conceded. Out of milk to self medicate, I popped the pacifier back in on Janet’s way around to the driver’s seat. “I just want you to know,” she said, turning on the engine, “that I’m really proud of how you acted around them.”

“Fankoo.” I closed my eyes, hoping to doze again.  A nap away from my thoughts sounded so nice just then.  Just me, my car seat, and  the gentle lulling of a vehicle driving for miles on the freeway. No need to worry about waking up with a full bladder, either, so I had that going for me.  It was a real ‘glass half full of burning hemlock’ situation.

The car didn’t shift into gear. “I just want you to know that you don’t have to breastfeed any more if you don’t want to.”

I opened my eyes, and swore under my breath.  Great. Now I’d have to find a way to weasel my next fix out of her without seeming like I wanted it. It was my own white envelope with a check init. “Otay.”

“I’m just glad that I got to experience it, once.”

Every word was a needle.

“Otay.”  

Please stop talking.

“Did you like it?”

I froze.

“Sorry,” my Mommy blushed. The rosiness of her cheeks filled me with feelings best left unfelt in my situation. “I shouldn’t have asked that.” A beat. She leaned sideways and opened up the glove compartment in front of the passenger seat. “What I should ask is…do you want your tablet back?”

Adrenaline and a different kind of hope kicked into full gear.  “Really?”  I leaned forward in my seat fast enough to almost give myself whiplash. For a fraction of a section I’d actually managed to forget the harness existed.

“I said you’d get it back,” Janet grinned, amused by my childlike greed. “You were good, so you get it back.”  She leaned back and placed the device in my hand. “Here you go. Fully charged and password unlocked.” She really was a good Mommy.

I was shaking. Literally shaking. This changed. This changed everything! I had my window back, and with that window new possibilities were open.   “Thank you!” I squeaked, suddenly on the brink of shedding happy tears. “Thank you, Mommy!”

“You’re welcome, sweetie.”  The look of smug satisfaction on Janet’s face was genuine. She was a Mommy who figured out a simple way to make her baby boy happy. All he wanted was his toy.

The thing is, my own wide eyed and manic grin was just as genuine. Something to distract myself with. Something to do besides languish inside my own predicament.

“Clark, do you mind turning that down?”  Janet asked right before we hit the highway. I’d chosen the most obnoxious sounding game and had cranked the volume all the way up.

“Can we have music?” I asked. “Something to listen to?” I visibly winced and tacked on. “Nothing too babyish, please.”

I could only see her eyes in that rear view mirror but they smiled big enough for her entire face. She had me figured out, or so she thought. “Sure.”

Brazenly, I pretended to play games on the tablet, eyeballing the main screen’s icons for signs of internet connectivity.  Janet could see me, but not the screen, and she had no way to get behind me to see what I was really up to. In a way this was better than sneaking in my crib.

It was my intent to get onto MistuhGwiffin then and there and start searching for some kind of escape route immediately before fate or feelings intervened. The music was just a diversion; something to distract from the distinctive lack of beeps and boops coming from my favorite new toy.

This was the ultimate balls to the wall maneuver, here. Classic Clark.

Yet, no matter how patient I was, there was no way to get onto the internet while we were driving. The tablet was an older model and couldn’t just switch on and off with any given data signal.  I was tempted to use Emiliano’s password anyway, more out of a superstitious hope that it might just connect, but common sense tempered my ambition.

No use in getting locked out and then having to answer why I left the kid approved screen to begin with.

Actually playing those silly games just wasn’t satisfying, however. It felt like settling; like planning for a babyish birthday party months from now when there was still some spirit left in the tank.

I needed something more. Some way to give myself another win; some way to feel like I was making steps and not just lying to myself during a positive mood swing.

I opted for opening up a word processor document. There wasn’t an icon for it, but it was among the programs available if searched.  If I couldn’t stuff my message in a bottle just yet, I could at least write it and make it a damn good one. I’d create myself a manifesto in advance, and then copy and paste it when the signal was coming in strong back at Janet’s house.

I stared at the blank white screen and the digital keyboard, pondering on how best to start. MistuhGwiffin.web was littered with calls for aid and help. Some were traps set by Amazons who figured out just enough to be dangerous. A few were likely pleas for attention from dumb kids and trolls.  Most were massive case of ‘Too Little Too Late’.  Someone managing to get out one last gasp before their adulthood was dunked and the bubbles stopped coming up.

This, however, would be my first words as an adult in a long long time. What would I say? How would I prove I was who I said I was? That I wasn’t a sellout? Or a troll? Or some mindfucked doll who’d gone full native?

“Whatcha doin’?” Janet interrupted. “You got really still.”

“Nothing,” I said. “Just thinking about what to play next.”

“Do you need a change?” she asked. “I can pull over.”

My eyes remained glued to the screen. My jaw remained set. “No, I don’t think so.”

She snickered, albeit good naturedly, to herself. “Okay. Just checking.”

Janet really thought she had me figured out, didn’t she? To a degree, she did, I’ll admit, but she had no idea of all the complexities I was dealing with.  To her I was still a child in need of childish entertainment.  

Typical.

It was sad that “typical” was such an apt descriptor for so many of the baby crazy giants; including the ones who’d been my friends.  

If the world was fair, the baseline state for an Amazon wouldn’t be a smug know-it-all with too much power and not enough empathy.

But the world wasn’t fair, was it?  It never was.

That’s it!

Inspiration struck and I began composing my own personalized cry for help, complete with introduction:

The world isn’t fair.

This was typically the first morbid thought that crept into my head every morning as the alarm buzzed me awake from whatever dreams I’d been having only moments before. The past six to eight hours had been rendered completely moot in a blur of unconsciousness, not counting a trip to the toilet around three A.M. or so…

I hammered out every word, passionately finger pecking at the screen to make it as close to perfect as I could manage.  Anyone who read this would see me for who I was. A Little in need of a second chance.

My own personal motto reminded me of exactly how lopsided the world was so that I’d stay alert. Couldn’t get too cocky. Couldn’t get too comfortable. When the game’s not fair, you can’t afford to rest easy, and the game started every time I stepped out my front door.

I remembered the mocking posts on the ‘losers’ section of the site. That attitude was extremely pervasive. I’d have to find a way to counter that. Show potential allies that I understood the score.

Amazons are crazy; they’re almost determined to see Littles as babies that never grew up, at best, and their own personal dolls, at worst. But I thought that if you didn’t trigger their eccentricities, they’re otherwise very reasonable.

Admittedly I rambled a bit here and there.  It’s difficult to get a potential audience to feel like investing in you and helping you out in just a few words. I had to paint a picture.

“I might just make it to being a silver fox, yet,” I’d think to myself.

“Still having fun, buddy?” Janet interrupted my train of thought.

I looked up from the tablet. “Hm?  Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay. We’re almost home.”

I scoffed in surprise. “Already?” Sure enough, the exit to Oakshire was coming up fast. Where had the time gone?  

“Yuuup,” Janet grinned.  “You can still play when we get home if you want.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said, eyes still glued to my composition.  Had to wrap it up for now. Needed to save and exit so Janet didn’t see it.  Would edit and post later. One last re-read while inspiration was still hot.

Holy shit! I’d started with a babbling shot-for-shot recreation of my life before Adoption, and hadn’t even gotten to my name.  

Hastily I added:

Oh yikes. I almost forgot. Forgive my manners.

Hi.

I’m Clark.

I’d come up with a pseudonym later.  Something close enough to ‘Clark Gibson’ so that I could hint at the truth without the wrong person reading this thing and knowing who was writing it?

From the front seat, Janet bounced up and down and turned up the volume on the radio. “Oh! I love this song!” It was an old, dumb, not quite country not quite pop number, long past its prime.  Something meant for our parents when they were young. Janet grooved to it and sang along like it was an all time classic.  

“My baby takes the morning train, he works from nine to five, and then…”

I stopped what I was doing and just listened to that beautiful, deep, yet feminine voice. I would have needed an entire hive worth a beeswax to do anything else. It was the milk. I was chemically bonded to her. Nothing but addiction. Addiction and perhaps some kind of nostalgia for something that never was.

For the first time I felt the full brunt. of that particular lie as I thought it to myself.

I really did love her. I just loved being an adult more.

I hit save, titled it “Grocery List” and made sure to be feverishly playing Veggie Samurai before we pulled into the driveway.  But first I wrote:

My last name? It’s complicated.