Unfair- Chapter 127: Like Hair (Patreon)

The Saturday after Janet’s folks got on a plane and out of our hair I sat in a barber chair at L’Enfant Magnifique getting my own done. The top of my head peaked up above the leather backed chair only with the aid of a booster seat.  The crinkling under my bottom was mirrored by the crinkling on top of my head; one from my diaper’s plastic backing and the other was from the tons of tinfoil that had been plastered on my head.

Janet had finally found the time and followed through on getting me a haircut. Good thing too.  My hair was getting so tangled and heavy that a more paranoid version of myself might worry that Janet wanted a baby girl after all and was playing the long game.  

No pigtails and ribbons for me! The tinfoil was to help with my hair bleaching and recoloring. My precious gray hairs had started to re-emerge at the roots and the dye was starting to fade into a less natural seeming color, and we couldn’t have that, now could we?

“Welcome back, lil’ carrot top,” the boney old beldam that reeked of cigarette smoke greeted me.  But it was to Janet she asked, “What’ll it be?”  

Typical.

“Dye and a trim,” Janet had told them. “Don’t make it too short. I still want to be able to comb his hair and have people tell, but keep it from getting into his face or tickling his ears too much.”

So I sat there, staring straight in the mirror while giant hands painted my hair, and I contemplated what my next move would be in the coming days, weeks, or dare I even think it…months.

I’d already written an entire essay on what my life used to be like pre-Adoption. It was the kind of thing that any non-captured Little would likely nod their head and give them anxiety just knowing what likely came next.  I’d hesitated on sending it because I wasn’t certain that it would drum up the appropriate response.  

When I’d been in the habit of doom scrolling in with Cassie, I’d read plenty of ‘sucks to be you’ replies and had quietly nodded in agreement while shaking it in complacency.  This poor person really was fucked but there was no way I was going to lift a finger to help them.  Considering about eighty percent never had a follow up post or got deleted weeks after, I could only assume that their Mommies and Daddies found the post or that original poster was no longer in a situation where they could reply, be it physically or mentally.

I needed something that spurred people to action and inspired them to take a chance on me.  Considering my opportunities for extraction, there was no small amount of risk involved.  Get caught breaking a Little out of their babyhood and you were likely to end up in the carseat next to them.  I didn’t want another classmate at Oakshire or another person to play with and vent to at Little Voices.  If the act was considered heinous enough, they might get sent to New Beginnings as a matter of ‘safety’.  

Maybe if I told prospective readers about Beouf; explained my old process and how I navigated the minefield, they’d see the in and be able to figure something out with me.  My way was really only dangerous if you trusted the wrong people and exposed yourself to them over the long term.  That, or I’d seem like even more of a Helper and disqualify myself from rescue in the court of public opinion.  Or if anyone saw my increasingly large manifesto, would they realize who was posting it and cut off my escape by informing Janet, Beouf or any of the other benevolent dictators that controlled my life.

Decisions, decisions.

Speaking of decisions, ol’ smokey’s cohort, the not-quite pleasantly plump woman, took a break from gabbing on the telephone Janet to squint at me and pinch my cheeks.  “Oh yeah,” she said “Do you want us to give him freckles, ma’am? His skin’s more than healed enough from the hair removal.”

Oh yeah.  The last time I’d been in this chair, it had been a technicality that had kept me from being even more dolled up.  

Janet looked up from her phone, she herself roused into a dreamlike state. “Up to him,” she said. “It’s his face.”

The chair and my world spun around so that I was staring up at the crone.

“So how about it, sugar booger?” the old giantess rasped. “Do you wanna get some cutie spots today? It’ll make your Mommy happy and it won’t hurt.” Her breath reeked of tobacco and denture cream. She was Brollish if her smile was less plastered on and had more of a twang in her voice.

“It’ll make me happy if it makes him happy,” Janet carefully butted in.

“Right,” the flesh sculptor agreed. “So will it make you happy? Wanna try it?”

I tilted my head in consideration, but not for the offer being made.  What I was actually thinking of was whether or not Brollish should take up smoking. She’d smell worse and it would rot her teeth, but it might improve her disposition and give her a personality beyond the drive to make my school something besides a  hollow sterile dystopia.  I’d heard somewhere that nicotine caused a loss of appetite so all the downsides might be worth it if it curbed her desire for the souls of the innocent.

A giggle at my own absurd thought escaped me but I clamped down on it. I slowly shook my head, oddly confident.  “No thank you,” I said. “But thank you for asking.”  

“Awwwwww!” the skeleton squealed and clapped her hands.  “He’s so polite! Such a darling!”

“Yeah,” Janet agreed. “He’s going through a phase.”

My face flushed hot.  “Mommy!” I protested the teasing. “That’s not fair!”

“Well, here’s hoping he doesn’t grow out of it,” the hairdresser agreed and I was spun back around.  “When you get one of the good ones, you do what you can to keep ‘em that way.”

Janet’s face flushed to match mine, but her expression was more subdued.  “I’d keep him even if he was the naughtiest Little boy in the world.”

“Unconditional love. Now that’s a good Mommy,” her pudgy companion called over from behind the counter. “Not like some people.”

If I’d had any money to my name I’d have bet it all that despite their praises and talk of unconditional love they’d have turned my skin to plastic if the money was good enough.

I zoned out again and let the time and process go by, not thinking anything in particular.  My hair was rinsed and re-colored. Then clipped.  Then, to my mild surprise, re-clipped.

“Shorter please,” Janet instructed them.  “I don’t want it to curl too soon.”  She remembered to ask, “right Clark?”

“Right,” I parroted absentmindedly.

I took a look in the mirror while my hair was finished and trimmed. My hair was wet and slick, almost like it was when I coated it in gel. I had no facial hair- would never have facial hair again- but there was no pacifier between my lips or freckles dotting my cheeks. The tarp-like apron engulfed me to the point where I might as well have been a mannequin head on a stand.  

It was the most adult I’d looked in months.

“Want me to blow it?”

“No,” Janet said.  “Let it dry naturally.”

“Then I think we’re all done.”

And just like that, the illusion was whisked away along with the apron.  I sat in my sailor suits, my diaper swollen beneath the pristine white shorts. My bladder was empty and I’d lost track of how many times I’d released it over the passing hours. Hadn’t even thought to count.

Lion was in my lap. I’d been absentmindedly fiddling with his paws and posing him beneath the apron as a way to keep my hands busy and to stop myself from messing with my hair.  I hadn’t crushed his ribs or mangled his limbs, or given him any traumatic brain injuries today, poor thing.

“Perfect,” Janet beamed.  Her eyes wandered down to my crotch.  “Mind if we use your bathroom?”

Boney fingers pointed to the single occupant bathroom right by the chairs. “Yes ma’am. Be our guest.”

She took me into the bathroom, flipped two switches, and closed the door.  The lights flickered on and a droning fan kicked into gear.  Janet placed me on the changing table- an inferior version of the one we had at home, not a wall mounted one- and took my pants down for me. She folded them up and placed them out of the way before digging through the diaper bag and getting out the necessary supplies.  

I stared up at the ceiling, thinking about nothing in particular beyond how my scalp suddenly felt slightly itchy and significantly cooler.  There was no unnerving need to crane my head and watch myself get changed.  No need to agonize over every tiny detail and indignity.

Been there. Done that.

In fact, I almost wished this place had a ceiling mirror like Beouf’s so I could continue to study myself above the neck. I ran my hand through my hair, and marveled at the lack of lumps and tangles.  So crisp and new, yet unfamiliar. Kind of like a new diaper, ironically enough. They always started out stiff and took a few minutes of moving around and breaking them in before it felt like I was fully wearing them.

My hand brushed against the tiny bald spot near the back and my eye twitched.  It was the kind of thing no one but me would notice or care about unless they were specifically directed to.  I’d seen balder. Still didn’t make me feel better.  I didn’t want to go full shaved like Chaz.

Even with the loud low hum of the bathroom’s fan, the sound of diaper tapes being ripped off the landing zone was thunderous and unmistakable. I didn’t care. Had heard it too many times before to care who knew.

Wipe in hand, Janet started singing again. “The wipes on the butt go swish, swish, swish-”

“Mommy!” I groaned, pulling Lion up over my face to hide. “Cut it out!”

I watched her smile through the fibers of Lion’s mane. “You’re no fun,” she smirked and continued to wipe me between my legs.

“And you’re not being accurate,” I replied.  My thighs remained spread eagle and my ankles were solidly planted on the cushioned changing mat.  My butt was one of the last things she could wipe from this position.

“Oh, so you want me to sing about wiping your penis?” she teased me.

Lion moved away from my face and back towards my chest. I didn’t squeeze him harder than usual.  “I did not say that!”

“It’s cute,” Janet went on, “It doesn’t bother me.” She continued crossing my ankles and actually started wiping my butt. The woman still had a job to do, even if it was a largely self-appointed and unnecessary one.  “Just didn’t think you’d want me singing about it.”   It’s a good thing the wipes were so cold.

“I just don’t see why you’ve got to sing about it,” I complained. Then thought to add. “Neither does Lion.”

Janet kept wiping me.  “You don’t want to do lap bounces. You don’t want to do highchair games.  You don’t like diaper changing songs.”  Her lips were drawn into a thin, satisfied smile. “What else am I supposed to do with all the stuff we’re learning at Little Voices?”

“File it away and use it on an actual baby,” I suggested despite knowing the futility of the effort.

My Mommy balled up the used diaper and tossed it in the garbage.  “You’re still my baby!” she bantered on sliding the fresh one beneath me and reached for the baby powder.  “And I think Lion agrees with me too.”

Damnit, he kind of did.

“I’m thirty-two!”  I whined as the cloud of powder cascaded down onto my upturned backside. “I’m older than you.”

“That doesn’t change anything,” she chirped. “No matter how old you get ,you’ll always be my baby.”

I shook from more than just the dry chill of the powder. The thick padding came up over me before anything more embarrassing happened. “Yeah, yeah,” I huffed.  “Just get my pants back on.”

She took my shorts and unfolded them. “Oops!” she said, the first bit of actual stress coming to her.

Still on the table I cocked an eyebrow. “What’s up?”  

“The backs of these are kind of wet.”  She held them up to the light and I saw the barest crescent moon outlines along the legs.  “I think you might’ve leaked. I’m sorry, baby.”

I felt…nothing, actually.  “It’s alright.”  I’d had blowouts in a crowded restaurant and had stood in front of former students in wet pants.  This was nothing in comparison.  “We’re going right back to the car and home, right?

“Right,” Janet said. “I’m gonna have to make sure to change you before errands instead of after from now on,” She wadded up my wet pants back inside the diaper bag and picked me and Lion up on her hip again. “Too many leaks and close calls otherwise. Remind me next time, okay?”

A sly grin tugged at the corners of my mouth. “Do I get to do it and embarrass you? Make you look neglectful?” I asked.

She had the grace to roll her eyes and concede the minorest of defeats. “Sure if you want.”  Her own tigress grin flashed. “You’ll be talking about how you need me to take care of you.”

“Not what I said…”

“But that’s what it’ll mean….”

I threw my head back and stared at the unforgiving ceiling.“Why me?” I groaned.

“Because you’re a cutie.”

Damn.  I didn’t know what to say to that, so I shut up.

We exited the bathroom, me sans pants and not even close to red faced about it.  Janet carried me up to the counter and paid an exorbitant amount for a so-called child to get their hair cut.  “Thank you very much,” the stouter Amazon said once the card cleared.  “We hope to see you again.”

“I’m sure you will,” Janet said. “Oh, I almost forgot, Clark leaked into his pants, I thought you might want to know.”

Ol’ Smoke an’ bones didn’t seem bothered.  “Don’t worry about it. Comes with the territory. We wipe down the chairs and boosters after every visit no matter what.”

“Okay, thanks.”  Janet blushed.  

I didn’t.

We exited the tacky painted building, me on her hip and dressed like a toddler. I could have walked around like this and the outfit would have seemed normal and complete. I barely noticed.   “I bet that feels so much better.” Janet chirped. She opened the back door and slid me into the baby seat.

“It was a diaper change, Janet,” I droned. “They happen all the time.”

Janets’ eyes flickered.  The verbal acceptance of my diaper rammed up against me using her real name now that we were out of public earshot.  “No, not that,” she said. “I meant the haircut, silly.”

I caught my reflection in the mirror.  If I ignored the sailor top and didn’t take the time to bemoan that I’d never have a hint of stubble on my chin, I looked more like ‘Mr. Gibson’ than ‘Clark’ in a long, long time.  It had been forever since I’d seen him, and when he realized I was watching he tossed Lion off to the side so as not to be seen with him.  

“Yeah,” I admitted. “Looks good.”  I hoped I looked like this when I finally got around to getting away from all this.

“Yeah,” Janet agreed. “No more brushing hair out of your face or fidgeting with it to keep it off your ears. I bet it’ll be easier to sleep, too.”

The restraints clicked into place and I shot Janet a curious look.  “What are you talking about?” She bathed me and fed me, and shoved quasi-toothpaste foam into my mouth.  Unless my mop was getting particularly atrocious she rarely took a brush or a comb to it.

“I just thought your hair was bothering you,” Janet explained. “You kept pushing it out of your eyes, and tugging at it, and messing with it to keep it out of your ears.”

My face twisted in confusion.  “I did?”  

Now it was my Mommy’s turn to look confused. “Yeah, you did.”

“When?”

“All the time.”

Was she gaslighting me? No way. Couldn’t be. Amazons like Janet gaslit themselves more than anything. They didn’t need to gaslight Littles. I quickly pantomimed brushing my hair out of my eyes, off of my forehead, and back behind my ears.  I raked my fingers across my scalp and came up short; my fingers practically expecting the pullback from knots of unruly curls and being disappointed when it didn’t happen.

“Oh wow…”

“Yeah,” Janet agreed. “Don’t feel bad. That’s just how hair is.  It kind of creeps up on you so you don’t notice it.”

She closed the door and circled around to the driver’s seat.  I stared long and hard at the rear-view mirror, doubling back inside myself.

Maturosis regression, getting mind-fucked, going full-native; whatever you wanted to call it, it was a lot like hair. It was slow and subtle. It crept up on you.  You see it every day, and every day it’s a little longer, curlier, and more tangled.  You adapt and adopt behaviors to compensate, brush it off and function and get through the day.  It happens so slowly that you don’t notice it, and no one says anything about it.

You brush it out of the way and play with it in nervous ticks.  You stop being embarrassed by it or angry about it and find ways to live with it while it slowly grows and overtakes you.  It goes on and on and on until before you know it, you look in the mirror or at an old picture of yourself and you don’t even see the person who used to be there.  You’ve spent so long looking one way that the old way seems like a different person.

And getting it cut can be such a hassle that you never make the time to do it so it just slides on by out of control.  There’s so many more immediate things to get taken care of that you forget until you’ve gotten kind of used to it.  

Damn I looked so mature back then; so adult.  So Grown-Up.  I really hoped that I wasn’t going to have to potty train all over again when I finally escaped. I was going to escape, right?

My chin felt very cold.  My mood plummeted.

“You okay, Clark?” Janet jolted me out of reflection. “You pooping or something?”  We’d been driving for several minutes by then.

My nose wrinkled in disgust and embarrassment.  “Pooping?”

“Yeah,” she replied as if talking about my bowel movements were the most normal and natural thing in the world. “You looked like you were pooping.”

My cheeks flushed hot.  “What are you talking about?”

“You sometimes make a face when you’re making a big poop.”  she said.  “It looks like you’re concentrating real hard and daydreaming at the same time.”

I looked every which way but between my legs. “I do?”

“Yeah. I’ve seen it a couple times,” Janet laughed. “So has Mrs. B.  She says you tend to get it when you’re in the reading nook at centers”

That part of Beouf’s classroom didn’t offer as much privacy as I’d assumed.  “Eww ew ew ew ew!”

Janet giggled.  “Sorry,” she said.  “If it makes you feel any better, I think most people do it.  You can watch me in the potty next time and see for yourself.”

I bemoaned tossing Lion so far out of my reach right then.  “I think I just want a nap when we get home,” I said.

“So soon?” Janet frowned.  

I wasn’t supposed to be here.

“Yeah. I’m tired.”

I was supposed to have gotten out by now.

“Are you feeling sick?” Janet asked. If she could have she would have stretched her arm to feel my forehead.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Just tired. I think I’m still recovering from Nana and Pop Pop.”

“Yeah,” she softly agreed. “They mean well, but they’re a lot.”

“Yeah.”

I just wanted to feel sorry for myself, turn my brain off, and not have to think about the never ending list I’d made for myself,  or the possibility that it would never be done with more and more just piling on.  I just wanted to rest.  Didn’t even care if unconsciousness meant I’d go to sleep dry and wake up soggy. Unconsciousness was still an escape. Increasingly it felt like it was my only escape.

Coffee with Beouf didn’t help.

Playtime with Amy didn’t help.

Writing a stupid manifesto didn’t help.

A new haircut sure didn’t help.

Everything was a battle and the only victories were Little ones.  Inconsequential ones that no one but me would feel good about or notice.  I could revel in them and take satisfaction, but those were no more than brief reprieves before I went back to being on edge and miserable.

Neither a grown man or a baby boy should have to feel this way.

“For a week off of school,” Janet offered to my silence, “this hasn’t been particularly restful.”

“Yup,” I sighed.

“Wanna do something fun tomorrow?” Janet asked. “Before we have to go back into the grind?”

“Like what?”

“There’s this place in Elizabeton. It’s made specifically for Littles. Amy’s Mommy told me about it.  She swears by it.”

Another place made specifically for Littles.  That buzzing static in my brain, the same that was in the background every afternoon at Beouf’s playground.  “Will Amy be there?”

“I haven’t invited her,” Janet said. “If you want me to invite her for a playdate, we can.”

“No, that’s okay.” I said. “I was just curious. Wanted to know if you’d already made plans.”

“Not without telling you.”

That made me smile.  She really was trying.  “I’ll go if you wanna go,” I conceded.

“I wanna go,” Janet said. “Hopefully it’ll be fun.” She quickly added. “And if it’s not, we can leave right away.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“I can’t remember the exact name of it,” Janet said. “It’s something like P.P.P., or Triple P, or something. I’ll need to check the name.  It’s a bunch of interactive stuff. Kind of like a children’s museum but only for Littles. No Amazon or Tweener kids allowed.”

That should have made me feel better; no Amazon brats asking embarrassing questions or talking over me.  No chance of Tweener kids being threatened with diapers lest they straighten up and fly right.  The thought only made the buzzing louder. I could feel it in the back of my eyeballs.

“No hypnosis?” I asked.

“No hypnosis. Promise.”

“Alright,” I grumbled.  

“Wanna do some yoga after you nap?”

“Yeah.” I said. “Will you do it with me?”

“I’ll just watch,” Janet said. She let out a sudden loud yawn. “I’ll take a nap with you if you want.”

“In the crib?” I joked.

“No, silly. In my bed.”

“Okay. Just checking.” I paused. “Tonight?”

“As in you want to sleep next to me tonight, too?”

“Yes please.”

“It’s not a school night, so I don’t see why not.”  She sucked on her lips for a moment. “Do you want something to help you sleep?  Something to drink, maybe?”

I shouldn’t. Feeding my addiction, psychological or otherwise, would only make it harder in the long run.  “Yes, please.”

Our mutual tension and relief see-sawed.  “Okay,” she said. “Good. That means that I don’t have to pump right away.”

“I guess not,” I blushed.  How long before that stopped being mortifying and I was grabbing at her chest in public the same way Amy did with Helena? How long before I was loudly shouting it loudly and proudly in front of company, like Ivy?  

Fuck me I didn’t care.

“Okay, so home.” Janet said. “Then I’ll feed you, and we’ll take a nap. Then yoga and lunch.  And we’ll just take it easy for the rest of the day.”

“Yeah,” I said. “That sounds good.”