Unfair-Chapter 131: Mindfucked (Patreon)

Chapter 131: Mindfucked

I prowled through the faux foliage of the play jungle on my hands and knees, stalking my unwary prey. The astro turf ground crunched and crackled beneath my paws. In real life, any sound would have been a detriment, but in Jungle World every movement crinkled and crackled a little bit.  Almost no one stood around grazing, and we all had at least a thin layer of cotton over our ears to obscure sound. The key was to not rustle the banana leaves too much. It was the closest thing to an even playing field we could manage.

Zebras trotted along squeaking and barking.  Ostriches and peacocks strutted majestically. The one gazelle pranced along proclaiming “I’m a gazelle!” over and over again.  Nobody really knew what sound a gazelle made so we collectively settled on the compromise.  Up above the artificial leaves, standing on a wooden platform playing lookout was the giraffe. Another compromise, we agreed the giraffe could start there as a way to replicate for extreme height and a long neck that footie pajama style costumes couldn’t hope to replicate.

Across the way, I caught a flash of orange and black.  The tiger-tigress, actually-was getting restless. Girl just wanted to run. To either side of me, a pair of hyenas laid on their bellies and clapped their hands over their mouths to stop themselves for giggling. Ironically, they were my closest allies in this game.

Me?  I was a lion, of course. The costume was perfect. Padded soles were an excellent substitute for sneakers and allowed me to wiggle and grip with my toes. The ears and mane was a snug hoodie that I could adjust and take on and off at will. There were no mittens, so I was still allowed the full dexterity of my fingers-turned-claws.  It zipped and snapped in the back making it impossible for me to take it off by myself, but lions couldn’t remove their skin, so fair play.  Best of all, it had no snaps in the crotch for easy access to my diaper. Lions didn’t wear diapers and that extra bit of illusion boosted my personal immersion.

I gathered up on the balls of my feet, ready to pounce. I threw a look at the hyenas. They did the same.  Would that I could, I’d have signaled to the tigress that we were about ten seconds away from the attack, but even something as subtle as my hand peeking out from the display leaves would risk being spotted by the giraffe.    We’d just have to wing it.

“RAWR!” The tigress lost her patience and rushed out of the bush. She’d started out too far away to actually catch any of them and was more concerned with making herself known. Stupid. Reckless. Brilliant!  Screams of panic and delight broke out and the entire  group of prey scurried away from her.

Heads whipped every which way and feet dashed in whichever direction was farthest from her. The game had begun in earnest, and now the pretty were on the lookout for the other hunters.  Instead of scattering, they’d bunched up for safety. The only one not clumped together and held by fear and static cling was the giraffe, frozen on his perch.  

“NOW!” I roared.  The hyenas and I jumped out of the bushes and bull rushed the herd. The ones closest to us scattered sideways. The ones clumped in the middle bumped up against the prey fixated on the tigress.  They were ours!

We dived and leapt, digging our claws and teeth into the hapless zebras and ostriches.  Our victims fell over and convulsed in the throws of death as their pathetic pointless lives bled out in front of them.

“RAWR!”

“HAHAHAHAHAHAH!”

“EEEEK-EEEEK-EEEK!”

“I’M DYING! I’M A GAZELLE AND I’M DYING!”

The game we’d concocted was basically a re-skinned version of battle tag, but the others didn’t know that.  Every old idea is new to someone who’d never heard of it before. The costumes helped distinguish who was ‘it’ and who wasn’t, so that was something.  That and we’d added a few additional rules, like allowing the prey animals til approximately the quiet count of one-hundred to reset, run around and go about their pretend day not being hunted for their meat.

I dug my fingers into the ribs of the zebra I’d caught, nuzzling my head into his belly, going “NOM-NOM-NOM-NOM!”  I lifted my head and made eye-contact with the tigress.  She rose up from her ostrich and gave me a curt nod of satisfaction.  Not quite how we’d planned it this time, but it worked out.

“AAAAAH! AAAAAAAH!”  The giraffe shrieked, still on his perch.

Tigress and I both had the same idea.  “Race ya!” we said at the same time.  We took off with legs outstretched towards the dumb brown spotted horse, eager to slit its gangly neck. Most any other day, Tigress would have beaten me in a foot race.  She had a runner’s body and grace.  Her diaper, however, had ballooned out to the point that I could see its outline beneath her baggy tiger costume.  Mommy had done me a favor by changing me when she did.

As a result, we were neck and neck and my own stubbornness and intensity was letting me inch ahead.  I was going to be sore tomorrow morning, and just didn’t care. I reached the perch and started climbing.  “I’ll climb,” I huffed, “you catch him if he jumps.”

“Deal.”  

This played to both our strengths.  She was younger than me and definitely had more stamina.  But age and treachery always had a part to play.  The giraffe was a coward and wouldn’t jump.  I could see it in how he moved.  This was someone who hadn’t walked without holding hands in a long, long while and it had nothing to do with his equilibrium or the condition of his legs.

The stupid giraffe looked at me, panting as heavily as I was while I climbed up to meet him.  His gaze whipped back and forth from me and the tigress who’d remained on the ground.  In the background the hyenas  wrangled and slaughtered stragglers.  This was the best round yet.  We’d gotten really good at this.

I took a step forward and watched the giraffe flinch. “No.” I took another step. “No no no.”  And another. He tensed up, afraid to jump. This was going to be so good!  “NO NO NO!”

The door swung open with an audible squeak and creak. The Grown-Up pushing it stopped it from smashing into the wall, but it still made a breeze.  Everyone, myself included, went lifeless and limp.  All sounds of struggle, hunting, fear, and death ceased. I half-held my breath, laying on my side, breathing slowly through my nose so as not to pant.

“Hmmm…” the woman said. “I could have sworn I’d heard something going on in here. Like a jungle or something”  She turned her head and called back. “Hey guys, is it just me or does it look like the toys aren’t like where we left them?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ophelia!” a man’s voice called back. “It’s just your imagination. Toys don’t get up and move on their own. Now come back to the party!”

“Yeah,” Ophelia sighed- I had no idea if that was her real name or her character’s name. “I guess you’re right. Coming!”

The door closed, and we all picked ourselves up off the floor.  That was another part of the game: All of our Mommies and Daddies were watching us through an observation window on the wall closest to the door. Every time the door would open, we could go limp and lifeless. We weren’t really wild animals; we were stuffies living our secret lives while people weren’t playing with us.  That was the most logical explanation for why a lion and tiger would be existing in the same biome and why animals normally suited to the savannah would be playing in a jungle.  

It was also a wonderful wrinkle to keep the predators at bay. Every time one of them came in, we’d go full toy and the game within the game would be over. That way it wasn’t an inevitable bloodbath and the prey stuffies stood a chance of winning.

“Yay!” the giraffe cheered. “I survived! I get to reproduce and pass on genetic traits to future generations of offspring!”  

“With who?” the tigress asked. “You’re the only giraffe here.”

“Yeah, but we’re stuffies,” I corrected. “We don’t have genetic material. Just stuffing.”

“Stuffing and padding,” a zebra said.  He poked between his legs. “A lot of padding.” That got some light giggles from the group.  

“Ooh!” One of the hyenas said. “That should be another part of the game.  If one of us gets taken away to get changed, we should say they’re getting re-fluffed or something.

“I need to get re-fluffed soon,” the gazelle admitted. She grabbed between her legs and jiggled and jostled the full diaper around.  It was honestly impressive that some of us hadn’t had a leak or a blow out yet. None of us wore fun-derwear. There was no point. We were pretending to be stuffed animals, not Grown-Ups.

“What if we don’t come back after re-fluffing?” The tigress fretted.  “My Daddy keeps me in dresses most of the time so I’m easy to change and there aren’t any snaps on this. He might not want to put this back on.”

I felt the slightest ache in my gut, the smallest discomfort. That was enough to get me started.  I bent my knees and stuck my butt out like I was trying to get it away from me. I took one last deep breath, stared straight ahead, and pushed as hard as I could.  No shuffling away. No making up an excuse and slinking away to behind the artificial foliage or going to a corner.  I just stopped what I was doing, stopped talking, and started pooping my pants.  

Mommy had, in fact, been premature when changing me. As Amy might say, that wasn’t my problem, though. As long as she had a new diaper in her bag, it wasn’t a problem at all.

“You okay?” a zebra asked.

“Don’t…mind me…” I grunted.  “Just…just…” This batch wasn’t coming out easy but it was going to drive me crazy if I didn’t get it out .

“He’s pooping,” the hyena said. Nobody laughed or pointed or backed away in disgust. We were babies. Babies pooped whenever they felt like it. Hence the diapers.

“He can’t be pooping,” the other hyena countered. “Look at his tail. Lions lift their tails up when they poop.”  As much as I loved the commitment to the bit, hearing the talking was making it hard.  I scrunched my entire face up and blocked out the talking; translating it to literal talking.  Nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed of right now. I was allowed to do this. I was expected to do this; supposed to. This was right and normal.  Mommy would be so proud.

The first bit came out and I gasped in relief. I felt it drop into the seat of my diaper and kept pushing, encouraged by my own progress.

“I…um… laid an egg a few rounds ago,” an ostrich admitted.  “Easier to run when you’re not thinking about holding it in.”

“Ostriches lay some of the biggest eggs,” A peacock informed us. “Though the kiwi has the biggest egg in proportion to its body size.”

“I thought that was the rocaw,” the first hyena said.

“No,” I grunted. “Rocaw… is…comparative…brain mass.”  I rested my hands on my knees and kept pushing. Finally the bulk of the mass slid out of me. My eyes rolled back and my eyelids fluttered.  What a total relief.

The tigress smirked. “Done prepping for the next hunt?”

I stood back up and purred my relief. “Yeah,” I panted. “Just need an extra minute.” I wiped a droplet of sweat from off my forehead. “Running really gets things moving.”

Another zebra sniffed. “I don’t smell anything.”  Eyes quietly moved from ostrich, to me, to the tigress, to the gazelle and back. “Nothing at all.”

I sniffed the air and concurred. No sweat, nor piss, nor shit. These costumes weren’t the most breathable but had excellent odor containment.  Maybe I could I get Mrs. B to let us do a dress-up day and make Billy an ostrich. Maybe Billy could be an ostrich all the time.

“Does anybody need to get re-fluffed?” Gazelle asked.

“No thanks,” I said.  “I’m okay. My Mommy might not want me to come back after. These things are a pain to get on and off.”

“Same,” the ostrich agreed.

Under almost any previous circumstance, I’d have been absolutely disgusted with everyone here including myself.  We were having shameless fun playing a dumb pretend game and I’d just voluntarily pooped my pants in front of everyone. Ostrich had just copped to it, too and was even talking about it in character! And neither of us wanted to get changed!  

Not even a month ago, I would have held it in until my sweat was turning brown and then slinked off to humiliate myself in private. I’d have mocked and scolded the ostrich girl for messing herself and calling it ‘laying an egg’.  I’d have immediately stopped play and demanded that all sufficiently soiled sods leave and go get changed or face complete ostracization.  The idea of running around carrying a load in my backseat so that I could keep playing a game would have mortified me.  

Mommy or Mrs. B. or some other Grown-Up would have had to force me. ‘No changes until you play three rounds of Duck-Duck-Goose.’  Not here, though.  Not now.

Unlike literally everywhere else, my brain had ceased buzzing, itching and burning here. There was no guilt; no duty to put on a brave or defiant face; no obligation to file away every single piece of information to use later for purposes of revenge or escape.  For the first time in months, I felt like I was letting myself be happy and play because I wanted to; not because I was being forced to maintain a cover or because I’d otherwise break down and sob if I didn’t find some way to hit the release valve on all the drudgery and hurt.

Months? Longer than months. More like my whole life.

As it tended to, my brain went into problem-solving mode. It’s what led us to playing this game in the first place.  Pretend games didn’t have to be stupid games. “Maybe we could work together and get everybody re-fluffed at once. That way nobody misses out.”  I remembered that blonde boy with the polo getting stripped down and re-diapered right on the fake lawn.  “I bet we could just lay on the floor and they all change us together.  They’re not that strict here.”

“Maybe,” Ostrich shookl her head. “But I still don’t wanna stop right now.”

I found myself nodding. “I get that. It’s no fun to stop playing when you’re on a roll.”

Tigress raised her paw. “Then can we get back to-?”

The door opened and we all went limp. Ostrich plopped down and sat on her egg. Tigress and gazelle fell into each other's arms. The hyenas and zebras flopped down on their sides in a cuddle puddle.  I literally fell on my face, the astro turf and the cushioned mats beneath it absorbed all of the impact.  We’d invented this game, but Jungle World had been built and constructed with clumsy rough and tumble play in mind.   

“Hmmm…” I heard Mommy hum. My face buried in dirtless grass, I smiled to myself. As I had become something of a de facto play leader here, Mommy had led by example with the Grown-Ups.  The last time she popped in, she’d carefully placed and posed us together like we were real stuffed animals. Mommy really got it more than most.  “There you are!” she chirped, lifting me up off the ground.  “Let’s go get some lunch. Mommy’s hungry.”

My limbs and head dangled. Stuffies did not respond. “Clark?  Clark?”  I gave no reply. My breathing neither changed, nor did my eyes gain any sort of focus. I might as well be catatonic.  “Time out,” she said.

Everyone picked themselves up.  “Please Mrs. Lion’s Mommy!” tigress begged, “Don’t take him away! We wanna keep playing with him.”

“Well this Little lion hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast and it’s almost noon.”

Hooves and feathers shot up. “He’s eaten us plenty of times.”

“Fine. He hasn’t eaten any food that isn’t made out of fluff.”

“Awww, Mommy!” I whined. “I’m not hungry yet!”  

“I am,” Mommy replied. “And we both need to keep our energy if we’re gonna keep playing.”

I blinked and felt genuine relief and excitement. “So we’re not leaving-leaving?”

“Just going to the food court,” Mommy promised.  “Then you can keep playing if you want.”

“Deal.”

Mommy carried me over her shoulder. “Say bye-bye to your Little friends.”

“Bye guys!” I waved. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”

A smattering of “Bye Lion!” echoed back at me before Mommy closed the door.

“Bye,” the Grown-Ups on the other side of the door said to me.  Unlike my friends, their waves were minimalistic and their voices soft.  “Hope you had fun.”

“We might be back,” Mommy told them. “Just gotta get some lunch.”

A yawn rocketed out of me. My blood had started to slow down and Mommy felt so warm and comfy. I couldn’t help it.

“Maybe a nap, too” a Grown-Up chuckled.

“He’s so precious,” another said.

“Smart too.”

“Mhm. Wouldn’t be surprised if he was gifted or something.”

“Thanks,” Mommy said. “He really liked playing with your boys and girls.”

“And they liked playing with him.”

I’d settled onto Mommy’s hip and laid my head down on her shoulder, contenting myself with staring at the base of her neck so that I wouldn’t have to make eye contact with any of the super polite and friendly Grown-Ups.  

It was all just so sudden and overwhelming! Everyone was so nice! So friendly! No one made fun of each other or tried to assert how ‘adult’ they were or put anyone down for things not fully in their control. We were allowed to be just a bunch of kids playing and being creative. And the Grown-Ups were incredibly kind!  They’d said I was smart! Gifted even!  Plus the way they’d said everything sounded so heartfelt and genuine.  I wasn’t smart ‘for a Little’ or gifted ‘despite my Maturosis’.  

These delightfully crazy people all just saw me as a baby; a wonderfully precocious toddler who liked to invent silly games for friends he’d just made but always came back to cuddle with his loving Mommy who thought the world of him.  You didn’t give those kinds of backhanded compliments to a baby.  What kind of monster would do that?

So they thought I was a baby. Who was I to argue with them?

I liked that last group of Littles so much better than the others determined to constantly re-enact the moment their lives fell apart.  I’d already lived through that once. Why would I want to do that again and again;  especially when I had much more interesting roles to play like ‘fraudulent doctor’, ‘comically in peril infant’, ‘hostage turned mayor’, and ‘sentient stuffed animal’?

The air and volume shifted around us when we came out onto the third floor’s main passageway. I opened my eyes and looked around, eager to be lost in the crowd and to eyeball the sights, sounds, and amusements available to me. “Can we go to the circus next?” I asked.

“You just don’t want to get out of that costume,” Mommy said. It wasn’t a question.

The corners of my face tugged upward. “Maaaaaybe...”

My heart skipped a beat when she pivoted us away from the changing rooms and took us towards the elevator. “I noticed how all your friends were calling you ‘Lion’,” she teased.

“What?” I said defensively. “We didn’t have time to learn each other’s names. We were too busy being in the moment.”

“Yeah,” Mommy said. “But you wanted to be a lion.”

“So I like lions!  What’s wrong with that?”

She gave me a kiss. It might have been the hundredth that day. “You’re cute.”  The elevator opened. She carried me in and pressed a button.

“So?”

“Nothing. Just that you’re cute.” The elevator hummed all the way down to the first floor. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Mommy,” I said. I leaned forward and pecked her cheek the same way she kissed mine. “I love you, too.”

She closed her eyes and shivered, but the warmth from her body intensified like a log had just been thrown on her campfire. “I know you do, baby boy. Always have. Always will.”  She kissed me again and the same kind of warm shiver rattled its way  from the base of my spine all the way up to my cheeks.

The door dinged open and we stepped out past a cluster of families waiting to get on. As the day had been dragging on, families seemed to be gradually migrating further and further up the big cardboard box. Back on the first floor the play place exhibits we could peer into were practically empty with only one or two Littles playing on each.  The more tucked away attractions likely weren’t as populated based on foot traffic. After a Little had gotten being a Grown-Up out of their system and accepted that being a nurse or a banker was just as realistic as being a swashbuckling pirate, there was less reason to avoid grabbing an eye patch and shout ‘YAR!’.

The one exception to this was the Food Court, which was going on steady and strong. The stacks of rectangular beige trays, heat lamps, and jutting steel bars to slide them from one end of the line to the other showed it for what it was: a glorified cafeteria with an ala carte menu. However the rest of the decor was indeed glorious. Tables were decorated with neat white table cloths that were regularly checked and changed out by employees dressed in faux service finery.  Both men and women wore snooty fake mustaches and tuxedo t-shirts but carried themselves with dignity unearned by their station. The people putting food on the line all wore cartoonishly puffy chef’s hats that seemed right off a can of pasta. People were escorted from the cash register to their tables where a small team hustled to fetch the correct number of appropriately sized chairs.  

While Mommy selected out jumbo and mini hot dog sliders with a proportionate order of fries, I found myself awestruck watching them pull out seats for the Grown-Ups, and bow theatrically at Littles ascending stair cases so that they could seat themselves in upholstered highchairs lacking restraints or feeding trays.  If there was a place where one could successfully pretend to be a Grown-Up, this was it. Shame I didn’t feel like pretending to be a Grown-Up just then.

“Right this way, ma-dam,” our host said after Mommy had paid. She walked with our tray and I toddled along behind her, keeping up as best I could.  “Please allow me to get your seat.”

“Such a gentleman,” Mommy said, playing along.  

“I live to serve, ma-dam.”  The host bowed.  He lifted his head and made direct eye contact with me.  “And would mon-sewer lion like to seat himself or may I assist?”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Mon-sewer? Really?”

“So I can’t do the accent. Give me a break, dude.”

I snorted despite myself. “Okay. You got me.” I turned around and held up my arms towards Mommy.  “I want to sit in your lap, Mommy.”

I was sitting on the most comfortable pair of legs in the known universe in an instant. “Oh, Clark. Always have to do things your way, don’t you, baby?”

“Mhm!”

“My baby brother is like that, too, ma’am,” the host said.

“Yeah?” Mommy said, her arms wrapped around my chest and holding me comfortably close. “How old is he?”

“Twenty-eight going on two,” he said. Mommy and the big kid shared a laugh, nothing more than the usual service industry banter. Ironically I’d done much the same at I.E.P. meetings. Mommy probably did the same at parent-teacher conferences where she wasn’t the parent.  “What can I get you two to drink?”

“I’ll have ice water,” Mommy said. She craned her neck to try and read the labels on a nearby soda fountain. “Aaaaand do you have anything that isn’t caffeinated for him?”

“We have fruit punch,” he suggested.

“Fruit punch works.”

He was off in a flash, leaving Mommy and me alone surrounded by dozens if not hundreds of others just like us.  I tilted my head back and looked up at her in complete and total adoration.  “What?” Mommy asked. “Do I got something in my teeth?”

“You’re cute,” I said.

“I’m supposed to say that to you, silly.”

“Two things can be true.”  If I was supposed to accept that the last thirty years were meaningful but also irretrievable and unrepeatable, I could very well call Mommy ‘cute’.

The big kid who’d sat us down came back with our drinks. Both of them had plastic lids and bendy straws attached so as to help a potentially embarrassed Little save face. “Bon appetit.”

“Oh sure,” I joked. “He can say that one right, but not ‘monsieur’.”

“Let him have fun,” Mommy said, “he’s just a kid.”

“And what am I?” I asked, my fake indignation skyrocketing.
Mommy tore open a spicy ketchup packet and squirted it on her hot dog. “Very, very stubborn,” she said.  “Eat up.”

I reached out for the tiny hotdogs.  They were only slightly bigger than cocktail wieners to a Grown-Up but they’d hit the spot. On Mommy’s lap I could just barely see over the table but she’d put them well within reach. I stopped myself and looked up at her.  “Mommy can I have some ketchup on them?” I asked. “Not the spicy kind. And some mustard?”

She’d snatched plenty of extra and quickly tore them to pieces, emptying their condiment blood out over onto the meat.  “There,” she said. She picked up her sausage and took a tremendous bite. “Gopher it, baby.” Her words mushed and slurred together with so much food in her mouth.

“More ketchup?” I begged. “I like a good two to one ketchup to mustard ratio?”

“Sheriously?” bits of crumbs tumbled out. Now Mommy was the one who needed a bib.

“It’s okay, Mommy,” I sulked and sniffled. “You’ve never let me have hot dogs on the bun like this before. How could you know?  I’ll manage.”

She swallowed and grabbed even more packets of condiments. “You are such a manipulative Little…Little.”

“Cutie?” I offered.

“It’s a good thing too.” She squirted the extra bit of ketchup onto the sliders. “There. Happy?”

I was getting there. “Feed me?”

Mommy’s hands were on her hips, but she couldn’t hide her smile. “You put up such a fuss whenever I try to feed you at home, but now you want me to feed you? In public?”

“No one’s watching, Mommy.”

Her hands reached up to the top of her head. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you this whole time!”

“I just don’t want to accidentally stain this costume,” I smiled innocently.

“No,” she retorted, “you just like being difficult.”

“Two things can be true, Mommy,” I said again.

She wrestled with the idea, fought against it, and crumbled. “Fine,” she said and took one of the my-size hotdogs. “I’m only doing this because you made such a good impression on my parents.”

I’d still won. “Okay.”  I opened my mouth and took a big bite. It was delicious, made even more so because of how it was served and who was serving it.  I really had needed a day like this and hadn’t realized it until I got here.

We ate in relative silence. Mommy would take big bites of her food, then give me a nibble and a drink of mine. By the time I was done chewing and swallowing, the next bite was ready.  Mommy wolfed down her food as fast as she could so that she could give me all of her time and attention. Two hot dogs had been more than enough for me, and the third went uneaten.  Same for my share of the fries.

“Okie dokie,” she said, picking me back up. “Let’s go to the restroom.”

“Why? Gotta pee?” I asked.

“Not yet,” Mommy said. “But you need a new diaper.”

My pulse pounded in surprise. “What?

“Baby, I watched you do it,” Mommy reminded me. “I’m not risking you getting a rash. We’re all out of cream at home and all we have is the green goop.”

My face dropped all the way down to her heels. I had legitimately been so comfortable and lost in the moment that I’d completely allowed myself to forget. “Oh. Yeah.” I nibbled nervously on my lip as the bathroom approached. “I’d be okay with the green goop.”

“That’s fine, but you’re still getting changed now.”

“Mommy…” I mewled.

“Clark…” she warned.

“Yes, Mommy,” I sighed. I’d used up most of my currency getting fed. “Can we still go back to the animal place?” I asked.  I dreaded the idea of losing out on play time because Mommy didn’t want to bother slipping my second skin back on.

“When we’re done, if you want,” she assured.

I sat on the fold out table and did my best to help get my arms out of the sleeves  without turning them inside out.  Same for the legs.  I watched my golden fur get placed by my feet, fearing that it might end up on the floor.  Mommy opened up my diaper bag and took out a fresh Monkeez, powder, and wipes. My heart slowed when she slipped the lion costume in.  

I laid down and rested my hands behind my head while she ripped the tapes off my diaper and started cleaning me up. I closed my eyes and did my best to enjoy the fresh feeling of the baby wipes going across my skin.  That joy was cut off by the sound of her singing.

Her voice went high and pitchy. “The diaper on the bottom goes off-off-off!”

“Mommy!” I whined. “No!”

“I thought you liked my singing,” she giggled, still wiping.

“Sing another song,” I said.

It took her a moment, but only a moment. “My baby takes the morning train…”

I closed my eyes and exhaled all the tension. Better. So much better. Enthralled once more, I smiled like a drunkard while she wiped and powdered me.  Felt that sense of security kick in as the fresh diaper took shape around me and was drawn taut between my legs and fastened around my waist.  

It felt so good that I almost didn’t question it when she lifted me up off the table and started carrying me somewhere, still humming, without putting me back in my new favorite costume.  My eyes opened and I lifted my head. “Where are we going?”

“The nursing station,” Mommy stopped singing and told me. “You’re not done eating yet. Gotta get dessert.”

The nursing station wasn’t far. It wasn’t much to look at, either. Just a quiet room attached to the bathroom with a chair and lockable door.  “Dessert?” I parroted the euphemism, still knowing fully what it was. I looked at her breasts and felt a slight tingle. Two tingles, actually. One in my brain and one in my diaper.  “I don’t think I”m hungry anymore, Mommy.”

Mommy sat down in a comfy looking chair, cradling me in her lap. “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice quiet but syrupy sweet.  She could have been calming a kitten.  “You don’t want some milk now that you’re all nice and clean?”

My eyes honed in on her chest, her bosoms heaving, inviting me closer. I dared not open my lips lest I be unable to close them. “Mhm.”

“Are you sure?” she asked again. “You’d be doing me a big favor.”

My face was a blank mask of temptation watching her slowly unbutton her blouse with one hand, gradually exposing the shape and curve of her breasts.  “Now that my milk has come in, my breasts start to hurt if I don’t get it out.”

I did not take my eyes off of them.  I kept staring while she unclasped the cup on the front of her nursing bra. “Oh.”

“If you’re not going to drink I need to pump,” she said. She slowly leaned sideways and dug out machinery from my bag.  “You’ll have to wait for me to express it, but as soon as I’m done, we’ll go back and play, okay?”

“Wait!” I yelped, before the first suction cup was pressed against her.

Mommy looked at me, curiously. “Yes, baby?” she whispered quietly.

“I’d be helping you, right?” I trembled. “Doing you a favor?”

“You would,” Mommy told me. “But I only want you to do it if you’re comfortable.”

I wasn’t comfortable. At all.  In the heat of the moment, I didn’t want to be. “I want to…”

Just like before, she guided closer to her, supporting my head and guiding it towards the inevitable.  I felt her breathing quicken and mine hastened in tandem. Her milky nipple brushed by cheek. I closed my eyes. I turned my head. I latched and lost myself.

“Mmmmmmmm,” she let out a low moan as I suckled on her love. “So much better than pumping.”  She repositioned me and started gently caressing her back. “Thank you so much, baby. You’re such a good baby. Such a big, big boy, helping me like that.”

I heard all of it and none of it. Behind my eyelids was riding a storm in the middle of the sea, drinking though not thirsty, loving it and hating that I loved it.  As I glugged down her sweet and creamy essence, I fantasized about doing this out in the open instead of hidden away.  I could soil myself openly.  Why couldn’t I do something so much cleaner?

She switched me over to her other breast, and started humming that beautiful song again.  Over and over and over without lyrics, while I drifted in and out of conscious thought, blurring the line between dreaming and day-dreaming.

Her breast was finally ripped away from me. I pried my eyes open, them feeling so heavy that they might have been welded shut.  The sense of loss I felt watching her cover back up settled in my stomach like a deep pit.  The rush of adrenaline had run its course and my muscles were starting to ache and beg me to be still.

“Burp me, Mommy,” I yawned.

“Do you want me to dress you back up?” she asked me.

My eyes were already closed. I shook my head. “Uh-uh. Just burp me.”  
“Do you want me to get you dressed?”  I could hear the smile and the giddy thrill in her voice.

“Dressed later,” I snarled. “Burp me.”  I just wanted rest up against her. Feel her warmth. Make her hold me.

“So bossy today,” Mommy clicked her tongue. “But don’t worry. I will.”  With me naked save for my diaper, she draped me over her shoulder and began rubbing and patting my back. “Give me three big boy burps, okay?”

I was already half asleep. A slight pang in my gut kept me awake. “Otay…Mommy.”

“Give me one,” she said.  Patting and jostling me.  I felt the gas bubble travel all the way out of my esophagus. A pathetic little belch came out of me.  “Good job,” she whispered. “Now two…” More patting. More rubbing.  

“Urp…”

“Good! Now three. Make it a big one for me, okay?”

My ears heard and my gut obeyed. A thunderous sound rocketed out of me and made her jerk her head in surprise.  

“WHOAH! Good job!  Are you ready to go play?”

I’d been still for too long. The milk too warm.  Mommy too comfortable. “No fankyoo,” I slurred. My eyes stayed closed.  Too much of a bother.  This level of chill was a thousand times more intense than the bottles I mellowed out on first thing in the morning.  Maybe it was the temperature?  Or getting it directly from the source? I hadn’t even orgasmed that I aware of but wanted to black out into a miniature como.  Maybe I was just plain old tuckered out; tired from running at full energy for several hours and my age was catching up to me with the milk just easing things along.  

What was my age again?  Thirty-two going on two? Maybe less?  Hard to say.

“You want me to let you sleep?” Mommy asked, just in case.

“Yesh please,” I said. “Sleep good. Nap good.”

“Okay, then. I’ll let you sleep.”

I woke up a relatively short time later. We were driving back home and I was in my car seat, still naked save for the fresh Monkeez I was wearing.  I poked between my legs and felt the tiny wet spot that had formed in my sleep. Not quite so fresh anymore.  

I’d had dreams that maybe weren’t dreams.  Grown-Ups remarking that I’d had too much fun all at once.  Maybe Annie waving goodbye and calling out “Bye Clark! See you tomorrow at school!”  I think I also remembered Mommy asking someone if she could buy the lion costume for me.  It was all sort of a haze right then, difficult to tell what had happened.

Mommy was chatting into her cell phone while driving.  “You should have been there, Helena!” she gushed. “He had such a good time!”  She paused, listening to Amy’s Mommy on the other end. “No, no, you’re right.  I’m glad it was just us.  I think he was really able to let go because it was just us.” Her voice lowered into a joyful whispering squeak. “He even called me ‘Mommy’!”  A beat. “Yeah, but this time I think he really meant it!”

I blinked away my sleep and absorbed what Mommy was saying.

“I don’t know,” she said, “it’s hard to describe. I just sort of…knew.”

Fuck.

I swallowed uncomfortably.  I really had meant it.  There had been no reservation or ill-intent behind. I’d called her ‘Mommy’. Nothing beyond what any spoiled and loved child would mean when trying to milk their caregiver for attention and affection. My temples heated up again.  

Oh fuck.

Worse than just meaning it, I’d been thinking it, too.  Somewhere along the way, I’d started to think of Janet as just ‘Mommy’.  Even now, thinking of her as ‘Janet’ left a bad taste in my mouth.  I’d called her ‘Mommy’ with my lips and in my heart literally because I’d wanted to.

Shit! Goddamnit!  Fuck!

I’d messed myself without strategy or care. I’d tried to avoid having my diaper changed not once but twice because I didn’t want to stop playing.  I’d decided that I was a baby, Amazons were the real adults, and sat in my mess so that I could be fed finger foods in her lap.  I’d breastfed. Again. Again-again!

No.

No no no no no no!

I’d told her that I loved her! Kissed her when I said it too! Hadn’t thought twice. Barely thought about it the one time. I’d just made myself that promise on Thursday! I was supposed to take that secret to the grave with me and I couldn’t keep it a week.

And to top it all off, when I thought about going ‘home’, I wasn’t picturing my poor house all burned down to cinders.  I was thinking of Janet’s house.  The one with my nursery, and crib. The place where I kept Lion and all my other toys.  Where I had lots of comfy clothes and the changing table had nothing but stacks and stacks of my diapers and no one else’s.

My nursery.

My crib

My toys.

My baby clothes.

My diapers.

My home.

I’d been broken.  Something had snapped inside of me and I’d become just as mindfucked and baby brained full-native as Amy and Ivy or any of the other Little Voices regulars that I supposedly despised and looked down on.  The worst part of it all, the nail in my heart of everything was that I was deeply, disturbingly sad that all of this was now so blatantly apparent to me and I couldn’t just write it off as a hallucination.

I’d just failed at what amounted to my own mental suicide attempt.

Why couldn’t I just let myself make-believe?!

“Hold on, Helena,” Janet said into the phone. “Lemme call you back” She hung up and looked at me in the mirror.

“Clark?” Janet asked, her voice brimming with worry. “Baby?  Are you okay?”

“Yes, Mommy,” I said, choking back tears that she didn’t deserve to have to deal with. “I’m…I’m fine.”

“We’re not in public anymore,” she reminded me. “You don’t have to call me that.”

“Th-thank you, Janet”  I barely eeked the words out before breaking down into loud and wailing sobs that lasted until we pulled into our neighborhood.

***************************************************************************************
We got home.

I stopped myself from crying, (on the outside at least).

I got Janet to leave well enough alone by saying that I was having ‘big feelings’ and that I was sad I’d decided to go to sleep instead of playing with my new friends.

She promised we’d go back soon, gave me my tablet, placed me on the incredibly comfortable play mat in front of the television, and went into the kitchen to grade papers and figure out what to cook for dinner.

I turned it on and entered Tracy’s secret password, heedless of risk or caution.  I made a burner email and a new account with the same name:  The_Real_Mister_Griffin.  

In lieu of posting my growing and poetic manifesto, I typed the following. Relatively short and sweet, but it got my feelings across fairly well.

Subject: GET ME OUT OF HERE!

Please help! Kidnapped and held in Oakshire. Falsely labeled with bullshit medical condition. Running out of time. Need to get out before it’s too late. I miss my real friends and family. Don’t leave me here with these crazies and mindfucked losers! If you can get me a ride out of town, I can do everything else. Message for details.