He watched in horror as she put her hands through the leg holes of a pair of soft white plastic baby panties and slipped them over his feet, sliding them down his legs and over his knees. He kicked his legs in impotent frustration and whimpered through his sobs, “I’m not a baby! Take them off! Please Cathy, I’ll be good! I’ll never ask to play baby again!”
Ignoring his protests, she smiled a motherly smile and gently shook her head “no” while pulling the panties over his diaper.
She tucked the edge of the panties over the top of his diaper. “There you go, darling. These will keep your diaper from leaking. We wouldn’t want you to pee all over your nice new shirt, would we?, ” she said, patting the front of the bulging panty-covered diaper.
“Please Cathy, change me back, I don’t want to be a baby!,” he bawled. He continued to cry as she drew the bottom of his diaper shirt up between his legs, fastened it at his waist and picked him up. His wife held him to her with one hand under his bottom supporting him and the other around his back.
She looked at him sadly and said, “I’m sorry, honeybunch. Only time can make you a man again. That is, if I don’t decide to regress you into a baby again in a few years.”
His weeping became an uncontrollable wail as he realized she would never let him grow up. She intended to keep him as her baby forever! This wasn’t his fantasy of being cared for by a loving mommy. Somehow what had started as a pleasant daydream had been turned into a horrible, twisted nightmare. He sobbed hysterically as she paced the room and made sympathetic noises while patting his back and comforting him.
When he quieted, she took him into his den next to the master bedroom. Brian was shocked to see she had redecorated it as a baby’s room, complete with dressing table and crib. Everything that had made it his den, his final place of refuge against the outside world, had been stripped away. His cluttered, disorganized bookcases were gone. The old, dark, masculine decor had been transformed into a light, airy, nursery atmosphere. The walls had been repainted a light blue-white and a border of cute baby bunnies scampered around the room at chest height. In place of his crammed filing cabinets, he saw a changing table fully stocked with baby powder, wipes, and stacks of clean diapers. His comfortable, tattered easy-chair had vanished; in it’s place was a large wooden rocking chair with a baby-blue receiving blanket neatly folded and draped over the back. The dingy reading lamp in the corner by the chair had been replaced with a brand-new folding playpen propped neatly against the wall. Even the musty smell of stale pipe tobacco and slowly decaying books had been commuted into the fresh scent of baby powder and clean diapers.
She sat down in the rocking chair with him on her lap and propped him against her arm. She took a baby bottle from her rear pocket and pushed the nipple into his mouth. Brian struggled against her briefly, then became limp in utter defeat.
“Come on, honey,” she said, “drink your formula for Mommy. Be a good baby and suck on your ba-ba.”