Chapter 36: A “Special” Place.
It was approximately three o’clock when I wet my pants in public for the first time. I’m not counting being trapped in a crib in the middle of the night. The relative privacy of the carseat didn’t count either. If I had been smarter and less prideful I might have been able to maintain that relative privacy….
No, I’m not counting the accident I’d had that Thursday; and I never will…it’s complicated.
But it was at around three in the afternoon when my bladder gave out and I helplessly pissed myself in front of complete strangers for the first time since I was two years old. Thirty years. Not bad for a Little all things considered…
The doctor’s office had been followed up with a stop through a drive through pharmacy. Janet got a bag of pills and powder that she’d undoubtedly spike my food with…stuff that would inevitably weaken my bladder and bowels. That might be why I chose to hold it as much as I did; a man about to fall to his death will desperately cling to the last branch, even though he knows it’s about to snap.
I recalled Dr. Milton saying something about oxytocin, too. So I was likely going to get doped up on cuddle hormones, too. That might be why I was so determined to stay angry and ornery. Correction: I was angry because I was being infantilized, literally, and having all of my basic freedoms and dignities stripped away- literally. The idea that my own discontent might be chemically whisked away was just the bitter icing on the bastard cake.
Lunch was barely worth mentioning, save for the fact that I convinced Janet to share her burger with me instead of getting me my own Little’s Meal. THAT had been a mistake.
An Am-Mac: “Two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun.” What they don’t say is that sauce is sweet chili based, that the pickles are actually pickled peppers, and the cheese is ghost pepper-jack. They don’t tell you that because Amazons love spicy food and the world automatically caters to them.
My mouth was ablaze. I managed three mouthfuls before giving into the pain and deciding I wasn’t hungry. Janet was happy to give me all of the electrolyte boosted sports drink in a baby bottle that I wanted after that. I was stupid enough to take it.
After lunch, it was a long quiet car ride. Too long. I didn’t ask where we were going, but I could tell it was out of town I might’ve dozed off save for the fact that my bladder was starting to kill me, and I had the paranoid but very real fear that Janet might be driving me to Misty Brook.
Janet had mentioned we were going someplace “special”. Why not the biggest group of free Littles within driving distance? If Beouf knew about Cassie, Janet might very well know where my in-laws lived. Mayhap she wanted to adopt another Little, or more likely wanted to show me off to my fellows to let them know I wasn’t “grown-up” anymore. That would have been a “special” kind of maliciousness that I hadn’t thought Janet capable of; but I never thought I would have been caught and “adopted” either. At this point “reasonable” was out the passenger side window.
I let out a sigh of relief, as Janet kept driving past the first turn off to get to Misty Brook. That relief only served to remind me of other reliefs that my body was demanding; reliefs that my mind wanted to postpone for as long as possible. I tried catching her eye in the mirror. She was watching me, of course, but she was unreadable. She was either too focused on the road to give me any more obsessive baby-crazy stares, or she was as deep in her own head about something as I was. All the same I tried not to squirm too much. I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.
Countryside gave way again to more developed areas again, and the tangled forests by the roadside were replaced by orderly rows of planted trees. We were slowing down and turning off the main road. Angled as I was, I couldn’t get a decent look at any road signs or addresses to figure out where we were.
“We’re heeeeeere!” Janet sang, as she parked the car. I got one last look at the time before she cut the engine: Two thirty-four. School would have been out by now. Give or take, I would have held it all day including lunch; and that was without a mad giant stuffing drinks down my gullet. So yay? New personal best?
Half a minute later, I was on Janet’s hip again, with the diaper bag slung over her other shoulder. I couldn’t be sure, but from the bounce in her step she was even more excited for this part than for the stylist and doctor’s appointment. Directly in front of us was a large brick building. Bricks painted white; large glass doors out in front; very official looking.
Beside the walkway to said building was a statue of a blind Amazon holding scales in one hand, and cradling a baby in the other. Beneath the statue were the words “Nutricor. Castigo. Protego.” Roughly translated, “To Nurture. To Punish. To Protect.” The so-called basis of Amazonian law and culture. That’s when everything clicked into place: I was at the County Courthouse. I was at where Adulthood came to die.
Oakshire was still too small to need it’s own courthouse; small towns rarely did. Anything more complicated than a trip to the D.M.V. had to be taken to the next city over, and that included adoptions. Of course that’s what Janet had been focusing on. Of course she would think this place was “special”. Here, she would be officially recognized as a mother instead of a kidnapper.
Janet wasn’t the only one, either. The line into the courthouse extended out the door, three out of every four Amazons had a captured Little with them. Friday must have been a busy day for Little adoptions. It made sense, in a sick way. Snatch a Little and adopt them on a Friday; have the whole weekend to break them and get used to their screams before plopping them in a daycare.
That was a bad thought. Such thoughts, things that had come so easily to me took on a completely different tone when I was the one in a onesie.
As Janet took a spot in the back of the line, I felt the corner of my lips tug downward toward the pavement. So many Littles. So many people like me. And none of us were dressed like an adult. Not one. No Tweeners, either. If someone from another world had peered in on the scene from above, it would have been easy to presume that it was a congregation of adults tending to their children.
There was no screaming. No pleas for help, like in the restaurant. There would be no sympathy in this place; and sympathy wouldn’t help us; wouldn’t keep sympathetic eyes from looking the other way, or sympathetic mouths from scowling and gossiping. Sympathetic hands wouldn’t reach out to snatch us from our so-called Mommies and Daddies. Those of us who wanted to scream most were likely the ones with inflatable pacifier gags shoved in their mouths.
Near the steps to the courthouse, further along in the line, there had been a double stroller. Two Little girls sat trapped in baby blue dresses and matching bonnets. They could have been twins, sisters, strangers, or even mother and daughter for all I could tell. It was so hard to tell when we were all so dolled up.
Their stroller shaked as they screamed; their pacifiers turning their shrieks into pleasant sounding moans. I might not have noticed if their Amazon hadn’t loudly told them to “get it all out”. She might have been talking about their screams, but I doubted it.
Or maybe I was just miserable enough to relate everyone to my own plight. Sooner or later; probably sooner; I was going to have to wet my pants. Janet wasn’t going to let me have any other option.
Typical.
The line was moving at a snail’s pace. Whatever kangaroo court this was, it was a slow one.
I tried to make it a game. No, not a game, a contest. A contest of will. My willpower versus my body. I was going to wet my pants; I didn’t have any other choice. But I would wait until after we got back into the car and were well on the way back to Janet’s house. That way I would still have some measure of privacy. Wetting my pants in the back of a car while she babbled incessantly and drove, was close to being alone.
In front of me, a Little girl stood by her Mommy. Her smock of a dress barely covered the top of her wet diaper. She was connected to the Amazon by only a toddler leash. Her face was wet with tears, but she’d long since given up trying to yank her hem down to cover her shame. She was looking at me, I felt, only because I was behind her, and what was behind her was better than what lay ahead.
I would wet my pants, but I would wait until we had exited the courthouse; even if I didn’t make it all the way into the parking lot, or let loose just beyond the stairs. That way I will have gotten through the entire thing with some measure of my adulthood and dignity intact.
An Amazon man got in line behind us. His own Little was bundled up like a newborn. The Little boy was asleep, somehow, likely drugged into unconsciousness.
“NO! PLEASE NO! I’M NOT A BABY! I’M NOT A BABY!” The next Little girl being dragged into line was naked save for her diaper; still pristine. She must have just gotten snatched up. Her hair wasn’t even done up in any cutesy curls or pigtails.
I would wet my pants, but I would wait until the adoption paperwork was finished. That way I could at least say that I was grown-up as possible, despite all the claims to the contrary. If this was to be the official end of my adulthood, I’d at least keep my pants dry until the very end.
The swaddled Little’s eyes popped right open. There was the distinct look of confusion, and even a hint of panic. He worked the pacifier in his mouth. No gag as far as I could tell, but that didn’t mean the motion was entirely voluntary.
The nearly naked girl wasn’t done. “PLEASE DON’T DO THIS TO ME! PLEASE DON’T ADOPT ME!”
The “newborn” moved. He seemed confused as his kicking and stretching were reduced to tiny wiggles in his mummy’s blanket. He probably hadn’t gone to sleep swaddled.
I would wet my pants, but I would wait until I was right in front of whatever clerk or judge or Amazon bureaucrat was officiating this farce. That way I could imagine I was pissing on them and this entire fucking system. Wetting my pants would be an act of rebellion.
“PLEEEEEEEASE!” Some struggles were more evident than others, still.
The man behind Janet looked down at his swaddled prisoner. “Hey baby,” he cooed. “Did you have a nice nap? I bet you did! You slept through your entire dentist appointment all the way here.” Dentist?! I shuddered in a way that had nothing to do with my bladder. I was suddenly more living proof that Littles didn’t wet out of fear. “Don’t worry, though. You’ll never have to go to the dentist again. Daddy made sure of it.”
“I’M NOT A-” Finally, the screaming Little was silenced when her captor jammed a pacifier into her mouth. I saw giant fingers twist the knob, inflating the bulb. No way to spit it out.
The first Amazon regarded the silenced Little, then looked down at his own prize. “Sounds like somebody needs some cartoons,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Speaking of which…”
I watched in horror as he punched something into his phone, and placed earbuds in the Little’s ears. “Janet,” I whispered into her ear. “Janet…he’s hypnotizing that Little behind us!”
“Don’t be silly, Clark.” Janet bounced me a bit. “That’s illegal. No one would be doing something like that this close to a courthouse.” Typical Amazon. Blind to the truth even when it was right in front of her; so long as she could get her own personal baby-fix.
We had to have been in line at least half an hour before the man with his mind fucked pseudo-newborn and the woman with her fresh catch, got in line. And even more were still wandering in.
I would wet my pants, but I’d do it once the line had moved inside. That way I could pretend that I was going to the bathroom instead. I’d just close my eyes and imagine that the hum of the air conditioning was representative of the bathroom.
The Little “newborn” stopped struggling. He just became very still. Very doll-like. His Daddy whispered something to him and gave him a kiss on the forehead. Poor bastard was all the way gone. Whoever he’d been had now just been well and properly erased.
Inside, I prayed. At least let me wet my pants in doors. Let me pretend that I was going in doors the same way I always would. Let me close my eyes and pretend to be alone. It was ludicrous, I realized, but I was desperate to feel like I had some control over what was happening to my body. Only babies just wet their pants whenever they needed to go with no concern at all for their surroundings; that’s why they wore diapers to begin with…
More bad thoughts.
I chided myself for even thinking such things. In trying to keep myself sane I was literally whispering Amazon propaganda to myself. I was an adult, and it had nothing to do with what was taped around my waist or where and when my body relieved itse-
Truths- logical, rational truths- didn’t seem quite so true as my bladder finally gave up and I felt the rush of hot pee soak into the front of my diaper, splashing off the front and back onto me at first before dripping down into the core; the wetness spreading from my public area down to my taint. My breathing became irregular as I fought for control.
Fight for control? Why fight for control? If I clamped down mid-stream, it’d just come out later. Wet was wet. Being slightly less wet wouldn’t improve my situation or make me feel any better about myself. Why be in pain right now?
Face it, Clark, I told myself, you’ve lost this round. You’ve lost. Even pretending that I was peeing on Janet didn’t make me feel any better. Babies peed on their grown-ups all the time…
Janet didn’t check my diaper. She already knew that I’d wet myself. She’d had to. My ass was literally in her hand and if my crotch were any closer to body, I’d be dry humping her. Dry humping…another poor choice of words. I saw the little gimmer and hint of a smile. I was sure I was giving off unconscious signals of relief and defeat. If Janet couldn’t feel the heat between my legs, I was sure she felt the heat from my face. She didn’t check my diaper because she didn’t need to.
A few minutes later, long enough to make it seem like she wasn’t immediately reacting to me, Janet started to rub my back. Petting me. Trying to comfort me. “It’s okay,” she said quietly. “You don’t need to be embarrassed. Nobody’s looking. Nobody knows. And if they do, nobody cares.”
Looking back on it, these were exactly the right words for her to say and the worst possible words I could hear. She didn’t say anything about babies or how it was natural. She didn’t even rub it in by mentioning how wet I was or that I needed a change or coo at me or call herself Mommy…
There wasn’t much I could do to argue with her, even internally. Technically, everything she said was correct. It was very likely that no one else knew or cared about the state of my diaper. The Amazons likely assumed I needed the soggy padding I was sitting in, and my fellow Littles had their own problems to worry about.
None of us were Cassie on the bus, wondering what that mother-turned-baby in the restaurant did to merit getting taken from her real family. We were all in the restaurant, being dragged away from any semblance of our old lives.
The way Janet comforted me in that moment was unsettling too. I heard, or at least imagined flashes of the old Janet; the one who had been my friend, not the baby crazy giant that held me in her arms. As she rubbed my back, and told me that everything was okay, I didn’t hear the manic, desperate edge of a mad Amazon who wanted to be a mother so badly it hurt her. She sounded more like my friend who had comforted me when she’d found me stripped and diapered on a bathroom changing table by one of my students’ parents.
She sounded like my friend; and that made me feel a different kind of hurt. Maybe, I thought, the Janet Grange who had become my friend, and the one who wanted to be my Mommy weren’t so far apart.
All I could do was lay my head on her shoulder, and try to hide from the world as I stewed in my misery. Janet just rubbed my back as step by step we moved closer to the steps that led us inside. It didn’t give me much comfort.
Every minute I stayed in that diaper was another moment of failure. I went back to my old game; my old contest. I’d already lost and wet my pants, but I would not appear in front of whatever official that was going to strip me of my rights in a wet diaper.
I’d already had my pride drowned today, multiple times in fact. Time to swallow it.“Janet…?” I said in her ear. “Could you…” I gulped. “Could you change me?”
“Sorry, Clark,” Janet had the decency to whisper back. “We’ve got to wait to change you.” I pulled back. The look on my face must’ve said enough. “If I change you, I’ll lose our place in line.” I jumped and. “And you’re a soggy bum, but I don’t think you’re going to leak just yet.” I couldn’t help but flush a little more. Then she added, “Now if you’d needed changing at the salon, or the doctor’s, or anyplace before…” she let the little jab trail off.
There it was. Bye old friend, hello new tormentor.
Typical.
“Hm?”
Shit! I must’ve said that last one out loud! “Nothing…”
I saw her look over to the diaper bag. “I could probably change you on the grass and they’d let us keep our spot. Would you like me to do that?”
My heart stopped for a second. “No…” I said. The image of my lower half flying free (so to speak) in front of every other Little and their jailer made me tense up. “I’m fine.”
“Then a wet diaper can’t be that bad.” I got a light pinch on my cheek for my trouble. She looked back over to the bag. “Do you want your lion?”
“No…” I repeated. I buried my head back into her shoulder, and let her rub my back some more; soothing me like some sort a fussy toddler. It was the closest thing I was getting to hiding; less a gopher burrowing into its hole and more an ostrich burying its head in the sand. Ineffective, but at least the ostrich got to pretend for a time.
Finally, (finally), I stopped ostriching, when I heard the hum of the air conditioner and felt the artificial breeze on my skin. The insides of my diaper had cooled down to room temp by then. I hadn’t even been close to achieving my goal. The deck had stacked against me from the beginning. “Almost there,” Janet said.
If my tongue weren’t more resilient, I may have well bitten it off that day.
There was no “good news” for me in a situation like this. Being inside the courthouse was about as good as an inmate doing that last walk to the electric chair. The “good news” was that at least I was cooler and at least my waiting for the inevitable was almost over.
It turned out that the part of the courthouse dedicated to Little adoptions was the very first door inside the building. The only reason that the line extended outside was because if it hadn’t, the Amazons trying to argue traffic citations or show up for small claims or whatever wouldn’t have been able to navigate.
“Come along, Diandra.” The Little in front of me got a tug on her leash, and she waddled along through the entryway, the door closing behind her.
I was next. “Won’t be long now,” Janet said. She was right. We just had completely different feelings on this. It was at least another five minutes of waiting before the door opened again. Out toddled the girl, holding a stuffed butterfly. She gave it a shake and the thing jingled. She gave out a little gasp of surprise.
“Do you like you new toy, Diandra?” I heard the Amazon ask. The diapered woman looked up at me and down to the butterfly and blushed. Something told me that that was no ordinary stuffie…
Two and a half Amazon sized strides, and Janet and I were by the newly minted Mommy/baby pairing and in the lion’s den ourselves. It was everything that I’d seen on T.V., but ironically in miniature. A bailiff- a word here which means old man in a security uniform- closed the door behind us. A Tweener woman in a grey pantsuit-a stenographer or secretary or both; clacked on a desktop off to the side. A dark skinned man in a robe sat behind a large podium.
There were no seats. No witness stands. No jury box. Just a judge’s bench, a clerk’s desk, and a guard by the door. That made sense to me, in a bitter cynical way. I’d already been convicted and sentenced, yesterday. This was just an execution chamber made to look like a courtroom.
“Come on up,” the judge motioned over. Like Dr. Milton, his voice was deep and friendly; his age nearly inscrutable, but the opposite of most Littles. He was perpetually “older” but never “old”. L’enfant Magnifique and it’s kin would ensure that I had a permanent case of babyface.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Janet replied.
That got a chuckle out of the judge. “No need to be so formal here, Miss. This is a happy time! You’re expanding your family and giving your love and home to someone who needs it.”
“Thank you!” Janet sounded completely relieved as she stepped forward. She’d just entered a church and was told she had a guaranteed ticket into Heaven. “Who do I give these files to?” She held out the brand new folder that had been assembled during my I.E.P. meeting.
