Anita’s back was turned to him as she prepared his dinner on the stove. Howard looked down and saw that she had already put a baby’s feeding bib around his neck. The tray was flush with his protuberant baby tummy. He tried to bend over to pull himself up and out of the chair through the top and discovered that the tray only let him a few degrees forward. Howard thought about it for a moment and decided that if he couldn’t go up, he might be able to go in the other direction. He extended his legs to make them as level as possible, then tried to worm his way further into the chair to slip under the tray. He managed to move about two inches and felt something pushing back on his crotch like a restraining hand. The harder he pushed, the stronger the pressure on his crotch. Howard pushed one last time in desperation but was held fast in the chair. If his testicles hadn’t been the size of sweetpeas, he would have crushed them against the safety strap in his attempt to escape. Howard slumped over in the high chair in defeat. He couldn’t move in any direction; he was trapped in the chair. Howard beat his bare heels against the foot rest in frustration only to find that the plastic padding extended well below his feet. The overly padded high chair wouldn’t permit him the luxury of hurting himself.
Anita turned off the stove and left the pot on the burner to keep warm. Then she pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and sat down in front of him with a jar of baby food in her hand. All the color drained out of Howard’s face when he saw her unscrew the lid and ladle out a heaping helping on the rubber covered feeding spoon. “No! No Mama! Pwees no!”, he screamed in desperation as the spoon full of textureless green substance neared his face. He struggled to get out of the high chair, but the combination of the tray and safety straps held him securely bound into the infant seat.
“Be a good boy, Howie and eat your din-din!”, Anita cajoled.
“No!”, Howard replied petulantly.
“Eat it, Howie!”, Anita said firmly, “Or Mommy will spank!”
“No!”, Howard said clenching his jaw in defiance.
Anita smiled evilly and put the jar on the table. Then she held the spoon out in front of him with one hand, while she reached down to the foot rest with the other. “Mommy can make you open your mouth, Howie. Are you sure you want to do disobey me?”
Howard stared back at her obstinately without saying a word. Anita nodded to herself as if signaling that she had made up her mind to show him who was boss and began to tickle his bare feet. Howard managed to maintain his stern expression about five minutes before he cracked and began giggling uncontrollably. Anita continued to tickle him until he was convulsed with open-mouthed breathless laughter. Then suddenly, like a venomous snake striking, the spoon darted forward and deposited its pureed load of vegetable muck into his gaping mouth. Anita smiled and said, “I can tickle you until you’re too exhausted to resist. Is that what you want, Howie? Or would you rather I put you over my knee and spank you until you can’t sit for a week? Either way, Baby, you’re going to eat your dinner!”
Howard swallowed the disgusting pap and opened his mouth submissively for another spoonful. He couldn’t fight her in his present condition, he knew. Resistance was futile when your only weapon was an infant’s body. Howard let her feed him the rest of the jar and sat still while she wiped the drips of puree from his face with a damp terry cloth kitchen towel. His bib was a mess, he seemed to have gotten as much food on the bib as in him. Anita cleaned his messy fingers with the towel and went to the stove to get him the rest of his dinner. Just before she served him the formula she had been warming on the stove, she decided to make an addition to his milk. Anita opened the cabinet over the kitchen counter were she stored medications. She took down a small bottle and unscrewed the cap from the baby bottle. Then she uncapped the bottle of medication and added the contents of two full eyedroppers to Howard’s formula before recapping the bottles. It wouldn’t be necessary to doctor his formula with diuretics like she had his oatmeal that morning, she didn’t want him to get dehydrated. His bladder control had become virtually nonexistent anyway. The oatmeal had done its job well; the taste of the oatmeal and cinnamon had covered the two medications and the daily dose of fiber had made his bowel movements regular as she had planned. She brought the baby bottle to Howard and said, “Drink your formula, Sweetheart, and then you can play before you have to go nite-nite!”
Howard drank the sweet formula with a woeful expression of distaste on his face. The formula had acquired a decided chemical aftertaste that he hated. It was the same milk he had had earlier that day but something had been added to ruin its wonderful flavor. After he had drunk half of it, Anita burped him and said, “That’s a good baby! You can finish the rest of your bottle while Mommy gets something to eat.”
Howard watched in fascination while she made a quick meal of Fettuccine Alfredo and sat down to eat it in front of him at the kitchen table. The chemical aftertaste made the formula nauseating. He had to summon every ounce of his will to force down a mouthful of the vile concoction. The worst part was looking at the creamy noodles which Anita was devouring with evident relish. The Parmesan cheese had blended perfectly with the sweet butter and formed a thick white coating over each noodle. Howard would have given anything for just one spoonful of Anita’s meal. Howard felt a pain in the top of his stomach as he swallowed the mouthful of formula. He had inadvertently swallowed some air with the formula. Howard sucked again on the nipple to get another mouthful to wash down the bubble of air. As he did, a tiny rivelet of spit ran from the corner of his mouth and gathered with another on his chin. He took the nipple from his mouth and gulped down the formula, staring at the noodles on Anita’s plate.
Anita looked up from her meal and smiled at the expression of intense desire on his face. Howard knew that she was eating in front of him just to see him drool over watching her eat real food while he was forced to drink the vile tasting infant formula from a baby bottle. There was no question in Howard’s mind that she was enjoying his discomfiture. Howard couldn’t imagine what had happened to Anita to change her attitude in the past week. The rationale she had given him for forcing him into daycare was reasonable enough, but her overall opinion of him seemed to have changed. She seemed to be bent on humiliating him at every opportunity. Anita seemed to be enjoying the loss of his manhood and delighted in his transformation into an infant. Howard had a bad feeling that her actions were all part of some hidden agenda. Her behavior was just too ingratiating and maternal to be real!
Anita finished her meal just as Howard sucked the last drop of formula from his bottle. She put her plate in the kitchen and returned to stand beside the high chair. She took the bottle from his hand and placed it upright on the table as she looked at the sour look on his face and said, “Does baby have a bubble?”
Howard looked up at her helplessly, feeling as if he was going to toss his cookies at any moment. Without waiting for his reply, she began patting him gently on the back. A minute later, he belched loudly as the air trapped in his stomach was released.
Anita smiled and stooped over to release the catch on the tray, then removed it from the chair. She put her left hand on his stomach to hold him in the chair and bent him over at the waist with her other hand so she could unfasten the belt that was buckled behind his back. When the ends of the belt were free, she pushed him back in the chair and pulled the strap down between his legs. Howard grimaced when he saw the strap that had secured him in the chair. He hadn’t noticed her fastening the belt around his waist when she put him in the high chair. No wonder he couldn’t get out of the chair without her help!
Anita lifted him out of the chair and carried him to the family room. Instead of putting him in the playpen as he expected, Anita put him on the floor at her feet while she sat on the couch. Howard crawled around the floor for a few minutes before the second dose of Colace Anita had spiked his baby formula with hit him. She had put the first two hundred milligram dose in his oatmeal that morning to make sure that the high fiber diet she had put him on was not going to give him constipation. It had done its job well. He had not been able to control his bowels at the Daycare center that morning and had spent the day pooping in his dydees like an infant. Once the second dose took effect, Anita knew he would probably poop in his sleep. Within a week, his toilet training would be completely gone and diapers would be a necessity for him rather than a convenience for the Center.