That evening, Catherine and I were indulging in one of our favorite couple’s past times. Scouring the internet in our room and talking . Both of us were in our bedroom: Me at the desktop, Catherine on her laptop. Only the soft glow of our screens illuminated us.
She sat propped up on pillows on the bed; a glass of wine sitting next to her nightstand. Likewise, I click-clacked away with a sugary energy drink sitting on top of our printer. I really should have poured it in a glass. The can was too big for me to finish in one sitting if I wanted to get to bed at a decent hour. I’d probably just drink the room temperature leftovers the next morning when I checked my email. Oh the pitfalls and advantages to living in a world that is too Big for you. Both of us were naked for no other reason than it was our house and we had the privacy and freedom to not wear clothes.
Naked in a house that was darn near a mansion to us with food and drink in portions that was just this side of gluttonous.
Life was good.
But not too good.
“Oh here’s one,” Catherine said. “Billionaire’s success depends on adopted Little. Some kind of programming genius.”
“What does her being a programming genius have to do with who she adopted?’
“The Little’s the genius.”
“Fake news,” I said without even looking back.
“You don’t think a Little can be a programming genius?”
“Not what I mean,” I said. “I mean that if a Little computer genius got caught, there’s no way an Amazon would let them take credit for it.”
I heard Catherine set her wineglass down after a sip. “This one is supposedly hacking and leaking stuff from inside their crib.”
“Link?”
“Sending.”
I looked at the thread. Hmm….maybe. Unlikely. But maybe. “Why would an Amazon give a Little that good at computers their own computer?”
The bedsprings creaked a bit as Catherine shifted around. “Maybe they think the Little is mind fucked enough where the Little is trusted.” Catherine and I didn’t use words like “regressed” or “infantilized” around each other. We definitely didn’t use terms like “maturosis” or “developmental plateau” or any of the other words used to justify or cushion what the Amazons did to their Baby Dolls.
Mind fucked was mind fucked. End of discussion.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Could be a weird reverse psychology ploy.”
“How so?”
I prepped my best mocking tone. “Oh look,” I said. “There’s a brave Little who gets captured and mindfucked, but look how much she’s appreciated and needed and ALMOST an equal in this mega corporation. It’s putting a positive spin on mind fuckery.”
“Hmmm…”
“Hmmm…”
And we let it drop. Next link.
“How about this?” I said. “It claims an Amazon etiquette school is an equal opportunity mind fuck factory. Even having Amazonian teens and college students regressed to the delight of their parents.”
“That’s rubbish,” Catherine said. “More equal opportunity .” Now it was Catherine’s turn to do the mocking voice. “Oh look. See? We diaper and mindfuck EVERYBODY. That makes it okay and all the Littles who we take and imprison clearly deserve it.”
“Fair point.”
We were on MistuhGwiffin.web. A not quite-dark-web-site run by and frequented by Littles. There, Littles anonymously posted and leaked bits of news, trends, and rumors as warnings to others.
The name was an in-joke from an old black and white horror movie: The Invisible Littles. Three Littles got into their mad-scientist “Daddy’s” stuff and turned invisible, wreaking havoc and causing worry to the entire town.
The iconic image from the movie involved the three pretending to be an Amazon “adult”, standing on each other’s shoulders and hiding in a trenchcoat with bandages and sunglasses on the top Little’s face. Their alias? “Mistuh Gwiffin,” because of course a Little in a work of Amazonian fiction is going to have a babyish speech impediment.
Typical.
MistuhGwiffin was how Littles in the know stayed ahead of the game. Amazons kept innovating ways to take us and mindfuck us, so we had to innovate ways to warn each other. Catherine and I visited at least once a week just to see the gossip and follow links down the rabbit hole.
The rumors were usually poorly sourced and suspect, often only linking back to a “legitimate” piece of Amazonian news propaganda, and the threads and suppositions therein rambled to the point of going around in circles, but just thinking about it kept us sharp. It made us paranoid, but that paranoia kept us free. If not for MistuhGwiffin, something like the training chocolates might have gotten me.
As for this particular night: It was helping me keep my mind off of the coming Friday.
And as a final note, it was fun to laugh at the more ridiculous ones. “Shrink ray?” Both me and Catherine had a good laugh at that one. If size changing technology was really a thing, then there would be no difference or justification between Littles, Tweeners, and Amazons. If size were an option, everyone would be on equal footing from the get go…at least nearer.
