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AN HOMAGE TO VINCENT VEGA

 

SCENE 2:

 

DATING IN THE DEAD ZONE

 

Ian Grady's head was on a swivel, taking in the vast expanse of the dance floor, and the bizarre assemblage of customers and staff scattered around the perimeter.

 

Well, Toto, he mentally shrugged,  I guess we're not in Kansas anymore …

 

In point of fact, he was in Wisconsin.

 

Ian had never been in the navy, but he had nevertheless visited many an exotic port of call.  Indeed, he was perversely proud of the fact that he had once passed out, dead drunk, in the middle of a busy road in Causeway Bay.  He was ten when he had experienced his first and only crush on an actress, so it was only natural that he had taken his R&R in Hong Kong, wandering the streets in search of his beloved Suzie Wong.  But he had searched in vain, finally admitting that the rumor that Suzie had absconded to Japan with Bill Holden, and that the two of them were still there and living in sin … well, it had to be true.

 

He had drowned his sorrows in a bar, and he had only stopped drinking when he ran out of money.  Management, singularly unimpressed, had rather rudely chucked him into the street, and there he had promptly passed out. 

 

It was a good memory.

 

And now he was in THE DEAD ZONE; more to the point, Sarah had arranged for them to be seated in a lobotomized version of a classic 1950 Woody Wagon.  The roof was gone.  Save for the back seats, the whole of the interior had been torn out.  Some madman had installed a sliding table which, in the manner of a baby's high chair, now had them neatly locked in.

 

Ian wanted to cry.

 

“Look over there,” Sarah whispered into his ear while busily waving at four young women sitting at a boringly regular table on the other side of the dance floor.  “They work in the psych unit up on the seventh floor.  Left to right, that's Becky, Rita, Candy and Marge.  We owe Rita; she's the one who got me the locking mittens that you're wearing to bed at night.”

 

Ian winced.  But he had to admit that his fingernails were getting longer.

 

“You have got to be kidding me,” he grumbled.  “Do you seriously expect me to believe that your hospital employs a nurse named Candy?”

 

Sarah allowed her professional mask to slip into place.  “Yes, and we also have two orderlies named Amos and Andy.”  She looked at him sternly.  “Don't stereotype.”

 

Ian loved it when Sarah went all Nurse Ratched on him.  “Well,” he added in a transparent attempt to change the subject, “they must feel right at home here.  I mean, it's like we've entered  The Twilight Zone.  Rod Serling seated us, and so far both Jim Morrison and Janis Joplin have swung by to take our order and bring us our drinks.”

 

“But I'm holding out for Suzie Wong,” he muttered, apropos of nothing.

 

Sarah looked at him curiously, and then casually ran her fingers over his well padded crotch. 

 

“We're across the river, Ian, in neutral territory.  And the bars here are open an hour later than in Minnesota.  The burgers are great, the fries house cut, and the chocolate shakes to die for.”

 

Still running her fingers over the bulk of his diapers and sensing the smoothness of the baby pants beneath his slacks, Sarah opted to pout.  “I thought that you'd like it here, but if you don't like it, we'll finish our drinks and leave.  Just don't take it out on them.”  She nodded at her friends across the room.

 

“Don't worry, I'll be good.,” he laughed.  “But at some point, we need to go over and say hi … you know, the whole 'hi, this is my boyfriend' routine?  Nip the hospital rumor mill in the bud, so to speak.”

 

Ian reached for his beer.  This was their first real date, and he had a serious case of the heebie-jeebies, but the alcohol helped.  More alcohol would help even more, he decided.

 

“Oh, we will, we will … I guarantee you.  Rita knows all about you, and I know that she's anxious to meet you.”

 

“You told her … everything?”

 

“Yes … and stop worrying about it,” she added in an exasperated tone.  “Ian, how many times do I have to say it?  We're professionals.  You're my neighbor who has graduated to the exalted rank of boyfriend.  You were wounded, it's left you incontinent, and you're in diapers.  For the five of us, this is just another day at the office.  No one here is going to question your manhood ...”

Except me, she perversely thought, and I'm going to keep my mouth shut until I get a handle on why your flag's not even flying at half mast when I'm changing you ... 

 

“... so when we get together, please try and be gracious and charming.  You can be, you know?  Oh, you have your off moments, but for the most part you are far and away the sweetest person I've ever met.  The sweetest and the most honest.”

 

But don't get me started on your fingers and tongue!  God in Heaven!   You play my A-spot like a concert pianist, and how can anyone get their tongue to go where yours does on my G-spot?  Talk about premature ejaculation!  You get me so wound up that all you have to do is breathe on my clit and I start to come … and come … and come.  And then you lick mommy clean, and it starts all over again … they should give you the patent on foreplay!

 

Sarah could squirt with the best of them.

 

Sarah was squirming in her seat, and Ian definitely needed another beer.  His eyes wandered about the room, seeking out Janis Joplin.  He hoped that the food was as good as Sarah claimed.

 

“And besides,” Sarah went on, not realizing that Ian's attention had wandered.  “I think that Rita and some of the others can help us with our little Monday through Friday problem.  If I can put together a group to help me take care of you, we can take changing diapers out of your hands altogether.”

 

Which will make masturbation a tad difficult ...

 

Still squirming, Sarah gently but pointedly tapped the spot where she reckoned little Ian Junior was hibernating.  From her point of view, one of the best things about the thick hospital diaper than Ian was now wearing was that it doubled as an effective chastity belt.  Little Ian Junior wasn't going anywhere, not with the diaper as tightly pinned as a nurse with her many years of experience could make it.

 

For his part, Big Ian was still looking for Janis, but he had changed his mind about the beer.  He was going to make it a pitcher.  If he had realized that Sarah was scheming to deny him the ability to masturbate, he might have ordered a keg.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Hi, Sarah,” Rita exclaimed, “it's good to see you outside the office.  And you must be Ian.  I'm Rita, by the way, and this is Candy.  We've all heard a lot about you.”  The two nurses, one a bit older and one a bit younger than his girlfriend, had taken a strategic detour on their way back from the rest room.  Rita's hand was outstretched.

 

Ian took it, and to his credit, gave it a warm but gentlemanly shake.  “It's a pleasure to meet you both,” he said, “and I hope that we can get together with you and your friends (he nodded vaguely in the direction of Becky and Marge) at some point.  And let me apologize for not getting up, but this table appears to be an adult version of a baby's high chair.  We're locked in, I'm afraid  ...”

 

Of course, by then with any luck I'll  have passed out …

 

“... I'm okay … I mean, I think my diaper is still up to the challenge ... but I'm worried about Sarah.  What if she has to go?”

 

And that, my dear, is how you ambush the ambushers …

 

Ian looked fondly at his girlfriend who, for her part, was looking somewhat less fondly at him.

 

It was at this terribly awkward moment that Janis Joplin finally arrived.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Thank you, Ian,” Rita said with a quiet nod.  “Yes, we all know that you are incontinent, and we all appreciate how awkward this can be for you.  It's not easy to talk about, and it's very gracious of you to get it out of the way like this.  And we'd love to join you.  As for the table ...”

 

Rita reached underneath, found the lever, and rolled it back. 

 

“We've been here before.”  Rita and Candy excused themselves, and made the long walk back to their own table.

 

.  .  .  .

 

Sarah slowly shook her head.  “I keep misjudging you,” she confessed.  “And I apologize.  I thought that you performed that little stunt to embarrass me, but you put Rita at ease.  Thank you.  She's a good friend, not just a colleague, and I want the two of you to be comfortable with each other.”

 

“She's a nice lady,” Ian agreed, “and your friend Candy is hot.  Can I have her phone number?”

 

“Stop it, you big goof!”  Sarah couldn't help herself-- another round of giggles was just over the horizon.  “You are incorrigible … and I do need the bathroom.  Don't run off …”

 

Sarah rushed away, leaving Ian very much to his own devices.  He wondered if he could persuade one of the four amigas to change his now sodden diaper.  But when he stood up and looked down, much to his surprise his seat was still dry.  He honestly didn't know whether to feel disappointed, or relieved.

 

It was at this precise moment that both Jim and Janis returned, the one with their food and the other with his pitcher.  The food looked good, the beer even better.  He ran his hand over the cold glass, catching a bit of the foam in his fingers.  He looked furtively around, and with no one watching, began delicately to lick his fingers clean.

 

Ian was drunk, but regrettably, only a little.  He sincerely hoped that the pitcher would put him out of his misery.

 

And what the Hell is Ed Sullivan doing here?

 

.  .  .  .

 

Sarah was hard at work.  The cherry had somehow slipped all the way to the bottom of her shake, and she was using the mile-long spoon to nudge it to the surface.  With an imaginary pat on the back for a job well done, she eased the cherry into her mouth.  She bit down, swallowed, then delicately licked the spoon with the very tip of her tongue.

 

Little Ian Junior really appreciated her well-practiced technique.  Big Ian was staring fixedly at the spoon.

 

They were both jealous.

 

So easy, Sarah smirked, so easy. 

 

“Here we are,” she lamented, “all but inseparable for over a week now, and you keep slipping through my fingers.  How can I be so wrong about you so often?”

 

“Huh?  Wrong about what?”  Ian looked up from his burger, the ketchup smearing his chin.  Sarah used her napkin to wipe him clean, not even aware of what she was doing.  Treating Ian like a young toddler was rapidly becoming second nature to her.

 

“I've been thinking about it … a lot.”  Having taken efficient care of the ants in her pants, Sarah had come back from the bathroom in a pensive mood, and she wanted to give voice to her thoughts, and to her feelings.  “When you opened the door, I attacked and you retreated.  A dominant and a submissive.  It seemed so self-evident.  And then, when I pointed out that you needed a diaper change, you didn't react.  No denial, no phony outrage, and you didn't turn beet red with embarrassment.  And now … Rita.  You put her instantly at ease, and you did it so smoothly.  So, what I've learned over the last week is that you are really, really good at rolling with the punches … but what does it mean?  Are you just humoring me?  Toying with me for your own amusement?  Or are you genuinely submissive?   I just don't get it.  I mean, you had to give me a key to your apartment, because when I lock the mittens on you at bedtime, there's no way for you even to open the door to let me in come morning.  And when I change your diaper, tuck you in and offer you what amounts to an adult sized pacifier, all you do is open your mouth wide, take it in, and start sucking.  Not a word of protest that every day I'm treating you more and more like an infant.  Is this what you want?  Are you just a big baby, and have I been cast to play the role of your mommy?”

 

Ian nodded.  He did not like where this conversation was headed, and he was still sober enough to realize that he needed to head Sarah off at the proverbial pass.

 

“You're right, Sarah.”  Ian put down his half-eaten burger.  “But only half-right.  When you came pounding on the door, common sense told me that this was not the hill to die on.”

 

He reached for Sarah's hand, cradled it, and began to trace lazy circles on her palm.

 

Sarah shivered with pleasure.  Ian's touch was electric.

 

“But I am submissive, deeply so, and I'm very comfortable with the one-sided power dynamic in our relationship.  I accept that, if this is all heading somewhere, if we stay together, it will be strictly on your terms.  I'm fine with that, and I'm fine with being your 'wittle baby' as you so elegantly phrased it.  I love having you change my diapers, wipe my messy bottom … I love it all … the attention, the pampering.  I've never experienced anything like this before, and it's addictive. You keep me safe and warm, and what can  I offer you in return?  The divorce cleaned me out, and it will be years before I can even think about being financially comfortable.  Hell, I can't even pay for this dinner!  All I can do, if you'll let me, give me the chance, is try to make you happy.  And I want that chance.  I want to be the man who makes love to you, but I also want to be your wittle baby.  I don't care how many people think this is weird because to me it feels like, for the very first time, my life is in balance.  Ian wants to be the only man in your life, but he also wants to set free his inner child because …”

 

He paused, searching for words.

 

“... because the only way I will ever feel absolute trust in another human being is to become a baby, your baby … trusting you to look after my every need.  And the bridge between the baby and the adult is an obsession with your breasts.  Gee, what a surprise!  Does it seem so terribly perverted that I fantasize about you lactating, cradling me, gently guiding my lips to latch on and drink your milk?  I want this relationship … badly … and for what it's worth, I think that you want it too.  I just wish that you could see what I see when I'm lying there, and you're changing my diaper … the tenderness in your eyes, the caring.  The bond between us is real, Sarah, real and strong and growing.  And I don't want it ever to end.” 

 

“I'm glad, Ian, more than glad, because I do want this, but I also insist upon being in complete charge of this relationship.  I want you to obey me, and not just because babies do what their mommies say, or they get spanked.  I have to be in control because I will never knowingly do anything that is not in your best interest, which is something to which you have clearly given very little thought.  If anything, your behavior is so self-destructive that ...”

 

Sarah broke off in mid-sentence, sensing that it was far too early to take him down this path.  It would take much more than a week to win his trust.

 

“But I don't expect blind obedience,” she finished.  “Stand up to me when you sincerely believe that I'm wrong, but don't ever willfully defy me.  Believe me, I will know the difference, and you will not like the outcome.  Do we have a deal?”

 

“We do,” he replied, wondering all the while if it was the beer that was doing the talking, or the roughly six inches of tightly pinned and extraordinarily frustrated flesh that dangled between his legs, stubborn flesh that so clearly had a will of its own.  Little Ian Junior desperately wanted to come out and play, but the damn diaper was getting in the way.

 

And in the background, the music was louder, and a couple was dancing on stage.  Ian thought that it sounded like Chuck Berry, but he wasn't quite sure.

 

 

SCENE 3:

 

LOVELY RITA (NOT THE METER MAID)

 

“We didn't say goodbye,” Ian astutely observed.  They had crossed the bridge, forsaking the duchy of cheese for the kingdom of potholes.  Minnesota, it was well known, had only two seasons-- winter, and road repair.

 

It was winter, the potholes yawned, and the paranoid side of his nature was actively wondering whether Sarah was deliberately hitting each and every one of them on what laughingly passed for an interstate in this frozen land of 10,000 ice rinks.

 

“More like 17,000.”  Ian was kind of, sort of, thinking out loud.

 

“What's that, baby?”  Sarah's eyes were glued firmly to the road ahead.  She had only busted one axle in the kingdom of potholes in ten years.  She considered herself overdue, which was why she was driving her beater.  The Mercedes, battery long since disconnected, was sitting out the winter in a converted barn in the far western suburbs.  Like the Phoenix, it would rise from the ashes sometime in April.

 

And poor Ian's beater is down for the count, buried in a snowbank right outside my living room window.  And it's his only car.  Maybe I'll get it up and running for him come Spring …

 

Or maybe not …

 

Sarah stole a quick glance at her boyfriend.  He was plastered but, she suspected, not nearly as much as he wanted to be.  Still, he had passed the test.  Rita had given her a quick thumbs up, so they were good to go.

 

I like the idea of him not having wheels.  It makes him so much more dependent …

 

THWACK!!!

 

The right side of the car bounced hard, and more pee squirted into Ian's now well and truly soaked diaper.

 

“Sarah,” he whined, “I need my diaper changed.”

 

“I know, baby, I know.  But you'll just have to hold on a little while longer.”  Sarah had to bite her lip to  keep from laughing.  The six of them had variously walked and staggered out together, and Sarah and her friends had let Ian get just far enough ahead so that they could survey the damage.  His pants were ruined, his baby pants having given up the fight at some point in the evening.  But she did hope to save his winter coat, and she wasn't at all worried about the car seat.  She had taken the necessary precautions.

 

“I should have changed back there, at the … at the …DANGER ZONE?”  His memories were getting a bit fuzzy.

 

“DEAD ZONE,” Sarah corrected.  “And we tried, baby, remember?  But your changing pad is pretty small, too small to lay you out inside a Wisconsin toilet. 'Gross' doesn't even begin to cover it.”

 

Wisconsin's bars all had toilets.  The law was strict, and strictly enforced.  Most of them were even inside.  But they were not for the faint of heart.

 

Sarah judged the evening so far to have gone very well.  She and her friends had set him up, but it was obvious that Ian didn't suspect a thing.  She had said nothing as the beer kept coming, gambling that the alcohol would get him to drop his guard.  And it had.  His admission, his deep-seated desire to be both her lover and her widdle baby, had been heartfelt.  Ian, she now knew, was perfect for her, because Sarah harbored no illusions about her own needs.  A single woman in her early thirties didn't have that luxury.  She couldn't compete with a twenty year old fresh out of some nursing program, which is where the jerks went shopping when they came to the conclusion that their wives had reached their sell by date.  And she most definitely did not like what she saw when she looked ten years into the future.

 

No.  Ian was perfect, or as close to perfect as she was ever likely to get.  A dominant needed a submissive, not a narcissist whose ego would forever get in her way.  Sarah wanted obedience, not competition, but the tricky part of it was that she also wanted a man whom she could respect.  And Ian, she had concluded, fit that bill as well.  No Robert Redford, but decent looking … she was particularly taken with the unruly mop that passed for the hair on his head.  She was forever sweeping it out of his eyes.  Not simply bright but quick on his feet, and with a wonderful sense of humor born of a genuinely jaded outlook on life. 

 

God, how he could make her laugh.  She had asked him about the craziest thing that he had ever done, and what she got for her trouble was Hong Kong, in Technicolor and Panavision.  The search for Suzie Wong … getting drunk and being thrown into the street … passing out … waking up in his hotel room, thanks to a kind but anonymous policeman who must have found the room key in his pocket.  It was all so real, and she had believed every word of it!  The next morning, she had raced to get him to his office a bit early, so that she could rush to the hospital, take over the staff room, and regale her friends with the lurid details of her new boyfriend's R&R visit to Hong Kong.  Her increasingly bright-eyed colleagues had roared with laughter of their own, and in the manner of gossip mills everywhere, the story had soon climbed from her own third floor to Rita's seventh.  At lunch, more and more of her friends drifted into the cafeteria from every nook and cranny of this vast, cavernous building, everyone wanting to know who the guy was, how they'd met, and the big one, of course … where was this going?  Was he the One?

 

And Sarah had held nothing back.  They had met, she warned them, in the theater of the absurd, and she gave a blow by blow description of the stereo from Hell, and the puppy like eagerness with which her poor neighbor had sought to placate her.  But confusion took the place of gleeful laughter when she described how she had taken him firmly by the hand and led him upstairs for an overdue diaper change.    She could see it in their faces as she looked down the long table, the same doubt that had overtaken her and instantly led her to jump to the wrong conclusion.  And the laughter died when she described what the military had left buried in his spine.  A lot of army nurses had resigned their commissions at war's ignominious end, and they had come home to hospitals such as this, bringing with them embellished tales of the goings on at places like China Beach.  They all knew the drill-- a MASH unit stabilized, but the badly wounded were taken out of theater to be reevaluated and treated in Japan, Hawaii or stateside at a facility like Walter Reed.  It spoke volumes that Ian had not been scheduled for additional surgery.

 

Unprompted, one of her friends asked if he had talked about the war, about what he had experienced in combat.  Sarah sadly shook her head no, and all around the table other heads nodded in understanding.  So many of them had been there, and the wall had frustrated them so many times.  Sarah described Ian's apartment, the telling absence of family photos, no hint of his service to his country, and the vivid and deeply disturbing painting of the sea giving up its dead.  More heads nodded, the implications stark.  Without words, Sarah was asking for help, making it clear that Ian had, however unwittingly, become her responsibility.  Her gaze had fallen on Rita, in reality a charge nurse in the psych ward with an advanced degree in clinical psychology.  And equally unspoken, Rita had simply bobbed her head: she was there, and she would help.  Sarah would not have to do this by herself.

 

And it was to Rita Stevenson's town home in a decidedly upscale neighborhood that they were now driving.

 

.  .  .  .

 

Ian opened his eyes and glanced out the window, then frowned.  “This isn't the way home.  Where … where are we going?”

 

“To Rita's.”  Sarah had thought long and hard about this moment.  She had decided to jump on the first opportunity that presented itself, and equally to keep her response short and sweet.  Ian had to learn that this wasn't a game, and that she meant it when she said that she expected obedience, and did not want it to come laced with backtalk.

 

“But I don't want ...”

 

“I don't care what you want,” cutting him off before he could get another word out.  “This is a tradition, and you are now a part of it.  We celebrate the end of another brutal week, toast the lives that we've saved, mourn the lives that we've lost, and then we go to Rita's to kick back, relax and, if you want, get more drunk.  Just about anything goes … BUT YOU ARE NOT GOING TO WHINE AND CARRY ON LIKE SOME PETULANT TWO YEAR OLD, DO YOU HEAR ME?  YOU ARE NOT GOING TO RUIN THIS EVENING FOR MY FRIENDS!”  Sarah's voice has jumped at least two octaves.

 

“You are in big trouble, Ian,” she said more calmly.  “Big trouble.  When we get home, you are going straight over my lap for a long overdue spanking.  Do you want to double down and have me graduate from a hand spanking to the ping pong paddle that's in a drawer … the paddle with your name on it?  We have an agreement, remember?  Heh … how could you forget … IT'S NOT EVEN TWO HOURS OLD!  You do not whine.  You do not talk back.  You obey me, and you do so without question unless you have an absolutely compelling reason to disobey.  Am I getting through to you?”

 

Ian sank deeper into the cushion, but there was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.  This is not, he thought, how first dates were supposed to go.

 

.  .  .  .

 

Sarah pulled up to the curb, and the first thing that Ian noticed was the sheer number of cars in the cul de sac.  In fact, they had had to park so far away that Ian wasn't even sure what house was party central.    The one thing he knew for certain was that he was about to set out on yet another safari in a very, very wet diaper.  The prospect inspired a passing but nevertheless bizarre thought …

 

If we're outside long enough, can a pissy diaper freeze solid?

 

Clumsily following Rita up the road through slush that turned every outing into a muddy adventure, one alcohol inspired bit of whimsy led straight to another …

 

How do you remove a diaper that's frozen solid to a guy's butt?  With a blowtorch?

 

Ian really, really wanted to go home.

 

“Are you going to be a good boy for mommy?”

 

Sarah's tone reeked of condescension, which momentarily neutralized the alcohol flowing so copiously through his blood stream.  He was in big trouble … he was wet … he was shivering … and he somehow knew that he was about to become the center of attention for a gaggle of nurses who already knew far too much of his life story.

 

What else could go wrong?

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Door's open,” Rita shouted.

 

Ian followed Sarah inside, and looked around.  Cramped entryway, with stairs leading both up and down.  The classic split level entry design that he had already surveyed at three dinner parties to which he had been invited by different faculty wives.  Unattached professors in their early thirties were a hot commodity.

 

Shoes everywhere, and Sarah was in the process of adding hers to the pile. 

 

“Let me help you take yours off, baby,” she whispered.  “We do not want to track slush onto Rita's carpet.”

 

Ian went to sit on the steps and get to it, but Sarah held up her hand to stop him in his tracks.

 

“Baby, the dam has long since burst.  Try not to sit down until we get you changed, because you are going to leave pee stains everywhere.”  One by one, Ian lifted his feet so that Sarah could untie and remove his shoes.  He felt exactly like the two year old that he was rapidly becoming.

 

“Now remember, baby, be polite, and be attentive.  And above all, be respectful.  Think of the women here as your aunties, and never forget that paddles come in twos, and that Rita has the second one with your name on it somewhere in this house.”

 

“What,” he squeaked.  “Are you seriously telling me that you have given Rita permission to spank me?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And the others?”

 

“Yes.  Ian, this has all been prearranged.  My friends are giving me the night off.  In a few minutes, one of them will be changing your diaper, and you are going to smile nicely and thank her for her kindness.  And if you bitch and moan, you are going right over her lap.  So, don't.  Just sit back … lay back … and enjoy being the center of attention … loving attention.   Think of it like a trip to a very expensive spa, where the entire staff is devoted to fulfilling your every need.  Only this visit is cost-free.”

 

“Yeah, sure, the only thing that I'm going to lose is my self-respect.”

 

“That is strictly up to you.  No one here is going to belittle you; the worst that can happen is that someone's maternal instinct runs a little wild, and you end up being openly treated like a baby.  If that happens, do you think that you are going to win anyone over by going off the deep end?  Why not play along?  If your ego is secure, a little role-playing isn't going to rock the boat, and what you will win at the end of the evening is friends for life, a group of highly trained professional women who will become your fiercest advocates, and who will bend heaven and earth to help me keep you safe.”

 

“Sarah, okay … all right … I'll play along, but I did not, repeat did not, sign on for this.  All right, I admit it, I didn't read the fine print in our agreement.  In retrospect, I was far too casual about this … it simply never occurred to me that you would go this far.  You spanking me?  Yeah, I guess that's reasonable … I'm good with that.  But lovely Rita the meter maid?  No.  Candy?  Yeah, maybe Candy, but look me in the eye and tell me that you are okay with Candy changing my diaper, never mind spanking me.  The competition's right in your face!  Are you blind?”  Ian was sobering up fast, and he wasn't happy about it.

 

“I will deal with Candy, Ian; she is not your problem.  And if she wins the lottery, you will treat her with the same respect that you would anybody else.”

 

“The lottery?” 

 

“You haven't met Vickie and Reiko yet, but you will in a few moments.  You're soaked, your pants are a mess, so very, very shortly there is going to be a drawing, and the winner gets the highly dubious honor of changing you into a nice, dry diaper, plus the far more banal task of trying to figure out how to salvage the disaster zone that your overheated imagination somehow regards as decent clothing.  If you want to worry about anything, worry about the very real possibility that you are going to spend the rest of the night sitting around in nothing more than a diaper and your baby pants.  Oh, but if you treat Rita nicely, she may just be able to come up with a onesie in your size.  I gave her your measurements, and she raided the hospital stores, so it is in your best interest to play the suck-up.”

 

Sarah had to all but frog march Ian up the stairs.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“In here,” Rita waved from the dining room.

 

Drinks in hand, Becky, Marge and Candy were comfortably sprawled on two large sofas in the living room, a TV blaring in the background.  Sarah smiled at the room in general as she soldiered on.  Ian bowed slightly in Marge's direction, figuring that she was the senior of the three.

 

Two other nurses were seated at the dining room table, one of them an Asian woman whom he reckoned to be in her mid-twenties.  The other was clearly from the same brood as the four amigas.  Both rose from their seats, looking to their hostess to introduce them.

 

“Ian, I'd like you to meet the last two members of our tight little circle.  This is Vickie Robinson...”

 

“Hi, Ian.”  She offered her hand, and Ian clasped it in both of his own. 

 

“It's a pleasure to meet you at last,” Ian replied, his tone warm, insincere, but hopefully convincing.

 

Bar bait, he instantly decided.  The cocktail lounges in the airport hotels along the Strip were overflowing with phony-baloney blondes, predators on the prowl for easy prey.  A gainfully employed single man in his thirties needed to tread warily.

 

A needy nerd, Vickie decided, but with a very spankable ass!

 

“And this is Reiko Matsumura,” Rita went on, wrapping an arm around her diminutive colleague.

 

“Konbanwa, Matsumura-san.  Genkidesuka?”

 

“O kake-sa made genkidesu,” surprise lighting up the young Japanese woman's delicate features.  Anata mo,” she politely queried in return.

 

“Omutsu-gee,” Ian laughed while offering her a polite bow.  His voice had fallen a full octave at the end, drawing out the last syllable, signaling his desire both to honor her and to be playful.

 

Reiko clapped her hands in delight.  “Ian, you speak my native language beautifully, and your accent is perfect!

 

“Arigatou gozaimasu,” Ian again formally replied, offering her a second small bow.

 

“Reiko, what are the two of you on about?”  Rita hadn't understood a word. 

 

“Oh, we were just exchanging greetings, and when I asked Ian how he was doing, he said ...”

 

Reiko burst out laughing.  “He said that he needed his diaper changed!”

 

Ian could hear laughter erupting all around him, laughter and the warm clapping of hands, but when he stole a quick glance at Sarah, he knew that she was appraising his performance, knowing it all to be an act.

 

Sarah nodded her head ever so slightly, acknowledging the skillful way in which he had won over the room so effortlessly.  People who could poke fun at themselves found it easy to make friends.

 

“Well, Ian, from the looks of your slacks, I'd say that we need to get you out of your clothes, clean you up, and get you into a nice, dry diaper and a fresh pair of baby pants pronto.”  Rita had given him the proverbial once-over, from head to toe.  “So, take off your overcoat,and your jacket, and we'll get the draw under way.”

 

While Ian began to disrobe, Rita fetched a bowl in which he could see several small pieces of crudely folded paper.         

 

“Everyone here except Sarah has written her first initial on a scrap of paper and dropped it into the bowl,”  Rita explained, handing the bowl to Sarah.  “Ian, you will draw a name, and whomever you choose will have the delightful task of changing your diaper, and the solemn task of sitting in judgment on your clothing, deciding with no right of appeal whether it shall be dispatched to the washing machine, or to the trash bin.  Let the drawing begin!”  Rita and her two playmates joined the others in the living room, leaving Sarah to stand in the doorway, the bowl gripped tight.

 

Ian took his place beside her, nodded vaguely to the assembled throng, his fingers dancing among the scraps of paper, and then he slowly, slowly drew one from the bowl … opened it …

 

“And the winner is … Ree-tah,” he loudly proclaimed into the teeth of a chorus of boos and groans.

 

Ian frowned.  He was suspicious by nature, and he really wondered.  Before Sarah could retreat, he hastily reached back into the bowl and pulled out a second scrap.  He opened it...

 

“Rita,” he announced, nodding solemnly; “this lottery has been rigged!!!!”

 

“That's right,” Rita screamed.  “I go first, but everyone will get a chance to diaper the baby!  We shall ply him with booze, rivers and rivers of booze, and oceans of pee will crash on the shore!  The only question remaining is who shall get to clean his dirty bottom, for Sarah has assured me that, after consuming a mountain of grease at dinner, it is only a matter of time before the volcano erupts!!!”

 

Cheers erupted all over the living room, and Ian couldn't resist.  He pulled Rita roughly into his arms, pressing his soggy diaper and ruined slacks hard into her skirt, before breaking out in impromptu verse …

 

“Lovely Rita meter maid

May I inquire discreetly

When are you free to take some tea with meeeee ...”

 

More boos rocked the room, and then someone threw a paperback novel in their direction.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“This is the guest bedroom,”  Rita noted.  She had led Ian swiftly down the hall.  She had a hospital changing pad spread out on the bed, and an open but still empty diaper pail at its foot.

 

There was a ping pong paddle hanging on the wall above the headboard.  Ian gulped, and hesitantly pointed in its direction.  “Is that … uh … is that what I think it is?”

 

“I don't know, Ian; what do you think it is?”

 

“Ah … uhm … well ...”  Ian didn't know it, but he was shuffling his feet like a four year old who had just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

 

Rita thought he looked adorable.

 

“Uhm, Sarah said that she was going to spank me when we get home … a hand spanking, I guess because I've been mouthy.  But she warned me that she would paddle me if I did anything to ruin your evening.  And she … she said that you had a paddle too, and wouldn't hesitate to use it on me.  Is that true?”

 

“It is,” Rita replied simply.  “And you should know that at least two of The Circle are looking forward to spanking you.  They tell me that the orgasm is unbelievably intense, and I believe them.”

 

“Vickie.”  It was a statement of fact.

 

“Yes,” Rita conceded, “but you will have to figure out the second one for yourself.  On the whole, though, it's probably better that you don't know.  Now, let's get you out of these nasty clothes.”  Rita removed his shirt and undershirt.  Both went into the diaper pail.   Then she unbuckled and unzipped his trousers.  Cautiously easing the soaked material over his baby pants, she knelt and, bidding him to use her shoulders for balance, got him to raise his feet so that she could free his legs.  A brief glance told her that the pants were a write-off, but the socks also went into the pail.  She would empty out his pockets later.

 

Ian was now standing quietly before her, clad only in a visibly leaky diaper and vinyl pants.  He remained silent as she lowered the pants, noting with satisfaction that Sarah had used the four pin method.  This was why Ian was experiencing so little diaper sag.  The diaper went straight into the pail, and she put her hand on his chest.  A gentle push was enough to get him to sit and, without bidding, to lie back on the changing pad.  The vinyl pants came next, now sliding easily down his legs.

 

“Ian, I want you to work with me here.”

 

He looked up at her, clearly not understanding what she meant.

 

Rita sighed, sat down at his side, and took his hand in her own.  Her grip was gentle but firm.

 

“Ian, what do you think this party is about?”

 

“You're blowing off steam,” he said instantly.

 

“Yes and no.  What do you think is the worst thing that can happen to a doctor or nurse?”

 

“Losing a patient.”  Too easy.

 

“Not quite … it's losing a patient … doing irreparable harm … because we make a mistake.  Fear of it haunts us, Ian, all the good people who should be in this profession-- and it's why the divorce rate is so high, and the alcoholism.  A very real Sword of Damocles forever hangs over our heads.” 

 

She squeezed his hand more tightly, willing him to understand.

 

“When you told Sarah that the MASH team chose to leave the bullet nudging your spinal cord, an alarm bell went off in her head, and when she told us, that alarm bill began ringing hospital wide.  We're a family, Ian, and we look out for one another, help as best we can in the bad moments.  And now you are a part of our family.”  Rita was shaking her head, willing him to understand.  “Do you think that anyone here is so callous or … or, so wasted that she would spank you capriciously?  Blindly?  Knowing that a single misplaced stroke could put you in a wheelchair?  God, Ian, don't you get it?  When Sarah told us that you would need to be disciplined, we paired off in teams .. all of us … and we spanked each other!  We took notes, isolated the safe swats from the dangerous, and we sat down and talked it out as a group.  All of us, even Vickie, is on board.  You will be punished, and the punishment will hurt … it's not a punishment if it doesn't … but you will never be in danger … never!”

 

Ian began to cry, silent tears dropping onto his drunken cheeks.  Rita gently caught them on her fingertips.

 

“And that's why I need you to work with me now, Ian … the simple act of changing your diaper has risk, but if we work as a team, we can make the risk go away.  Now, I'm going to push on your knees, help you ease them up so that you can hold them up for me.  Then, I'm going to slide a fresh diaper under you, wipe you, powder you, and then we will lower your legs and I'll wipe and powder your genitals, pull your diaper up, and pin it … four pins, two at the hips and two at the thighs.  Then, I'm going to pull a fresh pair of vinyl pants up your legs, but to get past your hips I will need you to lift … straight up.  But under no circumstances are you to turn, however slightly, to left or right.  Do you understand me?”

 

“Yes,” he whispered.  Ian took elaborate care changing his own diapers, but he had made mistakes, and every misstep had ended in a painful jolt along the sciatic nerve.  He too had a Sword of Damocles hanging over his head.  He never tried to hide from the fact that the jolts terrified him.

 

“Then, let's begin,” and Rita pressed on his legs to start the process.

 

When they were finished, Rita got a firm grip on Ian's hands and eased him up, taking extreme care not to twist his torso in the slightest.

 

“We make a good team,” Ian offered.  And they hugged.

 

“Only because you're a good patient,” Rita smiled.  “But then, you've got a good teacher.”

 

Rita once again sat on the bed beside him.  “We've got a lot of this figured out.  Sending someone to your office at lunch time to change you is a piece of cake, and likewise at three … that's our shift change.  The one we haven't got a handle on is mid-morning.  Right now, for that one, you'll be on your own.”

 

Ian nodded.

 

“And now,” Rita continued, “I have a really big favor to ask you.  But please, don't say yes if this is too much for you.”

 

He studied her, the curiosity written all over his face.

 

“Your first spanking … the one Sarah is giving you?  I'd like you to receive it in the living room later tonight, with everyone watching.”

 

“Why” was all Ian could get out.

 

“Because, as surreal as this must sound, we all want to evaluate Sarah's performance.  In clinical terms, we want to study how she responds to your cries.  Will she know when it's safe to proceed, or time to back off?  The only way she'll know for sure is if you are working with her … guiding her.  It sounds insane, but she will be relying on you to manage your spanking.  You have to work as a team, just as we worked as a team a few minutes ago.  And you have to be honest, not cheat even around the edges, because the spanking cannot stop until you show genuine contrition.  But more than anything else, you can't play the macho man, guide her as an act of male pride to do something that would cause lasting damage.  Ian, she won't admit it, not even to herself, but she loves you … and she's fallen so hard and so fast that it's almost frightening.  And you can destroy her.  Don't.  Don't run away from your feelings, don't hide … share everything that you feel, openly and honestly.  Can you do this?”

 

Not when I'm sober … no fucking way!

 

In vino veritas?”  He was offering Rita a deal, this for that.

 

“In vino veritas,” she agreed.  They hugged a second time, two strangers who would never be strangers again.

 

Rita had left a onesie on the headboard.  She would finish dressing him, and then they would rejoin The Circle.

 

SCENE 4:

 

Ian spotted a gap on the couch between Becky and Marge, and dropped into it with a resounding splat as the air trapped inside his vinyl pants shrieked in protest.  He wrapped his arms around the two ladies, and then resumed his interrupted serenade.

 

“Got the bill and Rita paid it

Took her home and nearly made it

Sitting on the sofa with a sister or two

 

Oh lovely Rita meter maid

Where would I be without youuuu”

 

Ian stopped dead in his tracks when, with impeccable timing, Rita walked in from the kitchen with his next beer.  He reckoned that a few twelve packs would go far to dull the pain heading squarely his way.  Of course, he'd be peeing like the python to whom he had once fed endless bottles of beer on a lazy afternoon in the far north of Thailand-- but wasn't every one of these lovely meter maids supposed to change his widdle diapee at least once?

 

Without warning, Ian started to laugh, and once he got started he simply couldn't stop.  He smacked his thighs over and over again, everyone in the room convinced that he had taken drunken leave of his senses.  But Ian was thinking about his beloved Pete, remembering the full on panic when Ratana's baby had disappeared next door, everyone running around yelling and screaming, certain that the twenty-one foot long python had graduated from eating rats to eating babies, the panic only subsiding when Ratana's mother had returned home from the market stalls with the baby safe in her arms.  And the elephant?  THE ELEPHANT?  The poor beast had been tethered about twenty yards downstream when Pete had let loose.  Ian had sat there, his back pressed hard against the bale of hay, totally wasted, empty bottles of Singha scattered round, watching the swelling torrent of python piss wash over the hard packed earth, reaching the corral, engulfing poor Toby's hooves.  And, God bless him, the elephant had never missed a beat, just kept on placidly hoovering up the succulent grass that they had harvested in the rice paddies overlooking the Mekong.

 

Ian stopped in mid-laugh, his gaze riveted on his crouch, the hot piss pouring out of him, his thick, thirsty hospital diaper clearly holding its own.  He looked around for Rita, spotted her, favored her with a wolfish grin while his right hand got to work, experimentally poking the onesie here and poking the onesie there …

 

Khor thot krap.  Hong naam yuu nai krap?

 

Thinking about Pete had set Ian off, but he didn't have a clue, and neither did Rita.  It was Reiko who saved the day.

 

“He's speaking Thai,” she laughed; “he wants to know where the bathroom is.”  Ian's laughter was infectious, and now she just couldn't stop.  “I think … I think he needs another diaper change,” she managed to blurt out, punching the couch over and over again in a vain attempt to get herself under control.  Reiko liked Suntory, and she kept a goodly supply in one of Rita's kitchen cabinets.  No one expected Rita to foot the bill for the more than fifty parties that she hosted annually; it was strictly BYOB, and they all chipped in generously to reward the occasional male stripper.

 

“What?  But I just changed him,” Rita protested with an absolutely straight face.

 

And that set off the whole room. 

 

“He's plastered,” someone observed.

 

“Absolutely shit-faced is more like it!”

 

“How the hell do you know Thai?  Aren't you Japanese?”  This one was aimed at Reiko.

 

“I flew down to Bangkok during Golden Week, for the double eyelid surgery ...”

 

“The what?”

 

“Double eyelid surgery.  We Asian girls come into the world with only one eyelid, which makes it hard to compete with you gaijin for the hunks.  So, we save up our money and fly off to India or Thailand to make good nature's mistake.  The first thing you've got to learn in any foreign country is how to get to the toilet!”

 

“The truth dawns,” Becky shrieked.  “You've got the hots for Ted Norris … what's your plan … how are you going to seduce him?”

 

“I have an announcement to make,” Ian slurred from his throne, his arms still wrapped around two of the amigas.  “Sarah says that she's going to spank me when we get home … a real horsewhipping, it sounds like.  She says that I've been behaving like a brat, and that she's fed up with my behavior.  Well, guilty as charged … I am (burp) a brat … I love being a brat, and I probably deserve what's coming to me.”

 

Ian belched-- a long, deep, infinitely satisfying belch.  Leaning forward, elbows now on his knees, his eyes roamed from one raptly attentive face to the next.  “But first, I owe each and every one of you an apology.  When I walked in the door, I thought that Sarah had tricked me into becoming a cheap circus act … free entertainment for a bunch of frustrated hens who needed a fall guy to take the weekend punches that you couldn't throw at your bosses.  And I was wrong.”

 

“It's okay, baby, not to worry!”  Vickie hoisted her bottle, took a long pull, and then saluted him.  “WE'LL TAKE IT OUT ON YOUR ASS!”

 

“ME FIRST,” Candy screamed, beer spraying onto her ultra tight halter top.  “You have to share, Sarah; we all want a piece of his ass!  Even Marge!”

 

“Yep,” Marge agreed.  She had been quietly nursing a rather nice chardonnay.  “And I'm going to take my piece, frame it, and hang it on the office wall.”  She favored Ian with a warm smile.  Sitting next to her in his cute little onesie, flooding his diaper …  Marge was beginning to feel very maternal, in a kinky sort of way.  Before anyone else could beat her to the punch, she stood up and yanked Ian to his feet.

 

“Come on, babykins, it's time for auntie Marge to change your stinkie diaper!”  Chardonnay still in hand, she dragged him off to the bedroom.

 

.  .  .  .

 

Marge and Ian returned to a room alive with chatter, the gathering having moved on to a well lubricated and very detailed dissection of the relative hunkiness of this Resident and that.  It was readily apparent that Ted Norris was the front runner, but Jim Stone and Derek Eastman were charging hard on the outside.

 

Ian was about to park his butt in his accustomed spot when Marge blocked him with an outstretched arm.  She was looking down at the couch, which now sported a prominent pee stain.

 

“Isn't he a little under dressed,” Vickie queried with a malicious grin. 

 

Ian was wearing a bulging diaper and still another fresh pair of baby pants, but the onesie had disappeared.

 

“His onesie was soaked through, and I couldn't find a spare.  Will somebody please bring me a wet washcloth?  We need to take care of this stain before it sets … and we need to find the baby a vacant seat.”

 

“Oh, he can sit on my lap,” Becky said.  Ian was standing right in front of her, so all she had to do was reach out and grab his arm.  “I just love it when babies crawl onto my lap, and start bouncing.  What about you, baby cakes?  Would you like to go bouncy, bouncy in auntie Becky's lap?”  Becky was seductively patting one of her thighs, and Ian couldn't wait to take her up on the offer.  Fearing that Sarah would cry halt any second now, he got down as fast as he could, wriggled around a bit, and then laid his head on aunt Becky's shoulder.

 

Should I suck my thumb, or would that be a bridge too far?  Decisions … decisions … decisions … God, how I hate making decisions!

 

But then aunt Becky wrapped her arms around him, and gently started patting his back.  Ian knew exactly how to take advantage of so tender a moment.

 

There's got to be a burp in here somewhere!

 

Burp.

 

.  .  .  .

 

In vino veritas …

 

Ian had stalled and stalled, putting the moment off as long as he could.  But he and Rita had struck a deal, and Ian did not trade in broken promises.  It was time.

     

Ian sat upright, and looked around the room.  He was amazed to discover that he was no longer the center of attention.  The Circle had a life of its own.

 

Ian made eye contact with Rita and tilted his head, the gesture asking the unspoken question.  Rita simply nodded.  Taking a long, slow breath, Ian cleared his throat loud enough to get everyone's attention.

 

“I … uh  … there's something that I need to say.  When Rita was changing me, she set me straight about a couple of things.  She … uh … she reminded me of something that I've already learned the hard way-- that for a guy like me, diaper changes are risky business, especially the messy ones.   But what I didn't know until I met Sarah … until I came here tonight … is that it doesn't have to be this way.  I don't have to do this alone; there are some really wonderful people willing to help me, and by working as a team we can make the risk go away.”

 

Ian reached up and wiped the tears that had begun to run down his cheeks. 

 

“And then she told me … she told me that all of you paired off and spanked one another, took notes, and conducted a kind of autopsy to decide what Sarah could and could not do.  So, I'm sitting here, more ashamed right now than I can remember being in a long, long time.  I forgot that you are professionals, in a profession that makes my job seem like a walk in the park.  I made assumptions, and none of them were warranted.  I'm sorry.”

 

Ian turned to look at Sarah.    “I don't make promises lightly, and I try as best I can to honor my commitments.  Earlier tonight, I made one to Rita.  She wants you to spank me here, Sarah, in front of everyone.  Granted, I still can't quite wrap my head around the notion that they want to grade your technique, but there it is.  It sounds like a good idea, but it's not my call.  I'm through undermining you, not because I have some kinky desire to be spanked or sent to the corner, but because any fool can see that your judgment is better than mine … a lot better.  So, it's up to you.”

 

Sarah crossed the room, and knelt on the floor before him.  She grasped his hands in hers, and looked deep into his eyes.  “Thank you, Ian; I am so very proud of you.”  She reached up and flicked the hair out of his eyes.

 

He needs a haircut.  Of all the things to think about in this moment … but he needs a haircut.

 

 “We'll give Rita her wish.”  Sarah leaned forward, and kissed him gently on the cheek.

 

“I'll need to do my time out first,” he said, trying to lighten the moment, “because I need to down a hell of a lot more beer before we do this.  And no, it's not to dull the pain, although it will probably help.  It's because of something else that Rita hammered home … that I need to lower my defenses and let you in, share my feelings with you.  I'm … I'm not ready to do that … I don't know if I'll ever be ready to do that!  There's so much about me that you don't know, so many dark places inside me that I never visit.  I'm so afraid ...”

 

“I know,” Sarah cut in, her voice soft and warm.  “When we first met, a curtain came down, and you have never raised it.  It's always there, separating us.  And behind the curtain, there's a wall, and at times it seems impossibly thick and so very high.  And I can't tear it down, nor would I even if I had the power to do so.  This is for you and you alone.  But I will be here waiting on this side of the wall, and I shall wait for however long it takes.  When I have gained your trust, the wall will come down.  I promise you, it will come down.  If we trust one another, if we have faith in each other, it will come down.”

 

She kissed him again.

 

.  .  .  .

 

Hours later, with dawn creeping over the horizon and hours of laughter and tomfoolery finally behind them, Rita moved a high backed chair into the middle of the room.  Sarah took her place, and Ian took his.  She eased his baby pants down to his ankles and unpinned his diaper, allowing the rear to drop, trapping it between his now fully exposed thighs.  Ian's ass never failed to take her breath away.  It was so small and so firm, no unwanted padding anywhere-- an ass truly ripe for a spanking.  She ran her fingers over it, a random dance, wondering if he ever suspected what all the other nurses must have been thinking as their hands oiled and powdered the taut muscle, in offices and clinics and hospitals scattered across half the globe.

 

He offered her his right hand, and she pinned it down firmly to his back, directly above the place where the tiny but deadly fragment of a bullet lay lodged, one of three that had penetrated skin and bone, muscle and sinew in a long forgotten battle that had raged along the Laotian frontier, in the Annamite mountains north of the DMZ-- a place where no American soldiers were supposed to be, fighting a war that officially had never taken place. 

 

Rita had knelt on the floor before him, grasping his left hand, comforting him, and the circle of silent observers had taken form.

 

.  .  .  .

 

It went very much the way it was planned, and Ian's reactions were largely as they had anticipated.  His punishment was severe, Sarah unrelenting, praying the whole time that this would be his first and last spanking, but knowing in her heart that the truth was otherwise.  Her blows were measured and delivered with great care, but she ceased only when his cries had become incoherent and virtually without meaning.  This was the point, they had all agreed, when it had to stop.

 

Almost without meaning.

 

What really stilled her hand were two simple, blubbering admissions, welling up from that place deep inside every human being where ultimate truth resides.

 

“I love you, Sarah …”

 

“I love you with all my heart.”

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