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AN HOMAGE TO VINCENT VEGA

 

SCENE 29:

 

THE JUNGLE KING

 

Walking across the foyer to Rita's office, Vickie and Ian had to run the usual gauntlet of nurses and orderlies, some of them chatting on their coffee break while others were busy shuffling papers and making notes for the patient files.  Even on a Sunday, at mid morning it was very much business as usual on the seventh floor.

 

Vickie was glad that she had taken the time to educate Ian on what awaited them once they left the secure ward.  Because they were identically dressed in locking gowns and diaper covers, she had warned him that it was best to go with the teasing that was surely coming their way.  Keep a smile on your face, roll with the punches, and don't hesitate to join in the fun.  In this unit, she had stressed, wit is a prized commodity.

 

And now he's gone and bested me, she sighed.

 

Leaving the locker room, Ian had slipped to Vickie's left side, and reached out to take her hand.  Their ridiculous clothing notwithstanding, as they entered the foyer she was acutely aware that they must look like newlyweds stepping away from the altar.  Ian was positively beaming, making no attempt to mask the depth of his feelings for her.

 

And there's a very real possibility that I'm walking on air.  Candy's right … I do not do things by half measures.

 

Laughter and sporadic clapping erupted all over the room.  The first wolf whistle caused Ian to pause in mid-stride.  Taking an impromptu bow, he stepped gracefully aside, bowed a second time in Vickie's direction, and came up clapping as well.  He was only too happy to join in, which only added to Vickie's embarrassment.

 

 “Hey, Vic,” one of the nurses called out, “I like the look, especially the super thick diaper.  No more ruining a productive session for a bathroom break.  You can just pee in your pants and be done with it!”

 

“And the way you waddle is so sexy!”  One of her friends stood up and wiggled her hips provocatively.  “Can you give the rest of us a tutorial on how to look sharp in a wet and messy diaper?”

 

“And it's so egalitarian.”  This from one of the orderlies.  “Having doctor and patient dress alike really levels the playing field.  Is this part of that New Age stuff you were looking into out in San Francisco this summer?”

 

“Sorry to disappoint you, Ron,” Vickie shot back with a huge grin.  “I'm still a Jungian through and through … still making it up as I go along.”  On impulse, she turned around and offered her inquisitor a bird's eye view of her well padded butt.  “Do you like what you see,” she asked, as she looked seductively back over her shoulder, eyelids all a flutter.  “You can look, but only Ian gets to touch.”

 

More clapping.  It was clear to everyone that, diaper or no diaper, the hive queen was on her game.

 

“Enough already.”  Rita was standing in her office doorway, hands on hips; she was exhausted, but still very much in command of her domain.  She beckoned for Vickie and Ian to join her.

 

“Park it,” she ordered as she sat down behind her desk.

 

Vickie and Ian took their customary seats.

 

“First things first.”  Rita surveyed them both.  “Do either of you need a diaper change?”

 

“I'm good for the moment,” Ian replied.

 

“What I would like is the key, so that I can take off this rig.”  Vickie simply wanted to file her report, then go home and get some sleep.

 

“Later,” Rita shot back.  “If you need to pee, just go ahead and use your diaper.  That's what it's for, and a little wetness isn't going to ruin your day.”

 

“Gee, thanks,” Vickie muttered.  She was beginning to think that Marge had been playing it straight after all.

 

'Your welcome.”  Rita ignored the sarcasm.  “Ian's got a long day ahead of him, and Sarah's already on the road.  If things go as planned, she should back in the Cities by six.  

I expect her to come charging in here, but her message didn't say much, so we'll just have to wait and see.  Right now, I want to hear from both of you.  Vic, let's cut to the chase: are we making progress?”

 

Vickie frowned.  “Are you sure about this,” she asked enigmatically.  Delivering an Assessment with the patient in the room was decidedly unorthodox.

 

“Yes, I am.”  Rita leaned back in her chair.  She appreciated what Vickie was trying to say, and she did not want to do anything confrontational.  “Ian is not a patient in the conventional sense, and I believe that he sincerely wants to work with us.  He has a good grasp of both the issues and the approach that you're taking, so all things considered, I think that a round table discussion will yield the best results.”

 

“As long as it ends in another visit to the cafeteria, I'm good with whatever the two of you want to do.”  Sensing that Rita and Vickie were at odds, Ian had decided to try and   defuse the situation by changing the subject to one more to his liking-- food.

 

“Ian, you've had eight bottles of breast milk this morning so far, and there's more in your immediate future.  Do you really want to repeat yesterday's blowouts?  You're really trying my patience, never mind flaunting Sarah's instructions.”

 

“Eight bottles of breast milk?”  Ian blinked, trying to remember, and coming up empty.  “Are you sure?”  The question was lame, and he knew it.

 

Vickie and Rita both stared at him hard, but it was Vickie who asked the question.

 

“You don't remember, do you?”  She reached out gently to clasp his hand.  “Do you?”

 

“No … no, I don't.”  Ian sank deeper into his chair.  “Vickie, this is scary.  Friday is gone, and now you're telling me that I'm missing part of this morning-- missing something that I clearly should remember.  What …?

 

“It's okay,” she soothed; “in fact, this is great news!  Baby, I want you to do something for me.  I want you to close your eyes and try to relax.  Take a deep breath and let it slowly go.  That's it ...”

 

Ian did his best to comply.

 

“Now, I want you to think about that last night in Hue, when Bian was comforting you.  What do you feel when you think about Bian?”

 

“Warmth … love.”  Ian's response was instantaneous.

 

“Do you feel pain?”

 

“No, and I should … I have … for so long.  Why …?”

 

Ian was becoming visibly agitated, the holes in his psyche becoming more apparent and more frightening by the moment.

 

“Shhh … hush, baby; mommy's here, and mommy loves you with all her heart.  It's okay.”  Vickie was stroking his arm, trying to calm him down.  For the moment, she wanted to keep Princess Poopy Pants submerged.  She needed to speak with Ian, not with the little girl who was drawing closer and closer to the surface.

 

“Ian, do you remember us telling you that we wanted to try a new approach, something different while you were sleeping?”

 

“Vaguely.”  Ian opened his eyes, recalling a snippet of conversation to which he really had not paid much attention.

 

Vickie stole a glance at Rita, warning her that Ian was about to hear the Assessment.  She was not at all sure that this was in her lover's best interest.

 

“Last night, you spent hours reliving what happened in Hue, and you no longer remember the pain because we were able to transfer it to Princess Poopy Pants.  She remembers, but she has also let it go because she knows that mommy loves her and will always keep her safe.  And you don't remember the breast milk that I fed you in the crib, and you don't remember the breast milk that I fed you just a few minutes ago on the floor because you didn't drink the bottles; Princess Poopy Pants did.  Do you understand?”

 

Ian nodded.  “I think so.  You're saying that I have multiple personalities, and that each personality has its own set of memories.”

 

“Two personalities for sure, and yes, two different memory banks.”

 

“So, I don't have access to the Princess' memories … but it sounds like she has access to mine ...”

 

“Wow!  Ian, you catch on quick!”  Vickie and Rita were equally impressed.  Without prompting, Ian had gone right to the heart of it.

 

“At a guess,” Vickie laughed, “today Princess Poopy Pants is going to be drinking a lot of breast milk, while Major Grady wolfs down the condemned man's famous last meal.  Remember, Sarah will be home this evening, and she wants you on a pure breast milk diet-- both of you.  Rita and I are just a couple of softies, but Sarah is anything but.  Trust me … she's going to keep both of you on the straight and narrow!”

 

“I believe you,” Ian groaned; “I'm not happy about it, but trust me … I do believe you.  Anyway, what's the program going forward?”

 

“Oh, you'll love this.  Now that Princess Poopy Pants is both able and willing to shoulder your pain, Rita and Sarah are both going to take my place in your crib, diapers and all!  We'll repeat last night's exercise until Princess Poopy Pants is certain that all three of her mommies love her absolutely and unconditionally.  The Major and the Princess are going to share their lives with three women who are devoted to their well being.  You are going to be loved in a way that will scandalize the community, but secretly make you the envy of every man in the state!”

 

And I will punish the Princess for your sins, whatever they may be.  It will end when you tell her the truth.

 

Not before.

 

.  .  .  .

 

Rita stopped in the doorway, and softly knocked.  Not for the first time, she marveled at Ian's ability to shut out the world and focus so intensely on the job at hand.  Technology was clearly not his strong suit, but he kept plugging away.

 

“How's it going,” she asked when he finally looked up.  He had four tape recorders in front of him, a crude but effective way of creating the demo for Glenn Albright, a splice that would feature Amos' voice, his own, and the desired special effects.

 

“Slow,” he admitted.  “It's the sequencing.  The trick is to load the tape with phrases that  guys walking perimeter heard out there in the darkness night after night.  Don bit on the really obscene stuff, but some of it passed Amos by.  I'm trying to find the sweet spot.”

 

“First things, first.”  Rita directed him to stand, then unlocked his diaper cover.  After two hours, he was due for a diaper check.

 

“You're poopy,” she declared.  “So, let's get you cleaned up and changed, then I'll take you to lunch.  My treat.”  Rita was holding a fresh diaper and baby pants in her hand.

 

“The cafeteria?”

 

“'fraid so.”

 

“Is Vickie coming?”

 

“No.  I sent her home, Ian, although I expect her to come back before Sarah arrives.  Last night took a lot out of her, emotionally as well as physically.  She needs to rest.”

 

“Well, I hope that you got rid of the diaper before sending her on her way.”

 

“I did.  But going forward I'm seriously considering making her wear locking diapers whenever the two of you are scheduled to be alone.”

 

“You're kidding, right?”  But he could see at a glance that Rita wasn't.  “Why?”

 

“Because Sarah tells me that your fingers and tongue are magical, and I'm afraid that the two of you might get carried away.  I'm sorry, Ian, but I can't have that.  My Director put Marge in this department to sabotage me.  He wants me gone because I'm loyal to Professor Lessing, and he wants someone he controls to run the ward.  It's a power struggle, and in a sense Marge and I are both pawns that John and Keith are moving around the board.”

 

“Got it,” Ian sighed; “the same old, same old.  Talk about a broken record.”

 

“It is what it is,” Rita shrugged.  “Look, why don't you get down on the floor, and I'll change you here.  It's more private than the changing table down the hall.”

 

Rita spread the diaper out, and Ian eased himself to the floor, the drill familiar to both of them.  Removing his diaper cover and vinyl pants, she unpinned the dirty diaper and began cleaning him, using the still dry top of the diaper to start, and finishing with the wet wipes in the pocket of her smock.

 

“It's funny how quickly the mind adjusts,” Ian mused.  He was looking up at Rita, whose breasts were swaying within easy reach.

 

“How so,” she asked as she continued to concentrate on getting her patient clean and dry.

 

“I don't even think about changing my own diapers anymore.  I just accept that a beautiful and caring nurse will do it for me, and do it without complaint.  As hard as it is to believe, to have Sarah, Vickie and you take charge of my life this way … I think that I'm one of the luckiest guys on the planet.”

 

“You are so incredibly sweet.”  Rita was smiling down at him, her feelings heartfelt.  “I was planning to keep you away from the desserts, but maybe I'll let you have just one.”

 

Ian reached up and gently pulled her down.  He kissed her, and Rita kissed him back.

 

“Or two,” she laughed.  “Come on, let's get you back under lock and key, get you dressed, and join the maddening crowd.  Lunch on Sundays is always pot luck around here.  But good, bad, or indifferent, you still have your next four bottles of breast milk on the horizon!”

 

“Can we do two now, and two afterwards?”  Ian was resolved to hold up his end of the deal so long as Rita held up hers.

 

“Wait here,” she said, running her fingers through his hair.  Ian badly needed a haircut, and the barber shop on the first floor was open on Sundays.  Right then and there, Rita decided that if his diaper remained up to the challenge, she would take him for a trim once lunch was out of the way.

 

Rita rushed out of the room, to return a few minutes later with Ian's bottles.  She got down on the floor, propped her back against the wall, and patted her lap.  Ian happily crawled over to join her.  His head cradled in her arm, eyes closed, he began to nurse.

 

Rita had been dreaming of this moment for days.

 

She was not disappointed.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“After lunch, your diaper permitting, I'm going to treat you to a long overdue haircut.  Then, I'm going to take you up on your offer.”

 

Rita and Ian were hovering in the entrance to the cafeteria, which was packed.  With conversations dying and well over a hundred pairs of eyes turned in their direction, it was obvious that they remained the hospital's star attraction.

 

And what will the rumor mill make of Vickie's absence?

 

Rita spotted Heidi off to their left.  She was alternately waving and pointing at the pair of empty chairs that she was clearly holding in reserve.  Manny Cepeda was sitting opposite her.

 

Rita waved back.

 

“What offer?”  Ian had absolutely no idea what Rita was talking about.

 

“Sorry.  It was on Friday morning, just before you … before you collapsed.”  Rita grasped Ian by the elbow, and steered him in the direction of the line.  “You offered to let me go through your clothes closet.  It just occurred to me that you're wearing the same clothes you had on yesterday … the same clothes that you had on when Vickie collected you on Wednesday afternoon.  Since you'll be staying here tonight, you'll need clean clothes to wear to class tomorrow.  Any requests?”

 

“I'm feeling pink,” Ian teased as he reached for a plate of deviled eggs.  “Pink shirt, maroon tie, dark trousers and sport coat.  Garment bag in the entryway closet, suitcase in the bedroom.  Fresh socks and undershirts would also be much appreciated.”

 

“Consider it done.”  Rita opted for a dinner salad and bread sticks.  “And just to be on the safe side, I'm going to hit the mall on the way back and get you some new pants.  It would not do for a professor to have his trousers fall apart at the seams in the middle of lecture.  What size are you wearing right now?”

 

“Thirty-six waist, thirty-two long.”  Ian shared Rita's concern for the well-being of his rear end, but it did not stop him from ordering pulled pork and mac 'n cheese.  He debated the coleslaw, but reckoned that he'd have a better chance of scoring dessert without it.  When it came to crème brulee, he was prepared to make a scene.

 

“I'll try and get you both a thirty-eight and a forty.  I'll return the reject next week.  Is Penney's okay?”

 

Rita thought that a plate of tuna salad would complement her dinner salad very well.

 

“My go to store,” Ian confessed.  “On my salary, a guy has to be cost conscious.  But what I'm wearing right now is a good fit with the … uh … with the diapers I get from the service.”

 

“Which Sarah tells me you will be canceling tomorrow.  From now on, you will be wearing hospital issue-- at no charge.  Think of it as compensation for all the hard work that you're doing on our behalf.”

 

“Sarah's wish is my command,” Ian rather absentmindedly replied.  He was scanning the dessert offerings just ahead, and was bitterly disappointed to see that crème brulee was not in the offing.  Still, the whipped cream was fresh, and a slice of custard pie looked promising.  An iced tea would make a nice finish.

 

Ian loathed coffee, or to put it more accurately, loathed the swill that passed for coffee in the US.  Like James Bond, he preferred Turkish coffee, medium sweet.  He had never visited MI-6's Station T, or its American equivalent, but he knew Istanbul well.  It was a convenient point of departure for his irregular trips behind the Iron Curtain.

 

“This will also give me a chance to look things over … get a feel for what needs to go where-- my place, or storage.  We'll check out Sarah's apartment, and Vickie's, in due course.  For the time being at least, we need to downsize.”

 

“We'll also be getting rid of some of your stuff,” Ian threw out as he sat down next to Manny, and smiled at Heidi.  “With all due respect, your stereo sucks.”

 

“I've heard this conversation before,” Heidi laughed.  “The old two apartments can't fit into one-- or in this case, three apartments can't fit into one fully furnished townhouse.”

 

“I missed it,” Manny laughed.  “Estrellita was still living at  home with her parents, who were hard pressed to keep her out of mischief!  My version involved three small kids sharing one bedroom, and a lot of hand-me-downs.”

 

“Where's Vic,” Manny went on.  “You two look lost without her.”

 

“Home getting her beauty sleep.  She was up most of the night working with Ian, and she wants to be fresh when she welcomes Sarah home.  She should be here around six.”

 

“Is she stopping at Tobies,” he asked hopefully.  “I could use a dozen of the caramel pecan rolls, and two full trays of the walnut potica.  My guys expect the best for our subterranean holiday festivities.”  Travelers between Duluth and the Twin Cities had been stopping in Hinckley for two generations, the slovak delicacies flowing out of the bakery unarguably the finest in the whole of the upper Midwest.

 

“Not sure,” Rita shrugged.  “But if she calls from Duluth, I'll place your order-- along with my department's.”

 

“And mine,” Heidi joined in.

 

“Aren't credit cards wonderful,” Manny grinned.  “Rita, give me a shout, and I'll call the restaurant.  I know someone in the kitchen, and can guarantee the order will be ready and waiting when Sarah shows up.  We don't want to hold her up any longer than necessary.”

 

“Manny,” Heidi smiled, “what are the odds that you know someone in the kitchen of every popular restaurant in this state?”

 

“Yeah, I've even got a cousin working in the kitchen of your faculty club, Major.  Which reminds me.  The guys wanted me to be sure and ask you to come join us for our Christmas to-dos.  Rita and Heidi both know the way, and all of the ladies in your life are welcome to join us.  We promise to keep it reasonably civilized.”

 

“I'll run it by Sarah,” Ian promised.  “But it's her call.  She makes all of my decisions for me, and that includes who I hang out with.  Will Amos and Andy be there?”

 

“But of course.  They're regulars, just like Rita and Vic.  Our parties are legendary.”

 

“How about you, Heidi?  Do wives attend, with or without husbands in attendance?”

 

“Building Services also hosts a family Christmas party, Ian, right here in the cafeteria.  There's lots of games and food, and presents for the children.  Andrew dresses up as Santa Claus, and Amos as one of the elves!”

 

Ian helped himself to a deviled egg before sliding the plate into the middle of the table.  Everyone helped themselves, getting lunch underway.

 

Midway through the meal, Manny furtively looked around, then leaned in Ian's direction.  “Major, there's something I've gotta ask you; I just hope it's okay.”  Manny's voice was low, but still loud enough for Rita and Heidi to overhear.

 

“On Saturday night, a lot of the guys are regulars at their VFW's, and what with the bars being open until one, a lot of beer and booze gets drunk, and some pretty wild war stories sometimes get tossed into the mix.  Anyway, some of the guys were talking about you and what you've been doing here, how you speak the language and all.  And they got … what do ya call it … feedback?  In more than one bar.  Street Racer.  Guys were saying … yeah, you're talking about Street Racer.  Rode into battle on an elephant, and instead of wearing a flak jacket, had this mile long snake wrapped around his chest ...”

 

“Toby and Pete,” Ian sheepishly admitted.  He glanced sideways at Heidi and Rita.  The amazed looks on their faces said it all.  “Your pals must have been talking to some retired chopper guys.  Elephants and water buffalo got hauled around a lot in slings; some of the stick jockeys were so good that they could land Toby on his feet, detach the sling, and he'd just walk off.”

 

“Then it's true,” Manny squeaked.  “What, were you … like … I don't know … dropping acid or something?”

 

Ian decisively shook his head.  “Psychological warfare.  Elephants are revered throughout Southeast Asia, which didn't prevent either side from deploying them.  As Alexander the Great discovered to his detriment a long time ago, they can have a decisive impact on the battlefield, in no small part because of their size.  When they start throwing their weight around, the enemy tends to scatter and run.”

 

Ian took a sip of his iced tea.  “You should have seen Toby in action, Manny.”  Ian was reminiscing, dipping into cherished memories.  “Charging down this week's version of the Ho Chi Minh trail, trumpeting his war cry-- Burmese war elephants can be heard a long way off in the jungle, and little things like trees won't even slow them down.  He was a force to be reckoned with … a force of nature.  Still is.”

 

“He's still alive?”

 

“Yeah … him and Pete both.  They're in northern Thailand … a village just west of Chiang Rai.  Toby works on construction sites in the city, although his real job is entertaining kids.  It's a mutual love affair.  As for Pete?  What can I say?  He's a twenty-one foot, two hundred pound python that I raised from when he was a hatchling.  The last time we went into battle together, he was close to four years old, twelve feet long, and weighed over fifty pounds.  He wrapped his body around my chest, but his head was resting between Toby's ears.  Charging through the jungle, the three of us made quite a sight.”

 

Ian looked up, his eyes full of merriment.  “Rita, you'd like Pete.  He's a full-fledged alcoholic.  He'll make do with Singha, but his beer of choice is Heineken.  I just pop the cap, give him the bottle, and he drinks it all down in one go.  There's not a guy on this planet who could outdrink Pete!”

 

“But you've tried,” Rita surmised.

 

“Never came close to holding my own.”  Ian ladled whipped cream onto his slice of custard pie, and dug in.  “Strictly an amateur.”

 

Suddenly, he put his fork down, and turned very serious.

 

“Toby and Pete are family, Rita; I need you to understand that.  After I resigned my commission, I went back out there in no small part to arrange a home for them both.  I still go back every year, to make sure that they are being well treated.  This one's principle, Rita.”

 

“So that's why ...”  Rita turned to Heidi, who had heard the steel in Ian's voice, but had no idea what this was all about.  She looked as lost as she felt.  “Ian told Phil Kettering, one of the troubled vets in our secure ward, that he went back to Viet Nam after he left the army to attend to unfinished business, but he never explained what it was about.  Now we know at least a part of it.”

 

“The whole of it.”  Ian was still looking at her steadily, and for the first time Rita grasped what her orderlies meant when they talked about command presence.  She could see it in his eyes, but more than that, she could feel it.  This was a man who made life and death decisions for the troops following him into battle, and he did not make those decisions lightly.

 

“Toby, Pete, the men in my company, their families.  I went back to make sure that everyone had a good billet.  We really were a band of brothers.”

 

“Amen.”  Manny never missed a reunion.  He knew exactly what the Major was talking about.  A band of brothers.  They attended funerals and, once a year, they gathered to commemorate an experience that they couldn't really share with anyone else.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“You look better,” Rita observed.

 

“I was getting shaggy,” Ian admitted as he studied himself in the mirror.  The barber had done a good job.  “Here's the key to my apartment.  I take it that you know the address?”

 

“Been in the building a few times,” Rita acknowledged.

 

“No word from Sarah?”

 

“Not yet.  Think you can finish today?”

 

Ian nodded.  “It will be kind of an audio rough draft, but I'll have something for you.”

 

“I'm proud of you, Ian.  You work hard, you keep your promises … even the one about drinking breast milk.  No complaints, which makes cradling you in my arms and feeding you your ba bas very, very special for me.  Now, tell me the truth: is it getting easier for you?”

 

“Not really.  Rita, I certainly have a sweet tooth, but even by my standards breast milk is way over the top.  Are you sure that this stuff is healthy in the amount you're feeding me?”

 

“It is,” Rita confirmed, “although Sofia-- Sarah's mother-- says that the four of us will need to take supplements.  What's really odd is that Princess Poopy Pants loves her ba bas; no matter how much breast milk we feed her, she craves more.”

 

“Thank God for split personalities,” Ian laughed.  “The Princess gets the breast milk, and I get the steaks and chops.”

 

“Sorry, but Sarah is adamant about this.  Two personalities in one body, and the body is going to be breast milk dependent.  The Major will just have to find a way to cope with a fate worse than death-- being cradled in the arms of three women daily, nursing at their boobs, giving them mind blowing orgasms, and wondering all the while what pleasure, if any, might await him in return.  Before you decide to let the Princess take over, you might want to think about the consequences: baby girls do not have sex.  Princess Poopy Pants will be forever chaste.  If that's what you want ...”

 

Ian grimaced.  Perpetual chastity was most definitely not what he wanted.  After Rita left for his apartment, he resumed working on the recording, with regular breaks for poopy diaper changes now being administered by Martha Benson, the second shift charge nurse.  Rita had described her as somewhat older, and as kind hearted as she was efficient.  Ian took to her instantly; if the ward had a mother hen, he reckoned that Martha was it.  On the changing table, relaxing while she took her time powdering his behind, he let his mind wander off to plot what were euphemistically known in the trade as “evasive maneuvers.”  Late afternoon lectures campus wide, with wine and hors d'oeuvres in abundance, were looking more and more promising.  The trick was going to be neutralizing his secretary, now slated to become his on campus baby sitter.  He liked Amy; indeed, he had already taken her out for drinks after work on several Friday afternoons, and a couple of those outings had turned into dinner, one of which had ended with him in her bed, making love until the sun was well over the yardarm on Saturday morning.

 

The thought of Amy Reynolds joining the Circle, and disclosing the complete contents of his personnel file, sent shivers down Ian's spine.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“I'm back,” Rita announced as she came through the door.  “I took the liberty of collecting your mail … nothing looks pressing except the phone bill.  I left it on the desk alongside your blue books.  Oh, and I took the liberty of buying you a new tie; the maroon one that you mentioned has definitely seen better days.”

 

“Tank yu,” aunt Rita.”  Ian had a big grin on his face.  “All my mommies take such good care of me!”

 

“You're welcome, baby; now it's time for your mid-afternoon snack-- four warm ba bas with your yummy breast milk!”  Rita had an equally big grin on her face.  She got down on the floor once more, back again pressed against the wall.  Ian dropped to her side, and lowered his head into her lap.  In a matter of moments, once again cradled in her arms, he began noisily sucking on his bottle.

 

“Slow down, baby,” Rita cautioned; “you are taking in way too much air.  You don't want a tummy ache, do you?”

 

He didn't, so he slowed his pace dramatically.

 

“You're right about your stereo,” she went on; “it's definitely a keeper.  And I love the paintings … well, all but the one of the sea giving up its dead.  That one's creepy, but the other three are destined for my living room.  For the time being your furniture, such as it is, can go into storage.  Oh, and we need to start drawing up the notifications.  These days, everybody wants thirty days notice.”

 

“What about my diaper service,” Ian asked as Rita prepped his second bottle.  He kept raising the question because the hospital diapers struck him as overkill.  Indeed, he wondered if their real purpose was to keep him chaste.  The material was so thick, and the four pin method made them so snug, that he was no longer able to masturbate.  When he had been diapering himself with the thinner diapers supplied by the service, and using only two pins, this had not been a problem.

 

And besides, this is a lousy thing to do to Harriet.  She's kind, and she's gone way out of her way to be supportive.  And I really enjoyed our date, even if it was spur of the moment.

 

Harriet Belmondo, whom Ian reckoned to be several years his junior, ran the diaper service.  To avoid the embarrassment of leaving two bags of soiled diapers outside his apartment door on Wednesday mornings-- diapers that would be sitting there in full view of anyone walking down the corridor for hours on end-- he had asked Harriet if he could drive out and deliver them personally, which in practice meant dropping them off at her desk.  She had agreed without hesitation, and had not even been angry on the one occasion when he was held up in traffic and only got there as she was closing up for the day.  He had asked her to dinner by way of an apology, and she had accepted right then and there.  Italian to the core, she had guided him to a restaurant in the far northern suburbs that specialized in Bolognese, Ian's favorite regional cuisine.  The chef was a cousin, the menu extensive, the dishes superb, and each was delighted to discover that the other spoke fluent Italian.  Granted, Ian had had a hard time wading through her Neapolitan dialect, but then she had laughingly pointed out that his Milanese accent really did make him sound like a college professor.  It had been a great evening, helped along by a couple of bottles of an excellent Valpolicella.

 

But Ian wasn't Catholic, and then his car had died.  It was back to square one.        

 

“I'm sorry, baby, but you need to cancel it tomorrow.  Our diapers are bigger, thicker, and afford you much better protection.  Granted, they make you waddle a bit, like a toddler still learning to walk, but that's a small price to pay for the added security.  Your mommies do not want you embarrassing yourself in front of your class.  Back turned, writing on the blackboard … a leaky diaper is going to be visible to everyone in the room.  So … no … we can't keep all those cute coeds from tittering over your well padded butt, but we can make sure that it's not a leaky diaper that's turning them on!”

 

Ian dutifully finished the rest of his bottles, and then Rita burped him, using one of the diapers from his service as a burp cloth.  She had no idea why, but the image of Ian with his head on her shoulder, burping up a trail of undigested breast milk, really turned her on.  She wanted Ian out of his apartment and moved into her townhome at the earliest opportunity.  He would no longer require a bed; she had already put an order into stores for a crib and changing table to be delivered and set up in his makeshift nursery, a windowless alcove that she never used except for storage.

 

“You know one thing that puzzles us, baby, is your love affair with restraints.  Is this a fetish that we should know about?”

 

“A fetish?  Don't think so.”

 

“But you never resist being put in restraints, while the average patient puts up one hell of a fight!”

 

Nodding his head, Ian could only chuckle.  “Aunt Rita, did it ever occur to you simply to ask me?  There's no mystery here.”

 

“Go on.”

 

“I'm a side sleeper, aunt Rita, but three of my last four sciatica attacks have started in bed … twisting when I'm rolling over in my sleep.  The restraints pin me on my back, which keeps me safe.  So please, pretty please … keep me restrained!”

 

Rita dramatically slapped the side of her head with an open palm.  “Silly me,” she said with feigned sincerity.  “I should have asked you, but I'm simply not used to having patients be as cooperative as you are.  Restraints it will be!”

 

A side sleeper indeed!  Now, where can I find an adult sized high chair?  Complete with restraints …

 

.  .  .  .

 

Sarah stumbled out of her car, and leaned against the side.  After nine hours on the road she was stiff and sore, but she hoped that the long walk from the car park to the elevator would get the blood flowing and loosen up tired muscles.  She had stopped only twice, and heading west on the treacherous two lane between Ashland and Superior had required her to keep an iron grip on the steering wheel at all times.  She needed rest, but first things first.

 

Reaching the ward, Sarah entered the six digit code, hoping that it hadn't been changed in her absence.

 

It hadn't.

 

Unbuttoning her heavy winter coat as she went, Sarah headed straight for Rita's office.  She was relieved to see that both Rita and Vickie were waiting, obviously anticipating her arrival.

 

Shucking her coat and leaving it to drop unattended on the floor, Sarah hugged Vickie and then Rita.  It was good to be home.

 

“And how's OUR baby,” she asked as her eyes moved back and forth between them, the emphasis on the one word making clear the decision that she had made.   

 

“Still hard at work,” Rita offered.

 

“Probably poopy,” Vickie grinned, “and definitely due for another round of nice warm ba bas!  We've been waiting for you to get here to do the honors!”

 

Taking her by the hand, Rita led Sarah out of her office and across the foyer to a closed door.  She opened it and stood aside, silently bidding Sarah to enter.  As she did so, she could see that Ian was hovering over a brace of tape recorders, his concentration intense.

 

Rita closed the door quietly behind her.

 

“Does someone need his diapee changed,” she asked in a neutral voice.

 

Taken by surprise, Ian looked up, then jumped to his feet.

 

“MOMMY,” he shouted as he rushed into her waiting arms.

 

SCENE 30:

 

PASSAGES

 

“Does someone need his diapee changed,” Sarah repeated.  Still hugging Ian with one arm, she reached down to grope his diaper cover.  A gentle squeeze confirmed that he was wet, and she expected him to be poopy as well.

 

“Rita tells me that you've become quite the little poop monster.  Are you being a good baby for mommy, and drinking your ba bas without complaint?”  With Ian's head resting on her shoulder, it was easy for her to whisper in his ear.

 

“Yeth, Mommy.  Princess Poopy Pants wuvs her milkies!”

 

“Are you done here?”  Sarah was referring to the tape recorders, one of which was active.  She could hear Ian talking in Vietnamese, hurling one phrase after another into the ether.  It was a surreal moment, hugging her baby while listening to his adult voice screaming obscenities calculated to penetrate the psyches of troubled vets.

 

A bomb exploded, and she jumped.  Trying to imagine the tape playing bedside in a darkened ward, she shivered.

 

Ian rapidly blinked, hearing his voice in the background.  It took him a few seconds to get his bearings.

 

“Sarah!  Oh God, I've missed you so much!  And I'm sorry … I … for a moment there, I blanked out.  I saw you standing there, but somehow it didn't register.”

 

“It's okay, baby; it's okay.  Shhh.”  Sarah reached around to pat his diapered butt.  She loved the thick canvas diaper cover.  Realizing that it not only kept his hands away from his diapers but also prevented him from playing with himself, she decided right then and there to make it a permanent part of his wardrobe.  Her mother's advice had served only to confirm her own conviction that Ian's days of pleasuring himself should be gone for good.  While she was not prepared to render him permanently chaste, she was determined to take total control of his sexual urges.  She would happily share her husband-to-be with Vickie and Rita, but it would be on her terms.  Sarah knew that she had a strong hand, and she was prepared to go all in.

 

“Have you finished auntie Rita's recording,” she asked again.

 

“Yes, Mommy.  It will probably need to be edited, but it's a good start.”

 

“Then I want you to give it to auntie Rita, who's waiting outside.  She and auntie Vickie can listen to it while I take you back to your room, change your diapee, and feed you your ba bas.  You have a busy day tomorrow, so I want you to go to bed early and get a good night's sleep.”

 

“I love you, Mommy.  I love you sooo much!”

 

“And mommy loves her little baby, and is going to keep her safe and warm.  Yes she is, yes she is!”  Sarah lovingly tweaked Ian's nose, not sure whether she was talking to the Major or the Princess.  It was one thing to learn in the abstract that Princess Poopy Pants was locked into place, but to see the little girl surfacing so easily and taking greater and greater control both astonished and delighted her.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“So, what do you think?”  Rita was leaning back in her chair, hands clasped behind her neck.  They had just finished listening to Ian's recording.

 

“What do I think?  I know a patent attorney with one of the big law firms downtown.  Before you play that for Glenn Albright, I think I should give him a call, invite him out for a drink or two, and run this by him.  Frankly, listening to this creeped me out-- and I never walked perimeter at a fire base in the middle of the night.  I'm sitting here trying to imagine someone like Don Phillips lying fully restrained in a dark room and hearing this over speakers … something like Surround Sound.  The odds are good that you'll get a response, but managing it for therapeutic purposes … that's going to be the tricky part.”

 

“My sentiments exactly.  Now, she wonders, just exactly how did you meet a high-powered attorney practicing downtown?  Oh, wait; let me guess.”

 

“I'll give you three guesses, but the first two don't count,” Vickie laughed.

 

“And can you run this by your … uh … friend … without sleeping with him?”  On impulse, Rita decided to take advantage of the opening that Vickie had given her.  This was a conversation that she wanted to have without Sarah present.  Sunday night, when they were both tired and a bit off guard, was as good a time as any.

 

Vickie shook her head, sadness and regret washing over her.

 

“All those years,” she sighed.  “Playing the field, amusing myself, but without a hint of emotional commitment.  Those days are over, Rita, and good riddance.  I love Ian, and it turns out that I'm a one man woman.  Of course,” she added with a devious grin, “I'm not excluding threesomes or even foursomes.  When we're all in bed together, who knows what will happen?”

 

“I hear you, girlfriend.”  Rita had never done a threesome, and she found the prospect exciting.  “But the question remains: will Sarah take our word for it, or demand guarantees?”

 

“She trusts you, but let's face facts: given my well documented lifestyle, she'd be an idiot to trust me.  No, she'll want some kind of iron-clad guarantee that I won't be unfaithful-- and I suspect that I know what she's going to ask for.”

 

Rita said nothing, but curiosity was written all over her face.

 

“Diapers, baby pants, and a locking diaper cover,” Vickie grinned.  “Only 24/7, with Sarah in exclusive possession of the key.  And don't tell me,” she laughed, “that you haven't had the same thought.  It's written all over your face!”

 

Rita nodded in agreement.  “Sorry, Vic, but this sounds like what Manny Cepeda would describe as a sure thing.  If that's the deal, will you take it?”

 

“I will.  Diapers aren't the end of the world … and what's a little pee and poop among friends?”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Okay, baby, it's diaper check time.”  Sarah inserted the two pronged key and smoothly removed the lock.  With Ian standing, it was a simple matter to lower the canvas cover and peek inside his vinyl pants.  As expected, he needed to be changed.

 

“Upsy daisy, then.”  Kneeling at his feet, it had taken Sarah just a few seconds to remove and inspect the cover, which she decided could safely be reused.  For his part, Ian climbed onto the changing table and, mindful of the constant threat to his sciatic nerve, cautiously rolled onto his back.  As soon as he was settled, Sarah cinched the chest strap, insuring that he could not inadvertently roll off and crash to the floor.  Both knew the drill, and they executed it efficiently.

 

“Lift.”

 

Ian raised his hips, and Sarah slid the baby pants down his legs.  This too she set aside for further use.

 

Unpinning his diaper, Sarah got her first look at the poop that resulted from an adult diet heavy with breast milk.  Although Sofia had warned her what lay ahead, Sarah was still taken by surprise.  In place of the brown, chunky poop that had filled Ian's diaper when she left for the U.P., she was now staring at mustard yellow effluent that was as much liquid as solid.

 

“Mom was right,” she said as she smiled at Ian.

 

“About what?”

 

“She told me that I was breast fed, but she was also nursing my dad-- and continued to do so for fifteen months after I … after I lost interest.  This is how she described his poop … the color and texture.  He was constantly running to the bathroom; sometimes he made it, and sometimes he didn't.  But neither of them had any regrets because the sex was so intense!  I want to nurse you so that we can have the same deep emotional bond that my parents enjoyed-- and I did promise to make diaper changes fun for you.  Remember?”

 

“I do indeed,”  Ian grinned.  “Starting now,” he added hopefully.

 

Sarah laughed.  “Not while we're on camera.  But after I get you cleaned up-- which, by the way, is going to be a breeze from now on … just the odd wet wipe should do the trick-- after I get you cleaned up and freshly diapered, I am going to cradle you in my arms and feed you your ba bas.  And the whole time, I'm going to imagine that you're nursing at my breast.  With any luck, I'll be lactating on our wedding day.  Oh, and I should tell you that it's going to be at two PM on Sunday the twenty-third, in the hospital chapel.  Rita has already made the booking, and everyone's pitching in to help with the details.  It's short notice, but we'll get it done!”

 

“I didn't know that you could get married on a Sunday.  Are you sure?”

 

“It's perfect!  Everybody working Saturday night needs to blow off steam, and the twenty-fourth is party time.  On Sunday morning Manny's crew takes over the cafeteria and throws a party for staff with children, and then in mid-afternoon the adults take over, and most of us get drunk … you know, the usual Christmas high jinks.  Our wedding reception will get things started, but people will still by partying hard long after the four of us take our leave.”

 

“Huh?  Mommy … I mean Sarah … what am I missing here?”

 

“Didn't anybody tell you?”  The three of us are moving in with Rita, so all three of us need to be out of our apartments before the wedding.  Notices to vacate next week, and probably do the moves on the fifteenth and sixteenth.”

 

“What?  I'll be drowning in final exams!  The deadline to get grades in is close of shop on Tuesday the eighteenth.  There's no way ...”

 

“I know, baby, I know.”  Hearing the panic in Ian's voice, Sarah was thankful that he was virtually stapled to the changing table.  It bought her precious seconds to try and calm him down.  Leaning over, she gently kissed him.

 

'”Ian, I made a terrible mistake on Friday morning, and it hurt you badly.  I can't undo the damage, but I can work hard to make sure that it doesn't happen again.  So, you concentrate on your remaining classes, your exams, and getting the syllabi for next term's courses to Amy by the twenty-first.  I will empty out your apartment, and do all of the planning for the wedding and our honeymoon.  I'll help you with your guest list ...”

 

“It will be very short.”

 

Sarah simply looked at him, silently bidding him to continue.

 

“I'm an only child, and my parents were killed when I was nineteen … drunk driver.  I've never met any of my extended family.  I have a couple of good friends from my high school days, but they're out in California with families of their own.  So, wrong time of the year, and too short a notice.  A few friends on the faculty, a few buddies from my army days.  That's it.”

 

“Manny will insist on being Chief Usher, and Amos and Andy will step up as well.  Best Man?”

 

“I'll have to make some phone calls.”

 

“Is your passport still valid?”

 

“Yes, but ...”

 

“No buts.  I'm thinking the Caribbean, but first I need to talk with my travel agent.  My mom is paying for everything for all four of us … that's her wedding gift … so it needs to be someplace where we can chill out … someplace where a honeymoon suite for four won't cause management to bat an eyelash.”

 

“Puerto Rico, Barbados and Aruba,” Ian muttered more or less to himself, just thinking out loud.  He was no shrinking violet, but he was still having a hard time coming to grips with a honeymoon for four, never mind the fact that wearing diapers in the sweltering heat of the Caribbean was never any fun.

 

Got to steer her away from Jamaica and Trinidad.  And anyway what the hell's the point if I'm stuck drinking breast milk while they're guzzling rum?  Hey, wait a second!

 

Mentally, Ian began flipping through a whole lot of pages filed away in the nooks and crannies of his brain.

 

Didn't I read someplace that women who are nursing can't drink alcohol because it goes straight into their milk?  Maybe if all three of them get really drunk I can get tanked without them knowing how it happened!

 

Suddenly, the Caribbean wasn't looking so bad after all.

 

And what about the Saturday night frolics?  When the three of them catch on, will they give up booze or stop with this breast feeding bullshit?

 

When Sarah unfastened the strap, Ian hopped up only to drop quickly to the floor.  When it came to pink baby bottles, it was time to take one for the team.

 

Sarah sat down beside him, and took him in her arms.

 

“Such a good baby,” she crooned as Ian opened wide.  Playing baby to the hilt, he let a little milk dribble down his chin.

 

“Tomorrow, Mommy will pick up some bibs for her big baby.”

 

I wonder how much of this crap a guy's gotta drink to get a buzz …

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Ready to call it a day?”

 

“More like ready to call it a week,” Vickie sighed.

 

“Well, it has been eventful,” Rita laughed.

 

“You good to go on Tuesday?”

 

“Just odds and ends to take care of tomorrow.  Processing Phil out of the secure ward lightens the load considerably, never mind the fact that we have something tangible to work with in Don's case.”

 

“Ian.”  Vickie raised an imaginary glass to offer a toast.

 

“To Ian,” Rita agreed.  “You making any progress on that front?”

 

“I am.  Hearing his explanation for his ongoing love affair with restraints?  Even a first year Resident would know where that's coming from.”

 

“Agreed.  And then there's the crib.”

 

“Yeah.  Bian opened the door to all of this the night she returned him to infancy.  The crib makes him feel safe, but it's not enough to make him feel helpless.  That's where the restraints come in.  A helpless baby doesn't make decisions.”

 

“And the Id strikes again!  If we're not careful, Ian is going to turn us into Freudians.”

 

“Oh, I think that we can still work with the Personal Unconscious.  His subconscious is doing a first-class job of using anxiety to repress memories so heavy with guilt that it is convinced that this is the only way to keep him functioning.  And by sheer luck of the draw, Ian's incontinence … being condemned to diapers 24/7/365 … gave his subconscious the tool that it needed to run with what Bian started.”

 

“A negative feedback loop, with anxiety attacks a drop dead switch to keep everybody at bay ...”  Rita leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, thinking it through.  “It's elegant.”

 

“The memories are there, Rita, and I can get at them; the problem is finding a doorway that doesn't land him in the emergency room.  So, I'm thinking back door rather than front door.  Enter Princess Poopy Pants.”

 

“Okay, I confess; you've lost me.”

 

“The Princess is ticklish, Rita … very, very ticklish.”  Vickie sat back, expecting Rita to figure it out without further prompting.

 

“Soooo ...”  Rita suddenly sat up and snapped her fingers.  “My God, Vic!  You really are a genius.  You'll take helplessness and turn it into vulnerability.  The Princess will force him to get rid of the restraints in order to free up his hands to fight back against the  raspberry tickles.”

 

Vickie was grinning from ear to ear.  She loved it when they were on the same page.

 

“What about the crib?  Sarah wants him in one, and so do I.  In fact, I've already arranged for stores to set up a crib and changing table in that alcove upstairs that's going to waste.  If all goes according to plan, you will be seeing him up there at next Saturday night's frolic.”

 

“You should set it up in the living room.  All the girls could just ooh and ah over him sitting there in his widdle crib, drinking his ba bas, while we consume adult beverages.”

 

“A fantastic idea, but alas, not enough room.  Still …  When we go looking for a new home out on the lake, we need to get one with a family room large enough to serve as a nursery and party room simultaneously.”

 

Rita once again sat back in her chair.  “So, if we're going to war with Ian's subconscious, how do we lay our hands on the crib?”

 

“Oh, that's easy.  We take his safe space and turn it into the proverbial den of iniquity.  It's where he's going to have sex … there, not in our bedrooms.  We use his sex drive to bludgeon his subconscious.  And speaking of sex drive-- got anything on the sample Candy collected and sent to the lab?”

 

“Not yet, but by noon tomorrow at the latest.  I get the feeling that there's widespread interest in the results.”

 

“Voyeurism,” Vickie sniffed.  “I swear, half our colleagues are out and out perverts, and it wouldn't surprise me if Manny is sniffing out information for a pool on how soon one of us gets pregnant.”

 

“WHAT?”  Rita bounced upright, and stared hard at Vickie, not at all certain that this was just the usual offhand sarcasm.  “Vic, are you … are you … thinking about having a baby?”

 

“I'm considering it.”

 

“That explains it.” Rita sighed.  “I couldn't figure out why you were so keen to have Candy collect a sperm sample and rush it to the lab.  It simply never occurred to me ...”

 

“Yeah, well, I've already decided that this is a decision that the three of us need to make together.  This relationship gets a whole lot more complicated when children enter the conversation.”

 

“And that's what Sofia ...”  Rita shook her head, remembering the strange twist that the conversation had taken when Sofia had called to let her know that Sarah was safely away.  “Sofia called shortly after Sarah hit the road.  Somehow, we ended up talking about sex, and how the four of us could make this work.  Sofia insisted that it would be for the best if we did not let Ian cum, and she said that if we weren't prepared to go that far, at a minimum we should make love to him in the crib, and only in the crib.”

 

“Well, there goes the honeymoon,” Vickie grinned.  “Still, Sofia is one smart lady.  We can't get pregnant if he doesn't cum, and all that sex will turn the crib into his own private bordello.  Talk about slugging his subconscious where it hurts!”

 

“Let's grab some supper,” Rita suggested.  “Sarah will give Ian the full restraint treatment.  Once he's asleep, Martha or Julie will start the recording.  Are you going to come in and wake him up in your own … um … inimitable manner?”

 

“Oh, I'll be here bright and early,” Vickie assured her.  “I'm going to hand him off to Amy, complete with diapers and ba bas, and once he's off to class the two of us are going to have a little chat, preferably in Ian's office.  He's given us permission to explore to our heart's content, and I intend to take full advantage of the invitation!”

 

“Just do me one favor will you?  When you wake Ian, would you please remember that you are on camera, and make an effort to behave professionally?  The two of you are giving me a royal pain in the ass!”       

 

SCENE 31:

 

MONDAY, MONDAY

 

With a deep sigh, Rita entered the six digit code and opened the door.  Seeing their cars parked in their accustomed slots, she knew that Vickie and Sarah had preceded her.  Was Sarah reclaiming possession of her own domain down on three, or was she just beyond the door?  Would Sarah and Vickie be giggling over their absurd fate, or rolling on the floor, trying to scratch each other's eyes out?  There was only one way to find out.

 

Sitting quietly, drinking coffee, it was obvious that her two closest friends had been waiting for her to arrive.

 

“Sorry to be running a little late,” she said as she turned to make sure that the door had shut and locked behind her.  “The slog down the corridor took a lot longer than I expected.”

 

“You're a celebrity,” Vickie observed.  “We all are.  Until the next craze comes along, you should plan on getting here a bit earlier.”

 

“Our fifteen minutes of fame,” Rita lamented.  “You have to wonder how long it's going to last.”

 

“At least until we say 'I do',” Sarah guessed.  “All I heard this morning was 'when's  the wedding'?, and 'am I invited'?  Poor  Ian … it doesn't sound like he has very many people to ask.  We have to find some way to balance the scales.  He's not even sure who he wants to be his Best Man.”

 

“So, what's that under your arm?”  Vickie nodded at an elegantly wrapped package that was peeking out from Rita's shoulder bag.

 

“Don't know,” she admitted, “but there's a sure fire way to find out.”  Rita used her fingernail to spear the scotch tape, trying not to tear the wrapping paper.  She figured that she could use it on another gift, especially with the Christmas season now well and truly underway.

 

“Oh, for the ...” 

 

Sarah clapped her hands, delighted with the gift.  “It's perfect,” she cried.

 

Rita was holding up a copy of Babar the Elephant.  Inside, she found a birthday card.  It was addressed to Toby, and signed “The Crash Team.”

 

Reaching behind her, Vickie pulled out a grocery bag.  “This one's from Amos, Andy, and the rest of our pals in the ER.  It's addressed to Pete.”

 

Opening the bag, she pulled out a copy of Crictor, and set it aside.  “And I would dearly love to know where they found a six pack of Heineken on a Sunday in Minnesota!”  Vickie set the beer on top of the children's book.

 

“Isn't Crictor about a boa constrictor,” Sarah asked.  She vaguely remembered reading the book out loud to some of the children she babysat in her early teens.

 

“Pete won't mind,” Vickie snorted.  “It's the thought that counts … that, and the beer.”

 

“Amen to that,” Rita said decisively.  “But going forward, we need to keep Ian out of the cafeteria.  Granted, the guy can charm bark off of trees, but this is getting out of hand.”

 

“Ruining our reputation, is he?”  Vickie was feeling a bit snarky, and it wasn't even her time of the month.

 

“He shouldn't have been down there in the first place,” Sarah huffed.  “Why didn't you do what I wanted, and keep him on a strict breast milk diet?”

 

“Duh … because it doesn't agree with him?  But I tell you what, Stretch, if you don't mind changing fifteen poopy diapers a day all by your lonesome, we'll do it your way.”

 

“Put a sock in it, Pom Poms Girl.”  Sarah stuck out her tongue at Vickie.  She was really sensitive about being a perennial bench warmer on a small town high school basketball team in Upper Michigan, while Vickie had been a cheerleader on an athletic powerhouse in Minneapolis' southwestern suburbs.  It didn't help that Vickie could skate rings around her out on the ice.

 

“Enough, already.  Have either of you bothered to ask Julie for an update?”

 

Sarah and Vickie both shook their heads.

 

“Then let's do the changing of the guard, and hear what she has to say.”  Rita led the way into Julie Neymar's office; it was time for the whole third shift to head home and get some rest.

 

“All quiet on the western front,” she inquired.

 

Julie nodded in agreement.  “He's sleeping like a baby.”  Knowing that only one patient would bring Rita, Vickie and Sarah into her office at the same time, she pulled up the video feed from room eleven.  “No problems with the recording,” she added; “it's been repeating for the last ten hours, and he's spent enough time in theta sleep to reabsorb it.”

 

“Bian recorded the Vietnamese lullabies that she sang to Ian that last, awful night in Hue,”  Rita explained to Sarah, who had yet to hear the tape.  “We're using one lullaby in particular to summon the regressed personality that you know so well, and code phrasing to overlay the Princess Poopy Pants personality. Vic's installed triggers for both the Princess and the Major, and it looks like they've taken.  This is just reinforcement.  I want you to stay here and watch how Vic does this-- and plan on spending your lunch hours up here all week long because you need to review what she's been doing, and master enough Vietnamese to take her place in Ian's crib, diapers and all.”

 

“Diapers?  What are you talking about?”

 

“You and I will both be spending hours in the crib with him, and there won't be any bathroom breaks.  We'll both be fully diapered, which means adhering to ward standards.  Sorry, Sarah, but this is the path that ends with Princess Poopy Pants regarding all three of us as her mommy.  And Sofia is going to get her wish: Ian's sexual activity will be restricted to the crib.  It's at the core of Vickie's assault on his subconscious, but in the long term a lot of thorny problems disappear if the Major associates the crib with sex, because the crib is where the Princess will be sleeping.”

 

“And feel free to pee and poop yourself to your heart's content,” Vickie laughed.  “I sure did!”

 

“And who diapered the Pom Poms princess,” Sarah wanted to know.

 

“I did,” Rita acknowledged.

 

“And now it's her turn to diaper us,” Sarah concluded.  “I can live with that.”

 

“Sorry, but we need to throw Manny Cepeda a bone.  We're toying with the idea of having him hold a slave auction, maybe in the cafeteria.  The highest bidder gets the privilege of diapering us, and cleaning us up afterwards.  All proceeds, of course, go to Manny's children's fund.  More money means more presents at the Christmas pageant, Sarah; you know how Manny runs things.”

 

“Yeah,” Sarah sighed, already resigned to her diapered fate, and the attendant humiliation.  The hospital wasn't in the best part of town, and with the Directors' blessings Manny had been raising money for years to put on a gala for the neighborhood kids.  This was where the five percent that he raked off the betting pools ended up at year's end.

 

“As long as the auction is female only, I'm in.”

 

“Hospital wide?”  Rita wanted to be sure because not all of the jerks on Sarah's lengthy roster were men.

 

“I'll take my chances,” Sarah snorted, knowing exactly what Rita was thinking.

 

“You're on, Vic.  I want you to summon the Princess first, then the Major.  Sarah will observe from here, then join you in the hydrotherapy chamber.  Shave and shower, then get him dressed.  Vic hands him off to Amy, with or without a campus police escort.  One of you collects him at the end of her shift, and we all live happily ever after.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Con cò bé bé; does Princess Poopy Pants love her mommy?” 

 

Vickie had quietly lowered the crib's side panel before selectively attacking the welter of restraints that pinned Ian so efficiently to the mattress.  He was still asleep, but with only his wrists left immobilized, his body soon began to explore its new found freedom.  Repetition would quickly restore the Princess to consciousness.

 

“Con cò bé bé; does Princess Poopy Pants love her mommy?”

 

“Mama,” Ian replied in a voice still heavy with sleep.

 

“Mommy's here, Princess, and she loves you sooo much!  Does Princess Poopy Pants love her mommy?”

 

“I wuv mama.”  Ian farted, loudly enough to be heard over the video feed.  He tried to roll over in Vickie's direction, only to discover that his arms wouldn't cooperate.

 

“Here comes the tickle monster,” Vickie laughed, attacking his underarms and then blowing kisses on his exposed tummy.

 

“Stop, mommy!  Stop!”  Princess Poopy Pants was giggling uncontrollably.

 

“Ian's subconscious uses the restraints to reinforce the infantile sense of helplessness,” Rita murmured, “justifying his inability to make decisions.  Tickling him sends a different message ...”

 

“Vulnerability.  And associate the crib with sex ...”

 

“Got it in one.  We strip away the defenses, giving us a clear line of attack.  Are you still planning to spank him?”

 

“Absolutely!  From now on, I'm keeping score, and he's not getting away with anything.  There will be lots of spankings.”

 

“Good.   Just make sure that it's the Princess you're spanking.  You've now seen the trigger in action, and it should work equally well for you once the Princess also accepts you as her mommy.  Punish the Princess, and let her lay a guilt trip on the Major.  In the end, it's her pain that will destroy the wall that the subconscious is hiding behind.”

 

In the crib, Vickie had freed Ian's hands, which the Princess was now using to ward off her relentless assault.

 

“Here comes the part you are going to love,” Rita continued.

 

Leaning into the crib, Vickie kissed the Princess on the lips … kissed her hard.

 

Ian's hands, which had been flailing in the air, suddenly settled on her shoulders.  He hugged her close, wanting the moment to go on without end.

 

“Good morning,” she whispered, ending the kiss, their eyes locked on one another.

 

“Good morning,” he whispered in return, his hand reaching up to caress her cheek.

 

“Oh, my,” Sarah whispered.  “Oh, my.”

 

“I'll see you at lunchtime,” Rita whispered as she slipped Sarah a piece of paper with the code that would let her into the secure ward.

 

.  .  .  .

 

Hands buried deep in the pockets of her winter coat and stomping her feet to ward off the bitter cold gripping the Twin Cities on this, the last Monday in November, Amy Reynolds asked herself yet again why she wasn't taking her mother's offer to move to Phoenix.  Amy was thirty-five and divorced, a tall, willowy brunette with jade green eyes.  The principal secretary in the Department of East Asian Languages, she made a decent income and lived well, but she was confident that she would also prosper in the warmth of the southwest.  So, why wasn't she trading in the kingdom of potholes for the land of cactus and tumbleweeds?

 

The colder it got, the more frequently Amy posed the question.  And she never had an answer.  And here she was, standing at the entrance to the parking ramp, card key in hand, waiting for a nurse in the nearby hospital to drive Professor Ian Grady over and dump him in her lap.

 

What am I doing here? 

 

Amy continued to stomp her feet, asking herself the same question over and over again.  Ian didn't have a parking permit, so she was about to hand hers over to a nurse who was just a disembodied voice on the other end of the phone, condemning herself to car pool with friends to and fro for the indefinite future.

 

Why am I doing this?  Get real, Amy; there's no mystery here.  You are doing this for Ian.

 

If first impressions mattered, Amy was honest enough to admit that Ian had made a hell of a first impression back in August, stumbling into the office late one morning after completing the long, long drive up from Southern California.  Visibly tired, unshaven, wearing yesterday's clothes, he could easily have passed for one of the vagrants scattered around the edge of downtown.  His diaper, to which the Chair had alerted the entire staff in one of those conversations that made it clear that demeaning remarks would get you fired on the spot, wasn't even visible.  It wasn't until they had adjourned to his new office, where Ian had confessed to his incontinence while asking her to reach out to janitorial services and advise them to ignore the forthcoming diaper pail and its attendant odor, that the matter had even come up.  Right then and there, she had resolved to take him under her wing, beginning with invites to the staff's weekly drunk fests, held late on Friday afternoons in an off campus dive that had already been home to such goings-on before the Second World War.  She made sure that his diaper bag was well stocked and, when his car gave up the ghost, she had taken it upon herself to get him home.  One thing had led to another, and inevitably they had ended up in bed. 

 

She had ridden her badly disabled vet for more than eight hours, but he wasn't disabled where it counted, and his self-control had taken her breath away.  She had stopped counting her orgasms when she hit two dozen; granted, a few had been mere tremors, but three had been so earth shattering that a Richter Scale wouldn't have come close to measuring them.  For four days, much to the amusement of friends scattered around campus who knew the score, she had walked in that decidedly bowlegged way that suggested a rookie who had stayed in the saddle far, far too long the first time out of the corral.

 

And she had backed off, a conscious choice, fearing that it was all spiraling out of control, everything moving too far, too fast.

 

And now, someone else had snapped him up … someone, or a whole bunch of someones.  All Amy knew for sure was that she was about to meet the disembodied voice, and that together they would try and smuggle Ian into his office, and ultimately into his classroom.  The Chair had called her at home, warning her that all Hell might break loose before they closed up shop late in the day.  She could expect a campus police presence at nine, but until then she was on her own.

 

Amy had come in on Sunday evening, and she had gone over Ian's personnel file with a microscope.  She cursed herself for not taking the time to do so earlier.  Now she wondered why it had taken the poachers so long to find him, and she was hoping that the nurse who was apparently doubling as his therapist would be able to fill in some of the blanks.

 

She had already confirmed that her calendar for the weekend was clear.  If the Saturday night frolic at Rita Stevenson's was anything like her Friday nights at The Sarge, then December was going to start with one hell of a bang.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“There she is,” Ian noted, pointing at the lone figure buried somewhere inside the heavy winter coat.

 

Vickie rolled up to the gate, and reluctantly rolled down the window, the warmth of her automotive cocoon instantly dissipating.  She offered a heavily gloved hand, which an equally gloved hand more or less accepted.  It was the usual well padded mid-winter handshake.  The two women exchanged brief greetings as Amy opened the gate and hopped into the back seat.  She told Vickie to head for the second level.

 

“Amy, this is Vickie,” Ian said as he awkwardly turned to look back over his shoulder.  “We're both sorry to put you through this.”

 

“No need for apologies, Ian,” Amy smiled.  “Stuart has always said that we're fortunate to have you, especially given the fact that you would be equally at home in at least six other departments.  We're lucky that it took the poachers this long.”

 

“Is that what you call them,” Vickie asked.  “Poachers?  We call them headhunters.”

 

“The corporate types gravitate to the science departments.  In the Arts, we mostly deal with raiders from other universities.  Ian is unusual because his language skills bridge the gap.  Anyway, we have to smuggle him into his first class.  Campus police will be waiting at nine, and they'll stick to him like glue for the rest of the day.  What are we dealing with?”

 

“Ian had a seizure that almost landed him in the ER.”

 

“WHAT?  IAN?”  Amy impulsively reached out to grip Ian's shoulder, causing him to wince with pain.  Hearing the panic in Amy's voice and seeing her concern, Vickie instantly concluded that Ian's secretary had also fallen under his spell.  It would make her diaper changing duties proceed more smoothly, but it also meant that there was still another woman roughly her own age to contend with.

 

“Ian has an issue with decision making,” Vickie continued, “a very serious issue.  At all costs, we have to keep him from being ambushed by some asshole with a checkbook.  If it comes to it, there are some guys in the hospital who will cheerfully come over here to help out-- the kind of guys who work second jobs as bouncers in very rowdy bars.  Ian's made a lot of friends in a very short period of time, so we just have to get through the day and get a handle on the problem.”

 

“Okay, here's what we're going to do.”  Amy instructed Vickie to park in a slot on their right.  “We'll take the sky bridge to Theater Arts, go underground to the library, and from there underground to our tower.  My office is directly opposite the elevator, so we'll go there first.  Ian's office is just around the corner, so we can check to see if the coast is clear.  From there, the two of us escort him downstairs to the classroom.  Are you by any chance his physician of record?”

 

“I am.  Doctor Victoria Robinson at your service.”  For the time being, Vickie decided to steer clear of the fact that she was Ian's therapist.  In any event, Vickie was a well trained and experienced practitioner, even if the four years of her Residency were now well in the past.  And since Ian was her patient and had not been referred, she actually was his physician of record.  Given the battery of tests that she could order, it was not an inconsequential detail, and it brought a smile to her lips.  Some of the tests involved enemas, and she personally favored the two quart variety.

 

“That helps,” Amy smiled.  “A lot.  The campus police will be impressed.”

 

“Unfortunately, I can't stay.  Once we have Ian settled, I want to look over his office, then I have to get back.  Someone from our staff will come over to collect him around quarter after three.  He gets two bottles of breast milk mid-morning, four at lunchtime, and two more in mid afternoon.”

 

“Breast milk?”

 

“It's complicated,” Vickie shrugged.  “His diaper bag also contains the essentials … diapers, vinyl pants, and the key to his locking diaper cover.  Don't lose it!”

 

“You keep his diaper locked away?”  Amy couldn't credit what she was hearing.  “For God's sake, why?”

 

“He will no longer be changing his own diapers; those days are over, for good.  There is a motion involved that's simply too dangerous.”

 

The trio had the elevator in Theater Arts to themselves, and likewise the underground passageway to the library.

 

“Amy,” Vickie went on, “I know that you have questions, but if you are still planning to come to our Saturday night frolic, please sit on them until then.  Will you be coming?”

 

“Wouldn't miss it for the world,” Amy grinned as they switched corridors and headed for Ian's office.  “And you are always welcome to join us for our late Friday afternoon drunk fest, which has been known to carry on until closing time.”

 

Now gloveless, the two women cheerfully shook hands.  For his part, Ian sensibly chose to keep his mouth shut.  Before attempting evasive maneuvers, he would also need to scout out the terrain.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Are you surprised?”  Everything about Ian's first class had surprised Vickie.  A course that tied introductory Korean to business etiquette was not what she had been expecting, never mind a turnout heavy with well dressed young executives with the obligatory white shirt and dark tie.  She suspected that many of them would be exiting class to make the short journey to some bank or office building downtown.  

 

“Not really.  This is Monday morning.  There's a chance that some eager beaver will show up for Ian's ten o'clock office hour, but it all depends on who's available and how quickly they can be brought up to speed.  I'm more concerned about his two o'clock.  By then every headhunter in the Cities should be on the same page, but campus police will also be on the ball.”

 

Amy had escorted Vickie back to Ian's office, where she had watched silently as the nurse systematically unlocked his filing cabinets and desk drawers.  Outside the classroom, watching Ian's cheeks turn red with embarrassment as he surrendered his keys, explaining that Vickie had permission to pry into everything in a search for nonexistent booze, had been the one highlight in this otherwise bizarre morning.  If there was one given in humanity's realm, it was that grown men with their hands caught in the cookie jar always looked and acted like the small children they really were.  Ian was no different, and was not to know how adorable he looked in those moments.

 

“So, this twelve thirty class of his … it's the same sort of thing?  Japanese and Japanese business etiquette for ambitious corporate climbers, all squeezed into the lunch hour five days a week?”

 

“Something like that.”

 

“Well, I'd recommend giving him his bottles around nine thirty, eleven thirty and one thirty.  Postpone the diaper changes as late as you can, but keep in mind that he will probably be poopy every time.  Use lots of powder; we don't want our little stinkpot to offend the paying public.”

 

“And you really want me to lock this diaper cover over the top of everything?”

 

“Yeah … the crown jewels are to be kept under lock and key at all times.  No access, especially in my case.”

 

“You love him, don't you?”  Vickie was wearing her feelings on her sleeve, but Amy thought it best to let her voice them.

 

“I do.”

 

“It must be hard … a doctor falling in love with a patient.”

 

“It sucks.”

 

“Are you going to walk away?”

 

“Hell no!  I want to mount him and ride off screaming into the sunset!”

 

“You'll enjoy it.”  Amy's voice was deadpan.

 

“You've …?”

 

Amy nodded.  “Let's just say that Ian has extraordinary stamina, but his back won't tolerate the missionary position.  I rode him … and I couldn't walk straight for four days.”

 

“Holy shit!!  Sarah says that his tongue's the best, and his fingers magical.  Holy shit!!”

 

“Sarah?”  Amy frowned.  “Who's Sarah?”

 

“Ian's fiancee.  They're getting married on Sunday the twenty-third.”

 

“Sorry, but I'm totally confused.  Do you want to run this by me again?”

 

“Sure.  Sarah's apartment is below Ian's, and a few weeks ago she got so fed up with his stereo that she went up and pounded on the door.  About twenty seconds later, Sarah was making wedding plans; she's bossy, and Ian is used to taking orders, so it's a perfect match.”

 

“But where does this leave you?”

 

“Sarah introduced Ian to the rest of us last Saturday night.  I didn't realize that we were also in love until another patient tried to rip Ian's throat out with his bare teeth over Thanksgiving dinner.  I beat him off with a turkey drumstick, and my reward was this earth shattering orgasm when Ian set about licking cranberry sauce off my chest.  And then there's Rita ...”

 

“Oh, don't tell me ...”

 

“Yep.  Oh, she's even slower on the uptake than me, but she's getting there.  Anyway, the three of us are going to move in with Rita before the wedding, and then go honeymoon someplace.  Sarah's mom is footing the bill for all four of us.”

 

“After which you will undoubtedly hire an agent and sell the script to a Hollywood studio.”  Amy was only a high school graduate, but she was nobody's fool.  She didn't think so obvious a spin-off from Three's Company would go anywhere.

 

“Nope.  Then we have to get to work figuring out how we bring Toby and Pete into the country.”

 

“WHAT.” Amy screeched.  “YOU KNOW ABOUT TOBY AND PETE?”

 

“YOU?”  Vickie was equally amazed.

 

For answer, Amy opened a drawer in one of the filing cabinets, pulled out a folder, and handed it to Vickie.  “Take a look,” she urged.

 

“HOLY SHIT!!!”  It was Vickie's turn to screech, this her third “holy shit” in as many minutes.  She was looking at a photograph, years old and taken in dense jungle-- a younger Ian dressed in combat fatigues, sitting atop an elephant, the fabled snake draped across his shoulders.

 

“It's all real.”  Vickie was dazed, her hand shaking.  “Everything he told us … everything we've been able to get out of him … it's all real ...”

 

“And you're not making it up as you go along.”  Amy was equally dazed.  “Thank God that the term's almost over,” she sighed.  “When Sorority Row finds out about the wedding, they'll put a bonus on Ian's scalp.”

 

“SCALPHUNTERS,” Vickie cried.  “The sororities are still collecting scalps?”

 

“You know about that?”  Scalp hunting ran across the entire academic year, the winning sorority being the one that seduced the largest number of male faculty, photographic proof required.  The sister who topped the list was crowned the Sorority Queen the week before graduation ceremonies commenced.

 

“Pi Iota Sigma sorority,” Vickie proudly replied.  “Or PISS, as it is affectionately known to Greeks everywhere.  I bagged nine in my senior year, but that damned Suzie Marshall scalped the entire English department … the whole damned department!”

 

“And she's still going strong,” Amy gleefully chuckled.  “She's your sorority's current house mom.  She does the academic report that the Dean passes on to the departments once a year, showing that the house is meeting minimum GPA.  Word is that she's systematically working her way through the History Department.  She might try to scalp   Ian herself.”

 

“Good luck with that!  Ian's diaper cover isn't marketed as a chastity belt, but that's exactly what it's for.  She doesn't stand a chance!”

 

“Unless she gets her hands on a key.”  Amy was pointedly tapping one of her pockets.  “Want to have some fun?”

 

“'Fun' is my middle name.  But right now I'd like to borrow this photo.  There are some guys in the hospital who would be tickled pink to see it.”

 

“I'll let Ian know, but please bring it back soonest.  Anything else?”

 

“What I came for.  We're serious about drying him out.  And I need to find his passport.  Sarah will need to make a copy for her travel agent.”

 

“Top desk drawer, right.”

 

“You've seen it?”

 

“It makes for interesting reading.”

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