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AN HOMAGE TO VINCENT VEGA

 

SCENE 32:

 

SCALP HUNTING

 

Suzie Marshall looked up when she heard a gentle knocking on her door.  Pi Iota Sigma's den mother was relieved to see that it was one of the Pledges, a vivacious eighteen year old with a bright future in the House.  She had a problem that needed to be discreetly addressed, but in the broad scheme of things it was trivial.  Three of Suzie's charges had recently taken alcohol and drugs too far at an off campus party that still fell within the jurisdiction of the campus police.  Living perpetually on the edge of academic probation, a sorority with a well founded reputation for being party central did not need a Senior and two Juniors to be running the House even further into the ground.  Suzie had a noon appointment in the Dean's office on her calendar, and meetings with Dean Turgeson were always on a par with visits to the dentist.

 

“You wanted to see me, Missus Marshall?”  The girl was still standing in the doorway, obviously reluctant to enter.

 

“Yes, Wendy.  Please come in, close the door, and take a seat.”  Suzie vaguely gestured at one of the chairs on the other side of the desk.

 

“Do you know why I've asked you to stop by,” she inquired.  This sort of thing always went best when the Pledge took the lead.

 

“I think so,” Wendy admitted.  “Has Monica complained?”  Monica Havens was Wendy Stafford's roommate.

 

“She has.”

 

“About my bedwetting?”

 

“Yes, Dear … about your bedwetting.”

 

“Missus Marshall, I don't know what to do,” Wendy cried.  “I mean, sure, I wet the bed when I was a kid.  I wore diapers at night until I was ten, and my mom went on making me wear them for two more years just to make sure that I was over it.  I haven't wet the bed, not even once, since I was ten years old!  This isn't fair!!”

 

“No, it isn't,” Suzie agreed.  Wendy was obviously distraught, and it was the house mom's duty to make sure that she didn't go into full melt down.  “And I'm sure that it will pass,” she hastened to add.  “Believe me, Wendy, you are not the first young woman  to sit in that chair with this particular problem.  Far from it.  It's hard enough for an eighteen year old to leave home for the first time and adjust to life as a freshman at a big university.  But the added stress of pledging a sorority as prestigious as Pi Iota Sigma makes it seem like piling on.  Once you get your feet solidly on the ground, the bedwetting will stop.  But until then, we have to take steps to manage it.”

 

“What … what do you want me to do?”

 

“For the time being, I want you to wear diapers and vinyl pants to bed at night.  If you reach back into your childhood memories, you'll probably agree that it's better to wake up in a wet diaper than a wet bed.  So, we'll bring a diaper pail up from the basement, with some spare deodorizer tablets.  We have stacks of diapers in one of the linen cupboards, and as it happens, I have vinyl pants in every size and color.  You can choose what you like.”

 

“Baby diapers,” Wendy sniffled.

 

“No, Dear; these are adult diapers.  You're not a baby, and you most definitely do not need to wear baby diapers!  Now, tonight, I'll come up and see to your diapering, but I want to teach you how to manage the problem yourself.  And don't worry about Monica; I'll talk to her as well, and make it clear that her role in this is to be a Sister, not a shrew.”

 

“Thank you, Missus Marshall … thank you for being so understanding.  And at least I don't poop myself, or need diapers during the day, the way that poor guy in East Asian Languages does.”

 

“I don't follow, Wendy.  What poor guy?”

 

“Oh, Marilyn Matsumora, one of the Alpha pledges, told me that they have a new professor who needs diapers all the time, and that they're really visible when he turns his back to write on the board.  She says that he's some kind of war hero, and that he speaks gazillions of languages.  His Japanese apparently leaves hers in the dust, and she grew up speaking Japanese at home.  He must really be something!”

 

“Interesting … very, very interesting.  Has Marilyn scalped him?”

 

“I asked her straight out, and she said 'no'.  She's pretty sure that he's off limits because of the diapers and all.  I mean, who wants to run the risk of getting crapped on in the middle of … well … you know.”

 

“I do indeed … I do indeed.  Still, it seems grossly unfair to rule him out of bounds just because he's incontinent, and doubly so if it stems from being wounded in battle.  My brother is a veteran, and I don't like the way people treat him just because he served in Viet Nam.  No … methinks a bounty is called for.”

 

And maybe … just maybe … I'll collect it myself.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Knock, knock.”

 

“Victoria!”  Manny Cepeda jumped to his feet, a huge grin on his face.  “What brings you down to our dungeon of desire?”

 

“I just dropped Ian off at his office, and had a long and interesting chat with his secretary.  If Amy is to be believed, our scandalous behavior pales alongside your run of the mill campus shenanigans.  All those curvy coeds apparently can't keep their hands to themselves.”

 

“It sounds like I'm working for the wrong outfit,” Manny laughed.

 

“You and me both,” Vickie agreed.  “Anyway, Amy was showing me around Ian's office after we sent him off to class, and the subject of Toby and Pete came up.  Before you can say Cinco de Mayo, she opens a filing cabinet, grabs a folder, and out pops … ta dah.”

 

Manny opened the folder, and stared at the photograph.

 

Street Racer was staring back at him.  Street Racer, his elephant, and his pet python.

 

“I thought this might make your day,” Vickie went on; “it sure put a sizable dent in mine..  I'm supposed to return it this afternoon, along with his passport.  To put it mildly, Major Grady is a well traveled man.”

 

“He was just a kid.” Manny was speaking more or less to himself, still fingering the photograph.  “So young … we were all so young when we went off to war.  Such fools.”

 

Manny closed the folder.  “What are you planning to do with it,” he asked, tapping it with his fingernail.

 

“I thought I'd share it with everybody in the ward … Sarah and her friends down on three …  Amos and Andy ...”

 

“If Ian approves, why not share it with the whole hospital?”

 

“What do you have in mind?”

 

“The bulletin board in the cafeteria.  I'll take everything else down.  This will get people to look beyond the diapers … give them a glimpse of the man Sarah is going to marry … the warrior.”

 

“Reiko's samurai.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“A warrior from Japan's days of old, when duty and honor were more important than life itself.  She saw the truth before the rest of us, but we've all got the message: do not mess  with his principles.”

 

“Stubborn?”

 

“You have no idea.”

 

“Okay, so let me hold onto this.  Give him a call, and then get back to me.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“So, let's sum up.  If you are going to engage in business in Korea, never lose sight of the fact that, before you ever get on the plane, you need to learn as much as you can about your host's family life, personal preferences, and activities outside the workplace.”

 

Ian heard the door at the back of the classroom open, and was relieved to see a uniformed police officer step inside.  The lady made an imposing presence.

 

“Jeong gets your foot in the door, but it's reciprocity that will make or break the relationship.  You cannot give your host a six pack in return for a bottle of expensive scotch.  You insult your host, and lose face in the process.  Conversely, you cannot offer him a still more expensive bottle of scotch because you embarrass your host, causing him to lose face.  Equal value is the goal in gift-giving, so think in terms of blurring comparisons-- an Italian silk tie in exchange for that bottle of scotch, if your research has told you that your host wears Italian silk ties.  Don't give golf balls to a guy who only plays tennis!”

 

Ian's last remark earned him a few chuckles.  Some of the suits in his classes clearly regarded their superiors as morons.

 

“Okay, tomorrow it's all hands on deck, so bring both.  We are going to swim in the treacherous waters of Korean table etiquette, where many a promising business relationship has gone astray.  Study the glossary in chapter 16 of Russell, and use it to construct a few obvious sentences, stuff like 'I would like to propose a toast'.  Use your imagination, but park your sense of humor at the door.”

 

Ian took a few questions from students lingering after class, then walked up the aisle to introduce himself.  Even at a distance, he could see that the lady cop was sporting a Colt 1911, his own weapon of choice in Viet Nam, rather than the usual Smith and Wesson.

 

“Personal choice or department issue,” he asked, pointing at the holster.

 

“Personal choice.  I don't need a cannon on this job, and the .38 is strictly for senior citizens.”

 

“Ian Grady.”

 

“Priscilla Canon … and don't go there.  Believe me, I've heard the lot.”

 

“So, if Prissy's out, am I stuck with Priscilla?”

 

“You could try Officer Canon.  And what's your preference?”

 

“Ian in private, but Professor Grady will do the trick in public.”

 

“Your secretary tells me that you're ex-military, and that you have the scars to prove it.”

 

“Yeah … from stem to stern, so to speak.”

 

“Well, a word to the wise.  Your diaper isn't exactly what I would call well-hidden.”

 

“Couldn't care less.  And don't worry.  Amy's got the diaper changing duty until Sarah or Vickie comes over from the hospital sometime after three to collect me.”

 

“And they are?”

 

“Fiancee and girlfriend respectively.”

 

“How very European.”

 

“More like Middle Eastern … we can't leave Rita out of the mix.”

 

“Another girlfriend?”

 

“Hard to tell.  We're supposed to sit down on Thursday and bare our souls.”

 

“Professor Grady,” Priscilla laughed, “you are definitely not your typical faculty member.  So, why don't we make a run for it?  You can fill me in on the rest of it when we get back to your office.”

 

“Is the coast clear?”

 

“Wait one.”  Priscilla opened the door, and looked around.  “For the moment.”

 

In the elevator, Priscilla and Ian took one another's measure.  He reckoned that she was in her mid to late twenties, with hair somewhere between auburn and red.  Two or three inches shorter than his own five foot ten, and solidly built rather than statuesque.  Priscilla definitely looked like she could hold her own in a bar room brawl.

 

“How did you become a cop?”

 

“Dad's a cop … grandad was a cop … and would you believe that my mom's both a lawyer and a private eye?  In the trade, they call her Julia Twinkletoes because she's light on her feet and never misses the mark!”

 

.  .  .  .

 

When Ian entered his office, the phone was ringing.  He wondered whether it was a headhunter looking for an appointment, but there was only one way to find out.

 

“Professor Grady.”

 

“Hi, Ian … how did it go?”

 

“Like clockwork, Vic.  The campus police came through, and right on schedule.  I have a uniformed police officer standing guard outside my office as we speak.  I owe Professor Lessing big time.”

 

“That's me breathing a big sigh of relief,” Vickie replied, breathing dramatically into the phone.  “I just wanted to let you know that I've got your passport.  We'll copy it off, and I'll return it this afternoon.”

 

“No hurry.”

 

“I also borrowed the photograph … the one in the jungle featuring Toby and Pete.  I thought that Manny would get a kick out of it, and he did.  In fact, he wants to put it up on the cafeteria bulletin board and show everyone what a dashing hero Sarah is going to marry.  That okay with you?”

 

“Sure, but I'd downplay the hero bit.  We've talked about this before, Vic; Audie Murphy I am not.”

 

“That's true … you're a lot better looking!”

 

.  .  .  .

 

Vickie hung up, called Manny first, and then dialed Sarah's station.  She was relieved when Sarah picked up.

 

“First things first.  Everything went as planned.  Amy and I escorted him to class without incident, and there'll be a campus police officer sticking to him like glue for the rest of the day.  You good to go at three?”

 

“No,” Sarah sighed.  “I owe Heidi big time, and I won't be able to balance the scales at Christmas.  So I'm hanging on until seven, which will give her time to have dinner with her family.  I'll work half her shift through Tuesday next.”

 

“That's life in the big city,” Vickie replied, knowing that every doctor and nurse on staff had made similar compromises with reality.  Doctors Kildare and Casey, never mind the daytime soap opera jerks, were all practicing medicine in Fantasyland.  “I'll take care of Ian; don't worry about it.  But haul your ass down to the cafeteria at lunchtime.”

 

“Something good on the menu … for a change?”

 

“Probably not.  But take a look at the bulletin board.  And if you start crying?  Just let the tears flow.  I did.  God knows, I did.”

.  .  .  .

 

“It's a tricky situation,” Priscilla went on.  They were back in Ian's office, the ten o'clock office hour fast approaching.  “Technically, your office hours are open to all, including any Tom, Dick or Harry who wanders in off  the street.  We can limit immediate access to the students in your classes, and require everyone else to make an appointment, but if a headhunter shows up and there's no one else here?  Ian, it's tricky.”

 

“Officer Canon, do you realize that this is the first time you've addressed me by name?”

 

“Pris … not Prissy, Pris.  And yes, I'm well aware.  Ian, do you have this effect on all the women in your life?  I mean, really … your diaper is so pronounced.  Walking down the hall?  All I wanted to do was pat your behind, and tell you that I'd make everything okay.  Honestly?  I feel ridiculous.”

 

“Well, at least you are not demanding to breast feed me!  Talk about feeling ridiculous!  Pris, I have three women running my life who want me to drink thirty-six bottles of breast milk today.  Today, for God's sake!  And all in preparation for a day in the not too distant future when the four of us will be living under the same roof, and they'll be nursing me.  Do the math.  That's six tits a day, times what?  Breakfast, lunch and dinner, with snacks in between and at bedtime?  There's your thirty-six.  I'm gonna drown in this shit!”

 

“So, tell them to piss off.”

 

“I can't.  I made a promise.  I knew the consequences, and I made it anyway.  I don't break promises.”

 

“And you'll keep this promise.  It's funny,  We've known each other for what?  Thirty minutes?  Forty?  But you bleed integrity; it's pouring out of you.  It's no wonder you've got all these women crawling all over you.  There comes a point when women stop fooling around, and start looking for a guy whose honest and reliable … loyal … a good provider and role model for their children.  You're it.”

 

“Diapers and all?”

 

“Forget the diapers.  They make you vulnerable, and women swoon over vulnerability!  Are Sarah, Rita and Vickie complaining about your diapers?”

 

“No ...”

 

“Of course not!  Changing you empowers them!  Have they collected your sperm yet?”

 

“On Saturday.”

 

“Katie bar the door!  If the little fellows are hale and hearty, what are the odds that you're going to be a daddy a year from now?  A daddy times three?  Ian, your diapers are going to get lost in the crowd!”

 

“Good thing?  Bad thing?”

 

“Who knows?  Now what are we going to do about the headhunters?”

 

“Play it by ear, I guess.  If they get too aggressive, throw them out.  If they're well mannered, I'll try and redirect them to Sarah.  It's her decision, not mine.”

 

“Can I interrupt,” Amy said as she knocked on the door.

 

“It's time for Ian's first two ba bas, with a diaper change to follow.  Same scenario at eleven thirty and one thirty.”

 

“Can I watch?”  Priscilla was genuinely curious, never having dealt with a diapered adult before.

 

“Are you sure?  His poopy diapers are not for the faint of heart.”

 

“I've handled fresh road kill,” Priscilla scoffed.  “And besides, you should have back up, and I'm here for the duration.  Show me what to do, and I'll do it.”

 

“Fine.  First thing is to get comfortable down on the floor.”  Amy kicked off her shoes, and dropped down.  She made herself comfortable, resting her back against Ian's desk.  “Then cradle him in your arms and bottle feed him just like any other baby.  Burp him, then move on to his diapers.  Use baby wipes and powder … four pins … the usual drill.  Nothing's different except the size of your baby.”

 

“Is that how you think of him?  A baby?”

 

“What else?  All men are babies; Ian's diapers just make it more obvious.  With effort, he can struggle up to adulthood, but it does take effort.  So, you want to take advantage of the adult when he shows up.  I did.”

 

Priscilla stared hard at Amy, and the cop in her could tell instantly that she wasn't exaggerating.  She had scalped him, and the knowing smirk on her face made it crystal clear that she had had a very good time in the process.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Don't you have a job to do,” Rita snorted as Sarah walked in the door.  “And who gave you the code?”

 

“I believe that would be … um … you?”  Sarah settled into the only chair not piled high with files.  “First, I got a call from Vickie, ordering me to hit the cafeteria for lunch.  She apparently found a photo in Ian's office that Manny thinks the entire hospital needs to see.  He's putting it on the bulletin board.  Then it was Candy's turn.  She told me to drop everything and get up here.  She's got Ian's lab results, and wants to run it by the three of us.  So, as soon as Vic shows up ...”

 

“And here we are,” Vickie announced as she came through the door with Candy in tow.

Unceremoniously dumping the stack of files on the floor, she plopped down in the seat, leaving it to Candy to collect a chair from the foyer, and close the door behind her.

 

“Ian's sperm study.”  Candy pulled a slender, white envelope from her coat pocket, and waved it in the air.  “Linda's sitting on the results, but it's not every day that someone from this ward submits a sample, so there's bound to be speculation.  At a minimum, you should expect a lot of curious looks.”

 

No one said anything, everyone waiting for Candy to continue.

 

“Okay; here we go.  We're looking at a sperm count of one hundred and eighty million per milliliter, totaling nine hundred and two million for the ejaculate sample.”

 

“HOLY SHIT!”  Rita had bounced halfway out of her chair.

 

“The semen profile is characterized as 'thick'.  Candy had an impish grin.  “On the q. t., Linda says that there's a reasonable chance you'd get pregnant if you swabbed the stuff, coated the tip of his tongue, and put him through his paces, although speed would be of the essence, and you would need to be well lubricated.”

 

“No, thank you,” Vickie huffed; “mine will not be an immaculate conception!”

 

“Sperm morphology scored at eighty percent, with progressive motility a consistent sixty seven percent across five samples.”

 

“HOLY SHIT,” Rita repeated as she grabbed her calculator and started running the numbers.  “Times point eight,” she muttered, “then times point six seven … he's putting out four hundred and eighty three million healthy swimmers per cum, which equals ninety six million plus per milliliter.  MY GOD!!”

 

“If you were to give him a ruined orgasm,” Candy concluded, “the three of you could get pregnant simultaneously.”

 

Rita, Sarah and Vickie stared at one another, another round of “holy shits” exploding into the air.  “Ian would make a field bet,” Vickie suddenly screeched.  “Everybody else would bet on one or the other of us, but he'd bet on all three of us delivering on the same day.  My God, we could make a fortune!!!”

 

“Wait a second,” Sarah protested.  “Do you mean to say that you … that you're planning on …?  Shouldn't we talk about this?”  Sarah was looking at Rita for support.  “I mean, seriously; he's not a Sultan, and we're not his harem.  So, we're just talking fantasy here, right?  Like the Vikings ever winning the Super Bowl?”

 

But Rita clearly wasn't listening.  Eyes closed, leaning back in her chair, she was just as clearly contemplating the possibilities.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Priscilla, I'm proud of you.  You didn't faint.  You didn't pinch your nose.  Nope.  You just stood there and watched, like you were taking mental notes or something.”

 

Ian was referring to his diaper change, which Amy had smoothly executed.  Another pee soaked, poop saturated diaper had vanished into the pail, then a fresh diaper, loads of baby powder, the pinning, the vinyl pants, and the locking diaper cover.  Watching closely, Ian saw the young police officer's eyes widen as the lock clicked home.  He would have bet anything that his makeshift chastity belt was giving her ideas.

 

Ian wondered if Priscilla had a boyfriend.

 

“I was taking notes,” Officer Canon confirmed.  “The four pin method is new to me.  Why go through the extra effort?”

 

Three students had taken advantage of his office hours, all coeds whom he had been coaching weekly for the past two months.  They managed the odor from his diaper pail with grace, and he was proud of the fact that their performance in the classroom had shown dramatic improvement.

 

“It helps with diaper sag,” Ian shrugged, “and it offers better protection against leaks.  You can always tell when a diaper has overstayed its welcome when you get wet spots here and here.”  Ian patted both cheeks, just beyond the reach of his pockets.

 

“That's good to know … and it must be so embarrassing to be working on the blackboard, your back turned to the class.  The bulk makes it so obvious that you are wearing a diaper.”

 

“It is what it is.”  Ian shrugged again.  “And it's not the end of the world … not even close.”

 

“I want to diaper you,” Priscilla blurted out.  “And give you your bottles.  The way Amy was holding you?  It looked so peaceful … so natural.”

 

“That's fine by me, but it's for you and Amy to work out.”

 

At that moment, the telephone rang, startling them both.  It had sat silent throughout the office hour.

 

“Good morning, Professor Grady here.  How may I help you?”

 

“Suzie Marshall here, Professor-- and no, we haven't met.  I'm the Pi Iota Sigma sorority's house mother, and I have a problem that I'm hoping you can help me with.  The matter is somewhat delicate, and let me apologize in advance if I offend you by bringing it up.”

 

“You've aroused my curiosity, Miss Marshall … or is it Missus Marshall?”

 

“Marshall is my maiden name, Professor, which I took back when I divorced.  Still, for some reason the girls all call me Missus Marshall.  Go figure.”

 

“And what can I do for you?”

 

“We have a Pledge … a first year student, who shows a great deal of promise, but she's having a difficult time adjusting to campus life.  Wendy's eighteen, and is wetting the bed; she says for the first time since she was ten.  The problem is bad enough that she has agreed to wear diapers and vinyl pants at night.  We have an ample supply of both-- the problem pops up every couple of years or so-- but every time we go through this, there's a self esteem issue that has to be addressed.  It's going to be rough for Wendy in particular because she was born and raised in a small town outstate.”

 

“And how can I help?”

 

“Wendy knows about your battle with incontinence, so I'm hoping that you would be willing to give her a pep talk … something along the lines of it not being the end of the world to wear a diaper to bed at night.  I want her to be encouraged, not discouraged.”

 

“Well, I'll be happy to do what I can.  Can you manage my office hour at two?”

 

“Yes.  I know her schedule, and she's free.  We'd both be honored to meet you.”

 

“Then I'll see you then.   Oh, and Miss Marshall, please bring one of her diapers, four pins, and a pair of vinyl pants with you.  After so many years, she might need a few tips.  As the saying goes, 'if a thing is worth doing, it is worth doing well'.” 

 

When Ian hung up and turned around, he found Priscilla looking at him quizzically.

 

“Suzie Marshall by any chance?  The Pi Iota Sigma house mom?”

 

“One and the same.”

 

“Interesting.  We arrested three members of the sorority at a party last weekend that got more than a little out of hand.  We're talking out of hand as in smoking pot and drinking hard liquor out in the street at one in the morning.  We expect students to push the boundaries, but we can only overlook so much.  This we could not overlook.  That sorority has a reputation for being a party house, and it's well deserved.  A dozen years ago, Suzie was running wild on this campus, and if my sources are accurate, she hasn't changed much.  So, be careful; Suzie is big on seducing male faculty-- a game the sororities call scalp hunting.  Try not to get scalped.”

 

“I have a confession to make,” Ian laughed.  “I don't have the key to this chastity belt of mine, to call it what it really is.  Amy can unlock it, and if she agrees to share diaper changing duty with you, she'll pass you the key.  Somehow, I don't think the voluptuous Suzie Marshall is going to persuade you to hand it over.  She is voluptuous, isn't she?”

 

“Very,” Officer Canon grinned.

 

“Very.”

 

SCENE 33:

 

FADED PHOTO ON THE WALL

 

Knocking gently, Amy entered Ian's office, and closed the door behind her.  Officer Priscilla Canon and Professor Ian Grady were still on the floor, side by side, their backs against a brace of filing cabinets.  Four empty baby bottles were scattered about.  It was obvious that the unlikely pair had bonded, although four empty beer bottles would have been more to her own taste.

 

“Was a good time had by all?”

 

“I'd forgotten how good it feels to cradle a baby in my arms, and give him his bottle,” Priscilla sighed.

 

“Awfully big baby,” Amy observed.

 

“Tell that to my hormones!”

 

“We've got to find Pris a boyfriend,” Ian laughed as he patted her on the thigh.  “All these maternal instincts running wild, and no one to pamper except little old me.”

 

“Why don't we put those maternal instincts to the test?”  Reaching over their heads, Amy grabbed Ian's changing pad and dropped it on the floor.  “It's time to change your baby's diaper.”

 

Ian stood up and, item by item, stripped until he was down to his diaper cover and its contents.  Then he dropped to the floor, and in one fluid motion ended up on his back, legs outstretched.

 

Priscilla crawled over beside him, and Amy handed her the key.  “It's a magnetic lock,” she explained.  “You'll feel it when the key engages; just pull it out and the lock will come with it.”

 

“Neat! We could use these in the holding cells!”

 

“Sorry, but the way Vickie explained it to me, they wouldn't be practical for police work.    Each lock is unique … it's something in the way they're milled … and there are only four keys.  Ian's fiancee has one, his girlfriend Rita has two, and we have the fourth.”

 

“Which leaves Vickie out in the cold, obviously on purpose … and yet she was the one who brought him over here this morning, and brought this key.” Priscilla held it aloft.  “What gives” she asked as she turned to look down at Ian.

 

“Probably a test of some kind, especially given that it was Sarah who handed her the key.”

 

“Still don't follow.”

 

“Everyone in the hospital is expecting Vickie and I to go at it like minks, but I'm marrying Sarah.  Ultimately, she has to trust Rita and Vickie both, or our oddball relationship won't work.”

 

“Tell me the truth.  If she had unlocked you in the parking lot and hauled you into the back seat for a quickie, would you have turned her away?”

 

“I would have turned her away,” Ian agreed.  “Pris, have there been moments when I just wanted to rip her clothes off and make love to her on the spot?  Yes.  But I don't want to have sex with Vickie … I want to make love to her.  I've had lots of sex, and some of it has been incredibly good ...”

 

Ian was staring straight at Amy.

 

“But in my whole adult life I have made love with only two women.  Call me old-fashioned … a hopeless romantic … but I want the first time with Sarah, Vickie or Rita to be a memory that lasts a lifetime.  A quickie in the back seat?  No.”      

 

Embarrassed, Amy looked pointedly at her watch.  “About that diaper change ...”

 

Priscilla got to work.  The diaper was damp, but covered in mushy poop.  Cleanup with a few baby wipes proved quick and easy, although Priscilla admitted that she would have missed poop in the deep folds of Ian's skin without Amy's coaching.  But a shiver went down her spine when she heard the lock on his impenetrable diaper cover click into place.  The thick diaper, the vinyl baby pants, the diaper cover …

 

God!!  If you possess the keys, you own the man!!”

 

Standing up, she mentally conceded that she envied Sarah-- really, really envied her.  She couldn't wait to meet whoever was coming over to collect Ian sometime after three.

 

.  .  .  .

 

Suzie Marshall waltzed out of the Dean's office, and with a sigh leaned against the wall.  The meeting had followed a script that both had memorized years earlier.  The Dean ranted and raved about the latest immoral, degenerate or perverted outrage (the script allowed for a certain amount of ad libbing) perpetrated by the sorority whores (that part never changed) in her charge, and she sat there and listened patiently, although her patience was admittedly known to wander off to such pressing topics as the exact shade of red she wanted at her next manicure.  When it was her turn, she always politely asked Willie whether the urologist offered any hope, any hope at all, or would he be forever condemned to go through life with a fully erect dick measuring less than two inches in length.  Suzy had the goods on Turgeson, courtesy of her long and storied scalp hunting career, just as she had the goods on scores of the dickless wonders who populated the Arts faculty.  She was forever grateful that the science departments came better equipped.

 

Nice thing about lunch meetings … the Bobblehead is never here to grace me with her phony smile and bad breath.

 

The Bobblehead was the Dean's unctuous secretary, a silver-haired, sixty three year old Harpie with an abnormally long neck and glasses thick enough to put the bottom of a pop bottle to shame.  If there was one thing that she and Willie heartily agreed upon, it was that the Bobblehead should be kept well clear of their business.  Like the furniture, she came with the office.  Professor Willard Turgeson, world renowned authority on early modern French cuisine in general and Francois Massialot's masterful The Court and Country Cook (1702) in particular-- in fairness, it should be said that reviewers did mildly criticize his inability to read French, forcing him to work from the translation of  Le nouveau cuisinier royal et bourgeois, ou cuisinier moderne instead of the more nuanced original (1691)-- being the ninth Dean whom the Bobblehead had served …

 

Or consumed … whatever …

 

Suzie had long ago vowed to read Turgeson's opus magnum, but she had never got around to it.  As long as the wine registered as fourteen percent alcohol by volume or higher, she couldn't have cared less whether she was eating lasagna or linguini.  A food snob she was not.

 

Hey, wait a second!  Diaper Butt's next class is at twelve thirty, Business Japanese or some equally weird shit, and it's just a couple of buildings away.  Why not wander over, learn the difference between sushi and sashimi, and make his acquaintance?  Not that I care about the damned food, of course; everyone knows that sake needs to be served at a temperature of one oh four.  James Bond couldn't hit water if he fell out of a boat.  Ninety eight point four.  What a jerk!

 

Checking her watch, Suzie reckoned that she would make it with about five minutes to spare.  She was curious to see what a diapered war hero looked like, and besides, she liked Japan.  Granted, the damned tour guide had done everything in his power to spoil her fun, but she had managed to sneak off by herself in both Tokyo and Kyoto, and she had had a good time after all.

 

It would be fun to go back with someone who actually speaks the language.  I'd still like to know why that Yakuza guy kept waving his chopped off dick in my face …

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Shall we link arms for the grand appearance?”  Rita was standing just outside the doorway to the cafeteria, flanked by Vickie on her left and Sarah on her right.  She was acutely aware of the fact that this would be the first time the three had been seen together since all Hell had broken loose in Sarah's absence.  She had absolutely no idea whether they were about to be welcomed with boos and catcalls, wolf whistles, or a round of applause.  Given the size of the chamber, it was distinctly possible that they would have a bit of everything thrown their way.

 

“Ready when you are,” Vickie grinned as she reached out to grasp Rita's arm.

 

“No time like the present,” Sarah added, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves.

 

“Then, let's do it.  On three; ready?  One … two … three …”

 

.  .  .  .

 

Suzie stopped dead in her tracks.  She wanted to enter the classroom from the rear, and hopefully snag the seat closest to the door.  If the professor gave her one of those long, hard stares that said “you don't belong here, get out,” she wanted to skedaddle with her dignity reasonably intact.  She bid adieu to that plan when she spotted Officer Priscilla Canon at the front entrance.

 

Prissy was favoring her with a long, hard stare of her own-- what Suzie had coined the Lee van Cleef look that every cop in the state had stolen from Sergio Leone… or maybe it was in their latest union contract.  Anyway, as she shuffled down the hall, Suzie couldn't help but think the only thing missing was a musical score by Ennio Morricone …

 

Well, that and Clint Eastwood.  “Make my day, punk.”

 

“Officer Canon.”  Suzie smiled sweetly.

 

“Miss Marshall.”  Priscilla didn't smile at all.

 

“It's been a while.”

 

“At least a couple of weeks.  How'd your meeting with the Dean go?”

 

“Same as usual.”

 

“No probation?”

 

“The Dean found my rebuttal of your report very persuasive.”

 

“I'll bet.”  Priscilla was convinced that Suzie could burn someone at the stake in the sorority's front yard, and both the Dean and her superiors would look the other way.  After all, scalp hunting wasn't limited to the male faculty.  There were even rumors about some of the females.  Sorority Row was off limits in more than one sense.

 

“You have a two o clock with Professor Grady.”

 

“Probably be closer to two thirty, but I'll definitely be there.”

 

“Suzie, he's a really nice guy, but he's got some problems, and I'm not talking about the diapers.  Don't mess around here.”

 

Suzie looked at her watch.  Military guys tended to be on time, which meant she had two minutes left.

 

“I want to catch a bit of the lecture … get a sense of him.  Just what are you doing here?”

 

“Ian's a poorly paid first year professor with language skills that might net a quarter million annually for the right corporation.  He surfaced over the weekend, and we're expecting recruiters to start showing up once the word reaches the right ears.  I'm here to keep things from getting out of hand, and I'll be here for however long it takes.”

 

“Anything I can do to help?”

 

“Yeah.  Get a dozen girls from the sororities to show up for his office hours.  I can force the recruiters to make appointments, but only if students are occupying all of his available time.”

 

Suzie nodded, knowing that she would have no choice now but to enter from the front, and sit in on the entire lecture.  She put her hand on the knob, but paused, wondering how best to buy what the campus cops were selling.

 

“Consider it done.”  As a group, the sorority moms despised the poachers who occasionally threatened to abscond with one of their prized pets.  If the cops needed a hundred Sisters, they would have them.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Well, at least they're not playing ye olde Wedding March,” Vickie whispered in a voice just loud enough to be heard by her two companions.

 

“And so far no one's actually booing us,” Sarah astutely pointed out.  “That's a hopeful sign.”

 

They had entered the line, the cafeteria filled to overflowing with doctors, nurses, and assorted staff.  It was Monday, after all, and the hospital was rockin' and rollin', patients  coming out of the woodwork now that Thanksgiving was in the rear view mirror.  The last month of the year was always busy, accountants demanding to write the cost of a client's elective surgery off this year's taxes rather than next.  December was harvest time for plastic surgeons and dentists in particular.

 

Vickie and Sarah both passed on the jello, but Rita impulsively reached out to spear a plate of the green slime.  She missed Ian.  Indeed, to her considerable surprise, she was missing him very, very badly.

 

“I wish Ian was here,” she confessed.  “Hope he's doing okay.”

 

“He's here in spirit.” Vickie nodded in the direction of the bulletin board.  There was a small knot of people gathered round, mostly men.  A couple of them had been there ever since they entered the room.

 

Reaching for a plate of tuna and macaroni salad, Vickie knew that Sarah also needed reassurance.  “Amy's a good stick, and very protective.  She's coming on Saturday night, and I hope the two of you won't hold a grudge.  She's been where the three of us have yet to go, and she told me in no uncertain terms that it was a hell of a ride.”

 

“Ian slept with his secretary?”  Rita wanted to make sure that she was getting it right.

 

“She probably seduced him,” Vickie responded, her expression serious.  “On campus, the department secretaries and sororities have been competing for a long, long time in a contest called 'scalp hunting'.  Male faculty are the target.  In my senior year, I collected nine scalps, and it wasn't even enough to come in first in my own sorority.  That damn Suzie Marshall!  Grrr!!!”

 

“Easy there, Fido!”  Rita patted Vickie on the shoulder before reaching for coleslaw.  Scanning ahead, she suspected that the pork cutlet was at least edible.  “And don't look now, but Linda Richards is waving at us.  And unless I miss my guess, she's got another copy of Ian's sperm report in her hot little hand.”

 

“And Manny Cepeda's over at the bulletin board,” Sarah cut in, “along with … what's Amos doing here?  He's on second shift!”

 

“Eyeballing the photograph.  Shit!”  Looking more closely, Vickie suddenly realized that the two nurses staring at the photo were both MASH refugees.  It was beginning to dawn on her that the photograph might be stirring up some bad memories.

 

Both Rita and Sarah were looking at her curiously.

 

“Maybe this wasn't such a good idea … posting the photo, I mean.  Manny thought … Manny thought that it would be good for people here to see Ian before the diapers … see the young, invincible warrior.  How did Ian put it Saturday, before we came down?  He was 'cocky'?  'Some young kid who happened to speak all these foreign languages'?  Only he wasn't a young, invincible warrior.  He was just a 'young kid' after all … just a 'young kid'.”

 

“I don't understand,” Sarah said.  She hadn't seen the photograph, and had no idea what Vickie was talking about.

 

“Photographs bring back memories.”  Rita got it at once.  “And not all of them are good memories.”

 

“Like my Dad.”  Sarah also caught on quickly.  “After he died, Mom found a foot locker; it had his medals, photos, letters from home.  He never said a word; all the years they were married, he never said anything.  She was devastated, thinking that he was keeping secrets and wondering if there were more, but maybe he never touched it.  Maybe he was afraid to go near it.”  Sarah knew that she would have to broach the subject the next time she was home.  She loved her Dad, and condemning him when he was no longer even alive to defend himself wasn't sitting well with her.

 

“Amos,” Rita suddenly yelped.  Everybody knew that Amos Waring was a loose cannon who had torn up more than one Lake Street bar, but she was convinced that his drunken escapades were his way of coping with the demons chasing him through the night.

 

“Vickie, finish up for me … the pork cutlet and iced tea.” Abandoning the line, she rushed across the cafeteria, ignoring the open mouthed stares of her oblivious colleagues.

 

“Amos … Amos, are you okay?”

 

Grasping him by the shoulders, she gently urged him to turn and face her.  A complex welter of emotions was playing across his normally inscrutable features, his composure shattered by the photograph.  Glancing at Manny, it was obvious that he was caught up in memories of his own.  For a moment, Rita was absolutely furious with Vickie-- how could she do something so incredibly stupid?  And then the therapist took over …

 

Maybe it's time.

 

“Amos, I know that it's hard, but we can help … help you just like you've been helping us.  You don't have to do this alone … not anymore.  We can talk you through this, and I promise that you will feel a whole lot better when you get the weight off your shoulders.   

But right now, I want you to join us for lunch; you too, Manny.  Linda's saved places for all of us.”

 

Taking Amos by the hand, Rita led him across a cafeteria gone completely silent, a company of doctors, nurses and assorted staff catching a glimpse of a little boy who had once played Cowboys and Indians in his backyard-- a little boy who had grown up to travel halfway across the world to fight in a real war for which his upbringing had not prepared him.

 

Rita had only glanced at the photograph for a few seconds, but it was enough.  Vickie would not be returning it to Ian's office.  They were going to use it, and it astonished her that Vickie had missed it.

 

Guess she's just having a bad day, but then we all do …

 

And the photograph deserved a caption, and she knew exactly how it should read:

 

Innocence Lost       

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Okay, it's time for a reality check.  How is a junior management type supposed to afford a decent meal in Tokyo-- the most expensive city in the world?  Well, let's try visiting a department store.”

 

Ian hit the button, and brought up a slide.  It showed the exterior of a multi-story structure in the posh Shinjuku neighborhood.  “First, there's the question of access.  This one is less than two minutes from the station, which means our good, old friend … ta dah … the Yamanote, or Green, Line.  Once you get inside, you can head to the top floor, and pay an outrageous price for a perfectly ordinary meal ... OR … you can go down to the food court in the basement and have the same meal for a pittance.”  Ian brought up slides comparing the two floors.

 

“Now,” he continued, “what to order?  How about some grilled eel?”  Ian looked around the classroom, and chuckled at all the upturned noses.  “Not to your liking?  Well, how about a pork chop, breaded and deep fried?  It's called tonkatsu in Japanese, and it is invariably served with rice, a bit of cabbage passing for a salad, and the omnipresent miso soup.  Would someone like to place an order?”

 

Hands shot up all over the classroom, and Ian pointed at a young lady who was something of a rarity in his current courses-- an honest to God undergraduate fulfilling some college distribution requirement or other.  He nodded with satisfaction when she answered in beautifully accented Japanese.

 

“Very good,” he said, turning to the blackboard and putting up characters in kanji.  “Now, back to that grilled eel, typically served over white rice.  What's the dish called?”

 

“Unagi don,” one of the male students called out, transliterating the characters.

 

“Right again” Ian remarked as he turned back to face the class.  “Any other meal suggestions?”

 

“How about a Big Mac with fries,” another corporate climber asked with a reasonably straight face.  Heads were nodding in approval all over the room.

 

“We can do that,” Ian said with his usual devilish grin.  “Alas, there are only a couple of golden arches in the whole city, and the lines can be long, so you might want to wait until you're done for the day.  Oh, and gentlemen, you might also want to keep in mind that you'll be sharing the line with Japanese girls on the prowl for a gaijin boyfriend, so tomorrow's assignment will be starting a conversation with the person standing in line ahead of you.  In practical terms, this means that you'll be pairing off and conversing with one another … up here, in front of the class.”

 

Ian heard groans all over the room, but ignored them.  “Now,” he went on, how would you order a Big Mac?”  He wrote another string of characters on the board.

 

The students looked at him blankly.

 

“It's pronounced ...”  He paused dramatically.

 

“... Big Mac.”

 

Listening to the class roar with laughter, Suzie Marshall was absolutely enthralled.  Diaper Butt was a natural, a gifted teacher who had the whole class eating out of his hand!

 

But where are the girls?  You've got all these twenty somethings working in offices downtown, and there's not a Sister in sight!  What a hunting ground!

 

Right then and there, Suzie decided to convene a meeting that very night.  She wanted Pi Iota Sigma to strike while the iron was hot!

 

.  .  .  .

 

“You should eat your lunch; it's going to get cold.”  Amos was visibly struggling to bring his emotions under control.  He missed the looks of concern on many of the faces seated around him.

 

Rita let go of his hand, cut a piece of the cutlet, and began mechanically to eat.

 

“Out in the parking lot, sitting in my car, I looked at the photograph, stared at it, and it suddenly became very, very hard to breathe.  I gagged.”  Vickie hadn't touched her plate.  “And then I thought 'to Hell with it', and I sat back and just let the tears come.  And they came, and came … we were all so young.  That's what I saw in the picture; we were just kids, and life was just a game.  Only it isn't.”

 

Vickie forked a bite of her tuna and macaroni salad into her mouth, and like Rita, began mechanically to eat.

 

Wordlessly, Sarah climbed to her feet, and almost blindly began to walk across the cafeteria floor.  Quietly, Manny Cepeda stood up and trailed after her.  He had known her since she was nineteen, and he thought of Sarah as one of his many daughters. 

 

Around the room, sensing that something was terribly wrong, doctors and nurses who counted themselves as Sarah's friends put down their knives and forks, preparing to intervene.  Vickie was so visibly distraught … Vickie and Amos both.  What did they see in a photograph of a young soldier in high spirits that was so deeply disturbing?

 

The handful of people looking at the photo melted away, wanting to give Sarah some privacy.  Manny was standing close behind her, shielding her, as she stared at the faded photo, the paper turning brown with age around the edges.  Slowly, she reached out to touch the image, the Ian of perhaps ten years earlier, looking so young and fit and happy, a king sitting astride an improbable throne.

 

“All those years,” she whispered to herself, but loud enough for Manny to hear.  “We were too young to appreciate what we had, and how easily it would be stolen from us.  And then one morning we all woke up to discover that we're not young anymore.  What a waste.”

   

“It's life, Sarah.  Be thankful for what you have.  Believe me, there's nothing to be gained by regretting what you missed.”  Manny was gripping Sarah's shoulders, gently massaging her with his thumbs.  “Five years ago, would you have appreciated how rare Ian really is?  Any of you?  Or would you have simply turned away from the crippled vet and his dirty diapers?”

 

“What do you see, Manny?  When you look at the photo?”  Sarah badly, badly wanted … needed, to know.

 

“Chosin Reservoir, which was happening on this very day, way back in 1950.  I was in the First Marine Division, and we took heavy casualties.  We were kids when it started on the twenty-sixth, and old men when we got off the beach on the thirteenth, not even three weeks later.  I was lucky.  I came home in one piece, at least physically, but a lot of guys came home with pieces missing.  Our reunions can be … difficult.  It's why we stay away from the photos.”

 

“And mentally?”  Sarah reached up to grasp Manny's hand.

 

“I was a wreck.  I don't think I would have made it without Estrellita.  I don't know what she saw in me, but she was a rock … my shelter in the storm.  Ian is very, very lucky to have the three of you, but then you and Vickie are equally lucky to have him.  He makes both of you whole.”

 

“And Rita?”

 

“Hard to say.  She's confused by her feelings, although they're pretty damned obvious.  Just be patient.  Let them sneak up on her the way they did Vickie, and she'll come round.  Now, let's go see what Linda's up to.  Lunch awaits.”

 

“I know what she wants to talk about.”  Sarah's laugh was subdued.

 

Manny simply looked at her as they slowly retreated to their table.  He was mentally calculating how many apologies he would have to dole out to guys like Amos, whose store of bad memories had been opened wide by a faded photograph on the wall.  Manny was acutely aware of the mindset that so many doctors brought to work each day.  They had remained safely at home, hiding behind their student deferments, while the less fortunate or less gifted went off to war.  Arrogance and privilege would lead some of them to look down their noses at Sarah because she was, in their minds, desperate enough to marry a crippled veteran.  And he wasn't having it.  He loved Sarah, and he had taken Ian's measure.  The guy was a warrior through and through, and anyone who had ever been in the trenches would sense it instantly.  A civilian who read the Major's diapers as evidence of weakness was in for a rude awakening.

 

“Ian's lab results.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Ten minutes to go time, Pris; we're cutting it close.”

 

The two o clock office hour was fast approaching, and Priscilla was just getting started on his diaper change.

 

“Looks like your body is getting used to the breast milk,” she said with an encouraging smile.  Ian had just finished two more bottles a few minutes earlier.  “You're wet, but not  poopy.”  Priscilla raced through the diaper change, but she still took her time with the baby wipes.  If Ian was going to get a rash, it would not be on her watch.

 

Priscilla watched as Ian hastily redressed.  When he was ready, she opened the door just wide enough to peek out, then threw the door wide open.  The corridor was overflowing with coeds, a couple of them miscreants with whom she was well acquainted.  Suzie Marshall had been as good as her word.

 

“Excuse me, Officer; is Professor Grady there?”

 

A well-dressed man in a tailored business suit was easing his way through the gaggle of coeds.  He had a business card in his hand, and an oily smile on his lips.

 

“Do you have an appointment, Sir?”

 

“Uh … no Officer, but I just need a minute of the Professor's time.  I can see that he's very busy.”

 

“I'm sorry, Sir, but students come first.  If you would care to wait?”

 

“It's okay.”  Ian slid by Priscilla.  “Professor Ian Grady,” he said to the stranger.  “And you are?”

 

“Royce Sanders, Midwest rep for CMC … Corporate Management Consultants.”  Sanders thrust his card into Ian's hands.

 

“Let me guess.  You have heard by word of mouth that I'm a very talented but badly underpaid academic-- right on both counts.  And you're here to sign on as my agent, and market my resume to corporations that offer a good fit.  Speaking of which ...”

 

Ian just happened to have a resume on top of the filing cabinet just inside the door.

“My resume,” he announced, passing it over.  “I'm interested, but you should know two things.  First, not all of the benefits in this job are monetary.”  Ian cast a benevolent smile over the host of coeds circling them, not one of whom he recognized.  He hoped that Sanders would get the point without awkward explanations.

 

“Second, I'm engaged to be married, and like any sensible man, I wouldn't dream of making an important decision without consulting the lady in question.  So, you need to talk to Sarah; I've written her work number at the bottom.  Please reach out to her; if you pass muster with her, we'll talk.”

 

Not giving Sanders a chance to reply, Ian turned to the nearest coed, and invited her into his office.  He closed the door, and when they were alone, did not bother to hide his confusion.

 

“Melissa Warren, Kappa Alpha Kappa sorority.”

 

“Really?  You look like Olivia Newton-John.  The resemblance is remarkable.”

 

“I get that a lot,” Melissa giggled.  “Thank you!”

 

“Not at all.  What can I do for you?”

 

“Nothing actually.  One of the house mothers put out an alert that the poachers have you in their sights.  We don't like poachers.  We're all Sisters, and we're all here to protect you until Missus Marshall arrives.”

 

“Suzie Marshall?”

 

“Right.”  Melissa sneaked a peek at Ian's crotch.  “Is it true that you have to wear diapers all the time, and that you actually use them?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Wow!  That's so cool.  I've never slept with a guy in diapers!  Have you ever … like … you know … pooped … like, when doing it?”  Melissa was wide-eyed, and then some.

 

“Nope.”

 

'I want to sleep with you!”

 

“Scalp me, you mean?”

 

“Well, that too … but I really want to sleep with you!”

 

“You'll have to take it up with my fiancee, but Sarah is very open minded.  She has to be, considering that she has to share me with two of her girlfriends.”

 

“You're sleeping with three women?”

 

“Yep.  Sarah's number is on the bottom of my resume.  Here, have a copy.”

 

“Cool!!!”

 

Ian eased Melissa Warren out the door.  “Next,” he sighed.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Does anyone else think that trying to squeeze this particular conversation into a coffee break is passing weird, even by our standards?”  Sarah couldn't believe that she was once more in the cafeteria, the three of them huddling like conspirators in a near empty hall.  Unbeknownst to Rita, Sarah and Vickie had come to an agreement in private just minutes before, and both wanted to get on with their days.

 

“It's all your fault, you know.  If you hadn't gone up and pounded on Ian's door, we wouldn't be here.”  Vickie was eyeing the clock.  Amy had been kind enough to phone, and let them know that the first headhunter had arrived, only to be quickly dispatched.  Ian's office hours ended at three, and she wanted to collect him about one second later.

 

“We keep underestimating him,” Rita remarked, shaking her head.  “But you've got to admit-- passing the buck to Sarah is pure genius.  We can't complain because he's doing exactly what the three of us want him to do … what John insists that we do. It's just that … well, what if we sit down with this guy and he says straight out that he can get Ian a job paying a hundred thousand a year.  What the hell are we going to do?”

 

Convinced that matters were rapidly spinning out of their control, Rita had called this impromptu meeting.  She didn't understand why Vickie and Sarah were so visibly reluctant to face the facts.

 

“We don't need the money,” Sarah insisted, “and how many times do I have to say it?  Ian couldn't care less.  Honestly, can either one of you see him working nine to five in some corporate office, even a corner office with a window or two?  He wants to teach.  I say that we leave him right where he is-- where this Amy of yours can keep a watchful eye.”

 

“My Amy?  Hello, is anybody home?  We all agreed to invite her to Saturday night.  If she joins the Circle, she becomes one of us.  What I want to know is how the hell Suzie Marshall got mixed up in this, and how she persuaded every sorority on campus to send a Sister to camp outside Ian's office.  It's a clever tactic,” she growled, “but I don't want that little tramp anywhere near Ian.  For that matter, I don't want an entire army of scalp hunters batting their cute little eyelashes in his face! Grrr.”

 

“Down, Fido.”  Rita patted Vickie's arm, noting that her fingers were balled up into a tight, little fist.  “Let's face facts.  Ian is wearing a chastity belt that comes with four keys.  I've got two, Sarah's got one, and Amy's got one.  They can bat their cute little eyelashes from now until Kingdom come, and it won't make any difference.  He's off limits to everyone except the three of us.  So, let's get down to brass tacks; what are we going to do about Linda?”

 

“I don't see the problem,” Sarah admitted.  “Checking our hormone levels … the ovarian reserve test … it's just common sense.”

 

“Same with the ultrasound,” Vickie added.  “We're all north of thirty, so checking to make sure that the plumbing is in good working order is merely routine.”

 

“Oh, come on, both of you.  If the three of us go marching into the lab to do fertility tests?    How long will it be before every Tom, Dick and Henrietta in the building hears about it?  Manny would have a field day!  And can you imagine the three of us waddling arm in arm into the cafeteria midway through our third trimester?  Every ob/gyn in creation would want to plant his stethoscope down there, and that's just for starters!”

 

“Well, I'm going to do it,” Vickie declared as she crossed her arms to emphasize the point.  “I want to keep my options open, so the test only makes sense.”

 

“You've already decided, haven't you?”  Sarah couldn't hide her astonishment.  “It's not just sex; you want to have a baby!!”

 

“I want to keep my options open,” Vickie repeated.  “In the beginning, I thought that babying Ian would be enough, but now I'm not so sure.  Is it just the clock ticking, or am I ready to have a child?  I don't know.  What I do know is that I love Ian, and if I'm going to have a baby, I want him to be the father.”

 

“Are you planning to ask him for his opinion on the subject, or just surprise him?”  Rita's grin told them both that she was only kidding.

 

“My mom isn't pressuring me to have a baby,” Sarah confessed, “but my gran has made it abundantly clear that the subject is closed … a done deal.  Still, I think … I think that all three of us have to do this, or it won't work.  Jealousy would destroy us.  So, I guess … I guess that I have to go with Vickie on this one.”

 

“Fine.”  Rita threw her arms into the air in surrender.  “We might as well all troop in together, and feed the rumor mill some red meat.  In the meantime, I'll call Manny and see about getting the 'Diaper Your Favorite Nurse” auction organized.”

 

“I'll go collect Ian.  I'd like to have a session with Princess Poopy Pants.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

When the seventh student exited, Priscilla entered, shutting the door behind her.

 

“How's it going?”

 

“It's depressing,” Ian admitted.

 

“How many of them propositioned you?”

 

“All of them.  What's the divorce rate around here, anyway?”

 

“Not as high as you would expect.  There's a difference between a one-off and an affair.  Faculty wives know what's going on, and the vast majority ignore it.  Divorce would close a lot of doors in the university community, which is where most of them have lived since they turned eighteen.  Is this your first exposure to the ugly side of campus life?”

 

“No.  In graduate school?  When I was a teaching assistant out in California?  It happened with depressing regularity.  The diapers didn't discourage them; if anything, some of them wanted to sleep with me because I was diapered.  Kinky, I guess … or just looking for a thrill to share with their girlfriends.”

 

“Most guys would have jumped at the opportunities.”

 

“I'm not 'most guys'.”

 

“No, you're not.  Well, you'll be happy to know that the corridor has cleared, no doubt because Miss Marshall has arrived.  Shall I show her in?”

 

“Please.”

 

Priscilla opened the door, and beckoned for Suzie Marshall to enter.  Priscilla did not know the shy young woman accompanying her, but guessed that she was a Trojan Horse, there only to give the house mother an excuse to stop by.

 

Priscilla quietly closed the door, and ran her fingers over the key to Ian's diaper cover, which was squirreled away in her pocket.  Suzie didn't know it, but she was about to strike out.

.  .  .  .

 

Vickie collected her winter coat, and headed for the door.  She was in a hurry, and she didn't want to take the circuitous route that she had followed with Amy and Ian in the morning.  She would brave the elements, and walk directly from the parking ramp to his building, snowstorm be damned.  She could think of only one reason why Suzie Marshall would be helping Ian Grady.

 

.  .  .

 

“Professor Grady?  I'm Suzie Marshall, and this is Wendy Stafford, the young woman about whom we spoke earlier.  Thank you for seeing us, and thank you for being willing to help with a problem that most adults run away from.”

 

“It's a pleasure to meet you both … and please, take a seat.”

 

After the two women sat, Ian returned to his own chair on the opposite side of the desk, and settled in.  Wendy was a cute brunette with nice cleavage, and he knew that many men would find her shyness attractive.  Suzie, on the other hand, was elaborately made up and fashionably dressed, a blue eyed platinum blonde sporting just the right shade of red lipstick.  Her lips, however, were a bit too pouty for his personal taste, and her boobs over the top in more ways than one.

 

Bar bait.

 

Ian smiled to himself, remembering how he had once condemned Vickie in exactly the same fashion.  He couldn't have been more wrong, and he was willing to concede that he could be wrong about Suzie Marshall as well.

 

“Wendy, would I be right in assuming that you know I wear diapers, and need them for both eliminations?”

 

Wendy nodded, not sure how she should respond.  She thought it best to say as little as possible.

 

“I was in the army, and badly wounded in my last engagement.  Please look behind you.  Do you see the cane hanging on the coat rack?”

 

Wendy and Suzie both turned to look.  Wendy once again nodded.

 

“In the military hospital, when they told me that I was incontinent and would probably need diapers for the rest of my life, it probably took me about ten days to accept it, and start dealing with it.  That was nine years ago.  The diapers don't bother me, but the cane is a different story altogether.  I'm disabled not because of the diapers but because of the cane.  Quite simply, I cannot walk more than eighteen hundred steps from this desk without using it.  Again, there is very little hope that this will ever change.  If God reached out to me and said that He would make one of these problems go away, but only one, I would choose mobility … choose to be free of the cane.”

 

“Were you in Viet Nam,” Wendy asked hesitantly.  “My dad was in Korea.”

 

“Yes, Wendy.  I was in the army … in Special Forces.  I was wounded in each of my three tours.  Did your dad get out okay?”

 

Wendy nodded.  “He was in the navy, on an aircraft carrier.”

 

“I envy him,” Ian laughed.  “Navy food is much better than army food.”

 

“Dad says the same thing,” Wendy grinned.  She liked Professor Grady.  “Did they give you the medal for being shot?  The Purple Heart?  I saw one once when I was in High School.  It was at a wedding.  The groom looked awesome in his dress uniform!”

 

Silently, Ian opened a desk drawer, and extracted a metal box.  He removed four of the medals housed therein, and spread them out on his desk, facing the girl.

 

The four Purple Hearts.

 

Wendy reached out hesitantly to touch one of the medals.  “It's nothing like the movies, is it?  Going into battle, I mean.  My Dad never talks about it, and he was far out at sea.”

 

“You're right, Wendy … nothing at all.  I was scared the whole time.  Don't be impressed by the medals.  To earn one of these, you have to be unlucky enough to get shot or peppered with shrapnel.  There are real heroes in this country, but I'm not one of them.”

 

“Excuse me for interrupting,” Suzie cut in, “but we should move on to the subject at hand.”  Suzie could see that Wendy was already smitten, and that was not on the agenda.

 

“Did you bring the items that I requested,” Ian queried.

 

“I did,” Suzie replied as she reached into a large tote bag and brought out a diaper, baby pants, pins and a package of wipes.  She deposited them on the desk, scattering the medals in the process.

 

Ian stood up, and turned around so that Wendy could survey his rear end.  “Can you tell that I'm wearing a diaper?”

 

“Yes, Professor.  I'm sorry, but the outline is impossible to miss.”  And Wendy was sorry, genuinely so.

 

“No need to apologize; you and I are in the same boat.  If we make a big deal out of wearing a diaper, other people will do so as well.  So, I don't-- and trust me, if you just make it an ordinary, ho-hum part of getting ready for bed … like brushing your teeth … neither your roommate nor anyone else will pay much attention.”

 

“That's very good advice,” Suzie chimed in.

 

“So,” Ian went on, “lay the diaper out on the floor, and fold it like so.”  He illustrated the

 twist, or bikini fold.  “This is a good fold for girls … more cloth in the middle, where you need it, and less bulk between your thighs.  Add some powder in the rear, and take a seat!”

 

“More powder … pull up and pin.”  He illustrated with deft, well practiced movements of his hands.  “The extra pins will help with diaper sag, as well as discourage leaks.  Secure everything inside the vinyl pant, and you're good to go.  No more waking up in a wet bed.”

 

“Wow!  Professor, thank you so much!  This is so helpful!  I'm going to ask my mom about this fold when I call home.”

 

“Wendy, that's great.  Your mom will be super impressed by your honesty, and even more by the fact that you are taking the initiative here.  You're letting her know that you are up to the task of living on your own.  She has to be worried about this, and believe me, you are going to be putting her mind at ease.  She's going to be so proud of you!”

 

“Exactly so,” Suzie enthused.  “Showing her that you are mature enough to manage this problem on your own will help you in the future, when you will be dealing with much bigger issues.”

 

“Arigato, Professor Grady san.”  Wendy was stretching the limits of the Japanese that she had absorbed from some TV program or other.

 

“It was nice meeting you, Wendy; don't hesitate to stop by if you need further help.”

 

Wendy rushed off, but Suzie stayed put.  “Until your office hours are over,” she explained.  “And going forward, you will have plenty of coeds to keep you company.  One of the ways in which I can get back into the Dean's good graces is to protect promising new faculty hires from being poached.”

 

“Hmm,” Ian mused as he leaned back in his chair.  “Is yours what's known as a 'party house'?”

 

“I prefer to think of it as offering hands-on training in needed social skills,” Suzie laughed.

 

“Like getting drunk but still remaining lady like?”

 

“Oh, you must have been in a fraternity!  Where did you go to school?”

 

“In the land of the lotus eaters, otherwise known as Southern California, but no fraternity.  No one was that desperate.”

 

“Hard to believe.  You have a gift, and I'm not talking about the foreign languages.  You're a people person.  You treated Wendy with respect, and she walked out of here with her confidence fully restored.  Thank you.”

 

“My pleasure.  I'm here to help.”

 

There was a knock on the door, and Priscilla opened it without waiting for permission.  “Excuse me, Professor, but your ride is here.”

 

Priscilla stood aside.  Ian was expecting Sarah to collect him, but it was not Sarah who walked in.

 

It was Vickie.

 

SCENE 34:

 

CHASTITY AND CHINESE FOOD

 

Vickie and Susie stared hard at one another, neither wanting to cross paths with her arch nemesis in Ian's office.  Amy stole in behind Suzie; aware of their rivalry, she fully expected fireworks to erupt at any moment.  Priscilla completed the female quartet, closing the door softly behind her.  Like Amy, she knew their history, and she was prepared to intervene quite forcefully to keep matters from getting too far out of hand.

 

“Well, well,” Suzie smirked, “look what the cat dragged in.  You're his ride?  When did you decide to become a taxi driver?”

 

“Suz, Ian is my patient, and I want to thank you for helping out today.  Officer Canon tells me that you were able to organize a phalanx of Sisters to shield him from the corporate headhunters that are going to be targeting him.  And Ian, you played the one guy who showed up just right.  Sarah wants you to keep sending them her way.  She'll listen politely, and then turn them down.  You needn't worry about being dragged out of the classroom.”

 

“Good,” Suzie commented.  “I sat in on Ian's last class.  He's a remarkable teacher; we need more like him.”

 

Vickie had come prepared to play nice, and Suzie was very quick on her feet.  One snide remark had given Vickie the upper hand, and she was not about to repeat her mistake.

 

Vickie slid past Suzie, and reached out to collect the four Purple Hearts.  One by one, she sat them down on Ian's side of the desk.

 

“At least two of these were very hard earned,” she observed in a soft tone of voice.  “You should put them safely away.”

 

Ian did so, and Vickie could see other medals deeper in the box.  But she didn't know one military decoration from the next, hence had no idea what she was looking at.

 

“Are you good,” Vickie asked, obliquely referring to his diaper.

 

“For the time being,” he responded, being equally enigmatic.  “Only two chairs,” he added; “why don't the two of you take a seat?”  He looked at both Vickie and Suzie.

 

“I need to talk to the Chair,” Amy said as she prepared to leave.  “I'll tell him about the headhunter, and make it clear that this is not the usual academic raid.  He'll talk to the Dean, and it will work its way up the chain of command from there.  I'll school Sarah on how to play this to your advantage come Saturday night.”

 

“Thanks, Amy; in these waters, I'm in way over my head.”

 

“I'll wait outside.”  Priscilla spoke up for the first time.

 

“No.”  Vickie was adamant.  Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out several ampules of smelling salts.  “In the event that Ian has another seizure, I need you to be hands on.  You will have to stabilize him, and go with him in the ambulance.  Our ER is fully aware of his condition, so you bring him to us.  Nowhere else.”

 

“Doctor, my training to handle medical emergencies is pretty basic, and I've never had occasion to use it.”

 

“I'll teach you what you need to know on the fly, but if you're free, I'd like you to join us on Saturday night.  You'll meet Sarah, who is Ian's fiancee and works in the post surgical ward, and the rest of the team that is treating Ian.  We call ourselves the Circle.  Amy's coming, and we're going to give her the same hands on training-- hopefully before the alcohol starts flowing.  Things can get a little wild because we need to let our hair down and recharge our batteries.”

 

“Count me in,” Priscilla laughed.  “It sounds like the goings on at a certain bar up Northeast favored by our cousins on the Minneapolis force.”

 

“'Northeast' is our Polish ghetto,” Vickie explained, knowing that Ian was not all that conversant with the complexities of life in the Twin Cities.  “Good food and imported beer equals a good time had by all.  And that reminds me ...”

 

Vickie reached into another pocket and pulled out Ian's passport.  “Sarah needed to copy this for her travel agent,” she explained.  “We're all impressed, but curious.  Some of the places you've gone are so obscure that we needed time to find them on a globe.  We are awaiting some serious entertainment about the goings on in exotic lands.  You're the only guy we know who's been to Timbuktu.”

 

“So, how do the two of you know one another?”  Ian was anxious to change the subject.

 

“Same sorority, and we're both class of '68.  Suzie was crowned Sorority Queen, and I was one of her Ladies in Waiting.  A runner-up, in short.”

 

“Miss Marshall is a living legend,” Priscilla interjected.  “She claimed the crown by sleeping with every guy on the English Department faculty.  Her record still stands, and by their joint efforts these two catapulted the Pi Iota Sigma house to the esteemed rank of 'party central'.  Under Suzie's guidance, it has never relinquished the crown.”

 

“So, Wendy Stafford is a work in progress?”

 

“She has a lot of potential,” Suzie grinned.  “With a bit of tutoring, she'll be fine.  Now, down to business.  I want to help the three of you, and I can flood this corridor with coeds for the rest of the term, but I also have to worry about my reputation.  The bottom line: what does Pi Iota Sigma get out of it?  I have to get something in return, or the competition will start to think that I'm slipping.”

 

Ian burst out laughing.  He was beginning to feel like one of the cast in a remake of It's A Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World.  And he quite liked Suzie Marshall.

 

“Why don't you tag along on Saturday night,” he suggested.

 

“Ian,” Vickie warned.

 

“Interesting.”  Suzie caught the undercurrent; these two were far more than doctor and patient.  “Vic, tell me true: are the two of you … how shall I put it … 'intimate'?”

 

“Not yet,” Ian cut in, “but the only thing stopping us is this damned chastity belt.”

 

“WHAT?”  Suzie's jaw was flapping in the breeze.  “YOU MUST BE JOKING!”

 

“Nope.  Would you like to see it?  Just say the word.”  Ian got to his feet.

 

“Word,” Suzie stuttered.

 

Ian started to unbuckle his pants, then paused.  “You're sure,” he teased.

 

“I'm sure,” Suzie gulped; “I'm sure!”

 

Ian carried on, sliding his  pants down his legs.  He wished that Andre Previn's The Stripper was playing in the background, but his bulky diaper would have prevented a proper strip tease anyway.  Finally, he tapped the lock on his diaper cover.

 

“Diaper, vinyl pants, and a locking, heavy duty canvas diaper cover-- to wit, a chastity belt.  At the moment, Officer Canon is in possession of the key.  Pris, are we due for a diaper check?”

 

“It's about that time,” Priscilla conceded.  She could barely conceal her glee.  Suzie Marshall looked like someone had just punched her in the solar plexus.

 

Ian sat down, and swiveled his chair so that he could take off his shoes, and then his pants.  By the time he stood up, Priscilla had his changing mat laid out on the floor, and she was digging through his diaper bag.  “Doctor Robinson can watch,” she explained to Suzie, “but that's all she can do.  Consider it a kind of probation.  Sarah wants to learn whether these two can be trusted not to paw each other whenever they get the chance.”

 

“I have got to meet the lady!”  Suzie had sufficiently recovered her senses to reenter the conversation.  “Professor, I can't commit because Saturday nights at the end of term are a bit hectic on sorority row, but if I can find someone to take my place, I would love to join this circle of yours!”

 

Priscilla unlocked the cover, but then she also paused.

 

“Suzie, do you want to stay and watch?”  Like Ian, Priscilla was in the mood to tease.

 

“God yes!  Please!”  Suzie had never seen a grown man in diapers before; she was getting more and more excited by the second.

 

Without further ado, Priscilla yanked the cover down.  She pulled Ian's baby pants back so that she could peek inside his diaper.  “As I expected,” she sighed dramatically, “you need to be changed.  Oh, well; a police officer's work is never done.”

 

Ian dropped to the floor, and stretched out on his back.

 

“Can I watch you change him?”  Suzie's voice was pleading.

 

“Of course.  The more the merrier.”  Priscilla was hoping that Suzie would faint at the sight of a poopy diaper, and with any luck, fall head first into the muck.

 

“Oops … forgot to ask.  Professor Grady, do you mind if Suzie hangs on for the grand finale?”

 

“Nope.  As you say, the more the merrier.”

 

“Grrr,” Vickie growled.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“You're taking me home?”  Vickie was driving south, in the general direction of Ian's apartment.

 

“Correct.  I've got Notice to Vacate paperwork for both you and Sarah.  Hers is signed and ready to file; yours just needs a signature.  When we're done, you can give me a leisurely tour of your apartment.  I'll be your guest until Sarah gets home around eight.”

 

“Do we have time for a session?”

 

“We do.  Princess Poopy Pants wants to come out and take the tour as well.  Can you sense her?”

 

“No.”

 

Vickie could hear the disappointment in Ian's voice, and she reached over to pat him encouragingly on the knee.  “I would be amazed if you did sense her.  It would be unusual in the extreme for the primary personality to sense the secondary.  But she is aware of you, which is why she is the centerpiece of your therapy.  Besides, I like her … a lot.  When she looks at me, her eyes are so full of love and trust.  Working with her, I sometimes get butterflies in my tummy.”

 

“Interesting.  And what do you see when I look at you?”

 

“Love, trust … and desire.  The Princess is asexual, but you are all man, at least with me.  Your relationship with Sarah is radically different, and your relationship with Rita is a work in progress.  I get the feeling that you are waiting for her to get a handle on her feelings so that you can accommodate them.”

 

“I suspect you're right about Rita.  As for Sarah ...”

 

“She wants total control over your life, and I emphasize the word 'total'.  She's going to treat you like a baby, Ian, don't be under any illusions about that.  She's your mommy, and she's going to make all of your decisions for you.  Period, end of story-- except that, as we saw today, this is very much in your best interest.  So, don't fight her.  Give her what she wants, and be happy when she occasionally treats you like a grown-up.  She 's your mommy and, while it won't say so on the marriage license, I'll be your wife, for the simple reason that I'm not really interested in babying you.  We'll see where Rita eventually lands, but you can count on Sarah ending up with absolute control over the three of us.  She will dictate the terms of our relationships.”

 

“And you're okay with this?”

 

“Very much so.  “I'm impulsive, Ian; surely you realize that?

 

“Hmm … not how I would phrase it, but yes.”

 

“So, you're the baby, I'm the out of control sorority girl, and Rita is like my older and somewhat more mature yet increasingly bewildered sister.  But just watch.  Sarah is going to end up mothering all of us, and we'll all benefit because she's the adult in the room.  I suspect that you are going to be spanked silly, but don't be surprised if she loses her temper and spanks me as well.  It's going to happen, and when it does, it will be because I deserve to be spanked.”

 

“Unbelievable … seriously unbelievable.  Will you go on spanking me too?”

 

“Absolutely.  Punishment spankings when you're naughty, and erotic spankings when Sarah permits us to make love.  Between the two of us, we are going to spank you and spank you and spank you, and then for good measure spank you some more!”

 

“So far, the two of you have spanked me three times, and they've all hurt.  But have I complained?”

 

“No, you haven't.”

 

“And when they're justified, I won't.  You know, it's odd.  I was eleven the last time my parents spanked me, but in high school gym class I had to bend over for a hard swat with a sneaker so many times that I lost count.  And I earned every one of them.  My idol was James Dean.  I began racing for pink slips when I was fifteen … that's why everybody called me Street Racer in Viet Nam.  I was obnoxious, and didn't outgrow it until I went in the service.  I grew up fast in the army.”

 

“Manny says the same thing.  You go in a kid, and you come out an old man.  And speaking of spankings, you're due for one.  Sarah may mete out the punishment tonight.”

 

“What did I do this time?”

 

“Putting you on a breast milk diet was Sarah's idea, but when Rita tried to do what Sarah wanted, all you did was whine and whine, to the point where the only way to shut you up was to haul your ass down to the cafeteria and feed you.  Sarah is really pissed about that, so you should prepare yourself for a major ass whupping.  And I'll be cheering her on because no one enjoyed your blowouts.  Going forward, the next time you have one, we are all going to assume that you've sneaked a meal someplace.  Enjoy it, because dessert is always going to take the form of a very hard spanking.”

 

And there goes wine and hors d'oeuvres, not to mention lunch at the Faculty Club …

 

 ,  ,  ,  ,

 

Rita decided just to get it over with.  At shift's end, she headed down to the lab at what she hoped was a leisurely and discrete pace.  Neither the blood tests nor the ultrasound required fasting, and one quick phone call had confirmed that Linda could squeeze her in on the fly. 

 

In point of fact, she was in a big hurry.  Ian's crib and changing table would show up at her home a little after four, and the crew would need time to drag everything inside and assemble the crib.  Tuesday was out because she was going to be in court all day.  On Wednesday, the three of them were going to scout out breast pumps, Sarah already scrambling to find someone to cover for her for a few hours in the late afternoon.  She had promised Thursday afternoon to Ian, an honest and forthright conversation about their feelings for one another, and what they portended for the future.  Friday afternoon, they would swarm Ian's apartment and pack up the essentials; the movers would show up on Saturday morning to collect and store his few items of heavy furniture.  Though Ian didn't know it yet, on Saturday night he would be going to bed in his crib, and if Sarah had her way-- honeymoon and vacations aside-- there he would be going to sleep forever more.

 

Leaving the lab, Rita was deep in thought, her emotions running wild.  She knew that she wanted to nurse Ian, but what if the lab results confirmed that at thirty-four she could still carry a pregnancy safely to term, and give birth to a healthy baby?  Could she possibly do both, and do them at the same time?  As a physician, Rita knew the answer, knew that women who blindly relied upon breast feeding as a contraceptive weren't reading the fine print in nature's reproductive contract.  And Ian was so incredibly fertile!  Rita wasn't about to kid herself; the results of Ian's sperm test had changed everything.

 

But in what order?  Lactate first, and then get pregnant, or vice-versa?  Can I produce enough milk to nurse him at least a couple of times a day, or will I dry up?  There's no two ways around it … if the test results look good, I'm going to have to sit down with a very open-minded and very discreet ob/gyn.  I definitely do not want this to feed the rumor mill ... 

 

Rita should have known better.  The rumor mill was already buzzing before she made it to the parking garage.

 

.  .  .  .

 

Suzie decided to grin and bear it.  She needed a quick word with Amy to coordinate their plans for Saturday night.  She had the rest of the week to sort out how to be two places at once, and she was determined to take Ian up on his casual invitation to attend the mysterious Circle's version of a frat row drunk fest.  But first things first.  She needed a lift back to the house, and Priscilla Canon was headed in the right direction.  Her shift was almost over, and Suzie proposed to bury the hatchet by taking her out for an after work drink.  Let bygones be bygones, et cetera, et cetera … one hand washes the other, et cetera, et cetera.  It would be very much to the house's advantage for the campus cops to owe her a favor or two.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Be it ever so humble,” Ian chanted as he opened the door, stepped through, and with a wave of the arm and a bow from the waist, invited Vickie to enter his apartment.

 

She did a quick walk through, and then joined him in the living room, her eyes alive with merriment.

 

“No towels on the bathroom floor,” she grinned.  “No clothing scattered around the living room.  Dirty clothes neatly piled in a laundry basket in the bedroom closet.  No dirty dishes waiting in the sink.  No dust on the TV or stereo.  How did I get so lucky?”

 

“Rita must have picked up when she was here,” Ian grinned.  “Being a slob is part of the bachelor's code of honor.”  To prove it, Ian took off his jacket and tie, and dumped them on the couch.  He took off his shoes, and kicked them aside.

 

“Don't think so,” Vickie whispered as she draped her arms over Ian's shoulders, pulled him close, and kissed him deeply.

 

Ian wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her in return, a long and passionate kiss.  Both were acutely aware that they were well and truly alone for the first time.  Both wanted the moment to linger.

 

“I want to make love to you,” he said as he reached up to sweep a hand through the long waves of her blonde hair.  “But this damned diaper cover ...”

 

“It doesn't matter,” Vickie murmured.

 

“Well, at least I can get down on my knees and let my tongue do the talkin' ...”

 

“Won't happen,” Vickie sighed.  “Do you want to know why?”

 

Without waiting for an answer, Vickie kicked off her shoes, and began to strip.  She made it seductive, starting with her blouse.  Then she loosened her belt, and slid her pants down around her ankles.

 

Ian's eyes bulged.

 

“You're wearing a … a ...”

 

“A diaper.” Vickie finished the sentence for him as she reached around to unfasten her bra.  “A diaper, pink baby pants, and a locking diaper cover.  Sarah has the key.”

 

“But how … why?” 

 

Vickie let her bra fall to the floor.  “Help me with my pants,” she instructed.

 

Ian got down on his knees so that Vickie could grip his shoulders for balance as he awkwardly freed her legs from the tangle of her trousers.  Impulsively, he leaned over to kiss her feet, and then began working his way up her legs, taking his time, Vickie moaning and then gasping as he got higher and higher, to the edge of her diaper cover.

 

She fell to her knees, her breathing heavy, and reached out to clasp his cheeks in both hands.  She looked into his eyes, his feelings for her so obvious, and drove her tongue hard into his mouth.

 

“But why,” he somehow managed to ask a second time, kissing her and kissing her, and wanting to go on kissing her forever.

 

Vickie broke their embrace, and crawled over to plant her back against the couch.  She beckoned for him to join her.

 

“The price I have to pay,” she lamented.  “Sarah doesn't trust us, nor should she.  We both know where this would go without the diaper covers.”

 

“But this morning,” he objected.

 

“A small act of trust, calculated against the backdrop of a cold car in a frozen garage.  This is your apartment.”

 

“I love you, and I must be blind.  In my office … how could I have missed this?”

 

“You're obsessed with my titties, not my ass,” Vickie laughed.  “Which is a shame, because I'm quite proud of my ass!  Seriously, both Rita and I saw this coming.  Sarah braced me about  … oh, about an hour before I showed up at your office, and I'll give her credit for being honest.  She said that your tongue is off the charts, that you know it, and that you like to use it.  She was confident that, once we're alone, you would try and seduce me, and she was also certain that I would succumb.  She was right on both counts, hence the his and hers diapers, and locking diaper covers.  They'll keep us honest.”

 

“But … but … can you hold your pee for what?  Six hours?  More?”

 

“No, Ian, I can't.  We'll both be wet, and you'll be poopy … just two big babies crying out to mommy to change them as soon as she walks in the door.”

 

“Well, at least you'll get your underwear back.”

 

“Don't be too sure about that.  I know just about every bar between here and my apartment; they've been my happy hunting ground for years, and Sarah knows it.  She also knows that alcohol and STD's easily transfer to breast milk, so our decision to nurse you has consequences.  I don't know whether we can give up booze completely, but at the very least the three of us are going to have to cut back big time.”

 

“And here I was hoping ...”

 

“YOU KNOW ABOUT THIS?  YOU WERE PLANNING ON GETTING DRUNK ON THE SLY?  YOU NAUGHTY BABY, YOU!  I AM GOING TO SPANK YOU UNTIL YOUR CUTE LITTLE ASS IS FIRE RED!” 

 

Vickie was literally shrieking with delight.  It took a great deal of highly visible effort for her to get herself back under control.

 

“And as for sleeping around?  Ian, you have no idea.  I lost my virginity at fourteen.  In high school, I was the cheerleader known to put out.  Then I became a sorority slut.  I've been super careful in bed, but even so.  I'm promiscuous, Ian, and it has to stop.  It has to  stop because I love you, and you are the only man I want inside me.  The only man.  But can I resist temptation?  That's why I'm good with the diapers.  If Sarah locks me up, the problem goes away.”

 

“But what about at work?  There's no way you can hide diapers this thick ...”

 

“I won't have to.  We've agreed to no diapers on my shifts, and a heavy winter coat will conceal my diapered state going to and fro.  She's trusting me not to do something stupid inside the hospital.  I never have, but she's made it clear that even the slightest whiff of scandal will mean 24/7.  And she's not bluffing.  I'll say it again, Ian; once we all move in with Rita, Sarah is going to become a very protective mommy.”

 

Vickie tapped the carpet with her open palm.      

 

“Now, get your diaper bag, and then come here.  I want to nurse you, and since this is therapy, it's permitted.”

 

Ian hastened to obey, not quite sure what Vickie had in mind.

 

“Strip for me, baby, shirt first and then your trousers.  Take it slow … real slow.”

 

Vickie watched, licking her lips, as Ian took his time unbuttoning and then discarding his shirt and undershirt.  Pants unzipped and belt loosened, he left it for her gradually to ease them down his legs, and with her help, they soon joined the untidy pile of clothing now scattered around the living room floor.

 

Vickie unzipped the bag, and removed the bottles of breast milk.  She unscrewed one of the tops, and poured the milk onto a wash cloth. She ran it all over her breasts, leaving the open bottle to the side.  One by one, she opened the remaining bottles, preparing them for his feeding.

 

“Come to Mommy, baby.”  She held out her arms, wanting to cradle him.

 

Ian hastened to obey, his body's natural instincts once again guiding him.

 

Vickie nudged him to latch on to her breast, the skin glistening from the rich breast milk coating her hardened nipple and areola.  Her body's natural instincts were also taking control.

 

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

 

While Ian nursed, Vickie patiently repeated the trigger phrase, driving it ever more deeply into his brain.  She wanted Princess Poopy Pants to be well fed, happy with her ba bas, and eager to wrap her arms around her mommy when Sarah finally walked through the door.

 

.  .  .  .

 

Sarah was utterly exhausted, and this was only the first of the twelve hour shifts that she would have to work to balance the scales with Heidi Freymiller.  She was far too tired to cook, but the thought of Vickie busying herself in the kitchen was too absurd even to contemplate.  To say that cooking was not Vickie's passion was the understatement of the year.  No, she would be entertaining Ian, though her repertoire would be severely limited by the chastity belts to which she had condemned them both.

 

Chastity belts.

 

On a cold night, the mere thought of keeping the two of them under such absolute  control warmed her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.  She wanted both of them to be her submissives, which meant that she would have to draw up a contract for Vickie as well.  Cutting to the chase, she wanted a guarantee that neither of them would experience sexual pleasure without her consent.  And as for Rita … hadn't she told Ian explicitly that she would never be left out in the cold?  The burden of responsibility was aging Rita before her time, and Sarah planned to ease that burden significantly.  She would give Rita no say in the matter because there could be only one head of their household, and Sarah knew that she was the one best suited to assume the role.

 

For tonight, however, take out would have to do.  Ian would be getting breast milk, but Sarah was in the mood for Chinese, and she knew all of Vickie's favorite dishes.  She would eat her fill, and then she would pass the night in Ian's bed, in Ian's arms, both of them kept chaste by their thick diapers, baby pants, and locking diaper covers.  And chaste they would remain until she decided otherwise.

 

It would be a while.   

 

 

 

 

 

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