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AN HOMAGE TO VINCENT VEGA

 

THE PIG STY: AFTER THE BELL

 

“Slow night at the ER?”  Rita thought that Andrew McCullough looked a little bored.

 

“Unless the roads are icy, Thursday nights are always slow,” Andrew confirmed.  “But payday's tomorrow; that's when things will pick up.”

 

Andrew had grabbed an empty chair, and squeezed in between Amos and Priscilla.  Although there were some twenty people in their group, the rest of the bar was quiet, even subdued.

 

“Did I miss the action,” he wanted to know.

 

“Your friends beat the pants off of us,” Carlie acknowledged as she introduced herself. 

 

Soft laughter erupted all around the table.

 

“That's one way to put it,” Priscilla chortled, which sparked another round of laughs.

 

“To be fair,” Vickie pointed out, “if Carlie here had chosen to wear a diaper, we'd still be going at it.  The lady can hold her liquor …”

 

Vickie paused dramatically.

 

“... but not her bladder.”

 

Fresh laughter erupted, some of the sorority girls gleefully pounding the tables with outstretched palms.  They were all enjoying themselves at what, for most, was their first truly adult party.

 

“I saw some of you on TV earlier today,” Andrew said as he looked from one young face to the next.  “The sorority girls who ran around town stealing diapers, I mean.  What I don't get is what you're doing here.  Aren't you on probation, or something?”

 

“Turns out that you can be eighteen and enter a bar so long as you're eating and there's no alcohol on the table,” Kimberly noted.  “Here, have an onion ring.”  She pushed one of the baskets in Andrew's direction.  “And you should know that we're arguing about whether ketchup, Ranch dressing, or mayo is the best dip.”

 

“Hey, these are good!  And house made!  I've got to add this place to the list!”  Andrew was munching contentedly on the crispy, deep fried ring.  “And who needs a dip when it's this good?”

 

“Tippi came up with a neat plan to get the girls out of the house,” Ian explained as he introduced her to Andrew.  “Tip's the brains of our outfit,” he went on; “she planned all the diaper robberies, and would have got away with it except that I had a high-tech gizmo that allowed us to track the thieves down.”

 

“Which reminds me,” Julia said as she opened her purse.  She pulled out the tracking device and the receiver, flicked a switch, and sat it down on the table as it began to beep away.

 

CHEEP … CHEEP … CHEEP …

 

CHEEP … CHEEP … CHEEP …

 

“Thanks!”  Ian reached across the table, collected his gadgets, and turned it off.  “Anyway, as I was saying, we tend to do whatever Tip tells us to do.”

 

“Especially Ian,” Sarah laughed maliciously.  “I have put Tippi in charge of his diaper changes when they're on campus.  I expect him fully to cooperate with his caregiver-- or else!”

 

“Or else, what?”  Vickie was also grinning maliciously, wondering just how far Sarah would let things go.  Locking Ian's cock up in an escape proof chastity cage was suddenly beginning to sound like a good idea after all.

 

“She has my permission to spank him when he's naughty.  But Tip, there's an element of risk involved here, and when you spank him, you have be in control of your actions at all times.  I want you to come to Rita's on Saturday night, where Vickie will teach you how it's done.  When it comes to … um … hands on learning, shall we say … Vickie is the best teacher any girl could have!”

 

“I'd like that,” Tippi admitted.  “I mean … back at the house … our first diaper change went well, but I don't want him to take me for granted.  When I'm in charge, I'm in charge!”

 

Another round of laughter, and more clapping, made it clear that the women surrounding Ian were fully on board with Sarah's plan, and with Tippi serving as his caregiver. 

 

“So, Tip, Jannie laid out your game plan, but Andrew is here to take Amos home, and Sarah's planning to drive the three of us back to the sorority house.”  For obvious reasons, Ian was eager to change the subject.  “Looks like we need a new plan.”

 

“Just a few slight changes.”  Tippi glanced at Herb Canon, and inwardly smiled.  “Kim and Jackknife will still follow Mister and Missus Canon home, and help out if needed.  Mel will drive Amos' truck, and Cindy will tag along and pick her up, just like we originally planned; that way, Amos will have his truck waiting for him in the morning.”

 

“And the three of us?”

 

“Four,” Joyce hastily interjected.  “We'll give Babs a lift; she's in no condition to drive.”

 

“How did she get here?”  Tippi was trying to figure out how many cars would need drivers to get their owners home.

 

“She came with me-- and yes, I won't be driving home.  SOP is to take a taxi, and come back in the morning to collect the vehicle.”

 

“Not tonight.  Slasher, you get Joyce and Babs back to the house, and let Mom sort it out.  I'll go with Ian and Carlie in her car; Jannie, you take mine, and follow us.  That leaves Sarah to contend with aunt Vickie and aunt Batgirl.”

 

“Uh … Carlie … you okay with Babs overnighting at the sorority?”  Ian could think of only one reason why Joyce Higgins was being this solicitous, and it wasn't compassion.

 

“She's been down in the dumps lately.”  Carlie looked Ian straight in the eye.  “Waking up to a friendly face in the morning might do her a world of good.”

 

“Roll call?”

 

Carlie burst out laughing.  “Come on, Ian, we've done this before.  The shift supervisor will log her for Community Outreach.  And when you stop and think about it, isn't that what tonight was all about?”

 

“Carlie, you are one smart lady.  Would you … uh … like to come back to the house with us?  At the moment, the sorority has quite a few empty rooms.”

 

“Interesting,” Carlie mused.  “But I haven't got a toothbrush.”

 

“We'll stop and buy one somewhere along the way.”

 

“Ian,” Sarah warned.

 

“Not to worry, Sarah.”

 

“But I do worry.”  Sarah looked at Carlie.  “He has been formally diagnosed as polyamorous.  “He's fallen in love with four of us so far this month, and the fact that he hasn't fallen for a fifth is driving him to distraction.”

 

“So far,” Priscilla giggled.  “But any time now ...”

 

“And the lady in question would like you to give her a baby,” Vickie added; “but falling in love is strictly optional.”

 

“And then there's Harriet Belmondo,” Julia chimed in.  “In case you haven't noticed.”

 

“And has it escaped everyone's notice that I'm a Lesbian?”  Carlie's patience was wearing thin.

 

“Doesn't matter,” Priscilla giggled again.  “When Ian falls in love, he falls in love.  And besides ...”

 

Priscilla leaned over the table, getting in Carlie's face.

 

“Are you really sure that you're immune to his charms?”

 

“Oh, I freely admit that my body would respond to his 'charms', as you put it, but I don't confuse sex with love.”

 

“And on that note, I'm out of here,” Rita declared.  “I'll meet everyone back at the house.”

 

“Ian … Vickie … do either of you need a diaper change?”  Sarah nodded in the direction of the bar, where a stack of diapers and baby pants still loomed invitingly.

 

“We're good,” Ian said after he and Vickie had briefly exchanged glances.

 

“How about you, Priscilla-- and who has your keys?”

 

“Mom's got them, and I seem to be okay.  I mean, like, I'm a bit wet, but it's okay.”

 

“And you look so cute in your diapee,” Julia beamed.  “The way you're waddling?  It brings back memories of when you were a toddler.  I wish I had one of these locking covers back then-- you were always trying to take your diaper off and run around naked!”

 

“Mom!”

 

“Don't 'Mom' me, young lady.  It's time for my two baby girls to get their pants on, so that auntie Sarah can get you home.  Which reminds me ...”

 

Julia fished around inside her purse, and came up with the four keys.  She kept one, but passed the others to Sarah.  “Give one of these to Bernice,” she instructed, “but keep the other two for yourself.  I'll leave it to the two of you to decide if and when to give her back her big girl panties.”

 

“I'll help out,” Tippi volunteered.  “I would love to change aunt Bargirl's diapers.”

 

“You said 'aunt Bargirl', Cindy shrieked.

 

“Slip of the tongue,” Tippi nonchalantly rejoined.  “I meant 'aunt Batgirl'.”

 

“No matter,” Priscilla sniffed, “'cuz we're all supposed to give up booze after tonight.  That's why Rita has gone back to the house.  She's laying out drinks, and Vickie and I will be free to indulge-- but not Ian.  It's a test, girls.  He's made us all a promise, but now we'll see whether he can keep it.  If he can, he will be rewarded ...”

 

“... and if he can't, there will be consequences.”  Sarah was pointedly tapping her purse.

 

Ian blushed, and Tippi smiled knowingly.  She knew exactly what Sarah had in her handbag.  As long as she ended up with one of the keys, the idea of keeping him safely locked away in a chastity cage got her juices flowing.  Tippi was looking forward to her next one on one with Sarah.

 

It shouldn't be too difficult to convince her permanently to dress him in pink baby pants.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Rita!  Over here!”  Bernice had the back door open, but she had to yell to be heard over the wind that was howling across the parking lot.

 

Rita wanted to dash to the door, but the lot was covered with an icy slush that promised a nasty fall for the unwary.  She took her time, but she was still glad that she didn't have to walk around to the front.

 

“How did you ...”

 

“Closed circuit TV,” Bernice grinned.  “Nothing that happens on this property escapes the all seeing eye!”

 

“I could use one of those,” Rita laughed, “but right now I need something to drink … preferably something warm!”

 

“Will hot chocolate do the trick?”

 

“With marshmallows and whipped cream?”

 

“Naturally.”

 

“Lead on!”

 

“First, you have to earn your keep.”

 

“How so?”  Rita wasn't sure what Bernice meant.

 

“Oh, come on.  Do you think the girls have gone to bed?  They're all in the dining room, waiting for a live update from the scene of the crime!”

 

“God, how I love this place!”  Rita hugged Bernice close.  “I lived at home the whole four years,  I missed so much!”

 

“Well, let's go play catch up.  Then, you can help me with the last round of diaper changes!”

 

Bernice guided Rita into the dining room, where some three dozen of the sorority girls awaited her.  She was amused to see that at least half of them had still not bothered to put anything on over their diaper covers.

 

“It speeds up changing them,” Bernice whispered into her ear.  “And God bless Wendy!  Even Tom and Geri have gone down into the trenches.”

 

“Meaning?”

 

“Poopy diapers.”

 

“Want to hear a report from the front lines,” Rita called out.

 

Geri jumped to her feet.  “Did we win?  Did we win?”

 

“It was never in doubt,” Rita answered as cheers drowned out what she was about to say next.

 

“THE DIAPER HOUSE!  THE DIAPER HOUSE!  THE DIAPER HOUSE!” 

 

Geri was bouncing up and down, the chant echoing around the room as the other girls picked it up and ran with it.

 

“We need T-shirts … T-shirts and sweatshirts,” Tom screamed, struggling to make herself heard over the din.

 

“THE DIAPER HOUSE!  THE DIAPER HOUSE!  THE DIAPER HOUSE!”

 

“That's a great idea,” Rita yelled, almost at the top of her lungs.  “And it will be my treat.  Wear them with pride!”

 

Another roar went up from the assembly.

 

“Did our Sisters get there,” Linda wanted to know.

 

“They did,” Rita confirmed.  “Two of the opposition had pretty much passed out by the time they arrived … the men ...”

 

“Men are such losers,” someone observed.

 

No one disagreed.

 

“Your aunts were a bit wobbly on their pins, but the two policewomen … well, let's just say that they surrendered on terms.  One of them … possibly both of them … will be bedding down here tonight.”

 

“With Dad,” Wendy asked with a sly grin.

 

“Don't think so,” Rita laughed.  “Well,” she corrected herself, “at least not with both of them.”

 

Feet stomping, hands clapping, the girls fired off another round of cheers.

 

“When I left, your Sisters, our team, and several of the police were noshing on onion rings, and arguing about whether to dip them in ketchup, Ranch dressing, or mayonnaise.  Everyone was having a good time.”

 

“Mayo?  That's gross,” Abigail jeered.

 

“You can thank Jackknife and Slasher for that one,” Rita pointed out with a reasonably straight face.  “Apparently they do things a little differently up in Moose Jaw.”

 

“Anyway,” she clapped, “with a bit of tweaking, we're going with Tippi's plan to get everybody home.  The big change is that Ian's fiancee and my colleague, Sarah Haikonnen, is bringing your aunts back to the house.  And if the subject comes up when you meet her, vote for ketchup.  Sarah is from a part of the U.P. where ketchup on pasties is akin to a religious experience.  Believe me, she takes this very seriously!”

 

“Not a problem,” Linda declared.  “This isn't Iowa; no one here puts Ranch dressing on anything.”

 

“Well, your Dad does ...”

 

“Yeah, but he just moved here from California.  We have to cut him some slack.”

 

“Moving on,” Bernice cut in, “who is in urgent need of a diaper change?”

 

A half dozen hands went up around the room.

 

“Okay,” Bernice nodded.  “Let's head upstairs and get to it.  Your aunt Rita has agreed to help, and she's had lots of practice.  Diapers are a real fashion statement in the Psych ward!”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“That's one down,” Ian sighed as he watched Julia drive out of the lot, with Jackknife and Kimberly in hot pursuit.

 

“Thanks for pitching in, Andrew; getting Herb into the car was definitely a job for two!”

 

“Glad to help, Major, but that old dude needs to cut back on his drinking,” the orderly remarked.  “His liver don't need the punishment.”

 

“I'm putting it on my 'to do' list-- another soul to be saved.”

 

The door opened behind them, but Ian's jaw dropped when he saw what Slasher was carrying out to the car.

 

“Uh, Steph … uh, who are those for?”  He nodded at the diapers, baby pants and canvas cover in her hands.

 

“Babs,” Slasher casually mentioned as she walked by.  “Can't have her trying to find the toilet in the dark; this nicely solves the problem.”

 

“You got the keys?”

 

“Joyce,” Slasher called back over her shoulder.  “Carlie's given her the go ahead … says that Babs has been in a funk for the last couple of months.  She's hoping that Joyce can pull her out of it.”

 

Stephanie fished the keys out of her coat pocket, prized the car door open, and tossed her gear onto the passenger seat.  “Should be interesting.  Babs is several years older, but apparently submissive.  Can't wait to see how she responds to the diapers; Joyce has made it clear that she won't be changed until she's gone potty in her pants.”

 

“Changed? Is she planning to send her to work in a diaper?”

 

“Yep.  The bad baby has just got herself a mean Mommy!  Speaking of the Devil ...”

 

The door opened, and Babs staggered out into the cold, late night air.  Carlie was holding her upright on one side, and Joyce on the other.  Working as a team, they steered her into the back seat.  Joyce fastened her seat belt, then went around to the other side and climbed in.  This was Slasher's cue to fire up the engine.

 

“See you back at the house,” she grinned.  “And be sure and get Jack and me a couple of bottles of that tequila stuff you're drinking.  Leave them in Tip's car, and we'll take care of it later.”

 

Shaking his head in wonder, Ian burst out laughing as Stephanie exited the lot.  “God, I love these girls,” he commented to Andrew.  “They have given me a new lease on life.”

 

“Expect they gonna turn the hospital upside down,” Andrew replied.  “And that's a good thing.  Air can get a bit stuffy in there.  Every once in a while, somebody needs to open the windows.”

 

“You ready to collect Amos?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Mel's a country girl, and she does love her trucks.  Amos got a CB?”

 

“A real fancy rig.”

 

“What's his handle?”

 

“The Pinball Wizard.”

 

“Figures,” Ian laughed.  “Let's round up Amos and the girls; we are definitely going to make Melanie's night!”

 

“Keys, Sergeant Waring!  RFN!”

 

“Yes, Sir,” Amos yelped when Andrew and Ian reentered the bar.  Dropping the keys on the table, Amos caught himself in mid salute.

 

“Mel, you got a handle,” Ian called out.

 

“Does a dog have fleas,” she huffed.  “I'm The Farmer's Daughter.”

 

“Well, tonight you are going to be sitting in for The Pinball Wizard.”  Ian handed her the keys.  “Only one pickup out there with a gun rack, so I'm guessing that's your ride.”

 

Going outside, Amos led Cindy and Mel to his truck, then crossed the lot to Andrew's ride-- a slush covered beater that would have warmed Julia's heart.

 

“Got a cherry red '66 Mustang up on blocks in the garage,” Andrew proudly pointed out.  “That baby ain't going anywhere near the shit that the road crews put down in the wintertime!”

 

“Breaker, Breaker, this here's The Farmer's Daughter, sliding in for The Pinball Wizard.  Come back if you got your ears on.”  Melanie and Cindy were both giggling, waiting for a reply on Amos' state of the art CB.

 

“Farmer's Daughter, this here's The Galloping Gaucho, currently parked at a choke and puke on the Rochester highway, inbound and down.  What's your Twenty, Darlin'?”

 

“Cop bar up Nordeast, Gaucho.  We're on the run, so we figured this would be a safe place to hang out.”

 

“Steal the crown jewels, Darlin?  You a naughty girl lookin' for a spankin'?”

 

“We're the Diaper Thieves, Gaucho, and we're wearing the loot!”

 

 

“That's a big Ten-Four, Darlin'.  Caught you on the boob tube down Waterloo way.  You the one that's seven foot tall?”

 

“She's my baby sister.  Gotta run, Gaucho; catch you on the flip side!”

 

“A stick shift!”  Mel was swooning.  “I need to start dating this guy!”

 

Andrew pulled up behind them, and made a feeble attempt to gun his engine.  Cindy jumped out, and hurried off to her car.  Soon, the three vehicles were setting off in a makeshift convoy for Amos' apartment, a mere block south of his Lake Street watering hole.

 

.  .  .  .

 

With the girls finally retiring to their rooms, Bernice led Rita to the kitchen, and soon they were sitting at a small table with cups of steaming hot chocolate in hand.  It was time to get down to business.

 

“About this idea to welcome the troops home with a round of drinks,” Bernice began.

 

“You have a zero tolerance policy ...”

 

“Yes, and I've never waived it.”

 

“Must be hard when you hold receptions for their parents.”

 

“Actually, it's just the opposite.  A lot of parents have bought into the stereotype that the houses are dens of iniquity.  They accept that their daughters will come of age sexually while they're here, but they want them kept far away from drugs and alcohol.  When they learn that the sororities all have bans in place, and that we take them seriously, it takes a load off their minds.”

 

Rita sighed heavily.  “So much for putting Ian to the test.  Ah, well ...”

 

Bernice softly laughed, and shook her head.  “Rita, for a trained psychiatrist, you are amazingly naive!”

 

“It's my day for being lost.”  Rita was thinking about her earlier conversation with Sylvie.  “What am I missing this time?”

 

“The girls are keen to keep their cars in good shape all winter long.  You would be amazed at how often they troop outside to turn the engine over, get all the fluids circulating ...”

 

Rita snapped her fingers, finally making the connection.  “You don't allow liquor in the house, so the girls keep it in their cars!”

 

“We have a winner,” Bernice grinned.

 

“Bernice, aren't you being too clever by half?”

 

“Oh, I do keep a close eye, and I have had the odd conversation, but the girls are actually quite good at policing their own ranks.  They know when somebody's getting into trouble, and they can be relied upon to intervene.  I'm actually the court of last resort.”

 

“So, what are you telling me?  That I should get the three of them into my car and break out the booze?”

 

“That's one way to do it, but I had something else in mind.  Interested?”

 

“Bernice, I'm warning you, this had better be good because you are enjoying yourself way too much at my expense!”

 

“What color is this tequila that our hearty warriors are drinking?”

 

“It's colorless?  Why”

 

“I didn't say that you couldn't bring liquor bottles into the house,” Bernice smirked.  “Just liquor.”

 

Rita's jaw dropped as she grasped what Bernice was saying.

 

“Oh, my God,” she breathed; “oh, my God!  That's beyond clever!  If Ian passes the test, he'll never know that it was rigged!  If he doesn't ...”

 

“What's the penalty?  You haven't said.”

 

“A chastity cage.”

 

“A what.”

 

“A chastity cage … sort of the equivalent of the medieval chastity belt for women.  Once it's locked on, the guy can't have sex, can't masturbate, can't even have an erection until he's released.  It's foolproof, and Ian has agreed to be locked up if he fails the test.  Sarah will hold him to it; in fact, she has the cage in her purse.  She'll lock him up tonight, and she'll do so with our blessing.  Especially after what happened at the bar tonight!”

 

“Now, it's my turn … give!”

 

“Carlie?  One of the policewomen?  After the contest, we're all sitting around the table having a good time, only Ian is looking at her with puppy dog eyes.  Bernice, I swear, it's amazing to watch this unfold!  He was halfway in love with her when I left, and by now has probably gone completely over the cliff.  And she's a Lesbian!  It has to be the alcohol … has to be!  He wants her to come back to the house … wants to sleep with her … and this is all happening right in front of Priscilla, Vic, Sarah and me!  He knows that he would be putting her in danger, but he can't help himself.  With alcohol in his system, he loses all self-control.  Thank God that Carlie's gay!”

 

“I have a suggestion, although I don't think you're going to like it.”

 

“I'm game.  What do you have in mind?”

 

“If Carlie shows up, it means that she interested … a Swinger, maybe.  Take her aside, and bring her up to speed.  Then, whether he passes the test or not, send them off to bed together.  If he comes on to her in the morning, it won't be the alcohol talking.  Then you cage him, and you keep him caged.  It will be for his own good.”

 

Getting up, Bernice walked over to one of the counters, opened a cabinet door, and started rummaging around.

 

“Thought there would be a practical solution,” she remarked as she came away with a thermos and a funnel.  “Now, about that bottle of booze you've got stashed away in the trunk ...”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Ian, I would like to speak with you before we leave.  Please join us.”

 

In his absence, Sarah had shifted into what Ian increasingly thought of as her charge nurse persona.  Looking around, he also noted that both Carlie and Tippi had disappeared.  Had the three of them come to some kind of agreement while he was out in the parking lot?

 

Shrugging, Ian walked past his fiancee and, as expected, found the two women waiting for him inside Ray Reardon's office.  A fresh diaper, and a clean pair of baby pants, were laying on the desk. 

 

Sarah closed the door, and turned the lock.  Holding the key up in Ian's face, she then handed it to Tippi.

 

“This makes it official,” she declared.  “Rita, Priscilla, Tippi and I have the four keys.  When Priscilla can no longer attend to your needs on campus, Tippi will take over.  Ian, I expect you to be courteous and cooperative.  This is a long term solution for your day to day care, and since Tip is not and will not be in any of your classes, there's no reason why either of you should find it awkward.  She will be reporting to me daily, and if you give her any trouble, you may rest assured that in due course you will go over my knee.  Are we clear about this?”

 

“Yes, Ma'am.”

 

“Yes, what?”

 

“Yes, Mommy; I understand.”

 

“Good baby.  Now, it has been several hours since your last diaper change, so you are overdue.  Kick your shoes off, and take off your jacket and pants.  Tippi will change you.”

 

“Now, Ian,” she commanded when he was slow to respond.

 

Acutely aware that Carlie had a ringside seat, but not at all sure why Sarah had invited her to observe, Ian did as ordered.

 

“Now your shirt.”

 

Again, Ian silently obeyed.

 

“Your undershirt as well, please.”

 

In short order, Ian was wearing his diaper ensemble and his socks.  Nothing else.  Sighing, he eased down to the floor, and stretched out on his back.  He was thankful that the small office was neat and clean, in dramatic contrast to the bar itself.

 

“Carlie, have you ever changed a diapered adult?”

 

Staring down at Ian, Carlie's emotions were conflicted.  She was not at all sure why Sarah had all but demanded that she bear witness to her fiance's humiliation.

 

“No,” she finally answered.  “Oh, I babysat in my early teens, but it was always for babies and toddlers.”  Carlie couldn't tear her eyes away from the diaper cover, and a part of her couldn't wait to observe the ritual that was about to commence.   

 

“He called you 'Mommy',” she added as she looked up into Sarah's eyes.  “Is that how your relationship works?”

 

“On a therapeutic level?  Yes, definitely so.  Now, before Tippi begins … are you uncomfortable with this?  Do you want to step outside?”

 

“No … no, I'm fine.”

 

“Then, let's try it from the opposite direction: do you want to stay?”

 

And there it is, Carlie thought; I want to stay, but why?

 

“Why do you want to stay?”

 

“That's the question, isn't it?”

 

“Would you like to change him?  But I have to warn you … Ian's diaper changes are always messy.”

 

“No … no, I'm fine just watching.”

 

“But maybe sometime in the future you'd like to change him?  Change his poopy diaper?  Cradle him in your arms?  Feed him a nice, warm bottle of breast milk?”

 

Carlie clinched her fists as Tippi unlocked the diaper cover.  Unbidden, Ian lifted his hips, the two of them working as a team.  And she could see at a glance that the diaper was filled with runny poop.

 

“You give him breast milk,” she asked, trying to deflect Sarah and put an end to questions that felt like needles going straight into her brain.

 

“It's the mainstay of his diet.  We're preparing him for the day when all four of us are lactating, and the bottle will no longer be necessary.  Would you like to nurse him, Carlie?  Feel him latching on?  Draining the milk from your breasts?”

 

“Yes,” she hissed.  “All right?  I admit it.  I want to nurse him.  I want to change his messy diapers.  I want to baby him!  And I don't understand any of it.  I'm thirty-seven years old, and I thought all of this was behind me.  And a man!  For God's sake, I'm a Lesbian!  None of this makes any sense!”

 

“I wonder.  When he was falling in love with you?  It was fascinating to watch, but how did you feel?  It happened so fast … were you even aware?”

 

“Yes!  At first, I wasn't sure, but then I knew.  I could feel his love, almost as if I was bathing in it.”

 

Opening her purse, Sarah pulled out a packet of wet wipes and handed them to Tippi.  Fascinated by the conversation, but wisely choosing to remain silent, Tippi began methodically attacking the folds of skin where the poop was most likely to hide.  She was overjoyed to discover that she loved changing her big baby, and a poopy diaper made the moment so much more intimate.  It was good to know that he was a poop monster because it meant that she could always take her time changing him.

 

“And how did you feel?”  Sarah was relentless.

 

“Good … it felt good.”

 

“But you're gay, and he's a man.  Perhaps you're bi?

 

“No … no, I'm not.  Men don't interest me.  And I'm a Lesbian,” she corrected.

 

“And yet.  Perhaps there's a feminine side of Ian's personality, and you're responding to it?  Is that possible?”

 

“I don't know.  You should ask Rita or Vickie-- this is their turf.  I don't know.”

 

“But I'm asking you, because I suspect that you do know … that you can feel her.  She's quite real; we call her Princess Poopy Pants, this darling little baby girl who's so full of love and so trusting.  Vickie knows how to summon her, displacing Ian entirely.  I want to stress this, Carlie … Ian doesn't simply recede when the Princess surfaces, he vanishes completely.  When he is recalled, he has no memory of the period when the Princess took over.  Literally, there's nothing there.  It's a blank slate.”

 

“That sounds horrible … almost like a lobotomy ...”

 

“It's a fairly common feature of Multiple Personality Disorder,” Sarah shrugged.  “And if it helps, in the ward everything is videotaped.  Ian can review the tapes anytime he wants, although to date he has declined to do so.”

 

“Sarah, why are you telling me all this?  What is this all about?”

 

“I would have to run this by Rita and Vickie, because as you say, they're the experts.  But I would like Vickie to summon the Princess, and then pass her on to you-- a sweet, helpless one year old baby girl who needs Mommy to feed her and change her and love her.  And she's completely asexual, Carlie; you need to understand this.  So, I would remove the diaper cover when she's in your care.  It's easy enough to bring Ian back-- a French kiss is the trigger-- but if you choose to make love, it will be with the man, not the little girl.”

 

“And that's not going to happen.  Sarah, you haven't answered my question: what is this all about?”

 

“Ian?”

 

“Last Friday, Sarah pressed me to make a big decision, and I … I couldn't … and I ducked it by reliving my last battle.  It was all so real, and at some point I guess … I guess I blacked out.”

 

“There's a technical term for what Ian experienced, but that blackout lasted for almost twenty-four hours.  He will never recover the memory of what happened; it's gone forever.”

 

“Okay, but I still don't get what this has to do with Princess Poopy Pants.”

 

“The people who murdered Ian's family and stole his daughter are still out there, and when we have children, the threat to them will be no less real.  He can't protect us if he blacks out when we're under attack, so right now his therapy is focused on getting him to the point where he can make real time, life and death decisions, and carry them out.  We're making good progress on this front because he's pushing us hard to make a breakthrough, but none of us are under any illusions about the aftermath.  He's going to crash, Carlie, and he's going to crash hard.  We need to create a safe space to which he can retreat, buying us the time to repair the damage.”

 

“Princess Poopy Pants.”

 

“Princess Poopy Pants,” Sarah agreed.  “We need to reinforce this personality … strengthen it, because in the end the Princess is going to be doing a lot of heavy lifting.”

 

“And you think that, because I'm a Lesbian, I can … what?  Feel her differently?  Use my intuition to steer her therapy over here and not over there?”

 

“Carlie, it's obvious that you have feelings, but are they for Ian, or for the Princess?  Don't you understand?  If you can sense the Princess when Ian is in control, then you are light years beyond the rest of us!  Light years!  Is she happy, or sad?  Is she calm, or afraid?  Yes; your intuition, if that's what you want to call it, could guide his therapy-- speed it up, and make it more productive.  You could save us from a lot of false starts.”

 

“This is a lot to unpack.”

 

“We've got time … or you could go with your instinct.  What does it tell you?”

 

Carlie looked down at Ian, still lying on the floor.  Tippi had unfolded the fresh diaper, and slid it beneath him.  She was powdering him, and rubbing it gently into his skin.

 

“To serve and protect.”  Carlie rubbed her eyes; she was tired and confused, but she could feel the little girl inside him.  She was like a fourth presence in the room, invisible but nonetheless real.

 

“Do you know her real name … the Princess, I mean?”

 

“No.” 

 

“Anna.  She told me that she is called Anna.  She … she seems older.”

 

“It's possible.  There are indications that, when she becomes aware, she matures quickly.    It's something to explore; wouldn't you like to talk with her?”

 

Sarah held her breath, waiting … praying.

 

Carlie knelt on the floor opposite Tippi, and lightly ran her fingers through Ian's hair.  She smiled tenderly as their eyes locked.

 

“Anna,” she repeated.  “She's calling out to you … waiting for you to rescue her.  She's a very brave little girl, but very sad.  She knows that you love her, and that you are hurting because of her.”

 

“She's in danger, and the only way I can reach her is to tear down the wall that separates us.”

 

Ian shuddered.  “Come home with me,” he whispered as he reached up to clasp her hand.  “Lead me to her.”

 

“I still need a toothbrush.”

 

“Not a problem.  Bernice has toiletries, and to spare.”

 

“Then let's go home.”

 

HOMEWARD BOUND

 

“There's been a slight change of plans,” Sarah announced as the trio returned to the table.  Hopalong was regaling Vickie, Janis and Priscilla with a blow by blow description of a one hundred and twenty mile an hour pursuit that had finished in the Lowry Tunnel with the bad guys losing control of their vehicle, bouncing off one wall, turning and flipping as they slammed into the second, the car ending up on its roof, spinning round and round and round in the middle of the roadway. 

 

Vickie was absolutely enthralled, but then she had long entertained fantasies of entering the tunnel northbound at twice the recommended speed.  She reckoned that you weren't much of a driver if you couldn't take the lousy curve at eighty when it was signed for forty.

 

“Carlie has decided to spend the night with us at the house, so we'll take all three cars as planned, but go straight there.  We'll work out who's sleeping where once we've arrived.”

 

“Ah, is the party over already,” Vickie slurred.  “I don't wanna go home,” she pouted, 'cuz I'm having fun!”

 

“That's okay, Baby Girl.  We can party some more when we get home, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Vickie burped.

 

“Are you her Mommy too?”  Carlie was incredulous.

 

Ian was dazed.  The revelation that Carlie could sense Princess Poopy Pants lurking beneath what he assumed was his authentic self had left him wondering whether anything going on inside his head was real.  He felt as if he was stumbling aimlessly through a carnival house of mirrors.

 

Tippi was leading her Dad firmly by the hand.  She didn't think that he was drunk, and he certainly wasn't doing drugs, but he was showing all the symptoms nonetheless.  She wanted to take her baby home and put him to bed.

 

“Yes, Vickie is my baby girl.  Again, it's therapy … regression therapy, to be specific.”

 

“You have a lot on your plate.”

 

“Yes, but thankfully this particular dish will end up on Vic and Rita's.  Trying to figure out what's going on here would give me acute indigestion.”

 

“Is Carlie joining our household?”  Watching Ian fall in love with Carlie had been entertaining, but solely because Priscilla knew that she would gently turn him away.  Only it wasn't happening, and that wasn't funny at all.  Ian looked like he was punch drunk, and Carlie had a haunted look in her eyes that was truly scary.  Priscilla gulped, because if Carlie reciprocated Ian's feelings, they were all in deep shit.

 

“Maybe just for tonight … I don't know.”

 

Carlie was speaking in a monotone that Priscilla associated with accident victims going into shock, and she was looking at Ian as if she had never seen him before.  The alarm bells in Pris' brain were ringing louder with each passing second.

 

“Dad, are you okay?”  Janis was on her feet, also sensing that something was badly wrong.  “You look like you've just seen a ghost!”

 

Ian hugged her close.  “I'm glad you're here, Jannie; thank you.”

 

“We need to get them home,” Tippi declared.  “Rita is the only person who can sort this out.”

 

“Sort what out,” Priscilla demanded.

 

“Wait,” Sarah urged as she held out her hand to Hopalong, and thanking him for his help, bid him good night.  “Tippi's right; Rita is probably the only person who can make sense out of what Carlie just told us.  Let's go home.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“And the first to arrive are ...”

 

Bernice and Rita were in the office, watching the parking lot on the closed circuit TV screen.

 

“Joyce and Stephanie, with a straggler in tow.”  Bernice looked at Rita, figuring that she could identify their mystery guest.

 

“Office Babs Patterson,” Rita confirmed.  “She has about three dozen shots of tequila wrecking havoc on her digestive tract, but the real damage is to her ego.  She's not only gay and proud of it, but to all appearances she's also a misanthrope of the first order.  She was looking down her nose at Ian, calling him Diaper Butt, but when she didn't get a reaction, she fell into a well laid trap by agreeing to a couple of side bets.  Ian humiliated her … literally put her on her knees ...”

 

“Let me guess,” Bernice laughed.  “Ian being Ian, he promptly picked her up and dusted her off.”

 

“Fast forward to him hugging Janis with one arm while using the other to keep Babs upright until Joyce was able to take over and get her seated at our table!”

 

“Let's greet them at the back door,” Bernice suggested as she rose from her chair.  “Joyce is bisexual, but when the chips are down, prefers women.  The thing is, she's a top, and only interested in bottoms.  Is this policewoman a submissive?”

 

“No idea.  Should we ask?”

 

“Oh, I don't think that will be necessary.  If Babs has her head bowed and Janis is leading her by the hand ...”

 

“Whoa!”  Rita raised her arms in protest.  “Surely it won't be that obvious!”

 

“Watch.  Joyce is not renowned for her subtlety.  And … here they come,” Bernice concluded as she opened the door.

 

Rita and Bernice looked at each other, both of them struggling to keep from laughing.  Slasher had an arm around Bab's waist, and was struggling to keep her upright.  Joyce had a firm grip on a wrist, and was all but dragging her inside.  The diaper, baby pants and canvas cover that Joyce was clenching in her free hand made Bab's fate crystal clear.

 

“All right, you two, let me smell your breath.”  Bernice gave Joyce and Slasher the once over, and nodded in satisfaction.  “Now, your turn,” she said to Babs.

 

“Where am I,” Babs managed to ask.  “Whas this place?”

 

Bernice waved her hand in front of her face.  “She smells like a distillery-- and her clothes look like they've seen better days.”

 

“She spent some time on the barroom floor,” Rita pointed out.  “Not sure which was worse, the fresh vomit or the dried.”

 

“Who's dat,” Babs asked as she stared at Bernice; “whas this place?”

 

“Welcome to ZAP, or as it's now being called, The Diaper House.”

 

“ZAP?  Like bugs?”  Babs was swaying on her feet, the tequila taking control.  “I wanna zap Diaper Butt.  His tongue … wicked, wicked tongue ...”

 

“I see that you're well prepared,” Bernice added as she nodded at the diaper in Joyce's hands.  “Why don't you and your guest take Tricia's old room?  I've freshened it up for Rita, but she can bunk with Geri tonight.  Slasher, go with them, help Joyce tuck her in, and then bring me her clothes.  The least we can do is run them through the washer.”

 

“Come on baby,” Joyce said as she led Babs down the hall.  “Mommy will get you ready for bed, and in the morning we'll see which of us is a poopy pants!”

 

“Hang on a second!”  Rita dashed into the guest bedroom, and emerged moments later with a baby bottle in hand.

 

“Breast milk,” she explained as she passed the bottle to Joyce.  “She's going to be drinking a lot of it this weekend, so try and give her a head start.  It will also help settle her stomach.”

 

Joyce's eyes lit up, and she grinned wickedly.  “Can I come to the party?”

 

“Absolutely.  Try and keep her in diapers till then; the Lullaby ones won't be noticeable under her uniform, so should do the job.  Her partner wants you to get her to behave.”

 

“Might take a while, but I'll have plenty of time over the holidays.”  Joyce licked her lips, thinking about how much fun it would be to break in a new submissive.

 

.  .  .  .

 

Carlie reached over to clasp Ian's thigh, and give it a gentle squeeze.  They were sharing the back seat, the house now only a couple of minutes away.

 

“If it's any comfort, I'm as bewildered as you are,  Bewildered, and a bit frightened.”

 

“I keep trying to rationalize it.  I mean, I know the Princess is real; I accept that the two of us are different personalities sharing the same body.  Why shouldn't you be able to sense her?  After all, I knew that you and Babs are both gay, and I knew it before you said a word or even moved.”

 

“And you were wrong.  Babs is gay; I'm a Lesbian.”

 

“There's a difference?”

 

“Very much so.  Babs hates men, while I love women.  That's why we have never had a relationship outside of work.”

 

Ian thought about it, running the difference through his mind.  “So, for Babs life is a process of subtraction, while for you it's a process of addition?”

 

“Oh, that's very good.  Do you mind if I borrow it?”

 

“Consider it a gift, with no expectation of receiving anything in return.”  Ian patted Carlie's thigh, glad for the reassurance that he wasn't the only one lost at sea.

 

“She's so real!  That's what confused me at first.  I felt this great sadness inside you, and I wanted to reach out, but gradually I began to sense that it was not you but something separate and apart-- and female.  Your Princess Poopy Pants.”

 

“My alter ego?  A projection of my subconscious that's tuned to your wavelength?”

 

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

 

“This ever happened to you before?”

 

“Sensing a female lurking behind the male facade?  Sure, but until now, the cues have always been visual … mannerisms mostly, like the way a guy uses his hands in a conversation, or tilts his head.”

 

“Maybe that's what I was doing.”

 

“No, 'fraid not.  Your body language is very masculine, but without being aggressive or threatening.  It's easy to see why women are attracted to you, especially women who want to start families.  You're patient, thoughtful, caring and kind, and that's not a combination that we often encounter in the male animal.”

 

“And here I thought it was my diapers, and this aura of vulnerability that surrounds me.”

 

“Oh, they are definitely part of your charm.  In the office?  When Tippi was changing your dirty diaper?  I was a bit jealous.  I wanted to cradle you in my arms, rock you, do something to make all the hurt inside you go away.  You looked so helpless, and in that moment the feeling that you're just a baby who needs his mommy was overpowering.” 

 

“We're there,” Tippi interrupted.  Sarah had turned in ahead of her, and looking in the mirror, Tippi could see that Janis was trailing close behind.  “The biggest challenge of the night lies directly ahead,” she added, “and that's finding a place to park!”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Looks like we got ourselves a convoy,” Bernice laughed as she watched the three cars pull into the lot and start scrambling to find parking spaces.  “I recognize Tippi's car, but not the other two.”

 

“Sarah's beater, and I'm guessing the third car is Carlie's.”  Rita was fascinated by the closed circuit TV, and she wanted to talk with Donnie Freeman about the system that could be installed around the rural property that would be their future home.  Something hardy enough to shrug off the Minnesota winter was going to put what they were using in the Psych ward to shame.

 

“Vickie doesn't seem to be feeling any pain,” Bernice laughed.  Priscilla and the woman she presumed to be Sarah Haikonnen were more or less dragging Vic towards the back door.  They were making slow progress, which gave Ian and Carlie time to jump out and catch up, while Tippi and Janis snagged the last two spaces in the lot.

 

“I'll let them in, but we're going to need another glass or two.  Want to grab the ice while you're at it?”  Earlier, Bernice had shown Rita around the kitchen, where they had doctored the bottle of tequila that was now waiting in the guest bedroom.   

 

“First things first,” Sarah said after she and Bernice had exchanged introductions; “I need to change my baby girl's poopy diaper.”

 

“I see you come well prepared,” Bernice smiled as she nodded at the diaper bag over Sarah's shoulder.  “Hospital issue, or Lullaby?”

 

“Neither … something that I picked up at an infants and maternity wear shop at the mall yesterday.  It's thicker than Lullaby's, but not as obvious as our hospital diapers.  Since she will only be wearing ours at home, I won't have to take my little one shopping to buy her a whole new wardrobe.”

 

“My girls can't wait for Saturday to roll around,” Bernice laughed.  “Shopping at the Galleria by day, and a kegger at the Deltas by night!  Now,” she went on, “Tippi?  Janis?  Front and center.  Breathe on me!”

 

Both girls easily passed the test, in contrast to Ian and his three companions.

 

Sarah reached into her coat pocket, and pulled out one of the keys to Priscilla's diaper cover.  “Her mother wants you to take charge of her,” Sarah indicated as she passed the key to Bernice.  “Come the morning, it's for you to decide whether she stays in diapers, or gets her big girl panties back.  They're in her purse.”

 

“I'd like to change her,” Tippi cut in.  “She may be okay tonight, but she will definitely need a fresh diaper in the morning … that's if you decide to keep her diapered.”

 

“Does her mother have a preference,” Bernice asked Sarah, the grin on her face making it obvious what she expected to hear by way of an answer.

 

“Oh, she would definitely like to have her baby girl back-- or is it two baby girls?”

 

Sarah looked at Ian, wondering whether she had guessed right.  He had been studiously vague about the drinking contest,  but she was certain that helping Amos' friends wasn't the only item on the agenda.

 

“I have to talk to Julia, but I thought it went well,” Ian conceded.

 

“I wanna party,” Vickie pouted.

 

“Would you like your baby sister to change your diapee,” Sarah cooed.

 

“I wuv my sister,” Vickie grinned.  “Pris ...illa.”  Clumsily, she threw an arm around Priscilla's shoulders, and hugged her.

 

“Can you help Officer Batgirl here get her big sister into the guest bedroom,” Bernice asked Carlie as they belatedly introduced themselves.

 

“What am I missing,” Rita called out as she hurried down the corridor.

 

“My pleasure.  And Ian?  I must say: this was incredibly well played.”

 

“Uh … okay.”  Ian wasn't sure which of his various schemes Carlie was alluding to.

 

“Oh, come on!  You all but deposited Doctor Robinson in Herb Canon's lap, and you and Julia spent much of the night symbolically high fiving one another, you were both so pleased at the way it was going.  I couldn't figure it out until Sarah said that all of you are working to repair the damage that Vickie suffered at her parents' hands.  Then it became obvious-- you and Julia are conspiring to win Herb over.  You want the Canons to adopt her, don't you?”

 

A collective hush fell over the small crowd of women gathered around Ian.

 

“My God,” Sarah breathed, she and Rita equally stunned by the sheer audacity of Ian's thinking.

 

“Talk about cutting the Gordian Knot,” Rita added, shaking her head in wonder.  “'Incredible' doesn't begin to cover it.”

 

As the truth dawned, Priscilla broke out into an enormous smile, and she turned to grip Vickie hard by the shoulders.  “Vic,” she gushed, “did you hear that?  Would you like to become my big sister for real … join our family?”

 

“Can I?”  Vickie was swaying on her feet, the alcohol competing with the realization that there might be a way finally to escape the nightmare that was her past.

 

“Can I,” she repeated, her eyes pleading with Ian to tell her that this was real, and not some cruel joke.

 

“In Minnesota, the procedure looks to be cut and dried.  The three of you go to court.  The judge asks the Canons if they wish to proceed with the adoption.  He asks you the same question.  When the three of you say 'yes', that's it.  You walk out of the courtroom Victoria Canon.  On Wednesday, I want to go over this with your lawyer friend, Mark what's his name ...”

 

“Chambrey.”

 

“... because it looks like there's not even a requirement that your birth parents be notified.”

 

“You and my Mom.”  Priscilla was so happy that she was on the verge of tears.  “All my life, I've wanted ...”

 

She flung herself into Ian's arms.  “Oh God, how I love you!”

 

Ian reached out to pull Vickie into his embrace.  She was weeping silent tears.

 

“Interesting thing about us polyamorous guys,” he whispered.  “Some of us trade in one woman to make room for the next, and some of us simply refuse to let go.  We love for a lifetime.  And that's what the four of you are dealing with-- a guy who is going to love you with all of his heart until the day he dies.  'Fraid you're stuck with me.”

 

“Lucky us,” Priscilla choked, her voice caught somewhere between laughter and tears.  “Lucky us.”

 

“It has to be this way.”  Looking at Sarah, knowing that she would support him to the hilt, Ian laid it out.

 

“The children that we have … this won't work if you make the child you bring in to the world your child.  It only works if they are all our children … one gigantic family.  And children need grandparents to dote on them, spoil them rotten.  Sarah's family lives in the U.P.  Vic is alienated from her family, and Rita has never even mentioned her parents' names.  Do you understand, Pris?  Your parents are going to be grandparents to all of our children, not just yours.  Adopting Vic is just the first leg of this journey; I need you and your mom to bring your dad along.”

 

“Don't worry.  When Mom and I team up, Dad always gives in.  It will take him a while to catch up, but he'll get there.  I love you.”

 

Ian kissed her, and then he kissed Vickie. 

 

Ian felt good.  It was all out in the open now, and he felt good.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“I don't wanna wear no stinkin' di … per,” Babs whined.  “I'm no baby … I use da toilet … like … like … like a big girl!”

 

“It's all right, baby.” 

 

Joyce winked at Slasher.  They had somehow managed to get the drunken policewoman up the stairs and down the hall to Tricia Kaplan's old room, much to the amusement of sisters who had come pouring out of their own rooms to watch the parade pass by.  They had deposited her on the bed, and Joyce was on the floor attacking her shoes and socks while Slasher relieved her of her jacket and blouse.

 

“Steph will help with your bra while I see to your pants and panties,” Joyce soothed.  “Your clothing stinks, but we're going to run everything through the washer so that it will be nice and clean in the morning.”  A few moments later, Babs was as naked as the day she was born.

 

Slasher bundled up her clothes, grabbed her shoes, and headed downstairs.  She almost collided with Linda Strickland, who entered the room just long enough to leave large containers of baby oil and baby powder on the headboard.  Grinning maliciously, Linda gave Joyce a thumbs up, and exited as quietly as she had entered.

 

“Now for your diaper,” Joyce said brightly.  She spread it out on the bed, and moved the baby powder and baby oil to lean against a pillow, where they would be within easy reach.  The bottle of warm breast milk still sat atop the headboard, out of Babs' line of sight.

 

“I don't wanna wear no stinkin' di … per,” Babs sniffled.

 

Exasperated, Joyce kicked off her shoes, and stripped.  Hands on hips and wearing nothing but her diaper, baby pants and cover, she got in Bab's face.

 

“This is how we all dress for bed in The Diaper House,” she pointed out as her boobs dangled inches away from Babs' mouth.  “And you're no different!  You are not going to go wandering around in the dark looking for the toilet and waking everybody up.  It … is … not … going … to … happen!  Now, lift your butt so that I can get you dressed, or I am going to put you over my knee and give you a spanking that's long overdue!  Is that what you want, baby girl, hmm?  Do you want your Mommy to spank you?”

 

Joyce suspected that Babs loved being spanked, and she was prepared to carry through with her threat.  The woman was submissive but naughty, everything about her screaming that she craved discipline.

 

“No spank,” Babs sniffled again.  “I be good.”

 

“Then scooch back so that I can get this diaper under you,” Joyce ordered.

 

Babs slid higher on the bed, and when commanded, raised her hips so that Joyce could position the thick hospital diaper beneath her.

 

“You're such a good baby,” she cooed as she fingered Babs' clit.  “All that nasty hair is gone!  And it's going to stay gone!  I want my baby girl to be nice and smooth for Mommy.”

 

Babs sighed deeply, and raised her hips, longing for Joyce's fingers to continue their journey of exploration.

 

Joyce grabbed the bottle of baby oil, and poured a generous dollop onto Bab's pubic area.  She began massaging it into the skin, taking care to tease her clit with every pass of her fingers.

 

Babs moaned, her clit responding for the second time in as many hours to the skillful touch of her tormentor.

 

“Does baby want to cum for her Mommy,” Joyce teased, leaning down to whisper in Babs' ear.

 

“Oh, God, yes!  Please!  Yes!”

 

Joyce began massaging the inside of Babs' thighs, inviting the policewoman to spread her legs.

 

“But you already came for Daddy, didn't you?  I heard you screaming all the way out in the parking lot!”

 

Without warning, Joyce smacked Bab's exposed thigh hard enough that it sounded like the crack of a rifle.  Startled, she yelped in pain.

 

Joyce grabbed Bab's ankles and pushed on her legs, driving her knees into her chest.  Holding her with one hand, Joyce reached for the baby powder and began sprinkling it liberally on Bab's bottom.  When her bottom was a snowy white, Joyce lowered her legs and went to work on her privates.  She spread the powder around, but her fingers continued to tease Babs' clitoris.

 

Joyce abruptly stopped when her victim started to moan out loud.  Pulling the diaper up, she used four pins firmly to fasten it, the sheer bulk of the fabric forcing Babs' legs apart.  She worked the vinyl pants up her legs, and Babs lifted her butt so that Joyce could slip them into place.  The canvas diaper cover offered more of a challenge, but Joyce was up to it, and she stepped back with a satisfied grin on her face when she felt the lock engage.  Since she had left the four keys in the car, Babs was helpless-- and Joyce meant to keep her that way.  She would not even consider releasing her captive until Babs had gone potty in her diaper.

 

Bernice had made up only the one bed, and that was very much to Joyce's liking.  Locking the door and turning out the light, she crept into bed and cradled Babs in her arms.  She reached for the bottle and pushed the nipple into Babs' mouth, and instinctively Babs began to suckle on the warm breast milk.  When she was finished, Joyce offered her one of her teats, and Babs willingly latched on, nursing quietly as she finally relaxed and settled into Joyce's arms.  In time, both drifted into a deep and dreamless sleep.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Bernice, I am very impressed.  Diaper pail, changing pad, wipes, powder and lotion … the only thing missing is a crib.”

 

Sarah was hovering over Vickie, who was lying on the changing pad.  She was patiently wiping the messy poop off of Vic's bottom; it was clear that she had been sitting in her filth for quite some time, and it amazed Sarah that she hadn't said a word.

 

“We do have a crib down in the basement,” Bernice pointed out.  “It's broken down, but it can be easily reassembled once we haul the parts upstairs.  Occasionally, it comes in handy.”

 

Sarah looked around the guest bedroom.  It was large enough to house a standard king sized bed, and even a couch and coffee table.  She considered the en suite bathroom to be an especially nice touch.  But what really caught her eye was the large tray sitting by its lonesome on the coffee table.  The bottle of what appeared to be Don Julio Blanco sat side by side with a bowl of ice and a pitcher of limeade.  Bernice had sliced up a lime, and set out a small bowl of margarita salt.  While she had never tasted one, Suzie had assured her that margaritas were now all the rage at sophisticated parties, the once obscure Mexican cocktail having exploded onto the scene with Jimmy Buffett's smash hit Margaritaville a mere two years earlier.

 

Looking down at Vickie, who was nursing on a bottle of breast milk, Sarah smiled.  Her baby girl had her legs spread wide, and she looked so infantile that it warmed her heart.

 

“She looks angelic,” Tippi whispered as she came up to stand alongside Sarah.  “If you need help, I would love to babysit her … her and Priscilla both.  Our three adorable babies,” she added, thinking of Ian.  “Although I do think that they would look so much better with pink baby pants.”

 

“Next trip to the mall,” Sarah whispered in return.  “And wait until you see some of the baby dresses in Ian's layette.  Adorable doesn't begin to describe Princess Poopy Pants.”

 

“I want to meet her, and look after her.  How old is she?”

 

“A very young toddler … first steps … first words.  A helpless baby girl.”

 

“Wonderful.  The thought of breast feeding her ...”

 

“Sends chills down my spine.  It's the same for all four of us.”

 

“And you are all going to breast feed him.  So, this is really the end?  No more alcohol after tonight?”

 

“Correct.  And Ian is already finished; the drinking contest was his last hurrah.  We'll tempt him, but if he pours a drink, he goes straight into the cage.”  Sarah nodded at the tray sitting on the coffee table.

 

“I think you should lock him up anyway,” Tippi murmured; “the way he fell in love with Carlie … was it just the tequila talking?”

 

“I'm thinking about it, but this is a group decision, and right now Vickie's not up for it.  We'll have to wait.  Besides, I want Carlie and Ian to spend the night together.  We need to find out whether it was the alcohol talking in her case as well.”

 

“Oh, I hadn't thought of that.  Tomorrow morning?  If she can no longer sense the Princess, it would suggest that the alcohol opens a door that's otherwise shut.”

 

“That's what I'm afraid of,” Sarah conceded.

 

“Wha,” Vickie whispered, taking the baby bottle out of her mouth.  “Carlie and the poopsy Princess?  How?”

 

“Don't know, Baby Girl; don't know.  Hoping that you and Rita have the answer.”

 

“Tuck … ila, maybe.”  Vickie went back to nursing on her bottle.

 

“Mom looks so happy,” Tippi whispered, looking back over her shoulder.

 

Bernice was sitting on the couch.  Priscilla, fighting to stay awake, was leaning against her.  Bernice had draped an arm over her shoulder, hugging her close.

 

“I wonder if she would like to adopt our Dad,” Tippi went on.  “What he said?  About children needing grandparents?  That's the sweetest thing I've ever heard, and Mom needs a real family, not just us.”

 

“That's worth thinking about-- they're just the right age.”

 

Taking a deep breath, Sara decided that it was worth the risk.  She finished powdering Vic, then pinned her into one of the thick hospital diapers for the night.  She pulled up her baby pants, but chose to set the canvas diaper cover aside.  She wanted Ian to know that Vic was his, right here and right now.  All he had to do was turn away from the liquor bottle that glistened in the light.

 

Leaving Tippi to watch over Vickie, Sarah crossed to the couch, and squeezed in alongside Priscilla.

 

“Tippi just had an extraordinary idea,” Sarah began as she looked straight at Bernice.  “How would you feel about adopting Ian as your son?”

 

“It was the first thought that came to mind when he dropped that bombshell,” Bernice softly replied.  “But then, a part of me already thinks of him that way.  My husband and I talked about having children … tried ... and Ian is everything that we hoped our son would turn out to be.”

 

“That would make you my mother-in-law,” Sarah smiled.  “I would like that … I would like that very much.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

Rita was busily drumming her fingernails on the table top, a nervous tick that had long told her colleagues that she was wrestling with a difficult problem.

 

Carlie, Ian and Rita were in the dining room, and they had the whole place to themselves.  Ian had sent Janis off to bed, after first pressing to make sure that she didn't need a diaper change.  Janis had assured him that she was dry, and would be fine until morning.

 

“I want to make sure I've got this right,” she began.  “Like the rest of us, you could see that Ian was falling in love with you, and you were responsive.  Being lesbian, however, your reaction confused you.  It only made sense when you began to feel the female presence that we call Princess Poopy Pants.  Is that it?”

 

“Yes.  That's admirably precise.”

 

“And you are absolutely certain that you were not picking up on visual clues?”

 

“Correct.”

 

“And when the four of you retreated to the office, could you still sense her?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And was it her that you wanted to baby, or Ian?”

 

“Ian.”

 

“Seems odd.”

 

“Why?  Rita, in that moment all I saw was a helpless baby who was hurting, and I wanted to make the pain go away.  Don't you understand?  My feelings were maternal, not sexual-- or do you suffer from the misconception that a Lesbian cannot get all warm and fuzzy around baby boys?”

 

“Okay … let's move on to what the Princess said … 'they call me Anna'.  Carlie, please think carefully: was this a feeling, or did you hear her voice?”

 

“A voice.  She spoke to me … 'they call me Anna'.  She wanted me to know her name.”

 

“And who are 'they'?”

 

“No idea.  Rita, it's very hard to explain what happened.  She spoke to me, but she was deeply sad.  What I took away from her is that she is acutely aware of Ian's feelings, and believes that she is responsible for them.”

 

“El Don de Dios,” Ian murmured; “the gift from God.  You run into the phrase a lot in Central America-- mothers who somehow sense when an absent child is hurting.  It looks like we're dealing with the other side of the coin.”

 

“What we call a sixth sense.”  Rita nodded in understanding.  “No one knows how it works, but there's no denying the reality.  And we've concluded from the outset that the Princess is aware of Ian, although he is not aware of her, and that she is a vessel for his pain.  However, you two are not related … you've never met before … so how did you get onto this circuit?  How?”

 

Deep in thought, Rita climbed to her feet and began pacing around the room.  Intuition, precognition … psychiatry had mapped so much of the human mind, and yet it comprehended so little.

 

“Okay … okay.  Let's go back to first principles.  Princess Poopy Pants is not you, Ian; she's an autonomous personality who shares this body with you.  But who is she?  We've been using her to set the stage for your breakthrough, so we've never bothered to address the question: who is she?”

 

Rita snapped her fingers, and turned to stare at Carlie.  “Is she here?  Right now?  In this room?”

 

“No.  She's sleeping.”

 

“WHAT??”  Rita was absolutely stupified. 

 

“For God's sake, Rita.  What's so hard to understand?  She's a little girl, it's late, she's tired, and she's gone to sleep.  Maybe after a long, hard day this body is worn out.”  Carlie reached over to clasp Ian's arm.

 

“You're right, and I apologize.  It's been a long day for all of us.  But maybe there's a light at the end of the tunnel.  When we put Ian into a deep sleep, he's groggy when we wake the Princess up-- groggy, and almost pre-verbal.  She can only manage a word or two, like a twelve to fourteen month old.  But as she becomes more alert, you can see her getting older.  She can say her name like an eighteen month old would.  Then she adds to her vocabulary and constructs simple sentences-- what we expect of children in their twos.”

 

Rita resumed her seat, readying her pitch.

 

“But referring to people in the third person?  That's a level of abstraction that sets in around age four, which is well past where we've paused.  Ian, I want Vickie to put you under, and this time, we'll give the Princess a longer run.   Carlie, since the two of you are already in some form of contact, I'd like you to take over and see if you can actually converse with her … ask her questions.  Who is she?  Where does she come from?  Where is she?  Really basic stuff.  You willing?”

 

“I am.  Rita, you and Sarah are on the same page.  She also wants to see where this will lead.”

 

“Then let's join the others.  There's a test that Ian has to take, and then it's time for all of us to go to bed.  Carlie, unless you strongly object, I would like the two of you to sleep together.  The idea is for him to wake up in your arms, and for you to reach out to the Princess when his mind is most vulnerable.  If it makes you more comfortable, let your maternal instinct run wild and treat him like an infant.  This is not, repeat not, a sexual dalliance.”

 

“That would help,” Carlie admitted.  “Ian, would you like me to be your Mommy for a few hours?”

 

“I'd love it.  And Carlie?”

 

He was staring into eyes that were warm and inviting.

 

“I love you.”  

 

 

 

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