From Jo to Joella (Ch. 15 added 6/25/20)

A few years ago, an author posted quite a few installments of a story based in a setting of their own creation and invited others to write stories in that setting as well. It apparently never caught on, but I found it extremely intriguing. So, I figured I’d pen such a tale and post chapters of it here. I tried to recap the gist of the setting itself so readers wouldn’t have to hunt down the original story.

I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 1

Today marks the third anniversary of my parents relocating to Preston, Kansas. It was on that day that my life changed forever. How could an almost-eighteen-year-old girl’s life be transformed so completely merely by moving to a new city? Well, that’s kind of a long story. But since you obviously came here to read a story, I’m guessing you won’t mind too much. Settle in and get comfy, because you may be here a while.

So, back to my question of how something so minor could create such an upheaval in one’s life. The answer is both simple and complex. You see, Preston’s not exactly what could be defined as a normal Midwestern city. Far from it!

I don’t claim to know all the particulars, but here’s what I DO know. Up until about a decade and a half ago, Preston was a town that was circling the drain. It had once been quite a hub of activity, thanks to a major railroad company making it their primary headquarters back in the day. The city picked up even more steam during World War II when its small ammunition plant received a massive government contract and exploded (no pun intended), creating more jobs than ever. But by 2005, the railroad had long since moved their main offices to Texas and the ammunition plant had gone belly-up, leaving behind a city that was a shell of its former self. Jobs were scarce, crime had risen and more citizens abandoned ship with each passing month. Like I said, Preston was circling the drain.

That’s when a mysterious man from the deep south came into the picture. His name was Lucas Budd and he was freaking loaded! More cash than anyone could spend in five lifetimes. The rumor goes that he also had government connections in high places. And by that, I mean that practically all the bigwigs owed him for something or he had incriminating dirt on them. Or both. Who knows? The point is that he was able to use money and influence to gain total control of Preston. Total control.

Here’s where things start getting crazy, but hang with me, okay? The total control I mentioned went way beyond anything that had been done before. Lucas Budd enacted laws of his own creation that even contradicted the Constitution itself. He must have caught a lot of government folks in the most lurid, illicit affairs imaginable to have pulled this off! He created a Patriarchy-based society that existed solely within the confines of a small city. It was extreme stuff too; not just the way it was in the 1950s. In a nutshell, women had no rights and had to be owned by men. The unowned women were essentially placed in the custody of the city government and, well, it wasn’t pretty. Oh, sure, there were laws that placed limits on what men could do to the women they owned, but that didn’t detract from the sickening fact that women were property.

So, Lucas Budd and his family ruled over Preston. By all accounts, Budd comes off as a real charmer. You know the type. Classic Southern gentleman. But it’s all a facade. He’s one fucked up dude. I mean, that’s pretty plain to see, right? Some even claim that he possesses superhuman abilities of some vague nature. Whatever. His wife, Shyla, is some pillar of the community or some such and everyone just adores her. She organizes events, sets up fundraisers, blah, blah, blah. He has kids and a brother too, but I don’t know much about them.

Can you see where this is all going? If not, you will momentarily.

Now that the stage is set, let’s meet the cast of the fucked up theatrical play that is my life, starting with yours truly, Joella Myers. I used to go exclusively by “Jo”, but I’m no longer allowed that luxury. I really miss it too. It may not sound like much of a big deal to you, but it was an important part of my identity. I was “Jo”. Jo, the fearless tomboy. Jo, the headbanger chick. Jo, the badass who could handle just about anyone in a fight. Jo, the… well, you get the idea. I was a jeans-and-tee-shirt kind of girl and I was happy with that. I found my niche. My parents didn’t care much for all that, though, and attempted to dissuade me whenever they could. Eventually, they gave up, which made my life a lot easier. What can I say? I’m a rebel.

Since we’re already on the subject, let’s talk a bit about my parents. My father, Kenneth Myers, was raised in Preston, but his parents headed to the east coast when he was twelve years old. That was in 1992 or so, long before Lucas Budd infected the town with his patriarchal rubbish. Dad did okay for himself, though. He went to community college, which is where he met my mother, and then went on to business school. He managed a clothing store for quite a few years, but left that job when he decided to uproot and move back to Preston.

My mother, Lillian Myers, is pretty much the exact opposite of me, in that she’s docile and feminine to the point of it being annoying sometimes. She defers to Dad on almost every matter. Sometimes I think she’d have been better suited to having grown up in the 1950s when women were expected to dote on their husbands and all that nonsense. Still, it’s hard to blame her, as her parents were into gender roles big time. So it was really all she ever knew. She has never worked as far as I’ve ever heard, but she sure keeps one hell of a spotless house.

Then, there’s my younger sister, Megan, who’s just one month shy of being three years younger than myself. Megan is a bit more complicated than my parents. On one hand, she’s quite girly like my mother, but on the other hand, she has some of my father’s dominant personality traits. She’s not too big on Patriarchy though, which is her one saving grace in my eyes. Like most siblings, our relationship had its ups and downs when we were young, but when she turned thirteen, my parents decided that she would be left in charge when they were away. That changed our relationship for the worse… and that’s an understatement!

Look, I know Megan was the quintessential good girl, always doing “the right thing” (whatever the hell that is) and obeyed every rule my parents instated. And, yeah, I also know that I had gotten into trouble at school prior to their decision, and once even had a cop bring me back home at three o’clock in the morning when a couple of friends and I snuck out of the house after curfew, but come on. She was three years younger than me, for shit’s sake! You can imagine how that rule settled with me. I already had a chip on my shoulder because she was so much taller and more developed than I was. So this was the straw that broke the camel’s back. From then on out, my behavior took a nosedive. In fact, I avoided home as much as possible, especially on weekends. I started hanging out a lot with Byron Kimball, a trans male whose parents were super lax. I went to school with him, though he was in the grade ahead of me. He was super “book smart” and kind of weird. He was into metal and horror flicks too, so we became friends about as soon as he moved to town. My parents didn’t like Byron much. They said his parents should “take a hand” with him and make him live as a girl. I hate that old fashioned mentality so much!

So that was my life up until two months before we packed up and moved to Hell. I mean Preston. Same thing. I know what you’re thinking. “There has to be SOME catalyst that caused them to pull up stakes so suddenly.” You’d be right in thinking that and I can’t tell you how many times I wished I could rewind time and do things differently.

Without going into all the particulars, I’ll just say that Byron and I ended up at a party that was raided by the police and, well, we were caught. The fact that we were both heavily intoxicated may have had something to do with why they managed to snag us so easily. All hell broke loose when the officers delivered me to my parents’ doorstep only for me to puke in the foyer. I was sent to bed and told that this would be dealt with in the morning. Pretty much standard issue parent crap. Or so I thought.

My hungover ass was brought downstairs at the buttcrack of dawn by Megan. Mom and Dad were waiting for me in the living room with their “pissed off and disappointed” faces on. I knew I was in for it, but I had no idea just HOW much I was in for it. They explained that they weren’t going to stand by and watch me send my life into the gutter or some overly dramatic drivel like that. I was on a bad path and yadda, yadda, yadda. That’s when they hit me with the whole Preston thing. I was floored. How could a town like that even exist? We live in the 21st century and women have long since obtained our freedom.

They went on to say that there would be big changes in store for us as a family, but that everything would be much better in the long run. They didn’t go into any detail whatsoever and wouldn’t divulge more no matter how much I pried. They kept everything under wraps for a couple of months. All I knew was that we were going to be moving to a town that strips women of our hard-earned rights. There was never any mention of the rest of their plans.

Even my sister was pissed about the prospect of moving. After all, she wasn’t into patriarchy and had made a lot of friends. Of course, she blamed me more than my parents, but in retrospect, I can kind of understand that. To this day, I have no idea how much information they gave Megan. All I know is that the closer moving day we got, the more terrified I was. Mom and Dad spoke in hushed, conspiratorial voices, often while huddled around their laptop. Something major was happening and not knowing about it just about killed me.

What kind of awful fate awaited me in the city of Preston, Kansas? The answer to that question was far more intense than I ever could have imagined.

Chapter 2

As we moved closer to moving day, I devised an idea that I thought might very well work. My eighteenth birthday was going to be a bit more than two months away and once I reached that magical age, I would be free to do whatever the hell I wanted. In fact, I wondered if that was the reason my parents were putting a rush on moving in the first place. They knew if they waited until I was an adult, I wouldn’t have to move there with them. If they could get me to Preston before then, however, I would be forever under my father’s thumb. After all, women in Preston have to have an owner, thus effectively making them minors for as long as they live. That’s the simplified version of it anyway.

My plan was simple. Beautifully simple. I would play along and act like I planned on going with them, only to ditch at the last second and go into hiding until my birthday. Then it would be too late for them to make me step foot in Preston. Problem solved. The devil is always in the details, though, so I grasped that some major preparation would have to be done. With time being of the essence, I had to get busy!

The first order of business was to secure a place to hide out for a couple of months or a bit less by that time. I recalled Byron talking about a house that his parents inherited when his grandfather passed away a couple years back. It was way out in the boondocks, ten miles from anything resembling civilization. Best of all, his family never really went out there. It couldn’t have been more perfect. Needless to say, it didn’t take much convincing to get Byron to agree.

With that taken care of, I turned my attention toward gradually gathering supplies to take with me. This wasn’t as easy as it sounds, especially because Megan was frustratingly observant of everything that went on in the house. Each day after school, I stopped by the store with Byron to purchase canned foods and the like. Actually, I gave him the money and he purchased it, just in case my parents or sister happened to spot us. I was very careful.

The next portion of preparation was the easiest. I simply protested, pouted and grumped about relocating to some backward-ass town that legalizes treating women like shit. They knew me too well and if I didn’t kick up a fuss about it, they would have become suspicious. So I played my role of rebellious teenager being forced to move to a town I hated, all the while smiling wryly inside, secure in the knowledge that I wasn’t going anywhere near Preston fucking Kansas.

I bided my time until the day of the big move. My parents had already removed me from my school a couple days earlier, so I couldn’t just leave from there and go to my new hideaway. I called Byron and told him to meet me at the tiny, overgrown park (if you could even call it that with a straight face) three blocks from my house. Luckily, he kept all my supplies in the back of his rusty old VW van, so we wouldn’t have to concern ourselves with loading it all up at the last second. My family was busily loading the moving truck, which was my big chance. Distraction was my best friend. I slipped out the seldom-used back door, cut through some yards and found Byron waiting for me at the alleged park, leaning on “Big Corndog”, the junky van he was so proud of. I have no idea why he named it that and was, frankly, a bit afraid to ask.

“Ready for your adventure?” A wide smile adorned his face. Byron loved anything that could be construed as rebellious or against the grain. He was slightly diminutive and stocky, with a twinkle in his eye anytime orneriness was afoot. His hair was short and sometimes looked dark brown, while other times looking as black as coal.

“Fuck yeah,” I replied, hopping in the passenger seat and lobbing my duffle bag over my shoulder and into the back. Chucking the duffle bag was no easy task for me, given that I was even shorter than Byron and lacked the broadness of his build. I was ridiculously small in stature, a fact that I always hated.

“Buckle up, Puke. We’re getting the fuck outta dodge.” I hated the nickname “Puke” for a while, mainly because of how he arrived at calling me that. When drinking, I have a two beer limit before I start blowing chunks. It’s like clockwork. I’m okay after polishing off two cans, but is I so much as take a sip from a third can, you’d better get me a bucket to hurl into or there’s going to be an epic mess.

The drive was pretty fun and once we exited the city limits, I was able to fully relax. Up until that point, I was still scared that we’d get busted. With Dying Fetus cranked as loud as Byron’s rattly old speakers allowed, we ventured out into the next chapter of my life. I felt relieved and maybe even a little proud of myself for managing to coordinate such an elaborate scheme to ensure my freedom. I had won. Joella Myers: 1. Kenneth and Lillian Myers: 0.

Byron wasn’t kidding when he said the house was out in the middle of nowhere. It was a ramshackle place, though most of that was due to the encroaching weeds and the paint that the elements had their way with the last couple of years. From what I could tell, it was structurally sound, which was the most important part. An old, dilapidated barn stood toward the back of the property. A few large trees dotted the area, giving a nice bit of shade.

“Here it is,” said Byron, getting out of the van and slamming the creaky door, “Casa de my grandparents.” He seemed mildly proud.

“Cool. This will be the perfect place to hunker down until my B-day.”

He unlocked the side door of the house and entered, with me following right on his heels. Aside from layers of dust, the interior of the structure was much nicer than I could have imagined. Sure, it smacked of “old people” decor (complete with wood panelling), but I wasn’t too concerned with aesthetics. It would be a safe place to hole up for a while. That’s what mattered most.

Byron clicked the light switch and seemed surprised that the electricity was still on. “Huh,” he muttered, “I’m surprised Mom and Pops keep the light bill paid. They’re normally fucking cheapskates. I guess I brought along all those candles for nothing.”

He and I spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning the place up. By the time we were done, it was totally liveable. Cozy even.

“Alright, I need to jet back to my house so that no one will be the wiser. If you need anything, text me if you can get any bars. Otherwise, smoke signals are an option.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I owe you big time for this.”

“Yeah, you do,” he quipped, flashing that smartass smile of his. “I’ll slip back out here in a few days to check on you and bring some more reading material.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it.”

Byron started to leave, but poked his head back in. “Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. There’s only one other house around here and it’s just down the road at the end of the mile section. They were friends of my grandparents, but I have no idea if they’re even still alive. They were like super old. Even older than my grandparents. So, y’know, just kind of keep a low profile.”

“No worries. It’s not like I was going to have big, loud parties out here or anything. Shit, who would I even invite?”

He looked deep in thought. “Make no mistake, the wildlife around here love to party. One might even say they’re… wait for it… party animals.”

“Ugh, you suck at comedy,” I said, tossing a sponge I used to clean the sink at him.

“Later, Puke.” With that, he left and I was all alone. All alone in an unfamiliar house, in an unfamiliar area and with potentially unreliable means of communication. The gravity of the situation kind of hit me all at once. My parents were going to be terrified that something bad happened to me. I really did hate that thought. But do you know what I hated even more? The thought of being property for the rest of my life. Yeah, that was something I hated far worse.

I would ride out the storm and do all the necessary damage control on my birthday, when I was safe from oppression.

Or at least that was the plan. Somehow, things never seem to work out the way I want them to.

Chapter 3

The next few days were lonelier that I anticipated. I had no outside communication and my only entertainment came in the form of novels and listening to my old school boombox. There was an ancient 1970s television in the living room, but it wouldn’t pick up any stations at all. My phone was useless from anywhere in the house and believe me, I mean ANYWHERE. I tried every spot in every room. That’s how desperate I was.

Byron finally showed up four days into my sabbatical, for want of a better word. Man, was he a welcome sight! He could tell I was happy to see him when he walked in because I ran up and gave him a huge hug.

“Damn, Puke, careful with the spine, okay?”

I eased up on the hug. I knew he was joking, but thought maybe I was getting carried away. “Sorry. I’ve just been deprived of human interaction for so long.”

“It’s only been four days. You sure you’re gonna be able to hack it for a few more weeks?”

“Yeah,” I replied, plunking myself down onto one of the kitchen chairs, “it’s just really boring out here.”

“I’ll bet. I used to come out here for a week or two during summer breaks, so I feel your pain. After a week, I was dying to get back to civilization. And that was when they had cable TV hooked up out here and two people to converse with. Plus, running water. So I can only imagine how sucky it is for you. Just keep your eye on the prize. Before long, you’ll be in the clear.”

“God, running water sounds fucking magnificent right now. I’m so ripe!” To emphasize my point, I raised an arm and sniffed my armpit. “Whew!”

Byron chuckled. “There’s a little creek out past the barn a ways. I used to swim in it when I was young. It has a rock bottom and the water is pretty pretty clear, so you could probably get clean there. Just watch out for snakes.”

“Now I have to weigh the factors. Which do I hate worse: snakes or being stinky as fuck?”

“Come on. We’ll go out there together if that’ll make you feel better. I’m a legendary snake fighter. Those danger noodles don’t stand a chance against me!” He picked up the broom and pantomimed battling a snake with it. He always knew how to put me more at ease.

“Okay, you dork. Let’s go.”

On the walk to the creek, I addressed the elephant in the room or, woods in this case. “So…,” I said, letting it kind of linger in the air.

“You want to know if everyone is out looking for you, right?”

There was a silence before I answered, rather scared to hear his response. “Umm… yeah.”

“Well,” he said, taking a deep breath, “your parents came to my house the next day, asking if me or my parents had seen you. I acted worried and said that you hadn’t contacted me in a while and that I chalked it up to you not being good at saying goodbye and all that shit. They bought it. I even teared up. I should totally be a fucking actor, dude.”

‘And that was that?” The trepidation in my voice was pretty obvious.

“No, that wasn’t that. There was a missing person report filed and your parents have been all over the place looking for you. The cops even stopped by to feel me out. I played it cool and stuck to the story. I made it clear that I was worried too. In fact — and this was a fucking masterful touch, if I do say so myself — I started going around and asking people if they had seen you. I gave the cops a few leads as to where you might have gone. Like remember that Rachel chick you hung with for a while until she moved to Columbus?”

“Dayton,” I interjected.

“Columbus, Dayton, who gives a shit? I sent them off on a wild goose chase to Ohio. That’s the point. I covered our asses, so we should be all good.”

“That’s a relief,” I said, only half meaning it. I was still worried.

The creek was just as Byron described it. Clear, rock-bottomed, well hidden. It was quite serene, actually.

He pointed to a cluster of three really large rocks hugging the bank and informed me that he used to jump off of those over and over again for hours. To demonstrate, he climbed up onto the smallest one and, from there, onto the largest. All told, he was about ten feet up.

“You’re gonna just jump into the water with your clothes on?”

“Well,” he stated matter of factly, “It’s not like I knew we were going swimming. Besides, I’d have just put on shorts anyway. You know I can’t go bare chested for obvious reasons.”

“Isn’t it too shallow to jump from so high?”

“No, it’s pretty deep over here where it’s wider. Like I said, I’ve done it before.” Without another word, he leapt from the rock and, with a massive splash, hit the water.

“See? I told you,” he said as he popped up from the deeper-than-it-looked water. “Your turn!”

I had a harder time ascending the rocks than Byron, which prompted no end of playful insults from him. “Laugh it up, dickhead. It’s not my fault that I’m half a foot shorter than you.” We teased each other like that all the time. If someone who didn’t know us was ever nearby, they would probably think we hated each other. That was just our dynamic.

It took me a while, but I finally managed to get to the highest point of the big rock. With my arms raised above my head, I loudly proclaimed, “I’m the queen of the mountain, motherfuckers!”

And off I went. Well, sort of. My right foot slipped a bit before takeoff, causing me to instinctively reel backward. Huge mistake! My other foot then slid out from under me and I fell back as I “jumped”. The back of my head slammed into the rock on my way down and everything went dark. I only vaguely remember hitting the water and hearing Byron yell out my name. I was out like a light.


Chapter 4

A big blur. That’s how the next span of time felt to me. I only remember bits and pieces of things, like a montage from a movie or something. Here’s the highlight reel. Byron is dragging me out of the water. Darkness. Byron is carrying me through the woods. More darkness. I’m in the kitchen and Byron is trying to get my head to stop bleeding. Darkness again. Byron has me on the couch and is pacing the floors. You guessed it… darkness.

When I finally regained full consciousness for any length of time, I wasn’t feeling well at all. My breathing was rapid, I was sweaty, I felt weak and, man, did my head hurt!

“Holy shit, you’re awake,” Byron proclaimed, stating the obvious, as he entered the room.

It was hard to speak because I was groggy and my lips were dried and cracked. “H-how long h-have I been out?”

“About six hours, give or take. Shit, Jo, I’m scared to fucking death. You’ve lost a lot of blood and I think it’s getting infected. I’m freaking the fuck out here.”

“It-it takes longer th-than that for a cut to get in-infected,” I assured him.

“Really? Because it looks seriously bad! It’s deep as hell and at least four inches long. I can’t get it to stop bleeding either. It’s slowed down, but it won’t stop. What are we gonna do?”

“Go back to t-town and bring me s-some alcohol.”

“Drinking ain’t gonna help this, Jo,” he said, causing me to etch out a slight smile.

“Not th-that kind of alcohol. Th-the kind to keep infection out.”

“Oh,” he said, clearly feeling silly, “right. I got ya. I’ll come right back out.”

“N-no, I’ll be okay for the n-night. Your parents are probably already w-wondering where you’re a-at. P-play it cool, yeah? I-I’ll be f-fine.”

“And leave you out here like this? I can’t do that. Don’t ask me to do that.” His state of panic was obvious. His voice got quieter all of a sudden. “Maybe, y’know, it’s time to call this off. I mean, I don’t want to, but c’mon, man, this is serious. You could die.”

“I’m NOT b-backing out now,” I said with as much force as I could summon. I wanted to get my point across. “I will not become p-property. Ever.”

Byron put his hands on either side of his head, applying some pressure, as if that was going to help him think more clearly. “Okay, I may have a good idea, so hear me out. Remember my uncle Leroy?”

“The c-creepy army guy who fought in the Middle East b-back in the ‘90s?”

Byron looked a little deflated. “Yeah, him. Look, he was a medic over there and he hates the establishment after how the government screwed him out of his High-36. He hates cops too, so he won’t turn us in or anything. You need stitches. Badly. And I know for a fact he can do that because one time when we were all camping, my cousin cut…”

“Okay, okay,” I interrupted, hoping to avoid one of Byron’s painfully long expositions. “Bring him out or w-whatever.”

Byron looked proud of himself for thinking of a solution. His parents always told him he was stupid, so he started to believe it somewhere along the line. It’s a shame, too, because he’s far from stupid. He just thinks using a unique perspective that most people don’t understand. Here I go with my OWN painfully long exposition.

He left shortly thereafter, returning in a few hours. It was well after three o’clock in the morning and I had dozed off. I woke up with a start when I heard the side door opening up. I was afraid it was the authorities or my parents. It wasn’t. And I was grateful for that.

I walked Byron and his uncle. Leroy had, at one time, been fairly muscular. That was a lot of cases of beer ago. You could still see traces of the body he formerly had, but the protruding gut offered a harsh reminder that the buff guy was no longer in the building so to speak. In his place was a shell of a man, really. A guy who took all the awful things he saw in the war and dealt with it all by guzzling beer and taking practically any drug he could get his mitts on.

“Jo,” started Byron, “Leroy’s here. He thinks he can get you fixed up. He brought some supplies too.” I looked over and saw that he was indeed carrying a worn-out case of some sort.

“Hey,” I said as a greeting.

“How’s it hangin’, kid,” he asked in a voice that had been plagued with one too many cigarettes. Or a thousand.

“I-I’ve b-been better.”

Byron interjected. “I gave him the rundown of what happened and why you’re out here. So he’s in the loop, okay? I couldn’t not tell him.

Leroy gave me a nod and offered me a drink from a silver flask, “Here. This’ll dull some of the pain.”

I begrudgingly accepted the drink, though I didn’t exactly like the thought of drinking after him. He was kind of dental hygienically challenged if you know what I mean.

He rolled me over and made a whistling noise, denoting how bad it was. “You shoulda had stitches hours ago. That’s cut clear to the bone and it’s a wide split too. Gonna be a pain in the ass to stitch it up with what I’ve got, but I’ll do what I can.”

I could hear Leroy pulling things from the bag, though I was facedown and thus unable to see them. It was probably for the best.

“Hope you can take pain, squirt,” he said as he began applying alcohol to the cut, “‘cause there’s gonna be a lot of it comin’ your way in a sec.” The alcohol burned like a son of a bitch, but the worst was yet to come.

It took what felt like two hours for him to finish stitching it up, but I’m sure it was much less time than that in reality. I knew he was done when I heard him say, “Sixteen stitches,” with no small amount of pride in his voice. “It’s like ridin’ a bike.”

He instructed us on how to take care of the wound to keep it from getting infected and left soon after. Byron stayed behind a moment to say goodbye and such. I was in such pain, I barely remember the conversation, let alone what happened next. I assume I fell asleep within minutes.

The days passed by slowly. I kept the wound cleaned out as best I could and Byron did a more thorough job of it when he came around. The wound was looking better and the pain subsided more each day. Thank God for ibuprofen.

I was just over two weeks into my self-imposed isolation on that fateful Friday afternoon. The sun was out and I was listening to Cattle Decapitation on my boom box, while reading a new magazine Byron had brought for me two days prior. My mood was as bright as the sun, too, as I was feeling a lot better and had long since gotten used to the solitude.


I heard it loudly, even over the music.


There it was again. It was the unmistakable sound of car doors slamming shut.



I ran to the window and pulled back the curtain as little as possible so as to avoid detection. My worst nightmare had manifested right before my very eyes.

It was the police… and my parents.

And with them was Leroy, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. That motherfucker turned traitor!

Fuck. My. Life.

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I love the narrator’s voice in this story! I’m already a huge fan of her.

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I hadn’t posted the newer chapters here, as I wasn’t sure there was interest in it. I’m happy to see I was wrong. I’ll post the newest ones in a few minutes. Thanks for posting. :slight_smile:

Chapter 5

I felt my heart leap out of my chest and couldn’t breathe. Was this really happening? Were my parents and the police actually there? Perhaps it was some kind of delusion. I stared out the window, hoping that they were a figment of my imagination.

But it wasn’t. They were approaching the side door and I didn’t think they spotted me yet. I had a choice to make. A choice that would determine the course of the rest of my life.

Choice A, my least favorite by the way, was to simply allow them to take me back without a fuss. Anyone who knew me well could have told you that this option just wasn’t in the books. Not for me. No way.

Choice B was to hide somewhere in the house. However, there’s no way they were going to leave without turning over every stone, as the old saying goes. I would be found and taken away. No good.

Choice C was to climb out the window of the bedroom I was using. It was already opened because I tend to get really hot at night and had no screen on it. But where would I go. I didn’t know the area at all and could end up lost in the woods.

Clearly, none of the options were that great, but “C” was the only one that could have worked. I snatched my duffle bag, threw some food in it and made for the window. I had just climbed out of the window when I heard the side door open. So far, so good. I headed toward the woods, making as little noise as possible while still traveling at a decent speed.

Once I hit the treeline, I slowed down some, knowing that the thick forest foliage would obscure me from sight. I eventually found the stream and followed it south. I had no idea where it would take me, but at least I knew I wouldn’t be going in circles. The last thing I wanted was to end up back at the house I had been staying in.

I had to have been on the move for a few hours by the time I saw any signs of like. I had just reached an old country road that had been poorly maintained by the county when I saw a cloud of gravel about a mile down. It was a truck by the sounds of it and as it drew closer, I could tell that it was indeed a pick-up truck. I had remained hidden until then, just in case it was the police or — just as bad — my parents.

I moved onto the road from the weed-ridden ditch and stuck my thumb out. I had seen it in some old movies before.

To my surprise, it worked. The truck came to a stop. The driver was a dark-haired man in his early forties with a denim jacket and a face that told of decades worth of days plowing fields, bailing hay and other farm type shit. He was handsome in a rugged, bumpkin sort of way.

“Needin’ a ride?” he asked with a bit of a country drawl.

“Yes, please,” I replied scrunching my eyes to avoid the gravel dust getting into them.

“Hop on in then.”

I climbed into the truck, which was quite a chore for someone as short as I am. Why do people think these damn things need to be so high off the ground, anyway? He seemed to study me as I got settled into the seat.

“So,” he stated before pausing a second, “where are you headed to?”

Jesus, I hadn’t actually thought about that. “Umm… the nearest town?” I said it more like a question. Lame.

“Alright, but first I need to stop at the house and tell Ma where I’m headin’. Otherwise, she’ll get all worried, seein’ as how I told her I’d only be gone thirty minutes. She’s a real worry wart.”

I nodded, realizing I didn’t really have a choice in the matter. He was my ticket out of there, after all. Who was I to dictate anything?

“Care to tell me what happened with your head?” he asked after we’d been on the road a couple of minutes. Shit. I had to think fast.

“I hit it on a rock while swimming.” Hey, it wasn’t a lie.

“Yep, ya gotta be real careful when you’re out in the woods, ‘specially around water.”

“I guess I learned that lesson the hard way,” I quipped with a smile.

Nothing else was said until we reached his house, which was old as hell, but nicely kept up. The yard had a lot of stuff in it, but fell just shy of being ugly for it. Some bird feeders, a bird bath, an old garden tiller, a yard swing, ceramic lawn decorations. You know, old people stuff.

Then it dawned on me. This was probably the house that Byron told me about being down the mile section from the house I was occupying. Way too close for comfort. The man got out of the truck and said, “I’ll be right back. I just gotta tell Ma and make her a sandwich.”

I slid down in the seat a little, just in case the cops drove by.
He was gone about ten minutes when I heard gravel on the road. I slid down all the way, making myself almost invisible. It sounded like more than one car, making me freak out a little. I expected to hear the cars move off into the distance, slowly fading out as they went, but that wasn’t what happened. Instead, the vehicles stopped right in front of the house. I heard car doors and I knew I was screwed!

Then I heard the man speaking from the direction of his porch. “She’s in the truck, officers.”

I was getting really, really sick of betrayal!

Panicked, I hopped out of the truck and attempted to make a break for it, running as fast as my short legs would take me. Two officers were in pursuit and I almost made it to the woods when I felt myself being scooped up by one of them.

I fought hard, thrashing and flailing the whole way back to the police car. Not that it did any good, mind you, but you have to give me an ‘A’ for effort. Once I was placed in the back of the car, one thing was perfectly clear: the jig was up. There was no way I would be given another opportunity to escape the awful life my parents had planned for me in Preston, Kansas. My fate was sealed and even I couldn’t deny it.

Chapter 6

So many things went through my head on the ride back. None of it was good. Loser. Idiot. Pathetic. Stupid.

No, I didn’t contemplate suicide or anything, but I felt like my life was basically over; like my life had been one road since birth and suddenly that road was coming to a dead end. What was beyond that road? I couldn’t have told you, but nothing positive was going to come from it. That much I knew.

I just stared blankly out the window of the police cruiser as the trees whizzed past. None of the scenery registered. I was in my own world, lost in despair without even the slightest glimpse of a future in front of me. I critically questioned every decision I made. Why did I trust Byron’s alcoholic uncle? Why didn’t I stay hidden when I saw the pickup truck on the road? Why couldn’t I sense that the driver was going to turn me in?

Time was a blur to me during the drive. I didn’t speak a word to the officers, despite their attempts to talk to me. Their words didn’t really register in my brain, if I’m being honest. Not that I would have spoken anyway. They were the enemy. They were the ones who helped put a grinding halt to the life that I was happy with.

To my surprise, the police brought me not to my old house and not even to the police station, but to the hospital so my head could be checked out. My parents displayed two different emotions: relief that I had been found and anger that I “put them through that”. I could tell they wanted to show the angrier aspect of their feelings, but couldn’t due to being around police officers, nurses and doctors. For my part, I couldn’t care less about what they felt. They were the ones being malicious. They were the ones who wanted to kill the person I am. They were the ones who wanted to own me for the rest of my life. So, no, their feelings mattered not even a tiny bit to me at that point.

The doctor cleaned my head wound and applied new stitches. I barely remembered it.

As it turned out, after I came up missing, my parents had my aunt, uncle and sister take the moving truck to Preston, while they stayed behind in a motel to help search for me. So after they released me from the hospital, that’s where they brought me. The ride to the motel was tense and silent. I was starting to get scared or at the very least unnerved.

“What do you have to say for yourself, young lady?” My father was never a terribly original guy.

I said nothing.

“You’d better answer me.”

I looked the other way, refusing to make eye contact with him. Mom just stood back and let him take the lead. Big fucking surprise.

“If you don’t give me an explanation right this minute, so help me, you’ll regret it.”

My pride wouldn’t let me speak.

“Okay, that’s it,” he said with a level of anger and frustration I had never experienced from him.

He pulled me toward the bed and sat down on the corner of it. Oh, no. This couldn’t be happening! He wouldn’t dare! I’m not a strong person, so I was unable to stop the inevitable. Come to find out, it WAS happening. He DID dare. My eyes bulged as he reached for the top of my torn jeans and pulled them down around my ankles, along with my boxers. I was petrified. I hadn’t ever been spanked before, yet that was exactly what was happening.

Over his lap I went, in spite of my meager struggling. I stared down at the tacky shag carpet as I prepared for what was to come next. Everything was happening in slow motion. His hand crashed down on my bare backside and the pain shot through my entire body. The sound of flesh meeting flesh was like a thunderclap. KRAKOW!! Then another blow came. And another. And another. I fought off the tears, steadfastly depriving him of that small victory. The swats came hard and fast, and they seemed to never end. Just when I thought he was done, another one slammed into my assuredly reddened buttocks.

After about five minutes, all was quiet. Uncomfortably quiet.

Finally, my father said, “Now go stand in the corner.”

I simply stood there, completely in shock at what had just occurred.

“Unless you want another round, I suggest you do as you’re told.” His voice was stern, but no longer filled with anger. I reached down to pull my pants back up, but he stopped me. “Leave them be. Now GO!”

I reluctantly shuffled over to the nearest corner with my jeans around my ankles, which only added to the surreal nature of the whole ordeal.

“I want your nose to touch the wall.”

The fight was temporarily taken out of me — spanked out of me, to be precise — so I did exactly what he said. I pressed my nose as far into the corner as it would go.

I didn’t know which was worse, the pain or the humiliation of standing there with my crimson butt on full display for all to see. Sure, no one but my parents could see it, but that wasn’t really the point. It was the sheer embarrassment of being scolded and punished like a child that hit me hard. I fought off the urge to cry once again. It’s weird what one will do to hold onto just a single tiny scrap of dignity in situations like that.

I remained in place for about a half an hour until my father gave me permission to pull my pants up and leave the prison that was the corner.

“Since you don’t want to say anything, I’ll be the one to do the talking. This is what’s going to happen, Joella. We’re leaving for Preston tomorrow and when we get there, everything changes. For you, for us, for everybody. We told you about the patriarchal laws put in place there, so I won’t rehash all that. But here’s the deal…”

I finally spoke up, interrupting him. It was a small act of defiance that allowed me to regain an ounce of dignity.

“I’m not going to be one of those women who wear dresses and do what men tell them!”

“You’re right about that, missy.”

I looked at him stupefied. I felt a bit of relief, but it was to be short lived, for his next sentence was, “You’re NOT going to be one of those women. In fact, you’re not going to be a woman at all. From here on out, you’re going to be a baby girl…”

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

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Chapter 7

“How fucking long have you two had THIS shit planned out? Was this what you intended all along?” I was yelling without restraint at this point. I was seething with rage.

“You’d better watch your language,” my father said sternly.

“Answer my question, damn you!”

“Watch your language.”

There was silence for a moment before he spoke again. I stared holes through him the entire time.

“Yes, that has been our plan. We want to start you over and re-raise you so that you’ll become a functioning adult in due time. We went wrong somewhere along the path with you. You started getting more and more antisocial as you got older. We thought it was a phase and that you’d come out of it, but that hasn’t been the case. You’ve gotten worse over time. Nothing has worked with curbing your behavior. Groundings, privilege losses, taking away your allowance. We’ve tried everything! Done it all! And to no avail. You just kept on skipping school, getting drunk, ignoring rules and I know you’ve been smoking pot. I’ve smelled it on you, but I gave you the benefit of the doubt, thinking maybe it was just one of your friends doing it and the smell just got into your clothes. We were too soft on you and you took advantage of it. Well that’s all coming to an end starting now!”

I immediately retorted. “Of course I acted out! I was a nobody to you! Megan was always your golden child! I didn’t matter! She was placed on a pedestal ever since she was born. She could do no wrong and I could do no right! Hell, you even put her in charge of me! ‘Megan, look out for Jo.’ ‘Make sure Jo stays home, Megan.’ ‘If Jo gives you trouble, let us know.’ That’s how it has always been! I got sick of it. Why would I behave if I was always going to be the one who got shit on?”

“That’s selective memory, Joella, and you know it. We only put Megan in charge after you started breaking all of our rules every single day. She needed a big sister when she was younger and you insisted on being a bad influence; like the time you tried to get her to help you steal that tablet from the electronics store. Or the time you spiked her drink at her own birthday party? What about the time you attempted to get her to go to that late-night booze party? I could go on and on with examples, but I’m sure you remember them… you just block them out when it’s convenient for you to.”

“Fine, okay,” I yelled back, knowing that he was right about some of what he said, “I’m a terrible person! I get it! I’ve always known it, alright? So fuck you for shoving it in my face!”

My father sat down on the corner of the bed, his anger subsiding somewhat. “You’re not a terrible person, Joella.”

“Please stop calling me that. It’s ‘Jo’. I hate that girly-ass name.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s your name and it’s what you’ll be going by from here on out. But back to the point, I never said you are an awful person. I don’t think that about you. We failed you as parents. We should have cracked down on you when you were little, but we didn’t have the heart. Well, we’re remedying that now, before it’s too late. We don’t want you to become a hoodlum who can’t get by without drinking, causing trouble or doing drugs. This is for your own good.”

I had so many things I wanted to say, so many things I wanted to just scream out. But nothing came. I was speechless, I was beaten, and I was despondent. There was nothing I could have said that would have made a difference. Their minds were made up and I was powerless to stop them.

I just stared off into space, yet not seeing anything really. Finally, he spoke up. “Now, climb up into your bed. We have a long drive ahead of us in the morning and you’re going to need the rest.”

Not knowing what else to do, I obeyed. I didn’t even bother putting on my pajama pants and oversized sleeping tee-shirt. I just took off my shoes and got into bed. This was the worst day of my life, at least at that point.

“Oh and don’t bother trying to sneak out. Your mother and I are taking shifts watching you.”

Great. And, yes, that was sarcasm.

Sleep came easier than I thought. One second, my mind was racing… the next second, nothing. I was out cold.

The only thing that rousted me from sleep was hearing the rustling of sacks and my mom telling my dad, “I think I got everything we’ll need clothes-wise.”

“You did good, sweetheart,” Father replied in a calm, nurturing voice. “We’ll get the rest of what we need once we get to Preston and settle in, except the car seat. We’ll stop in and get one on the way out.”

A car seat? Surely, he wasn’t serious. But then I realized that he was completely serious.

“I’m not using a car seat,” I stated bluntly.

“Little ma’am,” my father replied, “you’re going to do what you’re told. Besides, in the county Preston is in, it’s illegal for people as tiny as you to travel without being in a car seat and I’m not inclined to get a ticket because you’re being stubborn.”

“I’m not a baby,” I demanded.

“Not just yet anyway,” was his only response before packing up the rest of his belongings, “but all in due time.”

Once they wrapped up and loaded most of the luggage into the trunk of the car, my father looked at me and in a firm voice said, “Your Mommy is going to get you dressed for the first leg of the trip. I suggest you behave for her or else the spanking you received last night will pale in comparison to the one you’ll get this time. That’s a promise.”

My mother rummaged through the bags she brought back from whatever store she went to before I was awake. She had a pleasant smile on her face, like she was perfectly content with making me a baby again. It seemed so twisted, so demented.

I watched as she took out some clothes, but I couldn’t make them out from where I was sitting. Truthfully, I was in no hurry to see them either. I wanted so badly to slip past her and run out the door, but even if I managed to get past Father, who had gone out to “get the car started”, he would be able to catch me without a problem. Having short legs really sucks! I knew I had no choice but to stand there while I was dressed by my mother as if I were two years old.

A few other things were yanked from the bags and placed beside the clothes. Again, I couldn’t discern what they were, but I THINK I saw a razor blade amongst the pile. What the hell?

“Sweetie,” Mom finally said in her normal sugary-toned voice, “please take off your clothes and lie down on the bed.”

I took one step toward her. And then another. I didn’t want to. I felt like I was a convict marching off to the electric chair. And then I saw one of the items she had laid out. It was the thickest white diaper I had ever seen in my life. I stopped in my tracks. The fear in my eyes must have been obvious, because she encouraged me to keep moving, just as one would encourage a baby to take their first steps.

“Come on, baby girl. Let Mommy shave off all that big girl hair and get you in your fluffy new diaper.” Did she even realize how preposterous she sounded?

I froze in terror, so she took me by the hand and led me the rest of the way. Remember how I said that the day before was the worst day of my life? Well, today was about to top it… and there was nothing — nothing — I could do about it but let it happen.

Chapter 8

There I was, lying down on a motel-room bed, completely naked, waiting for my mother to fill the wash basin with water so she could shave my public hair. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have allowed myself to be in this position. My fiery personality would have forbidden it. But the events of the previous day had, temporarily at least, sapped my willpower. Getting spanked and then verbally reprimanded by my father had taken its toll on my confidence.

She came back, cooing about how good a girl I was being for “lying still for Mommy”. Everytime she said “mommy”, it just made me sick to my stomach. Mom, mother, ma… anything but Mommy would have been okay. There was just something innately infantilizing about that word and I hated it. But I sucked it up, because the last thing I wanted was another trip over my father’s knees. I don’t think I could have taken it at that int, not just because my ass was still sore, but also from a mental perspective.

I felt the razor glide across my crotch area, whisking away the first of many relics of my adulthood. I’ve always had self-esteem issues, especially regarding looking so small and young. Having a nice, thick bush was one of the few things I had that made me feel like an adult. Now, it was being taken from me, stroke by stroke. I could even hear the razor the blade made contact with my flesh. Soon thereafter, she used a damp towel to clean me off down there and to remove the hair that clung to me for dear life. Yeah, overly dramatic, I know, but that’s how it felt.

Once she was sufficiently happy with how the area looked, I heard her prepping other stuff. I didn’t have the will to look, so I kept my eyes completely averted. I didn’t want to see what was happening to me; the slow and awful dismantling of my real self.

“Okay, lift your tushie up,” she said in a sing-song voice. It didn’t even register to me. I was so focused on my misery that I heard her without actually hearing her, if that makes any sense.

She sighed. “If you’re not going to cooperate, I’ll just have to do it myself.” With that, she grabbed by tiny ankles and lifted my butt up of her own accord. It somehow made me feel even more babyish. With her other hand, she slid the unfolded diaper underneath me and placed me back down.

I snapped back to reality upon the realization that I was going to be trapped in the diaper for who knows how long. “Wait,” I said frantically, “I need to go to the bathroom first.”

Her reply did not please me at all. “Don’t be silly, sweetie. We’re already running behind schedule. Besides, that’s what your diaper is for.”

I became even more frantic. “No, you don’t understand. I have to take a crap.”

“Such coarse language for such a beautiful little girl.”

I wanted to rail on her, get up off the bed and go to the bathroom anyway, but I didn’t. My response was shameful. Instead of doing what I wanted to do, I whined like a child, “But mommmmmmm. I need to go. Pleeeeeease.”

Again, her response wasn’t exactly what I was hoping for. “No, darling. We need to get on the road and you know it always takes you such a long time to make poopies.”

Make poopies? Was she out of her fucking mind?

She was right, though, as much as it pains me to admit. When I took dumps, it always took me forever. I never just pooped a little bit. When I went, I REALLY WENT. A lot! But that was neither her nor there.

Instead of arguing with her, I simply resolved myself to hold it until the next stop, at which point I would be able to use the facilities. Boy, was I mistaken! But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I heard the crinkling of the plastic-backed diaper as she tugged on it so that the front panel came up to my stomach. It’s funny how it’s often the littlest things that affect us the most. With diapers, it was the sound; the insufferable, ever-present crinkling sounds they made. I loathed that sound! I felt the cottiny material against my belly and heard the tapes being pulled. Within seconds, I was securely taped into the first diaper I’d worn since I was two years old. To say it was soul crushing would be the understatement of the year.

“Time to stand up, Joella. Come on.”

Up I went, mindlessly like a zombie. The crinkling was even worse now. It made the noise every time I moved my legs at all. There was nothing discrete about this diaper. And it was incredibly bulky too, making it difficult to get my legs to go together.

I still couldn’t bear to look. I kept my eyes up and over to the side. I had no intention of seeing myself like that. None whatsoever.

“Let’s get your tights on, okay?” Like I had a choice.

My mother produced a pair of white tights. I saw them with my peripheral vision. They were hideous. So very white. She gathered up the left foot of the tights and had me hold onto her for balance as she crouched down.

“Step in.” I did as I was told. “Good girl. Now the other foot.” I obeyed once more.

The tights were pulled up my legs, causing the strangest sensation I’ve ever felt. Those who have never worn hosiery will never understand how foreign it feels the first time you put them on. The tights are, well, tight, acting like a silky second skin. I wanted to hate it, but found myself getting slightly aroused. I denied it to myself at the time, but the feel of these turned me on… and not just a little.

Mother had to yank them up with some effort to get them to go over the thick diaper. She succeeded and pulled them the rest of the way, far past my belly button.

A small box had been placed by the bed on the floor. I hadn’t noticed it until she reached down for it. Placing it on the bed, she opened it up to reveal the weirdest shoes I had ever seen. They looked like high heeled versions of Mary Jane shoes that were so popular among parents wanting to make their babies look adorable or some shit. But heels? And not just little heels either. These looked to be about four inches tall, which would be ridiculously high considering my teensy little feet. They had ankle straps with miniscule padlocks attached.

“Mom,” I pleaded, “I can’t walk in those.”

“That’s rather the point. It means you’ll need to be carried. If we’re inside, you can crawl. Don’t worry, sweetie. You’ll look so cute, just like a real baby.”

“But I’m NOT a real baby, Mom! I’m almost an adult!”

Mom nervously looked over her shoulder, clearly hoping that Dad didn’t hear my outburst. “You don’t want your daddy to give you another spanking do you?”

I just shook my head no.

“Okay then, give me your foot.” Having been thwarted again, I held my foot out so she could place one of these abominations on my foot. The other was added a second later. She sat me down before I had a chance to lose my balance.

“Now the dress,” she chirped, beaming with happiness. At least ONE of us was filled with fucking glee, and it sure as hell wasn’t me.

She pulled out a short, pink sundress with white flowers printed all over it. It was awful, but not nearly as over-the-top as I had feared. I expected something with lots of ruffles, puffy sleeves and the whole nine yards. She placed the dress over my head and pulled it down. It was kind of awkward since I was sitting down and couldn’t stand up, but she wrestled it all into place eventually.

The last nugget of humiliation came in the form of my mother mumbling that she “almost forgot” something, before taking a couple of hair ties out of one of the now-empty sacks. She deftly pulled my hair up into high pigtails that jutted straight out of my head. My hair wasn’t terribly long, but long enough for them to dangle down to about my chin line.

“Perfect,” she declared as she took a couple of steps back to survey her handiwork. “You look just like you did when you were a baby the first time. My little angel.” At least SOMEONE was happy.

“How am I supposed to get to the car, Mom?”

She sighed slightly and said, “From now on, you are to call me ‘Mommy’. No exceptions. ‘Mommy.’ Do you understand?”

I just rolled my eyes.

“And to answer your question…” she trailed off her sentence and answered not with words, but with actions. She scooped me up into her arms and carried me more or less on her hip.

“Your daddy is just going to die of happiness when he sees how precious you look!”

That’s when it dawned on me. I was going out into public dressed like this. At that very moment, I wanted to just crawl under a rock and die. And just like that, with me in her arms, she walked enthusiastically toward the door.

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Chapter 9

The world looked so different from the backseat of the car. It’s not that I haven’t sat back there before, but somehow it was different when I was dressed the way I was and treated like a child by my parents. My father didn’t say much. I held out hope that he was starting to reconsider this whole thing now that it was actually starting to happen. Did he see how ridiculous I looked and start to get cold feet? Who knows? Maybe. In the end, we know that if those thoughts danced around in his brain, nothing ever came of them. Otherwise, I would be at the end of the story I’m telling you rather than at the beginning.

But what about Mom? I felt no sign of remorse emanating from her. Quite the opposite, really. You see, she really wanted another baby after Megan was born, but Dad put his foot down. Two kids were plenty. She would sometimes try to tempt him by saying stuff like “but don’t you want a son?” He was never that easy to goad, though, so they never had more children. My suspicion was that Mom saw this machination of theirs as a way of finally getting to have another baby… even if the baby wasn’t a real one. One thing was for sure: she sure got into the swing of things right out of the gate.

The first hour of the trip consisted primarily of my mother talking about how nice it was going to be to have a baby in the house and how she couldn’t wait to start our new lives and so and and so on and so on. I think the way she went on and on about it started to get on my dad’s nerves though. Just an observation.

I finally managed to muster up the courage to look down at myself. I looked ridiculous. I was never seen without blue jeans, tee shirt and tennis shoes, yet here I was in a pink, flowery sundress, tights and weird heels. Speaking of the shoes, where on earth did my mother find these? It’s not like she could have found something like that at a shoe store. I mean, I could just see it now. ‘Pardon me, miss, do you happen to have any Mary Jane shoes with skyscraper heels and padlocks on the straps?’ And I certainly can’t imagine my mother going into a fetish shop. That’s just not something she would be capable of doing. She’d die of embarrassment.

All I knew is that I hated what I saw when I looked at the clothes I was wearing.

I was, however, grateful for one thing: my urge to defecate had completely subsided. I didn’t even hear my stomach rumbling anymore. I just hoped that things would stay that way.

We drove down I-70 for almost eight hours with minimal stops for food, gas and bathroom breaks for my parents. I wasn’t so lucky. I purposely ate and drank very little while on the road, so as to avoid using the diaper. It was close to seven o’clock when we pulled into the parking lot of a motel for the night. According to Dad, we were just outside of Effingham, Illinois.

I unbuckled myself and opened the car door, sparing myself the indignity of having my parents do it for me. I couldn’t go anywhere, of course, due to the stupid shoes, but I basked in that little morsel of autonomy.

This time it was my father who carried me and as we crossed the parking lot, we drew the attention of a family who were unloading bags from the back of their SUV. They gawked without even trying to hide it. I’m not sure exactly what drew their attention, as I probably passed for an 8-year-old in that outfit and with the sun’s fading rays. Maybe it was the shoes. Seriously, they really stood out. I looked like a child wearing shoes designed for adults. No kid I’ve ever seen wore high heels of this nature, regardless of the fact that they were styled to look like Mary Janes. Plus, I guess it would seem odd for a parent to carry an eight-year-old.

My mother didn’t appear to notice the family and if my father did, he didn’t show it. We entered the lobby and he sat me on one of the chairs so he could get his wallet out. “Stay right there, Joella,” he said softly, but with a hint of sternness. My mother sat down in the adjacent chair and smiled at me. No other customers were inside the lobby, which I was elated about. I didn’t want anyone to see me looking like this.

Dad talked to the middle-aged lady with obnoxiously red hair at the front desk and paid for the room with his card before prompting us to follow him. Mom picked me up and followed on his heels.

Our room was on the second floor and was significantly nicer than the previous motel room. Bigger too, though not by much. Once Dad retrieved the luggage from the car, he mentioned that he needed to call my aunt and uncle to see how things were going in Preston.

“Maybe we can go to a restaurant and have a nice family supper after you make the phone call,” my mother offered.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Lillian. People may take exception to all this,” he said as he gestured toward me, the bags with my new clothes and the diaper bag that I had only now noticed.

“I think she passes as a little girl. She’s small and is certainly dressed appropriately.”

I would have spoken up and refused to go, but I had to pick my battles and there was no way in hell my mom was going to get her way on this. So I let it ride, knowing the end result would be in my favor anyway.

“I’d rather not risk any complications.” He saw the disappointed look on her face and softened his voice. “Look, sweetheart, I’d like to have a family supper in a nice restaurant too, but there will be plenty of chances to do that once we’re in Preston. It’s not worth the risk. Lucas can’t really protect us out here if things get hairy.”

My mother was slightly more contrary than usual. “Well, he made sure the police officers that accompanied us to that old house were okay with everything we’re doing.”

That explained a lot. I was curious to hear Dad’s reaction.

“That’s because he made some calls and greased some palms. He can’t keep doing that for us just so we can go out for dinner.”

“Mr. Budd wants you in Preston. I heard him tell you that. That’s why he offered you such a good deal on the building. He would help us out again if it came to it.”

“That’s not the point,” my father said with a tinge of irritation in his voice, “I don’t want to fall out of his good graces by pestering him to help us get out of situations that are avoidable. Let’s order in tonight, okay? We’ll go to a restaurant in Preston once we’re settled in. fair enough?”

My mother was still disappointed, but nodded her consent.

I just wanted to know what building she was talking about. I figured I’d ask later.

The pizza they ordered was fine, but I only nibbled at it, a fact that didn’t escape my mother. She was always keenly observant of these things. It was like some kind of useless superpower or some shit.

“Joella,” she said in that motherly tone she achieves, “you haven’t been eating much at all since we left Pittsburgh. Now that I think about it, you haven’t used Number One or Number Two yet either. I’m starting to worry.”

“I’m not hungry,” I said in an obstinate tone.

“Sweetie, you’re going to have to get some food in your tummy or you’re going to get sick.”

My father put two and two together and came up with four. He addressed my mother, “She’s not eating because she doesn’t want to use her diaper. Simple as that.”

He then turned to me. “I’ll let you have this victory. You can go use the potty until we reach Preston. But there’s a condition. If I do this for you, I expect you to behave, okay? Traveling is stressful, especially since I’m the one driving. I don’t need sass from you when my concentration needs to be on the road so we arrive safely. Deal?”

I nodded. At this point, I would have agreed to do just about anything to avoid using this diaper.

“Go on then. Go to the bathroom.”

I didn’t need to be told twice and darted in there as quickly as I could, in case he somehow changed his mind. Even though the need to pee and poop had largely gone away, I still knew it had to be done. It was a pain to get the tights and diaper down, but I wasn’t complaining. Getting them back up was an even bigger pain in the butt.

When I exited the bathroom, I walked in on a conversation about how things were going back in Preston. They thought I was still in the bathroom.

My father did most of the talking since he was the one who made the phone call earlier. “No, Jimmy said everything was okay on that front.”

“Nothing was broken?” she asked.

“He said one of the lamps had taken a bit of a tumble so it had a crack, but it’s still usable.”

She replied, “I can turn that part toward the wall or something. It’ll be okay. How is Megan?”

“They both said she has been a huge help through all this. She was worried about Joella to the point of being sick but started feeling better after I called from the hospital. According to Jimmy, she was hesitant about her new role as the official big sister, but after seeing what Joella did and all she put everyone through, she’s completely on board for it. In fact, she even spent her allowance to buy Joella some cute stuff, including a dress.”

“Isn’t that sweet of her? Maybe this will help Megan feel better about the move.”

I was furious! Sure, Megan had been put in charge of me for quite a while, but this felt different, like I was absolutely going to be treated like a baby by her. And to think that she’d be so into it that she’d buy me baby shit!

I was inclined to burst their bubble by verbally ripping them a new asshole, but I knew that wouldn’t be the smart play. A plan was forming in the back of my brain. I wouldn’t just allow this to happen. I was not going to reach Preston, come hell or high water. I would escape this mess that night, because I knew deep down that it would be all over once we get to that damnable town. No, this plan was going to work. It HAD to work.

My whole life depended upon it.

Chapter 10

My plan went something like this:

  1. Wait until my parents are asleep.
  2. Swipe some cash from my father’s wallet.
  3. Quietly slip out the bathroom window.
  4. Hop down to the ground and hope I don’t break anything.
  5. Go to the tiny Greyhound station I saw at a nearby strip mall.
  6. Get a ticket for the next bus.
  7. Go wherever it takes me.

Okay, I’ll admit the plan has a lot of moving parts, any of which could go KABOOM on me at any point, but what choice did I have? I was relatively certain that my father made contingencies of some kind to keep me from leaving via the front door, so exiting in a traditional fashion was a no-go. Also, they were both light sleepers, so whatever I did would have to be done quietly. My options were limited.

The biggest risk was getting from the window to the ground. The thought of leaping from the second story was terrifying, but I reiterate: what choice did I have?

The money snatch went without a hitch. Off to a good start! I crept into the bathroom, took off the stupid-looking pajamas and diaper I had on and replaced them with the sundress I had previously been forced to wear. It still looked childish, but the duffle bag filled with my own clothes was in the trunk of the car and who knows where Dad kept the keys. I couldn’t risk it. I did manage to find a pair of annoyingly-cute sandals among the new stuff Mom bought for the trip though. Hey, it was either them or the freaky fetish shoes! Lesser of two evils, I’d say.

I opened the window and looked down to see what I was up against. It was one heck of a drop, with nothing to break my fall but the cold, hard ground. I was hoping for a dumpster full of garbage bags or a mound of hay. A mound of hay? Jesus, Jo, why would there have been a mound of fucking hay? It’s not like this was a goddamn farm. My imagination gets away from me sometimes.

My heart raced as I climbed up into the window, taking some slow, deep breaths meant to bolster my courage. My goal was to leap off in such a way that my ankles or knees wouldn’t take any damage should this get all fucked up. And that’s exactly what I did. I sprung off shoulder-first, sort of, and landed awkwardly on my back with my head smacking the ground hard enough to daze me for a few minutes. My upper back hurt a lot and it was impossible to take a deep breath without discomfort.

I quickly took stock of the damage, focusing on my legs as a whole. They seemed to be okay. Getting up (with a great deal of back pain), I sprinted into the night toward the bus station.

The place was a dingy hole-in-the-wall office with a smattering of mismatched chairs in an area that half-ass passed for a lobby. A kindly-looking older white woman with hair that couldn’t seem to decide if it was gray or medium-brown sat behind a counter in the back, along with a sturdily-built African-American man who was chatting with one of the seven people waiting on their bus.

The people in the lobby area ranged from tired-looking people who had likely been on one bus or another for days to upbeat individuals just starting their journeys. Most were somewhere in between.

I approached the counter, which I could only barely see over and asked when the next bus was coming through.

The lady smiled broadly. “Well aren’t you just precious? Did your parents send you in to ask?”

Shit. In this outfit, I did look awfully young and having practically no boobs didn’t exactly help my case.

“Umm… no. I’m seventeen years old. I just want to buy a bus ticket.”

The man behind the counter chimed in. “No offense, ma’am, but you don’t look anywhere close to seventeen. We’re going to have to see some identification, okay?”

Identification! Damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it! My state-issued ID card was in my duffle bag.

“Umm… I lost it yesterday.”

The two Greyhound employees looked at each other briefly before she turned back to me and said, “Well, as soon as you find your driver’s license, we’ll see about getting you a bus ticket. Sound good?”

“No,” I said in loud frustration, “it doesn’t sound good! It doesn’t sound good at all! All I want is a fucking bus ticket. Why is that so damn difficult?” All eyes were on me and all small talk ceased. It was dead quiet.

The man, who had the patience of a saint, calmly tried to deescalate the situation. “Ma’am, please calm down. There’s no reason to get angry. If we sold you a bus ticket without identification, we could lose our jobs, okay? It’s not personal.”

“I’ve got the money right here,” I shouted, as I plunked down the $800 I took from my father’s wallet. “Why can’t you just fork over a bus ticket, for shit’s sake? I’m not leaving until I’m getting on a bus!”

The lady replied, trying to be as nice as possible. “We don’t make the rules, sweetie. Now please exit the building before we have to contact the authorities.”

The man leaned in toward the woman and said, “Maybe we should just get a hold of them. Something doesn’t feel right about this whole thing and if that turns out to be true and she just walks out of here, we could be in a lot of trouble.”

He didn’t want me to hear that, but I most certainly DID. The last thing I wanted was to be carted back to the hotel by the police. So, I dialed my approach in.

“Allright, alright. I’ll just go back to my house, see if I can find my wallet and I’ll be back in a little while.” With that, I walked out.

The bus idea had to be nixed. Another plan had to be implemented. As I walked across the various parking lots of restaurants, stores and an army recruitment center, I thought hard about what my next move needed to be. I could call a cab and have the driver drop me off somewhere in the city! After all, I had plenty enough money to get me by until I was a legal adult.

Oh, no! The money!

In my anger and desperation, I accidentally left the $800 on the counter at the Greyhound station! Turning around on the spot, I raced back in hopes that no one had snatched the money up. Flinging the door open, I barged in and saw that the money was no longer there.

Out of breath, I managed to puff out, “Where’s… [huff] [huff]… my… [huff]… money?”

The man who I conversed with earlier said, “I placed it in the lost and found basket. Why don’t you have a seat while I go into the back and get it for you?”

I sat down as he entered a door behind the desk. When he was gone for a few minutes, I became suspicious. He was stalling! They called the cops before I even left the parking area! With the realization that my back-up plan had just blown up in my face, I rushed out the door with no destination in mind. I just had to get away… somewhere.

Unfortunately, before I could get more than twenty feet away from the building, a police cruiser pulled in. When the officer saw me, she turned the lights on. I tried to flee the scene, but the athletic, young police officer — whose legs were longer than I was tall — caught me quickly.

Déjà fucking vu.

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Chapter 11

The long and short of it is that I was taken to the police station, where I staunchly refused to tell the cops anything. It frustrated them, but it proved to be only a small speed bump in the grand scheme of things. After all, they fingerprinted me and I was already in the system for past infractions, so they pieced who I was together in a short span of time. From there, they learned where I was from and tried to reach my parents by calling our home phone… which had been disconnected. They assumed I had either run away and that my parents were still in Pittsburgh or that I had run away while here with my parents. A quick search turned up no address for my family here, leading them to call nearby hotels and motels. Well, shit.

My parents arrived not long after and, boy, were they angry! They stepped into the other room with some officers, presumably to hear the details and to have me released. I’d rather have stayed there, to be honest, because I had never seen my father that livid. This was different than when they caught me after my recent attempt to hide out in the boondocks. Really different. The way I figured it, he had days worth of worrying to soften his anger last time. This time, he was awakened from his slumber to be told that his daughter had been picked up. No time to worry because he knew I was safe.

He read me the riot act all the way back to the motel. Mom even joined in on it, which surprised me due to the fact that she hardly ever showed her anger. I had stolen $800, snuck out of the room and attempted to make a getaway via a Greyhound bus. I was screwed two ways to Sunday and I knew it.

I zoned out while they admonished me, wallowing in my own self pity. That was my last chance to escape to freedom and I blew it. I wouldn’t be given another chance. Of that I was certain.

“Did you hear me, young lady?” he asked harshly. I just looked at him through tired, weary eyes.

“What I SAID was that we’re all going to get a few more hours of shut-eye, but this time, you’ll be sleeping only in your diaper and tee-shirt. The rest of your clothes will be locked in the trunk until we wake up and get you dressed! That way you’ll be too embarrassed to try that stunt again!”

The truth was that such precautions wouldn’t have been necessary. I was exhausted… mentally, emotionally and physically. For now, at least, I just wanted to sleep. And sleep I did.

Looking back, I was shocked that I received no spanking that night. I suppose my father was just too tired. Still, the mood that lingered told me that things were different now. I later found out that taking the money was what affected him so deeply, because of all the things I had done, stealing from my parents was never one of them. It broke his heart to think that I’d have done that.

The next morning was much the same. Even my mother was quiet toward me. She plainly said that if I needed to go to pee or poop, now would be the time to do so. I thought she meant that I could use the bathroom, but when I started in that direction, she grabbed me by the arm and informed me that she meant for me to use the diaper.

“We tried to be nice last time, but after your behavior, you’re getting no favors. Now use your diaper so I can change you before we hit the road. We aren’t stopping to change you before we get to Preston and that will be at least another eight hours.”

“Mom,” I said almost pleadingly, “I don’t want to use this thing.”

“You may as well get used to it,” Dad said, “because from now on, that diaper IS your bathroom. Now do what your mother said.” He turned to Mom and said, I’ll go get the clothes from the trunk. She nodded.

She turned her attention back to me as if waiting for me to obey. Instead, I pleaded again, this time more overtly, “Please, Mom. I want to use the bathroom.”

“No. Use. Your. Diaper. If you don’t, we’ll leave and you’ll have to use it anyway, but won’t get changed. Do you really want to sit for hours in a wet and messy diaper?”

I really didn’t. “Fine. I’ll pee.”

I figured my mother would walk away to let me have my privacy. That didn’t happen. She just looked at me expectantly. “Go ahead then.”

I was flustered. “Not in front of you.”

“Little girl, I’ve seen a lot of babies pee themselves. This is no different. Besides, I can’t trust you to be alone, even for a few minutes. You’ve shown us that.”

“I don’t want to pee while being watched.”

“Okay then,” she said with a shrug, “I’ll get you dressed and we’ll leave.”

“No, wait!” I said out of desperation. “I’ll… do it.”

“Do WHAT?” she asked, clearly wanting to put me through my paces. Man, she WAS mad.


“That’s good, but where will you pee?” she asked.

I wasn’t sure where this was going. “In… front of you?”

“Yes, that’s true, but it’s not what I meant. What are you going to pee into?”

Christ! Since when did my dear, sweet mother become a sadist? I wanted to say it almost as little as I wanted to actually use the damn thing.

She reiterated, but emphasized every word slowly. “What. Are. You. Going. To. Pee. Into?”

This was a war of the wills. She wanted to claim this victory over me for reasons I didn’t understand, but I wanted to win it just as much. She held all the cards, however, and I wasn’t dumb enough to think otherwise.

In the lowest, mumbliest voice I could, I said, “The diaper.”

She wasn’t quite satisfied. “WHOSE diaper?”

I was silent until she gave me that look. I didn’t think she was capable of giving it, but she sure was! She cleared her throat.

I looked at the floor and muttered, “Mine.”

“Now, put it all together into one sentence… and do it louder.”

This was the worst! “I’m… going to… pee… in… my diaper.”

“Good girl,” she said, going back to her normal, lively voice. “Okay, sweetie, now do it.”

It wasn’t easy. Yes, I had to pee. Quite badly, actually. But my brain couldn’t shed the shackles of potty-training so easily. I stood there, scrunching up my face, clenching my fists, doing everything I could to make myself urinate. In front of my mother. Who was grinning from ear to ear like a proud mama. It was humiliating.

I closed my eyes and concentrated as hard as I could. I even tried to imagine water running. Nothing worked.

“If you don’t pee by the time your father comes back in, you’re out of luck.”

Well, nothing worked except the imminent threat of spending eight hours in a soaked diaper! Somehow, that sentence made my bladder more agreeable. I felt a trickle escape me. Okay, not too bad. I couldn’t feel the wetness in the diaper. Maybe it would soak it all up and I wouldn’t have to feel it at all.

I released a little more. Still not too bad. Then, I heard the trunk of the car slam shut. At that point, the floodgates opened and I couldn’t stop or even regulate the urine as it poured into the crotch of the diaper. By the time my father walked through the door, bags in hand, the diaper was soaked! The weight of the pee made it sag significantly, making me feel even more juvenile.

“Look who used her diaper like a good girl,” cooed my mother to my father. I wanted to curl up and die right there on the spot.

“Very good,” he said with a smile. Well, at least he smiled. It took my utter debasement to make that happen! “Here’s her clothes, dear. Get her dressed so we can make it to Preston by six o’clock or seven at the latest. That means minimal stops. So, you’d better go to the bathroom before we leave too.”

Having my wet diaper changed was worse than having the fresh one put on back in Pittsburgh. It required my mother wiping all of my nether region with baby wipes, adding to the growing pile of indignities heaped upon me throughout this whole ordeal. Then came the baby powder before the new diaper was taped expertly upon my waist.

Mom put me in another sundress — a yellow one this time — along with white tights and those awful shoes. She forewent the pigtails this time, in favor of a yellow bow. I was positive I looked as absurd as I felt. I could only imagine how they were going to dress me when they were finally given carte blanche to make me wear absolutely anything by the law itself.

Dad carried me out to the car and opened the back door. Something was different this time, though. Apparently, he had gotten up earlier (probably while Mom was in the shower) and purchased a car seat!

He must have noticed the look on my face. “I decided not to pick one up when we were leaving Pittsburgh because you promised to be good and I thought I’d be nice as a show of good faith. Last night, you tossed that good faith in the garbage. So I hope you enjoy the ride.”

I was mortified!

In I went, as my dad placed me in the car seat. It was too small for me but not by much. Just enough to make it uncomfortable, though something told me Dad wasn’t exactly broken up about that. He was still angry. I could tell.

Once I was buckled into the crowded car seat, I realized something: my dress had been pushed up when he placed me in the car seat, leaving my diapered and tights-covered crotch exposed. Granted, nobody would be able to see it, except for Mom or dad if they turned around, but it was still too much! I tried reaching down and readjusting the dress. The confines were too tight to allow me much adjusting. I did the best I could, though the diaper was still visible. After some struggling and a reprimand from my father to “quit wiggling around”, I gave up.

The discomfort of being crammed into the car seat was rough, but do you want to know what sucked worse? The fact that the contraption caused me to sit higher up, thus allowing others to see me more easily. I kept my head down so long my neck began cramping. It was just an unpleasant experience. Eventually, I nodded off to sleep.

My snooze was abruptly interrupted. Not by the car stopping or a loud noise or even my parents telling me to wake up. No, it was something far more insidious; something rising up from deep within my bowels. That’s right… I had to take a crap! A quick glance at the clock revealed it to have been only a couple hours since we left Effingham.

This was NOT good.

This was not good AT ALL.

Chapter 12

Good bowel control is something I’ve always been blessed with. Fighting off the pressure has just never been problematic for me. I never really thought of it as a blessing, per se, but I sure as hell do now. For the next two or three hours, the need to go came and went. Each time it came, I kept it at bay by shifting my position as much as possible in that stupid car seat and keeping my mind on other things. Eventually, it would fade away to nothingness.

During that time, we stopped for fuel, a drink and a gas station sandwich, but I wasn’t let out of the car. Mom made a quick jaunt to the public bathroom while dad handled the purchases. I knew better than to ask about going with her given that they were still clearly upset with me. Pushing my luck would have been ill advised.

It was right around the time we hit Springfield, Missouri that the stomach cramps intensified. And they didn’t go away with a simple shift and some daydreaming like they did before. These cramps meant business! I squeezed my legs together (or at least as much as the diaper and car seat crotch strap permitted) and clenched my butt cheeks tighter than a nun’s hoo-ha.

“How much longer before we get there?” I asked with distress in my voice.

“Maybe two and a half hours or so,” came Dad’s reply.

Mom looked at him and softly said, “I think Joella has to pee or poop.”

“Jesus, mom! Just blurt it out, why don’t you?”

“Don’t talk to your mother like that,” Dad snapped. At least he didn’t say “Mommy”.

My mother turned around to face me. “Sweetheart, don’t hold it in. That’s what you’re wearing a diaper for. You already peed in one, so it won’t be too big of a deal.”

“Says you,” I snapped, “You’re not the one who would have to sit in it for hours.”

“Joella,” said my dad with a reprimanding tone, “I’m not going to tell you again. Knock the attitude off.”

“Well how about YOU take a dump in your pants and see how much attitude YOU have?” I was cranky, yes, but I had good reason to be. Asking someone to defecate and sit in it felt pretty unreasonable to me.

“Little girl, I’m not the one who has been getting into trouble with the law, running away, making us think you were kidnapped or dead, stealing large sums of money from us and then having the audacity to be mad at US!”

Did… did he almost cry when he said that? It sure sounded like it. Mom put her hand on his shoulder to comfort him. There was a long period of silence before he spoke again.

“So, please, just stop fighting us on everything.” His voice was certainly clamer.

My father almost breaking down like that knocked the wind out of my sails. I had never seen him cry and I was pretty sure he was on the brink of it at least. Had I really put them through that much turmoil? Surely, they knew that I had just bolted rather than having been kidnaped, right? Maybe I HAD been a little shit. And that thought was certainly sobering. But did I deserve to lose my rights? Did I deserve to be thrust into a second babyhood, with my entire family doling out constant humiliation?

The good news was that this patch of drama squelched my need to poop. The bad news was that it was only a temporary reprieve. A few minutes after the ordeal, I heard the loud churning in my stomach and the cramps came back with a vengeance.

At this point, I realized I wasn’t going to make it to Preston in a clean diaper. However, delaying it as long as humanly possible meant that I would have to spend less time sitting in it. As such, the battle raged on within my abdominal area, where I fought bravely against my bowels, a sword in one hand, a shield in the other. A bit fanciful? Sure. But thinking of it in those terms kept me focused.

Focused or not, though, the pressure in my guts wasn’t going away… sword or no sword, shield or no shield. I bit my lower lip, doubled up my fists and bounced up and down a bit. It was getting worse! The discomfort became pain. My poor sphincter was engaged in the fight of its life, doing its damnedest to be the gatekeeper; the guardian of the bunghole.

Nope, the fanciful shit wasn’t working this time. I was breathing harder, eyes closed, chin digging into my chest. Then a thought hit me! What if I farted out some of the pressure. It was a power move, to be sure, but what other course of action was left to me?

I relaxed my sphincter just enough to let a tiny bit of flatulence out. It was silent too. Bonus! Feeling a little better about the prospect, I let a slightly bigger poot out. Another silent fart. Maybe this was going to work.

Then I got cocky. Another, bigger fart was to follow, but I relaxed just a little too much and immediately knew I was in deep trouble! Try as I might, I couldn’t stop yet another fart and that one led the way for solid mass!

My worst nightmare was coming true! “No no no no no no,” I said to myself, edging closer toward catastrophe. I attempted to close the passage, so to speak and thought for a moment that I had succeeded. That glimmer of hope was extinguished when I felt the poop exit my butthole. There was no stopping it!

I tried lifting my butt up, but the too-small carseat gave me no room to do so. The mess hit the diaper and immediately spread out, searching for space to rest. The fact that my butt was pressed so firmly against the carseat meant that the poop had to travel a ways to get to such a resting place.

My parents quickly noticed what was happening, no doubt because of the smell, which was absolutely pungent! My mother looked at me, limited by her seatbelt, and said to my father, “Little Joella’s finally making poo-poos in her diaper.”

“I know, honey,” he said, “but let’s not make it any harder on her.” Compassion? From my father? What the hell was going on?

I barely noticed what they were saying, as my diaper was filling with defecation. And when I say “filling”, I mean “FILLING”. To make it even grosser, it wasn’t even the least bit runny. It was very firm. I could feel every log flatten out and be pushed elsewhere by the next wave of poop. It was the most disgusting thing I had ever experienced.

It slowed down significantly, but the damage had already been done. The poop had gone up the back of the diaper so that it was caked on almost to the top. Meanwhile, the front portion of the diaper fared no better. It had been pushed all the way up and had covered the entirety of my vagina and even a little of where my pubic hair once proudly grew. So nasty! And that smell was rancid!

My father rolled down the window. “Whew! That’s a strong stench.”

“That’s such a good girl,” my mother beamed proudly, as I settled into the mush that had accumulated all throughout the diaper.

Dad knew what I was going to say and cut me off before I could, “For the record, no we’re not pulling over to change your diaper. It would take too long and I want to get there early enough to clean up and go out for a nice supper. Changing diapers in a car takes forever.”

So that was it. I was destined to sit in my own filth for another two-plus hours and there was nothing I could do about it. I hated life so much.

Chapter 13

Wanna know what’s worse than sitting in a messy diaper? Go ahead. Take your time. You’ve got this. That’s right: sitting in a messy diaper after it has cooled down. Don’t get me wrong. It’s nasty as hell when it’s still warm, but once it becomes cold, that nastiness is amplified a hundred-fold. I’m not kidding. Once cold, the stickiness becomes more apparent. There’s no way to NOT notice it. You can try to think of other things, watch the scenery fly by or wallow in your own misery all you want. You’re still going to know it’s there, caked on the very flesh that makes up your most intimate area.

And then there’s the itching. It may not be directly related to the coldness of the poop, but it becomes noticeable at about the same time. Have you ever been in a hurry and failed to wipe as thoroughly as you normally would? It’s okay to admit it. We’ve all been there. It itches like crazy, right? Well, this is like that, but so much worse, because instead of just leaving behind a tiny bit of fecal matter, the entirety of your nunghole is coated with fecal matter. It was exacerbated by the fact that I was crammed into the carseat and couldn’t even reach behind and scratch it through the diaper. I tried wiggling my butt back and forth while squeezing and squeezing my butt muscles, but it didn’t help at all.

No, I had to just suffer.

The first hour passed before I finally spoke up.

“This is getting really uncomfortable,” I grouched. No response. Mom did look like she wanted to answer, though she didn’t.

“Seriously, it itches and it’s gross,” I said huffily before pulling out the big guns. “Besides, I could get a urinary tract infection if I sit in it for too long.”

Dad let out a sigh. “You’re not going to get a UTI in just a couple of hours. Just hang tight and we’ll be there before you know it. When we get to the new house, we’ll get you into a fresh diaper.”

“You don’t know that,” I said. “You’re not a doctor. It might only take an hour.” My words fell on deaf ears.

Mom spoke to him in a quiet voice, but I could make out the fact that she was asking him if he thought they could spare the time to pull over so she could change me in the back seat. All he said is, “No, dear, she’ll be fine.”

I wanted out of the diaper more than anything, but I could tell when Dad’s mind was made up. He was as stubborn as a mule and when he had come to a decision, it generally took an act of Congress to make him reconsider.

The itching intensified, as did the smell and general discomfort. I moved as little as possible to avoid making my plight even more unpleasant than it already was. Not that the carseat gave me much room to move around anyway!

We reached Preston at a quarter after six, which fell into the timeframe Dad was aiming for. Big whoop. All I knew was that I was really looking forward to being clean for the first time in well over two hours.

Preston seemed like any other small city in the Midwest to me, at least at first. We were clearly on the outskirts when I made that observation though. There wasn’t much going on out here, aside from cars going to and fro. As we moved toward the city’s epicenter, however, the differences became more noticable.

The first sight that horrified me was at a convenience store we passed by. Two men were standing near the door, talking up a storm, all the while one of them had a woman on a leash. She was scantily clad and wearing high heels. The woman’s breasts were positively enormous and I don’t mean “enormous” like Kallie Millsworth from high school either. I mean “enormous” like some of the porn stars who specialize in giant breast fetish videos. Her waist was tiny, too, which made her look odd to me, in conjunction with the massive boobs.

My parents noticed her too, because Dad pointed over in her direction and told Mom, “That’s what I was telling you about… women who are made up to look like sluts. They call them bimbos here.”

“Honey, they call them that everywhere,” she said with a smile.

“I know that, honey. But it’s like an official designation here. They have some kind of program that trains women to be that way.”

“Oh.” My mother sounded both intrigued and disturbed.

The further into town we ventured, the stranger things became. The women I saw were dressed in all manner of different styles. Some wore outfits not too dissimilar to the woman at the convenience store. Others looked like Mrs. Cleaver from that old show, wearing 1950s-esque clothes and pearl necklaces. Still others wore the longest, tightest skirts I had ever seen! They could barely walk. But they all had one thing in common: the men they were with were, without exception, in charge. Not all of them had leashes, but the body language made that quite evident. It disgusted me to no end!

It wasn’t long after that that Dad took a left turn off of US 400, and made his way past a community college with a large park with lots of trees on the other side of the street. He continued on this road for close to a mile, through a section of town that had a lot of old Victorian houses, most of which were impeccably maintained. The nicer houses were closer to the park and college, giving way to houses that belonged to the working class. Some were nice… others, not so much.

We shot across a relatively busy street and into a neighborhood that was marked by a nice wooden sign that read “Winway.”

“This is it, darling… our new neighborhood.”

“It’ so homey,” she said, looking all around. She was right. The whole area had a wholesome quality to it. We saw three boys riding their bikes, a few men manicuring their lawns and one girl playing with a dog while her brother looked on. Most of the residences were nice, middle-class homes amid a smattering of look-alike duplexes. Unlike the strict gridlike pattern displayed in the parts of town we drove through, the streets here tended to be curvy or angular. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have minded living in a neighborhood like this.

“I agree, Lillian. It really is homey. It has quite a nifty history too. According to Mr. Budd, Winway was built in the early ‘40s to give incoming ammunition plant workers places to live. Of course, a lot of the original buildings are long gone, but many are still standing.”

I guess that explains the duplexes.

He pulled into the driveway of a large-ish ranch-style house situated on the corner of a city block. My aunt and uncle’s car was also parked in the driveway. The house was in good shape and was a step up from the one we previously lived in.

“Wow, it’s so beautiful, Ken,” my mother said as she exited the vehicle.

“Wait ‘til you see how it looks inside,” he beamed with pride.

“I can’t wait!”

Suddenly, the front door opened and out came the last person on this earth I wanted to see: my younger sister, Megan!


@CynthiaCelesteMiller I manually updated your trust level so the board should stop asking the moderators to approve your posts. :slight_smile:

Also, I kind of hope that the new forums will encourage more people to at least use the like buttons (the heart icons) to at least let authors know their stories are being read. :slight_smile:

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Thank you for that. The “Like” button is a good idea.

I don’t want anyone to think that I’m one of those authors that require gratification or anything. I just didn’t want to bother posting of no one was reading. :slight_smile:

Chapter 14

There I was, sitting in a carseat while wearing a fully loaded diaper and watching with absolute dread as Megan made her way to the car to greet everyone. I could practically hear the music from Jaws playing. She was a shark and I knew good and well that she was most interested to see me. Not because I was her sister. Not because she missed me. Not because she was worried about me. No, none of that. She was excited to see me solely because she reveled in my abject misery… and she knew I was at my most miserable.

Luckily for me, my parents got out of the car as soon as they saw Megan, which bought me a slight reprieve from the big ol’ plateful of humiliation I was about to be force fed. They both hugged her and while she was happy to see them too, she wanted to get the hugs over with so she could get to the main course: me.

She cut the hugs as short as she could without alienating Mom and Dad and made a beeline for the car. The wicked smile on her face as she approached the car gave me pause. I wanted nothing in the world less than for her to see me in this lowly state of sheer embarrassment. I could tell she was having trouble getting a sneak peek at me through the window, so she quickened her pace and opened the door.

“Oh. My. God.” She was grinning ear to ear and her mouth was agape at the sight that awaited her. If she had ever been reluctant about the whole ‘treating me like a baby” thing, it didn’t show. “She looks so cute!”

I hated that she was speaking about me like I was too much of a baby to understand what she was saying. I just averted my eyes and gritted my teeth.

“Can I carry her inside?”

“Okay,” my father replied, “but please be careful. I don’t want you to drop her on the driveway or porch.”

“I’ll be careful,” she said, sounding like a sister who was getting to carry a newborn for the first time.

My parents went into the house, leaving Megan to unbuckle the carseat straps. Right in my ear, she said, “The stunt you pulled was bullshit. Mom nearly had a nervous breakdown. And then you just kept making it worse after they found you. I love you, but I’m going to seriously enjoy seeing you get your comeuppance.”

The low menace in her voice literally scared the piss out of me. And I do mean ‘literally’, because I felt some urine escape me, finding its way into the padding of the soiled diaper.

Just as disturbingly, her voice suddenly changed to a chipper tone, one like an adult would use when talking to a toddler. “You’re going to be a good little baby for Big Sissy, aren’t you?”

I didn’t answer, nor did she seem to care. She hoisted me from the carseat and placed me on her hip like Mom did. I hated that she was so much bigger than me.

“My goodness,” she said while sniffing the air and feeling my diapered tushie, “it looks — and smells — like somebody made a big mess in her diaper.”

I just couldn’t speak. I was mortified.

She brought me up the steps of the porch and into the new house. My parents had just finished all the hugging with Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Bev when we entered.

“Well, there’s the little stinker,” said Aunt Bev in the same tone Megan had used a moment ago. Was this going to be my lot in life? To be cooed at by everyone?

“Say hello to Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Bev, Joella.” I could tell by Dad’s voice it wasn’t a request. It was an order.

Despite not normally having a shy bone in my body, I cast my eyes downward and mumbled “hi”.

Bev spoke up again. “By the smell of it, I’d say I was REALLY right about calling Joella a little stinker. That’s a baby in need of a change.” She laughed like she always did when she thought she said something clever.

I think what bothered me most was that they were all acting like this treatment was perfectly normal… like talking to a near-adult as if she was a real baby was the most natural thing in the world.

Megan continued to hold me while my parents informed Jimmy and Bev of their plan to go to a restaurant once they got settled in and even asked them if they’d like to join us. Thankfully, they declined, with Jimmy making some weird inference that they’d like to stay in the guest room for a bit of “alone time”. Gross.

Mom came over and took me from Megan. “I’m going to change her diaper and make her and I more presentable. You need to go change into something a bit nicer too.”

“Can Joella wear the cute dress I bought for her?”

“If you bring it to me, she can.”

Mom took me into the master bedroom, which had already been mostly set up (Uncle Jimmy loved doing that kind of shit).

“This room is so nice,” Mom said to no one in particular before placing me on the ground. “Arms up,” she ordered in as forceful a voice as Mom could ever generate. I was so very tired and emotionally drained, so I did as I was told. Off came the sundress. Then came the crazy fetish shoes, the tights and the bra.

At that point, my sister barged into the room with a dress in hand, seeing me in nothing but a thoroughly used diaper that had long since given up being white in coloration. I tried to cover myself, but Mom uncharacteristically smacked my hand. “Babies aren’t modest.”

For her part, Megan was a bit shocked by Mom’s actions as well. I could see it in her eyes. Nevertheless, she rebounded from it quickly, handing off the dress.

“Wow. She really IS messy,” Megan observed in awe.

“Shut up,” I blurted out without thinking.

My mother looked very agitated with me. “Don’t you talk to your big sister that way, little lady.”

“She’s not my big sister, damn it!”

“Yes she most certainly is” demanded Mom, “Plus, she was nice enough to buy you such a beautiful dress and how do you repay her kindness? By being mean to her. You’d best apologize this minute!”

I was mad as a wet hornet. “She didn’t buy that thing to be nice. She bought it to humiliate me, so don’t act like she’s some kind of saint or something! She’s eating this shit up like a starving person on a juicy-ass steak!”

Looking me dead in the eyes, Mom said, “Okay, fine. I guess I’m just going to have to get your father.”

Let’s get into what was going through my noggin, shall we? First, I was terrified of getting another spanking like the one he had given me back east. It not only hurt my posterior, but also dealt a blow to my pride. But, damn, was I on a roll! And when I get on a roll, it’s hard for me to halt that momentum. There’s just something inside of me that says, “keep this fucking trainwreck a’rolling”. So I was torn and didn’t exactly have a lot of time to think things through.

“Great! Bring him in here! I have a few fucking words for that asshole too!”

Okay, so that last line never exited my mouth. I WANTED it to, but it didn’t.

“No, don’t,” I said in a quiet, defeated voice. “I’ll apologize.”

“Well?” she more said than asked, with her hands on her hips.

I looked at Megan and swallowed my pride. “I’m sorry.” I didn’t mean it and made little effort to make it seem like I did. Whatever the case was, Mom didn’t complain.

“It’s alright,” said Megan, “You’re probably just a little fussy from the long ride.” Oh my god! I really wanted to punch her at that very moment. I know my sister. And I know when she’s being a snarky shit-head. This was one of those instances. And I could do nothing but grin and bear it, as hard as that was for me to do.

“Now that that’s settled, let’s get you in a clean diaper and put that adorable dress on you so we can have a nice family dinner.” She paused for a moment while she pulled diapering supplies out of a bag and laid them upon the bed. “But I’m warning you now, Joella. The next time you use potty language like that, you won’t get off so easily. Understood?”

I nodded, resigned — at least for now — to my fate of being the baby of the family. In truth, I was just feeling sorry for myself.

“Now hop up here so I can get you cleaned up.”

To my surprise, Megan left the room. I was NOT looking forward to having her see me get my nasty butt wiped off like an infant, so that was at least a tiny blessing.

The diaper change took forever! I had pooped so much that the mess had caked itself over the entirety of my ass cheeks and up the small of my back, almost oozing over the rear of the diaper. Worse still, my whole crotch area was completely slathered with feces. Of course, most of it was dried by now, giving it something of a crusty texture, except in the areas with the most poop. Only the top layer of those areas was crusty. Underneath, the fecal matter was still slightly sludge-like. Between catching a glimpse of it and smelling the odor that had escaped its confines, I couldn’t help but gag.

Another diaper was laid under me and taped shut. “We’re going to have to get some better diapers,” she muttered to herself, apparently not happy with how the other diaper almost leaked.

“Stay put,” she ordered before digging around in some of the bags. She brought back a pair of pink tights. And I thought the white ones were horrendous! These looked way more absurd! But I dutifully stepped into them and allowed her to pull them up over my crinkly diaper. The creepy fetish Mary Janes were placed back on my feet, much to my own chagrin.

My mother held up the dress Megan had purchased to inspect it and said, “Too bad we don’t have any petticoats. That would just be so cute.” I had no idea what a petticoat was, but had the strong feeling that I wouldn’t like it. As it turned out, I was right.

This was my first good look at the abomination. Un-bee-lievable! I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was a grotesque, white-and-pink article of clothing with frills every-damn-where! And it poofed out too, both the skirt portion and the shoulders. Who the hell would want to wear poofy sleeves? Or poofy ANYTHING, for that matter?

Before I could overcome my shock and disgust, Mom was putting it on me. The skirt grazed my nylon-covered legs, which gave me a pleasurable sensation, even though I didn’t WANT it to. She turned me around so that I faced away from her. She was futzing with something near my butt, though I couldn’t tell what it was.

“That big bow just looks so precious,” she said gleefully. So. THAT’S what it was. A fucking bow. Lovely.

“Let’s go to the mirror so you can see how beautiful you look.”

“I’d… really rather not,” I said mousily.

“Nonsense. Come on. You need to get used to all this. The sooner you do, the sooner you can start having a happy second babyhood.”

Yeah, fat chance of THAT. I was never going to be happy again. Happy second babyhood, my ass! I kept my mouth shut though.

The diaper and the frills both started rustling as Mom guided me to the full-length mirror. I could hardly walk in those idiotic heels, so my steps were awkward. This had the added awfulness of making me look like a baby who was still figuring out how to walk. Within seconds, I stood in front of the dreaded mirror but kept my eyes downcast. I couldn’t bear to see what I looked like. I looked bad enough in the outfit I made the drive in, but this was so much worse; so much less dignified. After all, a lot of girls my age wore sundresses. But this?? No adult would ever wear this willingly, unless they had some weird kink.

“Look in the mirror, darling,” she said.

I reluctantly raised my head and saw myself. I didn’t look like an adult at all. I looked for all the world like a toddler in a fluffy dress. Adding insult to injury, my mother pulled my hair up into pigtails. A tear ran down my cheek as I stood there, gazing at what I had become: an oversized fucking baby.

“Comes on, sweetie,” Mom instructed, “Let’s go get some food in my baby’s little tummy.

Yep. An oversized fucking baby.

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Chapter 15

The steakhouse we went to was actually pretty nice. Kind of folksy, but nice. Under normal circumstances, I’d have been elated to be there. But dressed like this? No fucking way. The place was packed too, which didn’t help matters. It was so packed, in fact, that we had to wait fifteen minutes just to get a table.

During this time, I was able to assess the place, which was, in many ways, a microcosm of the city itself. It was a veritable cornucopia of different fetishes and lifestyles and most of them centered around what the women were wearing. The men tended to dress relatively normal without any indication of a fetish or lifestyle. But the women they were with were another story altogether. That’s how one could surmise what the men’s sexual fantasies were. It was a lot to take in and even more to process.

What made it even stranger to me was that about half of the women looked genuinely happy to exist as the property of a man. They laughed, smiled and chatted while dressed in fetishistic attire. Who knows? Maybe they’re just submissive and get off on the whole setup. I won’t kink shame. So if they’re here because it floats their sexual boats, more power to them.

Then there was the other half… the women who were anything but happy. Even the ones who were smiling had an undeniable sadness beneath their facade. They could try to hide their unhappiness all they wanted, but to anyone with solid observational abilities could see the truth. Each one had a story to tell and it was invariably a sad one. Their eyes said it all. The particulars of their stories varied, I’m sure, but the majority had the same basis: their husbands (or whoever) talked, coerced or even physically forced them to come here so they could feel like big and powerful men. Total penile compensation type shit. I saw right through it.

To my surprise, there were a disconcerting amount of families with teens and adults dressed much like I was. This should have been of some comfort to me, but it wasn’t. If anything, it made me feel worse, because it was proof that this manner of treatment was widely accepted in this hellhole of a city.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I failed to notice that the host had informed my family that a table had opened up. As we moved through the restaurant, I saw even more citizens and it all made me sick to my stomach. The women dressed solely for the pleasure of their men. Ugh!

Our table was near the easternmost wall, almost directly underneath a mounted moose head. Great. Nothing says “appetite” like looking into the dead eyes of a severed animal head.

“Would you like a high chair for your little one?” asked the host.

My parents looked at each other before Dad said, “Yes, please. That would be great.”

“I don’t want to sit in a highchair, Dad,” I said to him discreetly.

“Babies sit in highchairs, Joella, and you’re a baby now. So you’re going to have to deal with it. And you’re going to have to start calling me ‘Daddy’ too, whether you like it or not. ‘Dad’ isn’t what babies call their fathers.”

A moment later, the host came back with an oversized highchair. It was a wooden structure with a pink tray. The cushioning on it was decorated with little hearts. Talk about tacky!

“Megan,” Dad said out of the blue, “would you mind putting your little sister in the highchair and attaching the tray?”

“Of course,” she chirped happily. She could tell that I was on the verge of raising a stink about her picking me up and about being called her little sister, so she gave me a stern look as if to tell me I’d better not do anything stupid. I couldn’t even bear to meet her gaze. I knew the repercussions of making a scene in here would dwarf the punishment I received in the hotel room.

She placed her hands under my arms and lifted me up and onto the seat without any problem at all. Have I mentioned how much I loathe her being so much taller and stronger than me? If not, consider it mentioned. The tray was slid on and with a click, it was in place. The whole contraption, with me in it, was positioned near the table, beside where my sister was sitting.

As embarrassed by all this as I was, I really was starting to get hungry and judging by the steaks I saw on other people’s tables, I was at least going to be stuffed by the time I left.

The waitress — a pretty middle-aged woman with curly red hair — approached and introduced herself as Carly, handing everyone but me a menu. She took our drink order and left them alone to decide on their food selections.

“Why didn’t I get a menu?” I asked almost out of pure instinct. I knew the answer and it pissed me off.

Megan answered. “It’s because babies don’t need menus. The grown-ups choose what they eat.”

My father looked particularly impressed and ignored the fact that I was mean-mugging Megan. “Very good, Megan. I’m proud of you for getting with the program. I know you didn’t want to move here and I can understand why, but having you on our side is going to help a lot. It speaks volume about your maturity. Your little sister is going to be a real handful, but with all of us putting in the effort, she’ll be better off in the long run.”

“Thanks, Dad,” she said with a prideful smile. “I’ll do everything I can to make sure she’s a good little baby girl.” She looked straight at me while she said that last bit. It came across like a warning not to trifle with her. At that point, I didn’t want to just trifle with her. I wanted to smash her face into a million unidentifiable pieces.

“That’s exactly what I hoped you’d say. I’ll be working a lot of hours to get the new store prepped and ready to go, so you’ll need to help your mother out a lot. I’m giving you full authority, okay? Don’t abuse it, but don’t be afraid to use it when you have to. Having you as backup will make me sleep easier.”

“You really don’t mind helping me out?” Mom asked Megan.

“Not at all.”

“You understand that means that you’ll sometimes need to change her diapers, bathe her, put her to bed and that kind of stuff, right?”

“Yes,” she replied, “It’ll be fun.”

No. No, it wouldn’t. I almost spoke up again. In fact, my mouth even opened, but Megan glared at me and cleared her throat. I knew what that meant, so I just let it go and looked away. I was getting really, really sick of looking away, but what choice did I have? I had my chances to escape this horrible fate and I blew it each time. Maybe this was exactly what I deserved. I mean, how stupid does someone have to be to screw up hiding out for a few months? Sorry. Sometimes, my mind goes to negative places like that.

“Tomorrow, you’ll have your first opportunity to help us out,” Dad said. “There’s a place Lucas Budd told us about here in town called Simms’ Baby Emporium. It’s supposed to be quite an elaborate operation. It’s a store that sells all the supplies we’ll need for Joella, but the cool part is that Simms owns three other businesses. One of them manufactures what Lucas referred to as the best, most advanced diapers in the world, another constructs extremely well done baby furniture and the last one produces oversized baby clothes. But anyway, your mother and I need to go there tomorrow and we’ll need you to babysit.”

Mom looked worried. “Can we afford all that? It sounds pricey.”

“Yes, it’s fine,” Dad assured her, “Lucas is taking care of the costs.”

“That seems a little shady. Are you sure there aren’t strings attached or something?” My mother may be a little docile and mousey, but she’s not stupid.

“Trust me, dear,” he said, “it’s all on the up and up. It’s part of a package that the city offers new business owners moving to Preston. It’s some kind of incentive program. I checked it out thoroughly and it’s legit. I even called a handful of the people who received the package. I wouldn’t accept such a gift if it was sketchy.

“Okay,” Mom said, obviously not buying it completely.

Megan spoke up. “It doesn’t make sense to me. So this guy runs the town and he says ‘hey, if you open up a store here, I’ll buy you a bunch of adult baby stuff.’ That just seems weird.”

“It’s not quite like that. New businesses help keep a city prospering, right? So, Lucas wants to encourage this expansion by offering a package of perks. He gave me a list of local businesses that participate in the program and then said I could have a certain amount of money worth of vouchers or coupons to spread around the list of stores. So given that I knew we needed a lot of stuff for Joella’s new life, I put a lot of that money into vouchers from Simms’ Baby Emporium.”

“Oh,” is all Megan said. “But, sure, I’ll babysit for you.”

My father looked at me and said, “You’d better be a good girl for your big sister tomorrow.”

I hated being talked down to like that. Again, no choice. At least not without a sore ass and who knows what else!

They looked over the menus and discussed their selections.

“I want steak,” I said meekly. I did. I really wanted steak.

“Silly baby, steak is for grown-ups,” Mom stated matter of factly.

“So I have to just sit here and watch you eat steaks while I have to eat some crappy kid food? That’s cruel.”

They all three looked at me like I had just said every dirty word known to humankind.

“Do I have to take you outside and blister your little bottom again?” asked my dad.

Was steak really the hill I wanted to die on? I DO love steak. Like a lot! But this wasn’t really that high on the priority list of things I should risk getting spanked for.

“No,” I pouted.

“Good,” he responded, “Now let’s get you one of the kid meals and forget you ever protested.”

Suddenly, I didn’t want to eat. Yes, I was hungry, but enduring them eating steak without getting any of it myself was just too much.

They made the order and I was right. Each of them chose steak. As for me? Mom selected the goddamn ‘hot dog’ kid meal. A fucking measley hot dog! This sucked so much! The whole situation became even worse when the delicious-looking porterhouse steaks hit the table. Oh and my sad little hot dog. I was so angry and depressed.

“I can feed the baby before I eat if you’d like,” Megan offered in a hopeful manner.

I don’t know what torked me off the most. The fact that she just called me “the baby” or the fact that she actually wanted to feed me simply to embarrass me further.

“No, I think she can manage a hot dog by herself.”

Of fucking COURSE I could handle eating a hot dog by myself. It was like they were becoming delusional and in their oddball, twisted fantasy land, I couldn’t even do the simple tasks that any other person my age could’ve done. You know… like eating a goddamn hot dog, for instance. That there was a discussion about that was a pisser.

My sister looked deflated, though, so I’ll claim that as a small victory. I had intended to not eat the hot dog at all, as a way to protest the food choice my parents made for me, but after that, I was afraid Megan would leverage me not eating into her getting to feed me. I could hear her voice in my head, “Mom, since she’s not eating by herself, could I go ahead and feed her?” I did NOT want to give her that pleasure. So, I did the exact opposite. I scarfed the entire hotdog down in two bites, just to be a smart-ass.

Not that it mattered. Nobody said anything about it. And why would they, really? It was a lame way to thumb my nose at them to begin with. Whatever.

During the meal, my parents and sister talked to each other just as any normal family would. Not once was I spoken to or included in the conversation. I was talked ABOUT a few times, but never talked TO. Big difference. It really reinforced the whole pretense that I was never going to be treated as a functioning adult again and it stung. Boy, did it sting! This was my life now. As pathetic, sad and useless as it was, I was trapped in a second babyhood that I never wanted. And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.


Well, I gotta say, the actual story itself just isn’t my cup of tea.

However, I really do like the narration. It reads just like it goes; someone kicking and throwing things around the room in a rage, curse words flying between every breath. It’s really well done.

Thank you for the kind words. I’m glad you like the narration. :slight_smile: