Poor Little Jo

‘It’s ok, Ann, I get the picture,’ said Joe, feeling annoyed at his wife’s labouring the point. ‘Remember, I have worked in business.’

‘Not for a while, honey, and I’m not sure how effective you were when you did,’ said Ann.

‘And exactly what is that supposed to mean?’ Joe asked.

Ann, his wife of one year, certainly knew how to get his back up. Joe resented her talking like this. It seemed a poor return to him for the unconditional love he had given her since they had first fallen in love.

‘Oh, just your level of responsibility, I suppose,’ said Ann, giving Joe an anonymous, polite sort of smile.

Joe was really cross.

He looked at his wife, the woman he adored…

She was 38 years old, tall, good-looking, confident and manager of a team of forty or so professionals, mainly men. She was immaculately dressed in her ‘business clothes’ - a grey flannel trouser suit with wide lapels setting off a fine white blouse unbuttoned to her cleavage. The top of the lacy bra restraining her beautiful, soft 38D breasts was clearly visible. She wore a double strand of real pearls across her decolletage, and an exquisite white gold and diamond brooch on one of the lapels subtly matched the buckle on the flannel belt above the faux fly that curved over her flat tummy and under her belly. The total effect was interesting. Every component of her clothing was masculine in origin, but feminine in execution. Joe always thought she dressed like that as a challenge to the men she managed. A sort of ‘see you’ in male terms and ‘raise you one’ in female terms. Even Joe felt challenged, in a way, by his wife’s pseudo-masculine business wear.

‘I was responsible!’ Joe protested.

‘Of course you were responsible,’ said Ann, twisting his words. ‘That’s why they let you go. That’s why you keep saying that running this house is as complex as failing to run your little area of that little business. That’s why when Global took over, they restaffed your section with guess who?’

Joe was suddenly interested as well as angry. It was bad enough having his wife headhunted by the same firm that now owned the business that had sacked him, but he hadn’t heard who was operating his section now.

‘I dunno,’ said Joe. ‘Some team from marketing, or some guys from strategic planning, I dunno.’

‘Not guys. Try girl, singular, and part-time.’ said Ann. ‘They replaced you and your useless team of non-achievers with one of the merchandisers. She spends four days a week going round the stores checking the fixtures and point of sale material, and one day at a spare desk doing with her laptop what the five of you guys used to spend all week struggling to do.’

‘OK, so they got some Gen-X whizzkid with a hotshot computer programme…’ Joe began.

‘Nothing like it. She’s 17, and we employ her under a government opportunity program. In fact, she’s borderline ‘special needs’. She has a memory issue – she has notes stuck everywhere and all our communication with her has to be in writing.’

Ann paused, looking at her nails.

‘Still, she’s aware of her problem and is still performing at about 100%, which is a lot higher than your team’s last rating. And higher than your last rating as team leader. Not as an adult or a man or whatever,’ Ann added. ‘God knows what that would be.’

Joe could feel his bottom lip quivering and his eyes watering.

‘Does hearing the truth make you want to have a little cry, baby?’ Ann sneered. ‘I understand if you’re finding things tough. After all, you were the one who said housekeeping would be ‘just as challenging’ as running your miserable little five man (or should I say, ‘one part time junior female’) department. It really comes down to your own capacities as a person. Perhaps you’re not really as grown up as you think you are. I won’t mention the phrase ‘special needs’ in case it hurts your feelings, because you might think it applies to you.’

The front door slammed and Joe quickly wiped his eyes as his step-daughter Belle strode into the room. She was taller than Joe, almost as tall as Ann, and had just returned from her basketball match. She was dressed in a body-hugging blue lycra suit which compressed her breasts and emphasised her powerful thighs, flat stomach and her narrow waist above her broad hips, not to mention the wide, bulging vee of her fleshy mons. Joe had to look away when he found himself staring.

‘Hi, honey, did you win?’ Ann asked.

‘Of course,’ replied Belle, then looked crossly at Joe.

‘Joe, I have to go out in ten minutes. I can see my things still on the line when they’re supposed to be in my bedroom. I need my low black bra please, and the matching panties.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Joe. ‘I’ll get them straight away.’

Belle was a junior partner in a major law firm. She was mature, organised and her stellar career was a reflection of her talents.

As Joe turned to get out of the house to the relative peace of the side garden, he not only cursed himself for forgetting part of his task list – washing, drying and returning neatly folded to their bedrooms his wife and step-daughter’s latest loads of washing, but doubly cursed himself for allowing himself to sink to such a lowly position. He was now no more than a laundrymaid not just to his wife but to his daughter as well.

Ann grabbed the straps of his apron behind his back and hauled him up short.

‘Hold on, honey, what’s that muck on your pinny?’ she asked turning Joe around and inspecting the front of the pink apron she insisted he wear from morning to night for his housekeeping duties.

‘It’s not a pinny, it’s a work apron,’ said Joe.

‘Call it what you like,’ said Ann. ‘What have you dribbled on yourself now?’ she asked, pointing to a dark brown stain down the front of the garment.

‘Er, I think it was my chocolate drink,’ said Joe, annoyed with himself for not noticing he had spilled it. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Hmm,’ said Ann. ‘Well, we can’t really ban you from the kitchen because of your duties, but you can go back to your sippy cup again. OK, baby? Sippy cup for a month, please. Put it on the calendar.’

The tears welled up again in Joe’s eyes. He knew it was pointless arguing. Deciding to not risk forgetting to make the demeaning entry on the big calendar in the kitchen, Joe hurried to get a felt pen to mark the calendar. He wondered what to write. There was no choice, really. ‘Joe – sippy cup’ it would have to be, along with ‘Joe – pinny on every day’ and ‘Joe – wash hands after doing wee wee’ which he had already been made to write on the big calendar in the kitchen.

‘Joe!’ barked Belle, stopping Joe in his tracks.

Joe turned to face his step-daughter.

‘My bra first, Joe. Hurry up,’ she said.

‘Yes Belle,’ he said and turned ninety degrees to the back door.

‘He’s worse than a child, Mum,’ he heard Belle complain as he left the house for the clothes line.

‘Don’t worry, darling,’ Ann said, putting her arm around her daughter, kissing her the stroking her long red hair. ‘I’ve got an idea of how to deal with his childishness.’

Joe heard the remarks, and his silent tears began again. He returned to the kitchen as quickly as he could with an armful of Belle’s underwear.

‘Wait a minute,’ said Ann. ‘Put those down.’

Joe obeyed and looked at Ann.

Ann picked up a pair of Belle’s pink satin panties. Some of the chocolate residue on Joe’s pinny had transferred itself to the panties.

‘Take your pinny off, put it in to soak and wash it with the next load,’ Ann said. ‘And hand wash these panties again,’ she said, handing him the undies.

‘And don’t forget to apologise to Belle for getting nasty chocolate marks on her nice clean panties,’ added Ann, then looking concerned she added, ‘Can you remember all those things, baby?’

‘Yes,’ said Joe, and hurried to take the bundle of fancy underclothes to Belle.

He found Belle undressing in her bedroom.

‘Finally,’ said Belle.

She had pulled her lycra suit down to her waist, and faced Joe bare-breasted without a touch of embarrassment, as if she were his…it didn’t bear thinking about.

‘You know, you don’t just need a sippy cup and a pinny, do you?’ Belle asked, taking the clothing from Joe and putting it on her bed, while Joe tried hard not to look at her big, hanging breasts with their large brown nipples.

Joe shook his head, looking at the floor. He had learned not to argue with Belle.

‘That’s right,’ Belle said. ‘What else do you think you need?’

Joe thought hard. He thought about the chocolate spill.

‘I need to wear a bib when I’m eating or drinking, Belle,’ he said, hating every demeaning word as he pronounced them.

Belle smiled.

‘I agree, sweetie. You can writer that on the calendar with your other rules. I’ll tell Ann of your decision, and I think she’ll agree that you’re being very sensible and grown-up about your special needs,’ Belle said, still smiling. ‘But baby, I think there is something else you should be thinking about, something else I think you might need, soon if not right now. What do you think that might be, baby Joe?’

Joe thought hard again. He was distracted by Belle peeling off her lycra suit, exposing the blue thong she wore underneath when she played basketball. Then she lifted one leg and stepped out of the tiny thong, exposing her thick bush. Belle noticed Joe’s fixed gaze, and raised her eyebrows at him.

‘Well, baby, what do you think you might need? I want you to be very grown-up and responsible, and think carefully,’ she said.

Joe felt himself blushing with embarrassment. There was something, but he didn’t think Belle knew anything about it.

‘Sometimes,’ he said uncertainly, ‘I mean, Ann said I should be careful to wipe properly after, you know, after, after…’ Joe wondered how to say it, ‘After doing…a poo.’

Belle laughed.

‘Of course you should, honey, and I know that’s part of the problem, but what else happens sometimes?’ she asked.

Joe had no choice but to say it. Ann had pointed it out to him again only the day before as she looked through his washing.

‘In f-front,’ Joe stuttered. ‘Making wet, you know, leaving a wet mark in front, sometimes.’

‘That’s better, baby,’ Belle said. ‘Nearly there. Now, be grown up about your problem. What might you need to wear for your problem?’

Joe was terrified about what he had to say next. He felt a tiny, fearful spurt from his penis.

‘Well, baby? What do you think you might need to wear?’ Belle persisted.

Joe had an inspiration.

‘New underpants,’ he said, proud of his idea. ‘Clean underpants every day.’

‘Mm,’ said Belle, furrowing her brow. ‘New panties. I’m not sure about that. Did you put on new panties today, honeybunch?’

‘Yes, Belle,’ said Joe.

He was sure about that. It was good to be able to answer ‘yes’.

‘Are you sure clean panties every day are the answer to your particular problem, though, honey?’ said Belle. ‘I mean, do you ever have little accidents in your panties?’

Belle looked at Joe expectantly. She knew the answer to this question. She and Ann had discussed Joe’s infantile propensity to wet his pants – not in a serious flood, but two three times a day, enough to leave yellow circles of dried urine on the front of his underwear.

Joe mumbled a reply.

‘Was that a yes or no, baby? Shall I put my hand down your front and check your panties?’ asked Belle.

‘No, it’s all right. I do sometimes have, you know, a little thing like that happens sometimes,’ Joe said, looking at the floor.

‘Sometimes?’ said Belle. ‘Sometimes every day?’

Joe nodded slowly at the floor. He felt Belle was teasing him and making him feel babyish. He wished she’d stop saying ‘panties’, too.

‘So, you wet your panties a little bit every day,’ Belle said.

Joe nodded again. A tear splashed onto the floor.

‘Joe, if you have a problem like that, and it might get worse, what would you have to consider wearing, both for hygiene and to save yourself embarrassment?’ Belle asked gently. ‘What might you need to wear, baby Joe?’

Joe was quiet for a long moment.

‘Nappies,’ he said finally, his voice catching.

‘That’s right, honey,’ said Belle. ‘I think you need to think about going back to nappies as well, and not just for comfort or hygiene or because you want to look older than you actually behave. If you went back to nappies, baby, it would remind you of your status around here. You behave like an unreliable little child, so I think you should be treated like one. Don’t you?’

Joe stared at the floor, saying nothing. He felt he had been not only beaten, but tricked somehow. He was angry and unhappy, and could not prevent himself from crying.

‘Joe, I spoke to you, now look at me.’ Belle said, her voice now very severe. ‘I said you’re so childish you need to be in nappies. Can you think of a reason you shouldn’t be in nappies?’

Tears of humiliation and self-pity flowing, Joe looked up. Belle was standing in front of him, bending forward slightly. She was still naked and her bare breasts swung within inches of his face. The fact that she didn’t care about modesty in front of him made Joe even more miserable.

Joe shook his head.

‘What does that mean? You can’t think of a reason you shouldn’t be in nappies?’ asked Belle.

‘I don’t know Belle,’ wailed Joe.

Ann called Joe from the kitchen.

‘Well you’d better go and see what she wants,’ Bell said, ‘But I think you realise that you will be back in nappies before long, don’t you, Joe? And I think you know it will be permanent.’

Joe stared wide-eyed at Belle, then ran to the kitchen, where Ann was about to bake some biscuits.

‘Did you give Belle her bra?’ she asked Joe, surprised to see him upset and crying.

Joe nodded.

‘What did Belle say, sweetie?’ Ann asked.

Joe had learned, to his cost, not to lie to Ann, or Belle for that matter.

‘She says, she says I, I n-need to wear a n-n-nappy,’ Joe managed to say, looking tearfully at his wife.

‘Oh Joe. Never mind. Lots of people have accidents. Here, let me have a look,’ said Ann kindly. ‘Take off your pinny first, honey.’

‘No, not now!’ protested Joe, feeling another warm spurt in his pants. ‘She said, she said I was a child, Ann.’

‘I see,’ said Ann. ‘Well, you can be very childish, and you may or may not need a nappy just now, but I don’t think it will be long, the way you’re going, do you?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Joe, looking at the floor again.

‘Joe don’t keep looking at the floor when I speak to you. Now, did you apologise to Belle for dirtying her underwear?’ asked Ann.

Joe felt his heart drop into his stomach.

‘No,’ he said.

‘Why not?’ asked Ann.

‘I forgot, Ann, I’m sorry,’ Joe mumbled.

‘Right,’ said Ann. ‘This way!’

Ann took Joe by one ear and dragged him into Belle’s bedroom. Belle was about to get into the shower in her ensuite bathroom. She turned to see her mother and Joe. Joe was still crying.

She turned to face Joe and her mother. She was big, taut and muscular, but still very curvaceous.

Ann pushed Joe to the floor, where he knelt.

‘Joe, what have you got to say to Belle?’ Ann prompted him, waggling the ear she held in a pincer grip.

‘I apologise for getting chocolate on your panties,’ said Joe between sobs, looking up at Belle’s long legs and the big red triangular bush between her legs. ‘I forgot to tell you.’

Belle looked down at her step-father.

‘Joe, I didn’t know that you had got my clothes dirty, and I’m cross that you didn’t tell me. I know it’s because you forgot, and I know that you forgot because you can’t help it. I think that for a long time people have been asking way too much of you, baby,’ Belle said.

Joe felt a cold shiver run through him. He was genuinely frightened of this big, strong, naked female, and he began to cry even more lustily, despite his attempts not to. He wondered about the implications about people ‘have been asking way too much’ of him. He shifted his weight, with Ann still gripping his ear, and was shocked to feel a warm stream of pee running down his thigh and splashing noisily onto the polished boards of Belle’s room.

For a moment, no-one said a word.

Belle spoke. She squatted down in front of Joe. He could see through the wide gap between her legs, and the folds of skin under the thick, curly hair.

‘Joe, I’m going to accept your apology, but with conditions. Do you know what ‘with conditions’ means, honey?’ she said.

‘Yes,’ said Joe.

‘Good little boy,’ said Belle. ‘Now, stay here while I talk to Ann.’

Ann let go of Joe’s ear and left the room with Belle. They closed the door.

Still very frightened, Joe stayed where he was. He peed his pants again, but thought that would be the least of his troubles.

After a few minutes, the door opened again.

Belle, still naked and Ann sat together on the double bed, facing Joe.

‘Sit cross-legged, Joe, you’ll be more comfortable,’ said Ann.

Joe did as he was told, and conscious that both women could plainly see the soaked crotch of his light khaki pants, opened his mouth to try to explain.

‘Joe sit quietly, please,’ said Ann. ‘Let Belle speak.’

Joe closed his mouth and glanced at Belle.

‘Joe,’ said Belle, ‘When Mum’s organization took over the company you worked for, and she met you, she thought you might make a useful husband despite your inability to manage at work. Well, it’s been some time now, and while it was obvious almost immediately that you couldn’t possibly fulfil Ann’s hopes as a husband, you have to admit that you’re not really coping even with your reduced duties as housekeeper here. Look at yourself, Joe. You can’t even keep your pants dry, can you?’

Joe slowly shook his head at the floor. He wondered how many more rungs downward there were on this horrible ladder.

‘So you have gone from a gainfully employed man and husband, to housekeeper, and you’re still not coping, are you?’ asked Belle.

Another trickle from his glistening crotch hit the floor. He just wanted Ann to pick him up and take him away.

‘No,’ muttered Joe.

‘Well then, back to your apology. I accept your apology, Joe, on condition that your status in this house will be reduced again,’ said Belle.

Joe’s tears welled up again. How much lower could he go? Boot boy? No boots. House-boy? Was there such a thing? Housemaid?’

‘Joe,’ said Belle, ‘Ann and I have decided that from now on, to stay here at all, you will accept the role in this house of a child.’

Joe whimpered in fear.

‘A…a what?’ he asked.

‘I think you heard me,’ said Belle, ‘A child. A young child. You’ll be much happier. Not much will be expected of you, and your forgetfulness, occasional disobedience and even naughtiness will be tolerated and generally forgiven on account of your age. To an extent, of course. You’ll still be punished by quiet time, spanking or whatever we think is appropriate if we decide that you will benefit from behaviour modification. Do you accept the conditions?’

Joe had no choice. It could be worse, he thought.

He nodded, and said, ‘Yes.’

‘Good. Since you are now a child, you will no longer have a daily roster of chores. Instead, Ann or I or whoever is looking after you will know your routine – wakeup, bath, cartoons, playtime, feeding, bedtime or whatever,’ said Belle.

‘Playtime! Wait a minute,’ said Joe, ‘How young? A child can be…’

‘…the age we have decided for you. We have decided and you have agreed,’ said Belle.

‘But I can be twelve, that’s still a child, and I’ll be good, I promise, I’ll be twelve year old Joe,’ wailed Joe.

‘Joe, please,’ said Ann. ‘Don’t whine.’

‘Or eleven, please, or even ten, please, ten, that’s two less, I’ll play Nintendo and stuff, Super Mario, please, that’s still playtime, please, I’ll be ten,’ Joe continued.

‘Joe. Stop it or you will receive a spanking. Go to your room, and we’ll talk to you later,’ said Belle.

Joe looked desperately from one woman to the other, then got up and almost ran to his and Ann’s bedroom.

‘Not that room, Joe, that’s my room now. The spare bedroom please,’ said Ann.

‘And change your pants, big boy,’ added Belle.

Joe went to the spare room, kicked off his shoes, socks and wet pants, threw himself face down on the bed and cried himself to sleep.

He didn’t wake until late next morning.

Ann had taken the day off. She had stayed at home, hard at work on the former ‘sewing-room’ at the end of the main hallway, while Belle had been shopping.

Joe stumbled off the bed just before noon. He opened the door to be met by Ann.

‘Good morning, sleepyhead!’ she said, giving him a kiss.

Joe felt elated. Last night had been a bad dream, or forgotten about at the least.

He was about to go back to ‘Ann’s bedroom’ to find some clothes when Ann saw him in the hallway.

‘Come into the bathroom, sweetie,’ said Ann.

‘OK,’ said Joe, still heading for Ann’s room.

‘Joe, bathroom please. I wish you’d do what you were told!’ she said.

‘My pants, I was just…’

‘Joe, don’t answer back. You don’t need pants,’ said Ann and took him by the arm.

‘Shirt off, hop in,’ said Belle, already in the bathroom, and pointing to the bath. She was wearing a heavy, translucent apron over her clothes.

Joe felt exposed in only his shirt, but had to adjust soon enough as his wife and step-daughter gave him a thorough scrubbing.

‘There we are, honey,’ said Belle, drying him off.

The two women led Joe back into the living room and sat him naked on the floor.

‘Now, Joe,’ said Ann. ‘We’ve discussed the reasons for what we’re doing, so please don’t argue. I’ll explain the new structure for this household.’

‘I know, I said I’d be ten,’ said Joe.

‘Joe you won’t be ten. You will be perfectly happy and well-cared for at a level we where we know you can cope.’

'What, Ann? Nine? Eight??

‘Joe, we have decided that in this house you will be treated as a three year old,’ said Ann.

‘THREE!!’ screamed Joe. ‘NO! You’re mad! No! I won’t do it! I won’t do it! You can’t!’

‘Joe, don’t make this hard, just listen,’ said Ann.

‘NO!!’ howled Joe.

Ann looked at Belle.

‘Belle, I think our new baby is having his first tantrum,’ she said.

Joe stopped shouting and sat still.

‘Joe, do you want me to spank you?’ Belle said in a loud voice, well above Joe’s crying.

Joe was silent.

‘That’s much better,’ said Belle, tipping her stunned step-father onto his back while Ann slid a thick disposable nappy under him and taped it quickly, while Belle slid a long t-shirt over his head. Meanwhile, Ann tugged a large pair of nursery print, elastic legged plastic pants over Joe’s feet and legs.

‘Now, Joe. This is very important, so listen,’ ordered Ann.

Joe sat dumbfounded on the floor in his bulky nappy, plastic pants and t-shirt. His legs were spread out before him and he could feel the thickness of the cloth. He knew what he looked like. He even felt like a baby.

Ann looked steadily into his eyes.

'Joe. You are now, as far as Belle and I are concerned, three years old. Nominally, you are male, but that hardly matters any more. Neither of us will regard you as remotely sexual, nor will we expect you to see us as sexual in any way. It may be hard for you, but you will get used to it in time.

'You have the run of the house, except for Belle’s bedroom and mine. Your new bedroom is the sewing room which has been redecorated for you in a manner appropriate for the toddler you now are.

'The kitchen is out of bounds, and you can go outside but only if you ask permission first so we know where you are. You will be babysat if neither of us is here. You may not leave the property under any circumstances without a responsible adult with you – me, Belle, your babysitter or some other adult of whom we approve.

'Naturally, you won’t be doing washing or household chores any more. A woman called Mrs Higgins will be here two days a week to attend to the housekeeping. I have spoken to her about you, and all we ask is that you keep out from under her feet.

'As we mentioned before, you will have a set routine which you will get used to very soon: wakeup, feeding, playtime, which is watching cartoons or playing with your toys, feeding, afternoon nap, more playing, feeding, bathtime then bed. You have some lovely soft toys and a big box of Fisher-Price toys.

'Now, this last part is very important. We have decided that it will be easier all round if you call Belle ‘Mummy’ and me ‘Nana’. Now please don’t get upset. We are thinking of you. You may or may not know that Belle has a special friend called Amy whom you may call Aunt.

'You will wear without complaint the clothes we have chosen for you, and the hairstyles we fix for you, for that matter. Rather than you bothering us whenever you think you need your nappy changed, we will change you regularly and ensure that you do not suffer from rashes.

'We expect you to keep your toys on the big rug at the end of the living room. You will play there, where we can keep an eye on you.

‘We don’t expect you to try to use big words, or try to join in adult conversations. Your vocabulary is your own business, but we won’t tolerate naughty words. You can walk if you like, but its quite alright if you prefer to crawl. You will wear a bib while we feed you – I was going to make you wear one anyway, honey – and if you are feeling unhappy you will find a nice soft pacifier pinned to your outer clothing at all times.’

‘Now, finally, Joe. You can leave if you want. We will put you on the footpath at the end of the street, outside Mrs Burton’s house, in your nappy and top, with your bank balance of zero, and your total assets of your box of toys and some spare nappies. The choice is yours. Last of all, we love you and we are doing this for you because we love you.’

Ann finished her instructions, and stood up. Joe was sitting slumped in his nappy and t-shirt, sobbing softly and staring at his new clothing.

He looked up at Ann, his face reddened and streaked with tears.

‘When does it start?’ he said after a long pause.

‘We’ve started, baby,’ said Belle. ‘Now let Nana get on with things while Mummy will get you some toys. Come on, baby,’ she added, taking Joe’s hand and leading him to his new bedroom.

Joe felt himself peeing into his nappy as he waddled after his Nana.

Epilogue

Joe cried continuously for the first three days after his ‘demotion’. He began to speak again at the end of the first week of his new status, but only in simple sentences.

Joe seemed to get used to using his nappy 24/7 by the end of the second week. Belle found that he had completely lost his toilet training a month later, and was wetting and soiling like an infant. When he did need to wear more than just his usual nappy and top, the women found it easiest to dress him, depending on the temperature, either in a footed sleeper or in elastic legged shorts with crotch studs. Joe soon lost interest in how he was dressed unless the garment had frills, which he began to prefer.

After a week, Joe began to crawl over short distances indoors. At first he would look embarrassed if seen and would stand up and walk, but after a few weeks he was happily crawling everywhere. Six months later he was quite unsteady on his feet, able to walk only from handhold to handhold using the furniture. Three months on, Belle discovered that Joe could no longer walk at all, and a specialist invalid equipment company custom made a stroller for him to use on outings.

Joe’s speech became more basic as time went on. Belle estimated his vocabulary at the end of twelve months to be thirty words. Another development has been Joe’s increasing interest in dolls. He now much prefers them to boyish toys, and wants clothes for himself in styles and colours ‘like Mummy’. Joe is no longer able to read or write, with the exception of his name, which he writes slowly and carefully as ‘Jo’ or ‘Jo Jo’ .

Joe is very strongly bonded to his Mummy and to a lesser extent his Aunt, but he cries inconsolably if left in the presence of his Nana, despite everything she has done for him.

Poor Little Jo

Awesome story. A little more direct than usual, but I loved it. Tahnks again Sally.

Poor Little Jo

‘Direct’?

Could you explain? I’m interested.

Sal

Poor Little Jo

Well generally your stories involve a more gradual regression process in this story Joe goes directly from adulthood to toddlerhood.

Poor Little Jo

Yes, he does. Magic of a sort is involved, rather than some conditioning mental or chemical influence.

I thought you meant ‘direct’ as in ‘more confronting’.

Thanks.

Poor Little Jo

sorry to bounce this, but this story just made me really angry

Poor Little Jo

touchet vickie. Well it made me angry for many reasons.
I didnt like the way how Joe was treated. I didnt like the way the wife and daughter spoke to him and treated him. I get that this is a humiliation story but to me it seemed more like a bullying story. I didnt like the way he completely regressed with out a fight. I dont like the way they took advantage of him by saying either do this or your broke and out on your ass.

Sorry i never like theese storyies but this one just really bugged me
No offence to SallyKat or anything just didnt like it

Poor Little Jo

I was wondering if could make the story longer ,or if he could a friend if were second story with him in it.

Re: Poor Little Jo

Dear Mr McAwesome - or should I be addressing a Duke?

I’m sorry you didn’t like the way poor little Jo was treated.

There are some very domineering women, and girls, out there, and some very childish men. The characteristics are latent as well as overt.

I know the story is direct, as you put it quite well, but I suppose you could think of it as theatre - the action, makeup etc are exaggerated for effect in a gloomy hall.

If you think that’s rubbish, consider the vibrant colouring of a dream.

Whichever - the story is done now (some time ago!). There are also many tastes - I’ve had pm’s which are very complimentary; different strokes for different folks!

Re: Poor Little Jo

Sally ,

Your description of it being “like theatre” is exactly how I take it. People it is just a story, not meant to be completely realistic. If that were the case then it would be known as a documentary. I have always enjoyed your stories anyway, so admits I am biased but it’s more than that. Just like the 2 I posted here. Sure they aren’t the most realistic no, but then I never intended them to be, more for fun. If I really wanted to write properly, believe me I would, but to me this is just novelty , meant to be done for fun , not just to be criticized to death.

I swear people ( and babies or littles should really not have this problem) take themselves wayy too seriously. That having been said I envy Jo. That sounds like the life to me =) Keep up the good work Sally . I so miss Nautybaby.com , sighs. You used to be on that, whatever happened?

Re: Poor Little Jo

As long as someone else necro’d the post further up front, I’d like to add that SallyKAT’s stuff is friggin’ great.

Re: Poor Little Jo

It is. I just wish I liked guy stories more :frowning:

Re: Poor Little Jo

I know this is an old thread, but wasn’t there some follow ups to this story in the form of journal articles? I remember reading them, I just can’t find them to save my life.

Re: Poor Little Jo

It’s been a while, but I just want to say that as far as IU remember, there were no journal style followups.

I don’t have the luxury of being able to keep an archive of my stories (for personal rather than technical reasons), but I’m sure there were no followups to this one.

I don’t know what happenede to Nautybaby.com. I agree it was a great site with a good collection. ‘Act Your Age’ by Nautybaby is still around. It’s a brilliant story about a man who is insultingly condescending to his wife’s female business colleague and pays a price. Unfortunately, the story stops after only two chapters, good as they are.

Re: Poor Little Jo

Act your age was an excellent tale. Nautybaby also hosted a number of Funraisers cartoons, which had some deliciously wonderful scenes.

Also, Nautybaby.com had the random punishment generator (for us boys that lack a firm, maternal hand to guide us, aid us, and provide guidance for penance).