A Comedy of AR's

Chapter 97
Chapter 97: Tension and Release

Chapter 97: Tension and Release

Sunday afternoon, just after lunch.  In lieu of a nap and Janet starting her paperwork, Janet and I were torturing ourselves. Each other too, by proxy.

“Alright now,” the yoga instructor on T.V. said, “let’s just ease on back into cobra and inhale.”  From my position on the floor, I pushed up and locked my elbows while keeping my lower body flat on the ground like a snake.  “Now get your toes underneath you and exhale into downward facing dog!”  I planted my toes and lifted my ass up towards the ceiling while keeping my head near the ground.  I looked like a toddler that was just about to work out how not to crawl.

“Ooooooooooffffffff!” Janet groaned on the floor beside me.

I was naked save for the Monkeez.  She was in shorts and a sports bra. The ceiling fan was on full blast yet we were both dripping with sweat.  It had been a while since I’d done anything like this but outside of a few differentiated terms it was like riding a bike.  Janet had never done exercise like this and she was panting heavily. 

That made me feel good about myself.  That was something about yoga that I liked. No limits but yourself, your own endurance and how far you were willing to push yourself.  Janet could lift me up over her head like I was a pillow, but the world was made for her; so she rarely had to test or push herself. She wasn’t as experienced as I was.

“Take a second and bend those knees,” the hunky himbo on screen said. “Walk that dog! Bend that left knee, bend that right knee.  Make sure you’re stretching out those ankles!”

The mindfucked Little to his right responded with “Yes, Daddy!”

“I know you’re doing it, my Little bud. Daddy’s just talking to the people at home.”

“I know, Daddy,” the Little said.  “I’m just tryna help.”

“Heh. Right, Jem! You are!  You’re a super big help!”

The camera didn’t zoom in or anything, but I I could see a hint of blush start to rise in the Little’s cheeks.  I didn’t think it was from embarrassment at being condescended to, but from genuine praise from his Daddy.  Poor son of a bitch had gone full native and been mindfucked all to hell.  It was the only explanation as to why he was going along with this farce.

Janet and I were all but naked.  The two men on screen- one Little and his so-called Daddy-were decked out in official looking t-shirts and pants (that still failed to hide the outline of the Little’s diaper ) and didn’t look at all fatigued.  Twenty minutes in and Janet and I were absolutely drenched with sweat.

“Okay, look at me,” the Amazon video instructor said,  “Now bend your knees, and you can either step up like Jem or pounce like me!”  The Little moved his feet forward and slowly raised himself into a standing position, the Amazon leapt forward to where his hands were and stood up.  At home, Janet stepped; I pounced.  I wasn’t going to let her win this one.

“Before you get too comfortable,” the Amazon said. “Squat, drop and lower into catcher’s position.  Now lift your arms up over your head, biceps by your ears!  Remember, you gotta keep those arms stiff and tense so that your heart is pumping faster to get more blood to those muscles.  But if your heart rate is getting too high, it’s okay to untense and disengage. Breathe in…and as you’re breathing out, stand up and count back from five…four…three…two…one…”

Neither Janet or I counted along with the duo on screen. We both were straining too much to speak.  If she had counted, I would have made myself count back, too.

In the living room we reached a full standing position about a quarter of a second from the yoga instructor and his pet Little.  My muscles sang out in pain and relief when he said, “Now fold forward and just let your upper body hang there for a second. Don’t lock your knees, you can bend them a little.”

I sighed and turned my head to look at my captor.  Janet’s hair was a raven mop obscuring her face. It was gratifying in ways I couldn’t give words to seeing her struggle like this.  Mean spirited?  Maybe.  I didn’t think so, though. Vulnerability meant more than seeing each other naked and it was nice to feel like I was genuinely better than something at her. The fact that I was several months out of practice and overweight made it even more gratifying.

“Go ahead and roll it up to a standing position one vertebrae at a time. Your head should be the last thing up.” Like marionettes coming to life we did.  I was breathing kind of hard. She was panting.  “Now back up into touch down!”  We raised our hands straight up over our heads. Janet and the instructor in the video closed their legs and put their feet together.  The Little and I couldn’t because of what was between our thighs.

“Arms down by your waist, press your thumbs and index fingers together.” The instructor kept going.  “You know where we’re going.  My favorite move of the day. Bend backwards like a catapult.”   I did so, imagining that my hands were cupping a massive boulder, ready to launch its payload towards a castle I was laying siege to. I couldn’t be certain, but I told myself I was bending further back than Janet.  “Now arms out to a T, clench your fists and get strong!”

“RAAAAAWR!”  The Little on the television growled as we all leaned forward and flexed like the old fashioned muscle men.  For Janet, myself, and the Little in the workout video, it looked comical. From the Amazon leading us, it looked impressive.  Dude definitely did more than just yoga.

“Ten-hut! Shoulders back, chest out!”  We held it for a silent three count. “And shake it out. Go ahead, grab some water.”  He bent over and grabbed a water bottle.  His mindfucked Little took a sip from one with a rubber nipple. 

Janet did the same as her counterpart.  I abstained.

“Mommies and Daddies, if you or your Little one needs a break,” the oddly flexible gym bro said,  “it’s okay to pause this and come back to it later.  Check in with your Little one. See if they need to cool off or if they need changing. Maybe they need to get down to just a diaper. Maybe they need a new one. You’d be surprised how much exercise loosens things up if you know what I mean.”

“Daddy!” the Little giggled.

“Oh. Sorry, Jem,” he winked at the camera. 

The redness in the Little boy’s face was definitely not from exertion or overheating.  Something in his expression told me he wasn’t hating the attention, however. 

“And you know,”  Grown-Ups can need a rest too, and that’s okay. “Do whatever is right for you. It’s your workout.”

It wasn’t my workout, though. I’d never done this program before in my life, and was far from my first choice. It was only a dozen or so moves and poses done in repetition with a handful of variations but it was killing me.  The fact that it was being marketed online as a home workout for Amazons and their Littles made my skin crawl.  It was on a short list of Little Voices approved exercise media; a recent addition according to Janet’s site.

To be fair though, it was pretty low budget making it brass tacks.  Also there were no cartoon characters involved or edited in. The fact that it was marketed as a ‘family workout’ goaded Janet into participating with me and it kept the Amazon instructor from being too condescending.  I wished the Little wasn’t wearing diapers, but what else was new? It was either this, or an old recording of Dancercise. I’d made the right choice.

“Okay. Now if you're ready we’re gonna take this into a whole ‘nother rhythm.”

DING-DONG!

It seemed like we were both being saved by the bell. Janet walked over to the coffee table and pressed the pause button on her phone, halting the feed to her television.  “Coming!” she called. I picked up the bottle filled with water and took a pull on the rubber nipple when her back was turned before following her to the front of the house.

There was no delivery man waiting at the front. Just a box of Monkeez big enough for me to fit inside, a bundle of wipes I would have needed both hands to carry, and a bottle of green goop bigger than my head.  “DiaperDash,” Janet explained. She closed the front door behind her with her foot, and I remembered to feel embarrassed at the idea that a stranger could have seen me nearly naked.  “We’ve got enough food for now and I didn’t want to go all the way to the store for essentials.”

I hated that these sorts of things were becoming ‘essential’.  She walked right back past me and I followed along behind her back into the living room.  “I didn’t think we were running that low,” I said, more afraid of silence than anything else going on.

Janet didn’t break her stride. The giant baby supplies were more cumbersome than heavy to her. I had to walk double time to keep up, just like the old days when we were headed up front instead of back to the nursery.  “We’re not.  Most of this is going to Mrs. Beouf’s room.  Hopefully this will keep you stocked up over there until Winter Break.”  

She placed the bundle of wipes on the lowest shelf of the changing table. A single stack of diapers was unwrapped and went into the hammock above it.  The massive jug of green goop went into the alcove next to the baby powder, and Janet broke the seal to attach a plastic hose to it.  I cringed imagining where that hose might end up.

I suddenly wished we were back doing three second push-ups and runners lunges.  “So are we gonna finish?” I thumbed back towards the living room.

“I think I need to stop,” Janet let out a long breath.  “If I don’t, I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

“Heh,” I muttered.  My heartrate was starting to slow and I was feeling slightly dizzy. “Cool.”

“You want me to throw up?”

Kind of. “No,” I said. “I just…it’s been a while.”

Janet nodded in understanding. “Me too.  I see why you like this stuff.  You can do it without any special equipment and you don’t have to run anywhere.”  She wiped beads of sweat off of her forehead.  “I think I might want to get yoga mats…that or carpet cleaner if we’re going to be doing this more often.”

I cocked my eyebrow and swiped my own forehead. “You want to do this more often?”

“Yeah,” she replied. “It’s healthy.  Good exercise.  Maybe something we could start doing after school?” 

Our breathing was slowing and we were both regaining our composure. “Yeah.” I said. “Maybe.”  It wouldn’t hurt to lose a few pounds.  Being less pudgy couldn’t hurt my escape attempt in the long run.  The pettiest part of me fantasized about going down a size and forcing Janet to waste money on buying a new diaper size for me.

My eyes slowly wandered up to the baby monitor and I remembered that I had bigger, and more immediate worries regarding my freedom.  Janet letting me exercise in a manner that didn’t involve cartoons or tights was an empty gesture if my thoughts were slowly being rewired night after night.

“Janet,” I said. “Can we talk about something…?”

She finished closing up the Monkeez box and moved it right next to the nursery door. Those would be joining me in the backseat of the car on Monday, no doubt. “What’s that?”

“You know how we had a shower together last night?”

Instant discomfort washed over her.  “Yeah, I don’t know if I want to do that right this second.” She grabbed her left bicep, shielding her breasts at the same time. “I feel gross right now.  I can rinse you off in the tub real quick and put you down for your nap, but I need to shower by myself.  Maybe later?”

A strange feeling that I wasn’t brave enough to label came to me but the mention of a nap allowed me to push past it.  “I was thinking about tonight, actually.  I was thinking maybe we could put that cot together and I could sleep in your room tonight?”

The giantess averted her gaze over to my crib.  “No.”

“No?”

Her posture was icicle rigid. “You need your rest.  You’ve got school tomorrow and I don’t want to keep you up with me coming and going.”

“You won’t,” I said. “I just don’t…” I froze. How much truth could she handle?  She’d already slammed her foot down in regards to my toileting. “I don’t want to sleep in here anymore.”

“Why not?” She stepped away from the crib and changing table over to me and sat down on the floor.  Her skin still glistening from sweat she cocked her head to the side and asked, “What’s wrong?”

Half-truth worked with Jessica.  Might work with her bestie.  “I’m scared,” I admitted.  My index finger pointed accusingly at the thing that had been slowly but surely fucking with me in my sleep.  “Of that.”

My Mommy didn’t need to look at what I was pointing at.  “Auntie Jessica said that, too. Why?”

“I don’t think it’s doing what it’s supposed to do.”

Janet averted her gaze again. “Trust me,” she said flatly. “It was working last night.”

My face fell. She’d heard me last night, but it wasn’t my curses that had grabbed her attention. I felt gross all over just imagining her listening to the crinkling sound of me rubbing my hands and thrusting up against piss soaked padding while I tried to remember what sex was like.

“I think it’s hypnotizing me,” I squeaked. “I’m having trouble saying…things.” My skin buzzed all over in the worst way, just thinking about what I wanted to tell her.  “I can’t say…I can’t say…I hhhhh….I can’t say.”

Janet’s face turned into a wax candle and dripped to match my own. “Oh, honey.”  Amazon arms pulled me into a hug and I was too bewildered to fight back.  “That must be so scary. I’m sorry you’re going through that.”

Briefly, I forgot my fear and resentment and whispered “Thank you.”  Maybe she’d listen this time…

“It’s just a King Fisher, though.  All it does is listen. It doesn’t tell.” To herself, she chuckled ruefully and added, “as long as Auntie Jessica puts the right end in.”

So much for that emotional respite.  I shoved myself away and almost tripped over the back of my heels onto the carpet. “No! You’re not listening! It’s…it’s…!”

“You’re not gonna like what I have to say,” Janet told me, “but if you think you’re losing vocabulary that’s probably not the monitor. It’s a King Fisher. All it does is listen.  Part of the reason you’re in speech therapy is to give you strategies for if and when you lose Grown-Up words.”

My entire body was turning pink in frustration. “You’re! Not! Listening!” I stomped my foot with each word, not giving a damn that it wasn’t helping my case.  Nothing would help my case unless she wanted it to.  The monitor was fucking with me.  Just because a so-called Maturosis Advocacy group hadn’t flagged it, didn’t mean it was safe. The hypocrites probably knew it and were looking the other way because it suited their narratives.

Janet held her palm out to silence me. Incredibly, I obeyed.  She lowered her hand and stared at my feet so as to avoid eye contact again.  “Okay,” she sighed. “You win.  No monitor for now.  You’ve been sleeping through the night mostly anyways.  I’ll take it out.  For now.” 

“Really?” I asked.

Sadly, sulkily she nodded. “I was gonna take it out for at least tonight, anyways.”

“Why?”

She puffed air out her lips and stood up. “After dinner,” she said.  “In the meantime, let’s get you clean.  Then I’ll take a quick shower, and we can grade papers together.”  I was up on her hip a moment later.  “You can skip your nap and I’ll give you a bottle of milk after dinner so you can sleep better tonight.  Deal?”

I thought about it.  “You’re getting rid of the monitor?”

“I’m unplugging it and walking out with it so you can have some privacy.”  I felt the heat from her face with that remark.  I should have foreseen what was to come.  “Deal?”

“Deal.”

**********************************************************************

The rest of that lazy Sunday went by as planned.  I got to skip a nap, I graded third grade spelling and math papers, (this time not sabotaging any), and had a relatively relaxing afternoon well into the early evening. 

Dinner was vegan chicken nuggets (supposedly lower fat), and dessert was a bottle of goat’s milk on Janet’s lap watching a boring office sitcom that was half a season in and half a season away from cancellation.  I didn’t pay attention to it, instead just allowing Janet to cradle me in her arms while I pondered what new forms of torment to unleash on Monday. 

Beouf had missed two days of school and the A.L.L. had been perfectly well behaved in her absence. We’d have to make up the difference this week.  Maybe something with vomiting?  Perhaps finding a way to work in obscenities or better yet, a secret language that merely sounded obscene.  I dismissed Amy’s ‘kitty cat’ game as unoriginal and something Beouf would adapt too quickly to.

No shower was offered, nor was one asked for.  I felt clean enough in my t-shirt and diaper and other than a change of each before bed I wouldn’t need help getting to sleep that night. 

When the show ended, I dropped the mostly empty bottle onto the couch and let out a mighty yawn.  My drowsiness wasn’t helped by the fact that it was getting darker earlier in the year.

“I think it’s about time,” Janet said.  She kept me in a cradled position and carted me back towards the nursery.

As she laid me on the changing table, she started humming softly to herself.  The tone of her tuneless song subtly altered in the midst of her changing me, just after she slid the thicker nighttime diaper beneath me and just before she reached for the baby powder and stopped herself.  There’s a difference when one is humming because they’re content and humming because one wants to seem content.  I almost missed it, myself.

“No baby powder?” I asked as the first tape was fastened onto the landing zone, right over the rainbow colored primates snoozing on clouds and crescent moons.

Janet visibly shuddered, struggling with herself.  She helped me up to a sitting position and pulled the t-shirt up over my head forcing my arms up.  “We’re going to try something kinda different tonight.”  A looser night shirt followed and my arms were fed through the sleeves.

“Different?”  I echoed, not seeing where this was going.  The baggy shirt more than covered my diaper. I had classmates who would have killed to have clothing so discreet, that is if they had any sense of privacy left to them.

We weren’t going over to the crib.

“I’ve talked to Amy’s Mommy and some of your other Little friends’ parents.”

I did not like where this was going.   Had Amy or one of the other Little Voices kids ratted me out?  “About…?”

Janet wasn’t looking at me again. She took a deep breath. “This is going to suck,” she said simply.  “This is going to be embarrassing.  But as your…” I saw her jaw work around. Is that how I looked when I was second guessing myself and choosing my words carefully?  “As someone who loves you, I want you to have everything you need.  That includes…sleeping.”

My pulse doubled in speed. “Was there something in the milk? There was something in the milk, wasn’t there?”

She kept talking over me. This was a speech she’d rehearsed in her head at least a hundred times over the course of the afternoon. “So I’m going to put something in your diaper to help you.”

In my diaper?  “Help me what?”

“Sleep…cuddle…”  Every syllable caused her to cringe. I could hear the air quotes and the naked discomfort all the way from the back of her throat. “Like you were trying to do last night…”

Oh no…  “Masturbate?” I asked.  Janet winced and shut her eyes like I’d levied a curse.  She was visibly uncomfortable.  Her reason for not wanting to share a bedroom with me took on a completely new context.  “Janet. It’s not like that, I promi-!”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Janet’s speech trampled right over me. She grabbed the bottle of green goo- the rash lotion she’d had delivered earlier that day. “You can go right to sleep if you want.  This stuff is also very good at stopping and soothing rashes like it says.” She took the rubber hose from the bottle, lifted my shirt and stuffed it down the front of my diaper.

“Hey!” I complained. “What are you-? Stop!”  She smacked my hands away with enough force that I hesitated.That hesitation gave her the time to give the pump top three quick pumps.

BLURT! BLURT! BLURT!

For the second time in less than twenty four hours, something icy cold covered my genitals.  I fell back on the changing table and pawed uselessly at the front of my new Monkeez, spreading the jelly like goop around my front.  “AAAAAAH! What the fuck are you doing?!”

My cursing didn’t seem to register to Janet.  She merely withdrew the hose and readjusted the tapes so that there’d be no chance of me reaching my hands through the gap the hose had created.  “It’s supposed to be for if you have diarrhea or for when we’re on a long car trip where I won’t be able to change you.”

I felt the hose sneak into the back through the leg cuff.

BLURT!

“It just also might make your diaper very…comfortable.”

I wriggled on my back. “How is this comfor…?” No. That was besides the point  “It’s cold! And I don’t want to!”

Janet picked me up and quickly deposited me down into my crib.  I stood up and gripped the rails. Behind me, in the middle of the mattress, Janet had already deposited an extra big, extra fluffy pillow: Amazon sized. Big enough for my entire body to…cuddle with.

“You don’t have to,” Janet said stiffly. “But it’s for your own good that you…it’s just for your own good.” 

The cold mint colored jelly was starting to tingle as my body added heat to the stuff.  “Janet!” I whined.  But I didn’t know what to say.

Janet busied herself unplugging the baby monitor and rapidly wrapped the power cord around the box.  “See? I’m giving you privacy. Like you need. You can do whatever you want and Mommy…” she winced and her entire top row of teeth bit into her bottom lip.  “Sorry.  I won’t be listening in.  Promise.” 

Baby monitor clutched to her chest, Janet walked over to the side of my crib and leaned over. She gave me a kiss on the top of my head.  “Good night, Clark. I love you.”

She power walked out the door like she couldn’t get out fast enough. Her legs were so absolutely wooden that if I hadn’t known any better I might have supposed that I was back at a Gwiffin Party and that she was actually the greatest Little cosplayer to ever don a pair of stilts. With three swift actions: I heard the flicking of a light switch, the clicking of a closing door, and something I hadn’t heard since my Adoption: the metal fidgeting of someone locking a door.

I was alone with only a childish nightlight, stuck in a diaper that I hadn’t soiled myself, trapped in a crib that if I’d managed to hurdle over would result in me spending the night on the nursery floor, and confined with a blanket a judgemental stuffed lion a sleeping pillow and a humping pillow.

“What the fuck Janet?!” I screamed through the door. “What the fuck?! I…I h-...” I still couldn’t say it though.

I shuffled around in the crib, my eye twitching and my face grimacing while I tossed the extra pillow to the foot of the barred bed.  This was gross. This was so gross.  She expected me to…in this…and sleep in it?

I’d slept in worse. 

My finger gingerly poked at my crotch and I heard the crisp crinkle coming from the diaper. Diapers become swollen and more squishy as their cores absorb more liquid. Whatever was in this stuff wasn’t getting absorbed, meaning that I could pee all night and the diaper would be at no great risk of leaking or blowing out.  Urine would likely flow right by the stuff and get absorbed.  Poop might get mixed in, but the gel would still act as a kind of barrier on my skin.

The application was admittedly clever.

It could also be used as a subtle way to delay (or undo?) potty training. I’d just been changed and already felt like I’d both wet and messed myself. Sensory wise, would I even notice if I used the diaper? Like so many other Amazon ‘achievements’, whether intentional or not, this one had decidedly sinister uses: An Amazon could pop a training chocolate into a Little’s mouth, force feed them water, and then squirt this stuff into their pants every single day and said Little might be functionally incontinent within a fortnight and forget to care about it.

The bulk of the rash goop sloshed around in between my legs but left a tingling layer on my privates that was hard to ignore. The initial chilling shock had gone completely and whether through body heat conduction or some chemical reaction the goop had taken on a pleasant tingling, tickling, warmth.  It was similar to wetting and messing but without the disgusting bodily implications and it lacked the distinct unpleasant odor of either function.

Also, to my chagrin, my pants didn’t feel like they were cooling back down to room temperature. A wet diaper would keep the telltale squish in front or the mush in back but within minutes the temperature would fade.  This wasn’t.  Not even close.

The tingling. The warmth. The wetness. The squelching, sloshing, sticking. From a purely physical standpoint, it was the closest thing to sex that I’d had in a long time.  I poked my crotch again and felt the pleasurable warmth spread and double down. All I had to do…

My manhood was engorging itself in anticipation before I’d finished the unconscious, intrusive thought. “Fuck,” I hissed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

I practically slammed myself down into the sitting position. That did nothing, save spread the warm tingling stuff to the front and back again. My balls and asshole felt like they were being played with, tickled by a million sterile tiny sloshing fingers.  “Oh no….”

Squeezing my legs had the opposite effect, just sending more of the slime up my front, causing me to twitch and moan through my teeth.  I wanted to paw at the front of my plastic backed prison; to smooth stuff as far as from my sensitive spots as I could manage.  What if I started and then accidentally…?

“No,” I promised myself. “No. No. No. No.”  I laid down and tucked myself in, grabbing Lion and squeezing him as tight as I could, almost as tight as I squeezed my eyelids. “Just go to sleep, Clark.” I whispered to myself. “Just go to sleep.”

It wasn’t working. It just wasn’t. The payload that started in my front was still mostly there by the feel of things and my penis was now painfully erect and no matter how many times I sang “We’re all together again”, listed off Muffet facts to myself, or quoted lines from Ghosthaunters both one or two.

This was worse than Saturday night because there’d been no dream to trigger it, no.  Could I wait until I peed myself and maybe that level of perpetual disgust would calm me down or was there a secondary reaction in store for me that the manufacturers of this so-called rash medicine neglected and that Janet would refuse to acknowledge?

I didn’t realize I was pawing at my crotch again until I heard myself quietly humming.  I rolled over onto my stomach to make it stop. Big mistake. The added pressure only made things worse. Thrusting my hips and grinding myself into the mattress felt practically reflexive.  It was like having an itch and the only way to relieve it was to knuckle under and scratch it. 

I wasn’t sleeping tonight. Not until I got some kind of release.  I sighed and lied to myself, tossing the blanket off and crawling to the foot of the bed. “I’m sorry, Cassie…”

Propping myself up on my elbows I shimmied and straddled the nearly full body sized pillow and started to slowly grind into it, thrusting and trying to get comfortable like a virgin after he’s finally talked himself and that special someone into giving him what he craves but isn’t ready for.  “Oh…” I gasped. “Mmm….” The extra mass and the tiny bit of friction from sliding and bumping around, grinding against the pillow was intensely, almost primordially satisfying. 

I once read about a study that was done on baby monkeys: They were separated from their actual mothers and given two dummy mothers. One was made of cloth and offered only basic warmth and comfort. One was made of wire and offered only fundamental nourishment.  The study found that the poor orphaned monkeys would cling to the cloth dummy for as long as possible until the nearing point of starvation forced them to climb onto the wire dummy and feed. Then it’d be right back to the simple emotional comfort of the cloth dummy.

Humping that pillow and feeling like an imbecile I didn’t know if what I was doing to myself was a matter of a biological need or an emotional comfort. But as I gripped the wooden bars and thrust harder than I thought possible, aching for climax,  I felt a connection to the poor baby primates in that experiment.

 If I wasn’t going to finish before that moment, I definitely was after. I had to and there was no going back.  No amount of tossing a stupid stuffed animal or grumbling to myself or swearing was going to help me.  I needed sleep if I was going to keep hurting Beouf and if I was going to get it, something had to give. If I didn’t do this, Janet would just keep hosing me down night after night until I did. 

The cult of Little Voices had gotten its hooks into her brain and after Thursday night’s special presentation and Saturday night’s mishap, she wasn’t going to settle for less. It didn’t matter if she took the baby monitor out of the room if my ability to sleep was still being sabotaged. All of that might have been bullshit lies, but they were lies that I needed to tell myself then and there.

Coitus is objectively silly looking no matter what the circumstances, but it’s also a bit like riding a bike. It’s all a matter of finding the right balance: Leverage, rhythm, and the ability to mentally take in everything that works for you in the moment and block out everything that doesn’t.  Needless to say, there was a lot more to block out than I’d become accustomed to.

I closed my eyes and pretended the bars were a headboard. I half-pretended that the warm fluffy pillow beneath me was a body of some kind.  I reminded myself that no one but Lion was watching me, and Lion counted less than a dog licking its own asshole. I replayed and whispered half a dozen of my personal greatest hits back to myself.

“Oh Clark…”

“Cassie…”

“I love you…”

“I love you too..”

My virginity. My wedding night. The time we’d gone at it like rabbits after my close call before graduation.  The re-enactment we’d done when our washing machine had broken down just before I’d gotten sucked into this pastel hellscape. It was all so good, but none of it was good enough to get me there. 

Mentally the pillow was on its back. Then I was taking it from behind. Then fuck it, it’s just a pillow who cares what position it was in?  Either I was unwilling to finish and was purposefully drawing out pleasure I hadn’t allowed myself in months, or I was too afraid to let go and consider what this might mean for me.  

Pissing and shitting myself was inevitable given my current situation.  Purposefully cumming in my taped on jockeys…was that a form of surrender?

My arms were starting to ache and my hips and ankles were feeling sore, both from what I was doing and from aftershocks of the yoga workout that afternoon.  If I’d had an actual partner, I would have asked to switch and be ridden so I could catch my breath.

“Come on,” I whispered to myself. “Come on. Just do it. Get it over with.”  I bit my lip and started humping the cushioning like I thought I was on the verge of winning something.  My teeth gritted against each other and I kept grinding, listening to the sounds in my head and breathing in through my nose.

A single real world scent followed by a solitary musical note heard only in my head.

A subtle whiff of someone else’s shampoo embedded in the pillow from an unquantifiable number of times going to bed right after taking a shower. The memory of a note from a corny ass song heard twenty four hours prior.

Panting and quaking, I collapsed on the pillow as the illusions in my mind shattered like windshield glass in a high speed car accident.  My penis pulsed and throbbed, ejaculating sperm out into the still thirsty padding up against it. My heart thudded happily in my chest while my junk spasmed joyously, already starting to deflate and rest. Unsurprisingly, I couldn’t tell that I’d added anything to the contents of my diaper after the fact.  It was probably a placebo effect, but the gel caking my loins didn’t seem to tingle or tease as much as before.

Unfailingly, my bladder woke up enough and told me that the price for sleep was further debasement.  So I took a piss before my aching body and buzzing consciousness finally calmed down and allowed the nightlight shadows to claim me.

Janet found me early the next morning, still asleep on top of that ‘cuddle pillow’ as she’d referred to it.  She didn’t say anything or ask any questions: No ‘did you sleep well?’, or ‘have fun?’, nothing to imply that she was doing anything besides wiping gel residue off of me and getting me ready for school.  If she was uncomfortable or blushing, my morning vision was too blurred and my own personal dignity kept me from examining her very closely.  Still, her tuneless humming sounded more content and natural than it had before I’d gone to sleep.

I asked her to leave Lion in my crib that day. Judgmental bastard had been laying on his side near the head of the crib staring at me all night long.  Screw him… just not like that.