Time for a Change: By Personalias

Chapter 1
Time for a Change

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Chapter Description: Full Story

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Time for a change.

It was the first day of school, and the first day of the rest of his life. Mr. Ward sat in his car, going over every meticulous detail of his appearance one last time in the rear view mirror. First impressions were everything, and so much of first impressions, he had recently come to accept were based on appearance more than anything else. You could be the most knowledgeable person in the world, but if you didn’t appear credible, no one would listen.

He had found this out the hard way last semester, when he had volunteered for 12 hours a week at Morning View Elementary School as a requirement of his Classroom Management course. It didn’t matter that he knew all the best and research proven teaching techniques: framing the lesson, proximity control, asking in depth questions, blooms taxonomy; all the buzz words. But it simply didn’t matter if he couldn’t get people, even fourth graders, to take him seriously.

Sure, his mess of unkempt, curly black hair and once-a-month-kinda-sorta-trimmed beard, paired nicely with his t-shirt, jeans, and crocs (yes crocs), into a slacker-chic look that was the norm on his college campus. His friends didn’t mind, and even a few of the girls from his classes more than approved- another advantage to being a male getting an elementary teaching degree was that the sex ratio was very much tilted in his favor- but what they approved of was John the college kid. John the college kid had no place outside of college, and even a volunteer job as part of a college course was a job first and foremost, and he should look the part of the job. Mrs. Slattery, the teacher whom he had aided at Morning View last semester had written as much, though in much terser, hurtful words, in the end of semester review that she had sent to his course supervisor at the University.

He had received a nasty lecture at the end of the semester on “professionalism” as a result, and he maintained a “B” in the class, mostly because of his excellent test scores, essays, and presentations to college aged peers. He would have had an easy A if not for the scathing review on how he looked. That was the problem summed up, on paper he was an excellent teacher, but he didn’t look or dress the part. He had to change if he wanted to make it, and there was just no point in fighting change.

John had raged quietly in his head, fighting back tears during this lecture. It’s not like anyone had told him this. It’s not like Mrs. Slattery, or any of the professors on campus had told him that there was a problem with his appearance. All it would have taken was one word, and he would have given himself a total-makeover, effective the next day. When he brought this up in his defense, it was treated as no defense at all.

“You should have known,” was their retort. “It’s just common sense.”

John was exceptionally book smart, and “common sense” didn’t have a whole lot to do with his daily affairs. He could explain Howard Gardener’s theory of multiple intelligences and come up with lesson plans that played to the strength of each intelligence listed in the theory off the top of his head, but he couldn’t read a room for the life of him. How was he supposed to know that Mrs. Slattery’s big, constant smile, had been a sign that she was uncomfortable and was just trying to be polite? It’s not like he had ever seen her any other way to establish a baseline! And as for politeness, she certainly wasn’t polite when she had the chance to skewer him in a written review AFTER the fact. Fucking hypocrite two faced bitch.

Over the summer, he had elected not to take any classes, and just used the time off to mull over and mope in the quiet parts of his life, or bitch to his various friends and school mates after he had had a few too many drinks at a party or get together. In no text book ever, did it say “The teacher must dress impeccably at all times.” In no course presentation had there been a lecture or power point about “The importance of appearance.”

In fact, over John’s entire lifetime of schooling, he had been taught the opposite: John’s entire schooling from Kindergarten to College had been on how appearances can be deceiving and therefore should not be taken into consideration of merit. “Don’t judge a book by its cover.” “Looks don’t matter, it’s what’s on the inside that counts.” The Beast was a handsome prince all along. The ugly duckling was a swan. The old beggar turned out to be an angel or god or eccentric millionaire, and they were looking to find an example of human kindness so they could reward the protagonist of the story, and all of the coolest fictional educators in the various movies, TV shows, and so forth were the ones that dressed in wacky outfits like Mrs. Frizzle, or were cool enough to carry around a leather jacket or some other appropriation of “youth culture”.

Really, the moral of those stories shouldn’t have been “don’t judge a book by its cover.” Those stories really taught “it’s okay to be unpleasant to the eye if people feel it is out of your control, and you can dress however you want if you are powerful enough. Otherwise, fall in line.” Doing a mental inventory of his over twenty years of remembered life experiences, there was only one time when he was taught that how he dressed and looked mattered.

In one of his earliest memories, he was about 3 years old, maybe a little younger- but if the stories his mother had told were true, he was probably a little older, like not quite 3 and a half- and he was standing beside the then giant porcelain toilet, wearing nothing but a wet diaper, with his mommy holding out a pair of Pull-Ups.

“It’s time to stop wearing diapers,” she had told him.

“Why?” toddler him had asked, more curious than anything.

“Because,” she answered, “you’re a big boy now. And big boys don’t wear diapers.”

“They don’t?”

“No, they don’t. Only babies wear diapers. Are you a baby?” He had shook his head. He definitely was not a baby, this he knew.

“Then,” Mommy offered, “let’s take this diaper off, put you in these training pants, and when you stop going pee-pee and poo-poo in your pants, and you use the potty, you can start wearing underwear!” And that had been the end of that. It had taken less than two weeks for John to get the gist of toileting, much to his parents’ relief, and it gave his mother a story to brag about to her fellow mothers and a joke at his expense.

“All we had to do was tell him it was time to stop wearing diapers and use the big boy potty, and that was that,” his mother would brag, and then later in life embarrass him with. “Good thing we had that talk, though,” she would add, “if no one had told him, he’d probably still be in diapers right now.” At this John would often find his cheeks flushing a bit.

“He had absolutely no interest in the potty before that talk,” Mom would ramble on at family gatherings when the topic of “look how he’s grown,” or “he’s so smart”, would come up.

“It’s a good thing you told him he was a big boy, first,” a well-meaning aunt or uncle might chime in. “Otherwise he might have just thought he was a baby and tried to stay in diapers.”

“John has never been good at deciding when it was time to change something,” Mom would chuckle. “Diapers included. He would stay in a wet or a poopy diaper as long as possible, until I noticed he needed a change. He was always too busy playing to care about what was going on in his pants.”

“Typical male,” some elder family member, usually a grandmother or aunt would agree. Then all the family members who had experienced the “joys” of diapering and toilet training would have a nostalgic glad-that’s-over-with chuckle and the ritual of bragging on kids would update to more current affairs. Grades. School Plays. Learning to Drive. Sports. The usual.

To a degree, it made sense, to John that this story should be told over and over again. It illustrated his natural aptitude to learning and natural cooperativeness, though it also may have underscored his own natural lack of initiative. But, he reasoned, it also made sense because when you thought about it, potty training was likely the first skill that a child picked up that needed to be taught instead of learned naturally. Most kids learned to crawl, walk, and talk naturally over time through a combination of instinct and submersion into the environment necessitating it. Potty training took time and effort and for the parent to shift from a caregiver to a teacher.

Outside of therapies for children with severe disabilities or delays, there really wasn’t such a thing as walk training or a talk training. So, if a very proud parent were to list the accomplishments of a very intelligent child, it might make sense to start at the beginning: Potty training.

If only the curriculum of “it matters how you dress” had been extended beyond babies and diapers, John might not have had the rude awakening the previous semester. Well, it was a little late. But lesson learned.

Now, Mr. Ward was in his car, making one final check to see that everything about his image communicated “teacher”. He was not and would not be John today if he had any say in the matter. John was the college kid that got left behind once Mr. Ward left student housing on his way to his assigned teaching internship. Mr. Ward was his teacher persona. He had a teaching internship, and by golly he was going to make a good first impression.

The sun had been in the sky above Bayside Elementary school for nearly half an hour now, and Mr. Ward used the light on every angle to make sure he looked the part he intended to play. His curly black hair was now gelled back to give it a more professional look. His once shaggy beard had been trimmed down to a very neat and even goatee. He wasn’t giving up his facial hair altogether, since personal experience taught him that he was a complete baby face without it. He wanted to be taken seriously, and as long as he groomed it properly, the facial hair could be an advantage in that department.

It wasn’t perfect though. His neck and chin were still giving him trouble. One downside about having such dark hair as his is that even with a very close shave, a person could still make out little spots here and there if they were close enough and discerning. It gave him something of a mild five o’clock shadow. It probably wouldn’t show up in a photograph, but if people like Mrs. Slattery were the rule and not the exception, anything short of pure cleanliness would be considered a poor job and make his teacher “uncomfortable.” In truth, anything short of facial electrolysis would be unacceptable for Mrs. Slattery’s standards, may the two faced bitch rot in hell.

Hopefully the teacher he was interning with would be forgiving on that mark.

To compensate for his insecurities about his facial hair, Mr. Ward made sure that his clothes were nothing less than pristine. His orange, button up shirt and black slacks were both neatly pressed and taken just out of the dry cleaning bag this morning. The plain blue tie- a real one; a clip-on would not do today- was tied smartly thanks to a youtube video and about a dozen tries this morning before the sun came up. His shoes of choice were updated to black loafers and black socks. He was the consummate professional.

He returned his view to his tie. Orange and blue? Really?

“Shit…” he thought out loud, “I look like Mr. Two-Bits.” Maybe orange shirt and blue tie wasn’t such a good idea. But the blue tie was the only one he had, and he didn’t have any other clean shirts that went with it. Still, he looked and felt like he looked “adult” enough to make a good first impression and gain the respect of the class where he was interning. Mr. Ward took one final breath, and stepped out of his car and into the parking lot and towards Bayside Elementary, his new work home for the next semester.

It was a simple, but large, one story building, with a peach-ish tan-ish color that gave it a friendly but neutral feeling, with textured concrete walls; the kind that had made it look like the concrete had a bad case of rock acne, that gave a vibe of security but comfort. All the windows had plain white curtains drawn, so you couldn’t see into it but the windows on the front of the building weren’t big enough or close enough together to for Mr. Ward to think they were classroom windows. More likely they were office windows where the Dean, Secretary, Principal, and the other non-teaching administrative staff worked in small little rooms behind a phone or a computer, and they didn’t feel like having every school visitor spy on them first thing in the morning. Morning View Elementary had much the same design, and Mr. Ward suspected that they were built off the same basic blue prints.

The sun was warming up the parking lot quickly in the early morning. Even though it was the first day of school, summer apparently hadn’t gotten the memo, and so it promised to only be hotter as the day wore on. With his long sleeved shirt and slacks, Mr. Ward may have broken out into an uncomfortable sweat were he to stay outside more than five minutes, but that shouldn’t be a problem today. It’s not like he was interning to be a P.E. Coach, so he expected to spend most days in a comfortably climate controlled room.

As confidently as he could muster, Mr. Ward strolled through the glass front doors and into a large reception area. White tile made up the floor and cheery blue bricks made up the interior walls. There were several hallways directly in front and to the sides of the reception area that undoubtedly led to the classrooms proper. There were no children, and the place was mostly empty, save for a few adults walking out of one hallway or into another.

There was a large banner hanging from the ceiling that read “Welcome back!”

“Hello, how can I help you?” a woman behind a very large round counter called out and waved to get his attention. She was easily in her forties, and wore her light brown hair closely cropped, with golden earrings. Her makeup was impeccable, but she was still wearing what was likely the first day of school attire; a T-shirt that says “Bayside Elementary School”. Something to signal to parents that they worked there. Probably the receptionist. Mr. Ward walked to the counter.

“Yes,” he said, “My name is Mr. Ward, and I’m here for the teaching internship,” he said, the last word ending on a high tone like he was asking a question. He mentally kicked himself for being able to keep the uncertainty out of his voice.

“Oh?” the receptionist said, “you’re early if you are.”

Mr. Ward dug into his pocket and took out his cell phone. The time flashed 7:15. “I am?” he said. “I thought teachers had to be here by 7:15 at the latest.”

“They do,” she confirmed, “but if you’re a college kid, you’re not a teacher. It’s teachers here by 7:15, student breakfast at 7:30 and classes begin at 8:00.” Mr. Ward felt perplexed. Wasn’t the point of an internship to pretty much do all the work and have all of the responsibilities with none of the pay? Why should he be allowed to come in late?

Sensing his distress, the receptionist waved the matter away with a simple hand gesture, “But don’t worry too much about it,” she assured him. “Happens all the time with you college kids. A bunch of other girls came in nearly an hour ago. In fact, I think you’re the last arrival we were expecting, but let me check.”

“Other arrivals?” Mr. Ward asked.

“Of course,” the receptionist smiled in a non-condescending way, “you don’t think you’re the only college kid who was given an internship here, do you?” she waited a moment to realize that maybe Mr. Ward hadn’t given thought to it. “Silly goose,” she teased with another “oh pishaw” hand gesture.

“Really?” Mr. Ward remarked. He wanted to add in “So I’ve been sold?” but it might not have gone over well. Never show you’re quirks on the first date so to speak.

“I thought everyone knew that. Why else would we take you college kids in? Sometimes you’re more of a handful than the elementary school kids.” The receptionist piled on. Mr. Ward must have frowned at that because quickly the receptionist said, “Oh, don’t take it so hard, dear. I’m not trying to pick on you, and we still love ya for being here.”

“It’s just,” she continued, “schools need money, and taxes and donations don’t cover everything. It’s just common sense that when certain institutions offer us money to help educate their college kids or test certain equipment or use certain curriculums or products, we’d be fools not to jump at the chance. It’s common sense really.”

Mr. Ward rolled it over in his head. “I can see what you mean. No offense taken, by the way.”

“And none intended,” the receptionist added. “You’re not much on common sense, are you young man?” Mr. Ward had to smile at himself and shake his head, smiling. “Well, the beautiful part of working in a school is knowing that you are never too old or too young to learn something. Now let me see here” the receptionist turned over to a computer and began clicking on the screen.

“Ward you said?”

Mr. Ward nodded. The receptionists eyes skimmed down the screen.

“Ward…Ward…Ward…” she looked up again. “John?” Mr. Ward nodded, hated hearing his first name. He might be just some “college kid” to these people, but hopefully by the end of the day, the students would at least be calling him “Mr. Ward.”

“According to this, you are with Ms. Avery and Mrs. Zachowski’s group. They’re just down the hallway behind you.” She pointed behind him.

“Behind me?” Mr. Ward remarked, confused. He thumbed to the doors behind him, the morning sunlight streaming through. “What hallway…” he turned around. “behind me?” The doors weren’t there. Instead, just as indicated, was a blue bricked hallway, identical to all the other blue bricked hallways. He looked around, and he didn’t see the big glass doors that he had entered in anywhere.

“Follow me,” the receptionist motioned, walking down the hallway. Confused and not wanting to cause a scene, Mr. Ward followed.

“Um…” he called after the receptionist guiding him deeper into the new hallway, “what happened to the door?”

“What door?”

“The entrance to the school,” he clarified, trying to hide the frustration in his voice.

“The one behind you?”

Mr. Ward looked back over his shoulder. Sure enough, from the way he came, he could still make out the open reception area and the rectangular silhouette caused by light shining through a set of double glass doors.

“Not much of a sense of direction, either?” the woman remarked, “Well, more things to learn then. I’m sure Ms. Avery and Mrs. Zachowski will be thrilled.” But she didn’t slow her pace and Mr. Ward had to powerwalk to catch up.

Mr. Ward glanced at each of the classroom doors as they walked down the hall. They were all plain wooden doors with a handle to open, but each one was decorated with a particular theme. Usually animals.

“Mrs. Murray’s Toucans: 1st Grade” one said. With paper toucans decorating the door. The largest one at the top of the door had “Mrs. Murray” written on it. The same pattern was true for Mrs. Abernathy’s Penguins, and Ms. Miller’s Seagulls. All first grade. Deeper down the hall, there were classrooms like “Mrs. Crowder’s Cows: Kindergarten” as well as “Mrs. Brumer’s Piggies: Kindergarten.” And “Mrs. Dickey’s Lambs; Kindergarten.”

“So I’m guessing,” Mr. Ward broke the brief silence, “Each room has a mascot and each grade level has a theme? First grade is birds, and kindergarten is farm animals?”

“You’ve got it,” the receptionist confirmed, not breaking her stride. Finally, they came to the room at the end of the hall. The reception area where they had come from was now just a dot on the horizon. The door said, “Mrs. Avery and Mrs. Z’s Busy Bees”.

At the top of the door were two paper bees, both smiling with little crowns on top of their heads.

“They’re the Queen Bees,” the receptionist pointed to the little crafts. “get it?” Mr. Ward nodded and smiled politely while the receptionist chuckled a little too hard at a joke that wasn’t that funny.

“I don’t see a grade level. What do they teach?” Mr. Ward asked, his brow furrowed. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something wasn’t right here. “And why two of them?”

“Oh, they don’t teach a grade level, technically. They work with our little ones. The little buggers are such a handful, it takes two teachers to handle them. That’s also why Mrs. Zachowski is Mrs. Z to the kids, it’s easier for them to say.”

“Little ones?!” Mr. Ward exclaimed in surprise. He had been hoping to be placed with a fifth grade class, a second grade class at the youngest. Kids who could already read and write, and be working on multiplication facts. He didn’t want to spend the semester teaching baby stuff to a bunch of little kids. And lower than Kindergarten? Yikes! That sent off alarm bells. “Um?...” he hesitated, “I’m not going to be changing diapers am I?”

“Goodness no!” the receptionist barked out a laugh. “You won’t be changing any diapers, at all. No, no, don’t worry about that.”

Mr. Ward felt himself breathing a sigh of relief out through his nose. Thank God for small mercies.

“Ms. Avery and Mrs. Z, have agreed to help the interns this year and so they’ll be running your orientation,” the receptionist explained. “You won’t be interning with them, but they will be responsible for you.”

“So they’ll be like on-site supervisors?” Mr. Ward asked. His hope renewed that he might yet be working with kids who already knew the damn ABC’s.

“Pretty much,” the receptionist nodded. “You and the other college kids will be with them for the day, and after today, then we’ll decide which classroom you should be in. See? Your classmates from the University are already here.”

Mr. Ward took a closer look at the door. Just as indicated, below the yellow “Queen Bees” of Ms. Avery and Mrs. Z, were smaller “Busy bees” in pink construction paper. Only four, to be exact, and each name he recognized from his classes at the University.

SHELLY.

NICOLE.

RUTHANN.

KIMBERLY.

Well, this place might be a little strange, but at least he wouldn’t be going through it alone. To the immediate right of the door were two little cardstock pockets hanging on the wall with clipboard holding a sharpie marker and roll of scotch tape.

The receptionist took the clipboard off the wall, and reached into a cardstock pocket, pulling out a blue construction paper bee. She took the sharpie and said “J-O-H-N” as he wrote Mr. Ward’s first name out in capital letters.

“Actually,” Mr. Ward interjected, “Would it be okay, if you put Mr. Ward on there? I’m cool with going along with the room theme, but I really wanted to work on being pro- “.

“Would that be fair to the other interns who got here before you?” the receptionist interrupted him, while taking a piece of scotch tape and taping the blue bee with “JOHN” emblazoned on it firmly to the door.

“I guess not,” he conceded. “It’s not a big deal, I guess.”

“That’s right,” the receptionist said, then added, “It’s not like you’ll be interacting with any of the elementary schoolers today anyways. Let’s just get through orienting you, and then we’ll work on what the adults and elementary schoolers call you. Now enough chit-chat, your name is on the door, and Ms. Avery and Mrs. Z are expecting you. Go on in so I can go back to my desk.”

“Fair enough,” Mr. Ward said, as he grasped the door handle and turned it, opening the door. He stepped through.

As he crossed the threshold, Mr. Ward could have sworn that he had gone blind for a second. Not even going blind, as much as a very long blink, though he could have sworn that both eyes were open. The darkness however brief, had still been long enough to realize that he couldn’t see anything. He couldn’t hear anything either for a moment, but as his foot landed solidly past the threshold and into the classroom, he swore he heard a tinkling noise, like in a music box, or perhaps a child’s mobile. The chiming sound lasted for about as long as it took for his other foot to cross the threshold and step over. Then, just as abruptly, it stopped, and he could see again.

Standing in front of him was an older middle aged woman, with what must have been dirty blond hair, but now she was clearly graying. She wore a simple lavender t-shirt with Jeans and white sneakers. Her glasses rested comfortably on her nose.

“Why hello there!” She beamed. “You must be John.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, “John Ward,” he extended his hand in greeting. Maybe he could get a first name out of her at least and he could be on equal footing in that regard.

“My name is Mrs. Zachowski, but everyone around here calls me Mrs. Z.” She grabbed his right hand by the wrist and pulled him into her arms. “Oh, we don’t handshake in this room. I’m a hugger. You’ll learn that about me.”

Mr. Ward hugged her back lightly and politely while she hugged him much more forcefully than anticipated. He felt her rubbing patting his back, which soon gave way to gently rubbing it. This hug was going on a little too long to be comfortable or appropriate. From the hug, he looked over Mrs. Z’s shoulder to get a better look around the classroom, focusing on anything other than this was better.

Once he focused on what was happening in the room though, he couldn’t believe his eyes.

The classroom was obviously arranged and decorated with infants and toddlers in mind. Everything was in simple and quiet colors, like a children’s storybook. The walls were painted in a sailing motif; the bottom half of the walls were painted to look like the ocean, with sand and seaweed near the bottom, and simple illustrations of sea creatures swimming in the water. Mr. Ward subconsciously noticed a whale, an octopus and a starfish among the underwater menagerie. Near the top of the water was a sailboat, and the part nearest the ceiling had clouds stenciled in.

Low shelves on one side of the wall had infant toys that your typical toddler would play within easy reach: Stacking rings, stuffed animals, plastic balls, tower toys, stuffed animals, dolls, and roller toys. The higher shelves had board books.

The back wall had a closed white door. Above it was stenciled “Nap Room” with a little drawing of a crib. Catty corner to that door was an open door with the words “Changing Room” and a drawing of a diaper and safety pin above the frame. The smell of baby powder permeated the air.

This wasn’t even a kindergarten class, probably not even a Pre-school room. More accurately this room was a nursery or a day-care.

Mr. Ward took all this in unconsciously, the same way a person watching a play will note the background and set pieces, but ultimately file it in the back of their mind and more or less forget it as their conscious thoughts focus on the actors on the stage. It was the other occupants of this room that caught Mr. Ward’s eye so hard it almost was yanked out of his socket.

It was his classmates from the University, though had he not known them so well from the countless lectures, projects, and study groups, over the semesters he might not have recognized them.

Shelly sat off to the far left of the room, her reddish brown hair, normally kept in a pony-tail, was now braided into pigtails. She wore a green baby doll dress with puffed up sleeves that ended above her elbows. Her feet were encased with frilly socks and black Maryjane shoes. Had that been it though, Shelly would have at best been described as dressing slightly provocatively. Shelly’s legs were bare, and her dress, which really couldn’t even be called a proper dress, because it ended shortly after the waistline, barely covered what could only be a diaper.

It wasn’t even an adult diaper, but rather a giant baby’s diaper. Even from the entrance way, a confused Mr. Ward could make out a landing strip waistline with infantile decorations, partially obscured by a large tape on each side.

Shelly sat on the floor sucking on a pacifier, and playing with a childish shape sorting puzzle, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she should be mortified in her current state. She sucked rhythmically on the binky, and carefully examined the different wooden blocks that could potentially fit into each hole with the same intensity that a world champion chess player might examine the board.

His other classmates, seemed less than enthused about their current state of dress.

Nicole sat propped up against one of the toy shelves, a worried and apprehensive look on her face. Her raven-black hair fell down to just above her shoulders, with her usual red beret hair clip keeping her hair out of her face. She wore a yellow baby dress almost identical in style to Shelly’s, but with yellow socks that frilled out and ended at her knees. Nicole had no shoes on, but she did have matching yellow panties on full display beneath her yellow dress. Perhaps diaper cover would have been a better descriptor since it did nothing to hide the bulge around her waist.

Nicole sat with her feet on the floor, and her knees up, her face twisting in concentration and perhaps discomfort or pain of some sort, as she clutched a plush killer whale for dear life.

Ruthann, was by far the most distressed it seemed. Her chestnut brown hair was tied back with a violet bow, her bangs still covering her forehead and her thick rimmed glasses still on her face. Ruthann had been dressed in a pastel pink number with a peter pan collar and sleeves that ran all the way down her arms, panties that covered her diaper with ruffles on the seat and matching frilly ankle socks.

Mr. Ward could not rationally believe that Ruthann had chosen to dress like this. Ruthann had a tendency to be a teacher’s pet and a bit of a whiner in study sessions, but was also a fashionista, and unless that Miley Cyrus video had become more of a cultural hit than expected, Ruthann wouldn’t have been caught dead in this objectively ridiculous and revealing outfit. Ruthann was on all fours on a rug covered with basic shapes, looking on in shock and disgust at Kimberly.

Kimberly was in the middle of the room, hunkered down on the balls of her bare feet on the pastel green carpeted floor, her finger tips gingerly brushing the ground and letting her balance. Her long, light auburn hair, tumbled down over the back of her bright pink with white polka dots dress which did nothing to conceal her plain white diaper.

As Mrs. Z released the hug on Mr. Ward, the diaper didn’t stay white. The bottom of the diaper was becoming discolored, and quickly the diaper was turning an off-yellow and spreading across the back as Kimberly pissed herself. That’s all it could be. Kimberly was pissing her pants in the middle of the room like an overgrown toddler. He felt numb inside and stumbled deeper into the room as he felt Mrs. Z’s hand guiding him in.

Ruthann called out from the floor to Mr. Ward. “Why are they doing this to us? We’re not babies!” Shelly looked up from the baby puzzle she was playing with and her eyes darted over to Ruthann and the pacifier in her mouth briefly stopped pulsating, then worked into overtime. Nicole still looked more scared than anything else.

Still in the squatting position, Kimberly looked back over her shoulder right at Mr. Ward. Her face turning bright red when their eyes met. Mr. Ward, or John rather, had been friends with all of his fellow college students, and had relied on them and in turn been relied on to memorize and learn the curriculum and theory. But he had been closest with Kimberly.

They had had more than a few dates, and a few hook ups, before they both came to the mutual conclusion that they were better suited as friends and study buddies instead of as a couple or even friends with benefits. But watching a girl that he had been intimate with pee herself in public like that disturbed him in a way most extreme and perhaps fascinated him in a way that was not at all appropriate. Perhaps that’s why he remained mute, or better put, dumb, as he was fostered deeper into the nursery.

“Kimberly! No!” Ruthann called from the floor. A woman came up behind Ruthann, leaned over and put her hand on Ruthann’s shoulder.

“Ruthann, honey, she’s just doing what babies do in their diapers. You do it to.” the woman said in a soft and gentle tone.

Ruthann gasped in disgust. “Do NOT!” she spat, not even looking up at the woman.

The woman was in her late thirties to early forties, and had hair the kind of perfect brown that could only come out of a bottle. She wore thin rimmed glasses and a black top that was cut to show off a little cleavage. A functionally useless tan accessory belt circled her waist, while she wore an off purple pencil skirt that ended at her ankles, where you might notice her toes wiggling in her sandals.

Mrs. Z’s simple dress gave the impression of a blue collar working grandma. An older woman who wasn’t afraid to get down and dirty with the kids and run around. This woman though, seemed pure soccer mom. This had to be Ms. Avery.

“I am NOT going to do that in my diap....” Ruthann stopped herself. “in my panties.”

“Well of course you won’t, Ruthann,” cooed Ms. Avery. “You have to be wearing big girl panties to go pee-pee in them. Speaking of which…” Ms. Avery leaned over and gave Ruthann’s butt a ginger pat. “Still dry, and I don’t smell anything…yet. You can keep playing, dear.”

“Fuck you!” Ruthann proclaimed, as she crawled away.

“Such language,” Ms. Avery shook her head knowingly, “we’ll have to deal with that later in the year, I think.” Then she walked up to Kimberly, who was still frozen on her haunches, her diaper likely warm and squishy with the recently deposited flood of urine. She put her hands on her knees and bent over to look Kimberly in the eye.

“Hello Kimberly,” she cooed in a too tone too high to be natural.

“Hi Ms. Avery.” Kimberly blushed more, looking back at her old classmate one last time before turning her full attention to the adult in front of her.

“Did you have an accident?” Ms. Avery asked in the same syrupy sweet voice. Kimberly nodded her head slowly.

“No you didn’t sweetie,” Ms. Avery corrected Kimberly, taking Kimberly’s chin in one hand. “Big girls have accidents in their panties and pull-ups. Big girls aren’t supposed to go pee-pee in their panties. That’s why it’s an accident. Babies just wet their diapers like they’re supposed too.” she paused a moment. “So let me ask you again. Did you have an accident?”

This time Kimberly shook her head obediently.

“Did you wet your diaper?”

Kimberly nodded.

“Is it time for a change?”

Kimberly shuddered visibly, and nodded her head one final time.

“Good girl!” Ms. Avery praised before looking up. “Mrs. Z, would you mind?”

“Not at all,” Mrs. Z answered going over to face Kimberly and lifted her with ease. Kimberly wrapped her legs around the older woman and rode resting her head on Mrs. Z’s shoulder. Mrs. Z turned around to head to the door marked “Changing Room.” Kimberly made eye contact with John, briefly, before blushing again and burying her head in Mrs. Z’s shoulder like a little girl hiding from a scary adult.

Ms. Avery waved at Mr. Ward, diverting his attention briefly. “Hello!” she said in the same overly cheery voice she had been talking to the girls with. “You must be John! I’m Ms. Avery.”

“Actually, I prefer Mr. War- “, and John was cut off with a quick and strong hug from the strange soccer mom teacher.

“I heard you introduce yourself to Mrs. Z,” Ms. Avery said. “And I’ll have you know that I’m a hugger too.” She broke off the hug, but kept her hands on John’s shoulders. “Though I don’t do them quite as long as Mrs. Z. She’s a ten second hugger, so it’s a good way to learn to count to ten,” she told John in a confidential tone. “Now, I’m sure you’ve got a lot of questions, looking around.”

Mr. John Ward nodded. Mrs. Z had meanwhile gone through the door marked “Changing Room”, and closed the door.

“Well,” Ms. Avery said by way of explanation, “today is just orientation day in the Busy Bee Room, so we’re not doing any work today. We’re just getting oriented, that means we’re getting used to stuff.” She spoke as if she was explaining things to a child. Mr. Ward only nodded, numbly, waiting for further explanation.

“So you can just play with any of the toys you want, and talk with your little friends from the University, and we’ll all get to know each other a little better. Just remember to share, and if you need anything, just come and ask me or Mrs. Z. If you want, we can read a book to you and later in the morning we’ll have snack time. Okie dokie? ” Mr. Ward nodded dumbly. His attention already drifting to the now closed door of the changing room.

Ms Avery walked over to Shelly, still playing with the shape puzzle, and obviously the most comfortable in the room, and began whispering and cooing to Shelly. John vaguely overheard snips of phrases such as “Good girl-“ and “-orienting very well.” All spoken with the tone reserved for dumb children and smart dogs.

What madness was going on here? He was the last to enter the room, so he had no idea how the girls had gotten in their ridiculous outfits or why Kimberly had just wet herself like an invalid.

He walked across the room and positioned himself so he could see the door of the changing room. Curiosity had gotten in the way of the precious little common sense he had been given. The door of the changing room had a window in it so that Mr. Ward could see through it. It didn’t take up the entire frame, but almost anyone could see what was going on if they cared to look.

“What the…” Mr. Ward gasped as he peered inside. There was a giant changing table inside, made of thick and sturdy wood. It had a thick blue mat on it that Kimberly was laying on, forced down with a strap across her chest. Honestly, if it weren’t for the tub of baby wipes and baby powder sitting in a panel by Kimberly’s feet, and the extra tubs of wipes and plastic gloves lining the shelves underneath Kimberly, John might have guessed this to be more of a doctor’s examination table instead of a baby changing station.

Kimberly laid on the table with the strap over her chest, her breathing fast and shallow based on the rising and falling of her chest. Mrs. Z had her back to Kimberly and she was looking through a bookshelf. John couldn’t hear what was being said, but Mrs. Z’s lips were moving and Kimberly, for her part appeared to be listening.

Mrs. Z turned around from the bookshelf holding a very large and very babyish diaper. Wow. It seems they weren’t bluffing. Was Kimberly about to get a diaper change from a complete stranger after soiling herself? Was this even legal?

Mrs. Z. continued talking, as she placed the diaper by Kimberly’s feet. John could tell because Mrs. Z’s lips were moving. Then, she reached for Kimberly’s diaper and swiftly undid the tapes, and pulled the front of the diaper open.

John Ward stood in rapt and morbid fascination as he watched the older woman grab a baby wipe and caress the most sensitive and private parts of the young woman, then lifting her legs and repeating the process with a second wipe on the girl’s buttocks. She slid the diaper out from beneath Kimberly, before rolling it up and depositing it into a till then unseen diaper pale located on a side panel of the changing table.

Looking at his classmate, friend, and briefly more-than-just-a-friend being made so submissive, caused John to tensely curl his toes and dig them into the soft pastel green carpet of the nursery floor. Some deeper part of his brain, realized there was something wrong with that; that he shouldn’t be able to dig his toes into the carpet through the soles of his new loafers, but that part of his brain was being drowned out by the absurd and strangely erotic scene unfolding in front of him. He had seen her naked before, but he felt dirty watching Kimberly in this state. And even though he was at least a dozen feet away from the door, mentally his face was pressed up against the glass; taking in every bizarre detail in this increasingly curious morning.

All the while, Mrs. Z was still talking, still saying something to Kimberly, and Kimberly seemed to be listening, slipping a thumb into her mouth around the time the soiled diaper was being removed. It was as the old woman was unfolding the new diaper, its designs filled with some kind of yellow and black dots on the front landing strip, and sliding it under Kimberly’s gorgeous ass, that Mr. Ward felt a tug on his shirt.

Mr. Ward looked down to see Ruthann, her indignant face not at all matching her undignified state of dress. It was like she was a different person, or age rather, from the neck down.

“What the hell are you looking at?” Ruthann demanded sternly from all fours on the floor. “Can’t you see what they’re doing to her?! What they’re doing to all of us?! Are you some kind of perv?”

Mr. Ward snapped out of his stupor and looked down at the girl. A girl that he was admittedly having more and more trouble taking seriously with each passing second. It was hard to take anyone seriously when they were dressed and diapered.

“Ruthann?”, he asked, “What the heck is going on?”

Ruthann let out a gasp of surprise, and covered her mouth. “John?!” she exclaimed in surprise. “Oh my god, I didn’t recognize you without your…-“

“Without my what?” Mr. Ward asked. Ruthann’s hand went to her chin and wiggled it a bit.

“Did you shave?” she inquired.

“Yeah a little bit,” Mr. Ward answered, his own hand unconsciously mirrored Ruthann’s. “But I still kept a little…” His hand touched his chin. His hand touched his clean shaven, smooth-as-a-baby’s-rump chin. Instantly his finger brushed his upper lip to find it similarly smooth. He quickly rubbed his cheeks and felt not even an instant of friction or a smidge of stubble.

He snapped his head down and moved his gaze past Ruthann still looking up at him and gazed at his own feet. Gone were his loafers and black socks. Now his bare feet touched the floor of the daycare. He was pant less as well, his thighs exposed to the open air. They were hairless too. He could have been on the swim team, his legs were so smooth. But something was still different about his legs. They were a little farther apart than usual, and it didn’t take John long to figure out why.

John briefly registered the plain orange t-shirt that had suddenly replaced his button up shirt, and his eyes shot down to the only garment he was wearing besides the t-shirt. Between his legs, covering his ass, cupping around his cock and balls, and wrapped around his waist, being held together by a large Velcro tape on each side, was a diaper. The landing strip on his waist was filled with little yellow cartoon bees: Fat circular yellow heads, with beady eyes and oval shaped black and yellow striped bodies. Some were smiling, others had pacifiers sticking out of their mouths, but all of them were wearing what could only be plain white diapers with the stinger poking out the back.

As if not fully believing what had happened, he poked the diaper in the front and rubbed his backside. His hands were rewarded with the soft yet stiff texture while his ears registered a distinct crinkle. John Ward shot his hands to his front and hunkered down to make his surface area smaller and conceal the most of himself. He was in nothing but a t-shirt and diaper in front of four beautiful girls and two grown women! He was close to naked and he had only been that vulnerable with one of them, and that was in the dark so it didn’t count as much.

“How long?” Ward asked. “How long have I been like…this?” He used his head to sort of gesture to his infantile garment. He didn’t dare move his hands yet.

“Since you came in,” Ruthann told him, an equal amount of panic and frustration in her voice. “We were all like this from the second we came into the classroom. “It gets worse,” Ruthann added. “Shelly peed her pants, and when they brought her out of that room, she kept insisting that she was really a baby. I think they change more than diapers in there, John.”

“I’m not waiting to find out,” Mr. Ward said sprinting towards the door, his diaper crinkling with every stride. Embarrassing outfit be damned, he’d explain it later if need be as soon as he was out.

“Wait!” Ruthann called out behind him, “That won’t- “ Mr. Ward grabbed the handle to the hallway, turned it, and flung the door open so that he could see the-

“work…”

Bathroom. The door that was supposed to lead back out into the hallway; the only other door in the room besides the ones labeled “Nap Room” and “Changing Room”, led to a one person bathroom. The tiled walls and floor contained a sink and a mirror right behind the door, with a toilet slightly to the right of the sink. John Ward’s eyes flickered up above the door. The words stenciled above the doorway said “Potty”, with a drawing of a toilet to the left of the word and a drawing of a baby on all fours- naked except for a white diaper was circled and crossed out in the universal symbol for “not allowed”- on the right of the word.

The bathroom mirror showed everything that needed to be seen. His entire face was hairless now, his precious and manly facial hair gone without a trace of a shadow, like his facial hair and never even been. His formerly slicked back hair, was once again wild, curly, tangled and free. The lack of facial hair made him look less like the wild man of Borneo, though, and instead made him look like a kid again. The diaper and t-shirt that did nothing to conceal the diaper combined to make him look like he was 2 years old again, at most.

John, for he could no longer think of himself as Mr. Ward now, felt a hand on his shoulder and a second reflection joined his in the mirror.

“No babies in the potty,” Ms. Avery said. “You’ll just make more of a mess in there than you clean up. Unless…” her head bent down, and John felt her finger pulling back the waist of his diaper to inspect inside. “No poopies,” she confirmed. Then she reached around the front and squeezed the crotch of the diaper. He heard yet another crinkle and the soft lining of the diaper as her hand squeezed his member through the babyish undergarment. “Not wet, either…unless”

John just stood there, unbelieving, as his most precious personal boundaries were so casually violated. John found himself spun around, and heard the door to the bathroom click closed as he faced a very serious looking Ms. Avery.

“John,” Ms. Avery looked him in the eye. “Tell the truth. Do you have to go potty? Are you a big boy?” She spoke slow and steady as one does when serious matters are brought up in front of children and you want to convey just how important the situation is.

“No ma’am,” John answered, shaking his head slightly. He had really meant to answer no to “Do you have to go potty?”, but he had inadvertently answered no to “Are you a big boy?” as well. So he had just communicated “No I do not have to go potty, and no I am not a big boy.” He wouldn’t get a chance to clarify either.

“Okie dokie.” Ms. Avery smiled. “Well, since you can walk- “ (John felt as if there was an unspoken “still” in that sentence) “-if you need to go potty, you can come and get me or Mrs. Z, and you can take us to the potty, and we’ll help you get your diaper off so you can go potty like a big boy. When you go pee-pee or poopie in your diaper, that’s okay too. Mrs. Z or I will change you and make it all better. Okay?”

John nodded, still not fully registering everything that was happening. Ms. Avery was about to turn around, when John heard himself call out, “Wait!”

Ms. Avery turned around. “Yes, dear?”

“Why am I in a diaper?”

Ms. Avery seemed to consider that for a minute, and adjusted her glasses slightly.

“Well, it’s probably because your Mommy and Daddy didn’t want you to be too warm, so they dressed you in just a t-shirt and diaper so you’d be comfortable.”

“My parents didn’t dress me like this! You did!” John accused.

“Baby boy,” Ms. Avery caressed his face. “You’ve been wearing those clothes since you came in here. I haven’t done a thing.” She took a step back. “Now, I’m sure I’m going to be changing your diaper by the end of the day and I’ll be happy to do it; and we have some extra onesies in the changing room in case you make a mess on your shirt; but I have done absolutely nothing to dress or undress you since we’ve met, honey.” Before John could rebut “Now go and play with your little friends, and stop arguing with me, or it’s Nap Time for you Mr. Cranky Butt.” Her tone was slightly playful, but brooked no argument, and John found he couldn’t force himself to argue.

As he stumbled back away from the bathroom door, Mrs. Z emerged from the Changing Room, carrying a giggling Kimberly back into the nursery like a groom carrying a bride across the threshold. She was cooing and nuzzling Kimberly, and Kimberly seemed to be drinking it all in, squirming in delight as the older woman toted her effortlessly across the room.

“Who’s a clean and happy girl?” Mrs. Z asked rhetorically.

“I am!” Kimberly giggled with genuine enthusiasm.

“Who’s a clean and happy girl?!”

“I AM!”

“That’s wonderful to hear,” Ms. Avery proclaimed, now dragging a large pink baby walker over to Mrs. Z and Kimberly. “Baby girls feel so much better after a diaper change, don’t they?” Kimberly nodded, agreeably with an “Mmmhmm”, a thumb hastening to her lips.

“You’re orienting so well, now, Kimberly.” Ms. Avery tousled Kimberly’s flowing hair.

“Oh she certainly is.” Mrs. Z agreed. “Would Kimberly like to play in the walker for a little bit?” Kimberly responded by smiling a big toothy grin. Taking her smile for consent, they lowered her into the contraption and Kimberly immediately began to wriggle her feet, and bat at the rattles, spinning toys, and mounted do-dads. She was entranced and delighted by them.

Ruthann looked on in further disbelief and indignation, her jaw practically hitting the carpet. Shelly watched from her spot with the shapes, her expression one of envy. Nicole stayed hunkered against the shelves, clutching the stuffed whale, her face grimacing while her eyes stared off into the middle distance. John was simply flabbergasted.

“Ms. Avery, do you mind if I run off for a potty break?” Mrs. Z asked the other adult.

“Not at all, I’ve got things handled here for the moment.” Ms. Avery smiled at her co-worker.

“Thank ya ma’am.”

“But of course ma’am.”

John kept his eyes trained on Mrs. Zachowski as she walked toward the door marked “Potty” and opened it. A wrinkled hand grasped the door handle and pushed down. The door opened into the room, and John peered across the threshold.

No tiny bathroom, just a big open hallway. And Mrs. Z walked out. Ms. Avery walked back over and got on her knees so she could look Nicole in the eye.

“Nicole, how are you doing, dear? Is it time for a change, yet?” Nicole grunted and bit her lip, but remained mute. Ms. Avery slipped a single manicured fingernail past the yellow baby panties and into the cuff of Nicole’s diaper. She looked disappointed and withdrew her finger. “Well that’s probably for the best anyways. I’m not supposed to change you unless another grown-up is here to keep an eye on the other little ones. So you’d just have to sit in your wet and poopy diaper until Mrs. Z got back from the potty.

“Leave her alone!” Ruthann shouted, march-crawling up to the teacher. Ms. Avery stood back up to her full height and bent back down to look Ruthann in the eye, showing her dominance.

John was sure that this exchange wouldn’t end well for Ruthann, so he tuned out the proceedings and walked, well waddled really, over to Kimberly. She was still going to town in the baby walker, almost oblivious to her old friend approaching her.

“Kimberly? Kim?” John asked. Kimberly stopped and looked up at him from the walker. Sitting in the contraption she came up to maybe his chest, and John didn’t dare bend over, with each shifting of his weight and bending of his waste reminding him of what he was wearing.

“Hi John!” Kimberly greeted him with enthusiasm, not breaking her stride on making the rattles bolted to the tray shake.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Pwayin’” she replied with a childish lisp and a matter-of-fact tone.

“Why?”

“Cuz iss fun.”

“Why is it fun? It’s just rattles and shit.”

“Cuz I’mma baby.”

“No you’re not.”

“Uh-huh” Kimberly asserted, still refusing to give John her full attention.

“But you’re twenty-two!” he retorted.

“Doesn’t matta,” she countered. She started to alternate beating on the different toys with each new point in a sing song voice..

“I came to schooooool- “ RAT-A-TAT-A-TAT

“- and I got ma name on the door of da cwass woom- “ JING-A-LING

“- and I cwawled on da floooooor” WHIIIIIIIIR

“ – and I wet ma diapeeeeeee-“ BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

“- and now I’m pwayin’.” She started rocking back in forth by only a matter of inches, the very motion of the walker beginning to amuse the girl.

“You’ve been potty trained for like twenty years, I’m betting.” John told her, his frustration rising.

“Nope.” Kimberly said.

“Nope?” John asked.

“Nope. We’ve been just –tendin’ to be big kids all this time. An’ we got lucky when our Mommies and Daddies and Bubbies and Sissies and Teachews got us to the potty on time. It wasn’t us. It was them. They was payin close ‘tention and helped us. Same with eatin’. Same with –tendin’ to dwive.”

“What about school? College?”

“We was jus’ pwayin’ Cowwege. Now we in schoo’. Now we get to be Busy Bees!”

“Was I pretending to be a big boy too?”

“Yup. You too.”

“Did I just get lucky when I made it to the toilet over the last two odd decades?”

“Yup. Evwyone of us.”

John leaned in and whispered in her ear. “What about when I got lucky with you?”

Kimberly finally stopped batting at the toys and looked up at John.

“What about when we had sex?”

For a tense second or she just sat there, looking at him. Her lip trembled and her eyes turned glassy and John swore she was about to start bawling. Then her face regained some composure and she spoke up.

“Well...you wiked it cuz it felt like you was goin’ pee-pee inta me. And I got to get wet all ova’ you. It was wike we were both –tendin’ to be diapees.” Kimberly spoke like she was reciting a well learned lesson. “Besides, if we was doin’ it, it wuddn’t weal sex. We both babies, and babies don’t have sex. We was just pwayin’ sex.”

“Un-be-fuckin-leavable” John muttered. Before he felt a tug on his shirt.

He looked down and saw Ruthann again, still on all fours. For her, he bent down to make eye contact.

“Don’t waste your time,” Ruthann told him. Without either one motioning to the other they began to distance themselves physically from their friend. “I tried the sex argument with Shelly about five minutes before you came in the room. Didn’t work.”

“You and Shelly?”

“Nooooo!” Ruthann scowled. “Shelly and I were just roommates, idiot, and when she had boyfriends over…” she let the thought drift out.

“Thin walls?” John asked.

“Very thin walls.” Ruthann confirmed. “Back to our problem.”

“Where’s the teacher?”

“Over there.” Ruthann thumbed over to where Shelly had been. Ms. Avery was now sitting cross legged on the floor with Shelly in her lap. She was cooing at the diapered girl as she guided her hand over hand into putting the square pegs in the square holes and the round pegs in the round holes. Shelly seemed to be loving every minute of it.

“What’s going on?” John asked. “Shelly’s got a better GPA than all of us.”

“It’s this room. It’s today. It’s those women.” Ruthann said. “We come in, the receptionist put our name on the door with the cutesy little bee. We walk through the door, and suddenly we’re dressed like this, and Kimberly and I are crawling. The teachers either troll us or talk to us like we’re two year olds. Shelly…Shelly pees first and she gets taken to the changing table. I think she might’ve done it on purpose. She says she’s going to call their bluff. When she comes out, she’s like…that” Ruthann gestured over to Shelly, who is now being guided through the steps of the itsy bitsy spider.

“Kimberly says she’s not feeling so good, and says she’s going to make a run for it. She crawls to the door. Opens it-“

“And it’s a bathroom.” John finishes.

“Yup,” Ruthann confirms. “Then the older one grabs her by the waist drags her to the middle of the room. Turns around.”

“And I come in, wearing this” John gestured to his T-shirt and diaper ensemble, “and not even realizing it while Kimberly loses control and pees herself. She gets taken to the changing table, and comes out…like that.” Shelly had resumed batting at the rattles and toys and had added in rolling around in circles while making siren noises to the routine. If nothing else it was covering up the conspiratorial whispering of the other two.

“Don’t feel bad about not noticing.” Ruthann told John. “I didn’t even realize I was crawling till Shelly pointed it out. It’s weird though. It’s like they’re still them,” Ruthann paused for a thought. “But it’s like they’re determined to be babies. Weird.”

“Weird doesn’t begin to describe this day.”

“No kidding. What do we do?”

“I got an idea,” John said. “How’s Nicole?”

“She’s still with us, but she’s in a bad way.”

“Let’s go see her.”

They crinkled off to the toy shelf that Nicole was leaning up against, still unmoving since John had gotten here today. There really aren’t enough adjectives to describe how uncomfortable, both physically and emotionally, Nicole seemed. John sat down on his knees on the floor, while Ruthann remained “standing” on her hands and knees.

“Hey Nicole.”

“Hey…John…good…to see…you.” Nicole said, silent grunts breaking up each sentence.

“How you doing?” John asked, genuinely concerned. Ruthann seemed quite resilient despite some strange element of the nursery forcing her to crawl like an infant, and frankly, it seemed like there was nothing to be done about Shelly and Kimberly.

“Bad…” Nicole grimaced. “Trying…not to…poop.” She clutched the stuffed animal as a wave of cramps rocked through her. “Floor…only thing…helping…hold it…in.”

“Oh crap.” John said, not realizing how inappropriate his choice of words might be.

“They only…changed Shelly…and Kim…when they….needed it.” Nicole gasped and grunted it. Her face constantly contorting all the way. “Think…it’s a…rule.”

“Screw their rules,” Ruthann sneered. “They’re treating us like babies.”

“No…” Nicole corrected. “Rule…for…them.” She let out a long exhale as she tried to maintain control. “They can’t…chaaaaange….us…until they...change us. But…we have to…need…it. And…they can’t…force us…to…y’know.”

“They stopped me from reaching the potty.” John offered, accidentally using the more juvenile expression for the commode.

“Kimberly too,” Ruthann agreed.

“Stopped you…from…leaving.” Nicole grunted. “But…could…have….been worse.” Nicole made a long exhale and then sucked in her breath. She was talking like a cross between every bad Captain Kirk impression, and every bad woman in labor impression, though the last metaphor was inappropriate because Nicole was actually trying to hold something in.

“They didn’t…tickle…Kimberly…or Shelly…” Nicole continued after about five second. “And if…they push…my stomach…or make…me move…I’m done…but they’re leaving…me…alone.”

John and Ruthann thought about it for a second, and seemed to nod in agreement. Whatever magic or weirdness was doing this to them or governing this room; or maybe this entire school- John was certain the entrance to Bayside Elementary had been behind him and then been suddenly inaccessible; the place hadn’t wanted John leaving to be an option- it seemed to require that the University children soil themselves without physical interference.

Granted, he suspected that their bladder and maybe even bowel strength had been reduced; he couldn’t imagine any other way that Shelly and Kimberly could have wet themselves before 8:00 in the morning, and Ruthann had been reduced to crawling and all of them had been diapered. But there were ample opportunities to further restrict them and force them to use their diapers. Yet, no bottles or food had been force fed them or even offered, so there was no chance to drug them or fill them up with laxatives or diuretics.

They hadn’t been tied down or locked in cribs or high chairs, so nothing was restricting their movement. Technically, John had been offered use of the potty, though he was certain it was because these strange women were certain that he wouldn’t have time to take them up on the offer. Nicole was right. Ms. Avery and Mrs. Z were following some kind of code.

Something about the experience in the changing room changed more about you than just your diaper, but to go there, the teachers wanted you to earn it on your own, or so it seemed.

“So what do we do?” Ruthann wondered.

“Don’t…know…” Nicole told them. “I’m…scared…don’t wanna…be…a baby.”

“I’ve got an idea,” John said. The girls gave him their attention. “When we touch the door to the potty, it’s a bathroom,” he explained. “But when one of the teachers open the door, it leads out into the hallway that led us here. I can still stand upright,” John demonstrated. “I can still run. If I act quickly, I can position myself and run out when Mrs. Z comes back from her bathroom break and-”

“Too…late…” Nicole interrupted, clutching her stuffed whale so hard she might tear it. John pivoted so his back was to the wall and saw Mrs. Z coming back in, the door already shutting quietly behind her.

“Damn,” Ruthann muttered, having to the arduous task of turning her entire body around so that she could witness the lost opportunity for herself. Ms. Avery slid Shelly off of her lap and went to talk to her coworker. None among the three college students who were still in their right minds bothered to listen in.

“We’ve still got time,” John assured his friends. “We just have to wait till Avery walks out. I’m pretty sure I can surprise her and run right by her before she even closes the door.” John felt a brief pressure in his gut, nothing to worry about, and absent mindedly let out a fart. It was hot, but fortunately no noise came from his rear.

“Uh…oh…” Nicole gasped.

“What?” John turned his head and looked down at Nicole. “Are you pooping?”

“Not…yet…” Nicole strained. “But…I think…you are…”

“What?!” John couldn’t believe it, but Nicole was right. The far hadn’t cut itself off, and something solid was coming in right on its proverbial heels. John tried to squeeze his butt cheeks together, but he felt something hot and warm greet them. Something was already part of the way out. He was turtle heading. He willed somehow to suck the stuff back in, but his body wasn’t having any of it.

His hands started traveling to his backside. He’d block the mess with his own palms if necessary. Shove it back in. He felt Ruthann grab one hand, and Nicole grab the other.

“Don’t.” Ruthann hissed. “They’re looking and they’ll be able to tell if you do that.” Sure enough, Ms. Avery and Mrs. Z were done talking and were now surveying the Busy Bee Room. Their eyes glanced contentedly over Shelly and Kimberly who were blissfully playing like the toddlers they were dressed as, before settling on the trio of survivors.

John felt the poop slide out of him even more and heard a slight crinkle as the log met with the back of the diaper, causing it to expand ever so slightly. He couldn’t control it, it was coming out on its own.

“What are you three up to?” Mrs. Z asked from across the room, sounding like the grandma who had caught her kids in the cookie jar.

“Holding hands,” Ruthann called back. “We’re scared. Fuck off.”

More came out of John, despite his best efforts. The diaper stopped expanding outward at the point of initial contact, and the log’s structural integrity collapsed, filling John’s diaper not with a log like he left in the toilet most every day, but just a brown stinky mush.

“There’s nothing to be scared of, Ruthann,” Ms. Avery called out, still respecting their personal space for the moment. “We were about to do a puppet show story time. Do you kids want to come watch?”

“Yeah!” Both Kimberly and Shelly cried out, throwing their arms in the air.

The others just quietly shook their heads.

Some form of instinct took over and John pushed the rest of the mess out himself with a final silent grunt. Fortunately, no rude noises accompanied alerting the teachers. John became instantly aware of the gross, disgusting waste in the back of his diaper. Immediately after that final bush out of his anus, his brain ceased to register the bodily waste as a part of him and now it felt as if he had a foreign object in his pants. He was acutely aware of the heat from it, and the smell, but more than anything else, he was aware of the weight of the stuff. It was being pulled towards the floor, and John could feel his diaper beginning to droop with it.

Good luck or good timing, however small, had made it so his backside was to the wall, so the two women who ran this room didn’t see his backside inflating, but if they kept examining him at this rate, they were certain to see his diaper begin to sag, however slight, and that would be enough to doom John.

Mrs. Z went over to Shelly and lifted her out of the giant walker and carried her over to a wall with books and a propped puppet theatre near the front of the room. Shelly showed that she still had the ability to stand and waddled over behind Mrs. Z. John could tell now that both of their diapers had the same baby bee decorations as his, the same brand as his if you will.

“Oh come on and have some fun with us Busy Bees.” Ms. Avery coaxed, her hand already sliding into some ridiculously juvenile clown puppet. “It’ll be fun.”

John found his voice, “I thought you said we could play with whatever we wanted, today” he said.

Ms. Avery shrugged and said “True enough,” but before turning around she added, “But if I don’t see you three playing soon, Mrs. Z and I might just have to come over there and play with you.” Then she turned around and went to do a two person puppet show for two girls who really should have been too old for such things.

“Sit down,” Ruthann ordered once the attention was off them. “Your diaper is starting to droop.”

John lowered down to his haunches, his hands on the carpet to balance. He did not want to sit in his own mess, even if that meant doing the world’s lamest Spider-Man pose to avoid it, or, he realized in an instant, looking exactly as Kimberly had when he had come in the room.

“ALL the way down,” Ruthann said through gritted teeth. “It’s obvious you’ve done something, otherwise. You look like my little brother did right before he started potty training! Do you WANT to get changed and end up like THEM?”

John plopped down on his butt and was treated to the sensation of his own mess spreading even more across his bum. Now it felt as if warm, thick mud, coated the entire surface of his buttocks. If only it were mud. It was revolting.

“Now rock a little bit, spread it around so there isn’t as much of a lump.”

John did as he was told and began rocking back and forth, spreading the vile contents of his diaper around even further. He felt the warm mush creep up his backside to his crack and splatter around to the front, coating his taint, and even the bottom of his balls.

“What do we do, now?” John asked, panic in his voice and thoughts. He was over halfway to screwed now.

“This changes nothing.” Ruthann said, taking on the mantle of leadership. “John, you’re still the best chance we have of escaping this thing. Nicole, you’ve never been good under pressure, and you definitely have more than you can handle, right now. If you stand up, they’ll be on you like flies on…” then she thought better of finishing the simile. “We’ve gotta keep John safe and his accident unnoticed until Avery or Z needs to leave the room.

“How…do we…do that?” Nicole asked, trying to avoid the same fate as John.

“I don’t know, just make sure we don’t get noticed and hope luck is on our side.” Was all Ruthann had to offer. “So, play.” Ruthann crawled to a low toy shelf and grabbed a big plastic car, and started to quietly scoot it around the room, acting like she was playing but never getting out of their periphery.

John, too scared to shift, for fear of the contents of his diaper might shift with him, kept his seat on the carpet next to Nicole. He grabbed and groped for a nearby toy from the shelf and pulled out a set of stacking rings.

He spread his legs and dumped the rings off the little pole between them. Then, he placed the pole down and began stacking and restacking the rings. He did so slowly and with deliberate lethargy, like it was taking him longer than it should have. He was looking busy.

There were four colors, so he started seeing how many different ways he could stack the rings in different orders. He knew from a math formula he had learned long ago, that there would be twenty-four different permutations, but finding each different individual arrangement would at least keep his mind busy for the time being. Red, Orange, Yellow, Green. Red, Yellow, Orange, Green. Red, Green, Orange, Yellow….

“You smell…really bad…” Nicole whispered, breaking his train of thought.

“I know. Sorry,” he whispered back.

“S’okay.” Nicole said.

“It doesn’t smell that bad to me. Does it smell that bad to you?”

“…yes.” Nicole answered honestly. Then she added, “I guess…everybody…likes…their own…brand.”

“Is that a joke?” John asked.

“…I’m not…good…for much…else.” Nicole smiled, painfully.

John smirked at that, then grimaced. Now that his mind was off the toys, he was becoming more keenly aware of his backside. It had been a good five minutes, and already his diaper was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. The mess was cooling a bit, and he was starting to itch.

To make matters worse, he literally could not scratch this itch. The thick padding on his backside made it so he couldn’t scratch his bum through the diaper, and he certainly couldn’t reach into the diaper and scratch his butt without pulling back brown, disgusting, stinky, smelly, fingers. That would have been a dead giveaway to what had happened.

But as Nicole pointed out, John did, in fact, stink. And unless luck, or something bigger than himself was on his side, he’d be discovered before one of the teachers needed a bathroom break.

It did not seem that anything other than his two friends were on his side, however, as Ms. Avery and Mrs. Z abruptly stopped their puppet show for the two infantilized girls and started sniffing the air, their noses crinkled in disgust.

“I think someone made poopies,” Ms. Avery remarked out loud in a sing song voice.

“I’d have to agree,” said Mrs. Z.

Both women stood up and walked to where Shelly and Kimberly were sitting. They lifted up the backs of the two girls dresses, which were just barely covering the backs of their diapers anyways, and pulled back the waistlines to peek inside.

“It’s not Kimberly,” Mrs. Z confirmed.

“Not Shelly, either,” Ms. Avery echoed the sentiment.

“That must mean it’s one of our other Busy Bees,” Mrs. Z said, smiling a little as she said it.

“Let’s go check ‘em,” Ms. Avery announced. And like witches on the prowl they advanced. Game over, John thought. Time for a change. Ruthann crawled over to her other two friends and joined them in what would likely be John’s last moments of clarity, if Shelly and Kimberly were any indication.

“It’s okay, I’ve got this. You’re still out best hope out of here,” she whispered to John. Then she turned her head to Nicole, and whispered. “I am so sorry.”

“EWWWWWWW” Ruthann yelled at the top of her lungs. “Nicole, gross!” and she shoved Nicole sideways as hard as she could, tipping Nicole over.

Nicole screamed. “RUTHAAAAA-“ BLART! The noise rang out across the room for all to hear. Nicole began bawling. SQUELCH! GURGLE! Nicole hid her face in her hands, crying as she filled the seat of her padded panties for all to witness. The only thing more potent than the sound, was the smell. Ugh! Was this what John’s load smelled like to Nicole? Or did Nicole have some serious digestive health issues that John was not privy to.

Out of fear and surprise, John scrambled to his feet and looked down in horror at Nicole and Ruthann. How could Ruthann have done that?!

“Oh, Nicole,” Mrs. Z cooed out to Nicole as if she were a three year old who had just had a bad fall. “Come here baby, lemme make it all better.” She rushed for Nicole as if an accident had occurred on the freeway and not in Nicole’s underwear.

“RUTHANN!” Ms. Avery huffed over to the girl on all fours, and began wagging her finger. “That is not how Busy Bees treat each other in this classroom!”

With two girls meriting two different type of attention, and only two teachers to dole it out, John was left as the odd man out, and he inched away from both caretakers, keeping his back to the wall the entire time.

With nowhere else to go, as Nicole was being picked up and carried to the Changing Room by Ms. Z, and Ruthann was once again getting into a war of words with Ms. Avery, John circled the perimeter of the room towards Shelly and Kimberly.

“Hey, John!” they called out amicably. John’s eyes nervously checked to see if either of the teachers took notice. They didn’t. He waved sheepishly back, and suddenly became aware again of how much his ass itched.

“You still –tendin’ to be a big boy?” Kimberly asked.

“No!” John shot back, then covered his mouth to stop himself. The feeling in his diaper was making him more temperamental. He moved closer to his old friends so he didn’t have to shout. “I mean,” he corrected himself, “I’m not pretending. I am a big boy. I mean adult!”

Shelly gave Kimberly a knowing look. “You was wight. He still pwayin’ that siwwy old game.”

“Tooooowd ya.” Kimberly said back.

John still couldn’t understand how these two bright, intelligent, young women had been reduced to little girls. “Why do you think I’m a baby?” he demanded to know.

“Cuz you wearin’ a diapee.” Shelly said.

“And you in the baby woom.” Kimberly added.

“And you not a teacher.” Shelly finished the thought.

“And your diapee is poopy” they said in unison.

“We can smell it.” Kimberly declared. “And only babies wun awound in poopy diapees.” The verbal reminder made him squirm in place even more. His mess encrusted rear felt disgusting, and it may have been in his head, but there was a feeling not unlike a sunburn developing on his rear.

“No, I’m adult. A grown up. A big boy.” John said frantically, his patience fraying with every syllable. “I’m just not getting my diaper changed because I don’t want to end up a baby.” He huffed. “Like you.”

“You’re trying to pwove you’re a big boy by staying in a poopy diapee? That don’t make much sense.” Shelly said.

John raised his finger and opened his mouth to rephrase, retort, and explain, but didn’t get a chance to say anything.

“No, it doesn’t make much sense, does it Shelly?” Ms. Avery said from behind John. John tensed, his knees locking, as he felt the waistband of his diaper pulled back. The smell of his own shit intensified in his nose as fecal matter met fresh open air. “Thought so,” Ms. Avery said smugly. “Come on little one. It’s time for a change.”

John felt himself lifted up and spun around. His legs automatically wrapping around the woman’s waist and his arms clinging to her shoulders, as she supported his rump with one arm and held his back with the other.

His body wanted to be carried. His body wanted him out of this mess, literally, and was willing to help Ms. Avery do it by complying. The filth he had been sitting in was so caked on by this point that it didn’t even shift and move with Ms. Avery’s arm under him.

“Please let me go,” John begged. “Please. I’m not a baby. I’m a college student. I was supposed to be an intern at this school.” Ms. Avery just ignored his pleas and started rubbing his back and gently shushing him. He bounced up and down slightly as they walked towards the Changing Room.

He caught a look at Ruthann, and saw all hope leave her face. They were all fucked and she knew it too.

“Shhhhh….” Ms. Avery lulled as she rubbed John’s back. “It’ll all be over soon. We just have to wait for Mrs. Z and Nicole to get done, and then it’ll be your turn. Then you can go back to playing. Now won’t that be nice?”

The door opened and Mrs. Z came out with a still bawling Nicole. From the way she was being carried, John could tell that she wasn’t wearing the yellow baby panties over her diaper anymore. Her long yellow socks were gone too.

“Something the matter?” Ms. Avery asked, still holding John, mild concern in her voice. “Is she not orienting well?”

“I’m not sure.” Mrs. Z. told her co-worker. “Normally they like being changed. Nicole here even had a blowout that leaked all over her diaper cover. Dribbled down her legs too. I managed to save the dress though. ”

“Do you think it was the shove? Maybe there’s some doubt left. Maybe it interfered with the orientation.”

Just then Nicole burst out, “JOHN! IT’S TRUE! IT’S ALL TRUE. WE’RE BABIES! WE’RE ALL BABIES! WE’RE! ALL! JUST! BABIES! And I’m….I’m….hungwyyyyyy!” And then broke down into more wordless, but quiet sobs.

Both let out an audible sigh of relief.

“Had me scared for a minute there, little one.” Mrs. Z. said to Nicole, and then readjusted the girl so that she could pat her gently on the back. “I think it’s about time for morning snack.”

“Actually,” Ms. Avery thought out loud. “Everyone got to Orientation really early today. These guys might not have even had breakfast yet.”

“Oh my, I didn’t think about that,” Mrs. Z remarked. “We’ve been doing this job too long to forget about that. For once, I wish the University would tell them to come later in the day the first time.”

“You can get the high chairs out of the Nap Room, once I’m done changing John, here.” Ms. Avery told her co-worker.

“Oh, does John need to be changed, too?”

“I think he might have needed it before Nicole did, honestly.”

“Oh well, mistakes happen.”

“We really need to find a better place to put the highchairs. Maybe with some of the extra funding the school will be getting, we can mount some hooks on the wall or something and hang them from there.”

“As if we’ll see a cent of the money.” Mrs. Z said. “They’ll tell us our budget is used up ordering more diapers and wipes for the kids, and maintenance fees for the equipment.”

“Preaching to the choir, girlfriend.” Ms. Avery agreed, rubbing John’s back to keep him quiet. “Never mind that their parents, old or new, will be ordering the diapers online after today, and the equipment is as sturdy as it ever was. God forbid we get a little extra storage equipment so that we don’t have to pile the high chairs in with the cribs.” Both shared a light, but tired laugh at that. “Well, John isn’t getting any cleaner. Gotta go take care of business.”

Mrs. Z slid with Nicole, still sobbing quietly, out of the way, and John was carried into the Changing Room by Ms. Avery. The door was closed behind them, and immediately the same tinkling chime sounds that John first heard briefly upon entering the nursery, filled the room. Ms. Avery gently laid John down on the pad of the changing table and quickly and expertly pulled a strap across his chest and buckled it. John’s hands shot to the buckle and tried to undo it, but it wouldn’t budge. Maybe he could roll off the table and make a break for it yet.

“Don’t bother,” Ms. Avery said, crouching to access the shelves beneath the changing table, “it doesn’t work for babies.”

John quit struggling. He couldn’t help but listen intently to the tinkling notes filling the air, as Ms. Avery rummaged around beneath the changing table. The notes of the chimes were organized enough to seem like music, but random enough to sound almost tuneless. They played at a slow and dreary pace. John, who had a talent for noticing such things, idly picked up that little snippets of nursery rhyme songs and lullabies had been worked into the chimes melody.

If there had been lyrics to this song, it would have gone something like: All of it, played at the same slow tempo, regardless of the different songs contained, and the notes burrowed into his brain.

“It’s been so long, that these were waaaaay in the back,” Ms. Avery popped up, holding what appeared to be very thick underwear, but it crinkled like any other diaper. But this one was different. It was light blue with a cartoon farmer holding a pitchfork on the front and the outline of a cow on the crotch.

“Just to show that I wasn’t lying about the potty,” she held the diaper out and popped it open so John could see what it might look like when worn. John then realized that he saw no tapes holding the diaper together.

“Pull-ups?” John asked.

“Well, sort of. They’re training pants though.” Ms. Avery explained. “Only big boys who have accidents but can use the potty at our school get to wear them. The cow disappears if you have a pee-pee accident, and there isn’t as much room in the seat, because big boys aren’t expected to go poopy in their undies.”

“I had a big boy a few years ago who eventually got to go to Mrs. Crowder’s Kindergarten, so I keep a couple of spares just in case. You should see the girls’ panties,” Ms. Avery went on. “They’re pink, and Little Bo’ Peep is on the front with a little lamb that disappears if they have an accident. But that’s not important right now.”

“What’s important,” she said, “is for you to know that I have not lied to you once since you got here. If you had asked me, I would have led you to the potty, and even if you were having a poopy accident right then, and there, I would have rushed you over, helped you get cleaned up, and you’d be wearing these big boy undies right now. But you didn’t,” she said, as she collapsed the training pants and placed them back under the table, “because you’re not a big boy. You’re a baby. And babies wear diapers.”

John wanted to argue. But he couldn’t. Something wouldn’t let him. He was feeling funny. Not quite dizzy, but definitely not clear headed. It was like the ever changing melody of the tinkling chimes, like a mobile gone haywire wouldn’t let him concentrate. He took some small comfort as his hand slid over to his mouth and he started sucking his thumb.

“And since babies wear diapers, your diapers should be right over here.” Ms. Avery turned to the shelves by the changing table. “Let’s see…let’s see. Where are John’s diapers? I see Ruthann’s diapers, Shelly’s diapers, Kimberly’s diapers, and Nicole’s diapers… but wheeeeeere’s Johns? Ah, here they are.”

John lifted his head off of the changing table. Ms. Avery gestured like a model at a car show to a stack of rather large disposable diapers on a shelf. A piece of blue duct tape on the edge underneath with “JOHN” written in black sharpie indicated that yes, those diapers were meant for him. There was a beat of silence, where John took the sight in, and all he could hear was the tinkling lullaby chimes.

Ms. Avery took the top diaper of the stack and placed it by John’s feet. “You see, John,” Ms. Avery told him, droning over the tinkling music. “If you were a big boy, you would have come and got me to lead you to the potty, you would have slid your big boy undies off and sat on the potty before going poopy in it.” Her fingers tip toed up the changing table between his legs to his diaper.

“Instead, though, like a baby,” Ms. Avery emphasized, “first, you pooped in your diaper, then I had to find and check you, then I had to bring you here and lay you down, and-“ she ripped open both tabs one at a time, “open up your diaper. Sounds kind of like the opposite of what a big boy does, doesn’t it?”

“In fact,” she added, “not only did you poop, but you were just sitting and playing in your poopy diaper, weren’t you?”

It was true, John admitted to himself, these incriminating thoughts coming into his head replacing the invasive tinkling chimes, making his recollection clearer. He had pooped his pants, quite uncontrollably in fact, and had sat in his own mess, playing his own games of color combinations with the baby rings, and finally running away when he thought he might end up here on the changing table. He, in truth, was doing everything he could to avoid having his diaper changed, just like his mommy had said in those potty training stories she had told again and again.

Ms. Avery pulled the front of his diaper open, exposing his excrement caked backside and genitals. Without flinching she grabbed some wipes, lifted his legs by the back of his knees and went to work wiping him down. All while she worked, the tinkling music continued from somewhere above him.

“If you were a big boy,” she continued, “after you pooped in the potty, you’d wipe your own hiney with a little bit of toilet paper. BUT,” she punctuated, “you’re a baby, so I have to wipe your hiney with a lot of baby wipes to clean up your messies.”

John flinched as the cold wipes were drawn across his backside. First in wide swaths to get the bulk of it off of him; then in tiny little wipes in the odd places, and intimate folds of his backside.

He stared down at his now hairless crotch, still sucking his thumb. As Ms. Avery wiped off his muck caked balls, she took an extra wipe and gently drew it across his penis and the surrounding pubic area before caressing his testicles once again. Even with the coldness of the wipes, the sensation caused blood to flow to his penis, and even the blood rushing to his face in embarrassment couldn’t draw enough blood away to stop his member from swelling up completely.

Ms. Avery seemed to smile at that. Not seductively, but satisfied. She yanked the used diaper out from under John and began balling it up. “If you were a big boy, when you were done wiping, you’d flush the potty.”

“But!” Ms. Avery punctuated, opening up the cabinet where the John had seen the diaper pail hidden. “When I’m done wiping your hiney, I ball up the diaper and throw it away in the diaper pale.” She didn’t say “because you’re a baby,” but this time she didn’t really have to. John mentally inserted that part of the chorus in himself. He had never remembered hearing the flush of a potty till after he had been a big boy. When he was little and just becoming a big boy, part of him had been scared of the loud roaring sound of rushing water. And now a part of him was comfortable hearing rustling of a balled up diaper being thrown into a waiting garbage bag, with only the soft clicking of a lid opening and closing to punctuate the act.

Ms. Avery carefully unfolded the new diaper, she had to unfold it twice because it was so large.

“Of course my Busy Little Bee,” Ms. Avery said, thankfully distracting John from the tinkling and random baby music, “if you were a big boy, after the pooping and wiping and flushing, you’d pull up the same old big boy undies that you were wearing before you went potty, and the expectation would be that you’d be wearing those same clean big boy undies allllll day.” She lifted John’s legs and his rump went up into the air with them. His ass came down on the soft padding and a crinkle of the new diaper entered his ears with the rest of the music.

“But let’s be honest with each other,” Ms. Avery said, “it would be foolish of me to expect you to keep this new diaper clean till lunch. So I don’t expect you to.” She lifted John’s legs. “You might be getting a little rashy there, kiddo. Time for some cream.” She grabbed a tube of desitin and began smearing the diaper rash cream close to his anus and over his cheeks. The itching that John had been feeling began to subside with each application of the cool cream.

John let out a sigh of relief from around his thumb. Finally, expectations he could live up to. Unlike that bitch Mrs. Slattery, Ms. Avery and Mrs. Z had expectations that he could live up to and were up front about it. So what if they weren’t the expectations for a professional? Maybe he wasn’t ready for those expectations yet.

He was stirred from his reverie as Ms. Avery dusted a cloud of baby powder onto his diaper area. “Bit boys wash their hands so that their hands smell good,” Ms. Avery explained, “but you just need a little baby powder.” .

As he inhaled the fragrant aroma, he knew he wasn’t ready for those professional expectations yet. He didn’t care about how he had looked or dressed. He didn’t care if he looked like a caveman in sweatpants and crocs, why should he care if he looked like a two year old in a t-shirt and diaper?

Ms. Avery pulled the front of the diaper up over John’s crotch, and fastened it together. One tape at a time, and John felt the garment take shape over him, encasing him, protecting him, making him look adorable. He looked down at the cartoon bees smiling up at him from his new diaper, and he smiled back around his thumb.

He shouldn’t care, he realized. It didn’t matter what other people thought he looked like. But then again, the only people who really didn’t care about what they looked like were –

“And finally, John, last but not least.” Ms. Avery said, leaning over and unbuckling John from the changing table. She pulled him up into a sitting position. “If you were a big boy and pooped in your pants, you would have gotten a spanking, or time out. But like you said, you’re not a big boy who goes poopy in the potty are you?” John shook his head. “So instead of a spanking, all you get is a diaper change.” She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. The music stopped. And without its constant distraction, John could think clearly now.

He wasn’t ready to be a big boy. He never had been ready or a big boy to begin with. All these years he’d been just pretending. But he knew it was time to stop pretending. There were so many other games to play that were so much more fun that pretending to grow up for over twenty years.

“Ms. Avewy?” John asked, his voice trembling a little.

“Yes, John?”

“I wanna be a Busy Bee with you an Missus Z.”

“You already are, dear. You already are.”

She picked John up off the changing table, and together they exited the room and John heaved a sigh of relief. He had been genuinely afraid for a moment that Ms. Avery would tell him that he couldn’t stay in the Busy Bee Room with her, that after today he’d have to be a dumb old college intern. Well not now, thankfully. Never ever, he knew deep down.

Mrs. Z was unfolding large high chairs out on the nursery carpet. “Where are-?” Ms. Avery began,

“Don’t worry,” Mrs. Z said. “The others are in the cribs while I set up the high chairs. I’m getting old, but not senile, don’tcha know? Go on and buckle the little guy in.” John was carried over to a highchair that fit him juuuuust right, just like in the story about the bears. As Ms. Avery was clicking the tray into place, a cry came out from the Nap Room.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooo!” Ruthann screamed. “This isn’t happening!” she screamed. “I’m not a baby, I’m not a baby I’m NOT!” The sound of the other three girls giggling could be heard.

“Sounds like it’s Ruthann’s turn to be changed,” Mrs. Z said before turning toward the screams.

“Wait, let me,” Ms. Avery called after her. “You’ve already changed three of the kids, let me at least change two.”

Mrs. Z shook her head and smirked. “You always do get a kick about changing the difficult ones, don’t you?”

Ms. Avery returned the smirk. “You know I do.” Ms. Avery went into the Nap Room and came out with a crying Ruthann on her hip.

“PLEEEEEEASE NO! I’M A BIG GIRL! I’M A BIG GIRL!”

Just before Ms. Avery closed the door to the changing room, John shouted, “Don’t worwy Wuthann! You’ll feel betta once you’ve been changed!”

John’s highchair was close enough to the changing room door that he could still peer in through the window and watch as Ruthann was placed on the changing table, strapped down and have her baby panties stripped down off her legs.

Ms. Avery leaned over and said something to Ruthann, though John couldn’t tell what. It probably had something to do with how she pushed Nicole over a few minutes ago. As Ms. Avery turned to the shelves on the side to look for Ruthann’s diapers, John smiled and thought how great his friend would feel after a change as he released a spurt of pee-pee into his diapee.

The End

 

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