Done Adulting Vol. 1 Ch. 11 (Patreon)

Eric looked at his wrist and ankle, covered by the sleeper, and realized he hadn’t seen the bands with his name and barcode when he woke up. Eric didn’t know the safest thing to do. He didn’t even know the name of the giant who was carrying him. He knew for sure he didn’t want to upset them. He opted to fall back on his old habits and go along with what was happening until it made sense to speak up, which hopefully would be very, very soon.

“What’s wrong,” Amanda asked, noting the change in Eric’s expression and the tension in his body.

“Um … just, uh, heights … it’s nice to meet you, Amanda,” Eric managed to say.

“Aww, don’t worry, kiddo, Mom’s got you all safe,” Amanda assured him as they reached the kitchen. Eric couldn’t see much from his vantage point. The woman adjusted him so she was holding him with one arm, stooped a little to open the fridge, and took out a baby bottle of milk that had to be at least a liter. Glimpsing the contents of the fridge, Eric saw several more bottles like it, plus giant condiments, giant fruit, a giant green thing he thought was lettuce, and under a large piece of foil, what he could make out as a bird that would have fed a Thanksgiving table of 30 with leftovers for sandwiches.

It frustrated Eric that he couldn’t see. On one side of him was the woman, and on the other he could only see partway over the arm holding him. He could see what was past his feet, but it was mostly cabinetry. Where did Amanda go?

“We’ll warm this up for you first,” the woman said as she put the bottle in a warmer. “Are you sure you’re comfortable like this?”

Physically or emotionally, Eric thought. “Yeah, um … this is fine,” he responded, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. Any human would have picked up on it anyway. Maybe bigs can’t pick up on those nuances, he thought, or not when they first meet one of us. The answer seemed to please her.

“I think you’re going to like this an awful lot,” she said as she took the bottle from the warmer. She moved to sit down at the table, and Eric found the slight up and down motion of each step similar to being on a lake on a gentle day. Part of him liked it, and part of him felt queasy, and another part didn’t like either of those. Quick enough to startle him, Eric descended several feet as she sat down at the kitchen table. Amanda came into view again, across the table and holding a small tablet or giant phone.

“Ready for some food,” the woman asked, and Eric looked up and found her expectantly looking at him. Eric was grateful she had asked first. In truth, Eric never drank straight milk. He never cared for it. But he was hungry. He nodded.

The woman placed a cloth over Eric’s chest and lifted the bottle to his lips. Tentatively, Eric opened his mouth, and immediately it was filled with a silicone nipple. Only drips came out. Eric tried to draw the liquid out and found he couldn’t. With another two tries he figured out he needed to press his tongue under the nipple to open it before he drew on it.

It wasn’t milk. He couldn’t place it; it wasn’t anything Eric had ever tasted before. It had the texture of a protein shake, but it was better than any he had ever tasted. It was sweet but not cloying. It was one of the best things he had ever tasted. But there was still a liter of it, and Eric didn’t want to chug a liter and doubted he could. He heard the artificial click of a camera and glanced left to see Amanda holding up her phone. He looked up and found a dreamy smile on the woman’s face. He realized she wasn’t going to move the bottle until he finished it.

With half a liter to go, Eric was feeling a little full and plugged the opening of the bottle with his tongue, stopping the flow and taking several long breaths. He heard another click and felt a pat on his shoulder urging him to continue, and with another deep breath, he resumed drinking the delicious fluid. The last quarter was a struggle, and he drew air twice before opening his eyes and finding the bottle empty. He felt full to the point of nausea.

Taking the bottle away, the woman dabbed at Eric’s chin with the cloth and asked, “How was that?”

Eric was red in the face, and swallowing down a rising discomfort in his chest, he said, “It was really good … just … a little much, maybe?” Definitely.

“Oh! I know what you need,” the woman said. She draped the cloth over her shoulder. Eric started to say, no, I can do that myself, but the change in position hurt his hip and cut off his words before he could get them out. His chin was on her shoulder and there was a firm thumping on his back before he could get a word out. It only took the one, but he got several. The formula rose into his throat, and some escaped his lips before he could swallow it back down.

Eric was more irritated than embarrassed. He reached for the cloth before she could and wiped his own mouth, half dropping and half throwing the cloth back on her shoulder.

“Does someone feel better,” Amanda asked.

Eric was practiced in patience. In his career, he had put up with a lot, de-escalated conflicts, been called everything but a child of God, and had been punched by more than a few kids, teens, and their parents. Every time, he stayed calm. Now he didn’t have to be the adult in the room, and the satisfying four-letter words that came to mind nearly came out his mouth, but for his own sake, he swallowed those down too. The woman’s other hand came under his other arm, and she lifted him in front of her, bringing him to stand on her thighs, letting him hold some but not all of his own weight. He heard Amanda’s phone click again.

From ear to brain to mouth, one of those four letter words almost escaped again, but Eric checked himself. With a forceful sigh, he regathered his patience, and with in his most authoritative voice, near-shouted, “Timeout!” Both women were taken aback.

Regretting he had raised his voice even a little, Eric sighed again (I’m doing that a lot today, he thought), and in a carefully measured tone asked, “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

The two women looked at each other, and the older one said, “Uh, sure.” She stood and moved him to her hip with her arm under his butt. It hurt his hip, but he’d rather have the discomfort than be cradled just then.

From this position, he could see more of the kitchen and then the hall and entryway as they passed into a family room. A playpen was set up in one corner. An overstuffed chair sat next to it, and at an angle to it, a couch.

“Can you please put me down in the chair,” Eric asked. She did, and she and Amanda sat on the couch. The chair was nearly wide and deep enough that Eric could lay flat in either direction on it. The overstuffed arms blocked much of his view. But he could see them, and he felt ridiculous sitting in such a large chair and dressed the way he was, with the indignity he was feeling. With what pride he had left he decided not to ask for a cushion to sit on.

He stared at them a moment. They stared back. No thought passed through Eric’s head. He just took in the scene, let his mind process it. When he was ready, he asked, “Ma’am, can you please tell me your name?”

A look of slight chagrin came across her face when she realized her mistake. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m Rebecca Webb,” she said, gesturing to herself, “and this is my daughter, Amanda.”

Pursing his lips, Eric exaggerated a nod and said, “Thank you, Rebecca. Do you prefer Rebecca or Becky?”

“Becky, but I hope you want to call me ‘Mom,’” she said with a glow. Eric didn’t want to respond to that yet.

“I’m Eric. Eric.” He let that sink in without saying more.

After a second, Amanda gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh! I’m so so so sorry! I didn’t think!”

Becky looked at her daughter and realized what had happened. “Oh! We know! We know you’re Eric!”

Eric didn’t know he’d been holding his breath until it rushed out in relief. “Then who is ‘Jamie?’”

“On your preferences form, you said you weren’t sure if you wanted to keep your first name or not. We thought about it and liked ‘Jamie,’” Becky explained.

“It was my idea,” Amanda volunteered.

“You can pick another, if you want, or keep ‘Eric.’ It’s up to you,” Becky said.

“Okay. I’m going to think on that. May I please ask a few more question?”

“Of course.”

“Why did you feed me a bottle, and what was in it?”

“Did you not like it?”

“No, it was really good. There was just too much of it. And I prefer solid food … obviously.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I should have asked if you were full.”

“And I can burp voluntarily.”

“Because of your stomach surgery it’s going to a little while until you can eat solid foods again,” Becky explained without seeming to take note of his remark. “Two more weeks of liquids, two weeks of pureed foods, two weeks of soft solids, and then back to normal.”

Another relief. With a hard flick of his wrist, which Eric regretted, he pointed at the playpen. “Playpen?”

Very earnestly, and not apologetically, Becky answered, “For when you’re playing and no one can be in the room with you.” Glancing side-eyed with his unimpressed expression, Eric held his breath again without meaning to. One thing at a time; save your ammo until you know how many fronts you’re fighting on, he thought.

“And the crib?”

Cocking her head to the side, Becky said softly and sweetly, “Honey, that’s where you sleep,” as though it were the most obvious answer to the most obvious question anyone had ever asked.

“Uh, why?”

“So you don’t fall out of bed and hurt yourself.” She had a very plain but positive, even upbeat, way of answering the question. “Or get into any mischief.”

“What if I need to get out?”

“For what?”

“Um, to use the bathroom,” Eric answered back with a sarcastic flick of his uninjured wrist.

Becky and Amanda looked at each other, their turn to be confused. Amanda whispered something Eric couldn’t hear. Becky didn’t answer, and the two of them looked back at Eric.

“Honey, you wear diapers,” Becky answered, as if this answer had overtaken the previous as the most obvious ever.

Eric’s eyes drifted away from them and froze, his left hand in front of him as if to make a point. “Until I’m fully recovered from surgery, right” he asked, holding his breath for the answer.

“No, of course not,” Becky replied with a shake of her head. Her eyes were open and her expression kind.

Eric’s head dropped to his chest. Motherfucker, he thought. It wasn’t an angry thought. More exhausted.

“I can control my functions,” Eric answered back, finding that authoritative voice again.

“Uh huh,” she humored him.

Now Eric was angry. He kept the outward appearance to mere irritation. “I can prove it. I know when I need to pee.”

“Oh, I bet you do,” was Becky’s answer.

You patronizing dimwit, he thought. He was losing a little more control of his temper. “This is not debatable. I’ll prove it right now!”

“Mhmm,” Becky said.

Fucking bizarro world! “I can! I mean, I already do! I can go to the bathroom whenever I want and relieve myself!’”

“That’s right! ‘Whenever you want.’”

Eric didn’t know what to say next. He scrutinized Becky’s face closely, and looked at Amanda, who looked back at him as though he were … a toddler. A toddler who wasn’t potty trained.

Eric thought back to all his conversations with Cheryl. He remembered what she had told him about the agreement and about bigs.

“They’re not pretending … It’s not a game where they pretend you’re not fully capable of functioning in their world; they actually see you as not fully capable.”

“They retain the right to decide the details associated with your stage of life, which may vary from your expectations. Whether and at what pace you progress through life stages, and what point, if any, you stop progressing, is up to the big.”

“If you adopt yourself out, you’ll have the same rights as a minor there. Anything that is permissible for a big to do to their own children can be done to you.”

He remembered what he had said: “Can you, um, put it in my file that I don’t think I ever want to grow up again?”

And he remembered the language of the agreement: “By accepting this agreement, the Adoptee Party implicitly consents to all actions subsequently taken by the Adopting Party except any actions that violate any clause of The Agreement, treaties duly ratified between the governing bodies of the Adoptee Party’s and Adopting Party’s respective countries, and the laws of the Adopting Party’s country.”

Eric brought his hand to his forehead and ran it through his hair. It was a tic of his, a gesture he made without meaning to when was mentally or physically tired. He said nothing. Becky saw he looked tired.

“Honey, I bet all that breakfast made you tired, and you’re still recovering. Let’s go put you down for a nap for a few hours,” Becky said.

That sounded fine to Eric. He was tired, and he wanted the alone time. He started to get off the chair when Becky sprang forward and scooped him up.

“I can’t walk either,” he asked. It was plaintive rather of angry; he was getting too tired to be angry, too tired to argue his point and resorting pleading.

“Of course you can, but I want to wait until tomorrow because of your hip.”

At least I have that, he thought.

Back in his room, Eric got a better look this time. Rocking chair, crib, dresser, toy chest, closet, a brightly colored rug like a street grid on top of beige carpet, a shelf with a few toys on it, and a changing table. Becky didn’t take him to the crib; she took him to the changing table.

He only got a glimpse of it before he was face up on top of it. He saw stacks of several different kinds of diapers. Wipes, powder, creams, a few pieces of clothing, but he couldn’t tell what they were. He didn’t want to say anything. He just wanted to disappear.

Looking up at the ceiling, Becky came in and out of his field of vision. She was humming something familiar, but he wasn’t sure where he had heard it.

“I can help, Mom,” he heard Amanda say. He turned and saw her in the door way. She was pretty. They both were. Had they not been giants, Eric may even have been attracted to them. In that moment, Eric felt the same way around her as he felt up through most of college: shy. He hadn’t felt shy before, even if he was intimidated by her, as he was with many pretty women, but in a moment, he’d be naked.

“Thanks, honey, but for this first one with him awake, I’ll take care of it.” A small mercy.

Eric went back to staring at the ceiling and felt a band of pressure around his chest. She had buckled him down. Looking up at her for a moment, she saw his face and said, “Just until we see how much of a wiggle bug you are.”

He dropped his head back down and opted not to participate further in his diaper change. He felt a tug on his legs and heard the sound of the snaps on his sleeper being popped open. He had to struggle to maintain his detachment as she bent his legs to get his feet out of the pajamas, and the greater indignity – having his ankles lifted up to raise his butt off the pad so she could push his pajama bottoms under him. With his feet still aloft, he felt a hand touch his butt, pressing the crinkling, padded underpants against him.

“Still clean.”

Eric covered his eyes with his arm. He pressed his legs together just a bit, as an experiment, and felt a soft but somehow still firm resistance between his thighs. He heard two rips and a crinkle before feeling cool air on his privates. It felt good.

His legs were being lifted by the ankles again, and he felt a warm wipe being passed over both butt cheeks and down his crease. She kept his ankles aloft as she unfolded a new diaper one-handed. When he was set back down, it was with a crinkle as he settled onto fresh padding. Becky gently opened his knees, and he felt another warm wipe being rubbed against the inside of his thighs and around and on his genitals. When she moved on to his pubic mound, he could tell from the sensation he was bare down there.

His ankles were back in the air, and something cool and greasy was being spread on his bottom and perrineum. He was set down again, and a moment passed before he felt a light shower of soft powder fall on his front and Becky’s warm hand rubbing it in.

He felt the garment being pulled up snugly between his thighs and pressed against his belly. One hand stayed on his belly, and the other tugged at one hip, and then her hands reversed to close the second tape with one more tug.

Finally and yet too soon, so it seemd to Eric, unsure what was worse – being exposed and handled down there, or the garment now covering him. He didn’t want to decide. He didn’t want to think about it at all. He couldn’t deal with it right then. The embarrassment. The humiliation. The shame that it … didn’t feel bad to have her hands run over him down there.

He vaguely felt himself being lifted again, the bundle of pajamas coming out from under him, his feet being threaded back through the stockings, and the snap-snap-snap as the pajamas were closed.

“Is he asleep,” Amanda whispered.

“I think so,” Becky whispered back.

“He’s so darling.”

Eric heard none of it. He was fast asleep again.