His Second Infancy [Tier 2 and 3 Exclusive] (Patreon)

“If you’ve ever wanted an example of ‘fragile masculinity,’ consider this: I offered my husband a pink bib yesterday. And do you know what he did? He actually turned his nose up at it and scoffed. As if, somehow, a pink bib was beneath him.”

The other women in the room giggled and laughed. Some glanced at each other while shaking their heads. They didn’t say it, but they didn’t have to: the consensus was clear that he sounded absolutely pathetic.

“And so I had to ask him,” Ellen continued, “‘Do you really think it would matter if I put you in a pink bib or a blue one?’ I mean...either way, he’s still a grown man in a bib, right? He’s a grown man in a diaper. He’s a grown man getting spoon-fed by his wife from a large custom-built high-chair. The color of his bib was the last thing he should have been humiliated by.”

One of the ladies, a red-head with thick black glasses raised her hand.

“Yes?” She leaned forward to read the young woman’s name tag. “Tabitha?”

“I’m curious though,” Tabitha asked with a slightly mischievous smile. “I have to suspect that you knew you were going to get a rise out of him with the pink bib. Did you intentionally choose that color when you bought it?”

It was a good question. Ellen laughed aloud before answering: “Oh, of course.” This answer was met with a thunderous round of applause.

She looked to her left, where the aforementioned husband was stuck in the aforementioned custom-made oversized high-chair. He wore a dark blue onesie, with light blue thigh-high socks. A pacifier was plugged into his mouth, with a thin strap wrapping around his head that kept it in place. It was pink - which matched the pink bib that was wrapped around his neck.

The audience, entirely women, were just the latest in a cross-country promotional tour in support of Ellen Mills’ newest book: His Second Infancy: Lessons in Taking Back Control.

The book was as much about her own husband’s failed manhood as it was about her observations of other men who had absolutely nothing to contribute to their marriages, families and the world at-large. The solution, as Ellen suggested, was a second infancy. An abandonment of the trappings of adulthood and to start over from the very beginning.

It had likely only been wishful thinking on her part, but Ellen had almost immediately noticed that her speaking engagements were not being attended by the men she sought to help. Rather, they were being attended by the women in these men’s lives. The wives. The girlfriends. The mothers. Perhaps they were in a better position to help direct a man through this change.

Or, more likely, they all just knew a man who didn’t yet know that he had failed in his efforts to be an adult.

These women came to these engagements because they already knew what course their little boy’s life was on. Now, they just wanted to know what was next.

Charles Mills - better known as Chucky these days - was a little bit of a celebrity himself as of late. Not only was he also in attendance for every single event on the tour, but the book was just as much a retelling of his own second infancy as it was a guide for others.

Ellen speculated that there were some in attendance who just wanted to see Chucky for themselves. She didn’t mind. Who could blame them?

Chucky didn’t seem to mind the attention. Sure, maybe he got a little fussy sometimes. Maybe there was a question or two that made him feel a little embarrassed or ashamed. But he was a good little boy. A good sport. A good role model and example for other failed men.

“Nelly?” Ellen asked, calling on the next audience member with her hand raised. Someone passed a microphone to Nelly.

“My husband...he’s a bit of a mess,” Nelly said with a shrug. There were some nods in the crowd from women who could relate. “I like your book. Well, no, I love it. But it just seems like...well, a lot, right? I could regress my husband into a babbling infant. Or...I could just divorce him?”

Ellen paced on the stage, nodding as she listened along. “Yes. Yes, I understand that challenging decision. And you’re not the first person to ask me that. Why not just divorce? Why not just cut ties and walk away. Ultimately that decision is yours, and yours alone. But I do want to point out one thing. Suppose you divorce and remarry later. Then what? Aren’t you potentially putting yourself right back where you started? You need control. Why not just take control now?”

“You know what,” Nelly said. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right.”

The audience began to applaud once more.

“Do you remember how I began the process of turning my husband into the big baby you see before you now?”

Chucky grunted and looked away from the crowd. It was unlikely that they could see his cheeks grow pinker, but he couldn’t just stare ahead at the smiling women.

“Well,” Nelly said, pointing to a bookmarked page in her copy of Ellen’s book, “I sure do. I mean...it’s quite possibly my favorite part of the entire book. It’s the part I’ve read and re-read the most. When I have a tough day with Richard - my husband - this chapter always comforts me.”

Ellen smiled. “Maybe you could read an excerpt aloud from that chapter? How about page...31. I suspect you know the paragraph I’m referring to.”

“Oh…” Nelly blushed a little as she fumbled to open the book, not being expected to be put on the spot like this.

Ellen wondered if perhaps Nelly would be too timid to read aloud, but no sooner had Ellen begun to open her mouth to say that she would read the passage instead, Nelly began to read:

“It was time. I had given every benefit of every doubt. I had given countless opportunities for change. Yet at every turn, Charles insisted on squandering the little goodwill I had left. I would need to take action, as my hand had finally been forced.

“I truly believe it was harder on me than it was on Charles. I knew what was coming, and I knew the work that I’d have to do. Regardless of how long I planned for this day, it was still a great change in the status quo. I was uprooting complacency. I wasn’t allowing for the same routines to continue.

“I implemented the first round of changes in a single day. While Charles was at work, continuing his affair with Regina, I had changed the locks on the bathroom doors. While Charles used our money to order expensive new golf clubs for himself, I gathered every pair of his underwear and had them taken to a dumpster blocks away. As Charles and ‘the boys’ went out for another evening of booze and expensive food, I changed the passwords and authorizations on our bank accounts and credit cards.”

The audience applauded.

“Thank you, Nelly,” Ellen said. “Do you see? Does everyone see? The hardest part is getting started. You just need to act. Nelly, where is your husband tonight? Where is Richard?”

“He’s at home,” Nelly said meekly. “Just watching football, I guess.”

“Does he know where you are right now?” Ellen asked.

“I...I tried to tell him.”

“Does he know what this speaking engagement is about?”

“No.”

“Does he know about the book you’ve been reading?”

“I’ve tried to bring it up before,” she said timidly. “But he never really seemed interested.”

“Do you know what I think?” asked Ellen.

“No…”

“I think you need to make him interested.”

The audience applauded this.

“Earlier you posed the situation as if it was a choice,” Ellen continued. “A decision. Divorce, or a second infancy for your husband. But I don’t believe it is your choice at all.”

“No?”

“No, Nelly. It’s his choice. Just as it was Chucky’s. Am I right, Chucky?”

Chucky, bound with the pacifier stuck in his mouth, just gurgled incoherently.

“I’d like to read an excerpt myself,” Ellen said to both Nelly and the rest of the audience. “It’s from the same chapter, so I trust that you’re familiar with it already, Nelly.”

She cleared her throat, lifted the book a little closer, and read from her book to the audience:

“He could’ve left. In fact, that’s one of the first things I told him when he came home that night. I made it perfectly clear that, no, he was under no obligation to stay and be subjected to the humiliating plans I had in store for him. He knew where the door was, and we could negotiate finances and belongings in a divorce.

“Or, I suggested, he could stay. It’d be harder, yes. It’d be humiliating. But he wouldn’t lose me. And he might just grow into someone better.”

She put the book down and walked back over to Chucky. “And, well, you can see for yourself, right? He chose to stay. He could’ve got some money, got his own place, continued an affair with a woman 15 years younger than him. But he chose this. And now look at him. A second infancy. He’s a good little boy, and he’s getting better everyday.”

The audience clapped again, there were a few laughs and excited shouts mixed into the wall of noise.

“You’re right,” Nelly said. Volume had returned to her voice and a smile grew from her lips. “I just need to do it. Try it. If the alternative is divorce anyways, what do I have to lose?”

Ellen wagged a confident finger in her direction. “Yes, exactly. I think you get it, and I think you’re going to do just fine. Come see me after the show. I want to keep in touch so I can learn more about your Richard’s progress.”

More applause. The audience was devouring this. The crowds had been pretty good on the tour so far, but this one in particular was absolute fire.

Ellen looked across the stage to Baby Chucky, strapped in his large high chair with a look that was at least somewhat complacent. As to be expected. Each show seemed to be easier than the one before it, and he was quickly acclimating to being a part of the show. But there was something else that she could read on his face. She couldn’t be sure, but she had an inkling of an idea as to what it was. And she hoped she was right about it.

“Now this,” Ellen said into the microphone as she carefully watched her husband’s face, “this might be a first for the book tour.”

Some curious clucks and noises came from the crowd. Ellen wanted to elaborate, but she didn’t continue her thought right away. She could feel the suspense building, and she controlled it. These women were just as wrapped around her finger as her husband was.

She slowly walked across the stage to Chucky, gently tickling the underside of his chin with her finger.

“Chapter 11,” she said. “Do you remember what I said about getting into that maternal groove? You pick up on signals that are so subtle that your baby might not even know they’re giving them off. You might look at little Chucky right now and just see his chubby little face happily suckling away on a pacifier like a baby. But do you know what I see when I look at it right now?”

There were some shaking heads in the audience.

“This little boy has a full tummy. And he’s fighting the urge to use his diapers.”

This elicited some giggles and laughs from the women, all of whose eyes were now fixated on the face of Chucky.

“Am I right about that, Chucky?”

Chucky didn’t respond immediately, though he probably didn’t have to. Between his bashful squirming and his glowing pink cheeks, he said an awful lot without needing his pacifier removed from his mouth.

But she was right. He had tried, in earnest, to tell her about this before getting on stage, but she was so awash in preparation that she had written off his nervous muttering as just anxiety. Had she not been distracted, she probably would’ve seen the look of desperation slowly consuming him an hour ago.

Or… She did notice, and chose to let that desperation build.

Another woman in the audience raised her hand.

“Yes, Caroline?” Ellen said, walking close enough so that she could read the woman’s nametag.

“So, what is your husband’s, uh, control like these days? Like…for his bladder and bowels. My boyfriend, Chris, is home in a diaper now. But it’s such a production to get him to use his diaper regularly.”

Ellen nodded and smiled. “I can certainly relate to that, Caroline. Chucky, here, he was a stubborn little boy. And you know what it is? They think—they truly believe—that if they can hold it long enough, they’ll eventually encounter a situation when they are free of the diaper and can use the bathroom.”

Caroline nodded in agreement.

“The solution is simple,” Ellen said. “You let them take as long as they want.”

“R-really?”

“Well sure. If they think that holding their little bladder—or heaven forbid, their dirty little stinkies—indefinitely is the answer, they need to be proven wrong. Make a game out of it. See how long they can hold it. Hours? Days? The longer that goes on, without hope of using a toilet in sight, the better it’s going to be when they finally realize they need to give in to the diaper. It’ll feel good for them. And you’re going to love watching it happen.”

Caroline smiled and nodded again.

“Chucky was no different. He was practically dancing uncontrollably by the time he finally filled his pampers for me. And for as stubborn as he was about it, he still eventually learned. He could hold it and be uncomfortable—as no reprieve from his diaper would be coming—or he could just go and use his potty-pants like he’s supposed to. And he got a lot happier once he figured that out.”

“Thank you,” Caroline said. “I needed to hear that.”

“Chucky and I are actually going through a relatable experience here tonight,” she said, turning back to Chucky. “At home? When it’s just us? He has no problem just filling up his pants. Doesn’t matter the time of day or what we’re doing. He can be washing dishes, watching baseball, or mowing the lawn. He has to go? He goes. Plop! Right there, he just does his dirty business in his diaper.

“But using his diaper in public is a different story altogether. And, mind you, I’m not advocating for your newly re-born baby to make a spectacle of themselves. But it is very much an exercise in trust, right? Your baby needs to trust that they could, in fact, do anything they have to do in their diaper, and you’ll be there to clean up after them—no matter where you are.

“This is the 14th stop on the book tour. And for every single show so far, Chucky has sat before an audience, strapped to his high chair with a dry diaper between his legs. And yet, minutes after every presentation, when we finally have a moment of privacy, he’ll use his diaper. Obviously, he’s holding it, right? He doesn’t want to have to use it in front of you.

“Frankly, I think that’s silly. He’s a baby. He’s wearing a diaper. When you have an actual infant, do they ever wait for the ideal opportunity to go potty in their pants? No, of course not! Remember, ladies, we’re breaking our partners down to infancy again. There are no half-steps. There are no compromises. Letting them control when they use their diapers—letting them have any control at all—is counterintuitive to everything.”

Ellen stood behind the seated Chucky now, gently massaging his shoulders as she continued to address the audience.

“So for all you Carolines out there with a hesitant baby, I’ll remind you that this process is never fully over. You’ll get your boyfriend to use his diaper at home, but that’s just the start. Me? I wrote a book about my husband being turned into a giant baby again, and yet I’m still working on getting him to use his diapers in public.

But tonight? Well, tonight, you’re in luck. Because you’re going to see it happen. You’re going to get to see this big baby give in and fill his pants like a good boy. Isn’t that right, Chucky?”

Chucky’s eyes grew big and worried as his head slowly turned upwards towards her face. Ellen walked to a bag sitting on a table at the back of the stage—a bag that was previously introduced as Chucky’s diaper bag—and pulled out a clear plastic bottle with a long spout, filled with a clear liquid. A disposable enema.

“Because if he doesn’t willfully use his diaper tonight, for you, then I’m going to make him use it.”

The audience had been silent, hanging on her every word. But at this revelation, they lost it. They cheered and clapped. Most of them laughed happily.

“Do you hear that?” Ellen asked Chucky. “I think they’re rather fond of the idea of you using your diapers for them on stage tonight.” She looked back to the crowd and smiled: “Is that right? Do you want to see Chucky fill his diaper?”

It started in the very back of the small venue. A middle aged woman with short blonde hair raised a fist in the air and began to chant: “Poop! Your! Pants!”

It had caught on almost immediately, and with every new round of the chant, more people had joined in. Only seconds after it had started, nearly the entire audience was chanting it in unison.

“Poop! Your! Pants!”

“Poop! Your! Pants!”

“Poop! Your! Pants!”

Ellen let it go for a minute or two, even adding to the chorus with a series of handclaps. Chucky’s face had turned a rather vibrant shade of red.

Finally, Ellen signaled for the chanting to end.

“Well, Chucky,” she said into the microphone. “The women have spoken. What do you think?”

For only a moment did he think he’d be spared from having to answer, per the pacifier still bound to his mouth. But Ellen quickly unfastened the band that kept it in place before pulling the pacifier out from his mouth.

“Go on,” Ellen said. “What do you have to say to them?”

She put the microphone up to his mouth. He sighed, perhaps weighing his options, and gave the only answer that he knew would be acceptable.

“I…I, uhm, can do that.”

The audience started to cheer, but Ellen signaled for them to cease for a moment. “No no, Chucky. You can do better than that. Elaborate. Tell them what you’re going to do.”

“I’m going to, uhm, poop…my diaper.”

And now Ellen let the audience release its energy. More applause. More cheering. More joyous laughter. Caroline was wiping happy tears from her eyes.

It was as humiliating as it was inevitable. He had narrowly escaped genuine accidents on stage on previous nights. The longer he was made to wear diapers, the more tenuous his control over his bodily functions. If this was going to happen—and he had all but accepted that it eventually would—it seemed better to have it happen while everyone was expecting it. There was something about the shame of having a dirty diaper discovered while in front of an audience that he just didn’t know if he could handle yet.

“Good boy,” Ellen said. “You work on that, okay? And you tell me when you’re all done. In the meantime I’m going to talk to some more of our new friends who are with us tonight.”

It could be challenging to explain how any of this actually worked. Did Chucky really have to use his diaper on stage? What would occur if he didn’t?

All explanations and psychology aside, the fundamental truth shared by Chucky, Richard, and even Caroline’s boyfriend—who was back at home and in a diaper—was that they, too, wanted this. They needed this.The entirety of the audience in the room knew this. Everyone who had bought Ellen’s book knew this.

“Let’s hear some of your stories,” Ellen said. “Raise your hands in the air if you’ve a special little baby in your life that you want to talk about.”

Many hands popped into the air.

“Yes,” Ellen said, pointing out a young woman near the front of the audience. “Yvonne?”

“My husband has taken to his second infancy rather well,” Yvonne said. The audience applauded this. “But, I must admit, it’s going in a slightly different direction than I had expected it to.”

“Oh?” asked Ellen. “Do tell.”

“It started normally,” Yvonne said. “Well, as normally as you’d expect your husband’s regression to go. But as he’s gotten more dependent and infantile, he’s also become kind of…feminine?”

“Ah, I see,” Ellen said, smiling and nodding. “It sounds like you have a little sissy on your hands.”

“Yes, exactly!” Yvonne exclaimed. “I don’t dislike it. In fact, I kind of prefer him like this. He’s like a docile little…doll. I get to dress him up and play with him and I think it’s working rather well for both of us.”

“So do you think you’ll keep him in this state?” asked Ellen.

“I think so. I mean, he seems much more comfortable being a little girl now than he ever was in being the adult male I married.”

“This is an important point,” Ellen said, addressing the audience at-large. “This isn’t just some change in lifestyle that your baby simply gets accustomed to. They learn to truly love it. Yvonne, what is your little girl’s name?”

“She goes by ‘Minnie’ now.”

Both Ellen and the rest of the audience devoured this, unleashing a chorus of coos and sweet ‘Aww’s. Behind Ellen, Chucky’s face blushed brightly once more, feeling the second-hand embarrassment of hearing of another former adult’s tumble into second infancy.

“How’s it going back there?” Ellen asked Chucky, turning her attention back to him. “Working on that diaper for everybody?”

Still free of his pacifier, Chucky offered a quiet “Uh huh.” It likely wasn’t heard by most, but the sentiment was still obvious. He was, of course, working on that diaper. Truthfully, he didn’t have to ‘work’ that hard—his bowels were begging for release and he could probably complete his task with minimal effort. The challenge was the psychological portion of it. All these women, staring at him, waiting for him to do his dirty deed.

“It couldn’t possibly be taking this long,” Ellen said with a smile. She then addressed the audience again: “We were just talking about this. With Caroline’s little boy? Maybe it’s fear, maybe it’s pride, but they just think they should hold it indefinitely. And it’s quite silly. What for? Why even bother? The situation isn’t going to change. No baby is going to hold out for so long that we give in and let them use the toilet.”

Chucky sighed, his body seeming to obviously deflate in his high chair as he was reminded—for perhaps the millionth time—that he was doing himself no favors by trying to delay the inevitable.

“How about you?” Ellen said to another woman in the audience. “Georgia? I saw your hand raised earlier. Let’s hear about your story while we wait for Chucky here to do his thing.”

“First of all,” said Georgia, a slender middle-aged woman, “I just want to say that your book has practically become my own personal bible. It’s gotten my husband—my baby—and I through some very tough times, and I can’t thank you enough for that.”

“Thank you,” Ellen said with a warm smile, clutching her hands to her chest as the audience applauded.

“This will be the second year of Billy’s second infancy,” Georgia continued.

“My my. So you were a very early adopter of my book, then.”

“As soon as I heard about it, I knew it was exactly what we needed. And while I know of your tribulations in getting Chucky to conform to his new infancy, I actually think I lucked out in just how much Billy loved the idea from the get-go.”

“That is so wonderful to hear.”

“I actually had a question I wanted to ask, too,” said Georgia.

“Yes! Of course.” Ellen turned to check in on Chucky for a moment. He was still sitting there, his face somewhere between struggling and contemplating. She safely assumed that she had time for Georgia’s question.

“So, we’ve come to terms with the fact that Billy isn’t really in a position to, you know, please me in bed anymore. I love him and all, but…I don’t sleep with men who dirty their diapers.”

“Not really a ‘man’ at all, then, yes?” retorted Ellen.

“Yes, I completely agree,” said Georgia. “And Billy knows this too. Which is why I’ve opened up my bed to other men. You know…potential daddies.”

The crowd applauded as Ellen smiled and nodded. “I think that’s an incredibly relatable situation that many of us will come to face, if we haven’t already. But go on.”

“Well, just as I have needs, I’ve been thinking about how Billy probably has some needs of his own, you know? And it’s one thing for me to give his little, uh, toy a tug now and then while I change his diaper. But I think I want to give him more than that. I’m thinking of trying to network to find, like, a playmate? Do you think that’s a good idea?”

Ellen nodded again and laughed to herself. “Well let me just say, Georgia, that I think that’s so wonderful of you to think about little Billy’s needs like that. It’s easy, sometimes, to get lost in our routines. Change the baby. Feed the baby. Take care of ourselves. But it can be surprisingly easy to look past the other needs our babies might have. So kudos to you, Georgia. My answer to you is a resounding ‘yes.’”

The audience applauded.

“I haven’t officially announced it yet, but since we’re talking about it now,” Ellen continued, “I’ll say that my next book will be about the relationships we form after our partners have been reduced to their second infancy. This means the relationships for you—the mommies—and the relationships our babies need too.”

There was, at that moment, a single “ooh!” from the audience. All eyes fell on the woman who had blurted it out, and from there they followed the woman’s pointing finger back to Chucky.

It was happening, and the crowd had only one reaction:

“Poop! Your! Pants!”

“Poop! Your! Pants!”

“Poop! Your! Pants!”

Either Chucky had given in and decided to just let it happen, or he reached a point where he couldn’t hold it any longer. He had lifted his bottom up, as much as he could, from his high chair seat and his face had become beat red. There was a sound, a reverberating flatulent noise that probably didn’t reach all the way to the back of the audience, but it had certainly caught the ear of those sitting near the front—judging by their smiles. Ellen, at that moment, pondered whether or not she should mic up his diaper for the next few stops of the tour.

“Well well well,” Ellen said, walking back towards her husband as he pushed his soft load into his diaper. “Ladies, you’re getting to witness history tonight. My little baby is finally filling up his diaper on stage.”

For anyone watching his face, they may have been surprised that throughout the entire process of pooping in his diaper, he seemed to show no signs of humiliation or shame. That look would come, but it would take a few more moments. It wouldn’t be until after he finished moaning and grunting. After he had pushed everything from his bowels. After he had slowly lowered himself back onto his seat and felt the soft warm mass squish and spread beneath him. After his final sigh of relief. And then, the reality of everything that had happened—and the remembrance of where he was when that occurred—set in, and he looked as if he wanted to melt off of the face of the earth.

Ellen waved a hand in front of her face. “For anyone sitting in the front rows, if you need to find a new seat, I would completely understand. If you can’t smell it yet…you will. And it’s not pretty.”

It was Nelly, whose husband Richard was currently at home—perhaps blissfully unaware of the future that awaited him—who raised her hand again.

“Yes, Nelly?”

“I guess…that’s the sort of thing I should get used to having to deal with someday. But…I don’t know the first thing about changing a diaper.”

Throughout the audience, there rose a small chorus of agreeing voices. Women who either hadn’t yet gotten their partners into a diaper, or who hadn’t a clue with what to do once they had accomplished that.

“Well, that’s why we’re here tonight, right?” Ellen asked the audience. “We’re here to learn. Together. Look, I’m not going to lie, it’s a delight to have had such success with this book. But I didn’t write this book to be rich and famous. I wrote this book because I think that this could benefit other people. And so, Nelly, I want you to be able to learn tonight. Do you want to learn?”

“Yes,” Nelly answered, nodding enthusiastically.

“Do you want to know what to do with a dirty diaper?”

“Yes,” Nelly said again.

“Then I want you to come up on stage with me.”

“Wh-what?” Nelly asked, incredulously. “You want me to…”

“That’s right. Come on up here. You’re going to learn by doing. I’m going to walk you through the process of changing Chucky’s diaper. And, believe me, if you can change this big toddler’s stinky pants, I’d say you’ll have no trouble knowing what to do with your Richard.”

“Oh my gosh,” Nelly exclaimed. “Thank you so much!”

Once in a while, as he sat in his high chair while on tour with Ellen, Chucky would have a moment where he’d take a look around him and wonder how this all came to be. This surreal life of not only being treated like a literal diapered baby, but being carted across the country as part of a presentation. This was one of those moments. This stranger from the audience, just some woman who likely worked a very normal 9-to-5 job, was somehow excited about the prospect of stepping up on stage to change his dirty diaper. And then? And then his dirty, smelly, diaper was actually going to be changed by a stranger. In front of an audience.

That was terrifying. That was thrilling. It also felt like the beginning of a new phase of his life. Just as his introduction to diapers was. Just as his slowly developing dependency on the diapers was. Soon, this would be the expectation. In each new city, in front of each new audience, he already knew that he’d be loading up his diaper. He’d be a prop; a learning tool. There’d be a long line of strangers, willing and ready to manhandle his messy diapers.

Then, when the book tour was over, Ellen would finish the next book. And it would all start again.

He could complain and protest—thought that would likely just earn him a trip over Ellen’s knee. A trip over her knee with an audience.

Or, he figured, he could take it in stride. Take it like a man. No. Take it like a baby.

“He can be a fussy little stinkpot,” Ellen said to Nelly as they reached his high chair. Ellen unbuckled the straps that kept him locked in place. “But I’m hoping he’ll behave himself in the presence of all this company.”

The audience giggled and laughed. And, for once, Chucky laughed along with them.

“Well this is a pleasant surprise,” Ellen cooed into the microphone. “Chucky seems rather excited to get his smelly bottom changed by our new friend. Is that right?”

“Yes, Mommy,” he said softly, his voice just catching the microphone. Hearts melted across the audience.

The whole production was kind of ridiculous if you thought about it. But, good for him, he didn’t really have to think about it.

He didn’t have to think at all.