Unfair- Chapter 93: Little Voices: "Clark Says" (Patreon)

Chapter 93: Little Voices: “Clark Says”

Janet took me into the Community Center’s playroom and put me down. A quick check between my legs and she was satisfied that I was “Good to go”.  She leaned forward to give me a kiss, but hesitated and pulled back.  I must have made some kind of face.  “Bye, Clark. See you in a bit.”

She left while a few of the more sentimental Mommies and Daddies did their own variation of a goodbye ritual- theirs much more affectionate- and then left to go get pro tips from one of the greatest manipulators in the game whose last name didn’t use to be Gibson.  The bottom half of the dividing door was officially closed, locking us all in together.

Of special note, among the playroom guests were the diapered Little Kylie, her Pouty Pull-Upped ‘Big Sister’ of a Tweener, Joanie, and both Daddies, Carl and Donald.  I forgot which one was which, but one was sorting through the enormous bundles of diaper bags that the supervising Grown-Ups toted around, and the other was already busying himself pulling back waistbands, patting bottoms, and generally eyeballing crotches for signs of oversaturated swelling and sagging.

This wasn’t ideal.  I felt a twinge of sympathy when one of them asked the Tweener whether she had to go potty or not. The woman’s cheeks lit up like a searchlight. They only got worse when he went on about how it was okay and accidents happened and they packed diapers “just in case she needed a break”.  

Obviously, the Tweener wasn’t used to being confined to padded underpants.  She was probably being gently punished to remind her of her place in the same way that I’d been disallowed anything that hid my diapers. Either that or ‘her Maturosis was getting more pronounced’ (read: her Daddies were gaslighting themselves and her to the point where she was getting Little levels of mindfucked).  

The decent part of me hoped it was the former. I shouldn’t wish that slow descent into madness on anyone, save perhaps a select few Amazons. Even I got my pants back. The awful part of me quietly rooted for the latter. Watching a Tweener brought down to my level could be darkly satisfying, and it could be useful to have access to a bigger mindfucked baby.

“None of your friends from school or playgroup are here, honey.”  The big man prattled on. “Your sister and her friends won’t care, either. They all need diapers, too. You’ll still be our big gi-”

“Daaaaad!” the Tweener shrieked.  “Staaaahp!”  She gently huffed off to my usual sulking corner far away from the changing table, leaving the big man gently shaking his head like a patient yet frustrated parent.

He went back to checking Littles, not asking beyond saying “Excuse me, Little fella” “Hold up, babydoll,” or “Juuuuust checking.”

This was not ideal. Two diaper obsessed giants instead of the usual one, and a pouty Tweener squealer. Two and a half times the number of authorities to involve and distract, and neither of the Daddies seemed to be the type to get actively involved with the pretend-children beyond basic maintenance and monitoring. The changing table was right by the door, too. A Grown-Up would only have to turn their head to the right to see someone being too close to the door for comfort.

Definitely not ideal.  The only thing that could have been less ideal was if Janet were present. These circumstances could be good though. If my exit strategy could work around two no-nonsense Daddies and a Tweener that could turn traitor, it could work around anybody.  I hadn’t noticed any pattern or heard anything about a rotation on who got monitor duty, but common sense told me that the Amazons wouldn’t consciously hog or clog up playtime privileges.  Every one of them wanted to be here on some level and frequent repeats would be noticed.  Getting these guys out of the way helped me.

I wasn’t going to get out tonight.  Not even close. I had so many other steps to take and trials to endure.  This was only part one.  Every journey home had to start with a single step.  Every tunnel to freedom started with a single spoonful of dirt.

Showtime.

“Okay everybody!” I yelled out in my best carnival barker impression. “Step, crawl, and roll up! We’re playing ‘Simon Says’.”  In bits and pieces, people turned to see me, curious expressions forming.  Curious, but not taking the bait.

A  handful put down the rental rag dolls and abandoned the ancient Speak-and-Says, but most had pause and disinterest.  Murmurs of “Simon Says” started to make their way around the room. They knew what it was, because of course they did; the real thing is they weren’t in a mood to play it.  Simon Says wasn’t Battle Tag or Light Feather Heavy Feather.  

Time to up the ante.

“Step right up and gather round!” I repeated. “If you don’t want to play you can take a seat and cuddle up with your favorite stuffie and enjoy the show!”  More looks were exchanged. Promises of a show were reeling them in.  Simon Says wasn’t Battle Tag, but like the pudgy girl with the stacking cups said, I’d brought Battle Tag to this place and mastered the art of Heavy and Light.  I was a known asshole and pouter who hadn’t yet accepted their take on the truth, but I could be fun when it suited me. Tonight it suited me.

“If I go ten straight rounds without eliminating someone, I lose!”

“What happens if you lose?” the white haired kid asked.

Damn. They wanted stakes; why wouldn’t they. They weren’t really simple babies. Oh well.  “Good question, Denny.”

“Danny.”

“No, sir, I’m Clark.” I lifted my head and continued to project. “Step right up. If I go ten rounds in a row without eliminating someone, I lose and everybody who beats me can make me say ONE THING EACH!” If cushioned socks and light up sneakers were hooves, the room would have sounded like a stampede. “That’s right, Folks! Anything you want! I will confess to being a big stinky doo-doo head or tell the world that I’m really a pretty pretty princess from fairy land!  I’ll even say naughty words!”

The resulting gasp of surprise and shock sounded like a cheer to me. Meanwhile my heart was thudding in my chest.  I’d said it. I’d actually said it!  The Daddy who’d put himself on diaper checking duty was well within my line of sight.  He didn’t look upset, but he was far from pleased with this announcement.  Oh what a rush.   “Clark…?” He’d never spoken to me and thus didn’t feel confident in saying my name at first; afraid he’d somehow misremembered ramblings from Janet.  “Clark, buddy. I don’t think that’s appropri-”

“You don’t have to say the word yourself!” I yelled over him.  “You can just tell me to say a naughty word and I’ll pick. You’ll be blameless!”

Daddy number two sounded a bit more firm. “Clark. That’s a really bad choice. I think it’d be a good idea to change that last part about the swearing.”  First spoonful of dirt or not, such compromise would not do tonight.  I could have chosen or invented any number of games that the daycare crowd would approve of. For my purposes and needs, Simon Says was important to me. Minimal rule explaining, and it gave me complete control of the narrative.


I spread my arms wide and turned slowly in a circle. “Of course since I’m such a scamp,” I bellowed theatrically, “if I am forbidden from playing the game at least once I shall tantrum like no other and say ALL the naughty words I know. Possibly invent a few by pairing them with funny sounding breakfast dishes!”  I held up an index finger to the second Daddy. “But!” I proclaimed. “If any Grown-Up can defeat me, I will yield and take naughty words off the table.”  

I stood sideways so that each was in my periphery. One Daddy looked at the other. Playful, cocky smiles were exchanged. “You wanna Don?”

“Sure, Carl. Let’s play with the kids.”

Amazon arrogance at its finest. Real adults didn’t make bets with children. Good thing there were no actual children around. Beouf had had her moment to spew her brand of crazy.  We’d fight tomorrow, I was sure.  Here? Now? I was the ringmaster, this my circus, and I had more monkeys under me than just the ones decorating my underwear.

“Hi Clark!” I looked down and saw my favorite nutter.

“Hey Amy,” I said. “You playin?”

She closed her eyes and waggled her head. “Naw. I’m counting.”

I flashed a winning folksy smile, and gave her a thumbs up. It was the same kind of gesture I might give to one of my students or their parents when first meeting them.  Amy and her ilk were much less frustrating when you didn’t expect that much out of them.  “Thanks, friend! Keep me honest!”

“Yup yup.” From her spot on the floor she copied me. “Someone’s gotta.” The hell did that mean?

“You don’t want to get in on the action? Make me say something embarrassing?”

She scooted backwards on her butt while the crowd got in place. “Naw. You kinda do that enough on your own.  No offense.”

“Some taken.”  Her smile was so soft and sincere that I genuinely couldn’t tell if she was fucking with me. Now I had to fuck with her back. I wanted her to play. “Yeah, but you could make me say anything,” I prodded.  “You could make me talk about how I looooove being a baby or that I miss my Mommy whenever she’s out of the room or something.”  I made my voice as silly and mocking as I could to get the pitch across.  That alone got a few who were on the fence about playing in the game.

Again, I couldn’t quite read Amy’s expression. It’s like she had something to say, but thought better of it; not a trait that I’d associate with Amy. What she did say was “If I want I can make a kid give me their prize at least half of them owe me something you’d be surprised what can be found and traded for favors at daycare.”

I felt myself shudder. Knowing Amy, such treasures were likely dust and lint covered and at one time had been edible.  ‘Fair enough.”

“Also I want to give you a chance to win. I like you, buddy. Good luck.”

I twisted my mouth up and felt my eye twitch but said “Thanks” anyways.  

Unnecessary though it was, I cupped my hands and started my spiel anew. “Okay, listen up everybody! The game is Simon Says. The rules are simple, everybody knows ‘em, but just for review: When we start playing, if I say ‘Simon Says’ and tell you to do something, you do it. If you don’t do it, you’re out.  If I tell you to do something without first saying ‘Simon Says’ and you do it, you’re out, too. If you’re in the game, you stand or crawl or sit here.”  I gestured to the area where everyone already was.  

“If you’re out,” I continued, “you move off to the side and join the audience.  Amy is keeping track of how many rounds I go without eliminating someone. Ten in a row I lose.” I turned my head briefly to the (for now I hoped) gathered Littles that were watching instead of playing.  “Audience, if you catch someone that I miss, call ‘em out on it. Players, if you get called out, be a good sport and join the audience. As fun as this is, it’s still just a game.”

I gestured to myself. “As for me, I’m going to be tricksy, but I’m going to be honest and play square. It is my job to lie to you and misdirect you, but I will never cheat by telling you to do something that you are physically incapable of doing. If I say ‘hop’ but you’re a crawler and can’t hop, you’re safe.  Same with doing something impossible like licking your own elbow.”  Right on cue four or five of my players experimented to find that no, they could not lick their own elbows.

“I also won’t ask you to do anything to anybody else like lick your neighbor’s elbow.”  That got the appropriate amount of smirks, snickers, and giggles. Even the Daddies hid their smiles behind the palms of their hands.  This was going great.  “Likewise, ‘Simon Says’ only counts for direct commands, not questions.  I can ask a question or say something to you and you’re allowed to talk back.”

I paused and directed my gaze over to my favorite sulking corner. “Hey big kid!” I shouted. “Do you wanna play?”  Collectively well over a dozen heads looked behind them, turning the poor girl into a deer on the highway.

The Tweener who’d been standing in the corner slunk down and hugged her knees “I’m good…” she said just loud enough for me to hear.

“Cool!” I regained the class attention. “And if she were playing, she wouldn’t be out. That is unless of course, the last command I had given was ‘Simon Says no talking’.” General head nodding all around. This part wasn’t about explaining rules as much as it was developing a rapport with my newest batch of suckers. I took in the tiny crowd and noticed Amy rubbing her tummy with one hand and patting the other.  “Oh, and yeah, every ‘Simon Says’ cancels out and overrides the ‘Simon Says’ that came before it.  So if I say ‘Simon Says rub your tummy’ and then I say ‘Simon Says pat your head’, you stop rubbing your tummy and start patting your head. But if I say ‘Simon Says pat your head and rub your tummy’ you gotta do both.” I flashed her another thumbs up.  Thanks, Amy.”

“Hmmm?,” she looked mildly startled. “I just wanted to see if I could do both.”

Yeah, that figured.  “Okay, I think that about covers it,” I said. “So with that out of the way, we are now playing Simon Says as soon as I finish this sentence.” I took a quick breath. My throat was dry, both from talking and from nerves. Now or never to see if this strategy might yield fruit.  

“Okay, so everybody understand the rules?”  There was nodding and verbal affirmations.  I swatted at my ears as if their replies were buzzing gnats.  “Whoah whoah whoah! Guys! Sorry! My bad! Too much talking all at once! Let me try it another way.  Raise your hand if you understand the rules.”

Almost half of the hands playing went up.

“OH NO!” Amy laughed. “GOTTEM!”

The wry smile on my face was completely genuine. Too late it dawned that they’d been duped. “Simon didn’t say. Gotcha!”

“Oh gosh,” Daddy number two said. “Carl!”

Carl flopped his head in defeat. The Tweener in the corner’s eyes lit up with surprise and joy. “I’m an idiot,” he growled at himself.  

“Oooooooooooo!”  The Littles cheered and jeered and snickered.  Even ‘idiot’ was a naughty word to these dolls.

I thumbed to the side like a hitchhiker while rambling like an auctioneer. “Outtamygame, outtamygame, outtamygame, outtamygame!”  The first round of victims walked and toddled to the side. “I can’t believe that worked!” I crowed. “Can you guys?”

Stony silence was my reply.  I played at being exasperated. “Friends! Friends! Guys!  We already established that unless I say ‘Simon Says no talking’, then it’s okay to answer my questions.  So can you believe they fell for that?”

I waited and let the silence work for me.  One…two….three….four…

“No,”

“Yeah. Me neither!”

My smile got even wider. “Outtamygame, outtamygame! I just said ‘Simon Says no talking’.”

“Kylie!” Amy said. “Bea! C’mon!  We’ve practiced for this!”  Two Little girls trudged off my impromptu playing field.

In two moves I’d eliminated half the players. “Simon Says you can talk if you want.” I said. “Pretty tricky, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Yessir.”

Oh I needed to hear that more than I’d anticipated.  “Okay, since we’ve already gotten a lot of people out, how about some of you in the back come a little closer to the front?”

“Bradley! Buddy! Nooooooo!”  

The dark haired whipping boy of fate blushed and then waddled off. “Mommy says…Darn it…” He plopped himself down next to Amy and she patted him consolingly on the back.
I felt kind of bad picking on someone who’d been put through New Beginnings.  At least he was getting some words back.  

Enough false starts. Any more and they’d pay too careful attention and I only had so much time.  

“Simon says touch your head.”  I demonstrated the action, half a second later the Littles and remaining Amazon copied me.  One finger on Amy’s right hand went up.  “Simon says touch your shoulders.”  I modeled. They quickly copied. Two fingers. “Simon says touch your knees.” Again. Third finger.  “Touch your toes.”  I didn’t move. Neither did they.  Four fingers.  “Simon says touch your toes.”  

I modeled.

They copied.

Amy had an entire hand unclenched.

“Simon says touch your ears.” Six fingers. Four left.

“Simon says touch your nose.” Seven.

I whipped my hand over to my shoulder.  “Simon says touch your elbow.”

“Don!” Carl laughed. “What are you doing?”  The last remaining Amazon and three other Littles were all touching their shoulders.
My thumb came out. “Outtamygame, outtamygame, outtamygame, outtamygame! I said Simon says touch your elbow. That’s your shoulder.”


Amy was incredulous.  “You guys! Seriously? You are out of practice.”  Her fingers all curled back into her fists.

Funnily enough, I agreed with her.  Beouf’s daily brainwashing didn’t beat your mind down until submission. Quite the opposite. It sharpened and rewarded it and taught you to talk to yourself as if you were an Amazon. It encouraged you to think outside the box and make arguments that didn’t make sense and accept nonsense as if it were obvious fact.  Beouf didn’t want her Littles hypnotized into submission. She wanted our minds sharpened to the point where we could reject our senses.

Some of these inmates had never had Beouf, and those who had had long gotten used to activities that assumed you were a baby, instead of exercises designed to trick you into tricking yourself.  Back at school, I could trick Billy and maybe Sandra Lynn. I’d have to work for every other victory. Ivy? I could dupe Ivy once and then her competitive streak would kick in and she’d destroy me.

To hear Amy’s reactions, I might not even get that one time out of her; not with only ten strikes.

Tonight I had a bunch of toddlerized adults in front of me with not an Ivy among them, and Amy was sitting this one out.

“Now things are getting good!”

Don scoffed and looked like he wanted to say something nasty. The idea that they’d been tricked by someone they considered a baby was hurting the Amazons’ pride. They whispered something to each other that I couldn’t pick out.  They’d also dug themselves a hole by agreeing to play my game. The other cultists might not like it if they agreed they’d let a baby swear. I needed to play it cool or I’d have another Sosa/Winters incident on my hands; on accident no less.

“Don’t worry Mister Kylie and Joanie’s Daddies,” I boasted. “I’m not gonna lose.” That didn’t go over with them as well as I’d hoped. Two sets of evil eyes were trained on me.

“Hey, Clark?” Amy said loud enough for all assembled to hear. “If you lose, what happens if the Grown-Ups tell the good kids not to make you say a bad word?”

On pure reflex I shrugged. “Nothing I can do about that,” I answered.  I wasn’t going to lose, though, and I didn’t care if I did. The two Daddies turned towards each other, however, and nodded in satisfaction.  Amy had just given all three of us an out.  Funnily enough, I might have been the only one to realize it.  As subtle as I could, I placed my fist by my thigh and flashed her a thumbs up.  She nodded but kept her hands balled up, ready to count up to ten.

Right. The game.

“Simon says give me a clap.”

CLAP!  

We all brought our palms together in unison in a single thunderous clap.

“Simon says two claps.”

CLAP-CLAP!

I build up a rhythm. “Simon says clap”

CLAP!

“Simon says two claps”

CLAP-CLAP!

“Simon says clap.”

CLAP!

“Simone says two claps!”

CLAP-CLAP!

My thumb came out. “Outtamygame, outtamygame, outtamygame, outtamygame, outtamygame! It’s Simon Says. Not Simone Says. Simone Says doesn’t count.”

More grumbling but shuffling off.  A bare handful left and a crawler among them. “Simon says jump up and down until the next legal command.”

They all hopped up and down on their feet, bouncing like Kangaroos. There was so much movement and crinkling that it sounded like a radio stuck between two different stations.

“Hey,” the white-haired kid called up. “When do we stop?”

“You heard me,” I replied.

“But she’s not jumping,” another Little pointed to the crawler, the blonde girl who’d been munching on  berries in her Mommy’s lap from earlier.

“She doesn’t have to,” I said.

“That’s not faaaaair!”

I spread my arms wide and indicated all around. “Who said this was fair?”  The crawler beamed cheekily. I was letting her win for now and she was enjoying it.

“Noooo!” the white haired kid whined. “She’s cheating!”

No. I was.  “How?”

“Juni can walk!” came the reply from the cup stacker girl from the audience. “She’s faking!”

The berry eater stood up.  “Brittany!” she yelped. “I was winning.”  Her diaper visibly resisted coming up with the rest of her.

“She was probably pooping and got stuck,” the white haired boy said. He was still jumping, so the revelation came out in bits and spurts like he was on a galloping horse.  “Juni always gets on her hands and knees and pretends to be really interested in something on the floor when she poops.”

“Danny!” the girl shrieked. “I’m gonna kill you!”  

“What?” Brittany giggled. “That’s why your Mommy was giving you all those berries, wasn’t she?  You probably just started pooping when he was doing rules stuff and finished after he started.”

Juni’s face flushed nearly the same color of pink as the juice that still stained her lips. “Brittany!” I held in my laughter and bit my knuckles. That cheeky bitch! That poor cheeky bitch! She almost got away with it too!

“Outtamygame!”

One of the Daddies, Carl, stepped around behind her and pulled back. “Yup. Let’s go, Juni”  His husband quick-stepped over to the diaper bags while Carl carried an annoyed Juni over to the changing table.

“Okay folks,” I said. “Nothing to see, eyes on me.”  I looked to my contestants who had been bouncing around for the entire exchange.  “Okay guys, my bad. You can stop.”

All but one stopped.

“Out! Of! My! Gaaaaaame!”  One or two tried to start jumping again like I hadn’t seen, but jeers and callouts shamed them into the fold.  Only one remained.
“Okay Derwin,” I said. “Simon says stop jumping.”

He stopped.  “It’s Danny.” His voice was strong. He wasn’t even close to winded. He was focused and had been blending in the whole time. Unblinking. Focused. Ready for any trick. I had one left. Time to wrap this up, and I thought I knew how to do it.

“Simon says touch your nose.” My arm touched my ear. His went to his nose.

One.

“Simon says jump!” He did precisely one. I’d put no modifier.

Two.

“Give me a clap!”   I was the only clapper.

Three.

“Simon says two claps.”

CLAP-CLAP!

Four.

“Simon says clap!”

CLAP!

“Simon says two claps!”

CLAP-CLAP

“Simmons says clap.” Nothing

Five, six, and seven, respectively.

The white haired kid did not smile. He did not sneer. He was in the zone.  I double checked Amy’s fingers.

“Okay. Simon says clap!”

CLAP!

Eight.

“Simon says give me two claps!”

CLAP-CLAP!

Nine.

“Simon says Daryl give me half-a-clap!”

Together our hands started the clap, but froze half way in a fakeout.

“Gotcha!” the kid said. “Half-a-clap! And the name’s Danny!”

I stuck out my thumb and jerked towards Amy. All previously popped fingers were curled back up.  “That’s right. My command was for someone named Daryl. Not you, Danny. Out! Of! My! Game!”

The white haired kid fell down to his knees and yanked at his snowy locks. His screams of anguish drowned out by cheers while I took my bow.  “Well played! Everyone! Well played!  Who wants to go again?”  

The ranks formed up; soldiers ready to attack.  I strolled up to my final patsy. “So, no lie: I’m tired and need a break. Dobson, do you wanna be Simon?”

The white haired kid leapt up and got right in my face. “No!” he barked. “I don’t wanna play stupid Simon says!”  I held my breath and leaned back. Everyone else was frozen.  Even the Grown-Ups, fresh from freshening up Juni looked momentarily stupefied  “But we can play ‘Danny Says’.”

I stuck my hand out. “Deal!”  He shook it, flashed me a cheshire grin like he’d won something and took over.

“Danny Says…”

I took my place in the audience beside Amy. All eyes had been on me. Now they weren’t.

“Outtamygame! Yeah! Danny!”

“Good job, Clark.”

“Thanks Amy. I play a mean game of Simon Says.”

“Yeah. Pretty good,” she agreed. “That’s not what I was talking about, though…”

A terrible thought rampaged through my brain: “Amy?” I whispered. “You haven’t ever tried to break out of a place like this have you?  Or your daycare?  Or Beouf’s? Any place where their job is to treat us like kids?”

Amy ran her tongue between the gap in her teeth while her eyes meandered from side to side.  “No.  Why?”  Her fingers were still managing to keep track of ‘Danny Says’.

“Outtamygame!”

“No reason,” I told her. “Just wondering…”