Unfair-Chapter 126: Family Planning (Patreon)
Content
Chapter 126: Family Planning
I didnât blink for close to twenty-four hours after breastfeeding from Janet; probably longer. At any given moment, my eyes were closed shut as I tried to hide from my own conscience and consciousness, or open and staring into some invisible middle distance whilst I relived that terrible ecstasy and berated myself for it.
Helen Foster, my Nana, had hit the nail right on the head. Iâd fallen in love. Somehow, somewhen, Iâd gone and fallen in love with my captor. Iâd gone Full Native in a way that Ivy couldnât possibly conceive.
How had I been so stupid? It was so obvious looking back. Thatâs why I started taking risks like Silly Sock Day. Thatâs why I couldnât tell her that I hated her no matter how angry I was. Thatâs why I constantly thought of her as âJanetâ and not âGrangeâ. And yes, thatâs why I unloaded with both barrels into a certain horse faced douche. All it took was the most primal, sensual, and intimate experience of my life for me to admit to myself.
I was a traitor to myself and everything I thought I stood for and no amount of justification or lies I told myself would help me pretend otherwise. Iâd done the worst thing I could possibly conceive of. I let myself feel something beyond hot contempt or cold manipulative calculation for an Amazon and it was goddamn mother fucking love!
Cassie forgive me, I never meant to. How would I ever explain this to her if we were ever reunited? How could I find her or get my old life back without hurting Janet? I didnât know, and for once I didnât have the confidence that Iâd find a way.
The only thing I could do to stop from completely hating myself was to kick the can further down the line and to keep as much to myself as possible. Janet could never know. If she did; if I told herâŠI didnât know what would happen but I knew it wouldnât be good.
To combat this, a pacifier stayed in my mouth as much as I could get away with it, just so I wouldnât have to talk. Just so that I wouldnât have my mouth open for any other nipples. I tried sucking on it, fidgeting with my lips or twiddling the bulb with my tongue, but quickly stopped. The measure of disappointment and then disgust at myself made me retreat deeper and deeper into silence.
Janetâs parents were more than happy to talk over my head and settle for simple non-verbal communication on my part. Helen knew the score and considered it natural in the way a kindergartener might have a crush on a pretty teacher. In her mind, there was really nothing to talk about where my feelings were concerned.
âThis has just been marvelous, Janet. You and Clark have been amazing hosts.â
Janet was completely enthralled by her parentsâ approval. âThanks, Mom.â
Her mother continued to gush. âI always miss you, honey, but I didnât realize just how much until just now.â
âJust like old times, Pookie,â her dad chimed in. âJust like old times.â
âIn the best way,â her mom agreed. âItâs just a shame our trip is so short. We really should have taken more time off.â
âYeah, those bas-...â Bill eyeballed me and self-corrected, âI mean those jerks at the office want me back on Saturday.â He shook his head to himself. âGosh I canât wait to retire. Especially if it means I get to spend some more time goofinâ around with olâ Clarky boy, here.â
âWould you like that?â Janetâs Mom asked me. âWould you like your Nana and Pop Pop to visit you more often?â
I startled myself as if asleep and nodded my head, only processing the question after the fact. My response earned me what felt like that ninety-eighth kiss on the forehead. The pacifierâs shield was big enough so that it was impossible to tell what way the corners of my mouth were pointed. Little victories, am I right?
Janet swayed with me on her hip. No more bouncing and bumping, no more externalizing of nervous energy. There was none to externalize. She was completely in her happy place and became a boat rocking on the gentlest of oceans.
âYou two gotta come visit us for the summer, Pookie,â Janetâs father said for what was sure to be the dozenth time.
âDonât worry, Dad. Youâll get your ballgame with the grandbaby.â
âAlong with the diaper bag,â my new Nana smirked at her husband. âJust you agreeing to that feels like a miracle.â
âWhy wait till summer?â Pop Pop asked. âDonât you teachers and kids get time off before then? Isnât Spring Break still a thing?â
Without realizing it I made a noise. Spring Break? Spring Break brought back all sorts of unpleasantly pleasant memories. Memories of Littles on stilts in trenchcoats and too much booze.
And my wife.
âYou okay Clark?â Janet asked.
Without thinking I nodded, but it didnât get the attention fully off of me.
âMaybe heâs hungry?â Helen suggested. âOr needs a change?â
âI donât think so,â Janet replied, checking me anyway. I didnât so much as flinch or roll my eyes. âNot too wet and that doesnât look like his hungry or poopy face.â
My slow head shake corroborated her diagnosis. I was neither hungry, nor poopy. At the suggestion, I felt a not so strange feeling back in my throat; an itch for something sweet, warm and creamy and with no coffee in sight. I wasnât hungry. I could eat, though. Really, I was just hoping for an excuse.
Shame kept me from asking.
âAnyway, Dad,â Janet said. âSpring Break could be doable, but then weâd have to take a raincheck for the summer. Travel is kind of expensive on a teacherâs salary.â
Her parents gave a look to one another. Her mom nodded and her dad started digging something out of his pocket. âMaybe we could visit you more often,â her mother offered. âYou could show us around town next time. Take us on a tour.â
âYeah,â Janet said. âI think weâd like that. Right, Clark?â
Another nod from me. Cue forehead kiss ninety-nine.
âAbout that salary thing,â her father said. âYour mother and Iâve been thinking.â He pulled a plain white envelope out of his baggy cargo shorts. âWe figure we could help you out with that.â
Janet let out a quiet gasp. âOh, no. You guys donât have to do that.â She reached out and accepted the envelope anyway.
âWe know, dear,â Janetâs mother assured her. âThis is something we want. Itâs not a criticism. Itâs not an obligation.â
Janet held me steady with one hand and the envelope to the other. âBut youâve already gotten Clark-â
âLet us spoil both of you.â her father interrupted. âItâs not much, but why wait till weâre dead to give you something nice?â
Still, Janet resisted. Her pride was wrestling against her humility. No one gets into teaching thinking theyâre going to be rich, but itâs hard to turn down free money. That it was a gift from her parents, people with a bad habit of seeing her as a child despite all evidence to the contrary likely felt like an admission of defeat on her part. I could relate.
âYou already came here and helped with the feast,â Janet replied. âYou already said it, Daddy, youâre not retired yet.â
Her father shrugged matter of factly. âWeâve still got more money than you do, Pookie.â
Her mother circled beside Janet and placed her hand on Janetâs shoulder opposite me.âThink of it like this,â she said. âIf Clark were an Amazon child, weâd open a college fund and contribute to that every year. This is the same thing. A nest egg to take some pressure off.â
âDiapers are expensive,â her dad shrugged again. âSpend this on that.â He flicked his wrist like he was swatting away a fly. âOr buy yourself something nice, or whatever. Whatever you want.â
âWhatever I want?â The words came out of Janet as though hypnotized. She bit her lip. âI donât knowâŠ.â
âOpen it, dear.â
Janet flipped open the unsealed envelope. Were I at the right angle, I would have been able to count all of her teeth. âAre you sure?â
âSure Iâm sure.â
Five-thousand bucks isnât a lot in the big scheme of things. To a recently divorced teacher who had spontaneously Adopted a Little on pure impulse, however, it was close to two monthsâ salary. âOhâŠoh wow! Mom! Dad! Thank you!â
We were drawn in and sandwiched into an incredibly uncomfortable group hug; the most uncomfortable form of unification so far.
âThink of it like Clarkâs birthday present,â Nana said. Her brow furrowed. âWhen is his birthday, anyways?â she asked Janet.
My hand hadnât even begun to reach for the pacifier. âMarch twenty-eighth,â Janet answered confidently. Of course she knew. That would have been in my personnel file from work, along with the stuff that had been in my wallet. When she put her mind to something, she was dedicated. That was something that IâŠnevermindâŠ.
âOh we definitely have to come back for that!â Nana beamed, wickedly. âHow old is he going to be?â
âHeâll be thirty-three,â Janet informed them.
âThirty-three going on two!â her mother jabbed my cheek with her index finger. âAm I right?â
Janet made no effort to correct her mother. âSomething like that. Weâre still collecting data on his Developmental Plateau, but thatâs where a lot of it is leveling out, give or take six months.â
No outburst of rage came from me. Nor did she brace for one. Perfectly in sync, so it seemed. We both went back to lazily swaying in the living room.
âAre we supposed to celebrate his birthday or his umâŠerâŠAdopting day?â Janetâs dad pondered.
âHuhâŠâ Janet grunted. âIâm not sure.â She finally remembered I was attached to her and asked, âWhat do you think, baby?â
A question I couldnât get out of with a simple yes or no. I let the pacifier drop and offered up, âBoth?â
That got a full and hearty belly laugh from all assembled. âHe would say that, wouldnât he? Good one, Clarky boy.â
âThatâs my Clark.â
âThatâs my grandbaby.â
I went back to a feeling of defeated self-loathing despair and spent the rest of their visit blurred out. I donât even remember if the above exchange happened early Thursday evening after my nap, or on Friday morning before we were piling up in Janetâs car to go back to the airport.
It all bled together to me while I relived the wonderful yet shameful ecstasy Iâd allowed myself to be subjected to. Janet drove to the airport. Her father and I teamed up staring out the window. Her mother gabbed the whole way, planning a birthday party that was still months away.
âI was only half-kidding when I said âthirty-three going on twoâ,â she rambled. âOne of my Facetome friends does it with her Little girl. Every year she throws a big party for her babyâs third birthday. Invites all of her Little friends. Makes a theme of it. Last year her daughter was Little Bo Peep, and all of her playmates got to be the sheep.â
âWhat happens the next day?â Janet asked, eyes still on the road. She didnât check the rear view for my reaction. Not that I reacted.
âThatâs the best part! Baby girl goes right back to being two!â
I made no comment. I tilted my bottle back and drank my âgoatâs milkâ, drowning myself.
My birthday.
I was going to spend my next birthday in diapers. I was going to spend every birthday for the rest of my life in diapers. Suckling on Mommyâs titties when I was hungry. Playing with my classmates in the morning. Hanging out with Melony in the afternoons. Check-Ins with Amy on Thursday nights and playdates with her or Ivy on the weekends. Vacation time with Nana and Pop Pop over the summer.
Was that really so bad?
Iâd be loved. I knew that. Iâd be with someone I loved, too, even if it was a different kind of love. It was a babyâs life. I wasnât one, but was that really so bad?
Practically everyone else in my life had fooled themselves into thinking I was an infant. Why not me? Itâs not like anything was ever going to go back to normal, right? Janet wasnât going to take away the cabinet latches and socket plugs. The impossibly comfortable play mat in front of the television wasnât going anywhere. I wasnât going to get my tablet back. I wouldnât be able to lie to myself and say that I hated my Mommy.
No way to reach out and get help. No leads on Cassie. A half-baked plan to escape and a heart torn between two impossible goals. I wasnât escaping. I just wasnât.
Come March, Iâd have a birthday party with a big â2â on the cake, and the next morning Janet would greet me as her super talkative one-year-old. If I was lucky, Nana and Pop Pop would spring for a bounce house, assuming I could hint to Mommy that itâs what I wanted. Except Amy couldnât jump. Weâd need to find some way to include her. Something that didnât involve sticking non-food in her mouth.
Maybe Zoge had some tips. Sheâd thrown Ivy dozens of toddler birthdays and Ivy seemed grateful. Iâd have to invite Ivy, too, come to think of it.
I should have been crying, or screaming, or sulking, I supposed. Instead I just felt depressed. Not even depressed, just supremely disappointed in myself. This is what the real defeat was. Iâd been broken, and they didnât need any subliminal messaging or discombobulating bells to do it.
The car pulled into the airport parking garage. Janetâs folks got out and unloaded their bags. I was removed from the car seat and set down on my feet for one last goodbye.
Janetâs mother took a knee, first. âGoodbye Clark!â Nana gushed at me. âIt was nice to finally meet you.â
âYou too,â I smiled politely. Iâd be seeing her, I supposed.
âWhoâs a good baby?â she asked, chirping.
âI am.â My voice was tired and monotone, but not combative.
âYes you are!â She agreed. âYes you are!â She gripped me tight enough to where if I hadnât already been wearing a Monkeez I would have needed one. âMmmmmâŠI just wish I could take you home with me and eat you all up!â
I laughed out of a sense of bitter absurdity more than enjoyment. I never understood that particular idiom. Why was cannibalism cute when done to a small child?
âWait till summer, Mom,â Janet assured her.
Pop Pop bent over and offered his fist. âPut âer there, Clarky boy.â
I punched his fist as hard as I could and without hesitation. The results were expected. âAtta boy!â
âBill?! Again?!â Nana pinched nose and fanned the front of her face. Janet actually started coughing from the stench.
âWhat, Helen?â The big man chortled. âIt wasnât me. It was the boy. You saw. He pushed my button.â
âI ought to put you back in diapers!â Janetâs mother scolded him.
Her husband picked up their bags. âAs long as Iâm not the one changing âem.â
âIâM TELLING YOU!â A voice, both panicked and outraged, broke in. âI DONâT HAVE MATUROSIS!â
A Little boy, naked save for the fresh diaper taped around his hips, was doing everything he could to break out of the grasp of his new Mommy. âBig boys donât pee their pants, do they?â the Amazon clucked her tongue.
âTHE FLIGHT ATTENDANTS WOULDNâT LET ME GET UP OUT OF MY CHAIR TO GO TO THE BATHROOM!â he wailed. âAND YOU LITERALLY KEPT FORCING ME TO DRINK THOSE SODAS!â
The giantess, so perfectly composed, seemed all the more reasonable by comparison. âI hear making excuses is a sign of Maturosis onset. If you were really ready to be an adult, youâd just admit you went pee-pee in your big boy pants all by yourself and move on.â
âOKAY! YOUâRE RIGHT! I PEED MY PANTS! JUST LET ME GO!â
âWhy would I do that?â the Amazon asked rhetorically. âYouâre obviously experiencing Maturosis. You need a Mommy to take care of you.â
Even when his voice dropped down to a whisper, the acoustics of the garage let me hear every pathetic word. âBut you saidâŠâ
âHoney, you went pee-pee in your big boy pants. Big boys donât pee their pants at all.â
The Little renewed his screaming. âPLEASE! LET ME GO! MY FAMILY IS EXPECTING ME! MY FLIGHT GOT DELAYED AND I TOLD THEM-â
A single finger to his lips was enough to silent them. âIâm the only family you need now, baby boy. What was your name again?â
They walked by us. The latest local victim of Amazon cosseting and I made the briefest eye contact while he was looking over her his new Mommyâs shoulder. I broke off my gaze and saw my own warped reflection in the polish of Janetâs car.
A baby stared back at me. He was barely two if that, with curly hair and a pacifier nervously shoved between his lips. Heâd been dressed in a full body romper, and sneakers in case he got restless and needed to toddle around. The diaper bulge between his legs was evident, but an experienced caregiver could tell that he didnât need to be changed just yet. Nothing about his stance indicated he was uncomfortable, so he was nowhere near ready for potty training. Probably still ate most of his meals in a high chair, assuming he wasnât exclusively breastfeeding, (keyword âexclusivelyâ).
I didnât even remember sticking the pacifier back in. The only thing I couldnât make out in the blurred, warped reflection were the babyâs eyes.
âHELLLLL-â The last cry was cut off by the slamming of a car door.
Black Friday strikes again. Sorry, new kid. Tough break. At least she believes in Maturosis. If your Mommy lives close to Oakshire, maybe Iâll see you on Thursdays.
âBring back any memories?â Helen Foster asked her daughter.
My own Mommy sighed wistfully out her nostrils. âYeah. Kind of.â
âIf sheâs half as good a Mommy as you, Pookieâ William Foster said, âThatâs a really lucky Little boy.â
Janet bit her lip, nervously. âYeah.â She bent over and picked me up. âI sure hope so.â
The final round of hugs were exchanged, Bill and Helen Foster walked off to check in for their flight, and I was buckled back into my car seat.. âHey,â Janet said. âThank you.â
I cocked an eyebrow. âFor wha-?â I mumbled around the pacifier.
âBeing you.â Her smile lit up the backseat. âIâm really lucky to have you in my life.â
I wanted to melt. âNana and Pop Pop awe lucky ta haf you.â I deflected.
She wobbled her head around as she considered my compliment. âMaybe,â she conceded. Out of milk to self medicate, I popped the pacifier back in on Janetâs way around to the driverâs seat. âI just want you to know,â she said, turning on the engine, âthat Iâm really proud of how you acted around them.â
âFankoo.â I closed my eyes, hoping to doze again. A nap away from my thoughts sounded so nice just then. Just me, my car seat, and the gentle lulling of a vehicle driving for miles on the freeway. No need to worry about waking up with a full bladder, either, so I had that going for me. It was a real âglass half full of burning hemlockâ situation.
The car didnât shift into gear. âI just want you to know that you donât have to breastfeed any more if you donât want to.â
I opened my eyes, and swore under my breath. Great. Now Iâd have to find a way to weasel my next fix out of her without seeming like I wanted it. It was my own white envelope with a check init. âOtay.â
âIâm just glad that I got to experience it, once.â
Every word was a needle.
âOtay.â
Please stop talking.
âDid you like it?â
I froze.
âSorry,â my Mommy blushed. The rosiness of her cheeks filled me with feelings best left unfelt in my situation. âI shouldnât have asked that.â A beat. She leaned sideways and opened up the glove compartment in front of the passenger seat. âWhat I should ask isâŠdo you want your tablet back?â
Adrenaline and a different kind of hope kicked into full gear. âReally?â I leaned forward in my seat fast enough to almost give myself whiplash. For a fraction of a section Iâd actually managed to forget the harness existed.
âI said youâd get it back,â Janet grinned, amused by my childlike greed. âYou were good, so you get it back.â She leaned back and placed the device in my hand. âHere you go. Fully charged and password unlocked.â She really was a good Mommy.
I was shaking. Literally shaking. This changed. This changed everything! I had my window back, and with that window new possibilities were open. âThank you!â I squeaked, suddenly on the brink of shedding happy tears. âThank you, Mommy!â
âYouâre welcome, sweetie.â The look of smug satisfaction on Janetâs face was genuine. She was a Mommy who figured out a simple way to make her baby boy happy. All he wanted was his toy.
The thing is, my own wide eyed and manic grin was just as genuine. Something to distract myself with. Something to do besides languish inside my own predicament.
âClark, do you mind turning that down?â Janet asked right before we hit the highway. Iâd chosen the most obnoxious sounding game and had cranked the volume all the way up.
âCan we have music?â I asked. âSomething to listen to?â I visibly winced and tacked on. âNothing too babyish, please.â
I could only see her eyes in that rear view mirror but they smiled big enough for her entire face. She had me figured out, or so she thought. âSure.â
Brazenly, I pretended to play games on the tablet, eyeballing the main screenâs icons for signs of internet connectivity. Janet could see me, but not the screen, and she had no way to get behind me to see what I was really up to. In a way this was better than sneaking in my crib.
It was my intent to get onto MistuhGwiffin then and there and start searching for some kind of escape route immediately before fate or feelings intervened. The music was just a diversion; something to distract from the distinctive lack of beeps and boops coming from my favorite new toy.
This was the ultimate balls to the wall maneuver, here. Classic Clark.
Yet, no matter how patient I was, there was no way to get onto the internet while we were driving. The tablet was an older model and couldnât just switch on and off with any given data signal. I was tempted to use Emilianoâs password anyway, more out of a superstitious hope that it might just connect, but common sense tempered my ambition.
No use in getting locked out and then having to answer why I left the kid approved screen to begin with.
Actually playing those silly games just wasnât satisfying, however. It felt like settling; like planning for a babyish birthday party months from now when there was still some spirit left in the tank.
I needed something more. Some way to give myself another win; some way to feel like I was making steps and not just lying to myself during a positive mood swing.
I opted for opening up a word processor document. There wasnât an icon for it, but it was among the programs available if searched. If I couldnât stuff my message in a bottle just yet, I could at least write it and make it a damn good one. Iâd create myself a manifesto in advance, and then copy and paste it when the signal was coming in strong back at Janetâs house.
I stared at the blank white screen and the digital keyboard, pondering on how best to start. MistuhGwiffin.web was littered with calls for aid and help. Some were traps set by Amazons who figured out just enough to be dangerous. A few were likely pleas for attention from dumb kids and trolls. Most were massive case of âToo Little Too Lateâ. Someone managing to get out one last gasp before their adulthood was dunked and the bubbles stopped coming up.
This, however, would be my first words as an adult in a long long time. What would I say? How would I prove I was who I said I was? That I wasnât a sellout? Or a troll? Or some mindfucked doll whoâd gone full native?
âWhatcha doinâ?â Janet interrupted. âYou got really still.â
âNothing,â I said. âJust thinking about what to play next.â
âDo you need a change?â she asked. âI can pull over.â
My eyes remained glued to the screen. My jaw remained set. âNo, I donât think so.â
She snickered, albeit good naturedly, to herself. âOkay. Just checking.â
Janet really thought she had me figured out, didnât she? To a degree, she did, Iâll admit, but she had no idea of all the complexities I was dealing with. To her I was still a child in need of childish entertainment.
Typical.
It was sad that âtypicalâ was such an apt descriptor for so many of the baby crazy giants; including the ones whoâd been my friends.
If the world was fair, the baseline state for an Amazon wouldnât be a smug know-it-all with too much power and not enough empathy.
But the world wasnât fair, was it? It never was.
Thatâs it!
Inspiration struck and I began composing my own personalized cry for help, complete with introduction:
The world isnât fair.
This was typically the first morbid thought that crept into my head every morning as the alarm buzzed me awake from whatever dreams Iâd been having only moments before. The past six to eight hours had been rendered completely moot in a blur of unconsciousness, not counting a trip to the toilet around three A.M. or soâŠ
I hammered out every word, passionately finger pecking at the screen to make it as close to perfect as I could manage. Anyone who read this would see me for who I was. A Little in need of a second chance.
My own personal motto reminded me of exactly how lopsided the world was so that Iâd stay alert. Couldnât get too cocky. Couldnât get too comfortable. When the gameâs not fair, you canât afford to rest easy, and the game started every time I stepped out my front door.
I remembered the mocking posts on the âlosersâ section of the site. That attitude was extremely pervasive. Iâd have to find a way to counter that. Show potential allies that I understood the score.
Amazons are crazy; theyâre almost determined to see Littles as babies that never grew up, at best, and their own personal dolls, at worst. But I thought that if you didnât trigger their eccentricities, theyâre otherwise very reasonable.
Admittedly I rambled a bit here and there. Itâs difficult to get a potential audience to feel like investing in you and helping you out in just a few words. I had to paint a picture.
âI might just make it to being a silver fox, yet,â Iâd think to myself.
âStill having fun, buddy?â Janet interrupted my train of thought.
I looked up from the tablet. âHm? Yes, maâam.â
âOkay. Weâre almost home.â
I scoffed in surprise. âAlready?â Sure enough, the exit to Oakshire was coming up fast. Where had the time gone?
âYuuup,â Janet grinned. âYou can still play when we get home if you want.â
âIâll be fine,â I said, eyes still glued to my composition. Had to wrap it up for now. Needed to save and exit so Janet didnât see it. Would edit and post later. One last re-read while inspiration was still hot.
Holy shit! Iâd started with a babbling shot-for-shot recreation of my life before Adoption, and hadnât even gotten to my name.
Hastily I added:
Oh yikes. I almost forgot. Forgive my manners.
Hi.
Iâm Clark.
Iâd come up with a pseudonym later. Something close enough to âClark Gibsonâ so that I could hint at the truth without the wrong person reading this thing and knowing who was writing it?
From the front seat, Janet bounced up and down and turned up the volume on the radio. âOh! I love this song!â It was an old, dumb, not quite country not quite pop number, long past its prime. Something meant for our parents when they were young. Janet grooved to it and sang along like it was an all time classic.
âMy baby takes the morning train, he works from nine to five, and thenâŠâ
I stopped what I was doing and just listened to that beautiful, deep, yet feminine voice. I would have needed an entire hive worth a beeswax to do anything else. It was the milk. I was chemically bonded to her. Nothing but addiction. Addiction and perhaps some kind of nostalgia for something that never was.
For the first time I felt the full brunt. of that particular lie as I thought it to myself.
I really did love her. I just loved being an adult more.
I hit save, titled it âGrocery Listâ and made sure to be feverishly playing Veggie Samurai before we pulled into the driveway. But first I wrote:
My last name? Itâs complicated.